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An unexpected gift from a secret Santa arrived.The brown cardboard box appeared under the mailboxes, a FedEx Ground delivery left inside the vestibule of her apartment building.Except upon closer inspection, the box had been reused and recycled from an earlier delivery. So the name of the sender, Mr. E. Stowe, had been taped in place, as had the recipient's name and address: Wendy Paulos, 18 Birch St., Portland ME 04901.&nbsp;This unexpected gift had been left there in the guise of a special delivery via FedEx.Wendy hoisted the box and surveyed its sides. She sat down at her kitchen table, still rotating the box, which was the size of a shoebox, only heavier. It might have held steel-toed boots. Wendy deposited the box on her table and took a sip of coffee.The name "Mr. E. Stowe" meant nothing to her. Wendy smiled and contemplated her friend, Isaac, an inveterate prankster. "Mr. E." could be childish wordplay for "mystery." "Stowe," however, didn't seem intuitive to any kind of joke. And Isaac, to her knowledge,&nbsp;was on a week-long ski trip to Sunday River, a resort several hours north.A quick swipe through her phone fanoiled to provide any clues. If Isaac had managed to drop off the brown paper-covered box, he likely would have teased her about it by now. It was the day after Christmas. Wendy had discovered the package while checking her mail. She typically didn't enter her building through the vestibule, using her own entrance, and she had done so for the past four days. So when the box had arrived was anyone's guess.&nbsp;Another misgiving that assailed her was rooted in her own habits. Anyone who knew her understood that Wendy operated online. She didn't use the traditional mail system, and she refused to accept packages in her unlocked building. Only her curiosity about the possibility of receiving a Christmas card from an elderly aunt in West Virginia had spurred her trek through the main door of the Birch Street apartments. Indeed her aunt's card had been in her mailbox with the usual assortment of junk mail, compounded in its enormity by weeks of neglect.Wendy set down her coffee mug and seized a paring knife from beside the mountain of mailers. With two deft moves, Wendy extracted the box from its packaging and cut open one of the cardboard flaps.&nbsp;Wendy frowned.The box contained a beach blanket. But the blanket, bunched and tangled, concealed the package's true treasure: a silver candlestick.Wendy scarcely had picked the candlestick from its wrap before she recoiled. Parts of the blanket had clung to the base of the hefty decoration, and now she saw why. Blood coated the candlestick's base.Wendy set the candlestick back in its box and pushed herself away from the table.&nbsp; Ashley Bales surveyed the box, the blanket, and the bloody candlestick. He shifted his gaze to Wendy."So someone left this in your building."She nodded. "I thought it might be a joke. But all of my friends swear they had nothing to do with it."Ashley stroked his chin and said carefully, "I'm glad you reached out to me. I imagine the person who is behind the delivery of this package knew you would.""How?""They know enough about you to realize that you attended the criminology course that I taught at the college last spring. They know that you subsequently corresponded with me about work study opportunities. My research assistant,&nbsp;Christopher, remains on sabbatical, something a cunning observer could follow through recent news coverage."Wendy stared. "But why send it to me? And whose blood is this?"Ashley smiled, a cold, flinty grimace. "I recently investigated a murder at a bed-and-breakfast in Arizona. The killer bludgeoned his stepmother to death with a candlestick."At Wendy's gasp, Ashley hurriedly added, "Not this candlestick. But I'll guarantee you that the blood in this package matches the victim's blood. The killer was first on the scene when the family found the body. This young man is a sociopath, possibly the most ruthless I've encountered.""Do you still plan to write a book about him?"Ashley peered at Wendy with quiet respect. She had entered his employment as a researcher and proved gifted. Her involvement with a true-crime exploration of famous stranglers had been invaluable. Unfortunately, her name had surfaced in news reports of his current writing efforts. A retired police detective, Ashley tried to maintain a low profile."Yes. And one of the questions about the case has now been answered. I wondered why there wasn't more blood at the scene. Now it's clear that he mopped up some of the blood with this blanket. He must have concealed the bloody blanket before anyone else arrived.""But why mail it to me?" Wendy almost wailed as she cringed at the morbid parcel. With this newfound knowledge,&nbsp;she felt even more squeamish and unsettled.&nbsp;Ashley arched his eyebrows. "Again, the goal was to deliver this evidence to me. I keep my address carefully concealed. The parties involved must have hired a local courier to leave the package at your residence, knowing that you would be in contact with me."Wendy persisted."But why this elaborate taunt, especially so late after the fact?"Ashley puffed out his cheeks, an acknowledgement of the killer's demented relentlessness. He released his breath and spoke in a musing tone."When I was reviewing the case, the killer continued to play games, taunting investigators with anagrams and riddles. He vowed to continue after he was caught. Before police apprehended him ...""Thanks to your evidence!"Ashley ignored the interruption.&nbsp;"Before he was caught, he must have arranged for the mailing and delivery of this package.""But, again, why?"Ashley sighed."The murderer fancied that he and I were playing a game. The killer's name is Percy Green. He murdered his stepmother in the family library. So now the game is officially over. It was Mr. Green in the library with a candlestick."

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Secret Santa games

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Secret Santa games

dcarkhuff

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Secret Santa games

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David Carkhuff

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