Peter leaned back and narrowed his eyes, studying the younger man. “You need to get over it, Cleve. We had no choice. It was for a higher good. You know that.”
“Yes… yes I do.” Cleve looked down.
“And Clarence is in a better place now. As for Lily Miller, I don’t see the point in wasting our time on her right now, considering her friend is perfect for us. Danielle Boatman needs us. She’s a beautiful, vulnerable woman, and without our help, some unscrupulous man will swoop in and take advantage of her. It’s our duty, Cleve.”
Richard Winston’s need to wear six hundred-dollar shoes was not a matter of choice, but of habit. He had learned as a young child it was easier to go along with the wishes of his controlling mother, Rachel Winston, rather than attempting to assert any independence. Even from the grave she continued to exert influence over his wardrobe.
While he continued to dress the part of a Winston, his rebellion had begun. Peter Morris’ Earthbound Spirits provided a new road for him to travel, one to contentment and peace—unlike the road he had inherited from his parents, paved with deceit and lies.
When he arrived at Earthbound Spirits offices, Peter Morris was there to greet him. “Please, take a seat, Richard. So glad you were able to make it in today.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Morris.” Richard grinned eagerly and took a seat, anxiously glancing around the office. “Thought I’d be seeing Mr. Monchique today, not you, sir.”
Peter smiled and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. “You have a very important assignment, and I wanted to see you personally.”
“I just want to do my part,” Richard insisted. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“Are you ready for your little holiday trip?” Peter asked.
“Yes, sir. I check into Marlow House tomorrow morning. I have a reservation through New Year’s.”
“Have you asked her about the Christmas open house?”
“Mr. Monchique and I discussed that. We decided I should casually bring it up in conversation after I get there. It’ll sound more natural.”
Peter sighed. “I suppose that’ll work. But you’ll need to call me, let me know what she says.”
Richard nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Very good, Richard. Excellent. Danielle Boatman needs us.”
“There’s just one thing…” Richard nervously cleared his throat.
“What’s that?”
“I feel a little hypocritical…it being Christmas and all, since I no longer celebrate Christmas.”
“Didn’t you tell me Christmas wasn’t very important in your family? I understand some members have a difficult time relinquishing their notion of Christmas and all its traditions—the drivel we’ve been fed over the years by retailers out to make a buck. Sentimental nonsense. Christmas has nothing to do with our spiritual growth. If anything, it hinders it.”
“There was nothing sentimental in how my parents celebrated Christmas.” Richard turned his head slightly and gazed out the window. It looked out to the ocean. “Like you said, it was simply an opportunity to make more money.”
“Then what is it?” Peter asked.
“I imagine the other guests at Marlow House will be there because of what the brochure promised—an old fashioned Christmas.”
“And the problem?”
Richard shrugged and looked from the picture window back to Peter. “While I agree it’s nothing but nonsense, I’ll feel a little like Scrooge…”
Peter laughed. “What, like you’re there to take away their Christmas?”
“I suppose, in a way.”
“Put your mind at rest. I don’t expect you to interfere in any of Marlow House’s scheduled Christmas festivities—after all, I plan to attend the Christmas open house, remember? Our point is not to convert whoever is in residence at Marlow House over the holiday—just to reach its proprietor. I’m certain this holiday will be a stark reminder to the poor girl, of how alone she really is.”
“What do you mean?” Richard frowned.
“Danielle Boatman has no family. I don’t believe the void, the void many people feel so keenly this time of year, can be filled with strangers. She needs a new family. She needs Earthbound Spirits in her life.”
Danielle stood at the kitchen counter spooning dark chocolate frosting over her cooled chocolate drop cookies when her cellphone began to ring. Gingerly setting the now frosted cookie onto the platter, she set the spoon back into the bowl of frosting and licked her fingers before picking up the phone.
Danielle checked to see who was calling before she answered. “Hey, Chief, a Merry Christmas and ho ho ho to you,” she said cheerfully.
“Have you been listening to the news?” the chief asked.
“The news? No. I’m listening to Christmas carols. What’s up?”
“It’s Clarence Renton, he’s killed himself.”
“What?” Danielle hastily walked over to her iPod and turned off the Christmas carols, giving her full attention to the phone call.
“They found him this morning. He hung himself in his cell.”
“What does his cellmate say?”
“His cellmate was in the infirmary for the night, claimed to have stomach cramps. Renton was alone.”
“What about the guys in the other cells around him?”
“All claiming they didn’t hear anything. Which of course, would support suicide.”
“Yeah, like a bunch of convicts really want to rat out someone who might sneak into their cell during the night and slit their throats.”
“You don’t believe it was suicide?”
“I don’t see Renton as the type to kill himself.” Danielle paused a moment and then groaned, “Oh crap…”
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t think he’s going to show up here do you? Dang, he is absolutely the last person…ghost…I want to see.”
“You would know more about that than me. Aren’t you always telling me you don’t see everyone you know who dies—or that you can’t control who you can see?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I really don’t want to go through another Stoddard episode,” Danielle groaned.
“If he stops by, you might want to ask him if he really killed himself.”
“Talk about putting a damper on the Christmas spirit,” Danielle grumbled. She grabbed a chocolate frosted cookie, sat down at the kitchen table, and shoved the cookie in her mouth.
“I just thought you’d want to know.”
Biting off a large chunk of the cookie she responded with her mouth full. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Are you eating something?” he asked.
“Uh-huh, cookies,” she said, taking another bite. She grabbed a glass of milk off the table and took several gulps.
“From what I understand, Renton rewrote his will a while back, left Earthbound Spirits everything,” the chief told her.
“That figures, considering he was so closed-mouthed about Isabella’s will.”
“I was always a little surprised you never sued Renton for embezzling from your aunt’s estate, and never filed a civil suit for killing Cheryl.”
“It wouldn’t have brought Cheryl back. Anyway, after the courts looked into those bogus charities Renton set up, most of that money went back to my aunt’s estate.” And to me.
“True, but still, from what I understand, Renton was by no means a pauper.”
“Yes, and now whatever he had goes to Earthbound Spirits. I still don’t understand why those guys are still in business. I figured after trying to pass off Isabella’s old will as the current one, and blackmailing Darlene, someone would have gone to jail, and they would have lost their nonprofit status.”
“I told you, we couldn’t prove anything. A little difficult to haul Darlene’s ghost into court to testify about the blackmail,” the chief reminded. “There was no way to connect those photographs we found to Earthbound Spirits.”
“I suppose you’re right. But if I
ever see those lying jerks again…”
Chapter Three
Patricia Morgan held the prize letter in her right hand, and her landlord’s eviction letter in her left. She studied them each a moment longer before tossing them both onto the kitchen table and glancing up at the wall clock. She would need to leave in thirty minutes to pick her daughter up at school.
Jessica believed they would be buying a Christmas tree this evening; after all, it was the beginning of Christmas vacation, and Patricia had been promising her for weeks they could get a tree, as soon as school was out. Normally, they bought the tree after Thanksgiving, but just days before Thanksgiving this year, Patricia had lost her job at the preschool.
It wasn’t anything personal—after all, the entire staff had found themselves instantly unemployed when the owners of the preschool forgot to file their corporate income tax for over five years straight. It was easier for them to simply close the school, as opposed to coming up with the exorbitant fees they now faced.
Had Patricia known she was about to lose her job, she would never have spent her savings on the new transmission for her old car. She would love to have those thousand plus dollars back in her bank account.
It wasn’t as if she was completely destitute. She had the regular social security payments from her late husband, and a pittance of an unemployment check coming in. She had believed she would have found a job by now, yet none of the local preschools were hiring. She considered getting a part time job in retail, after all, it was the Christmas season, and many stores hired seasonal employees. Yet, that would mean leaving Jessica home alone during Christmas break—and paying for a sitter would probably eat up whatever pay she might earn from the temporary job. One thing Patricia liked about working at the preschool—it enabled her to have school holidays off with her daughter.
Picking up the prize letter, she re-read it.
“Congratulations, Patricia Morgan. You and your daughter have won a two weeks, all expenses paid, Christmas holiday at Marlow House Bed and Breakfast, located in Frederickport Oregon, on the Northwest coast. Your name was submitted by an anonymous member of our non-profit organization. Enclosed is a money order to cover additional expenses and gift tax, and airline tickets for you and your daughter. Your room has already been paid for at Marlow House, which will include breakfast and dinner. Additional Christmas gifts—valued at over $10,000—will be delivered to you and your daughter on Christmas Eve at Marlow House, so we hope you will make the trip or forfeit the additional prizes. Merry Christmas from the Benevolent Charities, a Non-Profit serving the needs of American families.”
Tossing the letter back onto the table, she picked up her cellphone and dialed the number on the letterhead for Benevolent Charities. The call went to a message machine—as it had the last ten times she had dialed it.
Standing up, she walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a piece of paper she had left there the night before. Unfolding the paper, she looked at the numbers she had scribbled on it. Since she did not own a computer—she couldn’t afford the monthly WI-FI fee, not to mention the initial cost of purchasing a computer—she had stopped by the library and looked up Marlow House Bed and Breakfast. According to its website, it was a real place. Of course, she understood anyone could create a fake website. She had also jotted down the numbers for Frederickport Chamber of Commerce, as well as the airline’s phone number.
She had already checked with the airline and the tickets were legit. When she had first received the letter, two weeks earlier, she had taken the money order to her bank, and they assured her it wasn’t counterfeit, and she could deposit it. Reluctantly she did, yet she hadn’t spent any of the money. She had heard horror stories of people being scammed with fake checks, only to have them bounce after they spent the money and were left having to repay the bank.
Considering her options, she picked up her cellphone and looked at it a moment. It seemed everyone had one of those smartphones, except her. Jessica called hers a dumb-phone—one of those twenty dollar throw away phones with pre-paid minutes. She dialed the Frederickport Chamber of commerce. The call lasted only a few minutes. They assured her, Marlow House Bed and Breakfast was a legitimate business, and the phone number she had for them was correct. Her next call was to Marlow House Bed and Breakfast.
“Now what are you making?” Walt asked when he popped back into the kitchen and found Danielle dumping a bag of chocolate chips into a bowl.
“I’m making chocolate chip cookies.” Danielle stopped what she was doing and looked over at Walt, who had just taken a seat at the kitchen table. “I was going to come look for you after I mixed this up.” Danielle wiped her hands on her apron and abandoned her baking, joining Walt at the table.
“Anything particular?”
“Yes. I wanted to tell you about the two phone calls I got a little while ago. The first one was from MacDonald.”
“The chief?”
“He told me Clarence Renton is dead. They say he committed suicide. Hung himself in his cell.”
Walt cringed. “Those things can be faked.”
“You would know.”
“Does he really think Renton killed himself, and why?”
“I guess there isn’t anything to indicate foul play, but the more I think about it, I just find it hard to believe someone like that would take his own life.”
“Danielle, the man was facing the rest of his life behind bars.” Walt glanced around the room. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No. And I don’t want to. I hope he’s moved on.”
“You mentioned a second call?” Walt reminded.
“Yes, from one of the guests who is supposed to arrive tomorrow—Patricia Morgan. It was the strangest call.”
“Strange how?” Walt summonsed a lit cigar and took a puff.
“She told me who she was and wanted to know if we had her reservations and if we received the full payment.”
“And?”
“Then she wanted to know how long the reservation was for and if she would owe anything else once she arrived.”
“I thought you told me she already paid for the two weeks?”
“She did. But she kept asking me…over and over again, and then told me that she was on a tight budget, and if she arrived and I expected any more money, she wouldn’t be able to pay me.”
“Perhaps she’s had a bad experienced somewhere before.”
“Yeah, maybe. Now that I think about it, once Lucas got us reservations for a place in Vegas, paid up front, and when we got there we were charged something called a resort fee. Really made Lucas angry. Perhaps that’s what she was worried about.” Danielle stood up.
“You mentioned before, she’s coming with a daughter?” Walt asked.
“Yes. I’m putting them upstairs in the Green Room, because it has twin beds.”
“Seriously Danielle, you’re still going with the room colors?”
“Yeah.” Danielle sighed and sat back down in the chair. “But, I’ve decided I sorta hate the color thing. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Walt laughed. “I’m glad you finally agree with me! Maybe we can think of something a little more original and fitting for Marlow House.”
“After the holidays. Colors are okay for now. But you’re probably right. And when I decide to redecorate, my hands will be tied by the room’s name.”
“I suppose you could really confuse the guests and decorate a room red, then call it the blue room.” Walt smiled.
“Funny.” Danielle rolled her eyes and stood up again, going back to her cookie batter.
“So, how old is the daughter?” Walt asked.
“I believe she said she was seven.” Danielle added ingredients to the bowl. “She also asked me something else that was odd.”
“What was that?” Walt fiddled with his cigar, watching the smoke rise and disappear.
“She asked me if I was familiar with Benevolent Charities.” Danielle stirred the batter and added
a liberal splash of vanilla extract.
“What’s that?” Walt waved his hand and the cigar vanished.
“I have no idea. I’ve never heard of it before. She told me she tried to find it online and couldn’t find anything about it.”
“Why was she asking you about some charity?”
“I have no idea. Like I told you, it was a strange conversation.” Danielle shook her head.
“Maybe she wasn’t asking you for information about the organization—maybe she wanted to find out what you already knew about it, before she asks you for a donation.”
Danielle stopped stirring the batter, leaving the wooden spoon sitting in the bowl. “You know, I never considered that. Although, it didn’t sound that way.” She picked up the jar of vanilla and put its cap back on. “She arrives tomorrow. If she starts hitting me up for a donation, I guess I’ll have my answer.”
Walt silently watched Danielle for a few moments. Finally, he asked, “Just how many kinds of cookies are you intending to bake?”
Danielle stopped what she was doing and looked over at Walt and smiled. “I guess this seems a little silly, doesn’t it?”
“Silly? No. It’s just that I imagine one or two types of cookies would have been enough for your guests. But I’ve lost count of the different cookies you’ve already baked this week.”
Danielle silently considered Walt’s question for a moment, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When I was growing up, Aunt Susan, Cheryl, and Sean would come over to our house, and we would spend hours baking. Most of the recipes were past down from my grandmothers.” Danielle smiled softly and added with a chuckle, “Of course, Cheryl didn’t do as much baking as she did eating. I remember one year she got so sick eating raw cookie dough.”
“I can rather see that.” Walt smiled, his eyes studying Danielle’s whimsical expression.
“We would also make graham cracker houses every year.”
“Graham cracker houses? What’s that?”
“It’s like mock gingerbread houses, but we use graham crackers instead. Lets the kids get right to the decorating. Sean loved that. I think that was his favorite. He would always come up with the wildest looking houses, usually several stories tall—which he ended up gluing together with a hot glue gun, so they wouldn’t collapse. That was a trick Mom taught him.”
Ghost Who Came for Christmas Page 2