The 13th Gift by Joanne Huist Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

alarm clock buzzes. Instead of getting up and turning it off, he launches a pillow toward the noise, knocking the clock to the floor. It keeps buzzing.
    Ben walks past the room on the way to the shower and hollers, “Can’t one of you turn that off?”
    I begin the day wearier than when I went to bed, and I have the feeling my son does, too. I have to be at work by nine. I have to rescue my son from an out-of-control roller coaster. I offer Nick the same solution that I’ve been using to help myself.
    “How about you camp out in the family room with me tonight?”
    We might be avoiding this floor of the house, but at least it will bring us closer together.
    “I’ll blow up the air mattress,” he replies.

    “Letters to Santa? You want a story about a third-grade writing assignment? I have a dozen better ideas.”
    “Lighten up, Jo. Kids and Christmas sell newspapers,” my editor says. “People want to read about more than school budgets this time of year.”
    I argue with him, but he is set on the premise, describing how teachers keep students focused on learning amid seasonal distractions. According to my kids, teachers have already closed books, cleared desks, and given in to holiday hoopla.
    “Most schools close for winter break tomorrow.”
    “Great. That gives you all day today to write the story,” he says.
    My persuasion skills evidently need work. My editor is already adding the feature article to the budget for tomorrow’s edition. No getting out of it.
    I call a dozen schools and begrudgingly begin writing about ways teachers channel holiday cheer into English and math lessons. I can’t help but hope for a bank robbery, or a sudden snowstorm, to preempt the article.
    During my lunch hour, I keep a promise to myself and begin my search for the identity of the gift givers. I decide to draw up a list of suspects, but find I don’t actually have anyone to put on it.
    My coworker Joann had been my prime candidate the day the poinsettia arrived. But she flew home to Philadelphia for the holidays the day before, meaning that she wasn’t even in Ohio when the gift wrap arrived at the house last night. I consider whether she might have brought on an accomplice to finish the tasks, but that sounds like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to keep a holiday secret.
    I decide to call Megan’s Girl Scout leader, Maribeth. She and the other moms in Megan’s Scout troop cooked meals for our family three times a week for more than a month after Rick died. Creamy casseroles of chicken and broccoli, pots of chili and homemade stews showed up on our doorstep every couple of days. Unlike these mysterious Christmas gifts, the meals always came with a card signed with a real name. Maribeth had helped coordinate the effort, so perhaps she has decided to organize a holiday-gift delivery for us, too. She knows my work schedulebetter than most, and her family lives close, so dropping off the gifts without detection would be less complicated for her than someone who doesn’t know us as well. She shuttles our daughters to Scout meetings and basketball practices. She has been a lifesaver when I get stuck at the office and Megan needs a ride.
    After Maribeth and I exchange pleasantries, I get right down to business.
    “There’s something else I want to talk with you about, a mystery actually.”
    “You’ve got my attention.”
    “We’ve been getting gifts, Maribeth, Christmasy presents that someone has been leaving at the house the last few nights. We don’t know who they’re from.”
    I tell her about the homemade cards and describe each gift. If she is responsible for them, her reaction doesn’t give it away.
    “Meg mentioned the poinsettia at Girl Scouts. Who do you think it’s from?”
    “I thought maybe you.”
    She laughs.
    “Guess again. Wasn’t me, but I like the idea!”
    “Have you heard anything, any talk maybe at school?”
    “If someone from Bellbrook is behind this, they’re keeping it quiet. I