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Synopsis
Salem, Massachusetts B&B owner Charlene Morris is looking into a holiday hit-and-run, with a little help from her ghostly housemate . . . Charlene’s parents are in town for Christmas, and her mother is driving her up a tree. Her bed-and-breakfast’s resident ghost, Jack, isn’t fond of her either—and he’s showing it with some haunting high jinks. But when Charlene takes her mom and dad out for dinner, the less-than-seasonal spirits take a deadly turn. David Baldwin has just won a fortune in the lottery—and it adds a lot of drama to the charity auction he’s hosting at his restaurant. When he caps off the evening by playing Santa and handing out checks to some of the attendees, the mood shifts . . . and Charlene observes mysterious tensions between David and his flashy, bleached-blonde wife, his neglected teenage son from a previous marriage, and his hostile business partner, among others. And they’re only a few on the long list of potential suspects when David runs into the road and is mowed down by a fleeing motorist. Now it looks like it’s going to be homicide for the holidays . . .
Release date: September 29, 2020
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 304
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Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past
Traci Wilton
It was dark at seven thirty, the 17th of December, when Charlene Morris entered Bella’s Italian Ristorante with her parents, Brenda and Michael Woodbridge. Her frayed nerves required some serious holiday cheer, and tonight’s charity auction to support the Felicity House for Children was exactly what she needed. Her mother had been with her for only two days, and it was two days too long.
David Baldwin, the manager and maître d’, greeted her with a broad smile. She’d eaten at Bella’s many times in the three months since she’d moved to Salem from Chicago and liked it so much that she recommended it to all of her customers at Charlene’s Bed and Breakfast.
“Charlene!” David crooned, arms outstretched to give her a hug. “So nice to see you again.” He had a natural charm, salt and pepper hair, black glasses, and a slight paunch in his black suit that revealed his love for pasta.
Her mother eyed David with interest, until her gaze landed on his thick gold wedding band.
From the podium, Charlene peered into the restaurant. Each of the round tables had been decorated with a candle and pine centerpiece. Baskets of auction items sparkled with red and green bows on long folding tables set up against the walls. Savory Italian spices wafted from the kitchen. Half the price of every meal purchased tonight was to be donated to Felicity House, and Bella’s was packed.
“David, this place looks great. Really festive.” The décor, and the cause, kindled her holiday spirit.
“It’s all about the kids tonight,” David said cheerfully. She’d read the big news in the local paper that he’d won the lottery last week. Would she still be at work if she’d won ten million?
Maybe—she loved her bed-and-breakfast, which had come with a resident ghost. Until three months ago, she’d never believed in such things, but Dr. Jack Strathmore was part of the reason she required some cheer. He wasn’t fond of her mother—and though he’d promised to never disturb the guests, he couldn’t seem to help himself around Brenda. He moved her boots just out of reach and kept hiding her reading glasses. He even put salt in the water she used for her false teeth.
His antics were mostly innocent and sweetly protective but had to stop—she couldn’t call him out in front of her parents, as he was visible only to her, or she’d look like she’d lost her mind, and they’d never leave.
“I’m glad we reserved early,” she said to David. “You have a good crowd.”
A metal rack in the doorway handled the surplus of coats for the evening. They handed theirs to an orange-haired teenager Charlene hadn’t seen before—a new hire?
David flung his arm toward the ten-seat bar at the rear of the restaurant. “We have a lot of supporters here for Felicity House. Even my wife has graced us with her presence.” He pointed at a petite bleached-blond woman in a gold sparkling sheath who leaned her elbow on the bar to chat with the bartender. “I’ll bring her by later to introduce you, Charlene.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
David peered over the rims of his black glasses as he studied her mom and dad. “Are these your parents? I think I see a resemblance.” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “No, no, this young lady must be your sister.”
Her mother tittered like a Victorian maiden—all she needed was a fan. “Oh, you sly fox. I’m Brenda, her mother.”
Her father reached out his hand. “Michael Woodbridge.”
“David Baldwin, manager and part owner of this lovely establishment.”
Part owner? Charlene hadn’t realized he’d been so invested in Bella’s. Would he buy the place now that he had millions, or sell his investment and move on?
“You must be so proud of Charlene,” David said. “Her bed-and-breakfast is an outstanding piece of property.”
Her father nodded, while her mother had to think about it before she said, “It is beautiful, I’ll give you that, but we miss having her in Chicago.”
David chose three menus and gestured at Jessica, waitressing tonight. Charlene genuinely liked the young woman, who had just become a physical therapist, from very humble beginnings.
She’d lobbed her cocoa-brown hair to a new style at her shoulders and greeted them cheerily as she took the menus from David. “Hi, Charlene. Glad you all could come tonight. Should be a fun evening.” Jessica patted her red half apron. “You must be Charlene’s parents—she said you’d be her dates. It’s going to be super busy, so get your bids in early.”
“I’ve put Charlene and her family by this first window,” David said, pointing to his right.
“Perfect.” Jessica touched David’s arm. “Tori wants you.”
David’s expression dimmed slightly, but he kept his smile. “Enjoy your dinner. Be sure to look over the raffles and auction items—let’s give these kids a holiday to remember.” He moved on, wending his way through the crowded restaurant, pausing at various tables to say hello on his way to the bar.
“This way.” Jessica bypassed an oval table for two at the very front of the restaurant to the next round table, which had a merry view of the Christmas lights outside the window. She could see the two-lane street, bare of snow, and the strip of businesses across the road—none open. A giant red Santa holding a toothbrush twinkled from the dental office.
Jessica handed them each a menu once they sat down, pointing out the auction items listed on a sheet of green paper bordered with holly. “You’ll see that Charlene donated a stay at her bed-and-breakfast.”
“She’s always had a generous nature.” Pride emanated from her dad as he looked at Jessica over his menu. “Charlene was in first grade when she donated her tooth fairy money to a kid in her class with leukemia. We added a check for more, of course.”
“Dad, no embarrassing stories, you promised,” she said with a laugh. When Jessica had approached her last month for a donation and explained about the kids at Felicity House, she’d welcomed the chance to give a weeklong stay, and in the process had gotten to know Jessica and Jessica’s success story—all because of Felicity House.
“It’s going to raise a lot of money,” Jessica assured her. “Can I start you off with some drinks?”
“Merlot for me, please,” Charlene said. “The house wine is superb. Mom, Dad?”
“Let’s get a carafe for the table,” her father suggested.
“I suppose,” her mom conceded, and then removed her red-framed glasses to gaze at Jessica. “We’ll need some bread too. Before the drinks?”
“Absolutely.” Jessica hurried to the kitchen.
Charlene had taken the chair closest to the window so her mom couldn’t complain about a draft. It also gave her the advantage of seeing everyone in the room dressed up for the event.
Kevin, the scruffy blond bartender from Brews and Broomsticks, wore a navy suit and sat hip to hip at a table with a woman Charlene hadn’t met before—girl-next-door pretty, with long light brown hair. Even from across the room, Kevin looked besotted. She hoped he was on a date. Around Halloween, he’d hinted at an attraction to her, which she’d ignored, though he was cute, kind, and funny.
Charlene’s husband, Jared, hadn’t even been gone two years. Her heart was not quite as raw, thanks to a certain gorgeous ghost and a very much alive detective, Sam Holden of the Salem Police Department. Sam had invited her out numerous times, but she’d always declined. Her heart wasn’t ready yet.
Charlene spotted Brandy and Evelyn Flint sharing a table with Theo Rowlings, and whispered to her parents, “See the auburn-haired woman near the baskets, with the silver-haired lady?”
They both turned to look.
“They own Flint Wineries and can trace their ancestry back hundreds of years in Salem, which is very important to the locals,” she said. “They supply the house wine here at Bella’s, as well as my label for ‘Charlene’s.’”
“I’d like to see the winery,” her mother said. “Do they offer tours?”
“I can ask.” Charlene wouldn’t mind a peek behind the scenes.
Jessica dropped off a selection of breadsticks, a sliced baguette, and a dish of savory oil for dipping. “I’ll be right back with your wine. One of our servers called in sick so we have Avery, from Felicity House, stepping in to help out. She’s very new, so please be patient.”
“Don’t worry—we’re not in any hurry,” Charlene reassured Jessica.
Her mother picked up a thin, crisp sesame breadstick and broke it in half, not interested in any excuses. “This is hard, and it’s cold.”
“A breadstick is hard, Mother.” A loud laugh came from the back and Charlene turned toward the sound.
“Tori.” Jessica barely bothered to hide her dislike of David’s wife as she smoothed her hair behind her ear. “She keeps the bartender’s attention, which slows the drink orders—but I can get your wine myself.”
Her mother perked up at the hint of drama and craned her neck to get a glimpse of Tori, who bared a lot of thigh. “Hmm. She’s a hot one. Second marriage?”
Jessica shifted the empty tray from one hand to the other. “I think for both of them. David has a son just a few years younger than me.”
“No offense,” her mother said, which always made Charlene cringe, “but I bet his new wife is about your age too.”
Jessica’s eyes rounded in surprise at Charlene’s mother’s bluntness. “Uh, maybe . . . let me get that wine.”
After the waitress was out of earshot, Charlene said, “Mom, do you have to be so critical?” She tapped the laminated menu. “Why don’t you decide what you want to eat?”
Charlene leaned back in her chair and exchanged a glance with her father. He was unaffected—having decades of practice at ignoring his wife’s negativity. There had been a time when her mom hadn’t been so hard. What had changed? Charlene had memories of her mother being happy. Now it seemed bitterness seeped from every pore. Charlene had escaped, but her dad? How did he handle it day and night, years on end?
“Maybe breadsticks are supposed to be hard, but these are enough to break my teeth.” Brenda dropped the half-eaten stick to her bread plate.
“Dip it in your water,” her dad suggested, going back to the menu.
He couldn’t be serious! “Try the baguette.” Charlene offered her mom the basket. “And the oil.” The girl who had taken their coats rushed by and accidentally bumped the back of Charlene’s seat. She was pale, skinny, and utterly out of place in a too-big apron. Avery from Felicity House, Charlene guessed. A spider tattoo was visible on the back of her neck.
Her mother pointed in the direction of the bar and David’s wife. “Look at her ring. Can you believe she’s flashing that gaudy thing around? I bet she bought herself some new jewelry with David’s lottery money. New wealth makes a person trashy. They can’t help it. They gotta buy, buy, buy just to show it off.”
“And you know this how?” Charlene folded her burgundy cloth napkin across her lap before she strangled her mother with it.
“I watch the crime shows,” her mom said with a huff that stretched her green plaid sweater across her ample top half, above her stilt-thin legs—her mother’s figure reminded Charlene of a long-legged bird. Not a flamingo, but a crane, maybe, that had to make trouble to get anyone to notice her at all. The thought surprised Charlene, and she felt a sudden spurt of tenderness toward her mother, who, at seventy-five, wouldn’t be around forever.
Her balding father’s black reading glasses were poised on the edge of his long nose. He embodied the art professor he’d been for half a century as he scanned the menu.
Life had cruelly taught her that death could happen at any time.
The candles on the tables flickered when the restaurant door opened again, bringing with it a rush of cold air. Sharon Turnberry, a faux-redhead, and her husband, John, arrived, and Jessica seated them on the opposite side of the room. Charlene waved at the manager of Cod and Capers.
Another creak from the front door, another swoosh of cool air, made Charlene shiver as she turned to the podium, where David greeted a short, squat gentleman with dull gray hair and a silver mustache who wore a black trench coat and black cowboy boots. “Vincent. I saved you a table by the bar.”
“You were very mysterious, telling me to be here tonight.” Vincent’s demeanor was hard. “You better not waste my time.”
Jessica returned with the wine. “Here you are. I made it, unscathed,” she said dramatically.
“Who is that?” Charlene asked, subtly pointing at Vincent.
“Oh—Vincent Lozzi. David’s business partner and our ‘silent’ boss.” Jessica, a tray in one hand, used her free fingers to make air quotes. “We don’t see him around that much, but now that David’s won the lottery, you wouldn’t believe the people who’ve oozed from the woodwork. Even one of his old college buddies, he told me.”
Jessica scurried off to assist Vincent. He tossed his jacket over the chair, sat down, and plunked his elbows on the table for one. The co-owner glared at Tori, who waggled her bejeweled fingers at him. He refused to let Jessica hang up his trench coat.
Charlene pulled her gaze from that drama to continue her perusal of the diners—she couldn’t have asked for a better seat.
A plump woman in evergreen velvet, her hair a mousy brownish-gray, smoothed in a bun with a red silk poinsettia tucked in the knot, rubbed her hands together and beamed with pride as she went up and down the length of baskets for the auction. Charlene recognized the rosy cheeks from the photo for Felicity House on the table. The director, Alice Winters.
Her mother held the green paper and pointed to the picture of Jessica. “It says here that our waitress used to live at Felicity House, before she was adopted.”
“That’s true, and she’s also a physical therapist.” Charlene admired the young woman’s drive toward success.
“Why is she working here?” The question was asked in a snide tone that made Charlene twist her napkin.
“I imagine because she wants to, Brenda,” her dad said. “Don’t you dare ask.”
Jessica arrived to take their order, and her mother thawed slightly. “I’ll have the veal parmesan, with a salad.”
“Wonderful choice,” Jessica said, turning to Charlene. “And you?”
“Lobster ravioli. I’ll also have the salad instead of soup. Dad?”
Her father collected their menus. “Chicken scaloppini and pasta fagioli. Thank you.”
“I’ll get these in so you can enjoy your meal by the time the auction starts!” Jessica hustled off, her hair swinging.
Charlene contemplated the barren trees out her window. “Snow sure would be pretty.”
“It’s in the forecast, according to the Weather Channel,” her dad offered.
“If you want snow, you should live in Chicago.” Her mom’s mouth thinned into a red seam.
“I’m happy here, Mom,” Charlene said. “Can’t you be happy for me too?”
“I am! What kind of mother would I be if I wasn’t happy for my own child?”
Jessica arrived with their salads and soup, saving Charlene from having to answer. “Enjoy!” The waitress circled her way to Sharon’s table next.
At precisely eight o’clock, David tugged the lapels of his black suit jacket. “I’d like to introduce Alice Winters and Pamela Avita.”
Pamela, the co-chair for the charity event, was the opposite of dowdy Alice, in a sleek green skirt and fitted jacket, styled black hair, and pearls.
“Now there’s a woman who knows how to dress,” her mom said. “Tori should take notes.”
David had moved the podium so that it faced the diners, and Pamela stood behind it. She was a natural auctioneer, listing each item with a starting bid and creating excitement as she worked the crowd, the patrons generous to the cause of Felicity House. Alice would declare the winner’s name, and Tori, whose gold sequined number showed off her dynamite figure as she paraded before the baskets, delivered the prizes.
They ate during the show, Jessica expertly maneuvering around the action.
Her mom raised her hand to bid on a pair of diamond earrings, which she won, but she lost the mystery box from Vintage Treasures to a woman sitting next to Brandy’s table. Charlene had her eye on a cashmere scarf and gloves but was outbid by Kevin’s dinner date. Her dad put in a lackluster bid on a whale tour, but was more content with his soup.
Before she knew it, all of the items had been presented and Pamela announced the auction a success. Her eyes shone brightly. “I’d like to thank everyone on behalf of Felicity House.”
Alice clapped and the whole room erupted with applause—except for Vincent, who hadn’t bid on a thing as he’d nursed his drink. Whiskey on the rocks?
“Check the website tomorrow for our silent auction winners—the children are so appreciative.” Pamela gracefully returned to her seat with a flip of her head, exposing a large pearl in gold at her ear.
Alice rose, her cheeks as bright as the silk poinsettia in her hair. “Thank you for hosting our event, David. I hope to do this again next year at Bella’s.”
Vincent Lozzi smacked his hand on the table. “We’ll see about that,” he groused.
Charlene’s pulse raced, the show of aggression at odds in the festive atmosphere.
David clenched his hand as he glared at his partner. What was going on?
Alice whispered something to him, and David gathered himself. “I’d like to give my thanks to Jessica,” he said, nodding at Jessica, “for bravely sharing her adoption story. And to all of you for your generosity tonight. We’re just getting started, my friends, and I plan on doing more.”
Charlene applauded, hoping that his windfall would be put to good use. With a promise to herself to help Salem’s at-risk youth, she folded the green sheet with Alice’s name and contact information and put it in her purse.
David, his back to a pouting Tori, gestured for the bartender. “Bring the Dom Pérignon.” He faced the rapt audience. “As some of you know, we have much to celebrate.”
Low laughter and hoots resounded. Ten million dollars was indeed a lot.
“Lottery winners are never happy,” her mother said in a foreboding tone. “They don’t know how to spend their newfound money.”
“Be happy for him, Mom, will you? I wish them the very best.”
The door swung open and Charlene rubbed her arms at the frigid temperature. A young man with dark brown hair and heavy brows unwrapped his scarf and scuffed his motorcycle boots along the small carpet at the entryway next to David’s podium.
Tori saw him and rolled her eyes. “Kyle,” she drawled. “Why am I not surprised?”
David whirled toward the young man. “Son! What are you doing here?”
“I left a message for you earlier, Dad.” He waited by the oval table between Charlene and the door. “I need to talk to you.”
Tori’s mouth puckered like she’d downed sour apple schnapps.
David looked to Jessica. “Jess? Will you see if the kitchen can make up something for Kyle?”
“Don’t bother.” Kyle checked the time on his phone. “Ten on the dot. Kitchen’s closed, right, Dad?”
“It’ll only take a second,” Jessica said. “If you aren’t picky?”
“I don’t want anything but a few minutes of my dad’s time.” Kyle helped himself to the lone chair at the table near Charlene.
Jessica disappeared into the kitchen and the scent of garlic escaped.
A clatter sounded to her right, and Charlene turned. Avery, orange hair quivering, knelt to pick up plate shards around a woman’s high heel. Sauce coated the lady’s shoe and Avery’s apron. “I’m so sorry,” Charlene heard the girl say. She dabbed at the woman’s foot with a table napkin.
“Just get me some water,” the woman snapped. “I’ll clean it myself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl sniffled and kept her head bowed.
Alice took a protective half step in Avery’s direction.
David apologized to the woman but glared at Avery. “Finish up in here. Don’t come back tomorrow,” he said under his breath.
What a terrible way to speak to her—Avery was no more than a child. This was a side to David that Charlene didn’t like.
Kyle, still in his motorcycle jacket, rose, sympathy on his face. He grabbed her arm, but Avery shrugged off his hand. “Don’t, Kyle.”
The teens were friends?
Jessica delivered Perrier and a white linen cloth to the woman with the marinara-doused stiletto, and a plate of pasta with red sauce to Kyle.
David, like a consummate actor, gazed at the jubilant faces before him in the dining room as if his son or Avery didn’t exist.
“You should all have a flute of champagne.” He held his glimmering glass high. “To all of you, for coming here to help Felicity House. Thank you again for your generosity tonight. Cheers!” He snagged Jessica as the young woman tried to pass him toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” He poured Jessica a flute. “Jessica has been with me since I first opened Bella’s five years ago. My thanks, my friend.”
Tori scoffed and twirled her diamond tennis bracelet. Her pettiness diminished her beauty, and Charlene almost felt sorry for David.
“Not only are we gathered for the auction,” David raised his voice, “but I’ve invited some of you here to deliver extra holiday cheer.” He lifted the bottle of Dom and spoke sincerely. “I have not always been the best friend, or husband, or business partner, or father”—he turned to Kyle and then back to the group—“but I want you to know how much you all mean to me.”
He drained his flute and set the glass on the table of unclaimed baskets.
Jessica, standing close to Charlene, sniffled, tears welling in her eyes.
Kyle slurped a forkful of spaghetti, his suspicious gaze on his father.
Tori’s phone dinged and David eyed her with outrage.
“Sorry,” she murmured, quickly reading the text. The light from her diamond ring flashed brightly from the candles on the centerpieces.
“Let me see your phone,” he whispered angrily, reaching for it, his “friends” momentarily forgotten.
“No—it’s nothing.” Tori shifted on her gold heels, pressing buttons as if deleting messages.
“It better not be Zane,” David said, his mustache trembling. “I warned you.”
“David, please,” Tori snarled. “Get on with your show, would you?”
He turned his rigid back to her and pulled a stack of envelopes from the podium.
Who is Zane? Charlene sipped her excellent champagne. This was a madhouse—she couldn’t wait to tell Jack all about it.
David handed an envelope to Jessica, who smiled at him affectionately and slid it into her apron pocket.
He gave one to Brandy and Evelyn Flint, one to Vincent Lozzi—whose anger still simmered judging by the scowl on his face—and another to Alice and Pamela. With each passing check, Tori’s mood deflated. She continually touched her tennis bracelet, as if to assure herself it was still there.
“Is there an envelope for me and Mom, Dad?” Kyle pushed his empty plate aside.
David winced. “Not tonight,” he said. “But I haven’t forgotten you, son.” He went back to the podium and the bottle of champagne, slyly watching from his post.
Vincent opened his envelope and then snorted an ugly laugh. “This is nowhere near what you owe me. I thought you’d be signing it over.” He got to his feet, grabbed his coat, and strode between the tables to David at the podium, hand clenched. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
David didn’t back down. “That amount is fair, and you know why.”
Vincent glared at David and then glanced at Kyle before lowering his fist—racing out the front door on a flurry of cold air.
The others who had received envelopes opened them and peeked inside. Brandy used a butter knife to slit the envelope open. She showed the check to Evelyn with a nod and put it in her purse.
Jessica immediately grabbed a bottle of champagne and started topping off everyone’s glasses. Kyle smirked from the sideline, as if . . .
David Baldwin, the manager and maître d’, greeted her with a broad smile. She’d eaten at Bella’s many times in the three months since she’d moved to Salem from Chicago and liked it so much that she recommended it to all of her customers at Charlene’s Bed and Breakfast.
“Charlene!” David crooned, arms outstretched to give her a hug. “So nice to see you again.” He had a natural charm, salt and pepper hair, black glasses, and a slight paunch in his black suit that revealed his love for pasta.
Her mother eyed David with interest, until her gaze landed on his thick gold wedding band.
From the podium, Charlene peered into the restaurant. Each of the round tables had been decorated with a candle and pine centerpiece. Baskets of auction items sparkled with red and green bows on long folding tables set up against the walls. Savory Italian spices wafted from the kitchen. Half the price of every meal purchased tonight was to be donated to Felicity House, and Bella’s was packed.
“David, this place looks great. Really festive.” The décor, and the cause, kindled her holiday spirit.
“It’s all about the kids tonight,” David said cheerfully. She’d read the big news in the local paper that he’d won the lottery last week. Would she still be at work if she’d won ten million?
Maybe—she loved her bed-and-breakfast, which had come with a resident ghost. Until three months ago, she’d never believed in such things, but Dr. Jack Strathmore was part of the reason she required some cheer. He wasn’t fond of her mother—and though he’d promised to never disturb the guests, he couldn’t seem to help himself around Brenda. He moved her boots just out of reach and kept hiding her reading glasses. He even put salt in the water she used for her false teeth.
His antics were mostly innocent and sweetly protective but had to stop—she couldn’t call him out in front of her parents, as he was visible only to her, or she’d look like she’d lost her mind, and they’d never leave.
“I’m glad we reserved early,” she said to David. “You have a good crowd.”
A metal rack in the doorway handled the surplus of coats for the evening. They handed theirs to an orange-haired teenager Charlene hadn’t seen before—a new hire?
David flung his arm toward the ten-seat bar at the rear of the restaurant. “We have a lot of supporters here for Felicity House. Even my wife has graced us with her presence.” He pointed at a petite bleached-blond woman in a gold sparkling sheath who leaned her elbow on the bar to chat with the bartender. “I’ll bring her by later to introduce you, Charlene.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
David peered over the rims of his black glasses as he studied her mom and dad. “Are these your parents? I think I see a resemblance.” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “No, no, this young lady must be your sister.”
Her mother tittered like a Victorian maiden—all she needed was a fan. “Oh, you sly fox. I’m Brenda, her mother.”
Her father reached out his hand. “Michael Woodbridge.”
“David Baldwin, manager and part owner of this lovely establishment.”
Part owner? Charlene hadn’t realized he’d been so invested in Bella’s. Would he buy the place now that he had millions, or sell his investment and move on?
“You must be so proud of Charlene,” David said. “Her bed-and-breakfast is an outstanding piece of property.”
Her father nodded, while her mother had to think about it before she said, “It is beautiful, I’ll give you that, but we miss having her in Chicago.”
David chose three menus and gestured at Jessica, waitressing tonight. Charlene genuinely liked the young woman, who had just become a physical therapist, from very humble beginnings.
She’d lobbed her cocoa-brown hair to a new style at her shoulders and greeted them cheerily as she took the menus from David. “Hi, Charlene. Glad you all could come tonight. Should be a fun evening.” Jessica patted her red half apron. “You must be Charlene’s parents—she said you’d be her dates. It’s going to be super busy, so get your bids in early.”
“I’ve put Charlene and her family by this first window,” David said, pointing to his right.
“Perfect.” Jessica touched David’s arm. “Tori wants you.”
David’s expression dimmed slightly, but he kept his smile. “Enjoy your dinner. Be sure to look over the raffles and auction items—let’s give these kids a holiday to remember.” He moved on, wending his way through the crowded restaurant, pausing at various tables to say hello on his way to the bar.
“This way.” Jessica bypassed an oval table for two at the very front of the restaurant to the next round table, which had a merry view of the Christmas lights outside the window. She could see the two-lane street, bare of snow, and the strip of businesses across the road—none open. A giant red Santa holding a toothbrush twinkled from the dental office.
Jessica handed them each a menu once they sat down, pointing out the auction items listed on a sheet of green paper bordered with holly. “You’ll see that Charlene donated a stay at her bed-and-breakfast.”
“She’s always had a generous nature.” Pride emanated from her dad as he looked at Jessica over his menu. “Charlene was in first grade when she donated her tooth fairy money to a kid in her class with leukemia. We added a check for more, of course.”
“Dad, no embarrassing stories, you promised,” she said with a laugh. When Jessica had approached her last month for a donation and explained about the kids at Felicity House, she’d welcomed the chance to give a weeklong stay, and in the process had gotten to know Jessica and Jessica’s success story—all because of Felicity House.
“It’s going to raise a lot of money,” Jessica assured her. “Can I start you off with some drinks?”
“Merlot for me, please,” Charlene said. “The house wine is superb. Mom, Dad?”
“Let’s get a carafe for the table,” her father suggested.
“I suppose,” her mom conceded, and then removed her red-framed glasses to gaze at Jessica. “We’ll need some bread too. Before the drinks?”
“Absolutely.” Jessica hurried to the kitchen.
Charlene had taken the chair closest to the window so her mom couldn’t complain about a draft. It also gave her the advantage of seeing everyone in the room dressed up for the event.
Kevin, the scruffy blond bartender from Brews and Broomsticks, wore a navy suit and sat hip to hip at a table with a woman Charlene hadn’t met before—girl-next-door pretty, with long light brown hair. Even from across the room, Kevin looked besotted. She hoped he was on a date. Around Halloween, he’d hinted at an attraction to her, which she’d ignored, though he was cute, kind, and funny.
Charlene’s husband, Jared, hadn’t even been gone two years. Her heart was not quite as raw, thanks to a certain gorgeous ghost and a very much alive detective, Sam Holden of the Salem Police Department. Sam had invited her out numerous times, but she’d always declined. Her heart wasn’t ready yet.
Charlene spotted Brandy and Evelyn Flint sharing a table with Theo Rowlings, and whispered to her parents, “See the auburn-haired woman near the baskets, with the silver-haired lady?”
They both turned to look.
“They own Flint Wineries and can trace their ancestry back hundreds of years in Salem, which is very important to the locals,” she said. “They supply the house wine here at Bella’s, as well as my label for ‘Charlene’s.’”
“I’d like to see the winery,” her mother said. “Do they offer tours?”
“I can ask.” Charlene wouldn’t mind a peek behind the scenes.
Jessica dropped off a selection of breadsticks, a sliced baguette, and a dish of savory oil for dipping. “I’ll be right back with your wine. One of our servers called in sick so we have Avery, from Felicity House, stepping in to help out. She’s very new, so please be patient.”
“Don’t worry—we’re not in any hurry,” Charlene reassured Jessica.
Her mother picked up a thin, crisp sesame breadstick and broke it in half, not interested in any excuses. “This is hard, and it’s cold.”
“A breadstick is hard, Mother.” A loud laugh came from the back and Charlene turned toward the sound.
“Tori.” Jessica barely bothered to hide her dislike of David’s wife as she smoothed her hair behind her ear. “She keeps the bartender’s attention, which slows the drink orders—but I can get your wine myself.”
Her mother perked up at the hint of drama and craned her neck to get a glimpse of Tori, who bared a lot of thigh. “Hmm. She’s a hot one. Second marriage?”
Jessica shifted the empty tray from one hand to the other. “I think for both of them. David has a son just a few years younger than me.”
“No offense,” her mother said, which always made Charlene cringe, “but I bet his new wife is about your age too.”
Jessica’s eyes rounded in surprise at Charlene’s mother’s bluntness. “Uh, maybe . . . let me get that wine.”
After the waitress was out of earshot, Charlene said, “Mom, do you have to be so critical?” She tapped the laminated menu. “Why don’t you decide what you want to eat?”
Charlene leaned back in her chair and exchanged a glance with her father. He was unaffected—having decades of practice at ignoring his wife’s negativity. There had been a time when her mom hadn’t been so hard. What had changed? Charlene had memories of her mother being happy. Now it seemed bitterness seeped from every pore. Charlene had escaped, but her dad? How did he handle it day and night, years on end?
“Maybe breadsticks are supposed to be hard, but these are enough to break my teeth.” Brenda dropped the half-eaten stick to her bread plate.
“Dip it in your water,” her dad suggested, going back to the menu.
He couldn’t be serious! “Try the baguette.” Charlene offered her mom the basket. “And the oil.” The girl who had taken their coats rushed by and accidentally bumped the back of Charlene’s seat. She was pale, skinny, and utterly out of place in a too-big apron. Avery from Felicity House, Charlene guessed. A spider tattoo was visible on the back of her neck.
Her mother pointed in the direction of the bar and David’s wife. “Look at her ring. Can you believe she’s flashing that gaudy thing around? I bet she bought herself some new jewelry with David’s lottery money. New wealth makes a person trashy. They can’t help it. They gotta buy, buy, buy just to show it off.”
“And you know this how?” Charlene folded her burgundy cloth napkin across her lap before she strangled her mother with it.
“I watch the crime shows,” her mom said with a huff that stretched her green plaid sweater across her ample top half, above her stilt-thin legs—her mother’s figure reminded Charlene of a long-legged bird. Not a flamingo, but a crane, maybe, that had to make trouble to get anyone to notice her at all. The thought surprised Charlene, and she felt a sudden spurt of tenderness toward her mother, who, at seventy-five, wouldn’t be around forever.
Her balding father’s black reading glasses were poised on the edge of his long nose. He embodied the art professor he’d been for half a century as he scanned the menu.
Life had cruelly taught her that death could happen at any time.
The candles on the tables flickered when the restaurant door opened again, bringing with it a rush of cold air. Sharon Turnberry, a faux-redhead, and her husband, John, arrived, and Jessica seated them on the opposite side of the room. Charlene waved at the manager of Cod and Capers.
Another creak from the front door, another swoosh of cool air, made Charlene shiver as she turned to the podium, where David greeted a short, squat gentleman with dull gray hair and a silver mustache who wore a black trench coat and black cowboy boots. “Vincent. I saved you a table by the bar.”
“You were very mysterious, telling me to be here tonight.” Vincent’s demeanor was hard. “You better not waste my time.”
Jessica returned with the wine. “Here you are. I made it, unscathed,” she said dramatically.
“Who is that?” Charlene asked, subtly pointing at Vincent.
“Oh—Vincent Lozzi. David’s business partner and our ‘silent’ boss.” Jessica, a tray in one hand, used her free fingers to make air quotes. “We don’t see him around that much, but now that David’s won the lottery, you wouldn’t believe the people who’ve oozed from the woodwork. Even one of his old college buddies, he told me.”
Jessica scurried off to assist Vincent. He tossed his jacket over the chair, sat down, and plunked his elbows on the table for one. The co-owner glared at Tori, who waggled her bejeweled fingers at him. He refused to let Jessica hang up his trench coat.
Charlene pulled her gaze from that drama to continue her perusal of the diners—she couldn’t have asked for a better seat.
A plump woman in evergreen velvet, her hair a mousy brownish-gray, smoothed in a bun with a red silk poinsettia tucked in the knot, rubbed her hands together and beamed with pride as she went up and down the length of baskets for the auction. Charlene recognized the rosy cheeks from the photo for Felicity House on the table. The director, Alice Winters.
Her mother held the green paper and pointed to the picture of Jessica. “It says here that our waitress used to live at Felicity House, before she was adopted.”
“That’s true, and she’s also a physical therapist.” Charlene admired the young woman’s drive toward success.
“Why is she working here?” The question was asked in a snide tone that made Charlene twist her napkin.
“I imagine because she wants to, Brenda,” her dad said. “Don’t you dare ask.”
Jessica arrived to take their order, and her mother thawed slightly. “I’ll have the veal parmesan, with a salad.”
“Wonderful choice,” Jessica said, turning to Charlene. “And you?”
“Lobster ravioli. I’ll also have the salad instead of soup. Dad?”
Her father collected their menus. “Chicken scaloppini and pasta fagioli. Thank you.”
“I’ll get these in so you can enjoy your meal by the time the auction starts!” Jessica hustled off, her hair swinging.
Charlene contemplated the barren trees out her window. “Snow sure would be pretty.”
“It’s in the forecast, according to the Weather Channel,” her dad offered.
“If you want snow, you should live in Chicago.” Her mom’s mouth thinned into a red seam.
“I’m happy here, Mom,” Charlene said. “Can’t you be happy for me too?”
“I am! What kind of mother would I be if I wasn’t happy for my own child?”
Jessica arrived with their salads and soup, saving Charlene from having to answer. “Enjoy!” The waitress circled her way to Sharon’s table next.
At precisely eight o’clock, David tugged the lapels of his black suit jacket. “I’d like to introduce Alice Winters and Pamela Avita.”
Pamela, the co-chair for the charity event, was the opposite of dowdy Alice, in a sleek green skirt and fitted jacket, styled black hair, and pearls.
“Now there’s a woman who knows how to dress,” her mom said. “Tori should take notes.”
David had moved the podium so that it faced the diners, and Pamela stood behind it. She was a natural auctioneer, listing each item with a starting bid and creating excitement as she worked the crowd, the patrons generous to the cause of Felicity House. Alice would declare the winner’s name, and Tori, whose gold sequined number showed off her dynamite figure as she paraded before the baskets, delivered the prizes.
They ate during the show, Jessica expertly maneuvering around the action.
Her mom raised her hand to bid on a pair of diamond earrings, which she won, but she lost the mystery box from Vintage Treasures to a woman sitting next to Brandy’s table. Charlene had her eye on a cashmere scarf and gloves but was outbid by Kevin’s dinner date. Her dad put in a lackluster bid on a whale tour, but was more content with his soup.
Before she knew it, all of the items had been presented and Pamela announced the auction a success. Her eyes shone brightly. “I’d like to thank everyone on behalf of Felicity House.”
Alice clapped and the whole room erupted with applause—except for Vincent, who hadn’t bid on a thing as he’d nursed his drink. Whiskey on the rocks?
“Check the website tomorrow for our silent auction winners—the children are so appreciative.” Pamela gracefully returned to her seat with a flip of her head, exposing a large pearl in gold at her ear.
Alice rose, her cheeks as bright as the silk poinsettia in her hair. “Thank you for hosting our event, David. I hope to do this again next year at Bella’s.”
Vincent Lozzi smacked his hand on the table. “We’ll see about that,” he groused.
Charlene’s pulse raced, the show of aggression at odds in the festive atmosphere.
David clenched his hand as he glared at his partner. What was going on?
Alice whispered something to him, and David gathered himself. “I’d like to give my thanks to Jessica,” he said, nodding at Jessica, “for bravely sharing her adoption story. And to all of you for your generosity tonight. We’re just getting started, my friends, and I plan on doing more.”
Charlene applauded, hoping that his windfall would be put to good use. With a promise to herself to help Salem’s at-risk youth, she folded the green sheet with Alice’s name and contact information and put it in her purse.
David, his back to a pouting Tori, gestured for the bartender. “Bring the Dom Pérignon.” He faced the rapt audience. “As some of you know, we have much to celebrate.”
Low laughter and hoots resounded. Ten million dollars was indeed a lot.
“Lottery winners are never happy,” her mother said in a foreboding tone. “They don’t know how to spend their newfound money.”
“Be happy for him, Mom, will you? I wish them the very best.”
The door swung open and Charlene rubbed her arms at the frigid temperature. A young man with dark brown hair and heavy brows unwrapped his scarf and scuffed his motorcycle boots along the small carpet at the entryway next to David’s podium.
Tori saw him and rolled her eyes. “Kyle,” she drawled. “Why am I not surprised?”
David whirled toward the young man. “Son! What are you doing here?”
“I left a message for you earlier, Dad.” He waited by the oval table between Charlene and the door. “I need to talk to you.”
Tori’s mouth puckered like she’d downed sour apple schnapps.
David looked to Jessica. “Jess? Will you see if the kitchen can make up something for Kyle?”
“Don’t bother.” Kyle checked the time on his phone. “Ten on the dot. Kitchen’s closed, right, Dad?”
“It’ll only take a second,” Jessica said. “If you aren’t picky?”
“I don’t want anything but a few minutes of my dad’s time.” Kyle helped himself to the lone chair at the table near Charlene.
Jessica disappeared into the kitchen and the scent of garlic escaped.
A clatter sounded to her right, and Charlene turned. Avery, orange hair quivering, knelt to pick up plate shards around a woman’s high heel. Sauce coated the lady’s shoe and Avery’s apron. “I’m so sorry,” Charlene heard the girl say. She dabbed at the woman’s foot with a table napkin.
“Just get me some water,” the woman snapped. “I’ll clean it myself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl sniffled and kept her head bowed.
Alice took a protective half step in Avery’s direction.
David apologized to the woman but glared at Avery. “Finish up in here. Don’t come back tomorrow,” he said under his breath.
What a terrible way to speak to her—Avery was no more than a child. This was a side to David that Charlene didn’t like.
Kyle, still in his motorcycle jacket, rose, sympathy on his face. He grabbed her arm, but Avery shrugged off his hand. “Don’t, Kyle.”
The teens were friends?
Jessica delivered Perrier and a white linen cloth to the woman with the marinara-doused stiletto, and a plate of pasta with red sauce to Kyle.
David, like a consummate actor, gazed at the jubilant faces before him in the dining room as if his son or Avery didn’t exist.
“You should all have a flute of champagne.” He held his glimmering glass high. “To all of you, for coming here to help Felicity House. Thank you again for your generosity tonight. Cheers!” He snagged Jessica as the young woman tried to pass him toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” He poured Jessica a flute. “Jessica has been with me since I first opened Bella’s five years ago. My thanks, my friend.”
Tori scoffed and twirled her diamond tennis bracelet. Her pettiness diminished her beauty, and Charlene almost felt sorry for David.
“Not only are we gathered for the auction,” David raised his voice, “but I’ve invited some of you here to deliver extra holiday cheer.” He lifted the bottle of Dom and spoke sincerely. “I have not always been the best friend, or husband, or business partner, or father”—he turned to Kyle and then back to the group—“but I want you to know how much you all mean to me.”
He drained his flute and set the glass on the table of unclaimed baskets.
Jessica, standing close to Charlene, sniffled, tears welling in her eyes.
Kyle slurped a forkful of spaghetti, his suspicious gaze on his father.
Tori’s phone dinged and David eyed her with outrage.
“Sorry,” she murmured, quickly reading the text. The light from her diamond ring flashed brightly from the candles on the centerpieces.
“Let me see your phone,” he whispered angrily, reaching for it, his “friends” momentarily forgotten.
“No—it’s nothing.” Tori shifted on her gold heels, pressing buttons as if deleting messages.
“It better not be Zane,” David said, his mustache trembling. “I warned you.”
“David, please,” Tori snarled. “Get on with your show, would you?”
He turned his rigid back to her and pulled a stack of envelopes from the podium.
Who is Zane? Charlene sipped her excellent champagne. This was a madhouse—she couldn’t wait to tell Jack all about it.
David handed an envelope to Jessica, who smiled at him affectionately and slid it into her apron pocket.
He gave one to Brandy and Evelyn Flint, one to Vincent Lozzi—whose anger still simmered judging by the scowl on his face—and another to Alice and Pamela. With each passing check, Tori’s mood deflated. She continually touched her tennis bracelet, as if to assure herself it was still there.
“Is there an envelope for me and Mom, Dad?” Kyle pushed his empty plate aside.
David winced. “Not tonight,” he said. “But I haven’t forgotten you, son.” He went back to the podium and the bottle of champagne, slyly watching from his post.
Vincent opened his envelope and then snorted an ugly laugh. “This is nowhere near what you owe me. I thought you’d be signing it over.” He got to his feet, grabbed his coat, and strode between the tables to David at the podium, hand clenched. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
David didn’t back down. “That amount is fair, and you know why.”
Vincent glared at David and then glanced at Kyle before lowering his fist—racing out the front door on a flurry of cold air.
The others who had received envelopes opened them and peeked inside. Brandy used a butter knife to slit the envelope open. She showed the check to Evelyn with a nod and put it in her purse.
Jessica immediately grabbed a bottle of champagne and started topping off everyone’s glasses. Kyle smirked from the sideline, as if . . .
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Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past
Traci Wilton
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