Twenty-Three
Police Chief MacDonald arrived at Marlow House a little past noon on Wednesday, with his youngest son, Evan. Out on winter break, Evan and his older brother, Eddy, had been staying at their aunt Sissy’s house during the day while their dad was at work. But today Eddy was off with his maternal grandmother, Christmas shopping for his brother and father, while Evan planned to spend the rest of the afternoon at Marlow House.
Marlow House and the mediums from Beach Drive held a special place in Evan’s heart. Like them, he too could see ghosts. The only living member of Evan’s family who knew his secret was his father, Police Chief MacDonald.
“Are you going to join us for lunch before you go back to work?” Danielle asked the chief as he walked into the entry hall with Evan.
“Am I invited?” the chief asked with a grin.
“Always. Thought it would be a good idea if we ate something healthy before starting on those cookies—to counter all that sugar,” Danielle told him as they started toward the kitchen. Evan had already run ahead after seeing Hunny, and was currently petting the dog, who had submissively rolled over to enjoy belly rubs.
“You really need to do something about that ferocious dog,” the chief teased.
Danielle stopped walking and looked at the chief. “Speaking of that, there is something I need to talk to you about.” She looked over to Hunny and Evan and said, “Evan, I need to talk to your dad. You can go on to the kitchen. Walt is in there, and you can start lunch. But don’t forget to wash your hands first!”
A few minutes later the chief and Danielle sat together in the parlor, the door closed.
“And you think that woman Hunny saw yesterday was the same one who broke in?” the chief asked after Danielle updated him on what had been going on.
“According to Hunny.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t use a dog’s testimony to file breaking and entering charges against someone.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “Ya think?”
The chief grinned. “So who is she? We can at least find out who she is. Maybe figure out what she is looking for, keep an eye on her.”
“I tried calling Chris’s number again. They’re still not answering. I left a message this time.”
“Where did they go?” the chief asked.
“Noah wanted to take some photos along the coast. From what they said, they were heading down toward Seal Rocks Cove. The last time Walt and I drove that strip, we had spotty cell reception.”
“And you have no idea who this woman might be? Hunny couldn’t describe her?”
Danielle arched her brow at the chief. “Hunny is a dog.”
The chief chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. Silly question—and the fact the dog is the one who told Walt about her in the first place, well, nothing silly or strange about that.”
“Come on, Chief, you have to admit it makes our lives more interesting.”
“I suppose.” The chief stood up. “You promised to feed me?”
“Oh, one more thing. Not sure I should mention it, but I think you should know.” Danielle went on to tell him what Elizabeth Sparks had told her about the possible stalker.
Colin waited for the police chief to leave before coming downstairs. When he reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped onto the first-floor landing, he spied Walt coming out of the kitchen. When Walt noticed him, he paused a moment.
“There are some sandwiches left in the kitchen, if you’re hungry,” Walt told him.
“Thank you, but I’m still full from breakfast.”
“I’m surprised, you barely ate anything,” Walt said, not mentioning he had noticed Colin sneaking Hunny his bacon.
Colin shrugged. “You’ll discover that when you get older, one of the things to go is your appetite.”
“I don’t see me ever losing my appetite for Danielle’s double fudge chocolate cake,” Walt said with a grin and then added, “Or Old Salts cinnamon rolls.”
Colin chuckled and said, “We consume some things not to sate our hunger, but our desire.”
“True,” Walt agreed. “What are your plans today?”
“I thought I would take Danielle up on her offer to help decorate Christmas cookies. It’s been years since I’ve done that. Sounds like fun.”
“Considering how many sugar cookies she baked, she is going to need all the help she can get if she wants them all decorated. I think Heather and Lily are coming over later to help.”
“You aren’t going to decorate any?” Colin asked.
“No, I thought I would use this opportunity to work a little on my new book.”
When Colin walked into the kitchen, he found Danielle sitting at the table with a young boy whom he knew to be Evan MacDonald, the police chief’s eight-year-old son. On the table was a baking sheet filled with sugar cookies, some decorated with colored frosting and sprinkles, while the others waited their turn. Cookie shapes varied: Christmas trees, angels, stars, candy canes, and gingerbread-men-shaped cookies.
Danielle looked up to Colin and smiled. “Have you come to join us?”
“I have, if that’s alright,” Colin said, approaching the table.
“Certainly.” She looked at Evan and added, “Evan, this is Mr. Bari, one of our guests staying with us through Christmas. Mr. Bari, this is Evan.”
“Nice to meet you, Evan,” Colin said, extending a hand to the young boy. “But please, you must call me Colin. I don’t believe one should be so formal when decorating Christmas cookies.”
Evan smiled up at the elderly man, shook his hand, and said, “Hello.” When the handshake ended, Colin took a seat at the table.
“I thought Hunny would be in here waiting for something to fall on the floor,” Colin said, glancing around for the dog.
“Walt told Hunny she had to stay out of the kitchen while we decorated cookies. Sugar is not good for her,” Evan told him.
“Did he now? How obedient of Hunny to listen to Walt,” Colin said with a chuckle.
Danielle and Evan exchanged quick glances, and Danielle changed the subject.
They had been decorating cookies and chatting for about thirty minutes when Danielle received a phone call she needed to take. Telling Evan and Colin she would be back shortly, she left the kitchen.
“I imagine you are looking forward to Christmas,” Colin asked Evan.
“Yes. But when I told Danielle I wish Christmas would just get here, she told me not to wish away the days. She said I should try to enjoy every day of Christmas week.”
“Good advice. If you wished the time away, you wouldn’t be decorating cookies now,” Colin noted.
Evan grinned up at Colin. “Yes. And my grandma is going to take me shopping like she took my brother. And Danielle and Walt are having a Christmas Eve party, and Lily and Ian are having a party too! So I guess she was right. I would not want to miss all that.”
“As you get older, Evan, you will notice how quickly time moves by. So tell me, what do you want Santa to bring you this year?”
“Santa?” Evan asked hesitantly.
In a whisper Colin said, “I understand some children stop believing in Santa as they grow up. Which in my opinion is just as foolish as wishing away your days.”
“My older brother doesn’t believe in Santa Claus anymore,” Evan told him.
Colin arched his brow. “He doesn’t?”
Evan shook his head.
“And what do you believe?”
“I haven’t asked my dad about it…” Evan confessed.
“But what do you believe?”
Evan set the cookie he had been decorating down on a paper plate and looked up seriously to Colin. “There are other things my brother doesn’t believe in—that I know are real. So I kinda think he could be wrong. What do you think?”
“Are you asking me if I believe in Santa Claus?” Colin asked.
Evan nodded.
“Between you and me—I know without a doubt there is a Santa Claus. Of course, jus
t like other things some people believe in—like ghosts, for instance—”
Evan’s eyes widened. “Ghosts?”
“Yes, ghosts. Some people believe in ghosts; some don’t. Personally, I believe in ghosts. Yet I also know that some people who believe in them have it all wrong.”
“All wrong how?”
Colin shrugged. “Take ghost stories, for example. The ghosts portrayed are often evil or scary. A ghost, in my opinion, is nothing more than the unleashed spirit of a person who has died, therefore will be no more evil or scary than the person was when alive.”
“That’s what I believe!” Evan said excitedly.
Colin smiled. “And then there are angels—”
“Angels?” Evan asked.
“Yes. I believe in angels. But unlike some people who believe in angels, I don’t imagine they have wings or play the harp. I suppose some play the harp. Some might also play the guitar, but not all of them.”
“My mother is an angel,” Evan said.
“Your mother died?”
Evan nodded.
“I’m sorry. I bet she is an angel and looks after you and your brother,” Colin suggested.
“That’s what my dad says.”
“So tell me, Evan, you never answered my question. What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
“What I really want for Christmas, I don’t believe it’s something Santa can bring me.”
“Don’t underestimate the magic of Christmas,” Colin insisted.
“I’d like to spend Christmas with my mom, and my dad, and my brother. Just the four of us. Like when I was real little. I’d be happy if we could have just one more Christmas together.”
“I don’t see where that is out of the realm of possibility—not for Santa,” Colin said.
“Maybe in a dream hop…” Evan muttered under his breath.
“Dream hop?” Colin asked.
Evan blushed. “Nothing. I am just being silly.”
“No, please, explain this dream hop.”
“It’s when a spirit can visit you in your dreams. But Mom has moved on, and where she is now, it’s harder for her to dream hop—especially to a dream where my brother and Dad are in—I mean really there.”
Colin studied Evan and then smiled. “That is very interesting.”
“But we all know Santa can’t do stuff like that. He makes toys in the North Pole with his elves, but I don’t think he can make a dream hop,” Evan said.
“Ahh…that’s what I was talking about earlier.”
“What do you mean?” Evan asked.
“There is definitely a Santa Claus, but like every person from history, stories and legends about them can spring up—some which originate from a grain of truth, others pure fantasy. In the case of Santa Claus, those stories do no harm—in fact, they add to the magic of Christmas.”
“I don’t understand.” Evan frowned.
“Do you know where the name Santa Claus comes from?” Colin asked.
Evan shook his head.
“I am sure you have heard of Saint Nicholas?” Colin asked.
“Yes. That’s Santa’s other name.”
“Correct.” Colin nodded. “The Dutch translation for Saint Nicholas is Sint Nikolass, which became the nickname Sinterklass. From that nickname came Santa Claus.”
“Is Santa Dutch?” Evan asked.
“No. He isn’t. Santa Claus is Greek.”
“Santa is Greek?” Danielle asked when she walked back into the kitchen.
Colin smiled up at her as she walked to the table. “Yes, he is. Evan and I were just discussing Santa Claus and some of the misconceptions about him.”
“Eddy doesn’t believe in Santa anymore,” Evan told Danielle as she sat back down at the table. “But Colin and I do.”
Danielle flashed Colin a smile and then looked back at Evan. “I believe too.”
“And what do you want Santa to bring you this year?” Colin asked Danielle.
“Me? Actually, I have about everything I have ever wanted.”
“Surely there is one thing you would like?” Colin asked.
Danielle glanced to the window facing Pearl’s house. “Maybe Santa could figure out some way to make our neighbor less cranky. It would be wonderful if she could soften up a little to Hunny and Max.”
Twenty-Four
Danielle was cookied out. She sat on the sofa in the living room, telling herself she didn’t want to eat anything sugary for the rest of her life—or at least until tomorrow. Heather and Lily had come over to Marlow House not long after Danielle had told Colin her wish for Christmas. They had come to decorate cookies. Colin stuck around for about thirty more minutes before he excused himself and left the rest of the undecorated cookies to the women and Evan.
The chief had picked up Evan after work, and Lily and Heather had helped Danielle clean up the kitchen and put the cookies away. When they finished cleaning the kitchen, Ian came over to Marlow House with Connor, and they all decided to order pizza for dinner. They invited Colin and Owen to join them, but the men had other plans. Colin had invited Owen out to dinner at Pier Café.
Marie arrived around the same time as the pizza, and she spent her time playing with Connor on the baby blanket, which had been spread out on the floor near the Christmas tree, while the others ate pizza.
“It was fun today, but I ate entirely too many cookies,” Danielle told them. Next to her on the sofa sat Walt, a paper plate with a slice of pizza on his lap.
“I ate too much frosting,” Heather groaned.
“I imagine Evan is going to be bouncing off the walls tonight,” Lily said with a chuckle. They all laughed.
“That Colin is sure a nice man,” Heather said.
“Yes, he is,” Danielle agreed. “But I heard him say something funny to Evan.”
Marie looked up from where she sat with Connor on the baby blanket on the floor. “What’s that?”
“I heard him tell Evan that Santa Claus was Greek.”
“Greek? I always pictured Santa Scandinavian. Probably Norwegian,” Heather said.
“Why Norwegian?” Lily asked.
“Think about it. Norway is close to the North Pole,” Heather pointed out.
“Actually, Colin is right. Santa is Greek,” Ian corrected.
Heather looked to Ian and frowned. “What are you talking about? That jolly man with the sparkling blue eyes, ruddy red cheeks and bowl of jelly belly is not Greek.”
“I am talking about the real Santa Claus—Saint Nicholas. I suspect that’s who Colin was referring to,” Ian said.
“Ahh, Saint Nicholas who inspired the Santa Claus legend,” Lily said.
“Yes,” Ian said with a nod. “According to some historians, Saint Nicholas was Greek. He was born in a little port city on the Mediterranean Sea.”
“That’s where Colin said he was born!” Danielle interjected.
“Which might explain why he told Evan what he did. I imagine he’s probably more familiar than most with the story of Saint Nicholas, considering he was born in the region,” Ian pointed out. “I’ve read that historians often disagree about what is actually true in regard to the legend of Saint Nicholas. Much of the recorded history has been lost. So we rely on tales that have been passed down over time.”
“The story I remember,” Lily began, “Nicholas—before he was Saint Nicholas—inherited a fortune after his parents died, and he gave much of it—if not all of it—away to the poor. There was one story about three daughters. Their father couldn’t afford a dowry, so it looked as if they were doomed to prostitution.”
“Why in the world would that lead to prostitution?” Heather asked.
“Because in those days,” Ian reminded her, “a woman couldn’t easily get a respectable job to support herself. She needed to get married, and if her father couldn’t afford to pay a dowry, then there was a chance she would remain unmarried, and when the father’s money ran out, prostitution might be the only way she could surviv
e.”
“That’s sick!” Heather gasped. “So what did Saint Nicholas do?”
“According to the legend, he gave the father money to pay the daughters’ dowries. One story says he put the gold in the girls’ stockings when they put them out to dry at night. Which is why we leave stockings on the fireplace for Santa to fill. Or so goes the legend,” Lily explained.
“Saint Nicholas is also the patron saint of sailors,” Walt added.
They all turned to him. “He is?” Danielle asked.
Walt nodded. “Yes, according to legend, he was traveling to the Holy Land when the ship was caught in a storm. Saint Nicholas supposedly admonished the storm, and it then subsided, saving everyone on board. It was considered a miracle. My grandfather told me that story.”
“I think the most bizarre story I read about Saint Nicholas was how he resurrected the bodies of three children who had been butchered and pickled—to be sold off as ham,” Ian said.
“Ewww! I could have gone forever without hearing that story,” Heather cringed. “It is Christmastime, not Halloween!”
Ian shrugged. “Well, he did bring them back to life, so it had a good ending. And I will confess, I found that story on Wikipedia.”
“What were you doing looking up Santa Claus on Wikipedia?” Danielle asked.
“I was looking for ideas for family Christmas traditions, and I ended up on Santa’s Wikipedia page,” Ian explained.
“For an article you’re working on?” Heather asked.
“No.” Ian shook his head. “But it is Connor’s first Christmas, and I wanted to get some ideas. Some tradition we can start as a family this year.”
“Did you find anything interesting?” Walt asked.
“I did, on another author’s blog post. Her name is Bobbi Holmes. Not sure what she writes. But in one of her posts she talked about a Christmas family diary. On Christmas night, each member of her family writes a page that goes into the family Christmas diary. They write about what happened that year—the kids might just write about what they did for Christmas. When her children were small, they contributed drawings instead of writing anything. While Connor has a few years before he can draw a picture, much less write, I think this year his contribution might be hand prints and a photo.”
The Ghost and the Christmas Spirit Page 15
