Sleigh Bell Tower

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2After squeezing in a less-than-optimal workout in the campus gym, I hopped in the shower and changed into a pair of corduroys and a heavy woolen sweater my mother had gotten for my last birthday. No hideous holiday scenes were emblazoned upon that one either! Winters were harsh near the Wharton Mountains and living in Los Angeles for a decade had eliminated my tolerance for cold temperatures. Then I bundled up with a hat, gloves, scarf, and coat so thick even the local bears were jealous. On the way to the parking lot, I checked in with my best friend. Connor Hawkins would usually work out with me, but the affable louse was basking in the tropical sun and resting on his laurels.

Connor had taken a job as a detective with April in the Wharton County Sheriff's Office the previous year. After leading multiple murder investigations that had shocked our community, he finally secured approval to visit his parents in the Caribbean. He invited his girlfriend, Maggie Roarke, to travel with him, given Braxton would shut down for a month to conduct the last phase of Memorial Library's massive renovation. As Head Librarian, Maggie could afford to slip away for part of the trip since she'd be fully entrenched in reopening the building upon her return. Also, Connor wanted to spend time with a newly discovered, long-lost aunt.

During the spring, Connor's father had connected with a half-sibling named Renee Casseldricken who'd lived in South Africa with her mother for most of her life. We'd all been stunned to find out that my boss, Myriam Castle, was related to the woman too. Renee spent several months in Braxton with her newly discovered father, sister and nephew, then returned home to ponder her future. Now, Connor and his family were spending a week in the Caribbean, then traveling to South Africa to uncover more about their family roots. Maggie would return home to Braxton to celebrate Christmas with her parents, Ben and Lucy Roarke, and her four sisters.

I parked my SUV in the driveway and booked it to the front door of my Victorian home on a cul-de-sac not too far from campus. After purchasing the place eighteen months ago, I'd renovated the first floor and parts of the second floor. During the last few months, landscaping the two-acre property was my focus. Between adding a generous dog run, raised vegetable garden beds, and an elaborate swing set, I had spent way too much money. But we hung out there so often that having such luxuries helped it feel even more like a home.

Several packages littered our stoop. I'd completed all my holiday shopping early this year, and only one present hadn't yet arrived. Emma's and Ulan's gifts were already wrapped and hidden in the basement. No one ever ventured down there after a frightening incident with a ghost two previous Halloweens—a long and complicated story which had introduced me to the late Constance Garibaldi, whose family owned my home a half-century earlier.

I quickly gathered up the packages, unlocked the front door, and rushed inside to the warmth of my foyer. The pungent scent of mulberry and wintergreen filled my nostrils; it smelled and looked like Christmas inside my house. We'd hung vibrant green garland around the stair railing and spindles, complete with gold and white bows, giant pine cones, and fake poinsettia flowers. We couldn't buy real ones since they were poisonous to dogs, and our little rascal, Baxter, had a habit of eating everything he shouldn't. Our eight-foot-tall Christmas tree loomed proudly in the corner, teeming with strings of popcorn and cranberries, not to mention at least two-hundred ornaments ranging from Victorian classics to everything Emma had assembled in school over the years. My mother refused to let me have the ones I'd made as a child, promising each season she'd finally concede before the next holiday. It never happened. I'd given up hope.

I sorted through all the packages on a nearby table. Two were addressed to April, which I naturally lifted and shook close to my ears. Just as I was about to slip a finger under a loosened piece of tape, my cell vibrated. I carefully put the package down and scanned the message.

April: Quit that. None of them belong to you!

I gulped, inspected all the nooks and crannies in the hall, and stuck my head in the living room. Was April home, watching me from somewhere I couldn't see? I hadn't noticed her car or the sheriff's cruiser anywhere on the street.

April: You're truly worse than Baxter. What made me think I could prevent you from sneaking a peek at your holiday presents? You can't stay out of my homicide investigations. Just stop and look at the ceiling.

I craned my neck above me and concentrated on the blinking green light on the miniscule device hidden in the corner molding, suddenly feeling like a prisoner.

Me: Ah, camera. Forgot you installed them everywhere. I wasn't gonna open it. Thought I heard something ticking. Merely wanted to protect you, darling.

April: No, you didn't. You're a horrendous liar, babe. I'll be home at six. Think you can keep your mitts off my stuff for a few hours?

Me: I'll try. Promise. Love you.

April: Love you too.

Days after April and Augie had moved in, she'd prowled the perimeter of the house, both inside and outside, designing a security solution that would keep us safe. It hadn't mattered that I'd installed my own system when I renovated the place. As the Sheriff of Wharton County, she inherently suffered a higher risk of burglaries or attacks. Criminals, in her opinion, held grudges and thought only of revenge. She'd even secretly hired a friend to break in multiple times while we were home alone. Smart as a whip, April had only done it when the kids were at school and we were both around, simply to prove her point. I'd realized she was right—as she always was—and we upped the security system with a stronger central alarm, links to our mobile phones, and additional high-tech cameras. Most days, I spent more time setting the alarm than showering and shaving. Even Emma programmed it quicker than me. As mechanically inclined as I was, the alarm system got the better of me every time.

I transferred April's packages to the living room coffee table and found the one box with my name on it. It was the last gift I needed, and it was the first gift I'd be giving her the following day. Although we'd begun dating right around this time the previous year, this was our first true holiday together. April was Jewish, which meant she and her family celebrated Hanukkah. They traditionally offered a gift on each of the holiday's eight nights. My family was Catholic, and we customarily opened presents on three occasions. On Christmas Eve, we celebrated with my father's family, which usually occurred at the college given that few relatives on the Ayrwick side lived in Wharton County. He'd been such a workaholic for years that he'd often found himself spending holidays and important days with his key staff and colleagues. On Christmas morning, we opened Santa's gifts. And, on Christmas afternoon, we cooked an enormous meal with my mom's side and tore apart the packages one by one based on assigned numbers. Nana D always hosted the holiday, and different branches of the family visited throughout the day. As the years elapsed, we all aged, and Grandpop joined the angels, the size of the group shrank, but we still got together with those remaining in Braxton.

April and I had invented our own tradition, especially since we now formed a blended family dealing with two different holidays, relatives we were raising, and my daughter Emma. For the kids, we would open gifts on Christmas morning. With each other, we opted to follow the Twelve Days of Christmas plan. We'd each buy six items for the other person, and from the fourteenth through the twenty-fifth of December, we'd take turns opening one present. It was a merged version of Christmas and Hanukkah. Although the twelve days technically occurred from the twenty-fifth of December to the sixth of January, also known as Little Christmas or the Epiphany, we devised our own ritual. To make it as entertaining as possible, we'd also determined the gifts must align with the classic holiday song, “Twelve Days of Christmas.” I was up first, and I'd found the silliest but most perfect gift for April that represented a partridge in a pear tree. Tomorrow, before skiing Wharton's alpine slopes, I'd present her with it.

I ripped open the newly delivered package, verified it was exactly what I'd ordered, then adeptly wrapped it with blue and gold gift paper that shouted Hanukkah, at least to me. I wanted to honor her beliefs like she sought to cherish mine.

After putting everything else away, I confirmed Emma was on her way home from school—her last day for a few weeks too. She was riding the bus this afternoon because Ulan had made plans with friends who were jetting out of town for the holiday. They'd normally head home together, and I wasn't comfortable with an eight-year-old walking by herself. Augie sometimes picked them up, but since he'd enrolled at Braxton, his schedule was erratic, and he couldn't always be here. Today, he'd mentioned having lunch with a new girl on campus. I was curious whether he would start dating soon. Ever since I'd known him, he embodied the notion of all work and no play. Conscientious was good, but he hadn't introduced April or me to any of his friends upon enrolling in college. April wasn't worried, often reminding me that Augie was a mature young man who needed to engineer his own future. If she and I ever had kids together, clearly, I'd be the overprotective parent, and she'd be the cool one.

I poured myself a glass of eggnog, dusted it with nutmeg, and relaxed on an overstuffed chair in the living room. That's when I noticed the folder I'd left on the mantle earlier that morning. It contained the five letters Constance Garibaldi had sent me from beyond the grave. Technically, she'd written them all before the cancer had cut her life short; nevertheless, receiving a new letter from someone who'd died months earlier erred on the side of creepy. I perused them again, searching for clues about the quest. So far, I'd ascertained several cryptic facts. While Constance's father's family was Italian, her mother's ancestors were Scottish. She'd discovered during her final three months that they'd owned a castle in Scotland, which had been given to her grandmother's older sister. Throughout the early years, her extended family stayed connected, but Constance's mother had eventually stopped communicating. Recently, the last member of the extended family had died, and the castle was willed to Constance.

I'd thought she wanted me to visit the castle and settle the estate in line with all her other assets. Constance had been a wealthy woman. But in her will, she'd bequeathed her personal fortune to her nephew, Damian, and his daughter, Imogene. Damian was the only child of Constance's sister and Elijah O'Malley, a priest at St. Mary's Catholic Church. Father O'Malley hadn't known about the child when he took his vows. Imogene's mother was my colleague and friend, Lara Bouvier, who'd divorced Damian decades ago. For some inexplicable reason, the Scottish castle was excluded from the list of assets being left to them.

All I'd learned from the bizarre letters was that Constance's quest would take me to the county where both my father's ancestors, the Ayrwicks, and Finnigan's ancestors, the Masters, lived for centuries. I wondered whether our families had been friends or part of the same Scottish clan centuries ago, or that she'd discovered a piece of history that Finnigan and I needed to experience for ourselves. Then again, there were plenty of other Ayrwicks and Masters, many of whom still lived in or near the Ayrshire castle. Ideally, her latest letter would provide the answers, and I could take a productive trip across the pond to teach my courses and settle Constance's estate.