Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  Her mother relaxed her shoulders after buckling her seat belt. “I found a book by Ann Rule that I haven’t read before.”

  The Pilot was parked so it faced Vintage Treasures. “I don’t know how you can read those true crime books and still sleep at night.” Charlene laughed as she turned on the engine. Archie waved at her from his window, looking a little like Santa himself, his half-glasses on the bridge of his nose, red suspenders holding up his slacks beneath a round belly.

  She lifted her hand to him and pulled onto the road, gesturing to the shop. “That’s the place I got my telescope for the widow’s walk.”

  “You’ve done a beautiful job decorating your business,” her mom said.

  Charlene waited for a jab, but nothing came. She accepted the rare compliment without strings and turned on the radio for Christmas music.

  The three of them sang along the whole way home.

  She helped her dad with their packages, and they entered the house. The spicy scent of chili wafted toward them. Minnie was amazing, plain and simple.

  Out of nowhere, Jack appeared on her left in a flash of blue light, and she gasped in surprise. It had been a while since he’d startled her like that.

  “Ja—” Charlene bit her tongue and set her parents’ packages on the bottom step of the stairs. “Just make yourselves at home,” she managed, avoiding looking at Jack, though it was difficult because her handsome roommate flickered in and out of clarity, as if he was very upset or excited about something.

  “Charlene,” Jack said urgently, “I was watching television and . . .”

  She wanted to hear what he had to say, but he had to wait until she could meet him in her suite, so she raised her hand to Jack as she faced her parents. “I’m going to change my boots for slippers. You two could do the same? I’ll meet you in the living room.”

  “What about that chili?” Her dad rubbed his hands together as he stepped toward the kitchen, and her suite. “Is Minnie here? Can I get a bowl?”

  “Just hang on a sec, okay, Dad? Minnie left already—I can help you.”

  “Charlene,” Jack said. “You have to listen to me. Your detective was on the television.”

  She tuned out Jack to focus on her dad, who was insisting he could serve himself without making a mess of her kitchen.

  “It’s not that, Dad.” She could feel Jack’s tension like a cold tsunami and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Charlene.” Her mom entered the fray with a raised tone that meant business. “We don’t require anybody waiting on us.” She bypassed the stairs and her packages for the kitchen. “If your dad wants some chili, I can get it for him.”

  What she wanted was privacy to speak with Jack, and her mom might overhear her if she and her dad didn’t go upstairs.

  Jack brushed his hand across her back and her body broke out in shivers, making her teeth chatter. They were going to have a serious discussion later about boundaries, she thought.

  “It’s for the guests,” she said quickly. “We have to make sure they have something when they arrive.”

  Her parents backed up a step with understanding. “Ohhhh,” her mom said.

  Now she felt bad for making up an excuse—she just needed a minute! “We can all have a bowl, as long as we make sure that there is plenty for the Garcias.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlene,” her dad said. “I forgot that this is a business. It’s so cozy, I think of it as your home. We don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “It is my home, and you are welcome. Just give me ten minutes, okay?”

  Her mom picked up one bag and took a step. Her father chose the heavier bag of books and climbed after her.

  She waited until they were out of earshot before going to the pot on the stove that had been left on simmer. There was more than enough.

  The clock on the stove blinked four p.m., which gave Charlene three hours before the Garcias showed up.

  “Plenty of time to get everyone situated. Okay, Jack—tell me, what are you saying about Sam?”

  “He was being interviewed by a reporter, that cute one from Channel 7?”

  “Jack, hurry,” she said, eyeing the hall to the stairs. Her parents could be back any second. She understood that he was trapped in the house; his favorite thing to do while she was gone was to watch the news or Netflix medical documentaries. She didn’t point out that his ghostly hands probably wouldn’t save lives in the real world, but he loved learning.

  “Sam asked for drivers crossing Crown Point Road and Duval from ten to midnight to call the hotline. He has a team of officers going over camera footage at the intersection, and he’d like to rule out possible suspects.”

  Jack’s energy waned in and out, allowing her to see the sink behind him, right through him. She brought her gaze to his face.

  “That sounds smart to me.” Crown Point Road led up to her house, and Duval was the other cross street by Bella’s. She lifted the lid on the pot and stirred the chili with a wooden spoon. “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing.” Jack lifted his shoulder smugly as if his news had been worth almost giving his presence away.

  Exasperated, she set the spoon down harder than she meant to on the stove. “Nothing new, so please, no more games!”

  “Charlene, don’t be mad.” Jack faded to a gray tone, like a sepia photo. It required energy for him to manifest for her.

  “Let me take care of my parents and my guests. I’ll talk to you later.” She regretted her abrupt tone.

  Offended, he said, “Sorry to bother you.” Jack disappeared in a cold snap of air.

  “Jack!”

  But he was gone. She quickly ladled out two generous bowls of chili, cut squares of cornbread, and got the dish of butter from the pantry. She loaded everything on a tray for the dining room and met her mother and father coming down the stairs. “Here you are—Minnie must have made a double batch.”

  “Why are you making dinner for people? You can’t make money feeding everybody,” her mom said.

  Charlene exhaled and counted to ten. “It isn’t something advertised—that’s just the full breakfast on the weekends, but I want to make people feel welcome, and food is part of that. I offer an afternoon coffee or tea, with cookies or scones. Sometimes we have cocktails or dessert, depending.”

  “I like it,” her dad said, going into the dining room. “And it isn’t that different from when you entertain, Brenda. Remember when we were first married and didn’t have two cents to rub together? Somehow you still made amazing meals. Good food doesn’t have to cost a lot, and I’m sure our Charlene knows what she’s doing.”

  Her mom sat at the foot of the dining table. She’d switched her red framed glasses for green. “Will you tell us if you need help, Charlene?”

  She imagined the strings that would entail, and to herself said, hell no, but she smiled gamely. “Sure. But I don’t, so don’t worry.”

  “I do worry—I think we need to call in someone to check the insulation on this place—your heating bill must be atrocious. I am constantly feeling a draft.”

  Charlene realized that her mom was feeling Jack; no amount of extra insulation would help with that. “I am fine.”

  “Join us?” her dad asked. He’d taken the chair to her mother’s right.

  Charlene hid her impatience. “Let me get a bowl.” She hurried back to the kitchen and dished out a tiny bit of delicious chili. She couldn’t see Jack, or sense him either, but wanted to apologize.

  “Jack?” she whispered.

  “Charlene! Will you bring another piece of cornbread? Mine is too crumbly. Cut it toward the edge, not the center,” her mother called from the dining room.

  Ugh. Charlene grabbed the pan and the knife, along with her own chili, and went to keep her parents company.

  Her mom insisted on doing the dishes afterward, and Charlene let her just so she could catch a break and check her business e-mail and phone. No messages. Jack was also absent.

  At five, she was going to
suggest settling down for a movie when a knock rattled the front door. Giggles sounded from the porch.

  She’d been working at the kitchen table and now closed her laptop to answer. Her parents hovered by the stairs. “Go wait in the living room, okay? No helping with the luggage or offering to show them around. You’re also guests, got it?”

  Her dad’s shoulders slumped.

  Her mom sniffed and shot her chin high, slinking into the living room. “Fine. We’ll stay out of the way. You don’t have to tell us twice.”

  “Mom—it’s not personal,” she whispered. A louder knock pounded.

  She opened the door and put on her most welcoming smile. “Hi! You must be Andy and Teresa? I’m Charlene.”

  “Sorry we’re early, is that okay? We got a head start driving from New York—and I’d allotted more time for potty breaks,” Andy said. The pair were in their thirties: Andy, dark haired to Teresa’s blond, and the girls each had a golden mix that seemed a blend of both parents.

  “Come in! I’m glad your travels were uneventful,” she said.

  “I’m Teresa.” The woman shouldered her purse, a little girl on either side of her body. “And this”—she nudged the daughter on her left forward—“is Emily.”

  “I’m seven,” Emily said with a serious expression in her round brown eyes.

  “I’m Maddie!” The other little girl grinned—the opposite of her sister.

  “Maddie’s five,” Teresa said. “Our little chatterbox.”

  “Mom,” Maddie giggled. “I am not.”

  “Are too,” Emily whispered, glancing at Charlene from a fall of golden bangs.

  The family shuffled into the foyer. Andy gestured to his car, parked next to Charlene’s in the wide driveway. She had a garage to the right of the house, but she hadn’t put her Pilot away for the night yet. “Is that all right?”

  “That’s fine. Did you want to get your luggage now? Or I can show you around and you can bring it in later.” She’d given them the center suite, spacious enough for a family.

  “Let’s get the girls settled first,” Andy said.

  As they went to the stairs leading up, Charlene noticed her parents watching avidly from the love seat in the living room. No doubt her mother would have pointers for her later.

  “I hope you all like chili—I’ve got some on the stove, if you’re hungry—with cornbread.”

  “I like cookies better,” Maddie said.

  “You’re in luck.” Charlene reached the landing and turned left to the middle door. “Minnie makes the best cookies in Salem.”

  After the family settled in, she offered them bowls of chili, a platter of cornbread, and then a dish of cookies. Her parents were resting in their room, tired from the long night before. Charlene kept the Garcias company, offering advice as to what they should see and do. “I know it’s dark, but the Pedestrian Mall and harbor shops will still be open until nine.”

  Andy and Teresa thanked her, bundled their girls up, and herded them out the door. “We’ll let them run off some energy,” Andy said as they left.

  Charlene speed-walked from the foyer to her suite, closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Jack?”

  Nothing.

  How long could he give her the very cold shoulder?

  Switching the television on to lure Jack out, Charlene sat at her narrow desk and reached for her ivory notepad. Sam had been so specific about times. David had been hit before eleven, she was fairly sure. She’d looked at her watch at ten thirty.

  Doodling circles was like meditation for her and she edged the notepad in swirls.

  Would Sam cross off the people at the restaurant? Nobody had left the party at that time. Vincent and Kyle had gone earlier. She doodled skid marks and wondered if there were any on the road, but she hadn’t heard anyone slamming on the brakes, or a squeal of tires. Just a thump, and then . . .

  She put the pad aside and logged on to some popular social media sites, curious about Kyle. She’d felt sorry for him that night, a tough kid on the outside, just wanting to talk to his dad. He wasn’t very active, but in his photos, he was always drinking (underage) and partying.

  What about Tori—was she really a homewrecker? Ah—there was more on her, since her move to Salem from Boston and her marriage to David.

  Thirty years old. Most of her pictures were taken at the gym. Very fit.

  So, what about David’s first wife? Linda Farris had been so defensive on the phone earlier, not giving Charlene a chance to even say hi. Google offered two sites of information, but Linda hadn’t posted anything in years. Her picture showed a tired blonde with a wary smile. She worked at Salem Hospital and had been there for five years.

  Noises sounded from down the hall, outside her room—time to stop snooping into poor David’s life. “Jack?” Nothing. How long could he hold a grudge, anyway?

  Children’s laughter echoed down the hall to her room. Charlene closed her laptop and left her suite.

  As she headed to the living room and the sound of voices, she straightened a figurine on the bookshelf, admired her silver shell planter in the foyer. In the living room, her dad sat on the velvet armchair with Silva on his lap; Maddie and Emily listened as her dad shared a story.

  The family scene brought her to a halt. She was overcome with sorrow for what might have been. If she and Jared had only had children, these might be her daughters, listening to their grandfather so raptly.

  She’d want them to have blond curls, like Jared, she thought, her nose stinging. Or maybe Jared’s dimples. God, she missed him. She sucked in a deep breath to keep her emotions in check, and cleared her throat before entering the living room as if nothing was wrong.

  “Hey, guys.” She heard the hoarseness in her voice. “Can I get you anything?”

  Her dad looked up at her tone. “I am very content, Charlene,” he said. “Aren’t you, girls?”

  “This is the best place ever,” Maddie enthused as she pet the cat. “Can we take Silva home?”

  “You can’t do that,” Emily argued. “Silva belongs to Charlene. Right?”

  Oddly enough, she’d never wanted a cat, but she couldn’t imagine her life without Silva. “Right.” She quickly shared the story of how Silva had hitchhiked from Chicago on her moving van.

  Her dad burst out laughing. “Guess she really wanted to be with you, honey.”

  “Why did you call her honey?” Maddie stood on her tiptoes to lean closer to Charlene’s dad.

  He settled back in the chair. “She’s my daughter.”

  Maddie and Emily scrutinized Charlene to see if this was true.

  “He’s right,” she confirmed, drawn forward into their sphere.

  “Do you have kids? Like us?” Maddie asked.

  The bitter sorrow, always just beneath the surface, stung her throat. “I don’t. I wish I did.” She touched her heart-shaped gold and diamond earrings, Jared’s last gift to her. If only . . . but “if only” wouldn’t change things, and the past needed to stay in the past.

  Her dad caressed her hand in understanding. When would the pain go away?

  Silva’s ears perked as Jack manifested before the fireplace. Something in Charlene eased at his ghostly presence. She turned her back to her dad and the girls, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Jack said aloud since nobody could hear him but her. “Any chance you can meet me later for a glass of wine? You look like you need to unwind.”

  She put her hand over her heart with a grateful nod—Jack knew just how to make her feel as if things would be okay, and she’d learned that sometimes it had to be enough.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Charlene woke up early on Monday morning, feeling refreshed from a good night’s sleep. After Jared’s death, sleep became a distant memory. Now in her new home she was getting six or seven hours of uninterrupted rest. It was a blessing.

  She took her shower and made her bed, still chuckling over Jack’s story about Maddie and Emily from the n
ight before. “They saw your father, asleep in the chair, and snuck up behind him with Silva, brushing his nose with the cat’s tail.” Jack had reenacted her father’s surprise—Dad had jumped awake, but seeing the two girls and the cat, he’d waggled a finger at them—they feared they might be in trouble until he couldn’t hide his smile, and they’d all laughed.

  Charlene had dressed for shopping later in jeans and a red sweater, her long hair down past her shoulders. Entering her sitting room, she was surprised to see Jack in the armchair by the window. “Good morning. Have you been here long?”

  “I have little concept of time when I’m not with you, but since you have clocks everywhere, I know it’s been thirty minutes.” He grinned up at her and tapped his fingers silently against his denim-clad leg. “So, guess what two angels tiptoed down the stairs last night, looking for presents under the tree?”

  She eyed the closed door from her suite to the kitchen. “What are you talking about?”

  “Maddie and Emily, of course. Only kids we have in the house, right?”

  “Right—and they are sweet.”

  “It must have been around midnight—I was sitting by the fire when the girls tippy-toed down the stairs to count the presents under the Christmas tree. They’d been looking to see if any of the presents were for them.”

  Cute! “Ah—were they disappointed?”

  “A little, but Emily said it wasn’t Christmas yet, so Santa still had time to deliver their gifts.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Jack. I’ll put presents for them on my list of things to buy today when I go shopping. I was planning to hang stockings.”

  “It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas,” Jack sang, “everywhere you go . . .”

  She held up her hand to interrupt him. “You’re right—I have to go. Want the television on?”

  “I can do it.” He snapped his fingers and on came Channel 7. Loud.

  “Jack . . .” She cringed and gestured to the door. All she needed was her mother stepping in.

  “Fine.” He turned the TV back off and disappeared.

  Charlene shook her head. Jack could be a darling, but overly sensitive too. One thing for sure, he rarely allowed her to get the last word.