by Kathi Daley
I reached over and put my arm around Garrett. “I think I’m going to cry. I know having your mom busy was hard on you, but at least you had those few hours. My own mother usually went to a party on Christmas Eve and slept in Christmas morning. She took me to brunch on Christmas Day, but one or more of her friends would come along.”
“Sounds lonely.”
I glanced at Garrett. “It was. But enough about that. Let’s get back to decorations. I started to look for the stuff yesterday but got distracted by a box of photos.”
“Oh?”
I pulled a couple I’d selected out of my bag. “I found a whole boxful. This one is of you and our dad on your first Christmas.” I passed it to Garrett.
“I can’t remember us ever being happy as a family, but we do look happy here.”
“You do. I was wondering if you minded if I made a copy. I don’t have any photos of our father.”
“Please, feel free to make copies of anything you want, although I’m surprised your mother didn’t take any photos of their time together.”
“Mom isn’t the sentimental sort. She has a ton of photos of herself that are plastered all over social media, but she never really took pictures of other people. She wasn’t happy when Dad left, so I suspect if she ever had any photos, she destroyed them.”
“I suppose that’s understandable. I’m afraid our father never stuck around long.”
I showed him a couple more photos of him and our dad. “You really were a cute baby.”
Garrett smiled. “I was, wasn’t I?”
“I couldn’t find any photos of your mother. Not that I looked extensively, but I did find it odd.”
“Unlike your mother, who likes to have photos taken of herself, my mom didn’t like to pose. Besides, Mom was the photographer in our family. She was a busy woman, but she could oftentimes be found wandering around the resort, snapping photos. I’m sure there are several boxes of photos of wildlife stashed away somewhere.”
“I’d love to see them. I’ll have to take a closer look in the storage room when I have some time.”
“There was a lot of junk up in the attic, but I’m sure you’ll find some interesting things as well. I kept planning to sort through all that stuff, but I never did. I guess I never will, now that I can’t climb up to the second floor.”
“Maybe we can look in to installing a lift.” I shuffled the photos and selected another one. “I know you said you didn’t remember Frannie, the woman whose death we’re investigating, but I found this photo of the two of you.” I passed it to Garrett.
He looked at it, smiled, then frowned. “She does seem familiar, but I was so young when she stayed with us, I can’t remember anything specific. How’s the investigation going?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I think we’re on the way to demonstrating that Frannie wasn’t one of the Silk Stocking Strangler’s victims, but we don’t have any firm leads to who may have really killed her. There’s a possibility it was her husband, Tom. She died just five days after he got home from Vietnam, and there’s a fair amount of evidence to support the idea that she may have been unfaithful to him.”
“I guess jealousy is as good a motive as any for murder.”
“Jack and I have some interviews set up for this afternoon, and George is working on the theory that the Stalker himself may have fictionalized and published the details of his killing spree. If he did, and George can find the stories, we should be able to confirm whether Frannie was a victim.”
“There are many reasons I’m anxious to move home, but joining your Mastermind group ranks at the top. There are only so many books you can read and so many television shows you can watch before complete and total boredom sets in.”
I could imagine how boring it would be to have to look at the same four walls day in and day out. There would be challenges in bringing Garrett home for good, but I was committed to it, and the other writers were as well. One way or another, we’d make it happen. Of course, once he moved home, if he really was able to use a walker, he really wouldn’t need me to run the place for him. The timing of his announcement combined with my job offer wasn’t lost on me. Sure, Garrett would probably always need some help, but he could hire a manager and oversee the work himself, and I had a gut feeling Clara would be willing to help him with cooking and other personal tasks. Was the job in New York my destiny? It would put me in a position to make a real impact in national news. Funny, I wasn’t more excited by that thought.
“Listen, before I go, I wanted to ask you about Secret Santa.”
“What about him?”
“I’m working on an article on the fantastic gifts Secret Santa has bestowed on people in the community over the years and would love to get a quote from the man himself. The problem is, I don’t know who Secret Santa is. Any ideas?”
“I have a few ideas, but I have a feeling Secret Santa won’t want to be interviewed.”
“If I track him or her down and they don’t want to be interviewed, I’ll respect their wishes. I just figured it would be nice for this fantastic person to get the credit they deserve.”
Garrett frowned but eventually responded. “I guess if I were you, I’d speak to Colin Walton.”
“The man who owns this facility?”
“Colin’s a good man with a generous heart. He never turns anyone away because of an inability to pay. I don’t know if he has the financial resources to do everything Secret Santa has done, but he seems to be financially secure.”
“Okay; thanks. I’ll stop at the desk on my way out to make an appointment with him.”
******
I left a message for Colin Walton to call me, then headed to the museum to speak to Meg. She’d lived on the island a long time and knew a lot of people. Evan Paddington had never called me back and I still needed to follow up with the first lead I’d jotted down with my pink pen, a woman named Vera Stone. Hopefully, one of them would be the Santa I was looking for and I’d have my story and could turn all my attention to Frannie.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I said to Meg as I entered the museum with Blackbeard on my shoulder.
“I’m always happy to help you when I can. You and your friends have been so nice to include me in your activities.”
“We’re all happy to include you. The reason I’m here today is to ask about Secret Santa.”
“Secret Santa?”
“I’m writing an article about the man or woman behind the legend and would love to arrange for an interview. The problem is, I don’t know who Secret Santa is.”
“I see. And you think I might know?”
“I hoped you did. So far, I have a few leads but nothing concrete.”
Meg tilted her head slightly to the left, away from my eyes, before responding. “Who do you have on your list?”
“Evan Paddington, Vera Stone, and Colin Walton.”
Meg tapped her chin with a finger. “While Colin is a very generous man, I doubt it’s him. He seems to have found his niche by providing health care and housing to the elderly regardless of their ability to pay. He’s a savvy businessman who’s done well for himself, but my sense is that he puts any extra money he comes across into upgrading his equipment and making additions to the senior facility.”
That made sense. Colin probably wasn’t my man.
“Vera Stone is undoubtedly a very wealthy woman. She serves on several charitable boards and is well known for her generous donations. But Vera is Jewish, so it seems unlikely she would use the Santa legend to help those in need.”
Another good point. Which left me with just one possibility.
“Evan is a wonderful man. He inherited some money that would have allowed him to retire early, but he wanted to serve the community, so he continued to fight fires until the regular age. The first Christmas miracle, as we refer to the donations, did occur as the result of a house fire. I would say he’s your best candidate of the three.”
“Can you think of anyone else I didn’t me
ntion?”
“No one comes to mind right off, but I’ll call you if someone does.”
******
By the time I got back to the resort it was almost time to meet Jack, but Vikki, Clara, Alex, Brit, and George had all pitched in to begin the transformation of the resort into a Christmas wonderland.
“Wow. It looks so beautiful.”
“We put lights on all the occupied cabins except for Nicole’s,” Brit informed me. “I knocked on her door and asked if she’d like lights, but she just glared at me, so I left.”
Nicole was our newest resident. She was quiet and kept to herself, so she wasn’t a bother, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be disturbed, and she sometimes lashed out at anyone who dared to try to include her in group activities.
“She’ll come around,” Clara assured us all. “Sometimes these things take time.”
I hoped Clara was right. I could sense Nicole had suffered some huge tragedy in her life that had caused her to pull away from people, but the others in the writers’ retreat were a close-knit group who would welcome and embrace her if only she’d let them.
“Alex and I are going to string white lights over the top of the pergola,” Brit said. “It’ll be fun to sit outside after dark on the warmer nights with the lights twinkling overhead. Uncle George ordered an outdoor fireplace that should be here by tomorrow. All we need is to buy some wood and we’ll be toasty warm.”
“Speaking of toasty,” Clara added, “if we’re going to have an outdoor fire we really should have marshmallows to roast. It’s been years, but there was a time when toasting a mallow to golden brown was one of my favorite summertime activities.”
I could just picture the outdoor deck lit up like a Christmas tree. It would be fun to sit around the fire and tell stories as long as the weather held. We could bundle up against the cold, but if the rain returned, there wasn’t a lot we could do about it.
“Jack and I are going to pick up a tree when we’re at the lot this afternoon. I thought we could decorate it either tonight or tomorrow morning. Jack volunteered to stay tonight to deal with the lights.”
Clara clapped her hands together. “Agatha and I are over the moon with excitement.”
I grinned. “Yeah, me too. Let’s go grab the boxes of decorations Garrett has stored while I have so much willing help. We can just stack them in the living room and go through them at our leisure. Garrett said to use what we want and skip what we don’t. His only request was that his grandmother’s Christmas angel be placed atop the tree.”
“Did you ask Garrett about the photos?” Clara asked.
“What photos?” Brit inquired.
“Clara and I found a box of photos yesterday. Some of them were of Frannie when she stayed here. There was one of her locked in an intimate embrace with a man.” I looked at Clara. “And no, I didn’t ask Garrett about that one.”
“Woo-wee, that girl sure got around,” Brit said. I had to smile; woo-wee was completely out of character for the young woman.
I nodded. “Between the love letters we found and the photo, I have to agree.”
“Do you think that’s what could have led to her death?” Alex asked. “Personally, I like a woman who’s free with her affections, but there are a lot of guys with a jealous streak.”
“I thought of that. At this point we can’t really know, but it does seem as if jealousy could be a motive if it turns out her murder was personal and not part of some madman’s killing spree.”
“If her murder was personal, her killer must have been someone in law enforcement,” Brit said. “Are we sure we want to be digging around in a case where the bad guy might end up being a dirty cop?”
“Given the circumstances, we should proceed with caution. I certainly don’t want to arouse the attention of the wrong person. Ned did point out that the killer didn’t necessarily have to be a cop, just someone who had access to the same information the FBI did. It could even have been a secretary or a janitor who came across a file that was left out on a desk.”
“I guess that’s true,” Brit agreed.
“Besides, chances are the killer, if still alive, would be in his or her midseventies at least. Even if they were dangerous at one time, it doesn’t mean they still would be now.”
“I can see how challenging researching such an old case is,” Brit agreed. “One of the guys in the play told me that his grandfather, who just turned ninety, has lived on the island for his entire life. I didn’t bring up Frannie or the case, but I did express interest in chatting at some point with a man who’d lived through so much and had such a rich history to share. Brandon assured me that his grandfather loved to share old stories, and he was sure he would be willing to chat with me. He’s going to try to set something up for later in the week. If I have the opportunity to speak to him, I’ll do my best to work Frannie and her murder into the conversation.”
“Thanks, Brit; that would be very helpful.” I glanced at my watch. “Let’s go grab those boxes before Jack gets here. It’ll be nice to have everything ready to go on the tree once the lights are up.”
“I think I’ll make some ginger cake,” Clara announced. “You have to have a sweet to nibble when you decorate for the holiday.”
“I really miss my mom’s sugar cookies,” Brit said softly.
“Then we’ll make them as well. My mom always baked up a storm when the holidays rolled around. It seems this year might be a good time to revisit some of the old traditions.”
“My favorites are those little round cookies with powdered sugar,” Alex contributed. “My mom called them snowball cookies.”
“I know just the ones you mean,” Clara assured him. “I can whip up a batch of those, and maybe some fudge. My mama made the best fudge.”
After we brought down the boxes, Clara and the others headed to the kitchen and I pulled Vikki aside. “You’ll never guess who called me.”
“Who?” Vikki asked.
“Margo Bronson.”
Vikki frowned.
“She took over as managing director for one of the biggest news magazines in the country and offered me a job. A good one, with a substantial raise over what I used to make.”
“Are you going back to New York?”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I told her I needed a few days to think about it and she gave me until Monday. I’m really conflicted. I love my life here, but what she’s offering is a dream job. Not only would it allow me to return to the life I once valued very much but I’d be returning to journalism in a position of influence and respect.”
“Wow.” Vikki gave me a hug. “I think I might cry.”
“Don’t cry. I haven’t decided for sure what I’m going to do yet. And please don’t mention this to anyone else. I don’t want to even bring it up unless I decide to take the job. I’m aware that my leaving will affect a lot of people and I promise I’ll be taking that into consideration.”
Vikki squeezed my hand. “I know you will. It’s an important decision. I won’t say a word, but if you need to talk I’m here for you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
By the time Jack came by to pick me up for our afternoon of sleuthing and tree selling, Clara had started her first batch of cookies and the decorations from the storage room had been sorted in anticipation of the tree. Vikki was working on the mantel and Brit was weaving a colorful garland for the stair railing. I wished I had time to stay home to help, but Jack and I had a killer to identify. For the moment, Christmas would have to wait.
Chapter 6
Sherry Pierce had been a friend of Frannie’s during the time she’d lived on Gull Island. Now in her seventies, she was a widow who owned a small house a block from the water. Before she retired, she’d worked as a teacher and seemed to know a lot of people on the island. I hoped she would have the insight we needed to figure out what had been going on in Frannie’s life at the time she was killed. I also hoped she would be able to verify who Paul wa
s.
Sherry was standing on her front porch when Jack and I pulled up in front of her pretty yellow house. She waved at us as we got out of his truck. She looked as if she might have been about to set out for a jog. Not only was she wearing a yellow sweat suit but she had bright blue Nike’s on her feet.
“Did we come at a bad time?” I asked as we joined her.
“Not if you don’t mind a walk. I do three miles a day every day the weather cooperates. It’s good for the heart, and the mind as well.”
I glanced at Jack. He shrugged. “Okay,” I said. “I guess it would be nice to walk and talk.”
“Excellent.” Sherry set off at a brisk pace. “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to speak to me about Frannie Kettleman. What is it you’d like to know?”
“Jack and I are looking in to the possibility that Frannie wasn’t killed by the Strangler, as most people believe, but by someone she knew. I’ve been told the two of you were friends and hoped you might be able to provide some insight into what was going on in her life in the weeks prior to her death. If she was killed by someone she knew, we’re hoping we’ll be able to figure out what precipitated her death.”
“Before I answer, may I ask why you believe she was killed by someone other than the Strangler?” Sherry asked as she left the pavement and headed down a dirt trail toward the white sand beach this part of the island was famous for.
“There were some inconsistencies in her death when compared to the other twelve victims,” I answered, trying to keep up with her without huffing and puffing. “We don’t know for certain that the Strangler didn’t kill Frannie, but we want to at least look at other possibilities. It seems to us that very few, if any, suspects other than the Strangler were even considered during the investigation.”
