Welcome to the beginning of 'The Havenford Mysteries' series

Welcome to “The Havenford Mysteries” series by local author R.A. Coscia. Enjoy “Mystery 1: The Holiday Heirloom” and find out what happened during parade day. A new chapter will be published each week in The Beacon.

The ding of the coffee shop bell always felt like home. It called me from the bustling streets of Manhattan back to the cherished memories of my childhood. I would hear a similar sound in shops around the city, a hint of remembrance, but they lacked what made my memory whole.

A ding. “Well hello friend.” Aunt Mae’s warm voice welcomed me into the shop. For a moment I was 10 again, shaking with excitement for a summer in the country. The aroma of roasted coffee brought me back to the present, wrapping me with the warmth of Aunt Mae’s shop and the strength of her embrace. I felt a pressure at my ankles, and with a giddy chirp I reached down to pick up the heavy ball of fluff that was Beans, the calico shop-cat.

“Come to the back and put your apron on. We have a busy day prepping the shop for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving Parade.” Aunt Mae’s tone was all business, but her smile reflected her joy. I had come to learn the ropes of the shop, get away from the city where I was raised, and escape back to Havenford, the town in the foothills of Appalachia that had filled my summers. The next few hours were a whirlwind. Aunt Mae bustled around the shop filling orders, chatting with customers and bossing me around. Her energy was endless, fueled by pride and extra caffeine.

“This has to be the 10th turkey I have brought out of the storage room Aunt Mae. How many more can there be?”

“At least 10 more my love. And when you find the Founder’s Light, please bring that up too.”

“The what?” I asked from the basement, shouting toward the open door. Beans poked her head into the doorway, investigating the cause of the ruckus from the basement.

“The Founder’s Light. It is a big brass candlestick; you cannot miss it,” she hollered back. Then the distinct ring of the bell and a muffled “Well hello friend.”

A few minutes later I emerged, dust covered, but proudly carrying an ornate brass candlestick. “This?”

She clapped her hands once in excitement, walking out from behind the counter and taking it from me. Her face beamed with pride as she carried it over to the front window where I had been working on the Thanksgiving display.

“Do tell, what makes that candlestick special enough to get its own window display for the Thanksgiving Parade?” The question came from the most recent customer, a woman in her early 50s with salt and pepper hair cut into the perfect bob, a honeybee tattooed on her neck, just below her left ear.

Aunt Mae got a whimsical look on her face; she slowed her words and entered her storytelling mode. “The Founder’s Light originally belonged to Margaret Whitcombe, wife of Edward Whitcombe, Havenford’s first mayor. In 1876 she used this candlestick to light the town’s first Christmas tree candles. It soon became tradition to use this candlestick every year to light the candles and bring in the Christmas season.”

“And the Whitcombes are our ancestors?” I asked, turning from my work of fanning out a fake turkey’s tail feathers.

“No. In December of 1900, there was a fire in town that burned down many buildings and family homes. My Great-Grandmother Lydia opened her farmhouse up to the families who had lost everything. She cooked meals for them out of her shop’s supplies, and they all celebrated Christmas together. The next year Margaret gifted Lydia the candlestick to carry on the tradition. Us Wrens have displayed it in the shop window every season since as a symbol of hope and to continue the tradition of lighting the candles on the town tree.”

Aunt Mae had been polishing the candlestick and with a flourish placed it into the front window display.

“Small towns and their quaint lore,” our customer mocked. She grabbed her coffee to go; a sharp ding rang as she rushed out the door.

The next morning I woke up as excited as a child. Growing up in Manhattan, we never came back to Dad’s hometown for Thanksgiving. Dad was insistent on watching the Macy’s Parade in person. Aunt Mae never left Havenford on Thanksgiving. How could you miss the parade? The love of parades is in my blood, and this was going to be my first Havenford Thanksgiving Morning Parade.

We got to the shop before 5 a.m. There were city employees already out designating the parade route and fixing to shut down the roads. Many would take their first break inside our shop, and Aunt Mae didn’t want to miss serving those helping the town. She raced around instructing me on making pots of drip coffee, hot chocolate and warmed apple cider to be dumped into large urns and placed outside, sold for 50 cents a Styrofoam cup. We built a wood fire inside and moved most of the seating closer for customers to warm themselves. We took a break once, sitting down to watch the sunrise outside the coffee shop windows.

“I am glad you’re here my love,” Aunt Mae whispered as the sun kissed the old town with light.

I smiled, but before I could answer, the bell rang and in walked a uniformed police officer.

“Well hello friend!” Aunt Mae exclaimed, raising from her seat and walking to the counter. “How are you, Officer Turner?”

“Please Ma’am, you can still call me Caleb.” The officer smiled wide at Mae.

“Not while you are in uniform, I refuse. Your regular this morning?”

Officer Turner nodded, and Aunt Mae poured him a 16-ounce black coffee. “It’s on the house officer.”

He smiled and dropped a tip into the jar that was double the price of the coffee and turned toward me. “It’s nice to see you back in town Miss Cora. I heard you are staying with us indefinitely.” And with a tap of his hat he left the shop.

My head snapped to Aunt Mae. “Oh, now you remember Caleb Turner. He is about 5 years older than you; you used to see him all the time at the pool!” My mind searched, but I struggled matching the adult I just saw to a child in my memories.

In what felt like a blink the streets were lined with people, bundled up and ready for a parade. It passed in a blur of joy. School bands, 4-H clubs, farmers on tractors, Thanksgiving themed floats, even a flock of well-trained sheep marched past our happy shop. Smiles were abundant, children chased after candy and at the end Santa rode in the bucket of the fire truck, ushering in the Christmas season. I screamed and waved as joyfully as any of the children. And while it was not the size of the big city parade I had grown up with, it was magical.

As the parade ended, most families set off to finish their Thanksgiving meal prep and gather in each other’s homes. Aunt Mae and I cleaned up and sat at the fire sipping tea before heading out to a friend's house for dinner. The shop was warm and my heart was full, and I knew that by leaving home, I was really coming home.

The next morning I let Aunt Mae sleep in, and I went to prepare the shop for the Black Friday post-shopping caffeine rush. But as I turned onto Main Street, I saw a police car, its lights flashing, sitting outside our shop. Officer Turner was standing outside our shop window, or what used to be the window, glass shattered all over the ground.

“Miss Cora, I am glad you are here. I was alerted of your broken window just moments ago. Let’s go inside and see if anything is missing.” But I did not need to go inside at all. I could see from where I stood that the Founder’s Light was no longer standing proud on its pedestal.

By morning the word had spread around town — Havenford’s Christmas Magic had gone missing.