by Kathi Daley
“I guess you heard about Dennis Felton,” Connie said after I’d let the conversation lull.
“Dennis Felton? Did he receive a gift from Secret Santa?”
“No. He was arrested.”
I raised a brow. “Arrested?” I’d estimate Dennis was a man in his late sixties, who like Tom, tended to hang out at the lodge. He’d owned a local paint store for as long as I could remember. He was a nice guy whom everyone seemed to really like. I couldn’t imagine what he’d done to get himself arrested. “What did he do?”
“I guess he punched Vern Tidwell in the face after Vern had a few too many drinks and started spouting off about the fact that Dennis and Buford had argued on the day Buford died, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Dennis hadn’t been the one to hit him over the head, causing him to pass out in the snow.”
“So is the fact that Buford was hit in the head public knowledge?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know if it is public knowledge, but Vern seemed to know about it. I guess now everyone knows about it. It makes sense that there was a reason that Buford froze to death. It never sat right with me that he simply drank too much and then passed out and froze to death. The man can pretty much drink anyone in town under the table. It would take a whole lot of alcohol to bring him to the point where he didn’t even realize he was lying in the snow.”
“Do you know what Dennis and Buford were arguing about on the day Buford died?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Everything I know, I learned from folks who’d heard about Dennis’s arrest and were chatting about it during breakfast. I suppose you can ask Cass if you are really interested.”
“I will. I wonder if Cass plans to keep Dennis locked up, or if he plans to process and release him.”
“I imagine it will be a catch and release situation. Dennis does drink too much at times, and he has punched a few faces, but all in all, he is a pretty good guy. I doubt Cass will keep him longer than he needs to in order to bring home the point that the guy needs to get help for his drinking and anger issues.”
“I remember Dennis from when I lived here before. I know he was an adult, and I was a kid, but I don’t remember him being a drunk.”
“He wasn’t,” Connie informed me. “He didn’t start drinking until after his wife died. I guess he never recovered from that.”
Just about the time I figured I had the information I needed for my article, the lunch crowd began to arrive, so I thanked Connie and said my goodbyes. My last appointment of the day before I had to go and pick Paisley up from school was with Billy Prescott and his mother, Janice. Billy, who was a paraplegic, had received a new wheelchair after his mother had backed over his old one. The new one was not only a replacement but an upgraded model as well.
I’d never met either Billy or Janice, but Janice seemed willing to chat with me when I’d called and introduced myself. Like Gilda Frederickson, she’d read my columns and was excited about being featured in the next issue of the local newspaper and possibly even The Denver Post. Billy was homeschooled due to his difficulty getting around in the winter, so we agreed to meet at their home, which thankfully was not all that far from the elementary school where I would pick up Paisley.
After a brief introduction at the door when I arrived, Janice showed me to a room in the back of the house with windows that overlooked both the mountain and the valley.
“Wow. What a great view,” I said, as I stood in front of the window.
“It is really exceptional, especially considering we are so close to town. Please have a seat on the sofa. Billy is in the den. I’ll go get him and bring him in here. This is a much nicer room for us to have our chat.”
I did as Janice suggested and took a seat looking out the large picture window. The view from the house I lived in with Gracie was pretty spectacular given the fact that it was right on the lake, but this view was so expansive as to take your breath away. There was something about a sky view that really opened things up. I could imagine sitting on this sofa and watching the storms roll in.
The interview with Janice and Billy lasted exactly thirty minutes. I learned that the new wheelchair had been delivered by an out of town service and that their records showed the shipper as being the store the new wheelchair had been ordered from. Janice informed me that she’d called the store that sold the wheelchair in an effort to find out who she should thank for their generosity, but was told that the purchase was made anonymously and they were not at liberty to provide her with any additional information.
So, in other words, I was back to square one. I did manage to get photos, quotes, and anecdotes for my story, so my interviews today were not a complete waste of time. Both Janice and Billy had been completely drawn in by the magic and the mystery of Secret Santa. When Billy’s wheelchair had been damaged, they figured they’d need to use their savings to put a down payment on another one, which would make for a pretty bleak Christmas, but with the gift of the new chair, they shared that now they would be able to embrace the Christmas season as they always had. This year, Billy and his mom were busy making sweaters for the animals at the shelter. The sweaters, like the animals, came in all shapes and sizes, and each was unique. Janice shared that she’d taught Billy to knit when he was a small child stuck in a chair with nowhere to expend his energy. Both mother and son were really very good at their craft, and I was sure the animals at the shelter would enjoy the sweaters designed specifically for warmth.
While I was happy for Billy and his mother, I was disappointed they couldn’t direct me to the person behind the gift. I had others to speak to, however. I figured I’d try to track down Donnie and Grover tomorrow, and then write my column over the weekend. I’d also start setting up interviews with prospective Secret Santas over the weekend. Maybe I’d even start my interviews this weekend. I wanted to speak to as many people as I could before my deadline for the second article in the series, so I’d have as many anecdotes to draw from as possible as I wrote it. Assuming, of course, that Dex liked my article about the recipients and let me continue with the series rather than turning it over to Brock.
Chapter 7
Friday
A quick glance out my bedroom window revealed the fact that the snow had paused at least for the moment. I was enjoying the beauty of the snowy landscape, but I did hope that it would be dry for the tree lighting this evening. Dealing with the cold was going to be hard enough, but if you threw in a heavy snow, the turnout was sure to be affected.
I rolled out of bed and turned on the lights I’d draped around my window. I wasn’t sure why, but every time I looked at the lights, I found myself smiling. So far, this holiday season had been enchanting. Exactly the sort of thing I needed to chase away the last of the self-pity I’d been struggling with since my accident. Life, I decided, was pretty darn perfect. Paisley and I’d decorated the tree in the attic yesterday, and it had turned out amazing. Paisley has a natural eye for color and design, and the tree ended up looking like something you would find in a magazine. Not only did the tree look awesome, but we’d had a lot of fun as well. So much fun, in fact, that when Paisley had shared that her grandmother hadn’t felt up to getting a tree, I’d taken her to the tree lot where we purchased two small trees for Paisley’s grandmother’s house, one for the living room, and one for Paisley’s bedroom. After we set them up, we’d decorated both while Ethel offered decorating advice from the sidelines.
All in all, it had been a fun and relaxing afternoon. It had even gotten Paisley and Ethel talking about the idea of putting some carols on the stereo and baking a batch or two of the gingerbread cookies they’d baked in the past. I could see a glimmer of hope and energy in both their eyes. Having Paisley’s mother ill for so long and then dealing with her death seemed to have been harder on them than I’d realized. I hoped now that the joy of the season had been introduced into their home, the pair would run with it and have the merriest of holidays in spite of their grief.
Today, I planned to
track down both Grover Wood and Donnie Dingman. I’d need to finish the interviews for my column before my volunteer shift at the shelter. I planned to write the column this weekend, and then move onto the Secret Santa suspects as soon as I solidified a list of individuals to speak to. In the meantime, there was a wonderful smell coming from downstairs, so perhaps coffee and breakfast were the immediate order of the day.
“Morning, Aunt Gracie,” I greeted as I poured myself a mug of coffee.
“Good morning, dear. How’d you sleep?”
“Really good, actually.”
“I made cinnamon rolls if you’re interested.”
I poured a dollop of cream in my coffee. “I’m always interested in your cinnamon rolls. It seems like you’ve been baking a lot lately.”
“Baking helps me to relax.” She slid a roll from the pan onto a plate and handed it to me.
“Have you been stressed?” I asked, picking up on the subtle clue that baking relaxed her, and she’d been baking up a storm.
“Not really.” She slid a roll onto a plate for herself. “Well, maybe a bit. But it is nothing I want you to worry about.”
Well, now I was worried. “What’s going on?” I asked in what I hoped was my most encouraging tone of voice.
“It’s Nora. She’s been diagnosed with cancer.”
Nora Nottaway was one of Gracie’s best friends. She was a few years younger than Gracie was but close enough in age that they’d always been friends. Both had lived in Foxtail Lake for their entire lives, and they shared a rich and vast history.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” I crossed the room and hugged Gracie. “Is it… Is she…” I was trying to find a way to ask if it was early and therefore treatable, or if it was only a matter of time.
“She is receiving treatment,” Gracie answered, seeming to understand what it was that I’d been trying to ask. “I spoke to Ned this morning, and he seemed to think that Nora is doing just fine, given the circumstances.”
Ned was Nora’s husband. The couple owned and operated the general store.
“I’m really sorry to hear this. Is there anything I can do?”
“Pray. Nora had pneumonia last year, and I feel like she never really fully recovered from it. I will admit to being really worried whether or not her body has the strength to fight this.”
“She seemed fine the last time I saw her.”
“Nora always seems fine,” Gracie answered. “She isn’t the sort to want to share her struggles, which is why you can’t share what I have told you with anyone else. She wants to keep this to herself for now. I shouldn’t have said anything to you, but you were here, and I was feeling down after my conversation with Ned this morning. I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”
I hugged the woman who meant so much to me. The woman who’d always been there for me. “Of course, you can count on me to keep Nora’s secret. And any time you need to talk, I’m here for you. And, of course, I will include Nora as well as Ned in my prayers. If there is anything else I can do, you just need to ask.”
“Thank you, dear. I appreciate that. So, what do you have planned for today?”
Gracie seemed to want to change the subject, so I answered. “I need to interview Grover Wood and Donnie Dingman about their Secret Santa gifts, and then I have my volunteer shift at the shelter. I’m assuming that you and Tom still plan to pick up Ethel and Paisley for the tree lighting?”
“We do.”
“Great, then Cass and I will meet you there. We will probably stop somewhere for dinner after the tree lighting. You are welcome to join us unless it is too late for you.”
“I think it might be too late for Ethel. We’ll just bring them home after the tree lighting, and you and Cass can have your date.”
I wanted to argue that what we were doing was eating and not dating, but it seemed pointless to bother at this point. Gracie knew how I felt about dating. It was the same way she felt. If you were a Hollister and a female, then everyone knew it was best to leave true love and happily ever after to others.
“You know, you might want to add Stephanie Baldwin to your Secret Santa list if you haven’t already,” Gracie said after a minute.
“Did Stephanie receive a Secret Santa gift?”
Gracie nodded. “Ned mentioned it this morning. I guess that Secret Santa had an oven and stovetop delivered to her home. The old one broke more than a month ago, and she couldn’t afford to have it repaired or replaced, so she has been making do without one.”
“That’s really wonderful. I’ll call her. I’d love to include her story in my article.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to chat with you. From what I understand, she has been telling everyone about her special gift.”
I got up to refill my coffee mug. “This Secret Santa story has really turned into a big deal for Dex, and I really want to do a good job both for my own career and for Dex, who wants the expanded exposure, but I feel sort of bad that I am actively looking to unmask this man, or woman, who has done so much good for so many people.”
“I suppose that is understandable. It occurred to me that if Secret Santa wanted to be identified, he, or she, wouldn’t be going to so much trouble to remain anonymous.”
“Exactly. But if I refuse to do the story, Dex will just have Brock write it, and Brock won’t hesitate for a minute to unmask Secret Santa if it means a byline in the Post.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, furrowing my brow. “I feel really good about the story I am working on this week, so I guess I’ll just finish it and then try to figure the rest out. I owe it to Dex to tell him if I am going to have a problem with the final article. I mean, if I really don’t think I can write it, I guess I should let him put Brock on it right away. Dex has been so good to me. He has given me a part-time job even though I am in no way qualified to be a newspaper reporter. And if I am going to stay in Foxtail Lake for the long haul, which at this point is exactly what I plan to do, then I really want to earn more hours at the newspaper. I’m hoping Dex will like my work and actually hire me full-time, rather than just paying me as a columnist.”
“It seems like you have a hard choice ahead of you.”
I glanced out the window at the falling snow. “Yeah. I guess I’m going to have to give it some thought.”
Chapter 8
Grover Wood was a long-time local who’d lived in Foxtail Lake for as long as I could remember. He’d married his high school sweetheart, a very nice woman he’d been happily married to for twenty-five years before she passed away due to complications from diabetes. The couple never had children, but according to Aunt Gracie, who knew them better than I did, they’d always seemed happy with their lives in spite of the challenges presented. After Grover lost his wife, he threw himself into work, hobbies, and volunteer duty at the church and library. Most people felt that he was doing okay after the loss of his wife until he was seriously injured in a snowmobile accident this past winter, and the injuries to his back and neck left him unable to work.
I’d learned that Grover had burned through his savings after the accident, and was on the verge of losing his home when Secret Santa came to the rescue. I understood why the man was thrilled with the short reprieve but wondered if having his past debt erased and being paid up three months ahead would really help him in the long run. It seemed to me that what he really needed was a new source of income now that his days as a contractor seemed to have come to an end.
Gracie felt that the man had many talents that could be utilized to provide future income, but I guess the accident had destroyed more than his back; it had destroyed the last bit of hope and determination he’d been clinging to in the wake of his wife’s death. I was by no means a psychologist, nor an expert on grief, but I suspected the man had been able to delay the normal mourning process after his wife passed as long as his life had been busy. But once he was laid up and forced to take some down time, everything he’d been holding
together had come crumbling down around him.
Gracie had cautioned me to go easy on him during our interview, and I planned to take her advice to heart. I wanted to learn about his experience with Secret Santa, but I didn’t want to push him over the edge I suspected he was still desperately clinging to.
“Grover Wood?” I asked the man who’d aged quite a bit since the last time I’d seen him, which was probably more than fifteen years ago.
“That’s right. You must be Callie Collins. I remember you from church when you were a kid. Come on in.” He stepped aside.
“Your view is lovely.” I paused to admire the view of the mountains in the distance.
“I’ve always enjoyed it.” He motioned for me to take a seat.
The house was clean and decorated fully for the upcoming holiday. I had to admit I wasn’t expecting that. I guess I just assumed that a man suffering from loss and depression would have let things go. Of course, the man didn’t look depressed. In fact, he looked downright cheerful. Perhaps I’d been wrong in my assessment of what was going on.
“So, you wanted to ask about Secret Santa?” he asked after I’d taken a seat.
“That’s right. I understand that Secret Santa helped to bring your mortgage current.”
“He did. And a lot more as well.”
“Do you care to elaborate?”
“After my wife passed, I threw myself into my work, my sports, my hobbies, and even my volunteer work at the church and library. A busy body is a tired body, and a tired body doesn’t have much energy to commit to feeling sorry for itself, so it all worked out for a while. But after my accident, when I was forced to stay home with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I guess I might have slipped into a bit of a depression. Things really were dark there for a while. Not only had I lost my source of income, but I’d also lost my hobbies and sports that kept me sane. What it really boiled down to was a loss of the defense system I’d created to help me deal with the loss of my wife.”