Page 12 of A Christmas Mystery

Three

THE NEXT DAY IS SATURDAY, and I take Tee out to breakfast at eight.

Eight is her idea of a late, leisurely weekend breakfast. If she had her choice, she’d be showing up at our favorite pancake place at six in the morning.

Because I was able to talk her into a later breakfast, I’m able to go through my regular morning routine—only slightly abbreviated—before I take the walk into downtown and reach the restaurant only a few minutes late.

Naturally, Tee is already there and at a table with a pot of coffee ready for us.

I hug and kiss her before I sit down.

“Did you walk all the way, Maya? It’s much too far, and it’s cold out.”

“It’s less than two miles, and it’s not that cold today. Plus I’m all bundled up.” That much is the truth. It takes a couple of minutes for me to unwind my scarf, pull off my gloves and cap, and unbutton the long wool coat I’m wearing over my stretchy jeans and long sweater.

Tee is smiling as I settle myself and get comfortable.

“What is it?” I ask after a minute.

“Nothing, mija. Just that you always come in with a minor flurry wherever you go. You spill over into every space. I’ve missed it.”

It’s impossible to see her fond expression and believe she’s criticizing me, although in the past I’ve been a bit embarrassed by this particular trait of mine. Some people are able to move through the world without making a single ripple. Efficient and streamlined with a minimal footprint on their surroundings.

That’s not me.

Chris used to tease me about how it was his job to try to contain me. Otherwise I might lose parts of myself everywhere I go.

I raise my hips slightly so I can smooth down the tail of my sweater, and then I can finally stop adjusting. “What are you thinking about for breakfast?”

We have a brief conversation about whether the key lime French toast or the gingerbread pancakes are a better option. By the time the server comes over, we’ve decided to get one of each order and share.

That resolved, I reach down to my big bag and pull out one of the yearbooks I borrowed from Theo. I spent a couple of hours last night scouring through the pages, making notes and whittling down a list of about forty possible names.

Forty.

“Feeling nostalgic?” Tee asks, nodding at where I set the yearbook on the table.

“No. I was actually hoping for your help to see what you know about some people.”

This comment naturally leads to a number of questions, so I have to explain the situation as well as I can, my attempt to remain vague foiled by Tee’s intrigued curiosity. Our food arrives by the time she’s finally satisfied as to why I’m asking her about random former schoolmates.

The list includes everyone I couldn’t immediately cross off for obvious reasons and who basically fit the criteria I’ve laid out for my pen pal as well as those I know nothing about in order to judge. Tee suggests going over the list quickly at first so she can help eliminate more of them.

She’s able to help me get rid of eleven names right away—most of whom have moved away since high school. As we eat, we cross off a few more and organize the remaining twenty-four into two different lists. More likely and less likely.

I’m pleased as I gaze down at my new shorter list of twelve most likely possibilities when our plates and the coffeepot are empty. This is a much more workable number. I might actually be able to come up with a solution to this mystery if this is the list of options.

“It’s a rather odd thing for you to be focused on right now, isn’t it?” Tee asks, her sharp eyes scrutinizing my face.

“Is it odd? It’s a puzzle, and I want to figure it out.”

“I understand that, but this is a lot of time and mental effort to be putting into a purely intellectual pursuit.”

---