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Dawson tugged at the red and green ribbon, letting the bow unspool and the ribbon fall away. He carefully opened one end of the wrapped paper and slid out a white box. There were two cards taped on top. One looked familiar.
He unstuck it from the box and turned the envelope to open it when the doorbell sounded again.
He wrinkled his nose and stood up, opening the door to a second, larger box. This one had Piper’s name on it. Although the box was slightly larger than his, it was relatively light.
Shock was written all over Piper’s face as she stared at her name on the tag. “How on earth did they know to bring it here?”
Dawson tried to be rational. “Maybe they tried your house first? It could be they were told not to leave it if there was no reply.”
“But how would they know I was here?”
This made Dawson distinctly uncomfortable. “Do you think they might be keeping track of us?”
It was clear Piper had never considered this. “But why would they need to do that? They asked us to send pictures when we solved the clues. Shouldn’t that be enough?” She gave a shiver. “I don’t like that thought that they might be watching us.”
“Neither do I. But all of this has seemed strange. Mr. McNally, when he was with us the other day, it almost felt like he’d come along to check us out. To see what we were like.”
“Yeah, I know,” she admitted. “But I’m still not sure how comfortable I am with all this. We still don’t know how many clues are left—or how long this will go on.”
Dawson pushed her parcel toward her. “Might as well keep going,” he said.
Piper nodded in agreement and untied the ribbon and opened the paper, sliding out a slightly bigger white box, with the same two envelopes taped on top.
“This one first?” she asked, lifting the one that seemed familiar.
Dawson lifted his, too, and they slid out the cards inside. As expected, it was the fourth clue.
With the promise of youth,
Find the lesser known of three royals,
Following the local tradition
To ensure no spoils.
They both looked at each other, faces blank.
Dawson put his head on the table. “I’m having a horrible feeling of déjà vu?” he admitted.
“Me, too,” said Piper. “Again, I don’t have a clue.” She stared at her card for a few minutes, and then shook her head. “Let’s go with the second one,” she said, unsticking the other envelope from her parcel.
Dawson did the same and this time a pile of silver stars and snowflakes slid out with the card inside, scattering all over Dawson’s table. A thick black card with silver writing was inside.
Children’s Charity Christmas Ball, Friday the eighteenth of December, SIX pm, St. Eligius Hotel. Formal dress required. A car will collect you at FIVE THIRTY pm.
Piper was staring at her card and the mess it had made everywhere. She started to laugh. “I always yell at Christmas cards full of this stuff,” she said. “It drives me bananas.”
“Me, too,” said Dawson, “but considering how much mess I’ve made tonight, I don’t think I’m in any place to complain.”
“Why are they inviting us to a ball?” asked Piper. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”
He nodded but looked intrigued. “The Children’s Charity. Wasn’t Margaret Smith a supporter? I’m sure she was a patron.”
Piper sat back in her chair thoughtfully. “You could be right.” She looked at the white box. “So, what else have they sent?”
Dawson shrugged, as he lifted the lid from his white box. He pulled out the contents in surprise. A black tuxedo, white shirt, bowtie, and shoes. His fingers brushed against the fabric. Dawson had his own fair share of designer shirts and suits. Dependant entirely on the event, he sometimes had to wear them when commentating in the studio. If he was covering a match in person, he was generally dressed much more informally.
Piper opened her own box and gave a gasp. She lifted out a burgundy floaty dress, with delicate sequins and a pair of silver sandals. “I feel like Cinderella.”
