SECRET SANTA, by Hal Charles
689 Words
SECRET SANTA,
by Hal Charles
Lou McMahan could feel the old juices starting to flow as she stepped into the rec room of the Glades Towers, where she had been living since her retirement as a detective with the Harbor City Police Department. Julia Evans, the manager, had asked her to stop by before she left to spend the holidays with her daughter’s family in Atlanta.
“Lou,” said Julia, almost running toward her, “you’re not going to believe what happened.”
“Why don’t you settle down a bit and tell me.”
“You know about the problem with the television set?” said Julia excitedly.
Lou nodded. “The wide screen over the fireplace breathed its last a few days ago.”
“And, as I told you, after I checked at the local appliance store, I realized with my budget I couldn’t afford to replace it.”
“Well,” said Lou with a chuckle, “I guess we’ll be watching a lot less TV in the rec room. Better sharpen my bridge skills.”
“That’s why I asked you to drop by this morning,” said the beaming Julia. She held up an envelope stuffed with cash. “I found this on the mantle below the television set this morning. The envelope contains the exact amount, including sales tax, that I need for the wide screen.”
“You’re kidding,” said Lou.
“And he left a note that said ‘Happy Holidays, Santa.’”
“You said ‘he.’ How do you know our Santa was a man?” The investigator in Lou started to emerge.
“After I found the envelope, I checked with Hector, and he said he saw a tall man in a long overcoat leaving the rec room around dusk.”
Lou laughed. “Our maintenance man is about 5’4”; everybody looks tall to him.”
“Actually, Hector called the man a giant, and said he walked funny.”
Lou scanned the room, where she spotted a handful of residents who hadn’t left the complex yet to join their families. Quickly eliminating the females, she focused her attention on the three men who sat near the fireplace laughing as they flipped through what appeared to be a scrapbook or photo album. “Are those three the only male residents still around?”
Julia nodded. “The Three Musketeers they call themselves. I feel a little bad for them since they’re the only residents who won’t be visiting relatives for the holidays. But at least they have each other.”
Realizing that the Secret Santa had to be one of the residents since only they would know the exact cost of the TV and have access to the rec room, Lou did a quick rundown of what she knew about each one.
Sam Cohen was the proverbial “life of the party,” always laughing and spinning stories to entertain his friends. He had a reservoir of tales since he had spent a lifetime with the circus, traveling the world before finally settling down at the Glades.
Sam’s best friend, Marty Culross, had taught high school political science for 30 years. Since retiring, he had put in countless hours volunteering his financial acumen to help Harbor City seniors with their taxes.
The third Musketeer, Sid Devereaux, was somewhat of a puzzle. He had always kept his past pretty much to himself, leading everybody to dream up stories involving spies and lurid adventures. Of course, Sid claimed what he called “plausible deniability.”
None of the Musketeers was above average height—certainly not a “giant” among them—and Lou had never noticed any displays of wealth from the trio. Since no crime had been committed, she probably should have left the benefactor’s identity in secret. But her investigator gene wouldn’t let her.
Walking toward the men, Lou suddenly remembered something from the 4th of July picnic earlier that year. She picked up the album the Musketeers had been enjoying and flipped through the pages. About halfway through, she spotted the picture and realized who the Secret Santa was.
Solution
Lou remembered that Sam Cohen’s circus career had included several stints as a clown with one of his specialties being walking on stilts. At the 4th of July picnic Sam had his picture taken in costume towering over the other picnickers. Realizing Lou was on to his generosity, Sam asked her to keep his secret which she gladly did.
WEST OF QUARANTINE,
by Todhunted Ballard
- Writer
