Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past

by Traci Wilton

  “Yeah.” Tori pretended to yawn. “That’s what you think. I bet he was having a good time when you weren’t looking. Did he come home late some nights?” she asked with a sly smile. “Bet he did, huh?” Her eyes sparkled with malicious glee.

  Tori was enjoying herself at Charlene’s expense.

  “We worked in the same office, and we both had to stay late some nights. We were in advertising, on separate teams.” She lifted her chin. “We never had to cheat to get our thrills. We had it at home.”

  “Separate teams.” Tori spoke slowly and plucked a red carnation from the arrangement, running it up and down her cheek, never taking her eyes off Charlene. “Hmm . . . now that’s interesting. Tell me more.”

  Charlene stood. “Don’t you dare insinuate that my husband would cheat. Your own moral code has nothing to do with mine or Jared’s. Our love was pure. Untainted.”

  Tori laughed. “Who are you trying to kid? Yourself?”

  Charlene’s fingers turned inward, making a tight fist, but she wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction to know she’d scored a hit. She was here for the kids at Felicity House. “Why was Linda cheating with Vincent?” Charlene moved the topic away from herself as she sat down again. “Did that happen before they moved to Salem?”

  “I’m not sure. According to David”—she waved the carnation around and around, looking amused—“he’d get home from work and smell cigar smoke. He didn’t smoke, but Vincent sure did. Guess he did other things that David neglected to do too.” She broke the end of the carnation off and tucked the flower behind her ear. “But I’m more interested in you. And Jared,” she said in a singsong voice. “What was that naughty boy up to?”

  Charlene was repulsed by this woman and no longer interested in finding the lost girl inside. The innocent girl was dead and gone. Only bitterness lingered.

  She’d come to find out about Freddy, and to see if she could get Tori to honor David’s check to Felicity House. Focus. “Why leave town? David’s gone, but you still have Zane. I bet that romance is still going hot. With David working nights, you two could get away with murder.”

  The figure of speech came out of her mouth and settled in the room between them like a ticking time bomb.

  Brow arched, Tori asked, “What did you say?”

  Charlene dabbed her hot cheeks. “I didn’t mean anything—just that you and Zane can be together now.”

  Tori stood and wrapped the knit sweater tight around her body. “David and I were planning on running away together. He messed that up by getting run over. I had no reason to kill him. He was my ticket out of here.” Her mouth trembled. “Now everybody hates me.”

  “They wouldn’t if you did the right thing.”

  “Right thing?” She snorted. “I’m moving right after the service. The cops will know where I am, but I don’t feel safe here in Salem. Not even Zane will know.”

  She had wondered if Zane would make the new move, but Tori was obviously good at looking out for Tori. Why was she afraid? “Tori, do you think that David’s death might have been on purpose?”

  Her eyes widened with fear. “I don’t know! I’ve asked myself that a dozen times—if someone could kill him—what if I’m next? If I’m gone, then you know who would inherit?” She paced around the coffee table. “You better believe that I asked around, but Linda worked at the hospital until eight thirty that night. One of the ladies I know from the gym is a neighbor of hers, and she said she saw Linda arrive home after that, and that she never left. Kyle got off work at nine and then came to Bella’s—you saw how pissed he was when he left. He was home by the time David”—she hitched in a breath—“was hit. The neighbor confirmed that she heard the motorcycle.”

  Charlene nodded as she listened, remembering how close the houses were together. Linda and Kyle had alibis. So, supposedly, did Zane.

  Tori shook her finger at Charlene. “I had nothing to gain, so I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t have.” She folded her arms across her middle. “I am so done with this town, and these narrow-minded people.”

  “You checked for Linda and Kyle, but what about Freddy? I know he and David were in a car accident together, back in college. He went to jail, right? Maybe he had some kind of vendetta.”

  Tori turned to Charlene with interest. “If he did, I don’t know what it was. He dropped by a few times, wanting to talk, but I don’t have time to listen to some drunk guy babble on about the glory days—I wasn’t even born yet.”

  “Is he staying nearby?”

  Her lips curled. “Sleep Inn. I remember because he thought it was so funny—sleeping in. Sleep Inn.” She shuddered. “What a dive. He’s staying through David’s service on Christmas Eve and wants to get together. He asked if David had left anything for him, which he didn’t—like David had him in the will or something. He wanted a handout, like all those losers at the auction.” She dropped her hands and went back to pacing, her head down as if thinking.

  This was Charlene’s chance. “They aren’t losers, Tori. It’s really important to the children that Felicity House gets the check. They want to build another addition, which will enable them to house another twenty children.” She stepped in front of Tori, forcing her to look up. “At-risk kids. Please, Tori, you have the rest of the money! Buy a big yacht, have a great life. But do the right thing for these kids.”

  Tori lifted her chin, her gaze ice-cold. “I will do nothing. I don’t owe them anything.”

  “You were a kid.” Charlene kept her eyes on hers. “Maybe life kicked you in the shins a few times. You must know what it’s like.” She put out a hand when Tori tried to step aside. “Just listen. These kids have had more than a few kicks. They would be homeless without Felicity House. Their parents are either addicts, in jail, or dead. Have a heart, Tori. Do the right thing. Just once.”

  “Just once? You don’t know me. Why should I? Nobody did the right thing by me. Besides, the place is subsidized. I know. I checked. They got that nice house with money from United Way.”

  “That’s the teens’ house, but what about the younger ones?” Tamil’s bright smile shone in her mind.

  “My accountant says it’s going belly-up—it’s not a good investment.”

  No matter what Charlene said, Tori had an excuse. She released a weary sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “You should be. Why are you in my home asking me for money? Shame on you. You’re no better than the others. Thanks for the flowers, now get out.” Tori pointed to the door.

  “I’m not sorry for asking, I’m sorry for you. Whatever happened to turn you into this person?” Charlene walked away, shaking her head. “I just hope these children don’t end up the same way. That would truly break my heart.” At the door she looked back one last time. “It’s a shame you don’t have one.”

  “Let the door slam behind you,” Tori yelled. “And don’t come back.”

  Charlene left the vile woman, anger heating her as she returned to her Pilot. Now what was she supposed to do?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Charlene sat in her Pilot as it warmed, looking from the moving pod to Tori’s front door. As much as she disliked the woman, Tori had not driven the car that had run David over.

  Should she track down Freddy, if he was still in town? David’s service was in two days, Christmas Eve. She recalled Freddy’s gaunt appearance at the remembrance, and the button on his shirt misaligned. He’d probably fallen off the wagon, hard.

  She could just go home, but Tori’s comments about Freddy going on about the glory days, asking if David had left something for him, made her wonder if Freddy was behind the hit-and-run. He’d killed somebody with a car once. Who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?

  Salem wasn’t that big of a place. She plugged in “Sleep Inn” to her GPS and found one only ten minutes away. Freddy didn’t have friends in Salem to spend his time with. David hadn’t given Kyle, or Linda, good reason to make him welcome, and he’d know better than to expect it from
Tori.

  Charlene could easily imagine what he was doing to wile away the hours. He’d hit the nearest bar. She opened the search to include bars. Sailor’s Roost, Dead Man’s Watering Hole, Whistler’s Keg.

  Had he driven from New York? It was worth a few minutes to question Freddy, possibly get another drunk driver off the streets.

  She found the Sleep Inn and parked. At four in the afternoon, the sky was gray and overcast, the clouds heavy with possible snow. Right next door to the cheap hotel was Sailor’s Roost. The place was made of timber that listed to the left, and had an old-fashioned sign hanging out front painted with a yellow-slickered sailor, who had a pipe and a bushy beard.

  Here goes nothing, she thought, and entered the bar. It smelled like smoke—all kinds, from cigarettes, to weed, to cherry pipe tobacco—though she didn’t see anybody smoking.

  The place was well-lit, and each of the four walls had a different sport playing on huge television screens.

  “Welcome!” A young lady greeted her from behind the bar. Pretty in a hard way, her hair was bleached blond, her face prematurely aged. “What can I get ya?”

  “I just have a few questions,” Charlene said.

  “Sure, you staying over at the Inn?”

  “No, but I’m looking for someone who is.”

  The girl laughed good-naturedly and gestured to the men and women in various jerseys. “We have three-dollar pitchers, and our nachos are good.”

  Charlene scanned the faces but didn’t see Freddy. “Freddy Ferguson—midfifties, thin—oh, that doesn’t help. He was a friend of David Baldwin’s.”

  The girl gave her a blank expression, but then suggested, “There’s a bar inside the Sleep Inn—you might want to check there.”

  Dredging up a name from her online search, Charlene asked, “The Whistler’s Keg?”

  The girl drew back in alarm. “My friend got her purse stolen there last weekend, so if you go, hide your bag under your jacket. I’d try the Inn first, but Whistler’s Keg is on the other side of the motel. Be careful, and Merry Christmas.”

  Charlene left the bar and entered the Sleep Inn. Everything seemed to be made of cheap laminate and colored in mustard and avocado—original to the seventies. An Indian couple studiously ignored her when she entered the lobby. A sign pointed to the bar and restaurant to the left, so Charlene followed her nose.

  Cheery holiday faces didn’t seem to mind the cheap motel food as they listened to Christmas music and ate their fill—she noticed the ham special was popular, with mashed potatoes and green beans. Advertised as only $6.99 on the sign.

  The waitress hustled to the podium, greeting her with a grin and a menu. Charlene smiled back. “I’m looking for someone—Freddy Ferguson? He’s staying here at the hotel.”

  Sunshine, or so her name tag proclaimed, said, “Oh, I know him—he’s been here a week or so, and always orders eggs for breakfast. Went next door to Whistler’s Keg to get a beer—Jeb’s running a Christmas special on Rolling Rock. A buck a bottle.”

  “Thank you.”

  Charlene left the diner and eyed the darkening sky. She wouldn’t feel safe in this area alone after dark—the streetlamps weren’t on every corner like the Pedestrian Mall, loaded with businesses and people. Foot traffic here was nil.

  What had Freddy expected David to give him—money, or forgiveness? She had to ask Freddy about why he’d come to Salem. Had David invited him, or did Freddy have his hand out? Why had Freddy brought David’s jersey? Why had Freddy kept it? It seemed odd to her.

  She raised her head, alert for others, but she was alone as she walked the twelve feet from the diner to Whistler’s Keg, a wood structure in need of paint, one window shaded by dark curtains, and a door. A buck a beer, huh?

  Just the type of place a person looking to get drunk cheap would hang out.

  Her closest brush with addiction was the woman who had killed Jared. Finding out if Freddy had killed David, she figured, was worth the possible danger of going into this seedy bar. David deserved justice, as she’d gotten justice for Jared. She had her phone in her hand, her thumb on Sam’s number for speed dial.

  She twisted the brass knob of the wooden plank door and paused at the threshold before stepping inside. The interior was darkly paneled and lit by the golden glow of a candle lamp flickering at each of ten tables, the whole room only twelve by twelve, which made her claustrophobic.

  No music played, just a television on so low at the bar that she wondered if it was broken.

  The bartender, Jeb, had so many wrinkles it was impossible to tell his age. He blinked at her in surprise. “You lost, or lookin’ for your daddy?” He cackled at his own joke and the laughter turned into a cough.

  She braced herself and stepped forward. “I’m looking for Freddy Ferguson.” She peered around the room—three men, three separate tables, two buckets of beer.

  “People in here generally don’t want to be found,” the bartender said. “He your old man?” He laughed again and smacked the counter, startling a fourth gentleman who had been dozing at a table to the left of the bar. Had she finally found Freddy?

  “No.” Charlene glanced around the space before taking another few steps.

  The man who’d appeared to be snoozing blinked blurry eyes and tried to focus on her. “Have we met?”

  “Hi, Freddy, I’m Charlene. At David Baldwin’s remembrance?” Technically they hadn’t been introduced—she’d been watching Linda block him from Kyle.

  “Oh, yeah. I got to meet David’s kid—gave him David’s jersey.” He straightened, but then slumped as if that was too much effort.

  “Can we . . .” She counted three empty beer bottles at his table, the smell of hops overpowering. “Can we talk?” Charlene pointed to one of the corner tables that was slightly better lit—she wanted to see his face for the truth when she asked him why he’d come to Salem.

  “Sure, but the price is a beer.” Freddy looked at the bartender. “Save my chair?”

  The bartender snorted and waved a gnarled hand to the mostly empty bar. “No worries.”

  Freddy knocked on the counter and waited for Jeb to drop off a bright green Rolling Rock bottle. “Make it two.”

  “Can I get you something?” Jeb asked Charlene.

  “Coffee’s good, thanks.” She pulled out a five to pay for the drinks.

  Freddy ambled toward Charlene with a wary smile. Up close, it was hard to believe the tall man was in his midfifties—his eyes were red-rimmed, his nose also veined with purple and red, his jowls slack, his hair a dark gray. He could’ve been mistaken for David’s dad, rather than friend.

  She matched his square jaw with the one from the Stony Brook yearbook, but only because she was searching for similarities.

  “Thank you for talking to me,” she said. “I really liked David.” Charlene stirred her coffee, knowing she wouldn’t drink it—the plastic stirrer stood upright in the burnt-smelling brew.

  “Everybody did.”

  The other patrons were all in their own worlds and paid no attention to Charlene or Freddy. She took her Styrofoam cup of coffee to the cleared table. “Would you like this too?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Freddy reached for the sugar packets and emptied three into the sludge-like coffee. “How’d ya find me?”

  “I spoke with Tori—she mentioned you’d be around until after the service and that you were staying at the Sleep Inn. Did the police instruct you to stay until after the investigation?”

  “They hinted it’d be better for me not to leave town. But I was kind of hopin’ that David would leave me something.” He sniffed and blew his nose loudly in a paper napkin. “Tori won’t give me the time of day. Not sure what he was doing with that tramp,” he said. “I saw her making out with that blond body builder.”

  “You did? When?”

  He gave a sour smile. “I got here last Friday—dropped by David’s place early, to surprise him, ya know? But I got a surprise of my own.”

  She thought b
ack to how angry David had been on Saturday, the night of the auction, specifically about Zane. “Did you tell David?”

  His red eyes welled with easy tears. “That was the last thing we talked about.”

  “When was that? You’d mentioned that he’d invited you to come for dinner, but something came up?”

  He slurped the coffee and made a face, then shrugged. “That wasn’t exactly true,” he admitted. “He rescheduled for the next night. I could tell he was embarrassed by me.” He peeked back over his shoulder and shivered.

  “You told him you’d seen Tori with Zane?” That explained Tori’s aversion to Freddy—he’d busted her with her lover. “He must have taken that hard.”

  “Yeah.” He braced for a bad taste and took another drink. “We were going to meet up Sunday night. I told him that I couldn’t do it anymore. That I remembered.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger.

  “What?”

  “About Doug.” His yellowed teeth peeked from between dry lips. Was he driven by guilt to the bottle?

  Doug had been the other guy in the car. “Tell me what happened,” she said, her stomach tight. She was sitting across from the man who had taken a life, and it made her nauseous. This man was a monster of his own making—or was it his addiction? Was that any justification?

  Charlene was too emotionally close to be an unbiased observer, no matter how many prayers she’d said for the woman—Jared was gone. The woman was being punished as the law saw fit.

  If she was to be fair, then yes, Freddy had also paid for his crime.

  “I recognized your jersey from Stony Brook,” she said, to prod the conversation.

  “Did you go there too?” His red blurry eyes squinted at her.

  “No, I grew up in Chicago.”

  Freddy looked over Charlene’s shoulder into the shadows of the dark bar. “Me and David were best friends all through elementary school—our parents were middle class—hard workers but no money set aside for college. We played every sport—started every team—we were magic together.”