Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  “I always managed to put the money I needed back before Alice noticed. But this time,” she cried frustrated tears, “my son needed a car, my husband needed treatment—he can’t work anymore.”

  “Is that an excuse to kill someone?”

  Pamela’s skin lost all color, leaving her makeup garish. “When I saw that check, only ten thousand, I was sure I had to be wrong. He wouldn’t do that, would he? I couldn’t see straight. I think I actually blacked out.” Her eyes filled. “It wasn’t my fault! David promised us that money. Spouting off like some big shot after winning the lottery.”

  “It was in bad taste,” Charlene agreed, hoping to keep her talking long enough to escape. She shuffled toward the Lexus.

  “I overheard Tori telling David by the kitchen that there would be no more donations.” Her grip on the gun firmed and Charlene froze, terrified to move an inch. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t tell Alice that I’d borrowed against Felicity House for my husband’s treatments. I’d always been able to pay it back—David screwed me over!”

  “Does your husband know how you’ve raised the money?” Charlene pointed at Pamela’s earrings. “Why don’t you sell those, or maybe not buy your kid a car?”

  She laughed off-kilter and tossed an earring to the pavement, crushing it beneath her boot. “I’m surprised this didn’t turn my skin green. And I needed something to drive while my Lexus was being fixed.”

  Charlene quaked at the disconnect from reality in Pamela’s tone and feared for her life. “Maybe, if you drop the gun, you won’t have another charge against you.”

  “Oh, Charlene, we both know it is too late for that.” Her white teeth gleamed in her horror clown’s smile. “I need that money now, and that stupid bitch”—she glanced backward at the SUV—“needs to write me a check. Then she can go—everybody can go—but she won’t wake up.” A single tear fell from her eye.

  Charlene, sick, realized that Tori must be in the Santa bag—for how long? “What did you do to her?”

  “It was an accident,” Pamela stressed, tears now falling. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, but she wouldn’t cooperate. I had no choice.”

  Pamela’s fingers trembled on the trigger. How to get out of this alive? Pamela’s vision was clouded by tears. If the gun went off, Charlene was a sitting duck. Charlene said a prayer, hunched her shoulders, and tackled Pamela at the waist—they slid backward, the fabric of Pamela’s coat snagging on the salted asphalt. The gun slid beneath the Lexus.

  Her mom raced around the snowbank she’d been hiding behind, Charlene’s cell phone in hand. “I called nine-one-one.”

  Charlene sat on Pamela, who was on her back beneath her, still crying—her sobs held a hopeless sound. “Don’t move, Pamela. Good job, Mom!” Her heart hammered crazily in her chest, and she felt nauseous but swallowed it down.

  Sirens blared as an ambulance screeched into the parking lot and a single patrol car arrived, followed by Sam’s SUV. She would never admit to her relief that he’d shown up. He jumped out and rushed toward her, in jeans and a bulky jacket. “Sam! Tori’s in the back—I think she’s hurt.”

  An officer reached for her to help her up. “We can take it from here, ma’am.”

  Sam was at her elbow immediately, his hair tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed. “Are you okay, Charlene?”

  “Yes.” Her body shook, but she figured that was normal, considering she’d just faced down a crazy woman.

  Her mom was at Charlene’s other side, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

  “I got your mom’s text,” Sam said with concern. “Tried to call back, but there was no answer—I’ve never driven so fast, Charlene.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” She would show her appreciation later, over prime rib, but for now she pointed at the Lexus, worried about a woman she didn’t even like. “Tori?”

  Sam opened the hatch. The wheel panel was loose, which must have been where Pamela had hidden the gun she’d pulled on Charlene. Presents stacked high had been knocked over. A giant red Santa’s bag, bulkily shaped, listed right.

  The detective reached into his jeans pocket for a pocketknife and sliced at the jumble of knots at its top. A spill of blond hair was striking against the red of the bag, the young woman’s eyes closed in her drawn face. Sam felt for a pulse on Tori’s neck. “She’s alive.”

  Charlene, relieved, stepped back with her mother as the paramedics sprang into action. The last half hour caught up with her and her knees shook. She didn’t know what to feel as she watched the officer handcuff Pamela and load her into the back of a patrol car. Pity, as well as justice for David.

  Sam joined her, his warm brown eyes golden with worry. “I leave town for a day, Charlene . . .”

  Her mom huffed protectively. “None of this was Charlene’s fault.”

  “I’m going to have to rethink my policy about not communicating with you during a case,” he drawled. “If we’re talking, then I know what’s going on.”

  Charlene allowed a reluctant smile.

  Sam, always mindful of his job, smoothed his mustache with strong fingers. “I’ll see you later? We can discuss it then.”

  Her heart lifted—Sam, for Christmas. “Can we go, then? I’d like to get home.”

  But his attention was already drawn to the ambulance driver, who needed to speak with Sam before leaving for the hospital. She and her mom watched him stride away.

  “Ready, Mom?”

  They got into the Pilot and she turned the car on. “You were really great, Mom, to find the phone and call the police.”

  “I was terrified, honey, I don’t mind saying.” Her mom buckled up. “And I want you to tell me exactly what he was talking about on the drive home. What other cases, Charlene?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was Christmas Eve, holiday carols played, and Sam was on his way. The logs in the fireplace crackled and burned brightly, giving the living room a woodsy scent. Candles glowed on the hearth and in the kitchen and dining room. Crystal goblets and white and gold china gleamed merrily on the dining table. Long, slim red candles were set amongst pine cones and greenery, the table festively set for four.

  Charlene had a shaker ready in the fridge with their Christmas martinis, and a feast prepared for them all to enjoy. Earlier today, her mother had made a Béarnaise sauce and prepared the oven-roasted potatoes before changing into black slacks and a green silk blouse. Christmas tree earrings dangled from her lobes. Her father was not quite as festive in jeans and a tailored red plaid shirt.

  Charlene and her mom had prepared a crab dip to serve with crackers, and a smoked salmon with capers. Dinner would be a prime rib roast with crisp roasted potatoes, asparagus, and mushrooms.

  She glanced at her Cartier watch, wanting to be sure the timing for the prime rib would be correct. In a few minutes it would go in the oven. But where was Sam? He was twenty minutes late.

  “That’s the third time you’ve looked at your watch. It’s just five forty, he’ll be here before long.” Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “Now that the case has been solved, he can take the night off.”

  “I wish I could be so sure. David’s case is closed, Pamela arrested, but Sam always has more than one case going on at any given time. And you know how it is around the holidays. People’s emotions are running high.” She glanced out the window. “I hope nothing has come up.”

  “He’d call if it did.” Her mom removed the martini glasses from the freezer, perfectly chilled. She lifted one and wiped a spot on the rim.

  Her father took out the crab dip and put it on a poinsettia-shaped platter, surrounding it with an assortment of crackers. He dunked a cracker into the dip and handed it to his wife. “Here. Try this.”

  She ate it in two bites and looked at Charlene. “That’s good. Should we have our drink now, or do you want to wait a little longer?”

  “There he is,” her father said. “Didn’t you hear the knock?”

  Charlene’s head snapped up. “
No, the music’s too loud.”

  She smoothed her red wool dress over her hips and rushed to the door, eager to see Sam. “Hey!” She grinned. “The party’s started without you.” She took his arm. “Come on in. I was getting worried.”

  “Sorry, thought I’d make it in time. I had paperwork to do.” They were in the foyer and he pulled her into his arms, put his hands around her waist, and gave her a kiss. Then he pointed overhead at the mistletoe.

  She laughed. “I wondered if you’d notice.”

  “I did, and other things.” He gazed at her with admiration. “You’re beautiful tonight, Charlene. I love that dress on you—red’s your color.” Jared had always loved this red dress on her as well, but she’d worn it tonight for Sam.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, Detective.” Ruggedly handsome, he’d changed into a tailored dark gray suit with a red shirt, his muscled shoulders stretching the suit beautifully.

  Her mother poked her head around the corner. “Hi, Sam. Can I pour you a drink?”

  “I’m off duty tonight. Go ahead.” He rested his hand on Charlene’s back and they ambled toward the kitchen.

  She peeped at the kitchen table and there was Jack—seated in his favorite chair, wearing a dinner jacket and tie. His piercing blue eyes glared daggers at her. Had he seen the kiss? She turned her back to him, refusing to feel guilty by a ghost.

  “We made Christmas martinis,” she told Sam, a little too brightly.

  “Sounds good.” He shook her father’s hand. “Hello, Michael. Hope I didn’t keep you all waiting.”

  “Nope, we were snacking on the crab dip. Just my girl, getting antsy.”

  “That a fact?” Sam’s deep, melodious voice zinged right through her, and she sucked in a breath.

  Brenda handed Sam and Charlene a white chocolate martini. Chocolate sauce lined the glass, and the martini contained vodka, white chocolate Godiva liqueur, and white crème de cacao.

  “What’s this?” Sam drawled. “Looks too pretty to drink.”

  Charlene smiled guiltily. “While you were delayed at the airport, we were sampling holiday martinis. This is Mom’s favorite, but Dad preferred the candy cane one.”

  “I would rather have been here, believe me.” Sam took a sip and licked his lips. “Wow. That’s some drink. Charlene, you don’t have to get me drunk. You had me at hello.” His gaze traveled from her sexy black heels to her face in slow approval.

  Charlene’s eyes widened and she felt like a million bucks. “Cheers.” She lifted her glass to his and tried not to notice Jack standing right behind Sam, his jaw tightly set with jealousy.

  What was Charlene supposed to do? She was entertaining her parents and one special friend, and as much as she wished Jack was a flesh and blood man, he was not. He couldn’t eat or drink with them, or converse with anyone other than herself. She couldn’t hug him or give him a Christmas kiss.

  She hurt for him, but right now this evening was about sharing a wonderful family dinner with her parents and Sam.

  They brought their drinks and appetizers into the living room and sat facing the fire. Her dad took his favorite chair, and Silva lay curled up on the ottoman in front of him. Her mom sat in the ornate gilded chair, like a lady on her throne. That left the sofa for her and Sam.

  Deliberately, perhaps?

  If so, she didn’t mind. The music was turned down low so they could talk, and Sam asked her mother and Charlene how they were faring after the earlier ordeal.

  Her mother was quite animated as she eagerly discussed the trauma—how Charlene had tackled Pamela, who had dropped her gun, while she had escaped to call 911. It had been terrifying, she told him with a gleam in her eye.

  Charlene reached out to touch her hand. “You were so incredibly brave, Mom, and smart to think of the cell phone.” She shivered. “I almost feel sorry for Pamela. I mean, she helped the kids out for years. Her heart was in the right place, and then her life began to unravel.”

  “Doesn’t mean she can hurt people, does it?” her mother said, jaw set.

  “No, of course not. But I’m sure that deep down she was a very nice woman who ended up doing a very bad thing. It escalated and she couldn’t get out from under it. Clearly, she’s not well.”

  Sam leaned forward and put his drink at his feet, rubbing his hands together. “Pamela had been stealing for some time. It started shortly after her husband was diagnosed with MS. He lost his job, and she couldn’t make ends meet. She started ‘borrowing,’ where she’d take out a little for grocery money and replaced it the following week. But the bills got bigger, and her kids’ expenses grew too. She had to take more and more, and the weight of that made her desperate enough to forge banking information, putting Felicity House at risk.”

  “Desperate.” Poor Alice was still in shock, but Charlene had promised to be there to help in the upcoming year.

  Sam took her hands and studied her for a long, heart-stopping moment. “If things hadn’t worked out as they did, I’d never have forgiven myself. You tackled a woman with a gun.”

  Her heart warmed at his sultry expression. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d promised to discuss relaxing his policy on speaking about cases with her.

  “Not as crazy as it sounds,” she said. “I learned that in a self-defense class. Minus the gun.”

  Jack moved around the room, clearly agitated. She hadn’t told him about the attack on her and her mother so she veered away from the subject. “What will happen with Pamela now?”

  “She’s under a doctor’s care—she had a complete mental breakdown,” Sam said. “Not sure if she’ll be able to stand trial, but she’ll get the help she needs.” He stroked her arm. “I feel really badly for her children. Her husband can’t take care of them. Hopefully, she’ll have relatives to step in.”

  “Those poor kids! What an awful thing.” She could imagine their shock and pain. “Unfortunately, this will be a Christmas they will never forget.”

  “She’d hoped the money from David would be the gift to save the place, add on a new addition, and bail her out. She kept saying how she loved the children and Felicity House—it was her life’s work helping children in need. Now her own children will need it more than anything.”

  “And I was wrong about Vincent?” She’d been so sure he was lying.

  “Not completely—he’d been siphoning money from Bella’s, but technically, the place was his. What he does with it is up to him. Now, how about some of that crab dip?”

  She was glad to change the subject. They each took a small plate and enjoyed the food and drink. Silva danced near the decorated Christmas tree, her paws in the air as she tried to catch Jack, who teased her mercilessly.

  “What’s up with the cat?” Sam said, popping a caper-loaded piece of salmon into his mouth.

  “That cat is pure crazy,” her dad said fondly. “Amuses me all day.”

  For fun, Jack zapped the fire and had it shoot sparks in the air.

  “Do you have a window cracked open, Charlene?” her mother asked, glaring at the curtain-covered glass. “That fire is getting a draft from somewhere. I found the name of someone who can check the seals on all the doors and windows. Your dad and I are doing that as our housewarming gift to you.”

  Charlene grinned at Jack, who winked back. “Thanks.”

  Her mother nibbled on a cracker, then wiped her mouth. “Sam, is there any good news coming out of this?”

  “Matter of fact, there is.” His mustache twitched as he shared, “Kyle Baldwin, David’s son, is about to inherit fifty percent of his father’s estate. His father willed it to him before his death. The call from David’s lawyer had been why Kyle had wanted to talk with David that night.”

  Charlene clapped. “That is wonderful!”

  Her mom cackled. “Tori must be spitting mad.”

  “Got that right.” Sam put his plate down at his feet. “She’s furious, threatening to sue—but the will is legit.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Her eye
s met Jack’s—she knew they would talk about what had happened with Pamela in detail later—but what amazing news.

  “Know what he wants to do?” Sam stretched his arm along the couch behind her back. “Kyle wants to honor his father’s checks, especially the one to Felicity House for Children.”

  “No way!” Charlene’s mouth fell open. “That is the best news yet, Sam.”

  “Yes, his father would be proud.”

  Charlene stood up. “Well, let’s take our seats at the table and celebrate with dinner.”

  “Smells great,” Sam said, following her to the kitchen. “Prime rib?”

  She took the foil off the dishes to show him. “Hope you like your roast beef rare . . . want to carve?”

  “My pleasure.” Sam held her gaze for a super-charged moment.

  Charlene fanned her face and handed him an electric carving knife. She put the crispy potatoes onto a serving platter, and her mom took it to the dining room. Her father had poured wine into four goblets. This was home.

  When everything was on the table the four of them held hands and gave thanks.

  Jack stood behind her, and although he couldn’t touch her, she knew he was with her, sharing this family moment, the joy of Christmas present—the past at rest.

  Charlene’s heart filled with healing light as she sat with Jack behind her and Sam on her right.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone. I am so fortunate to have you all with me tonight.”