Dreaming in Technicolor Read Online Free Page A

cards and bingo. I knew it was time to leave when my sister-in-law said they needed a fourth for bridge because their usual player was in the hospital, getting her hip replaced.” He gazed out the Bulletin’s plate-glass window. “This retirement stuff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Makes a man feel da—um, downright useless.”
    Alex reappeared from the dusty back room. “Gordon. Great to see you. When’d you get back?”
    â€œLast night.” My former boss twisted the bottom button of his worn cardigan. “Uh, Alex, I was wondering—”
    My new boss and boyfriend— can I even call him that yet?— interrupted him. “Good thing you stopped by. I was planning to ask a favor. We’re pretty swamped with this special Christmas edition, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to get to all the stories. Right, Phoebe?” He threw me a telling look behind Gordon’s back.
    Mouth full of mocha foam, I nodded.
    Alex slung his arm around the former editor’s shoulders. “Would you mind helping us out by writing a few articles? I’ll pay you the going freelance rates, of course.”
    Gordon beamed. “No problem, son, no problem at all. Can’t afford not to have the Christmas edition. It’s a Bulletin tradition, and folks would sure miss it. You just give me those assignments.”
    Minutes later, Gordon bounded off with a newsman’s zeal, the bell over the front door jangling behind him.
    I shot a goopy look at my boyfriend, um, boss. Could there be a more perfect man? Gorgeous, funny, and kind too. What more could a girl want? That sixties song about going to the chapel swirled in my head, sticking on the ma-aa-arried part and playing over and over. “That was a very sweet thing to do.”
    â€œSweet nothing.” Alex grinned. “Good thing Gordon came back early; otherwise I’m not sure how you and I would have gotten the paper out.”
    The bell over the front door jangled again.
    â€œWhenever a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” I smiled at Alex, knowing he’d get my reference to It’s a Wonderful Life.
    â€œAttaboy, Clarence.” He chimed in with the Jimmy Stewart part.
    â€œWho’re you talkin’ to?” The door slammed shut with a bang.
    â€œName’s Esther, not Clarence. Thought you knew that.”
    â€œHi, Esther.” I raised my voice a notch. “Nice to see you.” I smiled to see the seventy-something former reporter sporting purple pants, a garish Hawaiian shirt, a thick lavender sweater, and a red wool beret.
    Until a couple of months ago, I’d known Esther Blodgett as the hardworking, no-nonsense reporter for the Barley Bulletin— which just goes to show you can know a person all your life and never really know her. Esther had surprised us all by selling off a lot of land we didn’t know she had, donating most of the proceeds to the Bijou—saving the theater in the process—and still retiring from the Bulletin with a nice little nest egg.
    Since then, she’d spent much of her time traveling with one or more of her pals from the red-hatted, purple-clad ladies’ club. She was trying to make up for lost time, cramming in as many trips as she could. This time she’d just returned from Hawaii.
    Esther plunked down a perfect sand dollar and a couple of seashells on my desk. “Brought you all some souvenirs. They say if you put those shells up to your ear you can hear the sea, but you can’t prove it by me. I can’t hear a blamed thing.”
    â€œThank you.” I hugged her, hiding a grin. Esther couldn’t hear most normal conversations, let alone a seashell.
    â€œNow don’t get all mushy on me.” She wriggled out of my embrace and handed Alex a plastic Santa clad in a tropical shirt and shorts and riding a surfboard. “This here’s Aloha Santa. He’s a little reminder that even