Mystery of the Secret Santa, page 1
Mystery of the Secret Santa
Shanna Swendson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by Shanna Swendson
About the Author
Chapter One
I hadn’t even admitted it to my closest friend, but one of the main reasons I’d been willing to take the job as editor of the Stirling Mills Gazette, in spite of my job interview being disrupted by a murder that I’d initially been accused of, was that this was a town right out of my dreams. More accurately, it was a town right out of the romantic TV Christmas movies I gorged on throughout the holiday season. There were fewer bakeries and quaint shops—though the local billionaire who was trying to revive the town was working on that—but there was a picturesque downtown area where I had a cute apartment over the newspaper office, there were plenty of festivals that brought the townspeople together, and there was even the hunky local guy I alternately sparred and bonded with.
Now it was actually the holiday season, and I was looking forward to getting to truly indulge all my fantasies of living in one of those movies. There would probably be less snow, since this was Texas, but that wasn’t entirely out of the question. The first time I’d come to this town, I’d ended up getting stranded by an ice storm, so it could happen.
Normally, the Saturday evening after Thanksgiving was when I kicked off my Christmas movie viewing season. I’d get home from spending the holiday with my parents, put on my coziest pajamas, make some cocoa, and curl up on the sofa to watch city girls go to small towns and fall in love with the towns, with Christmas, and with a guy. This year, however, I was going to live it instead of watching it. Saturday night kicked off the Stirling Mills holiday festivities, and I was going to soak it all up. It even counted as work, since this was a major local event I needed to cover for the newspaper. As I got ready to go out, I felt like a little kid on Christmas Eve, about to burst with anticipation.
It was a bit too warm to dress like a Christmas movie heroine, so I skipped the coat and hat and settled for draping a scarf over a festive sweater. I didn’t really need the scarf, but I wanted to at least pretend to dress seasonally. A glance out my bedroom window that overlooked Main Street told me that crowds were gathering for the holiday light parade, but nothing had begun. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d noticed crews wrapping strings of lights around lampposts and storefronts, and I couldn’t wait to see all the lights turned on.
I headed downstairs to stake out a spot in front of the newspaper office. Normally, I watched parades from my bedroom, which had an unobstructed, panoramic view, but I wanted to be among the people for this to really soak up the atmosphere. Sitting alone in my window above it all would feel lonely.
Once I was outside, though, I realized that there was a certain loneliness to being by myself in a crowd. It seemed like everyone was part of a group. There were families with small children in strollers or sitting on their parents’ shoulders, couples with their arms around each other, and groups of friends. I felt conspicuously alone. I did have friends. They just happened to be busy tonight. Margarita Reyes’s restaurant would be hopping on a night that brought so many people downtown. Jordan Randall, the local boy turned software billionaire who’d returned to his hometown, was the force behind the festivities and was surely tied up in last-minute details. My assistant, Charlene Robinson, was probably helping wrangle grandkids. And Wes Mosby, along with the rest of the police department, would be working, providing security for the event and directing traffic while Main Street was blocked off for the parade. I scanned the crowd for police uniforms, particularly any that might be accompanied by auburn hair, but I didn’t spot him. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, since so many of my Christmas movie fantasies starred him. He needed to be nearby for this to be perfect.
I did notice one other friend who wasn’t occupied with something else. Ruthie was an artist who lived and worked in a studio across the street from the newspaper office. She sat in her wheelchair, her service dog at her side, next to a lamppost in front of her studio. The parade hadn’t started yet, so I darted across the street to join her. “Hey,” I said. “I guess this is a big deal here, huh?”
“It’s actually a pretty new tradition,” she said. “The decorations used to be not much more than some sad tinsel and a few lights on the lampposts, and the parade wasn’t too different from what they do for everything else, but Jordan got inspired by what some other towns have done, and he started all this last year. He hopes it’ll bring in tourists. I honestly didn’t see a huge difference in the number of people downtown most nights last year, but maybe word will have spread and there will be more people this year.”
I glanced around. “This seems like a pretty good turnout, but I don’t know how many are local.”
“I think there are people here from the surrounding rural areas and some other nearby towns. I don’t know about tourists from Dallas, Austin, or even Waco. I think we’ve got a ways to go before we’re an actual destination.”
I heard distant drums approaching, and soon a police motorcycle appeared, indicating the start of the parade. Behind it came a horse-drawn carriage. The carriage stopped a block down the street from where I was, and a woman in an evening gown stood inside the carriage. According to the press release about this event, she was the previous year’s Christmas Queen—this town had a queen for everything. She raised her scepter and began a countdown that the crowd picked up. After we’d all shouted, “One!” she signaled with the scepter, and suddenly the town lit up.
The sight took my breath away. Every building in the downtown area was outlined in colored lights. All the windows up and down the street were also outlined in lights. Some of the buildings had even more elaborate displays in their windows or around their awnings. There were lights on the lampposts and strings of lights draped back and forth across the street, creating a canopy of light. At the same signal, the parade had lit up. The queen’s carriage was outlined in tiny lights, and all the vehicles and marching groups behind her also had lights. The parade moved forward to the accompaniment of the high school marching band playing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
I couldn’t help but grin as glowing trucks drove slowly by, people in back flinging peppermints to the crowd. It was enough to melt the heart of a steely businesswoman who’d come to town to close the local ornament factory, and this was only the beginning. There would be a whole month of holiday festivities. I had the events on my calendar so I wouldn’t miss a thing.
Tonight was the kick-off parade, ceremonial lighting of the town—which I’d just witnessed—and the lighting of the town Christmas tree at the park near the railroad tracks. The tree at the city park near the river would be lit Tuesday night. There would be festivals each weekend, mostly focused on the downtown area, so as to draw in business. The old movie theater on Main Street had a full slate of holiday films and shows scheduled. I was looking forward to watching classics like It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street on the big screen in a theater that might have shown them during their initial runs. The local community theater would perform a production of A Christmas Carol, and there would be a singalong showing of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
Each weekend, there would be carriage rides and hayrides through the downtown area and around the adjacent historic districts, where many of the old homes had been decked out for the holidays, and carolers would stroll around the business district. I couldn’t imagine how much all this was costing Jordan, and I wasn’t sure how much business it would actually bring to the town.
But, for the moment, I turned off the logical side of my brain and just enjoyed it all. I wasn’t quite like those Christmas movie heroines who had somehow managed to get through life without experiencing Christmas, so that a Christmas tree lighting was the most magical thing she’d ever seen. I’d grown up in an air force family, so I’d lived overseas. I’d experienced Christmas in an English village and had visited German Christmas markets. I’d gone shopping on Oxford Street in London. But there really was something about a small town going all-out like this. The sense of community created an atmosphere that you didn’t get in some of the other places I’d been for the holidays. It reminded me somewhat of the English village, though there had been a lot fewer lights there.
“I think this may be overkill,” someone near me said.
I had to give myself a moment to get my reaction under control and settle the butterflies that had come to life in my stomach when I recognized Wes’s voice before I turned to look at him. “Bah, humbug,” I teased.
“There’s gotta be a happy medium between Scrooge and all this,” he said.
“A few tasteful strands of lights?” I suggested.
“Exactly.”
“A few tasteful strands of lights won’t draw tourists,” Ruthie said. “You need the kind of overkill that’ll fill up Instagram.”
Once the marching band had passed, recorded Christmas music filled the air. A speaker on the lamppost over Ruthie blared “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” forcing us to raise our voices to continue the conversation.
“We’ll see,” Wes said. “I don’t see too many people I don’t recognize, so I don’t know that all this is going to give us any extra benefit.”
“It’s bringing the community together, and it’s fun,” I argued.
“You may feel differently after a few weeks of not being able to get in and out on weekends and evenings. And I hope you have light-blocking shades on your bedroom windows. And earplugs.”
“I can’t imagine getting sick of this. It’s only a few weeks, and having it on my doorstep is awesome. I don’t have to find a parking space or drive to get here.”
“This is only the first night. I’ll check with you about how you feel next weekend.”
I wondered how he would take it if I suggested he join me for some of the activities, like maybe one of the movies. We’d seemed to be coming close to moving our relationship to a new phase, but then both of us had backed off. I’d become cautious after considering how it might look to the town if the newspaper editor was involved with one of the senior police officers. We ran into each other a lot in the course of our work, and I was worried about the appearance of a conflict of interest. I didn’t know what his deal was, if he’d also changed his mind or if maybe he was picking up on something from me that made him back off. Considering that he could actually read minds, that was entirely possible.
“I’m going to head down to the park for the tree lighting after the parade ends,” I said, the invitation implied in my tone.
“Enjoy,” he said brusquely.
“I take it you aren’t a big fan of Christmas.”
“It’s not my favorite holiday.” Before he could elaborate, his radio squawked, and he stepped away to respond. I couldn’t hear what he said or what was coming over the radio without losing my spot for watching the parade, and I was torn. There was the possibility of a story, but on the other hand, it was likely to be the sort of thing that would just end up in the police blotter, while the festival was the big feature that I could only properly report on by experiencing it.
I was even more torn when I saw Wes jog off. I had no idea where he was going and didn’t stand a chance of following him, especially if he got in a police car and drove to a crime scene. I’d have to run to my office, hope the resident ghost had been listening to the scanner to pick up on the radio communication to know where the incident was, then get my car and fight the traffic and navigate around roads closed for the parade. I decided to stay put and do any follow-up on whatever was happening later.
“Maybe you should just tell him,” Ruthie said.
“Huh? What?” I replied.
“Look, anyone can see there’s something going on between you two. I don’t know what’s holding you back, but things could get ugly if you don’t talk about it. You’ll make the wrong assumptions. Just say what you feel and why you’re not acting on it, then see where he stands and figure out where to go from there.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“But it can’t be resolved if you don’t do anything about it. Secrets have a way of complicating things. You’ve got to get it out in the open to deal with it.”
“Well, if I ever get five minutes without him being called away for work.”
“Mmm hhh,” she said. A blare of siren interrupted anything else she might have said, and a fire truck passed us, with Santa Claus riding on the back, waving to the crowd while his elves tossed candy. Behind the truck was a police motorcycle, signaling the end of the parade. “Well, I’d better get inside in case anyone wants to see the studio,” Ruthie said. “Have fun.” She wheeled herself around and headed back to her studio, which had been lit up like everything else on the street. The festive lights and decor were an odd contrast to her stark modern art.
Alone once more, I turned and followed the flow of the crowd strolling down Main Street toward the park. The speakers blared “Silver Bells,” and I found the lyrics about Christmas in a city particularly apt. The downtown had been totally transformed. The usually empty storefronts were filled with pop-up shops selling seasonal wares. One had been turned into an old-fashioned candy store, and there was another selling gingerbread, with the aroma of baking spices wafting out to the sidewalk. I was pretty sure it was artificial, since there were no ovens in that shop and the goods had to have been baked elsewhere. There were also a couple of shops selling a variety of ornaments. It reminded me of the German Christmas markets, only in shops instead of in booths in the town’s market square.
I wondered how Jordan had managed to pull it all together while also getting his new house built and running several businesses. I made a mental note to schedule an interview with him. That was a story I might even be able to sell to a publication outside the town.
As I passed Margarita’s restaurant, I noticed that there was a line waiting to get in and be seated. That was good for her, but it meant I likely wouldn’t be able to hang out much with her for the next few weeks. I might also have to eat more meals at home if all the downtown restaurants were busy. Maybe this was just the excitement of the opening night, along with people being sick of turkey and wanting to eat something completely different.
I found that the park was even more festive than Main Street had been. The gazebo was outlined in lights, and colored lights were arranged in scenes around the park, flashing in time with the music that was playing on the speakers and giving the illusion of wagon wheels turning and elves working to make toys, based on which lights lit up at any given moment. The giant tree in the middle of the park was a dark void.
While I waited for the tree-lighting ceremony, I bought a cup of cocoa from a stand. It wasn’t quite cold enough for me to need the warm beverage, but I figured it was part of the ambience. At least the weather was comfortable for standing around outside, even if it didn’t feel seasonal.
A trumpet fanfare heralded the arrival of the Christmas Queen. She stepped up to the tree. There was another countdown, she waved her scepter, and then the tree burst forth with light. Lights on the tree were synchronized with the music, creating patterns that matched the song playing on the speakers. It was a lot more high-tech than your typical tree, and I made another mental note for a potential story. I was sure people would be curious about how it was all done.
Once the tree had been lit, I felt somewhat at loose ends. There weren’t any additional events scheduled for the evening, and I didn’t see anyone I knew well enough to approach and try to join their group. I wandered around, admiring the decorations, then decided there would be no harm in going home and starting my holiday movie viewing. After all, all this was right outside my front door, and I’d have a month to enjoy it. I could save some sights to see later.
I strolled up Main Street, looking at the opposite side of the street from my walk to the park. Along the way, I kept my eyes peeled for Wes, in case he’d come back. There were cops keeping an eye on the crowds, but Wes wasn’t among them. That made me really wonder what had happened.
I got back to the office and checked the press room, where the police scanner was. Jean Jacobs, the former editor and current ghost who thought she was still running the newspaper from beyond the grave, liked to monitor the scanner because it made her feel more in touch with the outside world, but she wasn’t there. I headed upstairs to my apartment, changed into my pajamas, and settled down to watch the first Christmas movie of the year.
When I went to bed, I got a sense of why Wes had said I’d need room-darkening shades. Even with the blinds and curtains closed, enough light from outside made its way to my bedroom to make sleep difficult. I found the sleep mask that had come with an airline amenity kit and put it on. I could still hear the music, but it was soothing. The music cut off at eleven and the lights at midnight, so it wasn’t too bad.
Sunday evening, I made another round of the downtown area, taking in the sights. I ran into Wes, on duty watching a spot on the corner. “What happened last night that had you tearing off?” I asked.
