A Cat in the Attic Mystery: The Mystery Before Christmas

by Kathi Daley

  “Maybe you can talk him into doing the series without the big reveal at the end. I would think that the local paper would want to keep the secret as much as anyone.”

  “I think Dex has been swayed by the idea that the series is going to be featured in The Denver Post, and the guy from the Post wants a big reveal as the cherry on the top of the series. If not for the whole thing with the Post, I do think I might be able to convince him to skip the big reveal.”

  Hope twisted her lips to the side, making it appear as if she was conflicted about something.

  “Do you think I should bow out and let Dex assign Brock to the remainder of the series?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” she answered. “I do get the fact that this series could really help the career you didn’t even know you wanted and really haven’t even got off the ground yet, but the fallout from the public might be really brutal. Especially if the reveal makes Secret Santa angry and he or she stops doing good deeds in the community.”

  “Yeah, that did occur to me. The big reveal isn’t going to be published until Christmas Eve, so chances are that he or she will be finished with the gift giving anyway, but still, I have to admit it doesn’t feel right. And part of me really wants to fail at my assignment and keep the secret safe. But if I don’t figure out who Secret Santa is, Dex will lose faith in me, and we are just getting started. I’d really hate to lose the progress I seem to be making.”

  “I get it. I do. I suppose all you can do at this point is do the job assigned to you and see how it all ends up. In the meantime, try to relax and enjoy the season. I can literally see you tensing up, and if you continue down that path, you are going to end up missing all the fun. Did you see the reindeer display they set up in the park?”

  “Reindeer display? Are we talking real reindeer?”

  She nodded. “Supposedly borrowed from Santa himself. The reindeer will be there until after the weekend, but you might want to stop by before the weekend if you are interested. I have a feeling the display is going to attract more than its share of spectators.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll check them out.”

  “Did Gracie ever talk to you about the Santa House in the Village?”

  “No. What is going on with the Santa House?”

  “After we looked at everything everyone had signed up for at the meeting on Saturday, we realized we were still really short of volunteers for the Santa House. Mostly, we need elves.”

  “And what do the elves do?”

  “Basically the elves handle crowd control. They make sure the line runs smoothly and help the little ones onto Santa’s lap. That sort of thing. Gracie was going to ask if you’d be willing to give it a try, but she must not have gotten around to it yet.”

  I glanced suspiciously at Hope. “I have a feeling there is something you aren’t telling me. Otherwise, it seems you would have plenty of volunteers for a gig such as that.”

  “Well, there is a costume to consider.”

  “Costume?”

  “Basically, it consists of green tights and a red sweater. It really only works for those with a particular body type.”

  I looked down at my own body. “Thin and short.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 11

  Hope, who knew Carolyn Worthington quite well, offered to call her and set up an appointment between the two of us. Carolyn wasn’t busy today, so Hope arranged with me to meet with her within the hour. Carolyn was a rich woman before moving to Foxtail Lake. When she’d chosen the area to be her new home, she’d looked for a large parcel of land on a lake where she could build her mansion. I’d never had the opportunity to meet Carolyn or to visit her home to this point, so even though I was expecting vast luxury, I was truly amazed at how vast and luxurious her estate was.

  After parking in the circular drive, I rang the bell and was greeted by a woman dressed in black and white. I was escorted into a room, which I assumed was a parlor of sorts, and asked to wait. After a few minutes, a woman dressed in riding clothes emerged from the hallway.

  “Callie Collins?”

  I stood. “Yes. I’m Callie.”

  “I’m Carolyn Worthington. I understand you want to speak to me about Secret Santa.”

  I nodded. “Yes. That is correct. I’m doing an article for the newspaper.”

  “Normally, I don’t do interviews, but Hope speaks highly of you, so I decided to make an exception. I was just about to exercise my stallion. If you’d care to join me, we can chat while we ride.”

  “Ride?”

  She slapped her riding gloves across her palm. “You do ride, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. No. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been on a horse in my entire life.”

  She looked me up and down. “You’re dressed fine for the task, and I have a gentle mare that needs exercise. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll take it easy.”

  I was trying to figure out how I was going to get out of there when a man poked his head in through the doorway.

  “Your ride is here,” he informed Carolyn.

  “Wonderful.” She looked at me. “Are you ready?”

  Ready? Was she kidding? I was here to interview the woman not to break my neck.

  I frantically tried to come up with a plausible reason why it might be a better idea to simply wait for Carolyn to be freed up rather than to join her on her ride, but I was so terrified I couldn’t speak. A man, also dressed in black and white, picked us up in a vehicle that looked like an enclosed golf cart. It must have had four-wheel-drive since I noticed it moved along just fine over the hard-packed snow on the drive.

  The small vehicle pulled up in front of a large building which, I was soon to learn, was an indoor arena. Apparently, Carolyn loved to ride, and she’d built the facility so she could safely work her horses even in the dead of winter. She must have called ahead and let them know she had a guest because the man who met us was leading two very tall horses.

  “This is Gaia.” She introduced me to the horse I would be riding. “She is very gentle, and she knows exactly what to do. Really, you just need to climb up and hang on.”

  I looked at the horse, who was quite a bit taller than I was. “Climb up?”

  “Brantley will show you to the mounting platform.”

  Carolyn took the reins of the second horse and accepted a small boost from Brantley, who then led the horse I was going to ride over to a set of stairs leading to a small platform. Once I climbed up onto the platform, I just needed to swing one leg over, and I would be sitting on the monster who I was sure was going to toss me onto the track once she figured out that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I swallowed and considered my options. I could run screaming from the building, but that wasn’t going to get me the interview I wanted. My only choice was to throw caution to the wind, toss my leg over the saddle, and then hang on for dear life.

  I held my breath as my backside settled on the saddle. The horse didn’t move an inch. Okay, so far, so good. I had no idea what to do at this point. Brantley handed me the reins and schooled me to hold them gently. According to the man, who I imagined was some sort of handler, Gaia would follow along with Carolyn, so there was no need for me to do anything. I certainly hoped that was true because in this moment, doing nothing was really the only option I had.

  “Just let Gaia take the lead,” Carolyn advised as the horse began to walk.

  I nodded as I held onto the saddle with both hands. I was holding my breath so I really couldn’t speak at that point. At first, I was absolutely terrified, but after a minute or two, I began to rock with the rhythm of the horse beneath me and no longer felt quite as certain that I was going to die. It helped that Gaia didn’t need to receive instructions. She seemed to know what to do and simply did it.

  “So, what is it you want to ask me?” Carolyn asked once both horses had settled into a slow stroll around the
arena.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding, took in another, and answered. “As Hope told you, I’m working on a series of articles featuring Secret Santa.”

  “Yes. She did mention that.”

  “One of the angles I am looking at is the man or woman behind Secret Santa. Who is this person? Why are they anonymously bestowing what, in many cases, are very substantial gifts to the residents of Foxtail Lake?”

  “And you think I might be Secret Santa?”

  “I have a list of several prospects who have the financial means to be Secret Santa.” I looked around at the private arena, which was larger than a city block. “Obviously, you fit that description.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I do have the financial means to be Secret Santa, but I’m afraid I’m not. I do love what this man or woman is doing. I give away quite a lot of money myself each year, but it never occurred to me to have so much fun doing it. The whole Secret Santa thing is really pretty ingenious.”

  “So you didn’t pay up Grover Wood’s mortgage? He said that you were friends.”

  “Grover and I are friends, and if I’d known how much trouble he was in, I would have gladly helped him out. But the thing is, Grover didn’t confide in me. I knew he’d been in an accident, and I did take care of some of his medical bills that he probably doesn’t even know I paid, but I didn’t know about his situation with the bank and his mortgage. I guess I should have done more to check in with him after the accident. Once he was laid up, and I no longer ran into him around town, checking in with him sort of slipped my mind.”

  Well, that was disappointing. “And the flowers for the church?”

  “What about them?”

  “Did you donate them? I understand you received a large shipment of flowers right about the time someone donated a bunch of flowers to the church.”

  She laughed. “I did buy flowers, but they are for a cocktail reception I am throwing tomorrow evening. I didn’t donate the flowers to the church, nor would I have done so. I give a cash donation to the church each month, so as far as I’m concerned if they really needed flowers, they could have used some of the cash I donated to buy them.”

  “So you didn’t buy Billy Prescott a new wheelchair or Stephanie Baldwin an oven?”

  “I did not.”

  “And you didn’t help Connie Denton buy the diner or provide for snow removal for Gilda Frederickson?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I glanced down at the horse beneath me. She’d been walking along so effortlessly that I’d almost forgotten I was riding her. “Do you have a guess as to who might be responsible for all these gifts?”

  Carolyn didn’t answer, but she did look thoughtful. Eventually, she spoke. “Are you sure you want to ruin everyone’s fun by outing Santa?”

  “Actually, I don’t, but it is the job I’ve been assigned by my boss, and I really like my job. A job that I’ve barely begun. This is a good opportunity to show everyone that I have what it takes to be a good reporter.”

  Carolyn didn’t answer at first. She seemed to be thinking things over as the horses slowly plodded along. Eventually, she spoke. “It seems to me that one of the most important attributes a reporter can possess is the ability to know the difference between reporting the news and manipulating the news.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Right now, there is an individual out there who is going around town gifting the town’s residents with exactly what they need. Writing a story about this mystery Santa, and the good he is doing would fall under the category of reporting the news. But what do you think will happen if you out the guy or he or she finds out that you are planning to reveal Secret Santa’s identity?”

  “I suppose that you are thinking he or she might stop delivering the Secret Santa gifts.”

  “He or she might. And if he or she does stop delivering the gifts as a direct result of your article, you will have gone from reporting the news to manipulating the news.”

  I took a moment to consider this. I supposed Carolyn had a point. If I did reveal Secret Santa’s identity and he stopped delivering his gifts, I supposed I’d have a different sort of story to write about, but it would be a story that came about because of my actions, so it would be one for which I was responsible. Angering Secret Santa was the last thing I wanted to do. Actually, angering the entire community was the last thing I wanted to do, but angering Secret Santa came in a close second. The question was, how was I going to keep both Secret Santa’s secret and my job?

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday

  I wasn’t sure if it was my discussion with Carolyn the previous day or just my tendency toward insomnia that had me sitting in the attic window at two a.m. with only Alastair to keep me company, but I found that even the beauty of fresh snow on the frozen lake couldn’t quite still the racing of my thoughts. Just twenty-four hours ago, I’d thought that being a real reporter and obtaining a staff position for the local newspaper was exactly where I wanted to take my life, but now I was less certain. I could see that being a reporter would be a job riddled with tough decisions at times. Decisions that would challenge me to take a hard look at my beliefs and my priorities. In this case, I found myself forced to decide whether it was more important to be a dependable employee who did my job and turned in my assignments as promised, or to listen to my conscience and allow Secret Santa to retain his anonymity.

  “I really don’t want to let Dex down,” I said aloud to the cat. “He’s been so good to me, and he has really taken a chance by letting me run with this story. I promised him I could do it, and I know I should.”

  “Meow.”

  I stroked the cat’s head. “You do have a point. All I need to do this week is to write an article featuring the Secret Santa prospects. I don’t need to make a final decision about a big reveal. Maybe I should just focus on that and hope everything works itself out by the time I am faced with the third article.”

  The cat began to purr loudly.

  “Maybe once I interview Secret Santa, he or she will make it clear that they wouldn’t really mind me revealing their secret. I know I’ve been clinging to this singular thought, and I know I’ve brought it up quite a few times, but finding that Secret Santa is after some publicity, after all, is the only way I am getting out of this unscathed.”

  I leaned back against the window frame behind me and slowly let out a breath. Tying myself up in a bundle of nerves was not going to accomplish anything. I needed to relax and clear my mind, so I focused on the warm and cheerful room and let my mind wander.

  I’d plugged the tree and window lights in when I’d come up to the attic but had left the overhead light off. There was something magical about sitting in a dark room, with only tiny white lights to illuminate the space. I knew if there was anywhere that would allow my mind to settle, it would be up here in the attic, where I’d always found solace.

  As I watched the snow falling gently outside the window, I thought about my mission to unmask, or in this case, unbeard Secret Santa. Yes, I had a decision to make, but I supposed the reality was that decision would be mute if I failed to figure out who the mysterious gift giver was. Carolyn had been a good lead, but after speaking to her, I was fairly certain it wasn’t her running around granting wishes behind the veil of anonymity. Randy from the bank hadn’t been any help, and when I’d spoken to him yesterday afternoon, Smitty from the snow removal service swore the gift card for Gilda Fredrickson had been purchased anonymously. I supposed I could still track down whoever handled the sale of Stephanie Baldwin’s oven, although she had told me she’d tried to find out who’d sent it to her and was told the gift giver did not wish to be identified.

  I’d spoken to all the Secret Santa gift recipients except Donnie Dingman, who’d been gifted with a used four-wheel-drive vehicle. I supposed I’d track him down today and see what he might know and be willing to tell me. Now that Carolyn had been eliminated from the suspect list, I supposed the most likely S
ecret Santas were Dean and Martin Simpson. I’d ask Cass to try to arrange a meeting between the tech billionaires and myself when I saw him this afternoon.

  “Should we try to go back to sleep?” I asked the cat, who replied with a yawn.

  I pulled him into my arms and stood up. I clicked off the white lights as I left the attic and headed toward the stairs. I supposed that life was riddled with difficult choices, and all I could do, all any of us could do, was to make the best choice we could at the time we were required to make it. I really didn’t know what I was going to do about Secret Santa, but I couldn’t do anything in the middle of the night, so I’d put the decision aside and try to get at least a few more hours of shuteye.

  I thought about other decisions I’d made in my life. The decision to leave Foxtail Lake in the first place. The decision to skip college and set aside the other aspects of my life to focus on my music. The decision to leave the life I’d built in New York and return to Foxtail Lake after the accident. The decision to pursue a career in journalism after a random article about the death of my childhood friend sent me down that path. I liked to think of myself as being a purposeful sort who acted with intention, but as I thought about my life choices, I realized that I was a lot more likely to make a choice on a whim rather than devoting much time to gathering data and then making an informed decision. When I’d decided to devote my life to music, I certainly never took the time to research careers in music, and then decide if that was the right choice for me. I’d simply followed my heart and arranged my life accordingly.

  Of course, if I were honest, music was more of a passion than a whim. I played because I found comfort in my music during a time in my life when nothing made sense and everything felt out of place. Could writing serve the same purpose in my life? Was a career in journalism my destiny, or was it yet another whim created by an opportunity presented at just the right time?