The Secret Santa Project

by Carol Ross

  “Cave acoustics are so fascinating,” she said softly. “What is that hissing sound?”

  “That is the Witch’s Pot. Down below us, a cold-water stream collides with a hot spring. Hold on...” She heard a click, and then overhead lights dimly illuminated the space. A sturdy-looking metal fence completely enclosed the opening to the shaft. Steam drifted up from below as if from a bubbling cauldron.

  “Witch’s Pot? How utterly cool!” She quickly located her spare headlamp, slipped it on and peered over the edge.

  “Just wait until we get below and you get the full effect. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  After securing their harnesses, they rappelled the one-hundred-three-foot shaft until they landed on solid ground. A few seconds passed while Kai shuffled around and then hit another set of lights.

  “Wow...” Hazel breathed out the word while her gaze traveled around the spacious cavern.

  The pool, Witch’s Pot, was located to one side, where the ceiling sloped gradually down. Gurgling and bubbling, a roiling layer of steam crawled along on the top, where it drifted up in wispy strands.

  “Okay,” she said. “This is one of the coolest cave formations I’ve ever seen. I understand why Franco was so insistent that I visit.”

  Off to one side, a cluster of stalagmites and stalactites resembled a yawning mouth, complete with jagged, irregular teeth. “That must be Buster.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Why Buster?” she asked.

  “Grandpa thought it looked like a mouth full of busted teeth.”

  “It does,” she agreed. Then she looked up and promptly let out a gasp. Suspended above them, twisting and crisscrossing the space, were a mass of stalactites and helictites. Strands of varying thickness in shades of brown and gold and caramel. All woven loosely together like finely spun threads of glass. But to her, it looked like...

  “Candy!” she exclaimed loudly and then laughed. “Sorry, I get excited. But it looks like threads of caramel.”

  There was relief inside of her, too, and she welcomed the reaction, reminding her of what she most loved about traveling, why she did what she did. There was nothing like seeing something this spectacular for the very first time. She’d explored many of the very best caves the world over, and this was slated to make her list of all-time personal favorites.

  “That’s funny,” Kai said. “Emma thought the same thing.”

  “Emma?” she repeated, as curious about the person as she was about Kai’s wistful tone.

  “Oh, sorry, my ex. She always said it reminded her of making hard candy with her grandmother.”

  “Exactly!” Hazel said. “My first thought was this toffee my mom makes at Christmastime.” A sharp pang of longing struck her, and she suddenly yearned to be home for the holidays this year.

  Kai said, “So grateful the delinquents couldn’t reach high enough to do any damage in here. Or, more likely, the broken ankle put a damper on their fun before they could get to it.”

  “I am thankful for that, too,” she said and then gave him a moment in case he wanted to elaborate. When he didn’t, she said, “It’s wonderful how you’ve positioned the lights. It helps set the tone.”

  “That was my grandfather’s doing. Years ago, before he died. Franco and I were just kids, but we helped him. This place was his passion. Sacred to our family, our heritage. It would kill him if he were still alive to see what those kids did.”

  “No doubt.” An idea came to her then. “Thank you so much for taking the time to show me all of this.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’d like to repay you by—”

  “Nope. No way,” he interrupted. “Franco would never forgive me if I—”

  “Inviting you to Darcie Bluff for the holiday tasting menu with me tomorrow night.”

  “Dissed you after an invite like that,” he said, quickly changing course and making her laugh. “Yes, I believe that would be a perfectly acceptable means of payment.”

  * * *

  “HMM.” MARGARET JAMES studied the tablet she held in her hand. Even if she weren’t already like a mom to him, Margaret would still be one of Cricket’s favorite people. He knew without a doubt that she was one of the planet’s finest humans.

  Tall and slender, she had dark blond hair and pretty, greenish-brown eyes that were warm and expressive. She was fit for her age from an active lifestyle that included a regular regimen of swimming, walking and strength training, so it was no surprise that she had the energy of a person half her age. She also possessed the sharp mind and exceptional memory you’d expect in a school principal and mother of six.

  “The inventory list is not matching up with what we have here. Let’s count again.”

  Cricket acquiesced, and then they exchanged numbers, which were the same. Looking down at the table again, she said, “We’re missing two boxes. One of toys and one of winter coats. Are you boys sure you didn’t miss anything?”

  “Pretty sure, Mom,” Tag said. “Rebekah even invited us inside for a few minutes to show us the storage area in case we ever need to load the van ourselves.”

  In this case, the storage area was a large, unused classroom in St. Steven’s Episcopal Church in Glacier City. Other donation drop points would bring their items to St. Steven’s to be stored until they could be picked up and brought to the Faraway Inn. Its largest conference room had been volunteered for use as the central hub. Once there, everything would be sorted again, wrapped and readied for final distribution a few days before Christmas.

  “Tag’s right,” Cricket said. “There was nothing else in there.”

  “Huh. Well, this is our first pick up. I suppose we can’t expect everything to go perfect from the get-go. I’ll call Rebekah.”

  “I almost forgot my good news,” Cricket said. “I got a good line on some Squixits out of Edmonton. Hoping to hear back tomorrow.”

  “Some whatty-whos?” Tag asked.

  “The Squixit,” Margaret informed him. “It’s the hot new toy this holiday season. Cricket has been trying to get his hands on some.”

  “Cricket needs to get a life,” Tag quipped.

  Margaret flashed him a playful scowl. “I’ll have you know that Cricket and I are up on all the holiday trends. Last week, he scored fifty of those fancy heated lap blankets. They’ll be gifted to some of our senior citizens. They’ve been sold out everywhere. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  When she turned around to talk to another volunteer, Tag rolled his eyes, pointed at Cricket and mouthed the word favorite.

  “Okay,” Margaret said, facing them again. “That’s it for tonight. We’ve got dinner waiting for us at home. Dad made lasagna—two huge pans. Iris brought Caesar salad and garlic bread. See you guys at the house.”

  Cricket and Tag went back out to the parking lot, where Tag had left his pickup when he’d exchanged it earlier for the van. Cricket climbed inside and took a minute to check his phone. One call from an unknown number, no voice mail.

  Seven texts. Four from Hannah. Hannah lamenting the lack of snow in the weather forecast. Hannah asking when he could drop by the resort in the next day or so to talk strategy. Hannah, “so excited about our tickets”—what that meant he did not know. Her last one was a snowboarding joke, which made him smile even under the circumstances.

  There was a group message from Aidan to all their poker buddies, wondering about the next gathering’s time and place. And then an answer from Bering.

  The final message was from his friend Clark Mayfield, clueing him in on the ticket excitement Hannah referenced. As lead singer for the band Rushing Tide, he’d sent tickets for him, Hannah and her husband, Tate, to a Christmas benefit concert in Anchorage, where their band was performing later this month.

  Still nothing from Hazel.

  He pulled up her
contact and tapped the call button. Straight to voice mail once again. He tried to talk himself out of the bad feeling brewing inside of him. Even if she was still angry with him, not responding at all seemed out of character for her. A short, snarky reply was more her thing.

  Despite his concern and in an effort not to cause undue alarm, he marshaled a casual tone and asked Tag, “Have you heard from Hazel lately? Is she going to make it home for Christmas this year?”

  “Funny you mention her because Ally just asked me that very question this morning. And the answer is, I wish. But I don’t know. It would be nice to have everyone together this year. With all the new additions, Mom wants some family pictures. I texted Hazel this morning but haven’t heard back. Probably off in the boonies somewhere, right?”

  “Probably,” Cricket agreed and quickly changed the subject. No point in worrying Tag before he had more information. “Strange about those missing boxes...”

  They discussed possible explanations until they pulled up in front of Margaret and Ben’s house. Once inside, Hannah was the first person he saw.

  “Hey, you. Get my messages?”

  “I did.”

  “Cool about the concert, huh?”

  They spent a few minutes chatting before he found a reason to ask her about Hazel, too.

  “I called her this afternoon, and it went straight to voice mail. Left a message, haven’t heard back.” She shook her head, but her tone was full of fondness when she said, “Typical Hazel, right?”

  “For sure,” Cricket agreed. Her son, Lucas, approached Hannah with a question, and Cricket used that opportunity to slip away and search for the most promising source for up-to-date Hazel information.

  “Found the boxes!” Margaret called out as he passed by the dining room. “They’re still at the church,” she explained. “They got put in the kindergarten classroom.”

  Cricket gave her a thumbs-up and continued into the kitchen, where he found Iris holding her daughter, Lily, on her hip with one hand. With the other, she was deftly scooping ice from a bucket into glasses and then filling them from a pitcher with what looked like lemonade. Amazing what parents of young children could accomplish one-handed.

  Logical and thoughtful to the point of extreme caution, Iris would also be the person most likely to share his concern about Hazel. He needed to be careful about alarming her unnecessarily.

  Cricket and Tag had been in grade school when the triplets, Hazel, Seth and Iris, were born. Back then, Cricket had spent more time at the James home than his own. And, like the honorary big brother he was, he’d watched the trio grow up, happily attending sporting events, concerts, plays and Iris’s science fairs right alongside everyone else. He and Tag had even coached a young Seth and Hazel’s soccer team.

  All of this combined to make his eventual attraction to Hazel both shocking and unwanted. Almost...inappropriate. But all too real. And yet, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to shake his feelings. For a decade, he’d kept the depth of his affections a secret from everyone—including Iris, who, incredibly, seemed to know everything about everyone.

  Ten years of avoiding, fighting against and trying to overcome his Hazel infatuation, all while hiding behind the auspices of this big-brother privilege. A subterfuge that, instead of getting easier, only seemed to grow more difficult with time.

  “Hey, you,” he said to Iris now, walking across the kitchen to join her. “Hello, Miss Lily,” he cooed to the baby, who giggled and kicked her feet like a tiny, determined swimmer. Adorable.

  “Hey, yourself,” Iris said warmly.

  When Iris had finished grad school and moved back home, she’d asked Cricket to give her flying lessons. Under his guidance, she’d earned her pilot’s license, and in the process, they’d forged a strong friendship of their own.

  “How was the journey?” she asked.

  “Good. Van runs like a charm.”

  “Excellent, especially since Mom or I might have to do a pickup or two, as well.”

  The baby squealed with delight as Cricket took her and swooped her up into his arms.

  “So stinking cute how much she adores you.”

  He spent a minute making silly chitchat with the baby before asking, “Have you talked to Hazel today, by any chance?”

  “Nope,” Iris said. “Not since the day before last.”

  “Are you, uh, certain about the timing?”

  “Absolutely positive,” Iris returned. “The three of us group text almost every day. Hazel’s responses can be intermittent, depending on her current time zone. But I’m sure about this one because, as you know, Seth and Victoria are fishing in Brazil. He sent a photo of an arapaima he caught. They both know how much that fish freaks me out, so I found it odd that she didn’t respond with a joke.”

  Frowning, she went on, “And then, this morning, I had a doctor’s appointment. She always texts after my appointments.” Frowning gently at her pregnant belly, she gave it a rub and amended, “Our appointments? I feel like it should be our.”

  “That seems completely appropriate to me,” he agreed, processing this information. He kissed Lily on the cheek. That meant no one, no family member anyway, had heard from Hazel in more than forty-eight hours?

  “Why do you ask?” Iris asked, her gaze searching his. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I hope. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from her myself.”

  “When did you call her? Because Hannah told me she phoned her today, too.” Brow knitting tightly, she crossed her arms, waiting. He decided to explain because he knew better than to try to make an end run around Iris.

  Before he could even get through it all, she produced her phone and spent a few minutes navigating around. Her gaze snapped up to latch onto his. “No activity on social media. Although, she’s been way less active since the Victoria thing. But still.” Tapping on the display, she then lifted the phone to her ear. “Oddness is afoot.”

  They waited.

  “No answer,” Iris said, ending the call. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled a sharp, worried sigh. “And it’s weird that it went straight to voice mail. Like her phone is dead or she’s...” Iris shifted into her silent and somber mode, and Cricket knew her imagination was off and running. “Cricket, what are you thinking? Should we be worried? Never mind, I’m already worried.”

  He passed Lily back to Iris and slipped his phone from his back pocket. This time he didn’t even have to think about what he wanted to say:

  No one has heard from you in more than 48 hours. I have two words for you: South America. If you don’t call me back by six pm today (Alaska time) I’m going to assume you need help.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DARCIE BLUFF SERVED their tasting menu in The Kitchen. Not the resort’s commercial cooking area, but a separate, more intimate space designed specifically for this purpose. To make patrons feel like they were dining in the comfort of a friend’s home. If your friend was an extremely wealthy gourmet chef who held lavish dinner parties with other friends you didn’t know.

  Hazel thought they pulled it off brilliantly. Every inch radiated tasteful luxury, from the gleaming hardwood floors to the high, decoratively paneled ceiling. Even the silver, red and gold holiday decor shimmered with elegant perfection.

  Seating for the meal was at a sleek black granite bar adjacent to The Kitchen, where diners could enjoy the interaction with the chef and his staff for two-plus hours while they prepared ten elaborate and innovative “petite” courses served on artistically presented plates.

  The offerings varied with the seasons, availability of fresh ingredients and the chef’s whims. Kai was clearly beside himself with excitement, and Hazel was pleased to share the experience, especially with a fellow foodie.

  The Kitchen also had a full bar and encouraged their guests to arrive at the holiday party early to sample their creative bev
erage menu. In the interest of fairly evaluating the experience, she and Kai happily obliged. They were currently standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up one entire wall and provided a stunning view of the pine-dotted landscape with the sweeping canyon below. The sun was just setting, and the constantly changing colors were breathtaking.

  Hazel sipped a festively titled Sugar Plum, a delicious plum, cranberry and orange concoction served in a sugar-and-spice-rimmed martini glass and garnished with fresh cranberries. Kai had opted for the Night Before Christmas Lager, which he’d cheerfully declared “merry and bright.” The acoustics were so impeccable that the holiday orchestral music’s subtle strains seemed to seep from the air around them.

  “I read somewhere that tasting menus are the new dinner theater,” Kai commented. “Dinner theater has always seemed a little awkward to me, though. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s kind of rude to eat while someone is performing.”

  Hazel smiled. Kai was proving to be an excellent companion. Yesterday, when they’d finished touring the caves, he’d invited her to lunch, where he’d continued quizzing her about her adventures. Smart, funny and an avid traveler himself, he seemed up for anything. This morning, he’d even joined her for the guided meditation session.

  If he weren’t still hung up on his ex, Emma, whom he’d mentioned no less than fifty times, he’d be fun to date. Not that she wanted to date him. For her, the Emma mentions were a relief. If he was pining for another, there was little danger of him becoming attached to her. They’d spent two days together, and so far, there hadn’t been a single “list” violation.

  Over the years, Hazel had come to recognize certain behaviors that indicated a suitor’s intentions. The blogger in her had compiled them into a “Romantic Interest List.”

  “Offenses” included actions like calling or texting more than once a day, the giving of flowers or gifts (the more thoughtful, the more “dangerous”), expressing a desire to meet one’s family and closest friends, sharing food, delivery of a favorite food to a place of work.