Friday, December 4

Oliver, Shane, Rita, and Norman walked back to the DLO after a quick lunch in the Employee Breakroom. Leisurely lunches were a thing of the past these days, as every available minute was devoted to processing the 'Dear Santa' letters.

They passed the long conveyor that transferred parcels from mail trucks to the sorting floor. The machine made a clattering kind of yelp.

Otis in Operations shouted "Shut it down! Shut it down."

The POstables stopped to see what went wrong.

Otis walked to the large opening at the end of the belt. A package had turned on its side, completely blocking the progress of any more parcels. Otis tried to turn the box, but it was too long. He started to climb onto the conveyor.

Norman ran up to Otis. "Let me," Norman said. He crawled onto the belt and disappeared through the opening.

"This thing is huge," Norman said from the other side of the wall. He turned it, pushed it through, came back in, and jumped off the conveyor. The box was only about six inches square, but it was at least eight feet long.

"Thanks," Otis said.

"Any time," Norman said. He turned to leave.

"Wait a minute!" Otis said. "I think this belongs to your department."

Oliver, Shane, and Rita joined Norman. They examined the box. The cardboard was wrinkled as if it had been drenched in water and then dried. Small sections were torn or completely missing, showing the bubble wrap inside the package. No labels. No postmark. A partial address remained. Nearly illegible.

"Looks like a job for the POstables," Rita said.

Oliver nodded and picked up the package. He carried it to the DLO and laid it on the large table. Shane, Rita, and Norman gathered around. Oliver retrieved the large magnifying glass from his desk and attempted to read the handwriting. He shook his head and handed the glass to Norman.

"It was written with a water-soluble black marker," Norman said, holding the magnifier over the words. "The text is badly smeared. I'll try the improved Revelation Solution."

He left, returned a minute later carrying a small bottle, and placed a single drop of the solution on the box.

"A. Car..., and a partial zip code. 981..." Norman said. "That's all."

"Seattle," Rita said.

"I can key a search for A. Car... in Seattle, but with so little to go on, it could take days," Shane said.

"Perhaps the contents will hold additional clues," Oliver said. He removed the shipping tape on the top of the box and turned back the flaps.

"Oh my goodness," Oliver said. "It's a Christmas gift." He turned the box around so Shane, Rita, and Norman could see the red and green wrapping paper.

Shane took a closer look inside the package. "Oliver. I think there's a letter in here."

Oliver peered over her shoulder. He put his thumb and index finger into the box, trying to grasp the envelope. "It dried to the side of the box. Norman, Extraction Kit, please."

Norman brought the kit and handed Oliver long tweezers. Oliver slid them carefully between the box and the bubble wrap, squeezed the handles, moved the letter gently back and forth until it came off the box, and lifted it out. The envelope contained a single word. 'Andy.'

Oliver handed Norman the letter. "Norman. Your thoughts."

"Male handwriting. Between 65 and 69 years of age. Troubled," Norman said, returning the letter to Oliver.

Shane grabbed Oliver's favorite letter opener from the box on his desk and handed it to him. He slit the envelope open. It contained a single sheet of paper. Oliver opened the letter to reveal a photograph of an elderly man standing next to a young boy in front of a lake. They held fishing poles in their hands. Oliver laid the picture on the table.

"My dear Andy," Oliver read. "Merry Christmas! Enclosed is your gift. I had so looked forward to giving you this in person, to see your face and share your joy, but sadly, some things are not meant to be.

You have been through difficult times these last few years. It is hard for you to believe right now, yet it is my prayer that someday you come to understand that our greatest sorrows can lead to the greatest growth in our faith. Several years ago, you and I sat fishing on the shore of Heart Lake and shared a dream. You are close to graduation now, and I am sure, wondering what to do in the future. My advice to you is this - find a lake, go there, cast your line, sit, and listen for the 'still small voice of God'. If the dream we shared is His will for you, He will tell you. If He has other plans for you, I am confident that, whatever you do, you will serve Him well.

I know the time is near when I will leave this earth. I am ready to go. As Paul said to Timothy in 2 Timothy 4:7 - 'I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith'.

God bless you, my boy, as He guides you to the path of service you will walk.

Love, Grandpa"

Rita shook her head. "That is so sad."

"What do we know so far?" Oliver asked.

"A grandfather, very ill, perhaps dying, sent a special Christmas gift to his grandson," Shane said.

"Judging by the letter, the picture, and the size and shape of the box, I believe the gift is a fishing pole," Norman added.

"The grandfather talks about Heart Lake. Sounds like he and Andy spent a lot of time fishing there," Rita said.

Shane walked over to her computer and started typing. "I can start with Heart Lake in or near Seattle. That should narrow down the location and give us the complete zip code."

Shane stood watching the screen. "This doesn't make any sense," she said a few minutes later. "No Heart Lake in Seattle or the entire state of Washington." Shane's fingers flew across the keyboard again. "Give me a minute. I'm searching for Heart Lake." Shane's computer pinged. She frowned at the results. "One in Wyoming. One in Michigan."

"The letter does not mention the location of Heart Lake," Oliver said. "If A. Car... is the grandfather and he lives in Washington, perhaps the family spent vacation time in either Wyoming or Michigan."

"Or the grandfather lived in Wyoming or Michigan when the picture was taken and moved to Seattle at a later date," Norman said.

Rita picked up the picture and turned it over. "There's writing on the back, but it's barely visible." She put a drop of Revelation Solution on the photo and squinted at the results. "Andy's 12th birthday. No date. no location."

Shane came back to the table and looked at the photo over Rita's shoulder. "Any identifying marks on the paper? Name of a photo studio perhaps?"

"No," Rita said.

"It appears we have no choice but for you to search for the partial name and zip code," Oliver said to Shane.

"I have an idea that might help speed up the inquiry," Shane said. "Rita, what are the 10 most common last names that begin with 'Car'."

"Carlisle, Carlton, Carmody, Carpenter, Carrigan, Carrington, Carroll, Carson, Carter, Carver," Rita said.

Shane spent several minutes keying in ten individual searches. "Now we wait," she said, pressing the 'enter' key.

"As there are no additional clues to pursue at this time, I believe we should return to the task at hand," Oliver said, indicating the bin full of Santa letters sitting at the end of the table.

"Norman and I are on wrapping duty this afternoon," Rita said. She and Norman left.

Shane lifted a stack of letters from the bin and laid them on the table. Oliver carried the letter to his desk and sat down to read it again.

Rita and Norman returned a few minutes after 5:00. Shane closed her laptop and walked over to her desk to check the results.

"Nothing for Carlisle, Carlton, Carmody, or Carpenter," Shane said.

"We will have to wait until Monday for the remaining searches to be complete, Oliver said. "We will see you tomorrow night."

We'll meet you at the Mailbox Grille at 7:00," Norman said.