The Ghost and the Christmas Spirit

by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  “What is it?” Marie asked.

  “I’d like you to help me make your divinity. I know Adam tried last year, but we both know how hard it is to make. I’ve never been able to do it—not like yours.”

  “Oh, Danielle, that is so sweet. Especially coming from someone like you who is an excellent baker—and me, who hated anything to do with the kitchen. Gardening is what I enjoyed.”

  “But you did make killer divinity and peanut brittle,” Danielle reminded her.

  “Yes, but only at Christmas.” Marie smiled.

  “So will you help me this year with the divinity? I’d like to give it to Adam as one of his Christmas gifts—from both of us.”

  If Marie’s eyes could make tears, they would be swimming in them. “Oh yes. I will teach you how to make it.”

  A few minutes later, when Danielle retrieved the bags of Christmas gifts from the closet, Marie offered to levitate them downstairs.

  “You could fall carrying those,” Marie said as Danielle headed to the first floor with several full bags of gifts in her arms.

  “I don’t think our guests would understand if they walked out of the living room and saw these floating down the stairs.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But if you trip, I’ll catch you,” Marie said, now keeping a close eye on Danielle’s feet. “Although I don’t know why you brought them upstairs in the first place.”

  “I was going to wrap them in one of the upstairs bedrooms, but that was before we got guests.”

  When they reached the parlor, Danielle piled the packages on the desk just as her cellphone began to ring. She pulled it from her back pocket and looked to see who was calling. It was Joanne.

  Danielle answered the call. A moment later she placed her hand over the phone and whispered to Marie, “I’ll be right back.”

  Owen closed the book he had been reading and set it on the coffee table. He stood up, stretched, and then glanced over to the game table, where Walt and Colin quietly played chess.

  “Excuse me,” Owen said.

  Walt and Colin looked his way.

  “I was wondering, would you have some writing paper I could have? A scratch pad would work,” Owen asked Walt.

  “Certainly,” Walt said. “There are several pads of paper sitting on the desk in the parlor. Help yourself. And if you need a pen, you’ll find one in the desk drawer.”

  “Parlor?” Owen frowned.

  “It’s the small sitting room just inside the front door,” Walt explained.

  “Oh…” Owen chuckled. “I didn’t know people still called rooms parlors anymore. I think I’ve only heard that used in old movies.”

  Alone in the parlor, Marie eyed the shopping bags Danielle had brought down from upstairs. Sticking out from the bottom of the pile was the wrinkled corner of a blue-green sack. She stared at the packages, and the next moment they appeared to rearrange themselves; the blue-green bag moved to the top of the pile, revealing a mermaid image printed on one side in black ink.

  In the next moment the mermaid bag floated up from the desk. Marie reached inside and pulled out the framed picture of her father and another man. As the bag fell back to the pile, the remaining item it held—the Christmas shoe—started to fall out, yet remained half in the paper sack when it landed on the desk.

  Ignoring the shoe, Marie studied the photograph and smiled, thinking how much she missed her parents and wondering if she should move on so she could see them again. But then she dismissed the idea, telling herself she wasn’t finished on this plane yet. She still needed to see Adam happily married. Then there was Connor, whom she wanted to watch grow up, and she had to meet Walt and Danielle’s children—surely they would start a family soon.

  So engrossed with her thoughts, Marie failed to hear the parlor door open. It wasn’t until Owen stepped into the room did she realize she was no longer alone. The framed photograph fell abruptly to the desk. By Owen’s frown, Marie suspected he had noticed the motion.

  Wearing a puzzled expression, Owen walked over to the desk.

  “What are you doing in here?” Marie asked. She knew he could not hear her and did not expect an answer.

  She watched as Owen reached down to the desk, as if he was looking for something. He froze. Marie noted his curious expression. His right hand trembled as it reached down. He took hold of the tip of the Christmas shoe and gradually pulled it from the bag. When it was completely removed, she heard him let out an audible gasp.

  Now holding the shoe with both hands, he stared at it as if in a trance. After a moment he took one finger and moved it over the fake gemstones—at least, Marie assumed they were fake. He turned the shoe over in his hand, revealing its sole covered in Christmas paper. He frowned. Turning the shoe slightly, he ran a finger over the rough glue-soaked paper.

  Noise came from the doorway, and Owen looked up abruptly, as if jolted from a trance. He shoved the shoe back in the paper sack. Danielle walked into the parlor.

  “I was looking for a notepad,” Owen explained quickly. “Walt said I could find one in here.”

  “Certainly,” Danielle said with a smile as she approached the desk.

  Marie remained quiet, observing Owen.

  Danielle pulled a notepad from under the pile and handed it to Owen. He accepted it nervously and glanced down at the desk. She noticed the picture frame was out of the bag, sitting in clear view. She picked it up.

  “I took it out of the bag,” Marie quickly explained.

  Danielle glanced over to Owen, who remained standing by the desk, notepad in hand. She picked up the picture frame and shoved it back in the bag with the shoe.

  “That bag, it has a mermaid on it,” Owen said. “Umm…looks familiar, can I ask what store it’s from?”

  “Mermaid Curio, a little gift shop in Astoria. Do you know it?” she asked.

  Owen shook his head. “No, I just thought the logo was familiar.”

  “I picked up some silly items there for the white elephant gift exchange. So don’t peek!” Danielle said with a laugh.

  Owen gave Danielle a half-hearted smile, thanked her for the paper, and then left the room.

  “He was awful interested in that shoe,” Marie told Danielle when he left the room.

  “What do you mean?” Danielle asked with a frown.

  “I was looking at the picture of my father when he walked in the room. I don’t think he saw it floating over the desk. But when he saw the shoe sticking out of that sack, he took it out and looked at it.”

  Danielle shrugged. “So? He was probably trying to figure out what it was.”

  Marie shook her head. “No. It was how he was looking at it. It was intense.”

  “Intense?” Danielle snorted. “How does one look intensely at a gaudy shoe?”

  “Like Walt looks at your double fudge chocolate cake.”

  “Oh my, you don’t think he has a shoe fetish, do you?” Danielle teased.

  “Oh hush,” Marie snapped. “You aren’t taking me seriously. There is something off about that young man.”

  “He seems perfectly nice to me. From what he said, it sounds like he recently separated from his wife. So if he is acting a little standoffish, I think that might be why.”

  “I didn’t say he was standoffish. He certainly wasn’t with that shoe. I swear, I thought for a moment he was going to take it. Then you walked in, and he about jumped out of his skin.”

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Danielle said.

  “For one thing, do you really know who he is?” Marie asked.

  “He says his name is Owen Gardener.”

  “Have you seen his ID? He would not be your first guest who lied about who he was.”

  “No. I have not seen his ID.”

  “Then you should ask him to see it,” Marie insisted.

  “Marie, I am not going to ask to see his driver’s license just because he was checking out that silly shoe.”

  When Danielle left the room a few minutes late
r, Marie muttered, “If you won’t, I will.”

  Nineteen

  Marie found Owen upstairs in the bedroom Danielle had assigned him. She sat on the edge of his mattress and watched him, wondering how she could get ahold of his driver’s license for a quick look. As if he had somehow heard her thoughts, he pulled his wallet from a pocket, along with some change, and tossed it all on the dresser with his cellphone. He headed for the bathroom. When he was out of the room, Marie looked at the wallet and smiled.

  “That was easy,” Marie said, moving to the dresser. She looked down at the wallet and watched it open. The next moment his driver’s license slipped out of the card holder and floated up so she could have a better look. She stood there a moment reading and rereading the information on the identification.

  “Well, imagine that. Your name really is Owen Gardener.” She turned the driver’s license over, looking at it from all sides. It looked real enough. The license floated down to the wallet, retucking itself in the leather fold. Still not convinced, she looked at the other cards in the wallet. There were several credit cards, a Costco membership card, and a medical insurance card, all under the same name that was on the driver’s license.

  With a sigh she returned all the cards to his wallet before leaving the room in search of Danielle. She found her in the kitchen, making chili.

  “Dinner?” Marie asked when she entered the room.

  “Yes. Not sure Owen or Colin will want to join us, but I’m going to make a big pot, and everyone can help themselves.”

  “I just thought I’d tell you, you were right, his name is Owen Gardener.”

  Danielle stopped chopping onions and looked at Marie. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything bad,” Marie said defensively. I simply took a quick peek in his wallet. He left it sitting on the dresser when he went to the bathroom, so it only took a moment.”

  “Well, maybe now you will stop worrying,” Danielle said, resuming her chopping.

  “But then I got to thinking, just because he gave you his real name, it doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? Just because you saw him looking at that ugly shoe?” Danielle asked.

  “It is just a feeling I have, that he is not who he says he is.”

  “I thought you just proved he is exactly who he said he is,” Danielle reminded her as she scooped up the diced onions and tossed them into a frying pan.

  “It will only take you a couple of minutes to check him out. Considering some of the problems you’ve had in the past, I would think you would want to do that,” Marie insisted.

  Danielle let out a sigh. “And exactly how? Ask the chief to run a background check on him? I really can’t be running down the chief and asking him to look into someone because he showed interest in a homemade Christmas decoration.”

  “That face thing all you kids do. Can’t you look there?” Marie asked.

  “You mean Facebook?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes! See what you can find out about him there.”

  “I adore you, Marie, but I really need to finish this chili.”

  According to the dermatologist, the brown spots along her belly weren’t dangerous, just ugly. Heather stood in her kitchen with the hem of her blouse pulled up, inspecting the discolored skin. Wrinkling her nose at the sight, she ran one finger over the brown rough spots. Perhaps there was no one to look at her belly—not with her current love life—and bathing suit season was months away, but Heather didn’t like the ugly marks. The snotty medical assistant at the dermatologist’s office had said something about them being age spots—which was obviously her way of telling Heather she was old. I’m barely in my thirties. That’s not old, Heather told herself. And younger than that stupid medical assistant!

  She hadn’t asked if they could remove the spots. They had burned a precancerous growth off her face once, and that had been both painful and expensive. Heather knew exactly what she needed to do to get rid of them. She would have done it earlier, but she thought it best they first be checked out by her doctor.

  Opening the kitchen cabinet, she removed a bottle of pure coconut oil and gave it a little shake to determine how much oil it contained. It was less than a quarter full. Removing its lid, she set it on the counter. Next, she searched her essential oil reserve for her frankincense oil. Once she found it, she carefully removed its lid, intending to add a few drops to the coconut oil, which she would then apply to her unwanted brown marks.

  Just as she started to add several drops, a booming, “Heather, you need to help me!” filled her ears as Marie suddenly appeared next to her. Startled, Heather dropped the bottle of oil. It landed on the floor and rolled under the counter.

  “Marie! Can’t you knock?” Heather dropped to the floor and quickly retrieved the bottle, relieved it had not broken, nor had any oil spilled out—thanks to its plastic oil dropper cap.

  Heather stood back up, the bottle of frankincense oil in hand, and looked around. Marie was nowhere in sight.

  “Well, I guess I hurt her feelings,” Heather muttered, preparing to complete her original task.

  Just as she was about to add the frankincense to the coconut oil, a loud knock came from the overhead kitchen cabinet, and the next moment Marie appeared in the same spot she had been in a moment earlier.

  “Is that better?” Marie asked.

  Heather managed not to drop the jar of oil at Marie’s second entrance.

  “I could have broken this!” Heather said, waving the jar at Marie. “This little bottle cost me a hundred bucks!”

  Marie’s eyes widened. “For that tiny thing? Does that little bottle even hold an ounce?”

  Heather scowled at Marie and proceeded to add a few drops of the frankincense to the coconut oil.

  “Well, you didn’t break it. I don’t know why you have to be so snippy,” Marie said in a pout.

  Heather set the tiny bottle of essential oil on the counter. “Seriously, Marie, when you were alive, wouldn’t it have rattled your nerves for a ghost to just randomly pop in? You kinda scared the crap outa me.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just figured you were used to ghosts popping in.”

  “I don’t know if I will ever get used to it. What do you need?”

  “I think there is something a little funny about one of Danielle’s guests.”

  “I assume you’re talking about one of the guys the Seahorse Motel sent over?” Heather recapped the bottle of frankincense oil.

  “Yes. The younger one. I just think he acts…well, odd. I thought it would be a good idea to do a little checking on him. I’m not suggesting asking the police to run a background check, but look on the computer. You know, at that club where you all hang out.”

  “Club?” Heather frowned.

  “Face friend thingy.”

  “You mean Facebook,” Heather corrected.

  “Yes. Will you do it for me? I know his name, and I have his address.”

  “Umm…why doesn’t Danielle just check him out?”

  “She’s busy making chili,” Marie said.

  Heather studied Marie for a moment and then said, “You mean she doesn’t want to stalk him?”

  “Who said anything about stalking?” Marie asked

  Heather chuckled. “That’s sort of what it’s called. Okay, let’s go in the living room, and I’ll get my laptop.”

  It didn’t take long for Heather to find Owen’s Facebook page. She showed Marie the profile picture to confirm it was the correct Owen Gardener.

  “He doesn’t have a beard,” Marie mumbled, taking a closer look at Owen’s profile picture.

  “It doesn’t mean it isn’t him,” Heather reminded her.

  Marie studied the profile picture a few minutes. Finally she said, “That’s him. The eyes. And the scar. The Owen Gardener staying at Marlow House has a little scar over one eyebrow, just like the man in that picture.”

  Marie didn’t understand how to go through his page. Her comp
uter experience was limited to turning computers off and making random telepathic searches on Adam’s computer. She left it to Heather to go through his Facebook posts and photos.

  “Not much here. Not sure if he posts a lot and has his settings so we don’t see anything, but he does have some posts that come up not set to private. In fact, some I would expect to be private. My guess, he is an infrequent Facebook user, and when he does post something, he doesn’t set them to private,” Heather explained.

  “What have you found out about him?”

  Heather shrugged. “He plays the guitar and likes to ride dirt bikes. Works for some manufacturing company. Looks like he and his wife are separated, at least that’s my takeaway from some of the comments. It doesn’t look like he has removed any of her pictures.”

  “How do you know those pictures are of his wife?” Marie asked. “Do they have the same last name?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean anything. There is one of him and a woman posted a couple of years ago, and all the comments are saying happy anniversary. I just figure it must be his wife. And it is the same woman in most of the pictures. At least, up until six months ago. There are no pictures of her after that time. Pretty woman, but she looks rather high maintenance.” Heather paused a moment and then said, “Hmmm…let me try something.”

  A moment later she pulled up another Facebook page, this one of the wife.

  “She’s not great about her privacy settings either.” Heather laughed. “And I must say this Owen guy must be understanding.”

  “Why do you say that?” Marie asked.

  “Because he is still Facebook friends with his wife. Or I assume…ex-wife, considering she has a ton of recent pictures on her page of her and another guy. I don’t think this other dude is her brother, considering the poses. And according to one post, they’re living together.”