Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  Jack watched her carefully as she ended the call. “Well?”

  “What? I said I would stay out of danger, and I will.” He lifted his brow in disbelief.

  By ten that morning, the postman delivered another five hundred bucks in checks. “Let’s go, Mom. We can drop these off, and maybe Alice can get them to the bank before it closes.”

  “The bank is open on a Saturday?” Her mom reached for her red coat on the coat tree.

  “Yeah, only until noon because it’s a holiday.”

  “My bank isn’t open,” her mom argued.

  “That’s because you have a credit union. It’s different.” Her parents had been with the same bank for fifty years.

  Her mom stopped arguing once she saw the bags to take to Felicity House, her earlier joy returning. “The kids will be so happy.”

  Jack walked with them out to the porch—her boots crunched, his made no sound at all. Five inches of fresh snow had fallen and now covered her yard. “Have fun, Charlene. Straight there and back.” He tapped his wrist as if he had a watch.

  She wouldn’t go by the motel. It was in the wrong part of town, anyway.

  They drove down the hill to the intersection and passed Bella’s—the parking lot was full. Vincent’s truck was gone. Maybe Sam had him in for questioning? Better yet, behind bars.

  “I can’t believe it’s been a week since David was killed,” Charlene said. She’d told her parents about Tori going missing and Zane’s appeal to the public.

  “I thought that detective of yours would have caught the perp by now.”

  “The perp?”

  “Perpetrator.” Her mom peered at her over the top edge of her glasses knowingly. “The killer. I don’t blame Zane for trying to find Tori. That’s his golden goose.”

  She happened to agree with her mom. “I just don’t see Freddy taking her. I know she’s tiny, but she’s very fit and could probably kick his butt. He’s not a well man.”

  Her mom hummed. “Desperation can give people added strength—you’ve heard the stories about mothers lifting cars to save their children.”

  Charlene didn’t argue, determined to keep the mood pleasant and not have a repeat of the last time she and her mother had gone to Felicity House. Though she’d buried her hurt, it was still there.

  “Here we are,” Charlene sang, pulling into the driveway next to Pamela’s Lexus SUV. She could see stacks of wrapped gifts shadowed through the tinted windows, and a large red Santa sack tied in the back. A dozen children in coats, boots, and hats rolled snowballs, shouting with joy. She waved to the young gentleman in the glasses—his nose was red from cold.

  Her eyes were drawn to the little girl who’d asked to be adopted, and found Tamil with a trio of friends, building a slide from what had been the igloo. This would not be a one-time-only charity for Charlene, and she welcomed the challenge to make a difference.

  “Come on, Mom. Alice is expecting us. Looks like Pamela will be here, too—how fun. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked you to join the fund-raising team on a permanent basis.”

  Her mom blushed and tucked her short white hair behind her ear. Red Christmas lights twinkled at her lobes. “I’m much too busy,” she protested.

  They got out of the Pilot and walked up the four stairs to the narrow porch. The drapes were closed, which Charlene thought was odd. Every other time they’d been here the curtains had been open to reveal the Christmas tree and lights.

  She checked the time on her phone. Ten thirty. “Alice should be here,” Charlene said, and knocked on the red door before twisting the handle. “Merry Christmas,” she called out. She pushed at the door, but it was locked.

  There was a muffled sound, and a minute passed. Footsteps shuffled toward the door. Charlene and her mom exchanged a smile. They waited—but nothing happened. Charlene knocked again. A slam sounded from inside.

  Her pulse raced. She tried the knob a second time and it opened. Someone had unlocked the door, but didn’t answer it?

  “Odd,” she said. Charlene wondered if the adults were creating a surprise for the children and proceeded cautiously to not give the game away.

  Once she and her mom were in the front room, she shut the door. Something didn’t seem right, besides the drawn curtains—it was too quiet. “Alice?”

  The tree, unplugged, was to the right and the desk and phone on her left. The central hall led to a tiny kitchen on the left and two offices on the right. Everything was dark.

  A back door, out of sight from the front room, slammed closed.

  Her mom grabbed Charlene’s arm. The presents remained under the tree, so it couldn’t have been a thief. “Alice? Pamela?” She waited at the edge of the area rug. Danger crackled in the air.

  There was a loud thump coming from Alice’s office, and Charlene cautiously walked down the hall, expecting someone to jump out at her any second. The tidy kitchen had a single mug on the counter that read, ALICE.

  “Stay there, Mom.”

  “No chance.”

  “Alice?” she called loudly. “It’s Charlene. Are you here?” She rapped on the office door before slowly opening it. She scanned the room—closet, two armchairs, a desk, an office chair—the top of the desk was stacked with accounting books, a laptop, and a bank bag.

  No sign of Alice or Pamela. “I heard something—didn’t you, Mom?”

  Her mom nodded, her grip on Charlene firm. She shuffled to the desk. The blue money bag was open and empty.

  Dark house, slamming door, empty bag. “They’ve been robbed,” Charlene said in disbelief. “Who could do such a thing?”

  Her mom didn’t offer an opinion, for once.

  Charlene hurried around to the side and saw the drawer open—and Alice Winters stuffed beneath the desk, bound with red and green packing tape, a toy reindeer protruding from her mouth. Her eyes flashed fury.

  “Alice!” Charlene cried, bending down to help.

  Her mom went to the open office door to stand guard, arms crossed and looking mighty fierce in her red down jacket and boots.

  Charlene removed the reindeer from the older woman’s mouth. “What happened? Where’s Pamela?”

  She flashed back to Avery saying that Alice was the tough one, but classy Pamela had problems of her own . . . Pamela could be over her head in possible debt, if the frayed gloves and the kids in public school meant anything. Her stomach rolled. What if Pamela had reached the end of her rope when David’s check was no good?

  “Go catch her!” the director confirmed in a shaking voice. “Pamela.”

  Her mother raced down the hall like she was sixty instead of seventy-five and opened the front door. “Gone!” her mom shouted, then quickly returned, her cheeks as red as her earrings. “She tricked us into coming in while she escaped out the back.”

  Alice drew in a deep breath, and Charlene helped her to her seat.

  “She’s probably been skimming the profits for years.” Alice squeezed the bridge of her nose. “When you told me that Sharon Turnberry had donated a thousand dollars, I noticed it wasn’t in the books. I couldn’t believe it. I was triple-checking again this morning.”

  Which explained all of the ledgers. “Did you confront Pamela?”

  Alice rubbed her red mouth. “My mistake—I thought I could reason with her, but she’s lost her mind. Saying that she would make Tori fix things? Pamela hit me and tied me up. How could she?”

  “Oh no.” Charlene stepped back and accidentally knocked over the money bag. A letter fell down too. She picked it up, seeing a red stamp marked PAST DUE across the top.

  She handed the paper to Alice, who looked at it in confusion, then dawning horror as she read the notice of loan default.

  “This is due the last day of December, or they’ll start foreclosure proceedings,” Alice said in a hoarse whisper. She scanned the letter in shock. “Pamela gave her name and address to the bank instead of mine. I never saw this before now.” The director turned green and swallowed hard.

>   “Let me phone the police,” Charlene said. “Do you think she’s going to the bank?”

  “Yes—we’d collected another five thousand to deposit.” Alice shook her head. “What is she doing with the money?”

  Charlene had no idea. She called Sam first, but it went to voice mail—this would be worth waking him up for. Next she dialed Officer Bernard and gave him the details of what had happened. “Did you find Tori?”

  “No,” the officer said. “She wasn’t at the motel. I’ll send a car over to Felicity House, but most of our units are dealing with the Freddy Ferguson situation so it might be a while. Zane’s there and it’s a circus.”

  “Is Detective Holden around?”

  “No, ma’am.” Officer Bernard hung up.

  If Freddy didn’t have Tori, and Zane didn’t have Tori, who did? She looked at the picture of Alice and Pamela shaking hands, framed on the wall.

  “The poor children!” Alice sobbed. “You have to find Pamela, Charlene, and make her give the money back. We can’t lose Felicity House!”

  “Me?” Charlene brought her hand to her chest. “It’s a police matter.” The empty money bag had Salem Federal printed on the outside. How could Tori help Pamela “fix” her situation?

  “They will arrest her, Charlene.” Alice wiped her eyes with a tissue from a box on her desk. “I don’t know what happened to make Pamela snap, but she is, was, my friend—she can’t go to jail on Christmas. I know her husband, and her kids.” She dabbed her red nose.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Sam wouldn’t be happy if she was involved.

  “Find Pam, convince her to give the money back and then turn herself in.” Alice grabbed Charlene’s wrist. “Please, Charlene. I’ll call the bank right now and alert them to what’s happening. I have your number—I’ll call you—can you please go find her before she goes too far?” Alice wouldn’t let her say no.

  Well, she knew where Tori lived, and if Pamela was going to Tori’s house to somehow convince her to give her money, it wouldn’t hurt for Charlene to relay Alice’s message. She checked the time. Ten forty. Bank was open until noon. “I’ll have to hurry, but I’ll see if I can find her.”

  Charlene ushered her mom toward Alice. “Wait here for the police.” She raced down the hall, out the front door, and got behind the wheel. Her mother was already in the passenger seat before she turned the engine on.

  “What’s the plan?” her mother asked, sounding like a rookie cop.

  “Mom . . . stay here with Alice.” She suddenly realized what Sam felt whenever she acted on her own.

  “No way,” her mom said. “I can help you.”

  There was no time to argue. “Fine—but you stay in the car, no matter what.” She handed her the phone and started the Pilot. “Text Sam that I think Pamela is looking for Tori about David’s money, and that Salem Federal closes today at noon.”

  Her mom typed into the keypad. “Done. Now what?”

  “We’ll go to Tori’s house first. Keep an eye out for a black SUV.”

  “I warned you that winning the lottery makes people crazy. Good thing is Tori should still be kickin’.” Her mom scanned the streets like an eagle looking for prey.

  Still kickin’? “We’re just going to talk to Pamela.”

  “To your right,” her mom said. “I recognize the car from the parking lot.”

  They followed and for the second time, the SUV went around the block—was Pamela getting cold feet?

  Suddenly, the SUV whipped to the left around a corner. Charlene had no choice but to make a sharp turn behind her—the sound of her cell phone hitting the dashboard and sliding backward beneath the seat made her flinch. The tires on her Pilot spun for a second before finding traction on the packed snow.

  “Sorry—should I get it?” Her mom reached for her seat belt.

  “No—just leave it.” The residential area quickly gave way to an even quieter side street and the back entrance to Salem Federal; the parking lot was a series of five-foot-tall snow drifts between plowed spaces.

  Where was Pamela?

  Charlene drove around to the front of the bank, where two cars were parked at the entrance of the two-story brick building. Ten after eleven on Christmas Eve.

  “I don’t see her,” Charlene said.

  “My gut is tellin’ me she knows where Tori is.” Her mom pulled a peppermint from her purse. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Try the back?” her mother suggested. She popped the holiday candy in her mouth.

  Charlene slowly drove around. Tall snowdrifts had created barriers between the spaces, but her gaze was drawn to the last row. Pamela, parked slightly crooked, was out of her SUV and standing at the back with the hatch up, staring in.

  Pulse racing, Charlene carefully turned to the right and parked next to Pamela, the hood of her Pilot facing Salem Federal, her headlights inches from a snowbank. The bank’s green, red, and blue lights twinkled from the roof. The fund-raising co-chair did not look up as Charlene peered inside the Lexus but saw only shadows of gift-wrapped packages. No Tori, no passengers at all.

  “Stay here, Mom, while I talk to her, okay?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to get your cell phone? That way you could record the conversation and get her to admit she stole the money.”

  “You’ve missed your calling, Mom.”

  Charlene got out, her hands at her sides, her fingers chilled without gloves. “Pamela?” She walked to the rear of their vehicles as Pamela slammed the hatch shut and turned to Charlene, something bulging from her down coat pocket. Despite the cold weather, Pamela had a sheen of perspiration across her forehead.

  “Merry Christmas,” Charlene said. Just talk, convince her to turn herself in.

  Pamela’s smile was of the grimace variety as she skipped the pleasantries. “I saw you following me.”

  Charlene stepped backward.

  “Why?” Pamela took a step toward her.

  “I know about what happened at Felicity House this morning.”

  “You’re a snoop, Charlene Morris.”

  The tone was singsong, Pamela’s eyes frazzled. Charlene’s neck tingled with apprehension. She eyed the black SUV. Freddy had told her that it had seemed like a black shadow had come toward him from Bella’s parking lot.

  Pamela’s jaw clenched. “You should leave and mind your own business.”

  Pamela had been packing the unclaimed prizes into the SUV. Alice had suggested Avery help, but Avery had been too distraught over being fired to do it. Pamela could have been in the parking lot, angry at David for not giving her the check to cover her theft, and acted in a moment of rage to run him over.

  And not given a hint of her crime away in the last week?

  Charlene rubbed her hands together to warm them. “Don’t you want to know if Alice is okay?”

  “Of course she’s okay—I used packing tape, not handcuffs. What do you want?” Pamela snapped. Lank black hair clung to her forehead, and her face was pale.

  “I have a message from Alice—she wants you to give the money back and turn yourself in. She’s thinking of your family.” Charlene was acutely aware of being the only two vehicles in the rear lot of Salem Federal.

  “Not gonna happen,” Pamela chortled. “I can fix this. I have to fix this, and then everything will be okay again. Alice will understand, and things will go back to the way they were.”

  Charlene wasn’t certain of that. Needing proof, if possible, she walked to the front of Pamela’s SUV. The chrome was shiny silver, as if brand new. Not a speck of dirt or sign of wear. Had Pamela gotten it replaced to hide evidence of the hit-and-run? She put her hand on her stomach—she’d wasted so much time thinking it was Vincent who was guilty, but she’d been wrong.

  Sam was searching in the wrong place for David’s killer.

  “What are you doing?” Pamela had followed her, trapping Charlene between the snowbank behind her, Pamela in front, the Lexus to her right, and the
Pilot to her left.

  She dared a glance at her mother inside the Pilot— who wasn’t there. She risked another quick look. The passenger door wasn’t closed all the way. Where was her mom?

  “Well, now that I’ve delivered my message, I’ll get going. Should I tell Alice you’ll return the money?” Charlene reached for the driver’s side door of her Pilot.

  “I can’t return the money. I don’t have the money.” A sad laugh escaped her painted lips, the lipstick too bright, too perfect. “My son needed a new car.”

  “A car? You stole from Alice because your son wanted a car?” Charlene regretted her sharp words immediately.

  Pamela pulled a dull black handgun from her coat pocket, her aim unfortunately steady as she pointed it a foot away from Charlene’s chest. Charlene scrambled backward to the snowbank.

  “Shut up. You have no idea what my life is like.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Charlene said. “Alice doesn’t want for you to be arrested.”

  Pamela pulled the hammer of the gun back with a click.

  “I never intended for people to get hurt,” she said in a conversational tone. “Do as I say and I won’t kill you.” Her voice slipped at that and she giggled nervously. “Kill. I couldn’t even hurt a spider last week and now look at me.”

  Charlene faced Pamela, dragging her gaze from the weapon. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course you will! You think I was born yesterday?” She leveled the gun. “You saw the new grille.”

  Charlene had to stall for time. If she could roll to the right of the Lexus in front of the brand-new bumper, then she could get Pamela away from the Pilot, and her mom.

  “Why did you kill David? Where is Tori?”

  Pamela lifted the gun, her fingers trembling as she shared the poisonous truth. “It was an accident. God help me, I didn’t mean to hurt him, but when he didn’t give us that hundred thousand?” Her shoulders bowed, but she quickly straightened. “I needed that money to return everything I’d had to borrow.” She gulped and searched the parking lot. Charlene dared a glance, too, but there was nobody else around—including her mother.