The Mystery Before Christmas

Chapter 17

Mary Anderson lived a relatively normal life in spite of her success in the lottery. She lived in the same nice but modest house she’d lived in before she’d won millions of dollars, and other than the new SUV in the front drive, there was nothing about her home or her person to suggest she was a wealthy woman. I’d done some research and found out that since she’d won her millions, she hadn’t done as many lottery winners did and made a bunch of impulse purchases, nor had she engaged in expensive travel or spa treatments. In my mind, this made her a good prospect for Secret Santa. If she hadn’t spent her winnings on herself maybe, she’d spent the money, or at least part of it, on others.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to speak to me,” I said after she ushered me into her home.

“I’m happy to help out if I can. I think the world of your aunt. She is always there to pitch in with a project or lend a helping hand to a neighbor in need.”

“She is pretty great,” I had to admit.

She motioned for me to take a seat. “So you mentioned on the phone that you are doing an article for the newspaper on Secret Santa.”

I nodded. “That is correct. It is a series, actually. Last week, I wrote about some of the gift recipients, and this week, I am focusing on potential residents who might turn out to be the mysterious Secret Santa.”

She grinned. “I will admit the Secret Santa idea has been great fun. The gifts and the mystery behind the gifts have been the talk of the town for weeks now. Honestly, I wish I would have thought of such a creative idea. I feel like Secret Santa has not only benefited those he has bestowed gifts upon, but his presence has been a blessing to the community as a whole.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Secret Santa has reminded us that there is still good and magic in the world, even if at times, things occur to make it seem otherwise.”

I had to admit that was true. “The mood of the town as a whole does seem to have been lifted by the gifts.”

“So am I to understand that your goal is to reveal the identity of Secret Santa?” Mary asked.

“That does seem to be the question of the day.”

She puckered her lips. “Personally, I wouldn’t. I think that the idea that Secret Santa could actually be anyone is part of the wonder of the whole thing. As I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t the one to think of the idea, but as I also mentioned, there is a part of me who wishes I was. Secret Santa has created a sense of goodwill in the town that I feel has been missing for a while. I don’t plan to steal Secret Santa’s thunder by piggybacking on what he is doing, but I do plan to up my own giving this year.”

“I guess the feeling of joy the man has spread is somewhat infectious.”

“Personally, the Secret Santa gifts have reminded me of the innocence of childhood belief. The happy feelings associated with that belief make me want to reach out and hug everyone.”

I had to chuckle at that. “Yes, I guess I understand that. And I do get what you are saying. I think the wonderful feeling created by doing something for others can be contagious. As you have, I’ve noticed an elevation in the mood of the community as a whole since the gifts began arriving.”

“And therein lies the true magic of a selfless gift.”

I leaned forward a bit. “Do you think that revealing Secret Santa’s identity will destroy the atmosphere of goodwill that has been created by the gift giving?”

“I think it might.”

Yeah, I was afraid of that. I really wanted a full-time job at the newspaper, but at what cost? I supposed this was something I needed to take a serious look at before I turned in my second article on Monday.

After I left Mary’s, I realized I had some time to kill before my appointment with Donny Dingman, the only one of the original gift recipients I hadn’t spoken to yet, so I decided to stop by the library and chat with Hope. Hope was a decade older than I was, but she was a person I’d connected with on an intimate level from the moment I’d met her as a teenager. I felt like we really understood each other. I considered us close friends and knew that I could talk to her about pretty much anything.

“So, what have you heard about Ford being taken in for questioning?” Hope asked the minute I walked in through the front door of the library.

“Nothing. I plan to go by and chat with Cass later, but I’ve been doing Secret Santa interviews this morning. Do you know if he was released or arrested after he was questioned?”

“I’m not sure. There has been a lot of gossip going around this morning, but no one seems to know anything for certain. I’ve texted both Cass and Rafe, but neither has texted me back. I know Ford has been acting oddly. Definitely out of character. But he wouldn’t kill anyone, especially not Buford. The men had been friends for a long time.”

“Yeah. Tom, Gracie, and I had the same discussion over breakfast.”

Hope plopped her elbows on the counter in front of her. “I just don’t understand this whole thing. Nothing has made a lick of sense since the minute I found out that Buford was dead. I’d talked to him that day… the day he died. He was happy and in a good mood. He’d been working on a project he was really excited about, and he mentioned his plan to head over to the bar for a drink to relax with the guys. Knowing Buford, I can see how it is possible he had one drink too many and ended up in a scuffle. I heard he fought with Dennis Felton, and if it turns out that he scuffled with Ford as well, I won’t be surprised. Buford could be a mean drunk if he overdid it, but I absolutely cannot believe that anyone from Foxtail Lake would hit him over the head and leave him to freeze to death in a snowstorm. There has to be something else going on.”

“Had you heard that Buford inherited a bunch of money a while back?”

Hope’s gaze grew guarded. “Yes, I do know that. Do you think that his death is related to the money he inherited?”

“I think it might be. According to Cass, Buford cashed out and then hid the money. Cass has no idea what he did with it. He didn’t appear to have made any investments, nor had he opened any bank accounts. There isn’t evidence of large purchases or gifts to others. I did think that maybe Buford was Secret Santa for half a minute, but half the Secret Santa gifts have been delivered after his death, so it couldn’t have been him. Besides, while I didn’t know the man well, what I did know about him, doesn’t lead me to believe he was the Secret Santa type.”

“Maybe he hid the money in his home,” Hope said.

“Cass looked. It isn’t there. I think at this point, Cass is operating under the assumption that whoever killed him, took the money.”

She frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, who even knew about the inheritance at the time of Buford’s death?”

“I don’t think a lot of people did,” I admitted, “but some of the guys from the bar knew.” I glanced at the clock. “I gotta go. If you find out any more about Ford, let me know, and if I find out anything, I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good.”