A/N: thanks to max2013, leyapearl, & the guest for the reviews! (Folks that want the story, skip the italics!) To answer another guest review that wasn't a review, but a question: Kris isn't me. She's based on the daughter of one of our Dungeons & Dragon gaming group. The guy was going through a divorce, and would bring the kid to our weekly games; he claimed his wife's boyfriend was abusing the kid, and he was fighting for custody (this was late '80s, when mothers were almost automatically given custody). For some reason, the child took to me (I was the only other woman in the group) and loved it when I'd color with her or let her read my Narnia books, and we'd include her in the game so that she didn't feel left out when the adults were playing - she played a little fairy dragon "Sid" who caused all kinds of fun trouble. I really liked her, and her dad would always joke about leaving her with us permanently, since she behaved so good when she was there. Life went on, me & my husband moved away, we lost touch with several of the group including the guy & his daughter, and a few years later, we heard second- and third-hand from others in the group that it'd come out that our "friend" was the one actually abusing the child...

I wish I'd kidnapped her then. I wish I'd just run away with her and taken the consequences. But...I didn't. Kris is my way of "adopting" that child in hindsight. A poor, sad solution.

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The hardest part of the whole Secret Santa business…of this whole weird thing called Christmas shopping: getting stuff without the other person knowing about it.

Bayport was a small town. Kris was finding out just how small it was. She saw kids from school no matter what store she went into, and none of them were good at keeping their mouths shut. While Kris was good at staying unnoticed, most of the store clerks knew about Mar and her "little adopted runaway", and they loved gossiping. On top of that, any adult standing near Kris in line would either be related to her classmates, or would know the Hardys or Mar, too. At that point, Kris would be lucky to escape the store without getting her cheeks pinched with an accompanying "You look like a little elf!"

Why did adults always have to touch? And didn't anyone here know what elves were really like?

Then again, the pink puffy-nylon coat and red wooly bobble hat probably didn't help. Maybe she should ask Mar for a new coat: Mar had asked her what she wanted for Christmas, which was even more baffling. Kris already had everything she could ever possibly want: a real mother, three wonderful big brothers (one of whom was in the Army in some strange jungle-land being a hero), a warm room of her own with a door she could lock, real meals where she could eat as much as she wanted, no one beating the crap out of her…

And wasn't the whole idea to surprise the other person? So why ask her what she wanted? Wouldn't that spoil the surprise? But Mar had just laughed when Kris asked and hugged her in that warm "mother" way that told Kris she'd said something funny-and-endearing-to-grownups without meaning to.

Something else that made no sense in this whole mess of nonsense.

Kris scowled at the mess of shoppers, seeing another cluster of classmates across the way. Hard enough trying to find gifts for her big brothers — something that wasn't mass-produced and cheap-looking, something special — without everyone seeing her and teasing her about it.

Harder still, finding something extra special for Joe. She was about ready to give up.

Snow had fallen again last night, coating the colored lights and decorations and dusting all the evergreen wreaths and garlands in ice and white. Town center was Bayport's newly-refurbished historic district: old-fashioned brick-and-brownstone shops on cobbled streets, much the same as it'd been in Bayport's whaling days. City Council had turned it into a pedestrian zone — no cars allowed — to enhance tourism from people wanting a real "historic American small-town experience".

The air smelled of burning wood, cut pine, and baking cookies (the bakery put a fresh batch in the window as she passed: sugar cookies frosted like ornaments); the hissing bite to the wind meant more snow on the way. This year, City Council had also put loudspeakers outside of city hall, blaring Christmas carols to the square.

Something for Frank and Joe. Kris couldn't knit, though Mar was trying to teach her, and Frank and Joe wouldn't want pillows, which was all Kris could sew — she'd overloaded her own bed with large overstuffed ones made out of scrap cloth, making it a comfortable study-spot, and Frank had asked if she could make him some, too, but those weren't special. She wasn't good at baking — not with Aunt Gertrude being the brothers' standard — and somehow the thought of just filling bags full of Christmas candy didn't seem special enough. Not by itself, anyway. Not for her big brothers.

Sharon, on the other hand…a bag of candy would be enough for her. From what little Kris had managed to eavesdrop on, most of her classmates were going that route, too, so it should be okay. Okay, Mar had been right, so Kris wouldn't totally ignore Sharon, but Kris wasn't going to put much effort into it. That would let her focus more of her allowance on Joe.

"DECK the HALLS with BOUGHS of HOLLY! FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!"

The carol screamed out over those blaring City Hall loudspeakers, a hearty basso profundo male choir. Everyone jumped; Kris froze, heart pounding.

Even in the middle of Bayport's town square, surrounded by shoppers and screaming kids, the remembered stink of Papa's whiskey and cheap Old Spice suddenly overwhelmed her. Kris couldn't think, couldn't breathe, seeing Papa looming over her…

Panicking, she fled into the closest store, stumbling against the wall and tripping over loose carpet; the door slammed with a jangle of bells, cutting off the carol. Backed against a clutter of shelves, trembling so hard she could barely stand, Kris closed her eyes, trying to calm down. Breathe, the counselor had told her, stop whatever you're doing and concentrate on your breathing. It'd been two years since Kris had run away, but Mar still took her up to Boston once a month for those sessions.

The worst beating Kris had ever gotten had been for asking her original parents about Santa, right before she'd run away. It hadn't helped that one of their neighbors played his stereo loud — with tons of Christmas carols — and it had come right through the rickety apartment walls. Raving drunk on whiskey, Papa had gone off the deep end about that particular carol, ranting about the demonic imagery. He'd caught Kris singing along to it — it'd been impossible not to, as often as it repeated from said neighbor's stereo — and Papa hadn't listened to her terrified apology, and he'd grabbed her…

Breathe. Breathe.

Calm came back; reality re-asserted itself: the murmur of customers, Für Elise playing from the stereo behind the counter, the smell of cinnamon and beeswax, leather and old paper, someone haggling over price.

"You okay, honey?" said a female voice, and Kris opened her eyes, saw the store's owner watching her: Widow Bell. Oh. No wonder she'd relaxed so fast.

Edna Bell owned Bayport's bookstore, Bell Book and Candle. The store had been a private brownstone residence on the town square, but after her husband's death in Korea, Mrs. Bell had bought and converted the entire house into a two-story bookstore, every single wall, closet, nook, and cranny filled with books (used and new), each section a different category, with real, hand-crafted beeswax candles from Mrs. Bell's sister (whose husband kept bee hives on his farm) near the registers. Cushions, beanbags, and comfy chairs were everywhere, and Mrs. Bell had an agreement with the little cafe next door to share her patio in good weather.

People came all the way from Boston and Anaheim to visit Bell Book and Candle, and it didn't hurt that Mrs. Bell was a really nice person. Kris loved the place. One could get lost in the mazes of hallways, small staircases, bookshelves and rooms; it was a warm, comfortable place, a wizard's lair and dragon's hoard in one. It was even better than the library, a library she could bring home and keep, and Mar never said no whenever Kris asked for a book.

Mrs. Bell was waiting for an answer, her eyes wrinkled with concern. Kris nodded. "Yes'm. Just tired."

Behind Mrs. Bell, her adult daughter, Martha, was rummaging through the area behind the counter; Martha helped her mother out in the shop. She had a pinched, scowling look to her face. "Mother, I can't find it."

"Well, I didn't move it," Mrs. Bell said, with a touch of annoyance. But then she sighed, smiled, and handed Kris a steaming mug of hot chocolate. "You look frozen, dearie. Here. Free hot chocolate for customers today. Mind the spills." She winked. "There's open chairs in the ghost section. Or should I have it all boxed up and delivered to your house?"

Shyly, Kris shook her head. "Thank you, ma'am, no. I'm just Christmas shopping. For Frank and Joe." She sipped carefully; the mug warmed her hands. It was one of the big mugs Mrs. Bell reserved for regular customers: two big gooey marshmallows floated in it, with a peppermint stick.

"Those two." Mrs. Bell smiled. "Frank's got half my stock on his wish-list, I swear. I can certainly help you there. Go get warmed up and let me know when you're ready."

Kris nodded her thanks again, and wandered upstairs to her favorite section, Occult — most of the section was books about ghosts, hauntings, and weird occurrences: the works of Charles Fort, Ripley's "Believe it or Not" books, Alfred Hitchcock's true ghost stories, Fate Magazine and its various books. It wasn't a big section. There wasn't a lot of call for such books in small-town, conservative Bayport.

But Kris stopped. Someone else was there: Sharon, squatting and reading a book with the air of someone too engrossed in what they were reading to take a few seconds to get comfortable. "Um…"

Sharon startled, lost her balance, caught herself, and spent a long moment staring wide-eyed at Kris.

"Sorry," Kris mumbled. She set the mug of hot chocolate carefully down on the small coffee table next to Sharon's and eased into one of the comfy chairs. Kris snuck a peek at Sharon's mug: the same as hers. One of the big mugs, a peppermint stick and gooey marshmallows, both in an advanced state of melt, so Sharon had been here a while…and all of which meant Sharon was another of Mrs. Bell's regulars.

Sharon was still staring at her.

Anything to break that weird, uncomfortable stare. Kris said the first thing that came to mind. "Are you Secret-Santa shopping, too?"

Sharon shook her head.

Kris almost asked who she'd gotten, decided against it. Sharon might ask who Kris had drawn, and Kris didn't like lying. But then a book caught her eye, something that hadn't been there last week, and Kris got up, pulled it down off the shelf: What Witches Do.

It had to be a joke. Mrs. Bell wouldn't have something about real witchcraft on the shelf, not here in Bayport — though thinking about it, she did carry the Sybil Leek books behind the counter, where they couldn't be stolen or vandalized. Curious, Kris leafed through the new book, stopped on a page at random and started reading; the author sounded serious, respectful, and real.

Mar was Catholic, but didn't push the matter with Kris, letting her stay home when Mar went to church. Kris had overheard a few folks at Bay Area Center talking about "the New Age" and "neopaganism" and the "Age of Aquarius", but she'd been too shy to approach them to ask what they meant. They'd looked like hippies, all bright colors and tie-dyes and long hair, even the men, something else Papa had railed against as evil and Satanic…

"You really do like stuff like that," Sharon said.

The last thing Kris needed was for her classmates to call her a witch, just because she'd looked at a book. She shrugged. "It looked interesting."

Sharon watched her. "You know this place is haunted."

"Yeah. Mr. Bell kinda hangs around." Then Kris clamped her mouth shut. She hadn't meant to say that, but it'd slipped out. Now she was in for it.

"You've seen him?" Sharon was wide-eyed again.

Kris looked down. "Um. That's what Mrs. Bell says." Which was the truth. Kris hadn't exactly seen Mr. Bell, but she'd caught glimpses of someone, and whoever it was hadn't felt bad.

"Oh." Sharon sounded disappointed.

Kris glanced around. She could hear other customers talking — it sounded like they were in the Romance section around the corner. Probably not a good idea to lower her mental shields, then, but still… "You have?"

Sharon was reading her book again. She shrugged.

Well, one more person at school laughing at her wouldn't matter at this point. "Um…I've seen something. Someone in green watching me. But when I turned around, they weren't there." Kris put What Witches Do back on the shelf. "It was probably just Martha." Martha was suspicious of everyone.

"No, that's the ghost," Sharon said. "It's Mr. Bell? He's always in fatigues, and he looks so sad."

Kris blinked. Mrs. Bell had shown her pictures of her husband, taken while he was in Korea, with his buddies outside their tent. "He was killed in Korea."

"He was? I didn't know that."

"His picture's hanging behind the counter," Kris said, nodding. "Mrs. Bell'll tell you about it if you ask nice."

Silence fell; Sharon turned back to her book again, though she kept giving Kris odd, sidelong glances.

"You're friends with Frank and Joe," Sharon said finally. "I didn't think you'd like this kind of stuff. I thought…" She broke off, biting her lip.

"They don't. I do. I mean, they don't care that I do, but they don't believe it. Frank's real good at explaining what it really is." A little more slipped out before she could stop herself. "Sometimes he's right."

"He's nice. He helped me with my bike when the chain broke. And Joe lent me lunch money when Bobby Johnson stole mine." Then, slowly, "You really believe in ghosts?"

"Um…no," Kris said, and Sharon's face fell. "I mean, that's like asking if I believe in rocks. They're real. All those people write about 'em." Kris pointed at the Hitchcock ghost books. "It wouldn't be in a book if it wasn't true."

"No one else believes me," Sharon said. Low, sad. "You're the first person I've met who does."

Wait… "You've seen other ghosts?"

Biting her lip again, Sharon nodded. Her look turned speculative, as if weighing something. "Um, you know Frank and Joe — they found the Applegate treasure last summer — did you ever go out to the old farmhouse with them?"

With what they were talking about, there was no reason to bring up the ruined farmhouse, unless… "You met Abby?" Kris had never told anyone about the little ghost stuck in the abandoned farmhouse; Abby was her friend.

Sharon's face lit up. "You do know!"

They fell silent as a couple prim-looking older women in bouffant hairdos and gray woolen shirt-dresses pushed through the section on their way to Religion and Philosophy. From somewhere downstairs, Kris heard the loud voices and laughter of other kids — Angie and her crowd, it sounded like, and they were tromping up the stairs. Great.

Kris saw the expression on Sharon's face, and that decided her. Maybe the Secret-Santa thing wasn't so bad, after all. "Um…do you want…maybe…you'd like to come back to my house? We can keep talking there." On impulse, she added, "I've got other books like this. You can borrow some if you want."

Sharon shook her head. "Mom and Dad hate this stuff." She looked down at the book in her hand, Fate's Strangest Mysteries. "I've been reading it here. I can't buy it. They'd just make me bring it back." Then, shyly, "I'd like to come over, though."

"Y'know, I don't have that one yet. Here." Kris took the Fate book, and on impulse, also pulled What Witches Do from the shelf. "I'll get it for you, and you can come over and read it whenever you want."

"But…you said you're Christmas shopping. That's your Christmas money…"

"I've got extra," Kris said, stretching the truth a bit. "Shimá knew I'd end up here. C'mon." Her chest felt odd, different, light and twisty at the same time. It felt good. Weird, but good.

They waited until Angie's group had clattered past towards the Romance section, then headed downstairs. Mrs. Bell was talking with Martha, and both adults looked upset.

"I'm telling you, Mother, it was here last night! I put it right here! Just like those other things — "

"You're probably mis-remembering," Mrs. Bell said wearily, then saw Kris and smiled. "All set, dear? Do you still need help with Frank's gift?"

"Yes'm, please," Kris said. "Um, is something wrong?"

"Not really," Mrs. Bell sighed. "My daughter just keeps misplacing stuff. Now she's blaming Pa."

"Mother!"

"Mr. Bell's making stuff vanish?" A ghost was making things disappear? That had the sound of a really cool ghost story. Kris glanced at Sharon, whose face had lit up again.

Mrs. Bell's mouth twitched. "No, dear. Just our own little mystery, here in the store. There's been a lot of them, lately."

"Too many," Martha said. "We lost a whole package of markers yesterday, my transistor radio the day before that, and books keep disappearing. But this was the petty cash box, and I know I put it right here."

Ghosts didn't need money, definitely. Sometimes they moved things around, but making stuff disappear? That couldn't be a ghost…then something lit up in the back of Kris's head. Perfect, just too perfect! "Um…Mrs. Bell…ma'am? My big brothers solve mysteries."

Mrs. Bell smiled. "Yes, dear. We all know about Frank and Joe's little hobby. This isn't anything like that."

"But…well…I was hoping for a really cool Christmas gift, ma'am, and giving them a mystery…especially here. This is Frank's favorite store. He'd love to help you figure out what's going on."

"There's no mystery about it," Mrs. Bell said. "Just forgetful employees, that's all."

"Mo-ther!"

"But…what if someone is getting in here?" Kris said, and behind Mrs. Bell's back, Martha looked gratified, nodding. "A cash box is kind of a weird thing for someone to forget where they put it. Even if they find it's just people forgetting or…or…Mr. Bell, that's still an answer."

"They found Mr. Applegate's treasure last summer," Sharon piped up. "And they found out who vandalized Mr. Mack's lab."

"It's just small stuff, right?" Kris said. "And Frank and Joe'll be careful. You know Frank will." Mrs. Bell looked thoughtful, and Kris took that as a good sign. "Ma'am…please…I really, really want a good Christmas gift for them. They've done so much for me and they've helped me a lot…and…well…I could get Frank books, and I could find something for Joe, and I still will…but they'd love a real mystery even better."

Finally, Mrs. Bell smiled. "A truly unique Christmas gift. I see. Well. You and your mother are good customers, as is Frank. I guess it can't hurt."

Kris blinked, then it sunk in that it had sounded as if Mrs. Bell had said yes. "Ma'am? You mean it? Really?"

"Really," Mrs. Bell said. "Have Frank and Joe come see me. If you want to wait until Christmas to make it a proper gift, that's fine. The world won't end if a few more books go missing."

"Thank you! Thank you!" Kris barely clamped her mouth shut before she squealed in glee and totally disgraced herself. She felt like she was going to fly: a really cool gift for her big brothers, and maybe a new friend on top of that…!

Bouncing on her feet, she waited, as Mrs. Bell rung up the two books (plus a couple that she said were on Frank's wish-list), then Kris ran for the door, pulling Sharon after her. Wait until she toldMar!

"Kris?" Mrs. Bell's voice pulled Kris up short, just as she reached the door.

"Ma'am?" Had she forgotten something?

But Mrs. Bell was smiling again. "Merry Christmas, dear."