Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  “Did you both have a good night?” She helped herself to a small piece of cake and nibbled on it.

  “Yes, your beds are great.” Dad studied Mom. “We’ve had that hard, old mattress going on twelve years. We should get one of these soft, pillow-top mattresses as soon as we get home.”

  “And waste more money? We’ve been comfortable sleeping on that all these years, why should we change now? If it’s not broke, why fix it, I always say.”

  “You always say too much, and that’s half the problem.” Her dad’s eyes met hers over his wife’s shoulder.

  Charlene gave him a warm smile—and didn’t dwell on the bickering. “Avery will be here again today.”

  “What’s that girl going to do with her life? She wants a good job, she’d better get the ring out of her nose.”

  “Mom, I don’t want you speaking down to her, okay? I mean it. You’ve criticized me most of my life, but I won’t have you doing that to my employees.”

  Her mom picked up her fork and waved it at her. “I’ve loved you from the moment you were born, and if you don’t know that by now, it’s time you did.” She stood up. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Now, now,” her father reached for her as she brushed by. “Charlene didn’t mean anything. Sit down, Brenda. Have another cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” Charlene took her mother’s cup and filled it as she sat back down, exuding annoyance.

  “Thank you,” her mother said coldly, as she accepted the coffee.

  Ignoring her mom’s icy tone, Charlene said pleasantly, “I have a new guest showing up in half an hour. He’ll be staying upstairs in a single on the third floor. Once he’s settled, I’ll run over and pick up Avery.” Charlene glanced at her dad since her mother wouldn’t look at her. “Would you two like to get a ride into town? I can drop you at the wharf or down at the Pedestrian Mall. I think the sky is clearing.”

  Michael tapped his wife’s hand. “What do you say, Brenda? Want to go out on the town with me?”

  Her mom’s mouth curved in a half smile. “Why, I’d love to.” She picked up her fork for another bite of cake. “I still have some gifts to buy for the bridge group. And my knitting club will expect something too.”

  Charlene’s dad groaned. “I thought you got the mugs?”

  “What are you talking about, Michael?” Her mother shook her head. “I just bought a few. I saw some really cute souvenir thimbles at the Witch Museum, and I should have picked them up then. And everyone likes fridge magnets. They’re easy to pack.”

  “Sounds like you’ll have a full day. I’ll drop you off and pick you up at two. Have lunch at Sharon’s restaurant, Cod and Capers, or better yet, try Sea Level—it’s near The House of the Seven Gables. Let me know where you are, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Oh, this is going to be fun!” Her mother laughed, their tiff forgotten, sounding twenty years younger. “Charlene, if you make a list while we’re out, I can start calling the businesses around town as soon as we get back. By dinnertime you should have a lot of pledges on your hands.”

  “That’s great, Mom. Thanks.” Charlene watched her parents leave for their room, feeling happy for them. In spite of everything, they had a good marriage, and it made her sad to think how unfairly she’d lost hers.

  But that woman who stole her happiness was serving time, and David’s driver was yet to be found. Maybe she’d make a quick call to Sam just to see how things were coming. He couldn’t fault her for that, could he?

  At ten to nine she was putting the dishes away when the doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer it. “Hi! You must be Gary Kramer—I’m Charlene. Come on in.”

  “Thanks! Sorry if I’m a little early.” He was around fiftyish, she figured, not much taller than her, with a clean-shaven face and lines around his eyes.

  “It works perfectly—I need to step out for a few minutes, so this is fine.” She glanced down at his duffel bag. “Do you have more luggage in the car?” She gazed beyond him to a brown Camry parked in the drive.

  “No, I’m only here for a couple of days to see my brother and his family for Christmas. I literally just need a bed for a couple of nights. Left all the presents and stuff at their house.”

  “Well, that makes it easy, then. Follow me, and I’ll show you to your room.”

  As they mounted the stairs, she gave him a rundown of what to expect. “My parents are visiting, and their room is on the second floor. On the other side of the stairwell is another family, the Garcias. I haven’t seen them yet this morning. They’re either sleeping in or out already.”

  “I won’t be around all that much myself,” he told her.

  “Well, we do breakfast on the weekends; the other days we offer pastries and fruit. If I’m not around, help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

  They reached the second floor, and Charlene pointed down the hall. “My mom and dad are from Chicago. Here for ten long days and nights,” she said with a grimace.

  Gary chuckled and paused, his hand on the banister. “I get it. Why do you think I’m staying here? Love my family, but getting everyone together with all the kids, well, a man could use some quiet time.”

  “I understand completely.” She glanced down at his ring-less hand. “No wife or children?”

  “My wife passed from cancer five years ago. The kids are out of college, both working, and they decided to spend Christmas with their friends instead of family. What can I do? They’re old enough to make up their own minds.” He shrugged. “Okay, lead on.”

  They went up the last flight of stairs, and she showed him his room. “There’s a single bathroom on this floor, but you’ll have it all to yourself.”

  “This will do nicely. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome. If you’re interested in getting some air and seeing the view, a few more steps up through that door will lead you to the widow’s walk. I highly recommend it.”

  “Sounds nice. I might do that later.”

  “Can I get you some coffee? Or would you like a light breakfast?”

  “Sounds great, but unfortunately I stopped at McDonald’s on my way over.”

  “Oh, that is unfortunate! Well, tomorrow then.” She turned to leave. “I’ll let you get settled. There’s a set of keys on your table. The big one opens the front door, the smaller one is for your room. You can come and go as you please.”

  “Thanks, Charlene. I really appreciate it. Do you run this yourself? Or is there a Mr. Morris somewhere?”

  “No, Mr. Morris was killed in a car accident two years ago. But I’m never lonely; that’s one good thing about running a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “Maybe later we can have a nightcap together.”

  Charlene felt a chill in the air. She didn’t turn around, but she could feel Jack’s presence.

  “Let’s see what happens,” she said, and walked past Jack, ignoring him completely. His arms were crossed, and he had a petulant look on his handsome face. He had to get used to the fact that single men could rent a room, and she enjoyed the occasional company of real men too.

  By nine fifteen, Charlene and her parents were seated in the Pilot, listening to a cheery station on the radio. The weather report was for cool temperatures and clear skies. Her mother chatted happily, and Charlene defrosted a little. Whatever cruel words her mother had spit out, deep down she knew her mother loved her and her dad more than anyone or anything in this world. That was never in doubt.

  “Have a great time.” Charlene slowed before the Witch Museum. It was on Washington Street, and from the outside passersby might take it for a church, instead of a place that had reenactments of the twenty women burned at the stake. “Let me know where you’re having lunch and I’ll be out front at two.” She parked, waved as they exited, and then drove the short distance to 18th Street and the teen house.

  She pulled into the driveway and hopped out. Avery opened the door, already dressed and waiting. “Hi, Charlene
!”

  “I didn’t keep you waiting this time.” Charlene nodded at Janet, who gave her a thumbs-up. “I’ll just sign this, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Janet thanked her and told them both to have a good day. She closed the door behind them, and Charlene gave Avery a small hug. “What are the other kids doing today? With school out, do they go to Felicity House, or the youth center?”

  “Everybody does their own thing. Some take classes like pottery or painting. One girl likes to make jewelry, so she’s helping out at a shop in town. One of the guys likes to bake, so he was out of the house real early, working at the bakery.”

  “What about you, Avery? You interested in anything in particular?” They climbed into the Pilot, did up their seat belts, and then Charlene backed out of the driveway onto the street.

  “Hmm, not sure. I don’t have any great talent hiding inside of me. But I kind of like music. I write a little bit. Used to make up songs and play a guitar, but I don’t have it anymore.”

  “What kind of music do you like?”

  “Country. Rock. I don’t know. I just dabble, playing around.” She tapped her fingers on her knees. “Look at Taylor Swift. That woman has it all. You know she started writing her own music as a teenager? She moved to Nashville at fourteen and hoped to become a star. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “She is pretty awesome. Most people don’t get that kind of success in life, but she seems to handle it all pretty well.” Charlene took her eyes off the road for a sec to look at her. “That what you want? To be the next Taylor Swift?”

  “Sure. Why not? I mean, who wouldn’t?” Embarrassed at her confession, Avery blushed and looked out the side window.

  “Well, why not? Dream big. That’s the only way you’ll ever reach the stars.”

  “What about you?” Avery countered. “Did you wake up one day and say, ‘Gee, I want to be a bed-and-breakfast owner’?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, you got a mansion and everything, but was that your dream?”

  Charlene laughed. “No, it never occurred to me. My father was an art professor, and we used to traipse around museums together. When I was younger, I thought I’d like to paint something famous. I loved Monet and most of the Impressionists’ artwork. Renoir, Paul Cézanne. The landscapes were so dreamy and romantic, I just fell in love with it.”

  Avery stared at her like she had no clue what she was talking about. “So, did you paint?”

  “Basic stuff. But I didn’t have any real talent. It was just a period in my life. A few years later—when I was fifteen or so—I decided I wanted to be a curator.”

  “What’s that?” Avery wrinkled her nose, the gold ring sparkling.

  “It’s the person who’s in charge of the museum, an administrator—the collections are under her care. It’s a pretty important job.”

  “I guess. I’ve never been to a museum. Sounds boring,” she said, picking at the hole in her jeans.

  “Well, I didn’t end up doing that either. I went to college and became interested in commercial work. I have an advertising, marketing, and management degree.”

  “You made commercials?”

  “Well, not just me. We worked in teams, and yes, I helped develop some commercials.”

  “So, like what?”

  Charlene turned onto Crown Point Road. They drove around a curve and she saw her home in the distance. It still gave her a thrill to see the widow’s walk, and the grounds, and know that it was hers. She wondered if that thrill would ever go away.

  Avery shifted her leg in the passenger seat, facing Charlene. “Come on. Tell me! What commercials did you do?”

  “Uh, you know the one where the guy in a white plastic suit comes and sits by a housewife? The house looks like it’s just blown up, and only she and the sofa are there. Soot everywhere, even on the poor woman’s face. And there he sits—Mister Bright?”

  Avery shook her head in disbelief. “That was, like, the dumbest commercial ever.”

  “Mine!” Charlene pulled into the driveway, turned the car off, and looked at Avery with a big grin on her face. They slapped hands in a high-five. “Yeah, that one really sucked.”

  Still laughing, they went into the house.

  Minnie put Avery to work, and Charlene was determined to tackle the fund-raising list. She went to her room and clicked on her laptop at her small desk, resuming where she’d left off. Over two hours later, she’d managed to make it to the letter F but only a measly hundred dollars to the good. She printed out a list for her mom to call that afternoon—hopefully she’d have better luck.

  She was about to text Sam when she heard from behind her, “How’s it going?”

  Hearing the familiar voice, she shifted in her chair. “Jack! I didn’t know you were there.”

  “You were so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “Jack, I thought it would be easy asking people to donate, but by the time I’m off the phone with some of these folks, I want to give them money.”

  He laughed and scanned the list for her mother. “You really think Brenda will make all those calls? I’d expect most of them to hang up on her.”

  “You’ve got a point.” She showed him the sheet. “Which is why I’ve written out exactly what I want her to say—if she goes off-script, that’s it—she won’t be allowed to help.” Truth was, her mom couldn’t do any worse.

  He settled his hip against her desk, without budging it at all, and gave her a sardonic smile. “You like that guy?”

  “What guy?” She pushed her chair back. He was too close. Much too close, and yet, Jack could never, ever get close enough. Damn him for being a ghost!

  “You know the one. About your height. Lost his wife. Room nine.”

  She hadn’t numbered her rooms—and Jack’s tone was heavy on the sarcasm. “Gary Kramer?” He seemed like a nice enough man, certainly not someone for Jack to be jealous of. “I like him very much. I like all my guests. They keep me in business, Jack.”

  “So they do. I just don’t like you drinking with them. I prefer you drinking with me.”

  “So do I! But I will be polite, even if you can’t be.” Annoyed, she got up to leave, not in any mood for her jealous roommate.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Charlene jumped as her bedroom door slammed shut before her and the lock tumbled. She whirled around, but Jack was not visible to her as he played his tricks. The TV flickered off and on.

  “Jack, this isn’t funny.” She folded her arms and searched her room—then swiped the air around her, looking for a certain chill that would give him away.

  Her fingers brushed something and a shock of cold—like an ice bath—went through her, zinging right to the bone. She shivered and gasped for breath. “That wasn’t nice.”

  Reaching for her blanket on the love seat, she wrapped it around her shoulders. Jack’s laughter echoed and he slowly appeared, but not in strong form. Her nose scrunched and her fingertips had a pins and needles sensation. “I touched you?”

  He burst out laughing, the sound an echo only she and Silva could hear. “You should see your face.” The television blared static.

  Her teeth were still chattering, and the blanket didn’t erase the chill. She rubbed her arms.

  His laugh faded slowly. “Sorry. You’re shivering. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, it felt . . . weird . . . that’s all. Like jumping into the snow after being in a hot tub.”

  “I won’t do it again.” He had the good grace to act ashamed of himself. “But I didn’t like you agreeing to see Gary for a drink. We have so little time together as it is.”

  “I understand—but don’t lock the door on me! You don’t get to act like a jealous husband. Not to mention that Gary is not my type.”

  She ran in place, trying to get warm again.

  The TV settled on the hotline for David Baldwin, but the news reporter didn’t spend much time on it. “David’s been gone five days already. Old news, I guess.”

&nbs
p; Jack fluttered her list up from the desk. “I had a thought about Stony Brook—and Freddy Ferguson. Is there a way for you to Google Freddy and see where he did his jail time? For how long?”

  Jail time . . . that would be public record. Charlene returned to her desk and sat down in the office chair. “Sure.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Freddy Ferguson. Then Stony Brook. Long Island, New York.

  Jack reminded her of what they’d read before. “David graduated in ’88, but there is no record of Freddy after ’86.”

  “Hmmm. You’re right.” She typed in both men’s names and added the phrase “car accident.”

  A list of suggested websites came up and she scrolled down, Jack peering over her shoulder.

  “There it is!” he said.

  She dropped her gaze to where he pointed. The bottom article was about a DUI involving two college students.

  Charlene brought up the article with a tap of her finger—it had been published in a small paper. She zoomed in to enlarge the print.

  She read out loud, paraphrasing, “Sophomores Freddy Ferguson and David Baldwin involved in collision involving alcohol, yada, yada. David Baldwin was taken by ambulance to the hospital. Freddy taken to jail.” Charlene turned to Jack. “Is that where he injured his knee?”

  “It doesn’t say. Is there more?” Jack asked.

  “This is before the Internet, so maybe not.” She went to the next search page and scrolled down.

  “Oh—what’s this?” Charlene clicked on the article. “Freddy Ferguson, charged with manslaughter after another DUI, involving David Baldwin and freshman Doug Ketchum.” Charlene’s pulse skipped. “Doug is the other name that David had called out—he’d said that Doug was supposed to be dead.”

  Dead? And now David was too. Her phone rang, startling her, and she gasped, her hand to her wildly beating heart. She eyed the screen. “Mom.” Tempted to ignore it, she remembered that they were downtown and she had to answer.

  “Hello?” She checked the time—only noon.

  “Charlene! We’re having lunch at the Lobster Shack. Are you sure you can’t join us?”

  “Positive, Mom. I’ll see you at two—text me the address?”