A Winter’s Keepsake: Part Three by Anita Dickason

From my Author’s World to yours. Thank you for joining me for the final chapter of A Winter’s Keepsake, a Christmas interlude in the Tori Winters Mystery series. In this closing part, memory and mystery converge beneath the glow of a Christmas star. I hope this story leaves you with warmth, wonder, and a deeper connection to the world of Tori Winters. As this interlude ends, a new mystery begins. The fourth book in the Tori Winters Mystery series is on the way, where danger returns, secrets deepen, and discovery never sleeps.

A Winter’s Keepsake: A Tori Winters Christmas Mystery Part Three

Unraveling Time’s Threads

While the mystery of the star still lingered in her thoughts, it was several days before Tori could carve out enough time to tackle the research into French glass blowers. Decorating had taken on a life of its own, along with the myriad details for the grand opening that loomed closer.

She wandered into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, where Cammie reigned over a flurry of recipe testing. Every day, she brought new dishes and baked goods for the team to sample, and today was no exception.

“Cammie, if you don’t stop cooking, we’ll all need a crash diet,” Tori exclaimed, eyeing two cakes, plates of muffins, cookies, and other delectable treats that littered the counter. “I’m avoiding the scale like it was the plague. I’m sure I’ll be scarred for life.” 

Waving a large spoon like a conductor’s baton, Cammie laughed. “Perfecting a menu takes time. Not a single crumb will be served until it’s vetted.”

Tori rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you’ve got enough for ten menus.” 

“Just weeding out what won’t work.”

“Well, your weeding is putting all of us in jeopardy of needing new clothes,” Tori declared, even as she filled a plate with goodies to go along with the coffee.

Cammie’s laughter followed her out the door.

Seated in her office, Tori munched on a pecan fudge cookie, her gaze drifting toward the box on her desk. Though she’d given it several cursory looks, maybe she’d missed something. She brushed crumbs from her fingers and reached for the magnifying glass tucked in her desk drawer. Slowly, she examined the sides of the box, then turned it over to look at the bottom. 

She opened the box and removed the envelope and star. There wasn’t much to see. A layer of padded velvet lined the interior, stretched taut over a raised wooden brace that held the star in place. When she tugged at the velvet, the brace shifted.

Her pulse quickened. She tugged again, gently. The false bottom came free, exposing the wood beneath. Branded deep into the grain was a name, Andre Glassworks, and beside it, a small circle enclosing the number 8.

Tori blinked and leaned closer. For a moment, she just stared, barely believing she’d uncovered a real, tangible clue. 

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing the name. Excitement surged. A website appeared for Andre Glassworks in Paris, France. No phone number, but there was an email address.

Hope began to stir. Could she be lucky enough to learn the buyer’s name? Her fingers hovered over the keys as she weighed how much to say. Tori kept it brief, outlining her search for the ornament’s history and the identity of its purchaser. She snapped photos of the box, inside and out, and the star, then transferred them to her computer.

Anxiety prickled her skin as she hit send. This was her only clue. Would it lead to answers? The trip to France had been a turning point in Elly’s life. The star was part of it. With so little to hold onto from a woman she’d never known, every detail mattered.

While Tori remained hopeful, deep down, logic told her that probably too many years had passed. To her surprise, two days later, a response arrived from Andre Delatte, the owner. He confirmed that his father had created a limited series of the star. He found the purchaser by using the number engraved on the box. Though he provided a name, Julien Moreau, and an address, he also indicated that the address might not be valid.

Despite his caution, it was a trail. One Tori had to follow. But when the results of her search appeared, it was disheartening. Had she hit another dead end? There were a multitude of men with the same name. How could she narrow it down? 

After the first few, she found out—age. Most were far too young to have purchased the ornament so many years ago. One, though, stood out. A French publisher living in Paris. She knew nothing about him, but the match was plausible. Hoping this was the connection to Elly, she quickly dialed the number she’d also found. 

A woman answered. “Moreau residence, how may I help you?” 

After introducing herself, she asked to speak to Julian Moreau.

“I am so sorry. That is not possible due to Mr. Moreau’s health issues. Perhaps his daughter Claire can assist you?”

“Yes, please,” Tori said. When another voice came on the line, Tori again identified herself, then added, “I’m tracing the history of a glass ornament, a star, made by Andre Glassworks in Paris. I’ve been advised that your father purchased one many years ago. It may have been a gift to my grandmother, Elly Leichter, who was visiting France.”

“I’m familiar with Mr. Delatte’s works, but I do not know of such a gift, nor have I ever heard the name Elly Leichter.”

“Would it be possible to ask Mr. Moreau?”

“Oui, I’ll ask. But my father is quite elderly, and his memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“I understand. I’d be grateful for anything you might learn.” Before hanging up, Tori gave the woman her contact information and address.

Her heart sank. She’d reached the end of the search. She still knew little more than when she began. She opened the box and lifted the star, its shimmer catching the light. Still, it wasn’t a loss. The star was hers now. A keepsake, a whisper of another connection to a grandmother she’d never known. This Christmas, it would once again adorn the tree.

Laughter and groans echoed as everyone gathered on the front porch to watch the arrival of the tree for the living room. Three of the group, Parker, David, and Colt, hadn’t held back on their protests when the delivery truck backed into the driveway. 

While Parker and Colt were less outspoken with expressions of disbelief, David wasn’t. “Good lord,” he exclaimed as they viewed the twelve-foot tree Tori and her team had selected. “What is this, an alpine giant. Are you certain you couldn’t find a bigger one?”

Tori figured their grumbling was fair since tree duty hadn’t exactly come with a warning. Still, she and her team couldn’t stop their laughter at the men’s antics, the exaggerated moans and theatrical puffing, as they wrestled the tree onto the porch and through the front door.

“I don’t know about the two of you, but when we agreed to this gig, I was envisioning a somewhat smaller tree. Not a monster from up north,” Colt grumbled, even though his eyes twinkled with amusement. 

Tori couldn’t help herself. “If it helps, the one in the library is a lot smaller.”

“Oh, joy,” Parker said. 

“If I hear one more laugh,” David finally declared, glowering at the women after another heavily laden limb of pine needles slapped his face, “we’re dropping it right here.” 

Which, of course, triggered another round of gleeful chuckles from the five women. 

Once the tree was inside the foyer, Mia took command, barking orders like a drill sergeant as the men muscled it into the living room. Getting it upright and stabilized brought on another round of grumbling. 

Cammie leaned toward Tori and whispered, “I’d better get the bribes ready. Otherwise, we may have a full-on revolt before we reach the next battle—lights and decorations.

Tori chuckled before whispering back. “Food. Our best shot at pacifying the troops.” 

As Cammie rushed toward the kitchen, Tori stared up at the tree in amazement. “Do we have enough lights?”

“Plenty. I bought extra sets, just in case,” Mia said.

Her confession earned a fresh chorus of groans from the men. 

“There are people that you can hire to do this, you know,” Colt said dryly, setting a ladder next to the tree. As feminine voices rose in protest, he held up his hand. “Just saying.”

“Then we’d have missed all the fun of doing it ourselves,” Tori said.

“Where is the ourselves in this operation?” David protested. “So far, it’s just the three of us hefting a tree fit for Rockefeller Plaza.”

Tori’s eyes twinkled. “Now, you know darn well, that’s a gross exaggeration.”

“Tell that to my aching muscles,” he muttered.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of ribbing, laughter, and tangled strands of light as the tree slowly transformed into a holiday centerpiece. With the tree in place, they turned their attention to the rest of the house, garlands, wreaths, and festive touches in every room. 

Mia said, with a decided air of approval, “Once the company you hired finishes the lights outside, we’re ready for the tour. And honestly. It looks fantastic.”

Tori chuckled. “I’ll admit it. I did have my doubts.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. It was all in the planning,” Heidi said with a triumphant grin. 

“And a few strained muscles,” Colt muttered. 

Once the clutter of boxes was cleared and Cammie declared the kitchen was officially clean, only David lingered. 

With a sigh of contentment, he settled onto the sofa beside Tori, staring at the tree. “Elly would have loved this,” he said softly. “Getting the house ready for the tour was always her pride and joy.”

Tori jumped up. “Wait. We’re not done yet. Be right back.”

She raced into the office and grabbed the wooden box. Back in the living room, Tori handed it to David. “Do you remember this?”

His eyes filled with sadness as he opened it. “I do.” He gently removed the star. “It was on the tree every Christmas that I lived here. How could I have forgotten? But then, it’s been several years since this house has seen Christmas.”

“It was in the attic with the rest of the decorations. There’s a note. Did Elly ever talk about it?”

“No.” He pulled out the note. “How odd.”

After listening to Tori’s details about the visit to Ethel, he said, “I just thought it was a Christmas decoration. Of course, I never knew Henry Winters. I didn’t enter the picture until my dad married your aunt, Lea. Elly never had much to say about Henry. Makes you wonder what really happened back then.”

He gestured toward the tree with a soft smile. “Shall we?” He grabbed her hand, pulling her off the couch. 

“Where did she hang it?”

“Right in the center, so it caught the eye the moment you walked in.” David pointed. “What about that limb? I’ll shift one of the lights to backlight it.”

Once the star was in place and the lights adjusted, they stepped back. David wrapped his arms around Tori, pulling her close against his chest. His cheek rested on her head as they gazed at the star, the glass catching the light, as if to create a new memory.

Tori leaned back, letting the warmth of his arms settle around her. Maybe there was nothing more to discover other than this. Just a twinkling star and a promise of tomorrow.

The tour had come to a close, and it had been a phenomenal success. The final visitor count would take days to tally, but the line of people had extended down the block and had stayed steady until dusk. By the time the plastic runners and guide ropes were rolled up, the team was spent. And yet, they’d manage to finish prepping for the Christmas Eve party. 

After everyone else, other than David, had left, Tori wandered into the living room, collapsing onto a chair. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her. 

David walked in with two cups of coffee. The rich aroma triggered a flicker of energy. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.” She cradled the cup, taking a deep swig. She was about to comment on the tour when the doorbell chimed.

With a groan, she shifted to rise.

“Stay put. I’ll get it,” David said. 

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder as he answered the door. She couldn’t hear what was said, but David stepped aside as two men in delivery uniforms entered, carrying a large wooden crate.

From the living room doorway, David said, “Tori, you need to sign for this.”

Tori pushed herself upright and padded into the foyer, her curiosity outweighing her fatigue. One of the delivery men handed her a clipboard. She quickly signed, and the man gave her a carbon copy with a nod. After they left, she looked at the shipping label on the box.

A chill raced through her. “David … it’s from France,” she murmured.

“It’s screwed shut,” David said, already heading for the door. “I’ll grab my toolbox.”

Anticipation surged through her, impossible to contain. 

David gently laid the crate on the floor, his movements steady and deliberate. Once the screws were removed, he lifted the wooden cover and laid it aside. Inside, layers of foam board and bubble wrap concealed whatever lay beneath. 

As he carefully removed each layer, Tori’s tension built. When the final piece was pulled away, her legs buckled. She dropped to her knees, tears spilling unchecked.

David was struck silent. They stared at a painting. An astonishing piece of art. It was breathtaking. 

Elly was seated on a bench in a garden. The sunlight cascaded over her face as she looked up from a book, her expression radiant with joy. 

“Oh, David … it’s stunning,” Tori whispered, swiping at the tears. “But how? I don’t understand.”

He peeled an envelope from the side of the foam board, its edges carefully taped. “Maybe this will explain.”

He lifted the painting, its frame a rich, polished wood, and carried it into the living room. David propped it gently against a chair, where the light caught Elly’s smile. 

Feeling as if she were drifting through a fog of emotions, Tori settled on the sofa, her gaze locked on Elly’s radiant face. The joy captured there, so vivid, so unexpected, sparked a deep-seated sorrow. 

Her eyes dropped to the envelope resting in her lap. Her name was written in an elegant cursive. She traced the letters with her fingertip, a tremor rising in her chest.

“David,” she murmured, holding it up, “this looks like the same writing that was on the card.” 

The envelope wasn’t sealed. With trembling fingers, Tori lifted the flap and drew out several sheets of thick, cream-colored stationery. 

David settled beside her, an arm around her shoulders.

His presence steadied her as Tori began to read.

Dear Miss Winters 

Words fail to express the depth of my gratitude for the priceless gift you’ve given me. To learn that my precious Elly kept the star I gave her so many years ago was as if she had come back to me. 

But I get ahead of myself. I imagine you have questions.

I met your grandmother when she and her mother visited Paris. For me, it was love at first sight, but not so much for Elly. Still, it wasn’t long before she caught up. At the time, I was a struggling publisher and on-again, off-again artist. When her mother discovered our secret, she immediately left Paris, taking Elly back to Texas. 

I managed to see her one last time before she left. That’s when I gave her the star. Oh, so many promises we couldn’t keep. I wrote but never knew if she received my letters. Though I did receive correspondence from her mother. But all that is in the past.

I’ve never forgotten Elly. The joy and love we shared have lasted a lifetime. The painting was done from memory. I consider it my finest work, but then it was a labor of love. There was a park where we would meet. She’d be waiting, always with a book to pass the time until I arrived. 

When Claudia gave me your message, I knew I had to send the painting to you. My family never knew about Elly. She’s been a secret I’ve kept close to my heart all these years.

Yours truly

Julien Moreau

Tori, tears trickling down her face, slowly refolded the sheets of paper and slipped them into the envelope. David gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and she rested her head against him, feeling the soft press of his lips on her hair. 

“Ethel said she was unhappy. That Elly was never the same after that trip,” she whispered. “This was why. She never stopped loving him.”

“I think you’re right,” David said softly, his gaze lingering on the painting. “In all the years that I knew her, I never saw that look of joy on her face.” He paused, then added, “Where do you want to hang it?” 

“In her favorite place in the house, the music room.”

Once it was in place, David held Tori close as they gazed at it. One memory framed, and another glowed on a tree.

Present

As friends and loved ones silently watched, Tori gestured toward the star on the tree, her voice steady as she recounted its discovery and the trail it led her down. She spoke of the artist, Julien Moreau, whom Elly had met during a long-ago visit to Paris, and how the painting came to be. A gift, graciously sent after she reached out to him.

She didn’t mention the letter. Or the depth of Julien’s impact on Elly’s life. Some truths were meant to be held close. 

Still, a doubt lingered. Had she discovered all the truths? Both Julien and Ethel had mentioned the past, as if something remained unspoken and unfinished. 

A secret still waiting in the shadows.

Want more Tori Winters Mysteries? Get ready for 2026 😉

In the meantime, be sure to catch up on the Tori Winter’s Mysteries already out so far.

About Anita Dickason