Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  Why had David given Jessica that check? Jessica had said herself that he didn’t have to, but he wanted to help her with her student loans. Why would he give her money and not his own son?

  Jessica showed them to a table far away from the window, with a Sorrento mural painted on the wall behind. She handed them each a menu. “It’s been awful around here. Everyone’s in shock, calling and asking questions. They can’t believe David is gone. Me either.”

  “I’m so sorry, for you, for everybody,” Charlene said gently. “Especially his family. They must be hurting so much.”

  “Good thing he gave out all those checks last night.” Brenda nudged the menu on the table. “Had it happened going in, nobody would have got a thing.”

  Michael shook his head, giving his wife an incredulous look. “Don’t you have any empathy in your heart?”

  “Course I do. I feel sorry for David. He didn’t live long enough to spend his cash, and now his wife will be up to no good while he’s churning in his grave.”

  Jessica took a step back, bumping into the chair behind her. Her face had paled, her mouth trembled.

  “Mother. That’s quite enough.” Charlene held out a hand toward Jessica. “Excuse her, she doesn’t mean half the things she says.”

  “I just speak the truth.” Her mom had the good grace to lower her eyes. “I don’t mean to be hurtful.”

  “I’ll bring you some water while you decide on your order.” Jessica hurried off.

  “Now see what you’ve done? I swear you have Tourette’s,” her father grated out the words. “Probably get extra salt in my soup because of you, woman.”

  “I think I’ll have the clam chowder.” Brenda ignored her husband’s comment. “What about you, Charlene?”

  She wasn’t really hungry. “The Caesar salad with blackened shrimp.”

  Jessica dropped off their iced waters with lemon and picked up their menus. There were only two other occupied tables and both of them had been served. “Have you decided?” she asked in a tight voice.

  They gave her their order, and Charlene excused herself from the table. “I’ll just be a moment. I’d like to wash my hands.”

  Instead of using the ladies’ room, she cornered Jessica when she came out of the kitchen. “I want to apologize for my mother. She takes some getting used to. I tried for about forty years, then moved here from Chicago.” Charlene rolled her eyes. “Dad ignores her most of the time.”

  Jessica crossed her arms. “Well, she had a point, unfortunately. I just can’t make sense of it. I spent half the night trying to understand why David hurried out of here like that. What was he saying? Shouting names I’ve never heard of. He looked confused, stumbling. Do you think he had a stroke?”

  “That occurred to me. I’m sure the medical examiner will determine the cause of death. Of course, he died from his injuries, but what happened before that? It was such odd behavior. I heard something about a person named Zane?”

  “Yeah, Zane works at the gym with Tori. You know she’s a fitness instructor, right? Well, he’s a body builder and does weight training.”

  “Do you think . . .” She left the sentence open-ended but alluded to an affair.

  “I don’t know anything for sure.” Jessica looked around to see if anyone was within earshot and lowered her voice. “David told me that he and Tori were having problems recently. They were discussing divorce last summer. Then, of course, he wins the lottery and Tori is all smiles again.”

  Charlene had seen more sour expressions than smiles but let it drop. “What was with all the checks that were passed out? Did David owe everyone money?”

  “He didn’t owe me that—it was a gift. I don’t know about the others.” Jessica stuck her hand in her pocket, regarding the diners to see if she was needed.

  “I’m glad David did what he could. Hey, how is that new girl, from last night? Poor thing must be traumatized.”

  “Avery’s tough—she has to be. But yeah . . . last night was rough—David told her not to come back. He’d given her a try, despite her lack of experience, as a favor to me.”

  “Does she live at Felicity House?”

  “At the teen house. No parents to speak of. As I said, she’s had it tough. I like her, though—she reminds me of me. Only with piercings and tattoos.”

  Charlene laughed softly.

  “Thanks for caring, Charlene.” Jessica stepped aside as one of the diners headed toward the restroom. They stood in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and the manager’s office. “Let me check on your order.”

  Charlene was about to return to her table when she heard Vincent yelling at someone in his office. She stayed to listen.

  “I’ll fold up this restaurant before I sink another cent into it,” she heard him say.

  She didn’t hear a reply and figured he might be on the phone. Just then the door opened, and a red-faced Vincent with a big cigar in his hand stormed into the hall to survey the nearly empty restaurant.

  He seemed surprised to see her standing outside the door. A young man in a white chef’s jacket ducked past her on his way to the kitchen.

  “Last warning, Dalton,” Vincent called after the chef ’s retreating back. His eyes narrowed on her. “Did you want something?” Vincent breathed heavily.

  “No, I’m sorry. I was about to visit the ladies’ room.” She took a step back. “You might not remember me. I was here with my parents last night. Charlene Morris. I own the bed-and-breakfast down the road.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Vincent tugged a hand through his graying hair. “David couldn’t have died at a worse possible time.” The cigar shook between his fingers. “We were in the middle of negotiations. He didn’t want his share of the restaurant any longer.”

  “That makes sense I guess, since he won the lottery; he probably planned on traveling or something.”

  “You have no idea what’s going on. Nobody does! I gave David a start here, loaned him the money for his half, and this is how he pays me back?” His voice grew louder, making heads turn. “I’ve got my lawyer on it right now.”

  She met his gaze as they were about the same height, glimpsing sorrow beneath the anger. “I’m sorry for your loss. For the whole family—I met his son briefly last night. Will they be all right?”

  “I don’t know what David’s intentions were toward Kyle, but if that scrawny yoga instructor has anything to do with it, he won’t get a cent. His poor wife too. Ex-wife, I should say. Linda’s a damn fine woman.”

  “It must be a terrible shock to both of them. I’d like to pay my condolences to her and her son.”

  “Yeah? Kyle lives with his mom, right across town. That kid’s nothing but trouble, but Linda dotes on him like he’s the second coming.”

  “What kind of trouble?” she asked pleasantly, hoping to prolong the conversation.

  He didn’t need much poking, his emotions had no filter.

  “Petty stuff, mostly, but it’s not entirely his fault. They both got shafted when David took up with the town tramp. I hope he left something to them in the will, and that it’s someplace safe so Tori can’t dispose of it.”

  “You think she’d do that?” Charlene softened her voice and looked down the hall to make sure no one was around. “She wasn’t very likable last night. I could see she resented giving any of the money away.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Vincent chewed on his cigar. “I wouldn’t put anything past her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment in town—had to pay my lawyer extra to meet on a Sunday.” He brushed past her, and Charlene rejoined her table.

  “Well, I got quite a bit of information in the past few minutes.” She slid into her seat. “Eat up, and I’ll tell you all about it on the ride to the wharf.”

  Jessica had dropped off their lunch while she’d been talking to Vincent, so she dug into her salad while her father wolfed down his favorite soup. Her mother complained that the clam chowder was too salty and didn’t have enough
clams.

  Charlene’s dad told her to “clam up.”

  As they were leaving, she asked Jessica for Linda and Kyle’s last name and their address, if she knew it, so she could send a sympathy card. The waitress returned with the information written on Bella’s stationery. Charlene’s father insisted on paying the bill, adding a generous tip for Jessica.

  The three of them put on their winter coats and traipsed out to the Pilot. Her mother nabbed the front seat, leaving Dad in the back again. This was a new game her mom was playing—or maybe Charlene hadn’t noticed before. She shared what she’d learned on the short drive to the wharf.

  “What I don’t understand is who killed David,” her mother said. “I’ve got my thinking cap on and decided it can’t be the floozy. We saw her all night. But I like the secret lover for this. What’s his name? Zane? Such a lame name—you think he made it up?”

  “Mom, you watch too much crime TV.” She sounded like a detective in a noir cop show, Charlene mused.

  “Hit-and-run accidents happen all the time,” her father pointed out. “Doesn’t mean someone was out to kill David. It could’ve been an unfortunate accident.”

  The route to the wharf took them past the station, and Charlene glanced at the building, wondering how much of this Sam knew. A large American flag waved in the breeze. “That’s the police station.”

  Charlene noticed a motorcycle with KYLE on the license vanity plate parked in front. In a city with fewer than 45,000 people, chances were good that the bike belonged to David’s son. She pointed it out to her parents. “I wonder if Sam brought Kyle in for questioning.”

  “Probably. If his ex-wife didn’t do it, or the lover, then it had to be his son.” Her mother spoke with authority. “It’s always a family member, everyone knows that.”

  “Brenda, don’t you ever get tired of knowing everything?”

  Charlene drove on by. It was true that Kyle had left in a fit of anger. But could he have had something to do with his father’s death? Vincent had said the boy was nothing but trouble, but patricide was more than “trouble.” She wished she could talk to Sam about this, but he’d drawn a clear line in the sand, and they weren’t on the same side of it. He couldn’t discuss the cases with her and wanted her to stop poking around and interfering in police business. So far, that hadn’t worked out.

  This past Halloween, she’d been kidnapped by a couple of boys for asking too many questions about a young woman’s death. And before that . . . well, she’d been having a house party when a killer had entered from an unlocked window. A knife had been held to Minnie’s throat.

  She gulped, shutting down the reminders that Sam was probably right. Twice she’d been in harm’s way—but it hadn’t been her fault. Death had happened around her, same as David’s tragic accident. The irony that she’d moved from Chicago to escape the quicksand of Jared’s passing was not lost on her.

  She parked at the pier, lucking out with a spot near Vintage Treasures antique shop. The town of Salem was festively decorated, from the large fir tree in the square to each individual store window: lights, ornaments, poinsettias, and evergreens. Streetlamps were wrapped in garlands, and restaurants had their awnings out. It was an old and beautiful city, a far cry from the bustle of Chicago, but Charlene loved this seaside town and wanted her parents to be happy for her. She had found her forever home, whether they liked it or not.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Charlene and her parents strolled a few blocks, admiring all of the beautiful holiday displays in the windows. Her mom had purchased mugs for her bridge group back home, and her dad carried the bag. The briny smell of the wharf competed with the scent of dark roast from the coffee shop on the corner.

  They crossed the street to the bookstore, which was directly across the road from Vintage Treasures. Archie Higgins had decorated the front picture window with an antique Santa doll, and wooden elves worked on miniature toys in Santa’s workshop amid fake snow. Salem’s streets, however, remained bare.

  “I want to see what kind of books they’ve got,” her dad said, opening the door to Bartholomew’s Bookstore. “I might do some reading on the history around here.”

  “You’re welcome to read the books I have on the bookshelf by the stairs, Dad.” She’d collected some wonderful true Salem tales.

  He murmured something agreeable, and her mom followed him in.

  Her phone dinged and she read a text from Kevin.

  Don’t forget the Winter Solstice party at Kass’s on the 21st! Amy and I hope you can come. We’ll be burning a yule log on the beach afterward.

  It hadn’t taken Charlene long to realize that Salem, famous for its witches, had a large Wiccan population. Kevin had given her a lot of information about modern witches and had told her that while they practiced witchcraft and spells, they were normal people doing everyday things: shop owners, history professors, people you bumped into every day. She’d also learned that they celebrated the seasons and had their own calendar for holidays. Winter Solstice, or Yuletide, welcomed the rebirth of God on the longest night of the year, and practitioners gave thanks and made merry, by lighting a fire to usher in the light.

  Charlene reread the text, noticing his phrasing, “Amy and I.” Did that mean Kevin was serious about her? If so, Charlene really wanted to meet her. She texted back, That’s still three days away and my parents are here—can I let you know?

  No problem. Any word on what happened to David?

  Charlene drew in a breath and shuffled her feet as a cold wind snuck down the back of her jacket. Just that he died from the hit-and-run. It’s a felony. She thought of Kyle, who’d left angrily, with good reason, and was now at the police station. Was there a chance that the accident was no accident? Have a great day—and it was nice to meet Amy.

  She peeked into the bookstore, the bell above the door ringing. Her parents were on opposite ends of the shop, each engrossed.

  With a wave to the clerk, she ducked back out and retrieved the phone number and address for Linda Farris, Kyle’s mom, that Jessica had given her.

  Should she call and offer her condolences? The woman must be at her wits’ end. Charlene thought of how David hadn’t even noticed his son was gone last night, and how hurt Kyle had been at being excluded.

  But did that mean he’d come back and run his father over with his motorcycle?

  The bike had been loud; she’d noticed it when Kyle had first arrived at Bella’s restaurant last night. It was loud enough to be heard over the clamor of the party.

  She hadn’t heard that roar before David had been hit, and she didn’t want to believe that Kyle could be capable of taking his own father’s life.

  David might not have been a saint, but she’d found him outgoing and even charming—a hard worker. But as she’d observed, that didn’t translate into being a good father or husband. Had he cheated on Linda with Tori?

  Since moving to Salem, her Midwestern sensibilities had collided with reality. Real life was actually very messy, with human beings not behaving at their best. Every day people had affairs, or cheated, or lied, and they all had justifications, as if that made them right.

  It made her realize that the life she’d shared with Jared had truly been special. Perhaps she’d been naïve, but she cherished the memories. Maybe that was why she struggled with letting him go.

  Charlene blew out a breath of frosty air and took off her mitten to tap in the numbers on her phone’s keyboard. She’d just leave a message, sharing her condolences. Surely Linda would be busy—maybe even at the station with Kyle.

  The phone rang and to her surprise, a woman answered in clipped tones. “I’m not interested in talking to the press.” The call ended without Charlene having a chance to introduce herself.

  Why on earth would Linda be hounded by the press?

  Her gaze drifted toward the direction of the police station, where she imagined Kyle might be. Had Sam arrested him for running over David? No! No. No.

  Her mom exited
the bookstore with a scowl, informing Charlene, “Your dad is dabbling in witchcraft. No good can come of that. What is Father Benedict going to say?”

  Her dad followed, grinning like he’d scored an extra dessert.

  “What did you find, Dad?”

  In addition to the mugs he’d been carrying, he now had a heavy green and red paper bag. He lifted it to show Charlene—the top book was about Salem’s history in witchcraft and spells for the modern practitioner.

  Her mom mumbled her disapproval and hurried down the sidewalk.

  Because her mother wasn’t waiting for them, he also showed her the book underneath. The latest Dan Brown, his favorite author.

  They shared a smile. So far as rebellions went, she had to give her dad credit. “You can leave that with me at the bed-and-breakfast when you go home, if you want,” she said. “My guests might be interested in it. Unless you’re planning some midnight mojo? Winter Solstice is in a few days, and I’ve been invited to a party if you want to come.”

  “The clerk inside was telling me all about it—mistletoe, yule logs, wine and food, candles—he said that Christians incorporated the ancient celebration to get the pagans to convert. You should have seen your mother’s ears turn red! Sounds smart to me. And what’s wrong with giving thanks before a fire? I plan on doing that when we get back to your house.”

  One of his favorite places was the love seat before the fire, a blanket over his lap and Silva at his side.

  “Mom doesn’t do change,” Charlene said as they kept in sync down the sidewalk. “And spending the holiday here has her well out of her comfort zone.”

  “You can’t grow unless you stretch your wings a little, and while I might be in my seventies, I have plenty yet to see.” They reached the Pilot, where her mom waited with her arms crossed, her toe tapping.

  “That’s the best attitude, Dad.” She couldn’t imagine her parents actually gone.

  “What are you two whispering about?” her mom snapped.

  “We aren’t whispering anything, Mom.” Charlene pressed on her key fob and unlocked the doors. “Let’s go home and have some hot chocolate. Did you buy a book too?”