Mrs. Morris and the Ghost of Christmas Past Read online

  HOLIDAY HOMICIDE

  Officer Horitz turned the monitor for his computer toward her. “We have a 3D program that allows us to discover how fast the vehicle was going that hit David, in relation to things around him.”

  “Oh?” Charlene thought back to exactly what she’d seen. David’s head had been turned toward the flashing red dentist Santa holding a giant toothbrush.

  “There were no skid marks on the street,” he told her, “which means that the driver didn’t stop. Duval and Crown Point Road have speed limits of forty miles an hour. According to this”—he gestured to the diagram—“David was hit at thirty to thirty-five miles per hour.”

  “That doesn’t seem very fast,” Charlene said, unable to take her eyes away from the red X on the monitor.

  “It was bad luck for David,” Officer Horitz agreed. “The vehicle hit him at an awkward angle and broke his neck.” The policeman sighed and got to his feet. “Thanks for coming in.”

  And just like that, Charlene was escorted out of the station.

  Bad luck? Someone on the phone or texting. Even changing a radio station—the driver would have heard or felt something, and made a decision not to stop.

  At thirty miles an hour, whoever had run over David had to have known what they were doing as they left him on the street to die. . . .

  Books by Traci Wilton

  MRS. MORRIS AND THE GHOST

  MRS. MORRIS AND THE WITCH

  MRS. MORRIS AND THE GHOST

  OF CHRISTMAS PAST

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  MRS. MORRIS AND THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST

  Traci Wilton

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  HOLIDAY HOMICIDE

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Epigraph

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Patrice Wilton and Traci Hall

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2155-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2156-3 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2156-X (ebook)

  This book is for my mother—who is nothing like Charlene’s mother, thank heaven! My mom is my first reader and I couldn’t love her more.

  —Traci Hall

  I would love to thank my husband/partner Ralph for being by my side for each and every wonderful year we’ve been together. He’s given me strength, a belief in myself, and the will to be the best I can be. I love him with all my heart. He’s been my main support through years of rejections, plenty of tears, and to celebrate each and every success. I regret all the hours and days when I’ve been too busy to support him, but as a team, we’ve done it all!

  —Patrice Wilton

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We would like to thank our editor, John Scognamiglio, and the production and publicity teams at Kensington, for helping us make this book the best it can be! Thanks also to our agent, Evan Marshall, who guides us with a wise hand, and thanks to Christopher Hawke at Community Authors for all you do.

  CHAPTER ONE

  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 st
rangled 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.”