Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  Jessica scurried off to assist Vincent. He tossed his jacket over the chair, sat down, and plunked his elbows on the table for one. The co-owner glared at Tori, who waggled her bejeweled fingers at him. He refused to let Jessica hang up his trench coat.

  Charlene pulled her gaze from that drama to continue her perusal of the diners—she couldn’t have asked for a better seat.

  A plump woman in evergreen velvet, her hair a mousy brownish-gray, smoothed in a bun with a red silk poinsettia tucked in the knot, rubbed her hands together and beamed with pride as she went up and down the length of baskets for the auction. Charlene recognized the rosy cheeks from the photo for Felicity House on the table. The director, Alice Winters.

  Her mother held the green paper and pointed to the picture of Jessica. “It says here that our waitress used to live at Felicity House, before she was adopted.”

  “That’s true, and she’s also a physical therapist.” Charlene admired the young woman’s drive toward success.

  “Why is she working here?” The question was asked in a snide tone that made Charlene twist her napkin.

  “I imagine because she wants to, Brenda,” her dad said. “Don’t you dare ask.”

  Jessica arrived to take their order, and her mother thawed slightly. “I’ll have the veal parmesan, with a salad.”

  “Wonderful choice,” Jessica said, turning to Charlene. “And you?”

  “Lobster ravioli. I’ll also have the salad instead of soup. Dad?”

  Her father collected their menus. “Chicken scaloppini and pasta fagioli. Thank you.”

  “I’ll get these in so you can enjoy your meal by the time the auction starts!” Jessica hustled off, her hair swinging.

  Charlene contemplated the barren trees out her window. “Snow sure would be pretty.”

  “It’s in the forecast, according to the Weather Channel,” her dad offered.

  “If you want snow, you should live in Chicago.” Her mom’s mouth thinned into a red seam.

  “I’m happy here, Mom,” Charlene said. “Can’t you be happy for me too?”

  “I am! What kind of mother would I be if I wasn’t happy for my own child?”

  Jessica arrived with their salads and soup, saving Charlene from having to answer. “Enjoy!” The waitress circled her way to Sharon’s table next.

  At precisely eight o’clock, David tugged the lapels of his black suit jacket. “I’d like to introduce Alice Winters and Pamela Avita.”

  Pamela, the co-chair for the charity event, was the opposite of dowdy Alice, in a sleek green skirt and fitted jacket, styled black hair, and pearls.

  “Now there’s a woman who knows how to dress,” her mom said. “Tori should take notes.”

  David had moved the podium so that it faced the diners, and Pamela stood behind it. She was a natural auctioneer, listing each item with a starting bid and creating excitement as she worked the crowd, the patrons generous to the cause of Felicity House. Alice would declare the winner’s name, and Tori, whose gold sequined number showed off her dynamite figure as she paraded before the baskets, delivered the prizes.

  They ate during the show, Jessica expertly maneuvering around the action.

  Her mom raised her hand to bid on a pair of diamond earrings, which she won, but she lost the mystery box from Vintage Treasures to a woman sitting next to Brandy’s table. Charlene had her eye on a cashmere scarf and gloves but was outbid by Kevin’s dinner date. Her dad put in a lackluster bid on a whale tour, but was more content with his soup.

  Before she knew it, all of the items had been presented and Pamela announced the auction a success. Her eyes shone brightly. “I’d like to thank everyone on behalf of Felicity House.”

  Alice clapped and the whole room erupted with applause—except for Vincent, who hadn’t bid on a thing as he’d nursed his drink. Whiskey on the rocks?

  “Check the website tomorrow for our silent auction winners—the children are so appreciative.” Pamela gracefully returned to her seat with a flip of her head, exposing a large pearl in gold at her ear.

  Alice rose, her cheeks as bright as the silk poinsettia in her hair. “Thank you for hosting our event, David. I hope to do this again next year at Bella’s.”

  Vincent Lozzi smacked his hand on the table. “We’ll see about that,” he groused.

  Charlene’s pulse raced, the show of aggression at odds in the festive atmosphere.

  David clenched his hand as he glared at his partner. What was going on?

  Alice whispered something to him, and David gathered himself. “I’d like to give my thanks to Jessica,” he said, nodding at Jessica, “for bravely sharing her adoption story. And to all of you for your generosity tonight. We’re just getting started, my friends, and I plan on doing more.”

  Charlene applauded, hoping that his windfall would be put to good use. With a promise to herself to help Salem’s at-risk youth, she folded the green sheet with Alice’s name and contact information and put it in her purse.

  David, his back to a pouting Tori, gestured for the bartender. “Bring the Dom Pérignon.” He faced the rapt audience. “As some of you know, we have much to celebrate.”

  Low laughter and hoots resounded. Ten million dollars was indeed a lot.

  “Lottery winners are never happy,” her mother said in a foreboding tone. “They don’t know how to spend their newfound money.”

  “Be happy for him, Mom, will you? I wish them the very best.”

  The door swung open and Charlene rubbed her arms at the frigid temperature. A young man with dark brown hair and heavy brows unwrapped his scarf and scuffed his motorcycle boots along the small carpet at the entryway next to David’s podium.

  Tori saw him and rolled her eyes. “Kyle,” she drawled. “Why am I not surprised?”

  David whirled toward the young man. “Son! What are you doing here?”

  “I left a message for you earlier, Dad.” He waited by the oval table between Charlene and the door. “I need to talk to you.”

  Tori’s mouth puckered like she’d downed sour apple schnapps.

  David looked to Jessica. “Jess? Will you see if the kitchen can make up something for Kyle?”

  “Don’t bother.” Kyle checked the time on his phone. “Ten on the dot. Kitchen’s closed, right, Dad?”

  “It’ll only take a second,” Jessica said. “If you aren’t picky?”

  “I don’t want anything but a few minutes of my dad’s time.” Kyle helped himself to the lone chair at the table near Charlene.

  Jessica disappeared into the kitchen and the scent of garlic escaped.

  A clatter sounded to her right, and Charlene turned. Avery, orange hair quivering, knelt to pick up plate shards around a woman’s high heel. Sauce coated the lady’s shoe and Avery’s apron. “I’m so sorry,” Charlene heard the girl say. She dabbed at the woman’s foot with a table napkin.

  “Just get me some water,” the woman snapped. “I’ll clean it myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The girl sniffled and kept her head bowed.

  Alice took a protective half step in Avery’s direction.

  David apologized to the woman but glared at Avery. “Finish up in here. Don’t come back tomorrow,” he said under his breath.

  What a terrible way to speak to her—Avery was no more than a child. This was a side to David that Charlene didn’t like.

  Kyle, still in his motorcycle jacket, rose, sympathy on his face. He grabbed her arm, but Avery shrugged off his hand. “Don’t, Kyle.”

  The teens were friends?

  Jessica delivered Perrier and a white linen cloth to the woman with the marinara-doused stiletto, and a plate of pasta with red sauce to Kyle.

  David, like a consummate actor, gazed at the jubilant faces before him in the dining room as if his son or Avery didn’t exist.

  “You should all have a flute of champagne.” He held his glimmering glass high. “To all of you, for coming here to help Felicity House. Thank you again for your generosity
tonight. Cheers!” He snagged Jessica as the young woman tried to pass him toward the kitchen.

  “Wait!” He poured Jessica a flute. “Jessica has been with me since I first opened Bella’s five years ago. My thanks, my friend.”

  Tori scoffed and twirled her diamond tennis bracelet. Her pettiness diminished her beauty, and Charlene almost felt sorry for David.

  “Not only are we gathered for the auction,” David raised his voice, “but I’ve invited some of you here to deliver extra holiday cheer.” He lifted the bottle of Dom and spoke sincerely. “I have not always been the best friend, or husband, or business partner, or father”—he turned to Kyle and then back to the group—“but I want you to know how much you all mean to me.”

  He drained his flute and set the glass on the table of unclaimed baskets.

  Jessica, standing close to Charlene, sniffled, tears welling in her eyes.

  Kyle slurped a forkful of spaghetti, his suspicious gaze on his father.

  Tori’s phone dinged and David eyed her with outrage.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, quickly reading the text. The light from her diamond ring flashed brightly from the candles on the centerpieces.

  “Let me see your phone,” he whispered angrily, reaching for it, his “friends” momentarily forgotten.

  “No—it’s nothing.” Tori shifted on her gold heels, pressing buttons as if deleting messages.

  “It better not be Zane,” David said, his mustache trembling. “I warned you.”

  “David, please,” Tori snarled. “Get on with your show, would you?”

  He turned his rigid back to her and pulled a stack of envelopes from the podium.

  Who is Zane? Charlene sipped her excellent champagne. This was a madhouse—she couldn’t wait to tell Jack all about it.

  David handed an envelope to Jessica, who smiled at him affectionately and slid it into her apron pocket.

  He gave one to Brandy and Evelyn Flint, one to Vincent Lozzi—whose anger still simmered judging by the scowl on his face—and another to Alice and Pamela. With each passing check, Tori’s mood deflated. She continually touched her tennis bracelet, as if to assure herself it was still there.

  “Is there an envelope for me and Mom, Dad?” Kyle pushed his empty plate aside.

  David winced. “Not tonight,” he said. “But I haven’t forgotten you, son.” He went back to the podium and the bottle of champagne, slyly watching from his post.

  Vincent opened his envelope and then snorted an ugly laugh. “This is nowhere near what you owe me. I thought you’d be signing it over.” He got to his feet, grabbed his coat, and strode between the tables to David at the podium, hand clenched. “My lawyer will be in touch.”

  David didn’t back down. “That amount is fair, and you know why.”

  Vincent glared at David and then glanced at Kyle before lowering his fist—racing out the front door on a flurry of cold air.

  The others who had received envelopes opened them and peeked inside. Brandy used a butter knife to slit the envelope open. She showed the check to Evelyn with a nod and put it in her purse.

  Jessica immediately grabbed a bottle of champagne and started topping off everyone’s glasses. Kyle smirked from the sideline, as if he knew something about his father that nobody else did.

  Charlene felt terrible for David—everybody had their hand out. But why was he doing this? “It’s so ugly,” Charlene said under her breath to her parents.

  Her mom sipped her water sagely. “Winning the lottery isn’t guaranteed good luck.”

  Alice, seated next to Pamela, opened her envelope, and her plump, rosy complexion turned the color of curdled milk. She showed it to Pamela, who gasped, quickly covering her mouth.

  David took off his glasses and scanned the room, resting his forearm on top of the podium. “Winning the lottery has been a miracle, but my funds are not immediately accessible. I will donate more when my bounty comes in.”

  The majority of diners had not received an envelope, so they applauded David’s intent. From Charlene’s table she saw Tori, who stood next to David, whisper, “You don’t owe anybody. That money is ours.”

  Ignoring his wife, David announced to the diners before him, “Dessert will be served—and again, I thank you all for coming. Felicity House thanks you.”

  The crowd cheered, but Charlene was just as eager to leave as she had been to arrive. She read the time on her phone. Ten thirty. What would Jack think? The whole check-giving thing had been awkward and in poor taste—as if David had wanted to prove a point.

  David walked over to Kyle and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll be sending a special Christmas card to you and your mom, okay? This was business.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about a call I got today, but I can see you’re too busy.” Kyle stood and looked his dad in the eye, his voice hoarse. “Why can’t you follow through, just once?” He zipped his black leather jacket and darted out the front door. Moments later, a motorcycle roared and peeled off.

  Poor Kyle!

  “We need to talk, David.” Tori tugged at David’s arm to have a heated discussion by the kitchen door. The waitstaff brushed by them with trays of cannoli.

  Charlene waved at Jessica, ready for the bill rather than dessert. Her festive joy was squashed by the greed surrounding David’s lottery win.

  Alice rose and stepped shakily toward the long table with unclaimed prizes, but Pamela urged the older director to enjoy the cannoli while she loaded the SUV.

  “Get Avery to help,” Alice suggested, tugging the silk poinsettia from her hair.

  “Good idea,” Pamela said. “Save me a bite, would you?”

  Jessica delivered the bill, the envelope from David peeping from her apron pocket. She hoped for Jessica’s sake that David had been generous. Charlene’s dad insisted on paying for dinner to do his part for the kiddos at the center.

  Within moments they were ready to leave and Charlene got to her feet, searching for David. “Let me just say goodbye. . . .”

  David, Tori clinging to his side like a golden leech, left his spot by the kitchen door and stalked toward Charlene and the window over her shoulder, his bushy brows arched in surprise above the frames of his glasses as he focused on the streetlamp outside. His body quaked with fear and he shook Tori off. “No!”

  “What?” Tori’s hand flew to her mouth. “I told Zane to stay away, I promise.”

  “Freddy?” David asked in confusion. “But no—it can’t be.” Concerned, Charlene reached for David as he swayed unsteadily, not from drink, but shock. He stared out the window—she turned, seeing nothing, then focused on David.

  He wobbled, grabbing the back of her empty chair. Was he having a heart attack? Her lobster ravioli flipped in her stomach as she recalled what she knew of CPR.

  “Doug is supposed to be dead!” David’s shaking finger touched his bottom lip in sheer terror, and then he lunged away from her and raced out the front door of Bella’s restaurant.

  She swiveled toward Tori. “Who is Doug?” It all happened so fast—the next thing she knew, Charlene heard a sickening thump. Slowly, slowly, she glanced outside the window, to where David’s body sprawled across the center line of the road, his glasses shining beneath the streetlamp. Nobody else was there.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charlene gasped, her hands to her chest as she tried to make sense of what she saw through the restaurant window. David splayed, his torso twisted, in the center of the street. His head was turned at an awkward angle toward the Christmas Santa with the toothbrush flashing on the other side of the road.

  Sharon’s husband ran out—Charlene couldn’t move.

  Charlene’s parents wore identical expressions of disbelief. “My God! David . . . !” She raised her voice. “Someone call nine-one-one.”

  Several people already had their phones out. Her friend Kevin left his date at the table and reached her side. “An ambulance is on its way. What happened?”

  “I have no i
dea.” Her breath was tight in her chest.

  Tori had dissolved into a golden puddle at the table Kyle had used, sobbing hysterically while Jessica tried to calm her down.

  Her mom and dad leaned against each other in support, and Charlene thought of Sam.

  “Excuse me.” She stepped aside to dig her phone from her purse, looking out the window as John hovered near David, and hit the first name on her speed dial. Detective Sam Holden’s deep tones sounded on a recorded voice mail message, but he didn’t pick up.

  “It’s Charlene.” She shivered, the phone cool against her ear. “I’m at Bella’s Italian Ristorante. David Baldwin might have been hit by a car. He ran outside, and now he’s lying on the pavement.” Her voice hitched. Her parents conversed softly with Kevin. His companion had joined them, eyes glazed with shock. “Can you come quickly?”

  She ended the message and joined the four crowded together. “Kevin, he isn’t moving. Do you think he’s de—?” Charlene choked on the last word. Please, don’t let it be true. David was supposed to be the lucky winner, and now he was either badly injured or . . . worse. Charlene peeked out the window. Others had followed John, but they all stood around David.

  Why wasn’t anyone giving him mouth-to-mouth?

  “I don’t know,” Kevin said. “Charlene, this is Amy Fadar. Amy, Charlene. You stay inside and I’ll go see.” He rushed out.

  Alice Winters jumped to her feet, wiped cannoli cream from her mouth with a napkin, and grabbed her jacket. “We’ll need to divert traffic.”

  “I’ll help,” Sharon said, following the plump, take-charge director.

  Luckily, there weren’t many cars this time of night. Charlene stayed with her folks; her mom had barely stopped trembling.

  Brandy, Theo, and Evelyn whispered amongst themselves at their table, but the wailing of the ambulance halted all conversation. Not many dinner guests remained; most had flocked outside to see the horror show. Jessica peered out the window closest to Charlene while murmuring to Tori, who had her head buried in her arms.