Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  She followed the hostess to the register and gave a good tip. “Merry Christmas to you and yours.”

  She left Bella’s with the brown paper bag. Rather than go straight to her car, she walked behind the two rows of vehicles, past her Honda Pilot, a Kia Optima, and a Kia Soul. Both seemed in average condition and had snow tires on.

  The night that David had died there had been no snow, but it had been predicted. Her tires were all-terrain. There hadn’t been any skid marks. David had been hit by a car going less than thirty-five miles an hour. She looked to the road.

  It had been plowed and salted, and the asphalt was bare. She stood in the parking lot and tried to imagine how David had been killed, his neck broken. She hadn’t heard a screech of tires or the rev of an engine. It happened so fast that there’d been no sign of a car.

  She walked by a Town and Country minivan in crimson—wasn’t that a Dodge? Vincent didn’t seem like the minivan type. She’d pegged him to be a truck guy. There were four of those.

  She kept going, reading license plates, checking—she didn’t know for what, but hoped she would know when she saw it.

  Two of the trucks were Chevys, both brand new. The other was a Ford, but probably ten years old. The tires were worn.

  Her pulse skipped a little as she saw the last truck in the lot, parked away from the front door, like a good business owner would do. It was a Ford. Midnight blue.

  The tires were brand new. So new she could see the sticker price outline of adhesive against the black.

  Why would Vincent need new tires?

  Just because she hadn’t seen skid marks didn’t mean that Salem’s police department couldn’t have discovered something; she’d seen the computer program herself. What if Vincent was covering his tracks, literally? Ditch the tires, buy new—and sell the restaurant to cover up his gambling losses? Adrenaline raced through her body, causing her soup bag to shake.

  It was entirely possible that Vincent had been waiting for David to come out that night, and acted on impulse, ramming into him before driving away, as if nothing had happened.

  She turned toward the front of Bella’s and saw Laura and Vincent staring at her from the doorway.

  Chills trickled like a fall of snow down her back.

  Charlene had no good reason for being out in the parking lot, checking cars, so she ducked her head and hustled back to her Pilot, got in, and started the engine. She studiously avoided looking at the front entrance of the restaurant.

  She had to call Sam and make sure that he questioned Vincent about David’s death. Remembering that he was in court all day, she sent him a text. Sam was probably already on it, but if not, this might point the police department in the right direction.

  She drove home, the smell of the soup making her queasy. From now on, she would associate pasta fagioli with turmoil. The clock on the dashboard read two p.m. She parked and raced the soup inside the house, knowing she was late taking Avery home.

  Her mom waited with a victorious smile. “I did it—eleven hundred dollars.”

  “Mom, that is so terrific. Thank you.”

  “I know Mrs. Winters will be so happy,” Avery said, getting her coat from the coat tree by the door.

  “Dad, here’s your soup—I bought two, and you might want to stick one in the freezer.” She swallowed down the nausea in her tummy. “I stopped at Bella’s and Vincent confirmed that he’s closing it down.”

  She wanted to share with them her suspicions that Vincent had killed David, but not in front of Avery. Better yet, she’d wait to hear back from Sam. She’d grown in many ways since moving to Salem.

  Her dad clutched the brown paper bag to his chest. “Thanks, honey. That was sweet of you. I’m sorry about the restaurant. I know you enjoyed it.”

  “It’s all right.” David was not the man she’d thought he was, and her goal now was the kids. “Mom, when can we get the money for Felicity House?”

  “I told them it was urgent, and so most are dropping it by today—I figured we could bring what we have over in the morning?”

  She didn’t blame her mom for wanting to deliver the money and toys. It felt good to help other people. Why didn’t Tori see that? Her selfishness was at the root of her own unhappiness. No matter how much money she had, she would always be miserable.

  Speaking of money—she’d told Avery that today was payday. “Hang on!”

  She hurried back through the kitchen to her closet, and the box of cash she kept for emergencies in the safe, taking out three hundred dollars. Twelve hours of labor didn’t equal much money at all, and Charlene wanted to make sure that Avery had a special Christmas too. A guitar! Avery had enjoyed composing music with the one she’d had, but now it was gone. Or an iPhone. Maybe she could get an older model. Or she could spend it on whatever she wanted.

  “What are you thinking?” Jack asked from the doorway between her bedroom and the living room. Silva stalked past him with her tail high, flicking it through the illusion of Jack’s pant leg.

  “Jack!” Charlene sank back on her heels with a gasp. “Good. You can help—Avery is a ward of the state, so that means paying her needs to be official. Probably not cash. She doesn’t have a bank account yet, and I want her to have spending money and . . .”

  “I see.” He tapped his chin. “You can pay her for these past few days in cash—because you haven’t officially hired her yet, right?”

  “True! We’re on a temporary basis.” She grinned up at him. “Which means I can even give her a holiday bonus.” She fanned the twenties.

  “Avery wants an iPhone, like the other kids. And she mentioned a guitar . . . that would be a great gift for a sixteen-year-old. Should I give her more?”

  “Be careful of sending the wrong message,” Jack cautioned. “Working for you, she can have all those things by earning them soon enough.”

  “You’re right.” Her parents had made sure that she’d had a very comfortable life, but she was a hard worker by nature.

  A knock sounded on her bedroom door. Charlene rose, bumping into her dresses hanging behind her in the closet. “Thanks, Jack.”

  All told, she was gone only a few minutes, but there’d been no time to tell Jack about Vincent and the tires.

  “We have to talk when I get back,” she said.

  “I hate it when you do that!” He pleaded with her, using his blue, blue eyes, to convince her to stay a bit longer.

  “Patience, Jack.” She slipped into the kitchen. Her dad shut the refrigerator door and she passed him on the way to the foyer—he gave her an apologetic shrug. Mom was restless.

  Avery waited with her mom by the coat tree, the two discussing her mom’s true crime book. Avery seemed captivated.

  “You can have it when I’m done with it,” her mother said.

  “Thanks!” Avery zipped her jacket. “I read a lot. Mysteries, thrillers.”

  “I hope they don’t give you nightmares,” Charlene warned.

  “I love scary movies. Nothing scares me. I’d love to see a ghost.” Jack manifested himself behind the teenager as she said, “I think connecting with the other side would be soooo cool.”

  Jack grinned and blew a strand of her spiky orange hair. Avery leapt forward and rubbed her head, her eyes wide.

  “Let’s go.” Charlene urged Avery outside. “Behave,” she whispered to Jack, who stood next to her mother.

  Her mom huffed. “I’ve been nothing but good today, Charlene.” A sly look crossed her wrinkled face. “Have you heard from Sam yet?”

  “No, he’s at a trial, Mom.” Charlene escaped and climbed into the Pilot—Avery buckled up on the passenger side. Sam still hadn’t texted her back. Was he angry at her for interfering?

  When they stopped at a red light, Charlene handed Avery the envelope with cash. “Here you are—thank you for all of your hard work. I gave a little extra for Christmas.”

  Avery peered inside and started to laugh. “A little? Thank you! I can’t believe it. I didn’t thin
k I’d have any money to spend for Christmas, and now I do. Thanks, Charlene.”

  “You’re very welcome. Now, if you decide that you want to work with me after Christmas, then we’ll need to make it more official, with paystubs and everything.”

  “I do!”

  “That’s really great.” The light changed. “Will you get to see your mom during the holiday?”

  Avery’s face saddened. “Haven’t heard from her in a while, and she doesn’t live at that same apartment anymore.” She eyed the envelope and Charlene could see the wheels churning.

  “It’s okay for you to take care of yourself. Buy clothes, or makeup, books. Music even.”

  “That seems like a waste of good money,” the girl said. “I’d like to get something for my mom. It’s not her fault she’s . . .” Avery stared out the window.

  “I am not judging, believe me.” Charlene squeezed Avery’s forearm through her black ski jacket and kept her opinion to herself. “I’m here if you want to talk or if you need a friend. Okay?”

  Avery lowered her eyes, running the pad of her thumb over the white envelope. “When do I get to come back?” She peeked at Charlene between spiked bangs.

  “Do you want to work a few days next week?”

  “Yeah!”

  Charlene smiled. She’d accidentally driven to Felicity House rather than the teen house. “Oops. Oh, well, there’s Mrs. Avita.” The fund-raising queen—although her mom might give her a run for her money—was standing outside the black Nissan her son had driven earlier and waved to Charlene. She pulled into the driveway and rolled her window down. “Hi, Pamela!”

  Dressed in impeccable holiday attire, from her emerald cashmere coat and black gloves to her leather boots, slightly scuffed by age, Pamela’s smile almost matched the brightness of the diamonds at her ears. Her husband must be very successful, or had been.

  “Charlene!” She fluttered her gloved fingers at Avery, a small rip at the wrist of the fine leather. “Avery. I spoke to your teacher today to let her know you gave us the assignment directions, thank you.” Her attention returned to Charlene, behind the wheel. “Alice said you’ve been hard at work—we appreciate that.”

  “My mom, actually, has been on the phone. People have pledged another eleven hundred.”

  Her mink lashes batted. “Just in time. If I could get that Tori,” she exhaled. “But I suppose any forward legal action can’t happen until after the first of the year. Everybody takes this next week off.”

  Legal action? Charlene hoped with all her might that there was something the lawyers could do. “The sooner the better—Tori has plans to leave Salem after David’s service.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Really? I’ll have to put a call in. Let me go tell Alice the good news.” Pamela blew kisses at them and backed up to the four porch steps, then went inside Felicity House.

  “I’m so glad we’re able to help,” Charlene told Avery as they drove away. “Those two women really make a difference.”

  “They’re nice. I should get them something, and Janet too.” She tapped the envelope. “You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but Mrs. Winters is the tough one who enforces the rules. Mrs. Avita is just so sad to me. Like all she has to be proud of is the money they used to have. She can’t let go of the past, or something.”

  “That’s very observant.” And compassionate. They arrived at the teen house and Charlene walked in with Avery.

  “Have a great holiday,” Avery said, giving Charlene a hug.

  “Merry Christmas. Don’t forget—call if you want to talk. I’m a pretty good listener.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Charlene returned home feeling pleased with the result of her fund-raising for Felicity House—and her mother’s participation in it. They’d done some good, and the children would have a nice Christmas. The big money hadn’t poured in yet from her GoFundMe page on the website, and their plans for a new wing might be put on hold, but with help from the community it would happen down the road.

  Charlene turned into the driveway, admiring the sight of the half dozen three-foot crystal reindeer with sparkling antlers that stood proudly under the stately evergreen trees. She and Jared had never gone all out on their house on the hill. They would work late right up to Christmas Eve, as the holiday season and Super Bowl ads kept the teams busy.

  But “Charlene’s” deserved glitz and glamour; nothing less would be appropriate for such a splendid home.

  And to think it was hers.

  Oh, Jared. Can you see me now? If you do, I’m sure you’re smiling with pride, knowing what a good decision I made. Yes, I still miss you, and always will. But I’m happy, too, and this year will be the first for me where I will actually feel joy. Be happy for me; I am living for both of us now. I also hope Heaven is as wonderful as we believed it to be and that your heart is full. Merry Christmas, my darling husband. I will always love you.

  She climbed out of the car, feeling peace and calm inside. Her parents’ visit would soon be over, and she’d have the house back to herself. She would actually miss them, she knew, and might invite them back again during the summer months.

  A tingle of excitement spread through her as she entered the house. She just knew that Vincent was behind the hit-and-run. The new tires combined with his gambling debts and the sudden closing of Bella’s made him her number one suspect.

  “Hey, Mom, Dad.” They cuddled by the fire, each with a book and a cup of cocoa. Minnie had left for the day.

  Charlene shrugged off her coat and took it to her suite of rooms, hanging it in her closet and swapping her boots for slippers. She returned to the living room and sank into the sofa. “So, you two look cozy. Is Gary gone?”

  “Yes, he left right after you did,” her dad said. “He’ll be out most of the night.”

  “I hope he’s having a nice visit with his family. He’s a pleasant man.” Charlene snuggled back against the cushion of the sofa.

  “Oh.” Her mom looked up with a raised brow. “Any romantic interest?”

  “No, Mom. Not even a flicker.” She felt Jack’s presence, and it made her smile. “Although he’s kind of cute,” she said to tease her special ghost.

  “Seriously?” Jack frowned. “Thought you only had eyes for Sam.”

  “Sam’s more handsome,” her mother said.

  Jack threw his arms out to his sides, the air around him whirring and causing the fire to pop.

  Her mom scowled at the drape-covered window. “I’m calling someone to check your seals on this place before we go home.”

  Her dad looked up from his book. “What does Sam’s attractiveness have to do with it? Charlene will find the right man when the time is right. I think she’s got plenty to do without worrying about a guy.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I agree.”

  “So do I.” Jack stood in front of the fire, the flames behind him semi-visible.

  “What time will Sam return to Salem?” her mom asked. “There’s a big snowstorm in New York City, according to the news. Travel’s a nightmare.”

  Charlene dug her phone from her pocket and checked her messages. “I hope he’s all right.” Sam had texted but she’d missed it, so she eagerly scanned his message. No mention of her tip on Vincent, but the trial had gone long, and his flight had been delayed. She groaned.

  “Is that from Sam?” Her father put down his reading glasses.

  “He’s trying for standby on a different airline, since his flight’s delayed by five hours.”

  She sent a message for him to travel safe and keep her posted. He responded with a thumbs-up emoji followed by a Santa blowing her a kiss.

  Charlene put her phone in her pocket, then clasped her hands, her stomach knotted with worry. “I won’t relax now until I know he’s home.”

  “Detective Sam will be just fine,” Jack said dryly. “I hate to see you upset.” He raised his hand toward the fireplace and a few sparks lit up, making her mother flinch.

  Silva had been asleep i
n her dad’s lap, and the cat jumped down and hissed, then pawed the air toward Jack with a meow. “What got her in a dither?” her dad asked.

  Amused, Charlene gave Jack a look, and he smiled sheepishly. “We’ve got a bunch of ribs to eat by ourselves,” her mother said. “With all your guests out.”

  Her dad picked up his book once more. “Love a nice rack of ribs with slaw and beans.” He glanced down at Silva. “Too bad she’s not a dog. All those bones gone to waste.”

  Charlene got off the sofa and stretched. “I’m going to do a little paperwork in my office, and I’ll catch you back here at five thirty or six. Cocktail hour. We’ll throw the ribs in a warm oven and eat around seven.”

  “I might take a wee nap.” Her dad covered a yawn with his novel.

  “I’ll call some of my friends back home,” her mother said. “Tell them all the comings and goings around this place. We’re helping solve a murder! They’ll get a kick out of that.”

  “Yup, you solved it all right. Told that young buck of a detective that he didn’t know his ass from his front, and that everybody knows the husband was killed by his wife.” Her father stood up. “Nappy time.”

  “Be careful when your eyes are closed,” his wife told him. “You push my buttons enough, you might be next.”

  Charlene could hear him chuckling as he went up the stairs. She stared at her mom. “How’s he going to sleep after that?”

  “Like a babe. He knows I couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Jack floated through the door just as Charlene entered her suite.

  “You were naughty again,” she fake-scolded.

  “I do it to make you smile. You know Sam will be just fine. Even if he has to stay over in New York, he’s on official business and the department will cover the cost of a nice hotel. Worst case, he won’t be here till tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” He stood next to her, close enough to touch, but all she felt was a chill in the air. Not the warmth from his soul, and that was sad because it was definitely still there. “I might have upset him though . . . I sent him a text about Vincent.” She took a seat and gestured for Jack to join her. “Vincent has a motive to kill David.”