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Zusatztext “China proves herself intelligent! independent! persistent! and compassionate…This is a funny! human story that will give Albert’s admirers a ringing jingle bell romp.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review) “Colorful… With her use of herbal lore in every chapter! the author is a brilliant teacher as well as an entertaining detective writer.” —The Dallas Morning News “Ms. Albert artfully uses Texas language patterns to bring the down-home town of Pecan Springs alive with eccentrics in abundance in this colorful Christmas story.” —The Dallas Morning News “Breezy…The characters are an appealing bunch…Albert also provides lots of interesting lore about mistletoe…This is a nice book to curl up with on a blustery day! perhaps with a cup of Christmas tea.” —Chicago Tribune Informationen zum Autor Susan Wittig Albert Klappentext In this "intelligently plotted and deliciously descriptive tale" (Publishers Weekly), national bestselling author Susan Wittig Albert tells the story of a woman's search for justice-and of her struggle to reconcile the demands of her business with the desires of her heart… Former big-city lawyer China Bayles worked hard to make her Texas herb shop, Thyme and Seasons, a success. Now business is booming at her charming new tea room, Thyme for Tea-but China is too distracted to revel in her latest entrepreneurial triumph. When she's not trying to spend more time with her new husband and stepson, she's worrying about her best friend, Ruby, who just hasn't been herself lately. To further complicate matters, China has to round up a supply of mistletoe, the season's most popular herb. It seems an easy enough task-until her chief supplier turns up dead… From Chapter One: The first thing you notice when you step into Ruby's shop is the scent. She burns a different incense every day, and the fragrances mix and mingle in an indescribable aroma that clings to the books and other items even after you've taken them home, a lingering reminder of your visit to the Crystal Cave. She also plays a different kind of music every day-Native American one day, whale songs another. Today it was Celtic, and the haunting melancholy of harp and flute filled the scented air. Ruby doesn't open until ten, and early morning is a good time to catch her doing her housekeeping: restocking bookshelves, straightening merchandise, dusting the crystals and wind chimes, bringing her account books up to date. Today, I found her at the back of the shop, near the curtained dressing-room alcove where she hangs the hand-painted tops, gauze skirts, scarves, and crazy hats that her customers love. She was dressed in one of her usual eye-catching outfits-a slim, shapely ankle-length black silk skirt and a loose, cowl-necked velveteen top, painted with galaxies of glittering stars-and was standing in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection. Since Ruby is six feet tall in her sandals, there's a lot of reflection to admire, especially when she puts on high heels and frizzes her orangey-red hair, adding several more inches to her already Ruby-esque stature. I stood and watched, unobserved, while she turned in front of the mirror, running her hands over her breasts and down her hips, smoothing the velvety fabric against her body. As I watched, she did it again, and then again, the gesture of a woman who takes a healthy pleasure in the shape and feel of her body. But there was nothing sensuous or sexy or even graceful about the way Ruby was touching herself. Her movements were jerky and nervous, and in the mirror her face wore an odd, lost look, vulnerable and apprehensive. It was unnerving to see Ruby when she wasn't charging around like a dynamo, fueled by her usual self-confidence and whiz-bang kinetic energy. "Hi," I said tentatively. Ruby gave a startled yelp and whirled around. "China! II didn't see y...
