by Traci Wilton
Tori wailed harder, her fists pounding the table. Charlene placed her hand on the woman’s heaving back. “Be strong,” Charlene whispered. “We don’t know anything yet. He might be okay.”
The young woman stumbled to her gold heels and pushed past Charlene, running out the door to the ambulance as they loaded David to a stretcher. “David, David,” she screamed, and then threw herself onto his body.
Charlene watched from the doorway as the medics pried the grieving wife off of him, but then allowed her inside the ambulance to ride to the hospital. His glasses were no longer on the road.
Her mother stepped beside her and put an arm around her back. “Charlene, my dear. Let’s go.” Her words were brittle and her face as white as her hair.
“Sure, Mom. We can’t do anything here.” Charlene pulled her car keys from her purse and handed them to her dad. “Help Mom to the car, okay? I’ll be with you in a minute.”
As they walked away, Charlene found Jessica sitting by herself at a back table, a check in her hands. She was crying silently, big tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at Charlene. “He’s a good man. What if he doesn’t survive? It’s not fair. This should be the beginning of a wonderful new life.”
Charlene slid into the chair beside her and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jessica—what an awful end to a wonderful event. I sure hope that David will be okay.”
Jessica swiped her eyes. “Me too.” She waved the check. “He kept promising to give me a substantial raise, but, well, that didn’t work out.” Her shrug conveyed she didn’t hold a grudge. “He gave me two thousand dollars for my student loans, which might not be much, but it helps and he didn’t have to.”
Charlene handed her a napkin for her tears.
“He was doling out checks—but no one appeared very grateful. What did they expect from him? And now he’s being rushed to the hospital, and might not live. . . .” Jessica’s voice broke on a sob.
“It’s shocking and terribly sad. If I can help in any way, give me a call, or just stop by.” Jessica sometimes took the back way from Bella’s to Dr. Matt’s, which was Crown Point Road.
“Sure . . .” Sniff. “I will.” Jessica pocketed the check in her apron.
“Is there someone you can call? Maybe the other owner?” Charlene didn’t feel right leaving Jessica with this mess. Pamela Avita had cleared all the baskets for Felicity House, the empty tables forlorn. Charlene searched for Avery, the young girl who’d dropped the plate, but she was gone.
“Vincent.” Jessica tucked her hair behind her ear. “Good idea. He’ll know what to do. His number is in the back office—I’m pretty sure he lives in Boston.” She slowly rose from her seat and glanced around in confusion, as if she didn’t know where to begin. “I guess I can clean up while I wait?”
“Yeah, and then go home and rest. I’m sure the police will want statements from everyone tomorrow.”
“Right.” Trancelike, Jessica gathered dishes on a tray, making her way toward the office.
Charlene next examined the restaurant for Brandy, but she and her party had slipped out without saying goodbye. What a night. She headed for the door, just as Sam returned her call.
“Charlene. I heard.” His rich voice rumbled across the phone line.
The back of the ambulance sped away with red flashing lights. People were making their way to their cars, shaking their heads, muttering to one another. Why had David run out of the restaurant?
She sucked in her bottom lip, refusing to break down. How many tragedies did this make? In the months since she’d arrived in town, she’d helped solve three murders. Not that David was dead—but still, he’d been hit and left in the road. Her brain wanted to connect it to his lottery win, but that might not be the case. Who was Freddy? Or Doug?
“I’d like to speak with you, Sam.” Charlene would never forget the startled expression on David’s face. What had upset him? He’d been disoriented, frightened, and had nearly stumbled on his way out. “Are you on your way here?”
“No. Sorry, I can’t make it tonight, but Officer Horitz is there, or should be.” He sighed. “Go home, Charlene. Get some rest. I’ll come by in the morning. Are your mom and dad okay?”
“Shaken, but I’ll get them settled at home. I feel so bad for David.” As she spoke, she exited the restaurant and stopped near the spot where David had lain. Police cars with bright blue and red lights blocked the area, and cones with yellow tape surrounded the space. How could someone hit him and drive off? Perhaps someone who’d been right here celebrating with them, someone who’d had a few drinks too many? A chill ran up her spine.
“We’ll get a hotline set up for anyone who might have seen anything. There should be plenty of witnesses. We’ll find the person who did this. You were at an auction, right? For Felicity House?”
“Yes, that’s correct. But everyone was inside. The party was just winding down.” She couldn’t get the image of David out of her mind. Had he seen someone outside, an old enemy maybe? Had that person heard about his lottery win and shown up to threaten him? “Sam. David bolted to the street, frightened—and confused. There’s more to this, I know it.”
“Charlene?”
She hated that tone in his voice. “Yes, Sam. Just hear me out. I know what I saw.”
“Did you see the make and model of the car?”
“No, my back was turned.” That didn’t sound helpful, so she rushed ahead. “David seemed very generous to his guests tonight, but . . .”
“But what?”
She released a breath. “I have a hunch that he has more enemies than he does friends.”
Silence greeted this remark.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here. But, please, Charlene, don’t start making assumptions. Let’s just stick to the facts, okay? And leave it to the authorities. Believe it or not, we actually know what we’re doing.”
“But I . . .”
“What? Can’t help yourself?” His voice was gruff. “Try, Charlene. Try. Go take care of your guests and leave the police work to us.”
Charlene took that as her cue to leave. Head down, and muffled from the cold, she headed toward her Pilot SUV, where her parents waited. As she slipped behind the wheel she noticed that her dad had warmed the Pilot up so at least they were cozy. Her mom was in the passenger seat and her dad in the back. “Sorry, I just got a call from Sam. I told him what happened.”
“Who’s Sam?” asked her father.
“Her boyfriend,” her mother responded, buckling up. “The detective. When are we going to meet him, Charlene? Thought he’d have shown up by now.” She glanced at her husband behind her. “Probably frightened of us, right, Michael?”
His balding head gleamed in the dark car. “It’s been a long time since we scared off any boyfriends. You like this fella Sam?”
Charlene backed carefully out of the parking spot and drove around the rear of the strip mall to avoid the police cones blocking the direct route, then answered her dad’s question. “I just moved here a few months ago. We’ve eaten a couple of meals together, but we’ve never been on a date. No kissy-kissy, so just forget about it. We’re friends. That’s all.”
“You always were good at keeping secrets.” Her mom faced the window and the barren trees that lined the road.
“Seriously, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t mind her any, Charlene, my girl. Your mother’s had a broom stuck up her skirt ever since you left Chicago. I told her it was good for you. Move to where you could start over. Get your mind off Jared. But does she pay attention to me?” He scoffed and waved his hand. “No sirree. Blames me for everything. If I’d been a better dad, you might have stayed. If I’d invited you to live with us, you might not be here right now. On and on it goes.”
Charlene bit back a smile. “Dad, you’re the best father a girl could hope for, and, Mom, I know you mean well, and that you miss me—I miss you, too, but I’ve been so busy getting the pl
ace together and building my business that I don’t have much time to call, or have a boyfriend. I’m just starting to get to know people here.”
Her mother gave her a sharp look. “I saw you talking to that good-looking Kevin. He was with that younger girl, so I wouldn’t get my hopes up there.”
“Brenda, hush now. Don’t make Charlene feel bad. What a rough night. Darn good pasta fagioli, though. Wouldn’t mind trying that again.”
“Oh, all you think about is your stomach,” her mom complained. “That poor man! His wife might be turning on the waterworks now, but boy oh boy, she’ll be spending his money so fast she’ll be broke in no time.”
“Mom, stop it—we don’t know how David is faring yet, and I think Tori was actually grieving.” Had Tori’s extreme reaction been shock, or guilt? David, while enamored, had also been suspicious. “We don’t know what their marriage was like.”
“I don’t know,” her dad murmured. “A guy named Zane was texting her, and David’s face turned red. Like yours does, Brenda, when you see me talking to the pretty women at church.”
“Ha! As if any pretty woman would give you the time of day.” Her chest heaved in her red winter coat.
Charlene drove around the curve, never more glad to see her house looming ahead. When Charlene had wanted to hire a service to put up the Christmas lights outdoors, her handyman, Will, wouldn’t hear of it. He and his son-in-law had outlined the entire three-floor home in blinking clear lights. The beautiful oak trees and evergreens were well lit, too, and half a dozen gorgeous crystal deer with gold glitter antlers, heads held high, graced the front lawn. It was a masterpiece.
The only reason she could afford this place was because it was haunted. It had been unknown to her at the time or she’d never have purchased it, but now she was glad she had.
Dr. Jack Strathmore had been murdered in this house and his spirit had been trapped. Lonely, he’d roamed the corridors for years, scaring off any resident who had lived there—before her, nobody had been able to see him. They only knew that doors opened and shut, TVs turned on and off at will, and sometimes haunted music would play from the grand piano that had once been in the parlor. The piano was gone, but Jack remained.
“Here we are, folks.” Charlene turned her Pilot down the flagstone drive. “Home sweet home.” She parked and they walked up the porch steps and into the foyer. The lights were on timers, so she never had to worry about a dark house. The heat was set at 72°F, but she still felt a chill. Was it Jack waiting for her? She glanced around, looking down the hall to the living room, where Jack liked to sit near the fire, but it was shadowed. The grand staircase leading up to the second and third floor had no ghostly presence, but she had a good idea where he might be. The wine cellar in the basement.
“Mom, Dad? Should I put on the fire? Would you like some coffee or something to drink?”
“Nothing for me, dear,” her mother said. “All this drama tonight has made me tired.” She shrugged out of her coat, folding it over her arm. “It’s past our bedtime. I’m going to turn in, if you don’t mind.” Her hand was on the railing—decorated festively for the holidays with green garland and red bows—and she waited on the first step. “Coming, Michael, or do you have pretty women to call?”
He chuckled. “None as pretty as you, my dear. Turn the blanket down, I’ll be right up. Just want to get us a couple bottles of water. Maybe some cookies? That Minnie is a wonderful cook. You did well hiring her.”
“Yes, I got lucky.” Charlene walked with her dad to get him his favorite shortbread cookies. They were moist and crumbled easily, so she put them on a fancy dish. “There you go. Good night. I love you both.”
She waited until they were upstairs and out of sight, then ran down the steps to the wine cellar in hopes of finding Jack. The basement was divided in sections, the smallest part stored the water tank, the heater, and all the essential things that kept the house running. Before he’d died, Jack had designed a wooden wine cellar built up against the stone in the far corner. A long table in dark walnut, the height of a high top, with four chairs around it took up the center.
“Hey,” she said, catching her breath at the sight of him. Jack Strathmore would forever be forty-seven; tall, slim but broad-shouldered, with a face that was hard to find fault with. He had the bluest turquoise eyes and the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. His nose was elegant, over a full, sensual mouth, and he had thick sable hair, only lightly graying around the temples. He was movie-star good looking and put George Clooney to shame.
Was she attracted to him? Of course not! He was a ghost! There were moments when she could see right through his body to the wall behind. It had been disconcerting in the beginning, but not so much anymore.
“How was your evening?” His question was delivered in an educated tone—he’d gone to Harvard. “Did you enjoy the auction?”
She poured herself a glass of an expensive Sonoma Valley merlot and sipped before answering. “I am so thankful that you waited for me tonight.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” He leaned toward her and searched her face. “Are you upset?”
“Remember David Baldwin, from Bella’s?”
“Yes—the guy who won the lottery last week. Shauna and I would go to the restaurant once in a while. It wasn’t fancy enough for her, but I enjoyed the food. Good pasta fagioli.”
She raised her glass. “My father agrees with you.”
“He’s a charming man. Your mother, however . . . well, let’s say your dad is a saint.”
Charlene covered her mouth, but a surprised laugh escaped. “You always make me feel better, and yet I shouldn’t! Poor David was celebrating his bright future and a few hours later, he gets run over.”
Jack immediately reached out as if to touch her but stopped short. “Why didn’t you start with that? Is he all right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He wasn’t moving when they loaded him into the ambulance.”
“What happened?”
“The auction was over, and David had ordered champagne to celebrate his lottery win—which was awkward, but that’s another story—and then afterward he glowered out the window, with his wife clinging to him, which was also odd. Then, he got weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like he was scared. He shouted something, then rushed outside, and bam—got hit, hard enough that his glasses fell off. Whoever it was, they didn’t stop.” Restless, Charlene paced the small space.
“He wasn’t moving? That’s not good.” Jack ran a pale finger over his square jaw. “So, what do you think spooked him?”
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Stopping beside him, Charlene swirled her glass of wine and took another sip. “His wife, Tori, is much younger than him and didn’t seem very nice. She was real flashy, you know? Wearing a gold slinky dress, waving her jewelry all over the place. And David picked tonight to hand out checks.”
“To everyone?”
“No, just select people. Every time he did, her mouth got tighter and tighter, until I feared her lips might crack. She was really upset that he was throwing his money around.”
Jack’s eyes brightened. “Upset enough to have someone run over him?”
Charlene returned to the table with alarm. “Oh, I don’t think that.” She thought back to the night. “But Tori was getting texts from a guy named Zane. What if she’d had an affair and David knew about it? Maybe he saw Zane outside the window?”
“You said he shouted before he ran out—what did he say?”
Charlene leaned against her stool rather than sit. “Two other names—Freddy and Doug.”
“Who are they?” Jack’s tone was incredulous.
“I don’t know, and I didn’t meet anyone at the auction with those names. Tonight David struck me as someone who might have more enemies than friends. You know the type. Acts like he’s everyone’s best buddy. A big talker, a little loud, but I liked him. So does Jessica, who was waitressing tonight. I kno
w you remember her? She’s a physical therapist with Dr. Matt, at your old building. He gave her a check too.”
“Long dark brown hair—you made her tea when she came for a donation to Felicity House. Why did she get a check?”
“She told me it was for student loans. That was pretty generous of him, I think. But I got a feeling he wasn’t so generous with others. His son turned up, uninvited. Kyle. He didn’t get a check, which ticked him off. He stormed off on his motorcycle before all this happened. He might not even know his dad is in the hospital . . .” Her voice faltered.
“If it’s serious, the police will inform him,” Jack said consolingly.
Her shoulders drooped. “It was an awful night. Awkward, with the passing out of checks. Tori’s resentment was obvious even to me, and I didn’t know her.”
“Did the ex-wife make an appearance?”
“No, she wasn’t on the invitation list either.” She held up her empty glass. “He rushed out so quick that he must not have checked for traffic.”
“You look exhausted. You have blue circles under your eyes.”
“Attractive, huh?”
“You always look good to me.” His intense gaze told her more than words that he meant what he said. “Go to bed. Get some rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“I will. Thank you, Jack.”
“Anytime. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, lucky for me, not so much for you.”
“I honestly don’t mind. I get to hang around the beautiful wine cellar. What could be more pleasant for someone who enjoyed his wine so much?”
“Being able to drink it?” Charlene made sure to add a smile to her quip.
“Touché!” His short burst of laughter followed her up the stairs. When she reached the top, she blew him a kiss and turned off the light.
CHAPTER THREE
Sunday morning, a week from Christmas, Charlene topped off her parents’ coffee from a black carafe as they ate bagels and fruit in the dining room. Her silver Persian cat, Silva, sat on the windowsill, her fluffy tail flicking back and forth.
