Ghost Who Came for Christmas

by McIntyre, Anna J

  “Wow. They didn’t get anything, did they?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. I always thought it was karma at its finest. Had they never brought the lawsuit I would have given them something. Of course, now I know whatever I would have offered, would never have been enough.”

  “Why would they ever imagine they were entitled to your parents’ money instead of their son?”

  Chris smiled up at Danielle. “Because I’m adopted.”

  “So?” Danielle frowned. “You’re still as much their kid as if you were their biological child.”

  Chris reached across the table and covered Danielle’s hand with his. He gave it a squeeze and then let go. “Thank you, Danielle. Some people don’t get that.”

  Danielle shrugged. “So, have you always known you were adopted?”

  “Yes. I spent my first six years in foster care. So, not exactly a secret.” Chris grinned.

  “Wow, your parents adopted an older child, I’m impressed. Seems most people want babies, and with your parents’ money…”

  “My folks were good people. Mom couldn’t have kids, and they initially intended to adopt a baby. At the time, she was doing some charity work for older children trapped in the foster care system. She heard my story, asked to meet me. When we did, I suppose you might say we fell in love.”

  “Why didn’t they adopt any other children?”

  “Not sure, really.”

  “Your father was okay with adopting an older child?”

  “As far as I know. He was never anything but loving and supportive with me. I learned later how opposed my uncles’ were to the adoption. Of course, now I know why.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Danielle asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you behind Benevolent Charities?”

  He said nothing.

  “I take that as a yes.”

  Chris let out a sigh.

  “I have to wonder, why here? Why did you send Patricia and Jessica to Marlow House?” Danielle set her fork down on the table and studied Chris. “Oh my god, you’re him!”

  Chris stared across the table at Danielle, noting her wide-eyed expression. “Him who?”

  “Patricia’s brother!”

  Chris let out a short laugh and shook his head. “No, Danielle.”

  “That’s why you brought Patricia here.”

  Chris shook his head again. “No. And I never said I was behind Benevolent Charities. You just jumped to that conclusion.”

  Danielle studied Chris for a few more moments. “Are you sure?”

  “Is there any family resemblance between me and Patricia…even a little?”

  After a few moments of silently studying Chris, Danielle let out a sigh. “No. Not really…Okay, one last question. Why were you living on someone else’s sailboat?”

  “Because he told me I could.”

  “Who told you?”

  “The guy who owned the boat, of course. Who wouldn’t want to live right on the ocean in a free sailboat?”

  “Sounds like you can afford to live anywhere you want.”

  “I didn’t want to live anywhere else at the time. Anyway, I understand you don’t have to run this place as a B and B and cook for other people. You’ve got plenty of money to do something else.”

  Danielle smiled. “Touché. You got me with that one.”

  “Damn, I’m starting to like him,” Walt grumbled and then disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cleve heard a crashing sound and then felt the wall shake. Instead of knocking on the office door he barged in and found Peter standing some six feet from the now broken wall mirror. Shards of glittering mirror glass littered the floor. In the center of the debris sat the apparent missile, a bronze bust, its eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  “Is everything okay?” Cleve asked as he walked into the room and glanced around.

  Returning to his desk, Peter sat down and said, “I hate Christmas.”

  Careful not to step on the broken glass, Cleve walked over to the mess and picked up the bronze bust, setting it back on its stand.

  “What happened?” Cleve asked as he grabbed a piece of cardboard from the trashcan and began pushing the pieces of mirror into a pile.

  “I threw the damn thing,” Peter snapped. With his fingertips he massaged his temples.

  “I can see that. Why did you throw it? What happened?” Kneeling down at the pile, Cleve scooped up the debris and dumped it in the trash can.

  Peter leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “It seems Emily Peterson decided to ignore my advice and accepted her sister’s invitation for Christmas. The two have reconciled.” Opening his eyes, Peter sat up, leaned across his desk, and picked up an already opened envelope. He tossed it to the floor by Cleve.

  Throwing the cardboard in the trash with the broken pieces of mirror he had cleaned up, Cleve grabbed the envelope and stood up. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a notice from Emily’s attorney. The donation she promised to deliver by the first of the year has been cancelled. Plus, her will has been changed. Her dear sister is back in, and we’re out.”

  Cleve pulled the papers from the envelope and looked at them. Taking a seat in a chair by Peter’s desk, he studied the papers for a moment before tucking them back into the envelope. “That was quick. It’s only been two days since Christmas.”

  “I suspect her estranged sister had this lined up long before she begged Emily to come for Christmas.”

  Cleve looked at the outside of the envelope again before tossing it back onto Peter’s desk. “Who delivered it? There’s no postmark.”

  “A currier dropped it off a little while ago.”

  “I’m sorry Peter. But I feel worse for Emily. She’s taken a giant step backwards. And that donation—we needed it.”

  “Yes we did. The money coming in from Renton’s estate won’t even cover half of what she’d promised.”

  “She’s not a young woman,” Cleve sighed. “With the health issues she’s been having this past year…”

  “I doubt she makes it another two years. And when she dies, it’ll be that greedy sister of hers who inherits the ten million dollars, not Earthbound Spirits.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could help in some way.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that now. But, I’m also worried about Richard. I haven’t heard from him since I saw him on Christmas Eve. I’m afraid sending him to Marlow House was a very bad idea. Now that I think about it, I should have sent someone like you.”

  “Me?”

  “Someone who is firm in their belief—who isn’t swayed by insecurities or sentimentalities. You’re a true believer, Cleve, which is why you’re such a treasure to Earthbound Spirits.”

  Blushing, Cleve glanced down. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Peter abruptly stood.

  “Thank you.” Cleve looked up at Peter and watched as he started to pace the room. “And you don’t have to worry about Anna Williams influencing Richard. She’s no longer a threat.”

  Peter stopped pacing a moment and looked at Cleve. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. “So, she’s gone?”

  Cleve nodded. “Rumor has it, she just up and left on Christmas night.”

  “I wonder what Richard thinks about this. Hopefully the boy won’t do anything foolish and try to find her.” Peter resumed his pacing.

  “I spoke to one of my contacts at the police department.” Cleve turned around in his seat so he could watch Peter.

  Hands on hips, Peter paused again and faced Cleve. “Police? Why are they involved? Certainly they have no reason to suspect foul play.”

  “Apparently, Danielle Boatman called them because Anna left a week early, without telling anyone. She had already paid for her room. But for now, the police aren’t considering this a missing person—”

  “Why would they?” Peter punctuated his point with a wave of his hand
. “Anna Williams is an adult. She’s free to come and go as she wishes.”

  “They found blood in her room.”

  Peter frowned. “Blood where?”

  “Fresh blood. It was on a rug they found shoved into a cabinet in her room. From what I was told, they probably won’t test it since they don’t suspect foul play.”

  Peter returned to his office chair. The two men sat in silence for several moments.

  “Even with Anna gone, I don’t feel good about this,” Peter said.

  “I told you, she won’t be a problem.”

  “But Richard hasn’t called. While he’s made Earthbound Spirits his beneficiary, he still hasn’t come forward with a significant donation. I feel we could lose him at any time.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I think perhaps it’s time to call him home, before he lets the truth slip away.”

  “Isn’t there some other way?” Cleve pleaded.

  “It’s for his own good, you know that.”

  “Give me a couple hours. Time to find out what’s going on with Richard, see if he’s straying from the truth. Please.”

  “Fine. You have until tomorrow morning. But if you discover he’s wavering—even the smallest amount—call him home.”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “I trust you above anyone else, Cleve. You’ve never shirked your duties before. If it must be done, do it.”

  Patricia sat across from Richard in a booth at the Pier Café. He stared into his cup of coffee, absently stirring it with a spoon.

  Richard shook his head and let out a weary sigh. “I can’t understand why Anna would just leave like that. She didn’t say anything to any of us.”

  “It’s weird. I just hope everything is okay with her.”

  “I wish I had knocked on her door that night.” Richard removed his spoon and set it on the table. “Maybe she would have said something to me about leaving.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Richard looked up into Patricia’s eyes. “Christmas night, she said some things to me that…well…were strange. I kept thinking about what she said, couldn’t sleep, so I decided to ask her about them. Everyone had already gone to bed. I went up to the attic, stood at the door to her room, debated with myself about knocking, and then decided to talk to her in the morning. I started worrying she might get the wrong impression, me coming to her room so late at night. I wasn’t thinking straight. But now…now I wonder if I should’ve just gone ahead and knocked.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Remember when you mentioned your brother’s birthday was on Christmas Eve?”

  “Sure, what about it?” Patricia picked up her ham sandwich and took a bite.

  “She said something like, don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence you and Patricia’s brother share a birthday?”

  Patricia set her sandwich back on her plate and frowned. “Your birthday’s not on Christmas Eve, is it?”

  Richard nodded.

  “Why didn’t you say anything to anyone about it being your birthday?” Patricia asked.

  Richard shrugged. “I didn’t see the point. I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.” He broke off a piece of his tuna sandwich and popped it in his mouth.

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t.” He broke off another piece of sandwich.

  “So, how did she know?”

  “I know Danielle knew, but when I asked her about it later, she said she never said anything to Anna about it. But that’s not all.”

  “What else?”

  “Do you remember those two ornaments on the Christmas tree, the ones Danielle said weren’t hers?”

  “Sure. How could I forget? We had two just like that when I was a kid. Brought back memories.”

  “They looked so familiar to me.”

  “Maybe you had the same ornaments when you were a kid.”

  Richard shook his head. “No. We never had those types of ornaments. Ours were imported from Germany—trust me, we never had anything like that.”

  Patricia shrugged. “You probably saw them somewhere, in a store or on someone else’s tree.”

  “That’s the thing, I know exactly where I’ve seen that ornament.”

  Patricia set her half eaten sandwich down on her plate. “Where?”

  “A recurring dream I’ve had all my life.”

  Patricia frowned. “A dream?”

  “Yes. In the dream I’m a small boy and I’m sitting on a man’s shoulder. In the dream, he’s my father, but he looks nothing like my real father. He’s lifting me up to a Christmas tree so I can hang the ornament.”

  “And what does it have to do with Anna?”

  “After Christmas dinner, Anna and I returned to the living room. We were alone for a few minutes. She took the ornament off the tree—the one that looks like the ornament from my dream. She showed it to me and asked me if I remembered how I used to sit on my father’s shoulders to hang it on the Christmas tree.”

  “I guess that’s a little strange, but maybe she just meant ornaments in general. A lot of fathers lift their children up on their shoulders or help them to hang ornaments on high branches.”

  “But why did she show me that ornament?”

  “If you’ll remember, you seemed fascinated with it when someone first pointed it out. I suspect Anna was just making conversation, suggesting something she figured probably happened when you were a kid. I think she tried a little too hard to make conversation sometimes. She seemed to go out of her way to stir up old childhood memories.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you think about it, when did Anna ever really share anything about her life? Whenever any of us would ask her a question she would turn it around and ask us something. I think it was her way of making friends—showing an interest in our lives. I know she did it with me.”

  “But it wasn’t just that. She knew about the dream I had about Jessica.”

  Patricia frowned. “You’ve been dreaming about my daughter?”

  “No, not Jessica exactly, someone she reminds me of.” Richard explained.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The dream about the ornament—me as a child on the man’s shoulders—I have that one maybe once a year, normally around Christmas time. I had it a few weeks before I came here. But I have another recurring dream, this one I have maybe three or four times a year. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, I had it more frequently.”

  “What was it about?”

  “I’m a small child in the dream, and I’m holding the hand of a little girl. She’s helping me. I feel safe. And she looks just like Jessica—except she’s blonde. When I first saw Jessica, I knew there was something familiar about her. Of course, she has jet black hair and brown eyes, and the little girl in my dreams is a fair blonde with blue eyes. It didn’t dawn on me why Jessica looked so familiar—that she resembled the girl in my dreams, until Anna mentioned it.”

  “You told Anna about your dream?”

  Richard shook his head. “On Christmas morning, when I was watching Jessica open her packages, I mentioned to Anna that Jessica reminded me of someone, but I just couldn’t figure out who it was. She smiled and said, ‘Jessica looks just like the little girl you dream about, except she has dark hair.’”

  “Can I ask you a question, Richard?”

  “Sure.”

  Patricia studied Richard. “What year were you born?”

  Richard and Patricia failed to notice Cleve Monchique, who sat in the booth behind them. Slumped down in his seat, wearing a wool cap pulled down to his eye brows, and bundled up in a bulky jacket, Cleve appeared to be reading the newspaper while drinking his coffee.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ignoring the persistent cries of the man and woman, he raced toward the ocean. Sand kicked up from beneath his paws. They continued to call his name, but he kept running. He stopped when he reached a massive pile of seaweed.
By the time the man and woman reached his side, he was already frantically tugging on the tangled mass.

  The man, now out of breath, shouted, “Bear, get out of there!” The black Labrador retriever ignored his command. With a mouthful of seaweed, the dog shook his head and pawed at the salty heap of sea foliage.

  The woman looked down at the dog. They stood just a few feet from the water’s edge. She was about to grab his collar and drag him from the seaweed when she noticed a bloated foot sticking out from beneath the pile.

  Chief MacDonald stood on the beach talking to Brian Henderson. Some ten feet away were the responders, processing the scene. One was the coroner, who knelt by the bloated body of a woman. There wasn’t much left of her face. The coroner suspected it had been scraped off by a fall onto the rocks, turning it into a pulpy mass of fish food.

  The couple who found the dead woman stood some twenty feet away, with their dog, Bear, who was now on a leash. They huddled together, shaken by the experience, talking to Sargent Joe Morelli.

  “They’re staying in a rental down the beach,” Brian told the chief. “They were taking a walk, the dog found the body.”

  “Any idea who it is?” The chief glanced up to the sky. Only a few lingering clouds remained. According to the weather report, it was supposed to be sunny through New Year’s.

  “Hard to tell, but I’m afraid who it might be.”

  “You think it’s Danielle’s missing guest?” the chief asked.

  “About the right size. Same color hair. Not much left of her face. Appears to be wearing some sort of nightgown. It’s possible Anna Williams was wearing a nightgown when she went missing.”

  MacDonald looked over to the body. “If it is Anna Williams, how did she get from the attic of Marlow House, to the ocean, without anyone seeing her? And in the middle of a storm.”

  “If it is her, and if she left Marlow House willingly, why did she go out in her nightgown?” Brian countered.