Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  She’d bought stockings for her parents and her guests to hang from the fireplace, and now that she’d met the Garcias, she’d like to put a few little things under the tree, especially for the girls. The Chilsons would arrive Friday, so they would need stockings too. It was fun to play Santa. Should she get a stocking for Silva?

  She doodled Sam’s name. What about a little something for him, in case he came over Christmas Eve? What would he like? She thought him insanely attractive, but she didn’t really know much about him, so far as likes or dislikes.

  A familiar voice inside her mind suggested a date would be a good way to get to know him.

  Jared?

  Her body broke out in goose bumps and she dropped the pen to her purse. The voice had been so clear, so dear, that she actually looked around the bar’s interior to see if he was there.

  Of course not. She took a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet, put it under the wineglass, and headed for the door, waving to Kevin as she fled. Outside she shivered, uncertain if it was from the cold or the shock of the familiar voice she’d heard.

  Starting the car, she attempted to make sense of the illogical. Had the voice been her subconscious thoughts? Charlene turned up the radio, blaring Christmas music all the way to the mall.

  She battled holiday shoppers, driving down one lane after another until she gave up and settled for a spot at the far end of the shopping center. The plows had cleared the pavement, leaving mounds of snow in random mountains. Charlene cautiously picked her way through the snow and the slush, not wanting to fall.

  “You asked for snow,” she reminded herself, putting the hood of her coat over her head to ward off the cold. She entered the mall’s ground-floor main entrance, overwhelmed by Christmas carols blaring in surround sound, shrieking kids in line with their parents for Santa, the powerful scent of coffee, mixed with popcorn and candied nuts from a kiosk by the doors. The scents and sounds of Christmas.

  The woman at the first retail shop let her know that Charlene needed an actual letter requesting donations and to take it to the mall office, not the individual stores.

  It was a huge disappointment, knowing that she’d have to return another day, but not to be defeated, she decided to get her stocking stuffers done. She was grateful that her big gifts were all bought—the mall was a madhouse. Nothing really caught her attention enough for her to bring out her wallet—until she reached a toy store with a hundred-pound stuffed gorilla in front of it.

  Toys—maybe they’d have something for the kids?

  Her mood lifted as she brought her cart up and down the aisles—and when she found an end cap of classic board games two for ten dollars, well, she loaded up. She bought an assortment for Felicity House, as well as for her guests.

  And books! Gorgeous copies of Little Women and Tom Sawyer. And for the younger children, she got the entire series of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Charlene bought a book on the history of the Yankees for Sam—nothing too personal that could be misconstrued. She also found a Rangers coffee mug and wondered if he enjoyed hockey.

  To her surprise, she was actually singing along with Mariah Carey by the time she rang up her purchases.

  On the return loop of the interior of the mall, she passed a body lotion store—it would be just the thing for the ladies. She stocked up on nice-smelling lotions, and manicure sets for the guys, adding extras to the pile for the older kids at Felicity House.

  With her last purchase, her anger at her mother had dissipated to a manageable level, and Jared’s voice was buried beneath holiday cheer and retail therapy.

  “With a holly jolly Christmas,” she sang as she pushed her loaded cart through the snow, to the far end, where her car was parked. It was dark now, and streetlamps illuminated the parking lot, which was still packed with last-minute shoppers.

  She unloaded her bags and shut the back of her Pilot, turning to search for a place to return her cart. Her gaze was drawn to the last shop at the end of the strip mall—a gym. The glass walls allowed the shoppers to see inside as the fitness enthusiasts beat themselves up on the treadmills and bikes—huffing and puffing their way to better health.

  Finding a spot to return her empty cart, Charlene had half turned toward her car when someone inside caught her eye. She swiveled around so fast she almost lost her balance on the snow. Those broad shoulders and bulky biceps, visible now in a sleeveless workout top, belonged to Zane Villander.

  Charlene locked her car again and was already stepping toward the gym before coming up with a plan. Her boots crunched against gravel and hard-packed snow.

  Saying she wanted donations for Felicity House from the gym probably wouldn’t be believed, and he was a trainer, not management.

  She nibbled her lower lip. Maybe a gift certificate?

  Pausing by the front door, she peered inside. There was no Tori. Had she already quit? This could be Zane’s workout spot, not where they both trained. What did it matter? She was going in to ask some questions, it was too good an opportunity to miss.

  With a deep breath, Charlene pulled the door toward her and entered.

  The scent of sweat hit her in the nose and she brought her scarf up to act as a filter. Glistening bodies, male and female, attacked the machines—as if looking good already was a prerequisite for working out. Charlene scanned the twenty or so people inside and didn’t see an ounce of “extra” on any of them.

  This was a lifestyle. Some people golfed, others drank wine, and these folks were dedicated to their bodies.

  Zane was helping a man in his twenties bench-press, coaching him through the lift by chanting, “Go, go, go,” in the man’s ears—the guy put his all into the weights, his face flushed, his arms bulging, his brow dripping sweat.

  With a last grunt of effort, the man raised the weights to full extension and Zane clapped his approval, then had his hands out, ready to assist on the descent, as the guy’s arms trembled. “You did it, man,” Zane said.

  A platinum-haired woman in her early twenties bounced toward Charlene with a wide smile. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, she had no jewelry except silver peace symbol stud earrings, and she carried a clipboard. “Welcome to Ultimate Fitness. I’m Sabrina. Are you interested in a membership, after gaining a few holiday pounds?”

  Put off by the assumption that she needed to lose weight, Charlene kept her jacket closed. She would not be showing Sabrina anything—but maybe she needed to watch Minnie’s cooking.

  She cleared her throat. “I would love a brochure,” she said, her gaze going back to Zane.

  Sabrina noticed and sighed. “Isn’t he wonderful? And so good to his clients—if you hired Zane, he’d give you a full-body workout.” Her brow arched the slightest bit. “He’s very popular with women your age.”

  Wait a minute. Had Sabrina alluded to Zane giving more than just gym instruction? Maybe, since they’d been having an affair themselves, Tori didn’t care if Zane was faithful.

  “Does Tori work here?” she asked in a conversational tone.

  Sabrina lowered her clipboard. “Noooo, she and her husband won the lottery and David insisted she quit. Lucky! Can you believe it?”

  “Oh yes . . . but didn’t her husband just pass away?”

  Sabrina leaned in to Charlene. “Yes, that was very sad—but he was much older than Tori, from what I understand.”

  “He got hit by a car.” This girl had an age phobia—well, she’d learn in time that if you were fortunate, you got to live long enough for wrinkles. “The hotline has been all over the news. A hit-and-run driver.”

  “Oh,” Sabrina said dismissively. “I don’t watch the news. It is waaaaay too depressing. I work very hard to keep my endorphins up.”

  Had Zane been working the night of the auction? He had reason to want to keep Tori to himself—if Tori had shared David’s plan to move them into hiding, maybe Zane had panicked—running David over in an act of desperation.

  “Do you have more information?” Charlene perused the enormous gym, fi
lled with machines and men and women pumping iron. How could she find out if Zane had worked that night? She saw bathrooms marked—women to the right, men to the left—and a white wooden door with OFFICE printed on it, in the rear left corner.

  Sabrina held up a finger and went to the reception desk by the front door, picking up a glossy Ultimate Fitness brochure. “Here you are. You can pay by the month, but we’re running a special. If you pay for a full year in advance, you can take advantage of two free personal trainer sessions.” Sabrina smirked. “You can always request Zane.”

  As if he’d heard them talking, Zane looked up from where he was finishing with his client.

  Sabrina waved him over. Charlene, stuck, decided to go through the motions of being interested in a possible membership.

  “How’d you hear about us?” Sabrina asked. Bright and chipper.

  “I was shopping and saw you from the parking lot, actually. I just moved here from Chicago a few months ago. I run a bed-and-breakfast but want to keep fit.”

  Sabrina’s smile didn’t move, and Charlene could tell she didn’t really care.

  “Well, we are open twenty-four/seven, so if you find yourself in need of a destressing workout after a rough day, Ultimate Fitness is here when you need us. Zane, this lady is interested in our gym packages.”

  With another hike of her bleached brow, Sabrina gave Charlene a finger wave and rushed off to speak to another gym member—male, lean, and the same age as the fitness goddess.

  Zane crossed his arms, adding a flex. “You look familiar—have we met?”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlene said, which was the truth—they hadn’t. She knew who he was because he was—what did Sam call it? A person of interest. “I’m Charlene Morris.” They shook hands. “Oh—wait, were you at the service for David Baldwin?”

  “Yeah.”

  She noticed he still wore his Rolex. Was he mad that he still had to work, while Tori had the luxury of quitting? There was only one way to find out....

  “It was so sad about David, and poor Tori. She seemed very upset.”

  He shrugged. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Are you a good friend of hers?”

  His lips lifted in a smug smile. “You could say that.”

  Charlene fanned her face with the brochure. “Sabrina just told me that Tori no longer works here. I don’t blame her, right? Winning ten million dollars is pretty fabulous—a real game changer. I know I wouldn’t work either.”

  “Why not?” Zane rubbed his smooth-shaven chin with agitation. Charlene noticed that he was shaved all over or waxed. No hair on his arms, legs, or chest. Ouch. His skin gleamed with oil. “When you work at what you love, it isn’t work.”

  She actually agreed with that. “What’s your schedule? Do you work mostly nights or days?”

  “I make my own hours. Interested?”

  Crap. “Maybe. I’m not sure.” How was she supposed to check his schedule?

  “If you want, we can get your paperwork started. Did you want to pay for the year?”

  She wondered if they got bonuses for signing new clients.

  “I wouldn’t be starting until early January—if I can make the time.”

  He waited, then said, “Tell you what, sign up now and I’ll throw in an extra one-on-one training session.” Zane rubbed the back of his hand down her arm.

  Revulsion made her step back. But she really needed to see the employee schedule, if there was one. She glanced at the office. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to do the paperwork.”

  “I can get it,” he said, striding across the gym to the office.

  Rather than wait, Charlene followed him and stood at the doorway, wondering what he would do if she simply told him she wasn’t interested in a membership, but was here for some answers.

  Before she had a chance to gather up her courage, the desk phone rang. Zane perched his ass on the edge of the desk and reached for the phone. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her standing there. He pointed to the chair next to the desk.

  Having little choice, she stepped forward and slid in. His rock-hard thighs—oiled to a sheen—were right next to her face. She scooched back.

  “Ultimate Fitness.” His demeanor changed. “Oh—hey, Miguel. Sure, I can come by—I’m off at nine.” Zane moved around the desk, his back to Charlene. “I’ll grab some beer. Who called?” He stiffened. “I gotta go—I’m with a customer.”

  Zane rubbed his watch in thought before looking at Charlene. “Sorry about that.”

  Here she just wanted answers and more questions kept popping up. She sat on the edge of the metal chair. “No problem. Zane, can I ask you a personal question?” Her success rate wasn’t high with this method, but it was better than batting zero.

  He placed his palms on the desk and faced her. “What?”

  “I know that you and Tori are more than friends. . . .”

  His face drained of all color. “It’s a lie.”

  Charlene shook her head. “I was at the auction, that night David was killed, and David mentioned your name.”

  “What are you talking about?” Just as suddenly as he’d paled, his forehead and throat flushed crimson. “Why are you here? You a cop? Did you call Miguel?”

  Charlene swallowed quickly. Did he have a temper? She eyed the open door. She could call for help, or run for it, if needed. “No, no. I’m a B and B owner, just like I said.”

  He rolled his head around his thick neck before asking, “What did David say?”

  Good—she’d nabbed his curiosity. “He demanded to see Tori’s phone—she didn’t give it over, and he said it better not be Zane.”

  “What do you care? Nothing nobody can do for David now.”

  “He was a friend,” she said, stretching the truth. “I want whoever ran David over to be caught—do you know anything?” Did you do it? What would she do if he actually confessed?

  He sat back, biceps bulging. “You aren’t interested in a gym membership.”

  Charlene had her body poised to make a dash for the door. “I’m not,” she said in a soft voice. “I just want David’s family to be at rest.” Finding who was actually responsible would protect Kyle, who was still on Sam’s list. She thought Zane had more reason. “Especially his son. He’s only nineteen, and his dad just died.”

  His body relaxed. “Tori and I had a thing, but she called it off after David won the lottery—for obvious reasons.”

  Money, Charlene presumed—as in, Tori wanted David’s. “But now that he’s gone?”

  Zane lifted his watch. “She gave me this—figured it was a kiss-off. Lucky me, I get to keep this lousy job.”

  His tone held a hint of fear and Charlene played on his emotions. “If she really loved you, why wouldn’t she want you to quit and run away with her? Keeping you here doesn’t seem right.”

  “She says to keep the cops and insurance people at bay—but I told her, my alibi for that night is solid as those dumbbells out there.” He shrugged. “She should know me better than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was at Miguel’s, watching a game, and I got a dozen alibis. Besides, I’ve already talked to the cops.”

  “Well, knowing you’re innocent, she might change her mind.” The two deserved each other—all about image and flash. She looked into her purse and saw her cell phone screen light up. “Oh—I have to get this call. Take care, Zane. Good luck.”

  He didn’t see her to the door but stared morosely at his watch.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Charlene stepped out of the stifling gym to the brisk winter air with a sigh of relief and answered her phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Charlene, this is Linda.”

  She checked the parking lot for traffic before hustling across the slick, packed snow toward her car, using the key fob to unlock it when she was five rows away.

  “Thanks for calling me back, Linda. I understand completely about keeping those donations at the hospital for your own group o
f kids.”

  “Good—I wanted to make sure I didn’t come off as bitchy. Vincent called and said you had a nice chat?”

  Charlene reached her Pilot and got inside. Turning on the engine, she blasted the heat to defrost the snowy windows. Is that what he’d told her? “We did.”

  “How long ago did your husband pass away? You seem so young for that, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “It’s been two years, just about—he was killed in a car accident.” In the spring.

  “I’m so sorry,” Linda said.

  “Me too. Every day.”

  She heard a sob and then Linda sniffed. “I know we were divorced, and that David had moved on, but my love for him never completely died. He was the father of my son. Not knowing who’s responsible is tearing me apart.”

  She could very much appreciate needing closure. “I understand and would feel the same. The woman responsible for Jared’s death had been drinking and is serving time in jail.”

  “Do you hate her?”

  The ugly question hit Charlene in the solar plexus. She thought carefully before answering. “Sometimes. I know I’m not supposed to—to forgive is divine, or whatever that saying is, but I’m working on it.”

  “We are all works in progress,” Linda said with a tired laugh. “That’s what our minister says, anyway. Vincent mentioned that you wanted to meet for coffee? I think I’d like that.”

  Charlene turned on the wipers to clear the frost on the front and back windshields. Could be she was finally making friends in Salem. “Just let me know when is good for you.”

  “I’ll have to tell Kyle that he was right about you—he said you seemed like a nice lady. Figured that you were on our side. Are you?”

  “Yes, and that was very sweet—you’ve raised him well.”

  “He’s coming around, but the last few years, with the divorce and everything, well, it’s been tough.”