Читать книгу Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past - Traci Wilton - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

Charlene and her parents strolled a few blocks, admiring all of the beautiful holiday displays in the windows. Her mom had purchased mugs for her bridge group back home, and her dad carried the bag. The briny smell of the wharf competed with the scent of dark roast from the coffee shop on the corner.

They crossed the street to the bookstore, which was directly across the road from Vintage Treasures. Archie Higgins had decorated the front picture window with an antique Santa doll, and wooden elves worked on miniature toys in Santa’s workshop amid fake snow. Salem’s streets, however, remained bare.

“I want to see what kind of books they’ve got,” her dad said, opening the door to Bartholomew’s Bookstore. “I might do some reading on the history around here.”

“You’re welcome to read the books I have on the bookshelf by the stairs, Dad.” She’d collected some wonderful true Salem tales.

He murmured something agreeable, and her mom followed him in.

Her phone dinged and she read a text from Kevin.

Don’t forget the Winter Solstice party at Kass’s on the 21st! Amy and I hope you can come. We’ll be burning a yule log on the beach afterward.

It hadn’t taken Charlene long to realize that Salem, famous for its witches, had a large Wiccan population. Kevin had given her a lot of information about modern witches and had told her that while they practiced witchcraft and spells, they were normal people doing everyday things: shop owners, history professors, people you bumped into every day. She’d also learned that they celebrated the seasons and had their own calendar for holidays. Winter Solstice, or Yuletide, welcomed the rebirth of God on the longest night of the year, and practitioners gave thanks and made merry, by lighting a fire to usher in the light.

Charlene reread the text, noticing his phrasing, “Amy and I.” Did that mean Kevin was serious about her? If so, Charlene really wanted to meet her. She texted back, That’s still three days away and my parents are here—can I let you know?

No problem. Any word on what happened to David?

Charlene drew in a breath and shuffled her feet as a cold wind snuck down the back of her jacket. Just that he died from the hit-and-run. It’s a felony. She thought of Kyle, who’d left angrily, with good reason, and was now at the police station. Was there a chance that the accident was no accident? Have a great day—and it was nice to meet Amy.

She peeked into the bookstore, the bell above the door ringing. Her parents were on opposite ends of the shop, each engrossed.

With a wave to the clerk, she ducked back out and retrieved the phone number and address for Linda Farris, Kyle’s mom, that Jessica had given her.

Should she call and offer her condolences? The woman must be at her wits’ end. Charlene thought of how David hadn’t even noticed his son was gone last night, and how hurt Kyle had been at being excluded.

But did that mean he’d come back and run his father over with his motorcycle?

The bike had been loud; she’d noticed it when Kyle had first arrived at Bella’s restaurant last night. It was loud enough to be heard over the clamor of the party.

She hadn’t heard that roar before David had been hit, and she didn’t want to believe that Kyle could be capable of taking his own father’s life.

David might not have been a saint, but she’d found him outgoing and even charming—a hard worker. But as she’d observed, that didn’t translate into being a good father or husband. Had he cheated on Linda with Tori?

Since moving to Salem, her Midwestern sensibilities had collided with reality. Real life was actually very messy, with human beings not behaving at their best. Every day people had affairs, or cheated, or lied, and they all had justifications, as if that made them right.

It made her realize that the life she’d shared with Jared had truly been special. Perhaps she’d been naïve, but she cherished the memories. Maybe that was why she struggled with letting him go.

Charlene blew out a breath of frosty air and took off her mitten to tap in the numbers on her phone’s keyboard. She’d just leave a message, sharing her condolences. Surely Linda would be busy—maybe even at the station with Kyle.

The phone rang and to her surprise, a woman answered in clipped tones. “I’m not interested in talking to the press.” The call ended without Charlene having a chance to introduce herself.

Why on earth would Linda be hounded by the press?

Her gaze drifted toward the direction of the police station, where she imagined Kyle might be. Had Sam arrested him for running over David? No! No. No.

Her mom exited the bookstore with a scowl, informing Charlene, “Your dad is dabbling in witchcraft. No good can come of that. What is Father Benedict going to say?”

Her dad followed, grinning like he’d scored an extra dessert.

“What did you find, Dad?”

In addition to the mugs he’d been carrying, he now had a heavy green and red paper bag. He lifted it to show Charlene—the top book was about Salem’s history in witchcraft and spells for the modern practitioner.

Her mom mumbled her disapproval and hurried down the sidewalk.

Because her mother wasn’t waiting for them, he also showed her the book underneath. The latest Dan Brown, his favorite author.

They shared a smile. So far as rebellions went, she had to give her dad credit. “You can leave that with me at the bed-and-breakfast when you go home, if you want,” she said. “My guests might be interested in it. Unless you’re planning some midnight mojo? Winter Solstice is in a few days, and I’ve been invited to a party if you want to come.”

“The clerk inside was telling me all about it—mistletoe, yule logs, wine and food, candles—he said that Christians incorporated the ancient celebration to get the pagans to convert. You should have seen your mother’s ears turn red! Sounds smart to me. And what’s wrong with giving thanks before a fire? I plan on doing that when we get back to your house.”

One of his favorite places was the love seat before the fire, a blanket over his lap and Silva at his side.

“Mom doesn’t do change,” Charlene said as they kept in sync down the sidewalk. “And spending the holiday here has her well out of her comfort zone.”

“You can’t grow unless you stretch your wings a little, and while I might be in my seventies, I have plenty yet to see.” They reached the Pilot, where her mom waited with her arms crossed, her toe tapping.

“That’s the best attitude, Dad.” She couldn’t imagine her parents actually gone.

“What are you two whispering about?” her mom snapped.

“We aren’t whispering anything, Mom.” Charlene pressed on her key fob and unlocked the doors. “Let’s go home and have some hot chocolate. Did you buy a book too?”

Her mother relaxed her shoulders after buckling her seat belt. “I found a book by Ann Rule that I haven’t read before.”

The Pilot was parked so it faced Vintage Treasures. “I don’t know how you can read those true crime books and still sleep at night.” Charlene laughed as she turned on the engine. Archie waved at her from his window, looking a little like Santa himself, his half-glasses on the bridge of his nose, red suspenders holding up his slacks beneath a round belly.

She lifted her hand to him and pulled onto the road, gesturing to the shop. “That’s the place I got my telescope for the widow’s walk.”

“You’ve done a beautiful job decorating your business,” her mom said.

Charlene waited for a jab, but nothing came. She accepted the rare compliment without strings and turned on the radio for Christmas music.

The three of them sang along the whole way home.

She helped her dad with their packages, and they entered the house. The spicy scent of chili wafted toward them. Minnie was amazing, plain and simple.

Out of nowhere, Jack appeared on her left in a flash of blue light, and she gasped in surprise. It had been a while since he’d startled her like that.

“Ja—” Charlene bit her tongue and set her parents’ packages on the bottom step of the stairs. “Just make yourselves at home,” she managed, avoiding looking at Jack, though it was difficult because her handsome roommate flickered in and out of clarity, as if he was very upset or excited about something.

“Charlene,” Jack said urgently, “I was watching television and . . .”

She wanted to hear what he had to say, but he had to wait until she could meet him in her suite, so she raised her hand to Jack as she faced her parents. “I’m going to change my boots for slippers. You two could do the same? I’ll meet you in the living room.”

“What about that chili?” Her dad rubbed his hands together as he stepped toward the kitchen, and her suite. “Is Minnie here? Can I get a bowl?”

“Just hang on a sec, okay, Dad? Minnie left already—I can help you.”

“Charlene,” Jack said. “You have to listen to me. Your detective was on the television.”

She tuned out Jack to focus on her dad, who was insisting he could serve himself without making a mess of her kitchen.

“It’s not that, Dad.” She could feel Jack’s tension like a cold tsunami and it wasn’t pleasant.

“Charlene.” Her mom entered the fray with a raised tone that meant business. “We don’t require anybody waiting on us.” She bypassed the stairs and her packages for the kitchen. “If your dad wants some chili, I can get it for him.”

What she wanted was privacy to speak with Jack, and her mom might overhear her if she and her dad didn’t go upstairs.

Jack brushed his hand across her back and her body broke out in shivers, making her teeth chatter. They were going to have a serious discussion later about boundaries, she thought.

“It’s for the guests,” she said quickly. “We have to make sure they have something when they arrive.”

Her parents backed up a step with understanding. “Ohhhh,” her mom said.

Now she felt bad for making up an excuse—she just needed a minute! “We can all have a bowl, as long as we make sure that there is plenty for the Garcias.”

“I’m sorry, Charlene,” her dad said. “I forgot that this is a business. It’s so cozy, I think of it as your home. We don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It is my home, and you are welcome. Just give me ten minutes, okay?”

Her mom picked up one bag and took a step. Her father chose the heavier bag of books and climbed after her.

She waited until they were out of earshot before going to the pot on the stove that had been left on simmer. There was more than enough.

The clock on the stove blinked four p.m., which gave Charlene three hours before the Garcias showed up.

“Plenty of time to get everyone situated. Okay, Jack—tell me, what are you saying about Sam?”

“He was being interviewed by a reporter, that cute one from Channel 7?”

“Jack, hurry,” she said, eyeing the hall to the stairs. Her parents could be back any second. She understood that he was trapped in the house; his favorite thing to do while she was gone was to watch the news or Netflix medical documentaries. She didn’t point out that his ghostly hands probably wouldn’t save lives in the real world, but he loved learning.

“Sam asked for drivers crossing Crown Point Road and Duval from ten to midnight to call the hotline. He has a team of officers going over camera footage at the intersection, and he’d like to rule out possible suspects.”

Jack’s energy waned in and out, allowing her to see the sink behind him, right through him. She brought her gaze to his face.

“That sounds smart to me.” Crown Point Road led up to her house, and Duval was the other cross street by Bella’s. She lifted the lid on the pot and stirred the chili with a wooden spoon. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing.” Jack lifted his shoulder smugly as if his news had been worth almost giving his presence away.

Exasperated, she set the spoon down harder than she meant to on the stove. “Nothing new, so please, no more games!”

“Charlene, don’t be mad.” Jack faded to a gray tone, like a sepia photo. It required energy for him to manifest for her.

“Let me take care of my parents and my guests. I’ll talk to you later.” She regretted her abrupt tone.

Offended, he said, “Sorry to bother you.” Jack disappeared in a cold snap of air.

“Jack!”

But he was gone. She quickly ladled out two generous bowls of chili, cut squares of cornbread, and got the dish of butter from the pantry. She loaded everything on a tray for the dining room and met her mother and father coming down the stairs. “Here you are—Minnie must have made a double batch.”

“Why are you making dinner for people? You can’t make money feeding everybody,” her mom said.

Charlene exhaled and counted to ten. “It isn’t something advertised—that’s just the full breakfast on the weekends, but I want to make people feel welcome, and food is part of that. I offer an afternoon coffee or tea, with cookies or scones. Sometimes we have cocktails or dessert, depending.”

“I like it,” her dad said, going into the dining room. “And it isn’t that different from when you entertain, Brenda. Remember when we were first married and didn’t have two cents to rub together? Somehow you still made amazing meals. Good food doesn’t have to cost a lot, and I’m sure our Charlene knows what she’s doing.”

Her mom sat at the foot of the dining table. She’d switched her red framed glasses for green. “Will you tell us if you need help, Charlene?”

She imagined the strings that would entail, and to herself said, hell no, but she smiled gamely. “Sure. But I don’t, so don’t worry.”

“I do worry—I think we need to call in someone to check the insulation on this place—your heating bill must be atrocious. I am constantly feeling a draft.”

Charlene realized that her mom was feeling Jack; no amount of extra insulation would help with that. “I am fine.”

“Join us?” her dad asked. He’d taken the chair to her mother’s right.

Charlene hid her impatience. “Let me get a bowl.” She hurried back to the kitchen and dished out a tiny bit of delicious chili. She couldn’t see Jack, or sense him either, but wanted to apologize.

“Jack?” she whispered.

“Charlene! Will you bring another piece of cornbread? Mine is too crumbly. Cut it toward the edge, not the center,” her mother called from the dining room.

Ugh. Charlene grabbed the pan and the knife, along with her own chili, and went to keep her parents company.

Her mom insisted on doing the dishes afterward, and Charlene let her just so she could catch a break and check her business e-mail and phone. No messages. Jack was also absent.

At five, she was going to suggest settling down for a movie when a knock rattled the front door. Giggles sounded from the porch.

She’d been working at the kitchen table and now closed her laptop to answer. Her parents hovered by the stairs. “Go wait in the living room, okay? No helping with the luggage or offering to show them around. You’re also guests, got it?”

Her dad’s shoulders slumped.

Her mom sniffed and shot her chin high, slinking into the living room. “Fine. We’ll stay out of the way. You don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Mom—it’s not personal,” she whispered. A louder knock pounded.

She opened the door and put on her most welcoming smile. “Hi! You must be Andy and Teresa? I’m Charlene.”

“Sorry we’re early, is that okay? We got a head start driving from New York—and I’d allotted more time for potty breaks,” Andy said. The pair were in their thirties: Andy, dark haired to Teresa’s blond, and the girls each had a golden mix that seemed a blend of both parents.

“Come in! I’m glad your travels were uneventful,” she said.

“I’m Teresa.” The woman shouldered her purse, a little girl on either side of her body. “And this”—she nudged the daughter on her left forward—“is Emily.”

“I’m seven,” Emily said with a serious expression in her round brown eyes.

“I’m Maddie!” The other little girl grinned—the opposite of her sister.

“Maddie’s five,” Teresa said. “Our little chatterbox.”

“Mom,” Maddie giggled. “I am not.”

“Are too,” Emily whispered, glancing at Charlene from a fall of golden bangs.

The family shuffled into the foyer. Andy gestured to his car, parked next to Charlene’s in the wide driveway. She had a garage to the right of the house, but she hadn’t put her Pilot away for the night yet. “Is that all right?”

“That’s fine. Did you want to get your luggage now? Or I can show you around and you can bring it in later.” She’d given them the center suite, spacious enough for a family.

“Let’s get the girls settled first,” Andy said.

As they went to the stairs leading up, Charlene noticed her parents watching avidly from the love seat in the living room. No doubt her mother would have pointers for her later.

“I hope you all like chili—I’ve got some on the stove, if you’re hungry—with cornbread.”

“I like cookies better,” Maddie said.

“You’re in luck.” Charlene reached the landing and turned left to the middle door. “Minnie makes the best cookies in Salem.”

After the family settled in, she offered them bowls of chili, a platter of cornbread, and then a dish of cookies. Her parents were resting in their room, tired from the long night before. Charlene kept the Garcias company, offering advice as to what they should see and do. “I know it’s dark, but the Pedestrian Mall and harbor shops will still be open until nine.”

Andy and Teresa thanked her, bundled their girls up, and herded them out the door. “We’ll let them run off some energy,” Andy said as they left.

Charlene speed-walked from the foyer to her suite, closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Jack?”

Nothing.

How long could he give her the very cold shoulder?

Switching the television on to lure Jack out, Charlene sat at her narrow desk and reached for her ivory notepad. Sam had been so specific about times. David had been hit before eleven, she was fairly sure. She’d looked at her watch at ten thirty.

Doodling circles was like meditation for her and she edged the notepad in swirls.

Would Sam cross off the people at the restaurant? Nobody had left the party at that time. Vincent and Kyle had gone earlier. She doodled skid marks and wondered if there were any on the road, but she hadn’t heard anyone slamming on the brakes, or a squeal of tires. Just a thump, and then . . .

She put the pad aside and logged on to some popular social media sites, curious about Kyle. She’d felt sorry for him that night, a tough kid on the outside, just wanting to talk to his dad. He wasn’t very active, but in his photos, he was always drinking (underage) and partying.

What about Tori—was she really a homewrecker? Ah—there was more on her, since her move to Salem from Boston and her marriage to David.

Thirty years old. Most of her pictures were taken at the gym. Very fit.

So, what about David’s first wife? Linda Farris had been so defensive on the phone earlier, not giving Charlene a chance to even say hi. Google offered two sites of information, but Linda hadn’t posted anything in years. Her picture showed a tired blonde with a wary smile. She worked at Salem Hospital and had been there for five years.

Noises sounded from down the hall, outside her room—time to stop snooping into poor David’s life. “Jack?” Nothing. How long could he hold a grudge, anyway?

Children’s laughter echoed down the hall to her room. Charlene closed her laptop and left her suite.

As she headed to the living room and the sound of voices, she straightened a figurine on the bookshelf, admired her silver shell planter in the foyer. In the living room, her dad sat on the velvet armchair with Silva on his lap; Maddie and Emily listened as her dad shared a story.

The family scene brought her to a halt. She was overcome with sorrow for what might have been. If she and Jared had only had children, these might be her daughters, listening to their grandfather so raptly.

She’d want them to have blond curls, like Jared, she thought, her nose stinging. Or maybe Jared’s dimples. God, she missed him. She sucked in a deep breath to keep her emotions in check, and cleared her throat before entering the living room as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey, guys.” She heard the hoarseness in her voice. “Can I get you anything?”

Her dad looked up at her tone. “I am very content, Charlene,” he said. “Aren’t you, girls?”

“This is the best place ever,” Maddie enthused as she pet the cat. “Can we take Silva home?”

“You can’t do that,” Emily argued. “Silva belongs to Charlene. Right?”

Oddly enough, she’d never wanted a cat, but she couldn’t imagine her life without Silva. “Right.” She quickly shared the story of how Silva had hitchhiked from Chicago on her moving van.

Her dad burst out laughing. “Guess she really wanted to be with you, honey.”

“Why did you call her honey?” Maddie stood on her tiptoes to lean closer to Charlene’s dad.

He settled back in the chair. “She’s my daughter.”

Maddie and Emily scrutinized Charlene to see if this was true.

“He’s right,” she confirmed, drawn forward into their sphere.

“Do you have kids? Like us?” Maddie asked.

The bitter sorrow, always just beneath the surface, stung her throat. “I don’t. I wish I did.” She touched her heart-shaped gold and diamond earrings, Jared’s last gift to her. If only . . . but “if only” wouldn’t change things, and the past needed to stay in the past.

Her dad caressed her hand in understanding. When would the pain go away?

Silva’s ears perked as Jack manifested before the fireplace. Something in Charlene eased at his ghostly presence. She turned her back to her dad and the girls, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Jack said aloud since nobody could hear him but her. “Any chance you can meet me later for a glass of wine? You look like you need to unwind.”

She put her hand over her heart with a grateful nod—Jack knew just how to make her feel as if things would be okay, and she’d learned that sometimes it had to be enough.