It's a Wonderful Christmas

By Bryan Mooney

Who is this Secret Santa? A Secret Santa in a small New England town has been making headlines for years in newspapers worldwide by donating hundreds of thousands of dollars every year. Who is it? Everybody wants to know—especially Margot Stone, the publisher of the New York Chronicle. She wants the story for her Christmas Eve front page.

A week before Christmas, Margot dispatches her top investigative reporter, Darsy Meadows, back to her hometown of Mulberry Falls, Vermont, to find out. Once home, Darsy enlists the aid of her mother, her sister, her nieces, her neighbors, and an old friend—Ben Brady, to help her. But as it turns out, it is not an easy task.

The more time she spends in the quaint town along the Mulberry River, the more she realizes how much she has missed, particularly the many holiday and family traditions. But the Secret Santa story is more than she bargained for, and now she only has until Christmas Eve to finish her story, and time is running out! If only ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan Mooney
• Release date: Aug 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005765828

Bryan Mooney

Bryan Mooney is the author of Christmas in Vermont, Once We Were Friends, Love Letters, A Second Chance, and other romance novels, as well as the Nick Ryan thriller series. He spent years traveling the globe for both business and pleasure, and he draws upon those experiences in his writing. Originally from the Midwest, Bryan now lives in sunny South Florida with his childhood sweetheart and longtime wife, Bonnie. When he’s not penning romance novels and thrillers on the beach, he and his wife love to travel. Connect with Bryan at www.bryanmooneyauthor.com.

Book preview

It’s a Wonderful Christmas

A Novel

Bryan Mooney

Copyright © September 2021 by BME Publications—First edition

Published worldwide by BME—all rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America and protected under all applicable worldwide copyright protection. All rights reserved.

Published simultaneously in Canada, the UK, India, Australia, Mexico, France, China, Brazil, Denmark, Italy, Spain, Japan, Canada, and other countries worldwide.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any names or resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Any references to historical events, real people, real places, or actual companies are also used fictitiously.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission from the publisher, BME, Baltimore, Maryland.

Books by Bryan Mooney

Christmas Tales

It’s a Wonderful Christmas

Under the Christmas Moon

Christmas in Vermont

Bells of Saint Michaels

A Christmas Flower

Contemporary Romance

Love Letters

Summer of ’68

Been in Love Before

Once We Were Friends

A Box of Chocolates

A Second Chance

Mystery Thrillers

The Potus Papers

Eye of the Tiger

Indie

Contents

Books by Bryan Mooney

Dedication

It’s a Wonderful Christmas

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Dedicated to

To my wonderful wife, Bonnie-

You make me feel

proud and happy

that I’m the one who gets

to share my life with you every day.

Love you.

–B

It’s a Wonderful Christmas

Who is this Secret Santa? A Secret Santa in a small New England town has been making headlines for years in newspapers worldwide by donating hundreds of thousands of dollars every year. Who is it? Everybody wants to know—especially Margot Stone, the publisher of the New York Chronicle. She wants the story for her Christmas Eve front page.

A week before Christmas, Margot dispatches her top investigative reporter, Darsy Meadows, back to her hometown of Mulberry Falls, Vermont, to find out. Once home, Darsy enlists the aid of her mother, her sister, her nieces, her neighbors, and an old friend—Ben Brady, to help her. As it turns out, it is not an easy task.

The more time she spends in the quaint town along the Mulberry River, the more she realizes how much she has missed, particularly the many holiday and family traditions. But the Secret Santa story is more than she bargained for, and now she only has until Christmas Eve to finish her story, and time is running out! If only …

Chapter One

The old van slid sideways on the snowy street, almost out of control, nearly slamming into a parked car alongside the road. It was the week before Christmas as Sue Schroeder deftly guided her newspaper delivery van down the slippery street. She skidded to an uneasy stop in front of the Valley Arms apartments complex nestled outside the small town of Mulberry Falls, Vermont. Pulling her subscriber list from the nearby folder, she began to check off names as she stacked one newspaper after another in a pile for delivery. She organized the local Mulberry Falls Gazette first, then the other regional, and the national papers, followed by the many Christmas circulars. She was almost ready to go. After double-checking to make sure she had papers for everyone, she descended the steps leading to the apartment building and placed them inside the lobby, all stacked neat and tidy.

Trudging back to the van in the soft slushy snow, Sue slowly moved her arm and head in a circular motion. Her fingers were black from handling the newsprint since well before dawn. Her shoulder and back hurt, her neck and knees were sore since she was without her helper, her husband Sam. He was the one who usually loaded the truck and sorted the newspapers, and kept her awake during their early morning delivery times—but not this week. She was forced to do it by herself.

Sue missed their time together, but they decided it was just too dangerous after Sam slipped and twisted his ankle in the garage the day before while helping her load the truck. The emergency room doctor who x-rayed it said it was a bad sprain, and he should stay off of it for a week or so. Sue told him it was time for him to hold down the fort at home—but she worried about him and missed him.

I’m getting too old to keep doing this. We are both getting too old. This summer, their sixty-fifth birthdays came and went for both of them. All too fast.

The sun began to rise as she returned to the van, checking her watch for the time—7:34 A.M. It was her last stop of the day, and she was anxious to get home and check on Sam. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep, but first, she wanted to hear his voice. To touch his hand. See his smile. And just be with him. They had been together for forty-one years. Good years, she smiled to herself—very good years.

Wincing to herself, she noticed the balding tires on her daily delivery vehicle. She stopped, held her breath, and whispered, Please. Then, looking skyward, she put her hands together. Just hold on until January … please. I don’t need another big bill this month. By the end of the month, they would get their social security checks, and they would be fine, but until then …

The truck started slowly and grudgingly moved farther down the hill. The brakes were mushy, but if she pumped them twice, they would stop the aging vehicle. She laughed to herself and felt they had a lot in common—an old van and an old woman just trying to get through the day.

Unexpectedly, the van’s engine coughed, emitting a strange high-pitched thumping noise as she made her way through the early morning traffic. A red light flashed on the dashboard, and the sound got louder as blue smoke poured from underneath the hood, accompanied by a loud grinding noise. The van barely made it to Miller’s Garage, the van’s unofficial home away from home.

Mornin’ Ms. Sue, Merry Christmas. Looks like you got a smoker there, said Hank Miller, the longtime owner of the garage, wiping the oil from his hands on an old red garage rag.

Yep, Hank, she said with a nervous twitch. It just started, ’bout twenty minutes ago. Can you take a look at it … and be gentle with the prognosis?

Sure thing ma’am. In the meantime, let me have one of my guys run you home. I’ll give you a call later today with the damage.

Thanks, Hank. Talk soon. Riding home, her hands fidgeted. Her fingers twisted her wedding ring round and round. What was she going to do? She needed the van to deliver papers to be able to pay her bills. And Christmastime was her busiest time of the year. Yearend tip time. A lot of extra money if you showed up and kept everyone happy. She had to take Sam to the doctor. Run all her errands. What would Sam say? Best not tell him until later, when she heard back from Hank, she reasoned. Why get him all worked up for nothing? They had two hundred dollars in their rainy-day fund. Hopefully, they would not have to dip into it. Hope upon hope. Hank’s driver, Ron Ches, a former student of hers, let her off in front of her home.

Merry Christmas, Miss Sue.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas, she mumbled, trying to remain cheerful. Say hi to your mom and dad for me, will you, Ronnie?

Will do, Miss Sue.

Merry Christmas.

For years, she had known him, his brothers, sisters, and his family and remembered him riding tricycles then bicycles in the schoolyard where she used to teach. Always wore a hat. She taught him English in the third and fourth grades. A good boy and a good student, she always thought. And he, like everyone else she’d taught over the years, always called her Miss Sue. But it wasn’t his fault she was having a bad day. No. Nobody’s fault.

The van. Right. She remembered. What do I tell Sam? Please let everything be okay— but for now, time to face the music. Hi. It’s me, she shouted as she opened the back door and removed her coat and scarf, and hung them up on the coat rack near the kitchen.

Coffee? queried a voice out of sight somewhere in the distance.

The mere sound of his voice brought a smile to her face.

Sam knew something was wrong as soon as she walked through the door and heard her voice. You okay, dear? Susie? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me.

Yes, I’m fine. It’s the van I’m worried about. This was their third vehicle in two years. First, they bought a station wagon, then an SUV. Now, this. The van was supposed to last for a couple of years until they could get financially situated. But unfortunately, Sam had lost his job as a mechanic at the factory, and they had to borrow the five hundred dollars from friends just to put a down payment to buy this one.

Don’t think about it, Sue, she said to herself. Let’s wait and see what Hank says when he calls. She was on edge the whole day, waiting,… waiting for him to call, jumping every time the telephone would ring. Then, finally, after lunch, at one-fifteen, the phone rang. She waited for four rings before answering it. Hello? Her hands were shaking.

Miss Sue, hi, this is Hank at the garage. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Your engine is shot. And your transmission is on its last leg. You may get another twenty to fifty miles, tops. But it also needs new tires. New belts. New generator. New fuel pump. We stopped counting the damage at twelve thousand dollars.

Twelve thousand dollars!

I’m sorry, ma’am. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.

Her breathing seemed to stop, and she became light-headed. Her world came to an end. NO transportation. NO job. NO holiday tips. NO money. NO volunteer work at the hospital or the community center. Nothing. She choked back a sob. She held the phone to her chest so he could not hear her. Collecting herself, she turned back to the phone and said, What’s next, Hank? We can’t afford that. Our savings are gone. Our credit card is maxed out. I can’t even get it home. I don’t know what to do.

Tell you what. I’ll haul it away to the junkyard and won’t charge you for the towing. But you’ll have to come down here and clean out your personal things first.

Sure, she said, wiping away her tears. Then, she stopped to think and laughed a painful laugh, I don’t even know how I’ll get down there to the garage.

Tell you what. I’ll send Ronnie there to pick you up. Miss Sue, you still live on Yardley Way? Right?

Yes. We’ve been here for thirty some odd years. Ronnie knows where it is. He dropped me off this morning.

Okay. You may have to wait a little bit. I’m a little short-handed. But no later than four o’clock. I promise.

That would be great. Thanks, Hank. I know you did your best.

When she hung up the phone, Sam hugged her as she told him the news. It’ll all work out, dear. It always has, hasn’t it? He wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Hugging him, she brushed back the wandering strands of grey hair from his forehead. Yes, dear. It always has.

They waited in the kitchen, drinking cocoa, chatting about their options while waiting for her ride back to the garage. An hour went by. Then two. Then three, and four. Finally, at five-fifteen, there was a knock at the front door.

It must be Ronnie here to pick me up.

He stood up to say, Everything will be fine, dear. Trust me. Reaching for her hand, he said, I love you. He hugged her as he kissed her cheek.

I love you too, sweetheart, she said, grabbing her jacket and scarf from the chair as he followed her, using his cane to help him steady himself. I won’t be long, she said as they walked hand in hand to the front door, skillfully sidestepping the multitude of half-full buckets and pots of water strategically placed in their living room to catch the rainwater from their leaking roof.

She breathed in deep as she glanced up at the dripping ceiling—next year. A new roof would have to wait until next year. At the door, she turned to him to say. I won’t be long. And don’t worry about me.

I won’t, but be careful. A lot of crazy drivers out there this time of the year.

It’s okay, she said with a laugh, I’m not driving.

A loud volley of cheers greeted her when she opened the door. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! The assembled crowd cheered and clapped.

Hank Miller was surrounded by a crowd of people, including a very familiar face, Ben Brady, the editor and chief reporter for the Mulberry Falls Gazette—her boss. She also recognized many of her longtime friends and neighbors in the group. The mayor, the city council, and many local businesspeople were clapping wildly.

Her eyes filled with tears as Sam squeezed her hand. What’s going on? he whispered.

I don’t know, she said, crying. But it feels good.

Ben Brady, the longtime newsman, wore a red velvet Santa hat with a white pompom dangling from the end. Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Schroeder. Your friends and neighbors have known you both for many, many years. They have appreciated your efforts, all of your volunteer work, and everything you have done to help the community. Now, we have something for you in return. Something from your Secret Santa. Something to make you happy.

He directed her attention toward the driveway, and as the crowd parted, he dangled a set of car keys in front of her. For you and Sam. Merry Christmas, Miss Sue, on behalf of Mulberry Falls’s Secret Santa.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, and no amount of dabbing with her handkerchief helped stem the flow. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. In her driveway was a brand new, bright red van with an oversized green and red plaid bow affixed to the roof. It was now Sam’s turn to cry as he reached for her hand.

I don’t know what to say, she said. I don’t know how to thank you—you saved us. She reached over and squeezed the veteran news reporter with a giant hug.

Wait, there’s more, Brady told her, holding up two envelopes. He stopped to let her catch her breath before saying, Inside this first envelope is a check … for two thousand dollars. It is to cover the cost of tax, tags, title, and insurance for your new car. She clutched Sam in her arms, hugging him as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

Ben paused before continuing, And inside the second envelope is … He stopped and pulled out a piece of paper. A check for … ten thousand dollars. This check is to pay the cost of a new roof and a new hot water heater. Merry Christmas, Miss Sue and Sam.

She leaned forward to give Ben a kiss and a bear hug and would not let him go. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ben. Whoever my Secret Santa is, thank him or her from both of us from the bottom of my heart, she said with the tears still trailing down her cheek.

As the photographer took promotional pictures for the paper, Ben Brady looked at the long-married couple and the large crowd of well-wishers gathered to witness the event. Wearing a huge grin, he nodded and said to himself, I just love my job. I have the best job in the whole world.

Chapter Two

Darsy Meadows waited impatiently at a window table inside Bella Luna Restaurant on New York’s Upper West Side. A single philodendron hung from a thin strand of wire in a small handblown glass bowl filled with water. Tiny root sprouts twirled around the inside. Time to plant it, she thought.

Restless, she glanced at her watch. He was late. Again. She waited until it was time for her to go. Even as a senior investigative reporter for the New York Chronicle, she did not have the luxury of a two-hour lunch. He had stood her up— again. Ten more minutes—that’s it. That’s all he gets. She shook her head when she finally saw him fifteen minutes later, slowly walking into the restaurant. His cell phone appeared glued to his ear. I’ll handle it for you, Jimmy, she heard him say. Don’t worry, trust me. I can do it. No problem. Hey, hey, my friend, don’t I always come through for you? I make home deliveries all the time. No problem. So long, and Merry Christmas. Anything else?

He leaned over to kiss her as he held up two fingers. Two minutes, he whispered, covering the mouthpiece. I won’t be long. Just two minutes. She admired him as he talked; a successful entrepreneur from an influential family, he was tall, with dark eyes, thick black hair, broad shoulders, a winning smile, expensive clothes, and a fast sports car. What more could a girl ask for? It’s just he was always on the go, traveling to the West Coast, to Europe, throughout New England, and everywhere else, making deals for his highly successful boutique jewelry business. He was a success in everything he did.

Ten minutes later, he finally finished his call with the explanation, Sorry I was late, Dars. Business. You know what I mean … right?

Hmmph. She said, picking up the same menu she had been looking at for the last forty-five minutes. The restaurant was only a ten-minute cab ride from her office with excellent northern Italian food and friendly service. It was also a special place for her, a place where she had her first meal in New York City after leaving home in Vermont. Her first apartment was two minutes away and became an instant regular.

Darsy had fallen in love with Bella’s, their ambiance, their food—linguini with white clam sauce, veal parmigiana, the penne a la vodka, and of course … the salads. She loved their calabrese salad with thinly shaved slices of pecorino cheese and fresh ground pepper and, of course, their excellent caesar salads—both to die for. And their homemade marinara sauce and fresh gnocchi—wow. This was always her go-to place to eat lunch. She could relax here. It felt like home. Home? Her mind drifted back to home—Mulberry Falls. Christmastime in Mulberry Falls. It had been a long time.

Did you order lunch? he asked, breaking her daydream of home as he looked through the menu.

No. I was waiting for you. What took you so long? You know I don’t get an unlimited amount of time for my lunch break. She looked at her watch and said bitingly, I’m almost out of time. I’ll have to head back soon.

Want me to talk to your boss? Put in a good word?

No, thank you. She laughed with a hint of sarcasm as she laid her menu on the table.

A young waiter approached them to take their order.

A calabrese salad and a raspberry ice tea, Jason said to the waiter before turning his attention to her.

I’ll have the house salad with a side order of gnocchi with marinara sauce. And an order of fusilli with marinara sauce and tiramisu to go, she added. Then, turning to Jason, she said, I always try to bring some lunch back for Alison. She never takes any time off to eat.

Jason smiled his irritated smile at the delay before asking, So, are you ready for next weekend?

A blank stare greeted him.

He rolled his eyes and asked again, Next weekend? Saturday? Christmas Eve. Remember? Aspen? Skiing? You and me? Hello? Does any of this ring a bell?

"Oh, yes. Sorry. My mind was on other things. Busy at work. My