by Traci Wilton
He drank the rest of the bad coffee with a grimace and glanced longingly toward his untouched beer, but he didn’t so much as sip it.
Charlene gave Freddy another nudge to keep him talking. “Did he think he was better than you?”
“It wasn’t that. We had college plans—to be better than our folks. David was okay smart, but me, well, I struggled.” His voice trailed off before booming back. “We needed scholarships.”
Thinking of the jersey he’d given to Kyle, she said, “Sports?”
“They didn’t have football scholarships back in the eighties—we had to get merit scholarships. David charmed his way into getting girls to tutor him—nobody could be as charming as David.”
She’d heard that many times before and had seen it for herself.
Freddy’s hand trembled around the white cup, empty now. “I couldn’t keep up and was hanging on by a thread at Stony Brook. One thing I could do better than David was throw a football—he ran circles around me in drills, but I had distance down the field.”
His smile peeked through the depressing atmosphere like a hint of sun quickly covered by a cloud. “Another thing I could do better than David was drink.”
He rubbed his arms and glanced over her shoulder again. “I’m getting to it,” he muttered.
Charlene looked behind her—nobody was there. Who was he talking to? Was he delusional, or haunted by spirits of his past? She recalled David’s yearbook photo from college, forever a young man.
“Drinking like a fish is a Ferguson family pastime.”
She waited, barring herself from feeling empathy for him.
“Times were different then, and people talked about drinking and drug addiction under their breath, like they were dirty little secrets. Wasn’t like now, where everybody is addicted to something, right?”
He looked at her without expecting an answer and kept on. “So, David was talented, getting good grades, and on the starting team. I was popular for drinking and making people laugh. Laughing at me for being a dumb-ass. There was no stunt I wouldn’t do with enough rum in my gut. Got so that I embarrassed David, which pissed me off, I don’t mind saying.”
His voice roughened and Charlene slipped her hand into her coat pocket, palming her phone for a sense of safety. “Was the accident why you and David weren’t friends anymore?”
“I was the weight around his ankles.” He glared into the dark shadows behind Charlene. “Keeping him down. One Friday night we got into a car accident—I was the idiot drinking and racing on the back roads. David got hurt, and I was the bad guy.” He scrubbed a shaking hand over his ravished face. “Kept telling me to pull over, called me a loser, which just made me angrier. My foot jammed down on the pedal harder and harder.”
Charlene’s stomach did another flip. “Is that when David hurt his leg and couldn’t play?”
Freddy’s gray skin mottled with red anger. “It was a damn accident. God, I could never live that down. I was put on probation and I knew that if I didn’t bring my grades up, I’d be booted out of Stony Brook.”
“But you got to take his place on the team?”
He slammed his palm against the cheap wood table. “Is that what you think?” Freddy leaned toward her, gray brows drawn. “We were best friends, lady. I would have died for him.” He closed his eyes against some pain that Charlene didn’t know—did he feel like David owed him? Is that why he’d come here—for a payoff?
He averted his gaze, once again, over her shoulder. “Way back when, I told David I was holding him back—I knew it. But I didn’t hurt his leg on purpose. He knew that, he said, and he told me he wasn’t listening to those jackasses who said otherwise.”
“Who is Doug?”
Tears spilled down his thin cheeks. “He was my other friend—more like me than a superstar like David. He figured this was his only year at Stony Brook, too—we didn’t care. One Friday night, I kind of strong-armed David into partying with us. He got so drunk he saw stars.”
Freddy straightened as he retold the tale, accepting his role as he shared what had happened.
“We went back to the scene of the previous accident to race again, taking turns driving my old car. I knew it was the end of something for us, and I didn’t want it to be—one more drink, one more race.” He choked back a sob and struck his chest. “I was losing my best friend, who refused to read the writing on the wall. He’d go on and be successful, and I’d turn into my old man, dead at fifty from liver disease—if I was lucky.”
Charlene said, “You make it sound like you didn’t have a choice.”
“Did I?” He rubbed his gut. “I’ll be gone by this time next year.”
Sudden compassion welled inside her, and she squelched it down. What she’d assumed was ravaged features from alcohol could also be illness. “Doug never saw twenty-two—he died with you behind the wheel.”
“I see Doug every single day,” Freddy droned. “You probably think I’m crazy. His ghost never left me. And here’s the bitch,” he laughed sardonically.
She hunkered into her jacket and stared at Freddy over the dim candle. Was he serious about being haunted? Charlene knew enough now not to discredit the paranormal—she peered around her, eyes squinted, but couldn’t make anything out. Freddy kept rubbing his arms, like he was cold, and that was one of the signs that signified when Jack was around for her.
“What?” What could be worse than what he’d shared so far?
“After decades of sobriety and counseling, I discovered that I hadn’t been behind the wheel.”
What? Not the driver. “What do you mean?” Her voice came out sharp.
“Last month I had a breakthrough in my therapy— something that I hadn’t been willing to accept before my recent diagnosis of liver cancer. I’m dying, right? I’ve carried Doug’s ghost for all of these years.” He jerked his thumb behind him, but Charlene didn’t see anything. “Figured it was my fault that he’d died, I deserved to be haunted.”
He was serious. Jack was not the only ghost, but Doug stayed with Freddy, while Jack was trapped to his house.
Freddy crumpled the Styrofoam cup in anger. “Guilt destroyed my life. I don’t own a car; I don’t trust myself to make friends. Until last month, I was sober as a church mouse.”
“What changed?”
“I found out that my best friend, the man I would have died for, had set me up—got me sent to jail on manslaughter. But it wasn’t me.” He lifted his hairline to show a jagged pink scar on the right side of his temple. The passenger side of the car. “David Baldwin drove the night Doug was killed.”
“No.” She sat back in shock, trying to make sense of his words. David had set Freddy up?
“Yeah, my shrink thinks my impending death allowed me to truly recall what happened—the smack of the bumper into the tree. Doug’s body flying out of the car as the glass shattered. I was on the passenger side.” Tears flowed down Freddy’s face. “After we hit the tree, I was passed out, right, but David must’ve put me behind the wheel and himself on the passenger side. Cops thought it was me, and since I’d done it before and it was my car, I believed it.”
Charlene’s belly churned in disbelief—this was not what she’d expected to hear. “You came here to confront David?”
“You don’t get it, lady.” He wiped condensation off the beer bottle, his tone thick with sorrow. “I brought him his jersey as a peace offering. I’d forgiven him, but first he had to confess. Figured I deserved that. We were s’posed to meet for dinner, but he blew me off. Then, he died. No resolution for either of us.”
She remembered the horror on David’s face when he’d looked out the window, when he’d said the name Freddy, then Doug.
Charlene asked a question she’d asked before, hoping for the truth this time. “Were you there that night? Be honest. Help me find who killed David. I believe you, about Doug. Maybe telling the truth will set you both free.”
Freddy licked his lips as he looked from the beer to Charlene
. “Yeah, I was there, but just for a minute. I was havin’ a little nip for the guts to confront David—I waited across the road.” He winced and glared at the space behind him.
This time Charlene noticed the chill. “He saw you, and ran out. David said the name Doug.”
Freddy groaned and reached for the beer, taking a hefty swallow.
“What did you see?” Charlene pressed.
“Nothin’. A black shadow, and then I hid.”
“A black shadow?” That made no sense.
His hand trembled and he finished the bottle of Rolling Rock in three gulps. “It burst from nowhere. Gin gives me nightmares, so maybe I was seeing things. I hightailed it back to the motel and convinced myself it was the booze.”
“Did you tell this to the police?”
He grimaced. “Sure. I told the officer that I saw nothin’. They quit hassling me—I was drunk. Makes me un . . . unre . . . something.”
“Unreliable witness.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
David must have seen Doug’s ghost and known that Freddy had discovered the truth.
David had made a date for dinner with Freddy for Sunday night, when he’d had no intention of being in Salem. How awful.
She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I am very sorry for your losses. I . . .” What could she say? That she believed him, about his ghost? That she felt his betrayal? That she, too, strove to offer forgiveness?
In the end, Charlene stood and offered him a hug.
Sometimes there were just no words to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charlene walked out of the sleazy bar in a complete daze after her meeting with Freddy, but immediately reached for her phone as she recalled the sketchy neighborhood she was in. The broken sidewalk wasn’t lit by streetlamps, but she used her flashlight app until she was on the other side of the Sleep Inn and the parking lot. Once she was inside her car, she risked a look at her phone. Three missed calls from Sam.
The dreary bar, Freddy, the reveal of David’s lie and cover-up to save himself, tempted to bring on a crying jag.
She deserved some Sam time to hold off the blues. Calling him back, she said, “Hey. Sorry I missed you. Did you get my text? Mom stuffed herself on lobster rolls, so we’ll have to reschedule ribs. I was thinking tomorrow?”
“I didn’t mean to blow up your phone, but I’d hoped we might get together for a quick bite, just you and me. Tomorrow I’ll be in New York and it might be late when I get back.”
For a trial. “That’s right! I forgot.”
“I won’t keep you long—I know you have guests and your parents in town.” His rich chuckle made her heart feel lighter. “Any chance I can commandeer your attention for an hour?”
“Hmm. A whole hour?” She pretended to think about it. “How about Cod and Capers? I want to hit Sharon up for a donation for Felicity House. Can you meet me there?”
“Won’t say no. I’m going to jump while the jumping’s good. How’s the fundraising going, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. I’m looking forward to it, Sam. See you soon.”
She parked in front of the harborside restaurant at Pickering Wharf, and upon entering asked to be seated at a booth by the window.
“We’re clearing one of the tables now,” the hostess replied. “It’ll only be a few minutes.” The restaurant was bustling with activity, but with the number of tourists in town for the Christmas holidays it was no wonder. The wharf was a popular destination, with charter boats and quaint shops.
Charlene spotted Sharon behind the bar counter, her face pink from exertion, her thick red hair tied in a knot to keep off her face. Sharon had customers at every bar stool and people lined up behind, angling to get a drink. Obviously swamped, Charlene decided to wait until after their dinner to have her chat.
She recognized a few of the locals but surmised that most were tourists or families visiting for the holidays.
Ernie Harvey from Salem Realty sat at an inside table. Should she go over and say hello? He’d sold Charlene her home at a bargain basement price . . . not mentioning that it came with a ghost who’d frightened away several previous buyers. Regardless, she was willing to let bygones be bygones since if he had warned her, she’d never have bought her beautiful mansion, or had the privilege to know Jack.
She gave him a friendly wave and wondered if he was meeting with prospective clients. A couple in their thirties, their daughter seated in a booster chair. She looked about three, with blond bouncy curls and pink cheeks. Adorable.
Charlene turned to see Archie from Vintage Treasures with a plump lady in her midfifties. The woman appeared to be bored to death, and she wondered if it was his wife. Archie always flirted with her when she came into his shop, and she didn’t know if he was married or not. The sly dog.
Suddenly, she felt a hand at her waist. Sam.
“Hey.” She bumped his shoulder, happy to see him. After the meeting with Tori and then Freddy, she needed gorgeous, good-hearted Sam.
“Hey, beautiful. Glad you could make time for me.” Sam peered down at her from his six-foot-four frame, his chocolate-brown eyes filled with warmth. He was wearing his customary dark blue jeans, a Ralph Lauren plaid shirt—she recognized it because Jared had owned the same one—and an open wool coat, black loafers. His thick, wavy hair curled around his ears, and the grin on his face made her pulse jump.
She knew he was interested in a relationship with her, and quite frankly, if it wasn’t for Jack she’d be tempted. But Detective follow-the-rules Sam was a man who believed in tangible things that you could touch, see, and smell. Just as she had once.
He didn’t believe in ghosts, so she couldn’t tell him about Jack, or their friendship. Nor could she discuss running all over Salem talking to people, which he’d see as interfering in his investigation. She saw it differently. So, so long as they didn’t talk about those two things, dinner would be wonderful.
Perhaps searching for David’s murderer had opened up that channel for her, and now it wouldn’t close. Like a bloodhound, she couldn’t stop once she’d caught the scent.
“Your table is ready. Take them to twelve,” the hostess told the twentysomething waitress. She had a long blond braid down her back and reminded her of Elsa in the Disney movie Frozen.
Sam kept his hand on her back as they followed the waitress to their table, and then sat across from her, his attention unwavering. He was a really good guy. Jared would approve, she knew. Maybe that voice she’d heard earlier had been his?
“I’m Michelle, and I’ll be your server tonight.” She handed them menus. “Can I get you a drink?”
Sam lifted his eyebrow at Charlene. “Would you like wine?”
“Yes, please. But ice water with lemon as well.”
“I’ll be right back to tell you about our specials.”
“She’s very pretty,” Charlene said, watching the waitress as she dashed away.
“So are you.” His eyes made her mouth water. She wished she had the iced glass in her hand to cool her down.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. She picked up the menu and pretended to find it interesting.
“Why do you look away?” he asked softly.
“Why do you stare?” she countered.
He chuckled. “You like to challenge me, don’t you?”
“Not sure what you mean.” She fidgeted with her cloth napkin, finally putting it in her lap.
“Sure you do. Why do you hold me at arm’s length?” He rubbed his shaved chin, his long mustache framing his mouth. “Never met a woman as stubborn as you.”
“I’m not stubborn; well, maybe just a little.” She looked directly into his eyes, not wanting to play games. “I just moved in three months ago, and I’ve been incredibly busy as you well know. I’m not intentionally putting you off. I don’t want to lead you on. I find you very attractive.”
Michelle returned with the ice waters. “Have you decided?” she asked.<
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Neither of them glanced her way or answered her.
“Want me to come back later?”
Sam broke the silence. “Charlene, red or white?”
“Red.” She cleared her throat and quickly took a sip of water.
“We’ll have two glasses of the Pinot Noir, Sonoma-Cutrer.” The girl rushed away. He reached across the table and took her hand. “Hope you don’t mind me ordering for you, but I think you’ll like it.”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Jared and I visited Sonoma Valley and enjoyed a few of the wineries.” As soon as she saw his face, she wished she hadn’t mentioned that.
“I’m sure you have many great memories together.” He dropped her hand.
“Sam. I’m sorry. I really enjoy being with you, more than you know. It’s just that things are complicated now, and until I get my life organized, I can’t take on anything else.”
He nodded and she glanced out the window, feeling guilty for a dozen good reasons she couldn’t explain.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she said softly. “Look at this view. Didn’t have this in Chicago, that’s for sure.”
“Isn’t it famous for a river that runs through the city?”
“Yes.” She appreciated his attempt to bring back the mood. “I used to love to have dinners there, and we could see it from our office windows.” She gave him a smile and reached across the table to touch his hand. She was determined to enjoy this one hour together before she had to go home.
“Well, I’ve seen this view hundreds of times, but it’s much prettier with you in it,” he said, his expression serious.
She swallowed hard. “Thank you! You know, I’ve always loved the sight and the smell of the sea. Ever since I was a little girl. My parents used to take me to Florida for spring vacation. They thought I’d enjoy Disney World, but it was the beach that drew me.”
It was just after five, and a pink and purple sky hovered over the stormy gray water that crashed against the rocks and the pier. The movement of the sea never failed to mesmerize her. Perhaps she’d been a mermaid in a previous life? Why not? She was starting to believe that anything was possible.