Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  “What’s yours?” Her hair was in thick braids tied with red and green ribbons, her personality precocious.

  Charlene was immediately captivated. “My name’s Charlene.”

  “That’s pretty too. Would you like to adopt me?”

  What?

  “Tamil!” The older girl hushed her. “You can’t ask everyone that. It’s not polite.”

  “Yes, I can!” Tamil stood up and stomped her feet. “I can too. People come here to adopt us, right?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” the older girl said with a surly expression. “I’ve been around for four years and I’m still here.”

  Why hadn’t she and Jared adopted a houseful of children? All the time they’d spent trying to conceive had taken a heavy toll, until she’d felt she had nothing more to give. Then, she’d buried herself in her job and poured all her love into Jared.

  Now it was too late.

  She felt the weight of the children’s stares. “I’m here on business.” Not to adopt.

  “Sit by me, Tamil,” the older girl said. “Let me finish this chapter.”

  Tears smarted her eyes, and Charlene brushed them away as she stepped down the hall, past the kitchen to a door marked MRS. WINTERS. She gave two firm raps on the wood.

  “Come in.” Charlene entered and Alice stood from behind her desk, almost as round as she was tall. The red Christmas sweater with a dancing reindeer and her red pants were not slimming.

  “Hi—I don’t know if you remember me from the auction the other night? I’m Charlene Morris.”

  “I do, I do. You donated a week’s stay at your bed-and-breakfast.” The two women shook hands. “How can I help you?”

  Charlene gave the cozy office a quick scan, noting the framed pictures on the walls of the director shaking hands with the mayor and other dignitaries. There were awards and certificates, and a photo of Alice Winters graduating with her PhD, another of her and Pamela Avita surrounded by kids.

  “I’m here to see what I can do to help. Jessica dropped by this morning and told me that Tori had closed David’s checking account, and that you won’t be getting the money promised to you.”

  “Jessica is a sweetheart.” Alice gestured for Charlene to take a seat. “She makes us very proud.”

  “I like her too.” Charlene sat in a hard-backed wooden chair that demanded good posture. “Now, I can’t replace the money from David, but I’d like to solicit support from some of the other business owners in town. I can make some phone calls.”

  “Yes, we thought of that, too, but so many have already been generous. If you do it instead of us it looks a lot less like begging,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Not that I’m above it—I’d do anything for Felicity House and the kids.”

  It was obvious to Charlene that the business-savvy director not only cared deeply for the children, but it was her life’s work.

  “I have a degree in marketing and advertising, so maybe I could help you plan something global for next year?” Tamil and the other kids made a compelling argument for adoption, and if she could find a way to help them into forever homes? Her heart swelled at the chance to act. “I’ve had success in the past with crowdfunding.”

  Alice positively beamed as she considered this new option for bringing in money. “I can hardly refuse.”

  Pamela Avita walked in, so tailored she could have been on a magazine cover for executive working women. Slim black pants, high-heeled black boots, and a white blouse under an ornate red wool jacket—accessorized with chunky gold at her throat and ears, her chin-length black hair framed her youthful face. Her painted lipstick and nails matched the red of her jacket. All in sharp contrast to the plump, ugly-sweater-wearing director. But what a team they made!

  Alice greeted Pamela with a relieved smile. “Pam, I’m so glad you’re here. Charlene wants to help us drum up cash from our local businesses, before Christmas, as well as devise a long-term plan for global fund-raising for next year.”

  Pam looked slightly dazed, glancing from one face to the other. Then her shoulders dropped and she gave a sigh of relief. She shook Charlene’s hand. “I can’t wait to hear what you have in mind. I was praying desperately that someone could save this place.”

  Charlene’s marketing brain imagined Tamil’s sweet plea for a family going worldwide.

  Pamela smoothed her jacket over her slim hips, her fingers trembling. “First, I want to thank you for your contribution to the auction. Your week’s stay brought in over two thousand dollars.” She took the seat opposite Alice.

  “Pamela, why don’t you tell Charlene what our plans were for the hundred thousand that had been promised us? Though the check David gave was only for ten.” Alice spoke like they’d make the best of it, no matter what.

  Charlene hid her surprise. David had pledged the center a hundred thousand dollars and didn’t deliver? What a blow!

  “And now we don’t even have that.” Pamela folded her hands in her lap, her painted mouth tight. “We’d planned to build a new wing that would shelter another twenty children under thirteen. We’re overcrowded right now. Thank heavens the teen house has separate funding.” Her fingers fluttered in the air before returning to their position. “Nobody wants to adopt an older child.” Pamela and Alice exchanged sad looks.

  Charlene thought of Avery. “Do the teenagers get training so when they turn eighteen, they have skills to support themselves?”

  “To a certain degree,” Alice said. “But it’s pretty basic—I’d love for them to be offered scholarships to trade schools. Our teens, boys and girls, helped build the new schoolhouse, under the direction of one of my old wards who now owns a construction company.”

  Charlene considered that triumph full of talking points when it came time to put together her campaign. “That’s great. What about computer skills, or maybe accounting?”

  “We suggest those things,” Pamela said, “but they would all rather be famous chefs or musicians. Maybe an athlete.” She gripped her hands so tightly that Charlene could see the whites of her knuckles. “We hate to squash dreams. . . .”

  “But we must be realistic,” Alice said.

  Sparked by the idea of on-the-job training, Charlene cleared her throat and hoped she wasn’t making a big mistake. “I could use some help at the bed-and-breakfast. Weekends, maybe? I felt bad for Avery the night of the auction. When she dropped that plate, it was clearly an accident, and she was mortified.”

  Alice straightened. “Avery Shriver is a hard worker. It was her first night in that environment, and I thought I could help if needed, but—if you give her a chance, you won’t be sorry.”

  “Let’s have a trial period to see how we get along. I would pay her minimum wage?” Charlene wasn’t sure that Avery would even want the position.

  Alice nodded so hard her brownish gray hair came loose from its clip to fall over her eye. “She’s sixteen and healthy as a horse.”

  “Would you like us to call her in? She’s doing a school project while helping with the younger kids, since they’re on holiday break,” Pamela said.

  “They’re off until after the first of the year, so if you need help over Christmas, I bet she’d love it.” Alice smiled. “You know the old saying, busy hands are happy hands.”

  “Indeed, I do.” Charlene considered her schedule as she stood. “We could do four hours per day, starting this Wednesday.” She had the remembrance tomorrow. “Why don’t we try this for three days to see if she likes it? It’ll give her a little cash before Christmas. We’ll discuss it the following week and see about making it permanent on the weekends.”

  “Lucky girl.” Pamela also got to her feet. “I’ll go get her right now.”

  “Thank you so much—could you have her meet me outside, by my car?” That way Avery wouldn’t be on the spot if she wasn’t interested. “Alice, it was a pleasure speaking with you today. I look forward to what we can accomplish next year.”

  Alice walked her to the door. “
Thank you for everything, Charlene.”

  “I’ll get back to you after I’ve spoken to the local businesses—by Christmas Eve.”

  “I appreciate that.” Alice tugged the red reindeer sweater over her broad hips. “Somehow we manage to make it through another day.”

  Charlene waited inside the warmth of her Pilot, and within minutes Avery ran out from behind the office, without a jacket, orange hair spiked. Charlene rolled down the window.

  “Mrs. Avita said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes—would you like to start work for me at my bed-and-breakfast on Wednesday? Four hours a day for three days while we train you, and then if you don’t like it, no hard feelings.”

  Avery shuffled her feet from the cold and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Not the best reception, but Charlene didn’t let that deter her. “I’ll see you Wednesday at nine thirty, then. Casual clothes are fine.”

  “That’s all I got,” Avery said. “See ya.” The skinny, long-legged girl darted out of sight.

  Charlene hoped she wasn’t making a big mistake.

  She reversed out of the parking spot to the street and drove to the police station. Would Sam be in? Should she ask to see him? No, he’d passed her name to Officer Horitz.

  Charlene couldn’t deny being curious as she entered the station and signed in at the front desk. “I’m here to see Officer Horitz.”

  “One moment,” the young male officer said, turning to buzz him. “Charlene Morris to see you.” He gestured to a row of plastic seats. “You can wait there.”

  Officer Horitz didn’t keep her waiting. Medium height, short dark blond hair, brown eyes, and clean-shaven, she vaguely recognized him, though they hadn’t been introduced. He wore a navy-blue police uniform.

  “Mrs. Morris, thank you. Come with me?”

  “Call me Charlene, please.” She followed him down the hall, past Sam’s office, which was dark. A dart of disappointment stung.

  “This way.” Officer Horitz shared an office with three other desks, all vacant. “Have a seat. Detective Holden said that you’d seen David Baldwin’s glasses on the road the night of the accident, yet they weren’t with David’s things at the hospital, which means someone picked them up.” He shook his head as if whoever had touched evidence had made a big mistake. “I was hoping you could tell me where they were on the street.”

  “Sure.” They each sat before his desk in black office chairs.

  “Were they broken?”

  She recalled the black frames, the streetlamp flickering off the intact lenses. “No.”

  He turned the monitor for his computer toward her. “We have a 3D program that allows us to discover how fast the vehicle was going that hit David, in relation to things around him.”

  “Oh?” Charlene thought back to exactly what she’d seen. David’s head had been turned toward the flashing red dentist Santa holding a giant toothbrush.

  “Time of the accident was ten forty-five. We know it wasn’t fast, as his shoes were still on. This coincides with your confirmation that the lenses in his glasses weren’t broken.”

  Her stomach clenched and she interlaced her fingers to hide her distress. This was normal procedure for the police but out of her wheelhouse. “How can I help?”

  He handed her a rubber pointer and brought up a diagram of the accident. “David’s body was here.” Officer Horitz used a mouse to highlight the outline of a man’s silhouette. There was the road, Bella’s parking lot, Bella’s, the intersection, and the strip of businesses across the way.

  “There was a streetlamp,” Charlene said. “I saw the glint of the glasses beneath it.”

  “Show me where?”

  She tapped with the rubber stick on the screen.

  “Good. And where were the glasses?”

  She tapped again, and Officer Horitz made a red X.

  “Five feet?” He hummed and typed into his keyboard.

  Charlene said nothing as the officer added numbers to a file he had already. Curiosity got the better of her. “What does this mean?”

  “There were no skid marks on the street,” he told her, “which means that the driver didn’t stop. Duval and Crown Point Road have speed limits of forty miles an hour. According to this”—he gestured to the diagram—“David was hit at thirty to thirty-five miles per hour.”

  “That doesn’t seem very fast,” Charlene said, unable to take her eyes away from the red X on the monitor.

  “It was bad luck for David,” Officer Horitz agreed. “The vehicle hit him at an awkward angle and broke his neck.” The policeman sighed and got to his feet. “Thanks for coming in.”

  And just like that, Charlene was escorted out of the station.

  Bad luck? Someone on the phone or texting. Even changing a radio station—the driver would have heard or felt something and made a decision not to stop.

  * * *

  At thirty miles an hour, whoever had run over David had to have known what they were doing as they left him on the street to die.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tuesday morning, Charlene woke up with a feeling of dread. The remembrance service for David was being held in a few hours and she’d agreed to meet Jessica. Another man laid to rest, years before his time.

  The taste of death was bitter. It was only six and the house was quiet. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a thick navy sweater, grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, then put on a jacket and went outside to the deck to watch the sunrise. She hoped Jack would find her there, and just as the sun was peeking through the clouds in a dazzling range of color, she saw him, outlined in a halo of fiery orange. A ghost of a man trapped in his home.

  “I felt your sadness,” he said, taking a seat beside her on the steps leading to the back garden and tall oak tree. The branches were bare, and the tree looked forlorn—an echo of her sorrow.

  “Jack.” He was astute to her moods and had known she needed him. “I’m glad you came.”

  She eyed him with appreciation. Handsome in jeans, boots, and a bulky black jacket, dressed like herself. His head was bare, his sable hair lush and curling around his ears. She knew he didn’t suffer from the cold, or the wind, or anything. One of the pluses about being a ghost, she supposed, but was it really?

  “Why are you sitting out here in the cold? Hiding from your mother?”

  Charlene chuckled. “I was hoping you’d find me.” She wished she could lean against him, to share his strength, but knew she couldn’t. “It’s David’s remembrance service today, and I told Jessica I’d go.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  “Oh, Jack.” He’d been gone last night and she had so much to tell him. “Tori closed the account at the bank, first thing yesterday morning. Every check David handed out bounced. No one received a dime. Worst thing is that Felicity House won’t get an addition to host more children, which is what they’d planned to do with the hundred thousand dollars David had promised them.”

  Jack whistled. “Tori is a selfish woman and will undoubtedly get what’s coming to her one day.”

  Charlene certainly hoped so. “David had shorted the promised money with a check for only ten grand—and now they won’t even get that.”

  Jack scratched his jaw. “What are we going to do about it?”

  We? She liked that. “I don’t know. I can’t let the kids go without this Christmas. It’s just not right.”

  “Agreed. Let’s enjoy this glorious sunrise and meditate on it. I’m sure something brilliant will come to mind.”

  She lifted her face toward the lightening sky. “You weren’t always such an optimist.” He’d been temperamental when they’d first met.

  He gave her a fond smile. “I’ve changed. When you’re facing eternity twenty-four/seven, you have to believe that the best is yet to come.”

  “Hmm. I like that.”

  They sat in silence for some time, at peace with one another. “So, what are you going to do about Tori and Felicity House? I doubt you�
��re going to stand by and see the kids suffer.”

  “You must be a psychic as well as a ghost,” she joked. “I’ve hired a girl from Felicity House to help around here—I can start with one, right? And I’m going to ask business owners to open their pockets and give a little more so that the children will all have presents. I told Alice Winters that I’ll help out with advertising and focus on each child, so hopefully they’ll find good homes.”

  He rubbed his hands together without a sound. “That’s very generous, Charlene, and very much in keeping with the Christmas spirit. What did you do at the police station?”

  “They have a program that can tell how fast a car was driving that hit somebody, by things around it—his glasses, for example. It was pretty amazing.” It had taken hours of shopping for just the right stockings to compartmentalize the stark reality of another death. It did not get easier.

  “Was Sam there?”

  “No.” She stood and stared down at Jack. His smooth skin had no five o’clock shadow and resembled a marble texture. “I guess I should go inside and get started. . . .”

  “Tonight? Wine cellar?”

  “Deal.” She entered through her bedroom door and tossed her jacket on the armchair. When she went into the kitchen, the Garcia family was helping themselves to the fruit and muffins, the children sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I was on the back porch watching the sunrise.”

  “Wasn’t it beautiful?” Teresa added a packet of sugar to her black tea. “We caught a glimpse of it from our window.”

  “Hope you don’t mind us helping ourselves,” Andy said.

  “Not at all. That’s what the food is here for. What are your plans for the day?”

  “We’re thinking of Plymouth Rock.” Teresa polished an apple on her sweater. “Decided to get an early start.”

  “Great idea. Enjoy your day.” She refreshed her coffee and then went into her room to shower. When she was done getting ready, the Garcias had left and her mom and dad were seated at the kitchen table.

  “Morning.” She kissed their cheeks. “Did you see the family off?”

  “We did. They asked us to join them, but it didn’t give us enough time,” her mother said, taking a bite of her blueberry muffin. “We might like to do that later. Think you could take us there? It would be nice if you could join us.”