Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  Jack paced behind her love seat. “Sounds like bad blood there, and maybe not just about Linda.”

  “You’re right.” She recalled Vincent’s reaction to the envelope he’d received. “Whatever he expected to get from David to end their business relationship didn’t happen. But David was adamant that it was plenty.” There were just so many unanswered questions. “Like Freddy Ferguson.”

  “What?” Jack leaned against the love seat. “I don’t follow.”

  “Sorry.” For all his supernatural ability, Jack wasn’t actually a mind reader. “Freddy said that David invited him to dinner, but that something came up—yet he was so emotional about not getting the chance to speak with David that I don’t believe Freddy would have missed the dinner date.” The more she thought about it, the more she believed that David had seen him—or someone—and ran outside.

  A knock sounded on her door and Jack vanished as the handle twisted. “Hey, hon,” her dad called. “You up?”

  She closed her laptop and answered the door. “Morning, Dad!” Charlene brushed by him to the kitchen. “I was just watching the news.”

  “They still haven’t caught whoever ran over that guy,” her dad said. “Damn shame.”

  “I know, right?” She filled the coffeemaker to the twelve-cup level and turned it on to brew. “This will just take a sec. Did you sleep okay?”

  “That mattress is like sleeping on a cloud. Your mom’s in the shower, but she’ll be right down. How about you?”

  Charlene didn’t share her jumbled dreams. “Just fine.” She pulled sliced fruit from the fridge and set the platter, along with Minnie’s leftover muffins and loaves, on the counter for her guests.

  The coffee finished with a beep, and her dad helped himself to two cups. “I’ll just bring this up to your mom,” he told her.

  How thoughtful. Like happiness, it was a key component to a good marriage.

  When he returned, she joined him at the kitchen table to enjoy their coffee and talk. Having her dad to herself for a few moments was a rare treat, and she wanted to ask him about matters of the heart. “Dad, I think it’s great how long you and Mom have been together.”

  “Over fifty years.”

  She broke off a piece of banana loaf. “I want to ask you something. It’s personal, and I hope my question doesn’t offend you.”

  “What is it, Charlene? You can ask me anything.” He placed his mug on the table, brown eyes full of concern.

  Her stomach jumped and she glanced around to make sure they were alone. She shouldn’t ask, but she needed to know. They’d been married so long, but all they did was argue. “Dad”—she put a hand over his and lowered her voice—“are you truly happy with Mom?”

  “Of course!” The lines around his mouth crinkled in a smile. “She isn’t easy at times, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world. She loves me back just as much. We might tease and snipe at each other, but we mean no harm.”

  “I’m glad, Dad. I just thought . . .” She’d feared he’d been trapped in misery.

  “I’m happy, Charlene. Especially now that I’ve seen how well you’re doing here. You’re healing and this is just what you needed. I won’t worry . . . so much.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me at all. I just don’t want either of you to be miserable.”

  “What are you talking about, child?” Her mom clomped into the kitchen in plaid slippers with thick soles. “Your dad’s made me miserable for years, but I just ignore it and go on my happy way. Don’t I, dear?” She refilled her coffee, topped off her dad’s and Charlene’s, then fixed a plate of food for herself before she joined them. “If you started dating that hunky detective, you might be married this time next year. He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”

  “I’m not ready to start dating yet, Mom. Maybe in the summer.” Her shoulders hiked at the pressure her mother applied.

  “Time is not on your side, my dear girl. You’re getting older every day.”

  “Most people do, Mom.” But it wasn’t a certainty, she knew that. “The lucky ones at least.”

  Her dad’s eyes twinkled over his mug.

  The Garcia family traipsed downstairs and the conversation thankfully ended. Charlene helped serve them and finished another cup of coffee. When breakfast was done, she put away the fruit and loaded the dishwasher. Ten after nine. “It’s time to pick up Avery.”

  “I’d love to see Felicity House for myself.” Brenda glanced at her husband. “You coming or staying?”

  He peered at his wife, smiled slyly, and winked at Charlene. “I’ve had enough of your yakking. Think I’ll sit next to the fire and read a good book. Keep Silva company, she’s nicer than you.”

  “My claws are not as sharp, nor are my teeth.” Walking past her husband, she dropped a kiss on his balding head. “I’ll get into something warm.”

  “Boots, Mom!” Charlene called after her, and her mother paused by the butler’s pantry. “Did you see the snow? They said on the news this morning that we had six inches! Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Not if you’re shoveling it,” her dad remarked.

  “Nope, Will, Minnie’s husband, will do that. I’ll give him a call and see when he can come over.”

  “We haven’t met this Will yet.” Her mom headed for the steps. “If he’s as handy as you say, I might get him to replace your dad.”

  Her dad snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

  Her mother laughed and plodded upstairs. Charlene smiled, too, accepting that their bickering was disguised affection.

  Two minutes later, the Garcia children flew down the stairs, gloved hands on the golden oak bannister. The girls were both dressed in pink snow suits, boots, gloves, and wool caps. “We’re going outside. Dad’s coming later,” Emily said.

  “I’m so ’cited.” Maddie grinned. “We’re going to build a snowman!”

  “You want to help?” Emily asked Charlene.

  “I wish I could, but I have some errands to run this morning.”

  “Oh, okay.” She gave Charlene a crestfallen expression, complete with pouty lip. “Do you have anything for a snowman? Like a carrot or buttons or something?”

  “Sure!” Where was that box of buttons she kept?

  “I’ve got a scarf you can use,” her dad said, getting to his feet.

  “We have a bag of carrots in the pantry.” Charlene thought the box might be in her emergency sewing kit. She had one, even though she didn’t sew. “I’ll get some buttons for the eyes. Dad, what can we use for the mouth?”

  “I know,” Maddie said. “We can use Mom’s lipstick.”

  “You can’t use lipstick on snow, Maddie.” Emily rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, you can.” Maddie folded her arms in front of her. “Can’t we, Charlene?”

  “Let me see what I can find. Don’t go past the yard, okay?”

  “We wouldn’t do that,” Emily said. “We’d be in big trouble.”

  “Yes, you would,” Andy said, trekking down the stairs. “Here, use this ball cap for a hat. Smoking is bad for you, so no pipe.” He smiled at Charlene and her father. “Good morning! Teresa’s making arrangements for a sleigh ride.”

  Michael rocked back on his heels. “I remember when Charlene used to get so excited about snow days, but now my girl’s all grown up.” He sauntered toward the living room and rubbed his hands together. “Looks like I’m going to have the place to myself.”

  The girls headed for the door. “Come help us, Daddy. We’re going to make the biggest snowman!” Maddie jumped up and down, her cheeks flushed. “And we’ll make angels too. Which should we do first?”

  “Make an angel,” Andy suggested. “I’ll grab a cup of coffee and be right out. Maybe we can get your mom to give us a hand too.”

  “That’ll be a frosty Friday,” Teresa said from the center of the staircase. Dressed for warmth in jeans, boots, and a red wool pullover sweater, she added, “No angels until later. We have a sleigh ride booked for eleven this morning, s
o I don’t want you getting soaked.” They darted outside with squeals of protest.

  Teresa and Andy walked into the kitchen, and Charlene followed to get her purse from the counter. Andy poured coffees for him and his wife, while Teresa asked, “What are you up to, Charlene?”

  “I’m going to pick up my new part-time employee.” Her phoned dinged a text, and she was reminded about the bonfire later. “Hey, today is Winter Solstice, and Salem will have a lot of celebrations downtown, and a fire on the beach tonight.” She was still on the fence about going.

  Her mom yelled from the foyer, “I’m ready, Charlene!”

  “That’s my cue!” She shook her head, grabbed her purse, keys, and coat, and ushered her mother out the door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Charlene loved the crisp smell of freshly fallen snow, which reminded her of sleigh rides in Chicago with her parents when she’d been a kid. She kicked a few inches off the top stair as she went down from her porch to her car.

  “How far is Felicity House?” her mother asked, buckling into the side passenger seat of the Pilot. She’d pulled her white hair back with a red and green hair clip.

  Since her mom was coming along, there was no chance of driving by Bella’s to see if Vincent was there, on the pretext of fund-raising, but mostly to ask questions about David. Maybe later this afternoon . . . “Ten minutes.”

  “What do you know about this girl? I hope you told her not to wear that piercing in her nose.”

  “I didn’t say anything about it, actually. Piercings are very common these days. You have to get with the times, Mom.”

  “Good taste never goes out of style.”

  Charlene reversed out of her driveway, which Will had already shoveled—he must have been up at dawn. “Tastes are subjective. She’s sixteen, you’re in your seventies. Now, I want you to be nice, okay?”

  Her mother huffed. “As if I wouldn’t! What will they do without that money?”

  She glanced at her mom. “When I went over there on Monday, you could see that they’re overcrowded. They’d wanted to use that large chunk of cash to expand their building.”

  “Where are you at in asking for donations?”

  “I haven’t had much success.” Charlene recapped what she’d done so far. “I’d like to hit up Archie at Vintage Treasures.” The end of the alphabetical online directory. “It’s where I spend my extra money—you’ll love it there, and he’s a character. If I ever won the lottery, Archie would likely get a big chunk of my winnings.”

  “Playing the lotto is a waste of time,” her mom stated.

  “If it gets big enough, I’ll buy a ticket. Why not?” Charlene pumped her brakes in preparation for the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. The Pilot’s tires crunched to a slow halt. The snow was steep in some places but not icy.

  “There’s something about having a lot of money that makes people a little crazy. Me, I don’t want the trouble, so I never buy a ticket. Never have, never will. I don’t want all the problems, people out to get me—or to actually get killed for a few million bucks? No sirree.”

  When you looked at it like that, she thought about curtailing her own sporadic buys. “Don’t blame you, Mom,” Charlene replied with a tolerant smile. “Whoever killed David deserves severe punishment, and I’m sure that Sam will see they get it.”

  “I like that Sam.”

  “So do I.” Her fingers clenched the wheel. “A hit-and-run driver. It’s close to home, Mom. I mean, what if Jared’s killer had never been caught? There would be no closure for me. I’d never stop thinking about that person still driving around, still being a threat on the road.”

  “I understand. It gave me peace, too, knowing she’s behind bars.” Her mom shifted so she could look at Charlene without turning her head. “I figured Tori for it, but how could she, when she was inside? Now, I’ve changed my mind about the body builder too. Even if Tori promised that big lover of hers some money . . . Maybe Zane or Tori hired someone to do it. As a couple, they had the most to gain.”

  This subject hadn’t been far from Charlene’s thoughts. “How could they have? Neither of them knew David was going to hightail it out of the restaurant at that precise moment.” Unless Zane had been in the parking lot, waiting?

  “I hate not having answers,” her mother said. “There has to be a clue left behind . . . there usually is.”

  “In your books, sure. Otherwise nobody would read them.” Charlene lowered the heat in the car. “Statistics show that a hit-and-run accident is usually a random act of violence.” But not always.

  Her mom opened her purse and offered Charlene a peppermint candy, then had one herself.

  Charlene unwrapped the candy at the stop. “Do you remember anything from that night?” She glanced at her mom as she drove through the intersection.

  Her mom shook her head. “No, it all happened so fast.”

  She made the turn on the corner of the street for Felicity House as a Lexus SUV passed her on the left. Charlene’s tires spun out a little before she regained traction.

  “Careful, Charlene,” her mom said, holding on to the side of the door.

  “Relax, Mom. I’m used to this.” Driving on snow didn’t bother her after years of practice in Chicago.

  Charlene stopped the car in the driveway of Felicity House. The old farmhouse/office was to the right, but the sign in the window said, CLOSED.

  “That’s odd,” Charlene murmured. “Why would it be closed?”

  “Were you supposed to pick her up here?” her mom asked.

  “I thought so.”

  Charlene got out, heading toward the fence. On the opposite side, some giggling kids were playing in the snow, making an igloo. Perhaps Avery was with them?

  A young man with a mustache and brown glasses, bundled up in a brown wool jacket, hurried over. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I’m here to pick up Avery,” Charlene said, and introduced herself. “That’s my mother in the car.” Brenda rolled down her window and gave a little wave.

  A look of confusion settled on his face. “She’s over at the teen house. Have you checked this out with Ms. Winters? The office doesn’t open until ten.”

  “Yes, she knows—I’ve offered Avery a job at my bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Oh, nice. Let me give you the address—it’s just a few blocks away.”

  “How many kids do you have here?” Charlene asked.

  “Well, let’s see. The ten and under group live here.” He indicated the building with his gloved hand. “With twenty munchkins, we’re running at full capacity. The tweens”—he shuddered with mock horror—“have their own house. Alice has another place for the teens.” He considered her with interest. “Are you thinking of adopting?”

  Charlene’s mother made a snorting sound, and the young man glanced through Charlene’s open window as if to make sure her mother was all right.

  “No,” Charlene answered quickly. “I’m here for Avery, and to help with fund-raising.” Her cheeks stung from her mother’s chortle.

  “Well, it’s a shame you missed Pamela, but she had an appointment.” He pointed to the road where Charlene had passed the Lexus SUV. “She’s in charge of all that.”

  “We talked on Monday—she had great ideas.”

  “Yeah, she works really hard.” He gestured to the playground. “Felicity House wouldn’t have all of this new play equipment without her, not to mention our new roof.” He rubbed his hands together and stomped his feet, looking half-frozen.

  A cute girl with braces lobbed a snowball at the young man and he laughed and shook off the snow. She couldn’t stop herself from searching the children for Tamil—the girl was rolling a ball of snow and didn’t see Charlene.

  “Duty calls,” he said. “Here’s the address—you’ll have to go in and sign Avery out. Thanks for helping Felicity House.”

  Charlene carefully drove past the happy kids and when they reached the street, she pulled into a drugstore parking lot,
coasting to a space and turning off the engine.

  “Why did you laugh when that man asked me if I wanted to adopt?” Hurt emanated within her. Her mother was cruel at times, but this was over the top.

  Her mom’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Being a mother is very hard work, Charlene. You don’t have time for your own parents—how could you have time for a child?”

  “That isn’t fair.” Her mouth tightened and she felt a pain in her chest.

  Her mom lifted a finger. “You don’t get holidays or sick time. Santa’s coming? You have to pretend you don’t have a hundred and three fever and smile through the pain.”

  Charlene thought back to past Christmases, wondering when that might have happened. She shook her head.

  “That’s right—you didn’t know.” Her mom self-righteously patted her chest. “Turned out to be pneumonia.”

  “When your friend Sheila came to stay for two weeks?”

  “Yup.”

  Charlene turned the car back on. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Why bother? When you have children, they become your life. It’s not a hardship, because you love them, of course.” Her mother sighed, her jaw clenched as she looked out the window and the blinking holiday lights around the store. “No matter how much you want to protect them from the world, they are independent—and moderately ungrateful. Don’t call, don’t write.” Her mom peeked at Charlene to see how her diatribe was going.

  Charlene’s defenses rose. “That’s unfair!”

  “You’re right! You spend your life nurturing that person and before you know it, they don’t need you anymore.”

  Charlene’s eyes stung. “That just means you did a good job. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you and Dad.”

  “Motherhood is the hardest, yet most rewarding job I’ve ever had. You broke my heart when you left after Jared died. I wanted you close, to help you. . . .”

  Shoulders high, Charlene said, “And here comes the guilt.”

  Their breaths fogged the inside of the Pilot. Her mom bowed her head, her white hair falling forward. “I know what it’s like to lose babies, Charlene. I cried with you each time, and it also broke my heart. You never should have given up.”