Читать книгу Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past - Traci Wilton - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

Sunday morning, a week from Christmas, Charlene topped off her parents’ coffee from a black carafe as they ate bagels and fruit in the dining room. Her silver Persian cat, Silva, sat on the windowsill, her fluffy tail flicking back and forth.

Charlene had just poured her second cup of the day when Minnie arrived, her car keys jingling. Setting down her mug, Charlene strolled from the dining room to the foyer. “Morning, Minnie!”

Minnie shifted the bags of groceries in her arms, and Charlene stepped forward to assist before one fell.

“How are you? It’s all over the news,” Minnie said, her gray curls bobbing over her brow. “Poor man!”

Charlene had kept her television on in her suite all morning. According to Channel 7, David had never regained consciousness, before passing away with his wife at his side. “It’s so sad,” she agreed, leading the way down the hall to the open kitchen.

“Weren’t you at Bella’s last night?” Minnie set the cloth grocery bags on the counter. “For the auction?”

“Yes, with my parents.”

“Well, they’ve set up a hotline, so hopefully whoever did this will come forward.” Minnie reached into a bag and pulled out the ingredients for homemade chili and cornbread.

As the housekeeper at Charlene’s Bed and Breakfast, Minnie had free reign of the menu and no one had ever been disappointed. Her husband, Will, did the yardwork outside.

Jack appeared with a puff of cold air that made Minnie shiver. Unable to see him, she rubbed her plump arms and went about her business, unloading the second bag. The cloth sack was filled with a variety of cheese and crackers for Charlene’s cocktail hours.

The Garcia family was due to arrive this evening after seven and planned to stay for the whole week. The Chilsons, parents of Nikki from the veterinarian’s office, had booked the room overlooking the great oak tree. They would fly in from San Diego on Friday, the day before Christmas Eve. Her parents’ room was at the end, with a view of the side lawn and front road. The three smaller rooms were vacant and ready for a last-minute guest.

Charlene retrieved a bag of onions and brought them to the butler’s pantry. Christmas was meant to be a joyous time, but she knew it wouldn’t be for Tori, or Kyle, or Jessica, who’d be mourning for David.

The doorbell rang and Jack manifested himself by the side window, telling her, “It’s your detective.”

Jack had a jealous streak, which she found, at times, both annoying and endearing.

“Be nice,” she mumbled, then opened the door.

Sam Holden stood on her front porch, in jeans and boots and a thick winter jacket, his brown eyes warm as whiskey. Dark brown hair styled short, and a full mustache of the same color that hid a sensuous mouth.

“Morning, Charlene,” he said. He patted his jacket pocket, where he kept his notebook and pen. “Is now a good time to talk?”

She opened the door wide and welcomed him in. “Of course.”

Jack had been a doctor when he’d been alive, a handsome, classy man—the exact opposite of ruggedly gorgeous Sam.

The detective kissed her cheek in greeting, while Jack glowered over Sam’s shoulder—it was all Charlene could do to keep a straight face.

She closed the front door and Sam put a hand on her forearm to ask, “Have you heard? David Baldwin died?”

“Yes, it’s been all over the news,” she said. “I can’t believe it—I suppose I was hoping, since they’d taken him in the ambulance, that he’d be all right.”

Sam faced her in the foyer, out of earshot of her parents. “He wasn’t breathing when they arrived on the scene, but the paramedics managed to get a pulse—they just couldn’t keep him alive.”

Charlene wrapped her arms across her chest, her warm sweater no barrier against the sad news. “I feel so bad for his family, his son—but mostly for David.” He could have done so much good with his newfound wealth.

“I’d like to talk to you about what you saw last night.” Sam cupped her shoulder, commiserating.

“Not the accident itself.”

“Right.” He brought his hand to his side. “You said on the phone David acted oddly?”

Charlene, aware of Jack behind her, stayed a few inches from Sam when she’d been tempted to move slightly closer. “I thought he might be having a stroke or something, and then he ran outside. I turned to talk to Tori, and the next thing I knew, I heard an awful sound and David was on the road.” She stuck her hands in her sweater pockets. “Mom and Dad might have more to offer—we’re just having breakfast. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?”

“Always,” Sam said.

They entered the dining room, and Charlene introduced her parents to Sam. Jack had followed them in, taking a ghostly seat next to her mother, at the opposite side of the table from Charlene and Sam.

Her mom shrugged her sweater closer to her body. “Brr. I think this old house has drafts.”

Her dad shook the detective’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Call me Michael. This is Brenda.” He gestured to his wife.

“Finally!” Her mom preened under Sam’s hello. “We’ve heard so much about you—all of it good.”

Charlene tamped down the impulse to bang her head against the table. She’d warned Sam what her mother was like, so she hoped he didn’t take anything Mom said personally.

Sam shook her hand and sat down as Charlene poured him a cup of coffee. Minnie darted into the dining room, exchanging the black carafe for a silver one. “Is everyone okay? I’ve got cinnamon rolls in the oven, if you’re still hungry in about ten minutes.”

Her dad’s eyes lit up.

“Hi, Minnie,” Sam said. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Charlene nodded at her housekeeper. “Thanks!”

“Where are you from, Sam?” her mother asked. “Is that a New York accent I hear?”

“It is,” he said. “But I consider Salem my home.”

“Charlene loves it here,” her father said.

“Coming from Chicago”—Sam winked at Charlene—“our winter shouldn’t scare her away.” He smiled at her, his expression challenging. He unbuttoned his coat but didn’t take it off. Could he feel the cold emanating from Jack?

“Quite the opposite. I’d like some snow for Christmas, if that’s not too much to ask.” Charlene added a splash of coffee to her cup to warm it.

“How are you folks holding up after the accident last night?” Sam searched their faces with concern.

Her mom straightened her red-framed glasses and pursed her mouth. “Well, it was a shame, I don’t mind saying. One minute David’s pouring champagne, and the next minute he’s dashing out the door, calling some man’s name.”

“Zane,” her father said. “David seemed perturbed at his pretty, young wife over some guy named Zane.”

Sam arched a brow in her direction for explanation.

“It’s true that David was upset about Zane, but just before he ran out, he was yelling Freddy, and then Doug. He seemed shocked.” Like he’d seen a ghost—not that Sam would appreciate that comparison.

Her mother reached for the handle on her mug, but Jack had rotated it so that it was on the other side. She scowled, and turned it back.

“Do you know any of the three?” Sam nudged his cup aside.

Charlene shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Sorry, but no. They weren’t dinner guests, that I’m aware of.”

Sam brought out his notepad and pen. “Who was there, that you do remember?”

A list-maker herself, Charlene visualized the room, starting from the back. “Tori, who flirted with the bartender, Brandy, Evelyn, Theo, Kevin, Amy—I forgot her last name, but Kevin can tell you—oh, the people from Felicity House, who ran the auction, uh, Alice and Pamela, Sharon and her husband, John.”

“Sharon?” Sam repeated in a deep voice.

“Turnberry. Her husband was the first one to run out and check on David, after . . .”

“Who else?”

“David’s son,” her mom chimed in. “Kyle. And Jessica, the waitress who lucked out at Felicity House, and another girl who dropped a plate. She had one of those things in her nose—you know?”

“A nose ring?” Sam asked.

“Is that what it’s called? Rings are for fingers and earrings for ears, not cheeks and eyebrows.” Her mother took off her glasses and frowned. “What is the world coming to?”

Nobody answered. Charlene snapped her fingers, getting on with the list. “Avery from Felicity House . . . and Vincent Lozzi—David’s business partner. From what I gathered, they disagreed on the amount of the check. They almost got into a fistfight, but then Vincent left.”

“Still mad?” Sam asked with interest.

“Definitely.” She wadded her paper napkin, wondering if Vincent had returned to the restaurant after Jessica called him for help.

Sam made a note—what was he writing? She wanted to be helpful and give him useful information, not gossip or speculation.

She crossed her ankles beneath her chair and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Sam, there had to be another dozen people there that I don’t know, but Jessica might, or Alice, from the auction. It’s why we were all there.” To help the kids.

Jack said, “Remind him about the checks, and David wanting to be Santa.”

Charlene nodded without acknowledging Jack and told Sam, “It was like David had a Santa wish—he was handing out envelopes with checks for certain people. Not for his son, though—which Kyle thought was unfair.”

“Oh?” Sam’s head stayed down as he added more, then flipped to a fresh page.

“Yeah, it was awkward because not everybody got one—and some didn’t seem pleased by the amount they’d received.” She exchanged a look with Jack, still seated next to her mother. Not just playing Santa, but making a point. Now they’d never know what it was. “Vincent for sure, and Alice, the director from Felicity house. Whatever had happened there really rocked her world, in a bad way.”

Sam glanced across the table at her. “Did you get an envelope?”

“No, I was there to donate for the charity.” She thought for a sec. “Jessica got one too. She seemed happy, though. Two thousand, I think it was.”

“The wine ladies got one,” her mom said.

Her dad cleared his throat. “The son, Kyle, asked if he was getting a check, and his dad said something about business but that he’d take care of family later. The kid didn’t seem to believe it. He left early, too, in a huff.”

Sam scanned his notepad. “Kyle, that’s David’s son from his first marriage, right?”

Charlene cupped her hands around her coffee mug. Kyle had said he’d wanted to talk to his dad, but his dad hadn’t had time. She’d seen for herself the dismissive way David had treated Kyle, as well as Avery. Being a neglectful father wasn’t illegal, unfortunately.

Her mom squinted at the place Jack sat and shivered, then gave a dramatic sigh. “On my true crime shows, it’s usually the wife who wants the husband dead.”

“Lucky guy,” her dad observed. “Peace at last.”

Her mom tossed a bagel crumb at him. “Hush.”

Jack’s laughter could only be heard by her and Silva, who jumped off the windowsill to sit by Jack’s chair. The cat tried to leap into Jack’s lap, and Jack disappeared with a frizzle of energy that Charlene was surprised nobody else could see or feel.

Silva, back arched, hissed and raced from the dining room.

Charlene hid her amusement from their antics the best she could by sipping her coffee.

“Anything else?” Sam asked. “Did you see the scene at all, before the ambulance arrived? Broken glass, or a piece of plastic?”

She recalled the bare road, the streetlamp. “David’s glasses had been knocked off his face, but I don’t remember them in the street on our way out.”

“Let me see if he had them at the hospital.” Another quick scribble was added to the paper. “Forensics might need to talk to you. You have my number if you remember something.” Sam closed his notebook and tucked it back in his jacket pocket. His casual pose, his arm on the armrest, let her know he was done with his interview. “I got word that I’ll need to be in New York all day on Friday for a court case.”

Disappointment welled. “Oh no! Will you be back for Christmas Eve? I’m making a prime rib.”

Sam smiled and finished his joe. “I’ll do my best. Crime seems to pick up around the holidays . . . but this is an old case that requires my testimony to put the bad guy away.”

“I understand.” His dedication was one of the things she admired most about Sam.

Charlene’s mom gave him a pointed look. “What about David’s killer? It’s a horrible thing driving off like that. They were probably drunk.”

Sam rose to his full height, well over six feet, and nodded at her mother. “We can’t speculate, ma’am. Drunk or not, it’s a felony hit-and-run. We’ll find the person responsible.”

“You inquire into the wife, now,” her mom said, as if she’d gone to the police academy or something. Charlene sucked in a breath, but her dad handled it.

“Brenda, Tori was with us the whole time!” Her dad smoothed a hand over his mostly bald head. “This is serious.”

Her mom’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “Michael Woodbridge, I will have you know that I am a very good judge of character. And that woman is no better than she has to be. Flashing her diamonds around.” Her mom wagged her finger at Sam. “Just see. Maybe she hired someone.”

She hated to give her mother credence, but she couldn’t get David’s angst out of her mind. “You might want to ask Tori about Zane,” Charlene suggested. “David seemed pretty upset about something between them last night. A text, I think.”

“I’ve given up asking how you know things,” Sam declared. He touched his jacket pocket and the notebook as if to assure her he was on it. “I will review everybody on this list.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Charlene escorted him to the foyer, leaving her mom glowering at her dad in the dining room.

“Your mom is a character,” Sam said when they paused by the closed front door. “I’m glad you warned me.”

Charlene gestured behind her and laughed. “That was nothing. She was on her best behavior.”

“I have the feeling that if I don’t hurry up and catch the killer, I won’t be invited for Christmas Eve.” His brown eyes flashed with humor.

“It’s still my house, Sam. You’re invited. I’d love for you to come.”

He chuckled. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Taking my folks down to the wharf. They like to window-shop and buy souvenirs. Mom collects coffee mugs on her travels.”

Sam tipped her chin up. “Have fun, Charlene. The time will pass before you know it.”

She could have gotten lost in his compelling gaze, but she pulled herself free and opened the door, walking with Sam out to the white porch. Bless him, but that man was made for jeans—since he had his back to her as he took the steps, she looked her fill and then waved as he drove off. Only ten days left until her parents went back to Chicago. Ten days of nagging from her mom and sweetness from her dad. She’d focus on the good.