The Ghost of Christmas Past

by Angie Fox

  Boy, did she have that right. Handling hauntings was part of my job, but not all ghosts were as friendly as Donna.

  “The babies are trapped in the basement,” Donna said, and I can’t get any of my usual helpers to set foot on the property. I’ve tried three times, and each time they turn back before they even get to the door. It’s an…unusual haunting.”

  “Here we go,” Frankie sniped from the kitchen.

  I ignored him. “What’s different?” I asked Donna.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and the lines around her mouth deepened. “The spirits are deeply rooted to the land. I felt it the minute I drew near. There’s also a dark presence you’ll want to watch. I can’t put my finger on it. It was hiding from me, which is good. Maybe it will avoid you too.”

  “Doubtful,” Frankie chimed in.

  I wished he’d find something else to do.

  “You’ll be in and out,” Donna continued, remaining positive despite Frankie’s attitude. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Not for someone like you.”

  “That’s always the hope.” It didn’t usually turn out that way, but I shouldn’t go in looking for trouble.

  “Great. Now I’m stuck with two Pollyannas,” Frankie snarked from the kitchen.

  “Shouldn’t you be checking on your Jell-O?” I called to him over my shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t ask,” Donna said, “except it’s a matter of life and death.” She dropped her hands. “Verity, you’re their best—and last—chance.”

  And I was honored to help. “Just tell me where I need to go.”

  Frankie shimmered into existence between us. “Nope.” He held a hand out toward each of us as Lucy escaped to the kitchen. “Time for an intervention.”

  “Frankie—” I began.

  “I let you yammer on. I let you have your girl talk. But I’m not going to watch your behind while you go do your do-gooding on Christmas Eve.” He pointed a finger at me. “I have plans.”

  “And you,” Frankie continued, turning his attention to my guest. “You said you’d stop singing show tunes—”

  “That was the theme to The Grinch,” Donna corrected. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a show tune.”

  “More like Frankie’s theme song,” I said to Donna.

  Frankie turned up the volume. “You said you’d stop singing and get out of my shed if I let you say hello to Verity. You didn’t say anything about haunted mills or skunk rescues or baby animals on Christmas Eve when I have my girlfriend coming over in exactly one hour and fifty-three minutes!”

  Surely we had a little leeway. “I thought time didn’t matter to ghosts.”

  “It does to Molly,” Frankie shot back. “Especially when I said I’d meet her. I’m not going to stand up my girl for you or for anybody.”

  “If you leave now, you can make it back in time, easy,” Donna said with the confidence born from years of experience.

  Frankie snorted. “You don’t get it. Ever since Verity made a deal with Ellis to clear out his poltergeist problem, nothing has been easy. Most of her ‘simple’ jobs take days, not hours, and threaten to stop my cold, dead, non-beating heart.”

  “Think of Lucy,” I added, gesturing toward the skunk, who, from the sounds coming from my kitchen, seemed to be jumping up and down in a vain attempt to get to the pears on the counter. “Would you want someone to leave her out in the cold in order to entertain and eat Jell-O?”

  Frankie rolled his eyes. My skunk had been treating him lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut, and for some reason it struck a nerve. “I do like that little jerk.” People, he’d stuff in a trunk. But I was glad to see he had a soft spot for animals, even one who avoided him. “Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Now,” I insisted. “These animals need to get someplace safe tonight.” I paused. “What kind of animals?” Not that it mattered, but it would be nice to know.

  “A sow and her young,” Donna crooned, as if they were the cutest things ever.

  “Aww,” I gushed, imagining their little piggy noses and corkscrew tails.

  Donna beamed. “They’re the sweetest, snuggliest, little brown—”

  “Absolutely not,” Frankie broke in. “I don’t care how cute, darling, blah, blah, blah they are. No four-legged anythings are keeping me from Christmas with my girl,” he vowed, as if I’d asked him to burn down the shed rather than leave it for an hour.

  “I’m absolutely going, and we need you along,” I told him. “I don’t know what we’ll find at the old mill.” Donna had warned that the ghosts were somehow rooted to the land. Ties like that might make them overprotective. And there was a dark presence. “We need your knowledge and experience.”

  Frankie had been a ghost for close to a century now, and he’d saved my hide more than once with his knowledge and instincts when it came to the ghostly realm. Not only that, his life in the mob had made him wary and observant by nature. I was too trusting, too open at times, which tended to either help break cases wide open or nearly get me killed. I was smart enough to know I needed the balance he offered. And the protection.

  Even if I didn’t always relish his company.

  He gave a long sigh. “Just because you have too many do-gooder friends”—he drew the cigarette case out of his coat—“and you’re bad at holding onto a man. And you can’t put a sweater on right”—he slipped out a smoke—“and you ended up in solitary on Christmas Eve”—he tapped the end of the cigarette against the case—“it doesn’t mean I’m available.” He inserted the smoke into the corner of his mouth and lit a match. “I’m not on call twenty-four seven, you get me?” he asked, taking a few quick pulls.

  “We still have an hour and a half before Molly arrives,” I said. “Don’t you think she’ll be impressed to learn that you rescued a poor, defenseless animal on Christmas Eve? I know I would be.”

  He took a long drag and let the smoke escape out his nose. “You know what would impress Molly even more? If I was actually here for our date.”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “She’ll be less than thrilled when I tell her you didn’t want to help defenseless baby animals in danger.”

  Frankie glared at me. “You wouldn’t.”

  Donna raised her hand. “I would.”

  Frankie dropped his cigarette. “Fine,” he snapped. “But I’ll have you know this is blackmail.”

  I doubted Frankie was exactly new to blackmail. “I’m glad you’re coming,” I told him. “And I promise I’ll one hundred percent do everything I can to make this as fast as possible. I can drop your urn off here if we end up taking the mama and babies to a shelter or animal hospital. I’ll toss it out the window if that’s what we have to do to keep you on time.”

  “I’d like to toss you out a window,” he groused, but he sighed when Donna and I kept smiling at him. “Fine. I guess, I suppose, I don’t want to see any critter in trouble, even if all they do is tolerate me.”

  “There’s that Christmas spirit,” I said, winking at Donna, who looked ten kinds of relieved to have the help. I knew how she felt. “Let me grab a jacket and gloves, and we’ll be on our way.”

  I cut a few more slices of pear for Lucy and fluffed her blanket before heading upstairs to the wardrobe. I pulled on the Technicolor dream coat, gloves, and after a moment’s thought, the scarf I’d rescued Lucy in.

  For luck. For love. And with the hope that we’d make everything right on this chilly Christmas Eve.

  6

  Folks could say what they wanted about my 1978 avocado-green beast of a Cadillac, with its purple velvet seats, monster front hood, and complete lack of Bluetooth. But one thing was for certain—it was reliable in any weather.

  “Kind of fun how ghosts outnumber the living in my car,” I said, by way of conversation as I cranked up “Jingle Bells” and steered down the long drive away from the house.

  Donna smiled and gazed out the passenger-side window. “I love how you’re starting the orchard again,” she said, admiri
ng the skinny young peach trees I’d planted this past spring.

  “Step on it,” Frankie groused from the back seat. “I think I could walk faster.”

  He didn’t walk so much as glide, but now wasn’t the time to point that out to him.

  “It isn’t far,” Donna said. “Just left toward the river.”

  That made sense. There were a lot of old mills down that way.

  We took Rural Route 4 South to the edge of town.

  It was the way I would have gone tonight if I hadn’t lost my temper.

  If Virginia hadn’t needed an overdue wake-up call.

  I tightened my fingers on the wheel. At least some good had come of the confrontation tonight. Maybe I’d made Virginia think twice about how she treated people. And it had made me available for tonight’s rescue.

  “Now this way,” Donna steered me down a windy stretch of road that was—again—all too familiar.

  “Exactly where are we headed?” I asked, passing a farm stand that appeared the same as it had two years ago, crossing a wooden bridge that would lead us to a place I’d rather avoid.

  “We’re almost there,” Donna assured me.

  That wasn’t my worry.

  One of the things I loved about Sugarland was that you could get just about anywhere in fifteen minutes or less. The only catch was that every inch of the town came with its own history.

  “Here.” Donna pointed out a fork in the road I would have missed if I didn’t know the area. But I did.

  “I’ve been down this road before,” I said, dread winding in my stomach as my headlights cut down a heavily wooded stretch of road near the river known as Kipson’s Ferry.

  With a sinking feeling, I recognized the creek that cut through the property and the start of the old apple orchard. We were drawing close—too close—to Montgomery’s house and the party I’d skipped tonight. “This is Montgomery Wydell’s property.”

  We were on his land.

  These were his ghosts.

  “I wanted to avoid the Wydells tonight,” I said to myself.

  “What’s that?” Donna asked.

  “Nothing.” It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it.

  I’d admired the trees slanting across the road when I’d driven this way with my ex-fiancé, Beau. Now those towering oaks made everything feel dark and desolate.

  I began to sweat despite the chill of the ghosts.

  “It’s not far now,” Donna assured me, pointing me toward a narrow break in the trees I might not have seen if she hadn’t pointed it out. That direction would lead us straight toward…

  I stopped the car, gripped the steering wheel hard, and looked at Donna. “Tell me we’re not driving past Montgomery Wydell’s house.” Yes, we were on an important mission and, yes, I’d save the animals no matter what, but I’d really rather not take the land yacht on a cruise past the family homestead while Virginia toasted to life without me.

  Why tonight of all nights?

  And why did I have to drive an avocado-green Cadillac? There was no mistaking my car for anyone else’s in town.

  “I didn’t see any houses down this way other than an abandoned shack near the old cider mill,” Donna promised.

  “This branch of the Wydell family used to brew cider,” I said, cringing.

  “Yes, the Wydells,” Donna said cheerfully, “that’s them.”

  Donna had predated my drama with Ellis and with Beau.

  The light from the dash shone straight through her. “This is the most direct route and it takes us right through the orchard,” she said. “The current owners largely ignore this part of the property, and nobody’ll be out there this time of year.”

  “I really hope you’re right,” I managed. I believed in Donna, I did.

  The car’s shocks squeaked and groaned as we entered the orchard. It was dark, overgrown, and I had to slow down to a crawl to keep from bottoming out on the rough, rutted path.

  But the rescue was this way, so we would go.

  Barren apple trees stretched out before us in twisted rows, their thick, spreading branches black against the lighter sky. It had gotten cold quickly this evening. Mist crawled over the ground, obscuring the road and testing my headlights’ usefulness.

  “You feel that?” Frankie asked, sitting on the edge of the back seat as if it were made of glass. “The dominant ghost already knows we’re here.”

  A prickle crept up the back of my neck. It did feel like we were being watched. “Hopefully they know we’re here to help,” I said, cringing as the skeletal tree branches whipped against the sides of my car.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Donna said, watching out the window, as if she feared the ghosts of the old mill would appear among the scraggly trees. “Looks like there’s at least one who doesn’t want us anywhere near. We’ll have to be fast.”

  “That is one area where you and I agree, sister,” Frankie said, double-checking the revolver in his side holster.

  The closer we drew to the abandoned cider mill, the more I could feel the heaviness in the air and the unspoken warning.

  Get out.

  “It’s not too late to leave,” Frankie reminded us.

  I could see why Donna’s volunteers turned back when they didn’t even know why they’d felt the urge to drive down this road in the first place. Luckily for us, I knew the stakes. I’d help Donna and the animals trapped in this place.

  Sccrunch! My undercarriage scraped something heavy and the car shuddered.

  No matter. We’d survive and so would my car.

  Ka-chunk! The Cadillac rolled over something tall enough to make it rock back and forth like I’d fitted it with hydraulics.

  “Oh boy,” I said as the bottom of my car caught on something. I took my foot off the gas. Whatever it was had stopped us cold. “What was that?”

  “I think we’re about as far as your car can take us, honey,” Donna said, drawing her sweater tighter. “The path gets pretty overgrown from here on out. Don’t worry,” she added, ducking her head down through the bottom of my car and back up again. “Everything’s still in one piece. You’re just snagged going forward. You should be able to back out pretty easily.”

  “Unless we’re stuck here,” Frankie said ominously, eyeing a looming, moonlit hulk in the distance.

  “You’re not helping,” I reminded him.

  “The old Wydell cider mill is straight down this path,” Donna said.

  “Well, good.” I killed the headlights, grabbed my purse and Frankie’s urn, and got out, wrapping my arms around myself as I did. The chill of the night seeped through my Technicolor dream coat.

  “You know, you could be at a party right now,” Frankie said, gliding next to me as I navigated the large tangled roots twisting across the path.

  “With Virginia Wydell? I wouldn’t have survived the drive,” I joked, dodging over a fallen tree limb. My tennis shoe slipped on something wet. Thank goodness I wasn’t trying to do this in heels and a dress.

  “My daughter should be opening presents right about now,” Donna said wistfully, passing right through a gnarled trunk without noticing. “They bought way too much for the baby—he’s only four months old. He doesn’t need a giant teddy bear!” she clucked. “And Mary’s husband is surprising her with a carved family tree he made himself. It’s so lopsided it’s wonderful. And then he went and made her my special chocolate crinkle cookies. She’s going to cry, I know it. She’s like me.”

  “You should be there,” I told her. “We’ve got this.”

  “We do?” Frankie asked.

  “Sure,” I insisted. “Donna, you’ve shown us the way. You came to me because you knew you could count on me.” I was certainly capable of rescuing a few little pigs. “Now please don’t miss your grandson’s first Christmas.”

  Donna looked to the looming mill, then back to me. “I’m sorry. When you’re dead, getting there is no big deal. I didn’t know we’d be hung up.”

  “Donna,” I interrupted, “it’s
okay.”

  She chewed at her lip. “If you think you have it…”

  “Trust your favorite volunteer,” I teased. Then more seriously, I added, “I’ll be fine.”

  “Hardly,” Frankie cut in. “When Verity is tuned into my power—”

  “No worries, Frank,” I said, cutting him off.

  Donna didn’t need to know that I was as vulnerable to the ghostly side as any spirit when I held Frankie’s power. In fact, it was worse for me because if a ghost was shot or injured, they’d heal in a matter of minutes or hours. If I was hurt on the ghostly plane, I had to deal with the real consequences.

  “You said it yourself. It’s a simple in and out,” I assured her. “Go be a part of your family Christmas.” It was the entire reason she’d returned to Sugarland.

  She hesitated. “I mean, you should be fine,” Donna conceded. “Stay off the upper floors of the mill where the wood has rotted through and you won’t have any trouble. The animals are down in the cellar anyhow. That’s where they used to store the barrels of fruit before pressing. It’s a little tight down there, especially where they piled up some old pieces of the waterwheel, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  “Go,” I told her simply.

  She gave a small smile. “I think I will.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Verity. I don’t think anyone could have handled this problem but you. You truly are a lifesaver.”

  I grinned despite Frankie’s long groan. “I’m happy I can help.”

  She disappeared and left a frowning Frankie in her wake.

  “Sure, you let her go to her thing, but not me,” he groused. “Never me.”

  “You live here. She doesn’t,” I told him. “Besides, we can probably do it faster on our own.”

  “You really think that?” he asked as we took in the long, rectangular cider mill, at least what we could see of it through the fog.

  Donna knew we could handle this. “She wouldn’t have left if she thought it would be complicated.”

  He adjusted his Panama hat to cover the bullet hole in his forehead. “Lead the way, Kemosabe.”