The Ghost of Christmas Secrets Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Haunting Danielle Newsletter

  Haunting Danielle Series

  Bobbi Holmes

  Unlocked Hearts Series

  The Coulson Series

  Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  The Ghost of Christmas Secrets

  (Haunting Danielle, Book 19)

  A Novel

  By Bobbi Holmes

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  * * *

  Copyright © 2018 Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  robeth.net

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to all those kind strangers who generously answer my questions--like the National Packard Museum, Dave Bayowski of Mahoning Auto in Ohio, and the kind folks from the City of Astoria.

  One

  She was early. Slowing down in front of the house, Zara Leighton read the numbers on the mailbox just before fog engulfed it, the house, and her battered Volkswagen Beetle. Had she arrived ten minutes later, she would have never seen the mailbox, much less been able to read the house numbers. Confident she was at the correct location, Zara pulled over to the curb she could no longer see and parked her car.

  When turning onto the unfamiliar street a few minutes earlier, it had reminded her of a scene from one of the horror movies she had watched as a kid on Mrs. Crocket’s old black-and-white television set. Gray washed the neighborhood of stately old houses, its landscape and skyline devoid of color as a massive fog cloud rolled in, concealing all in its path.

  Turning off her ignition, she glanced at her watch. He wasn’t expecting her for another fifteen minutes. Being too early was often as bad as being late, she thought. Looking toward the house, all she could see was a dense gray mist. If he happened to look out his window, he would never see her sitting in her car in front of his house. Instead of going up now, she decided to wait a few minutes and show up on time instead of early.

  Zara leaned back in the seat for a moment and smiled. If she could convince him to give her the information she needed, she would be one step closer to crossing off what she considered the most important goal on her bucket list.

  After unbuckling her seatbelt, she reached over to the passenger seat, picked up her purse, set it on her lap, and opened it. She pulled out a small notepad and began flipping through its pages, reviewing her notes. It would have been easier on her if he had simply verified the information she had requested when she had met him at his office several days earlier, instead of insisting she meet him at his house this afternoon. Although, she understood his desire for discretion—after all, Chris Glandon was his nephew, and considering their turbulent relationship, he wouldn’t want to be caught handing out personal information on the man, not if he wanted to get back in his nephew’s good graces.

  Still holding the notepad, she glanced toward the house. All she could see was a misty gray wall. A chill went up her spine. She shivered in response. It must be the fog, she thought, knowing she would have to drive through it in order to return home. It couldn’t be trepidation over meeting with a virtual stranger at his house. After all, Loyd Glandon was hardly a threatening character, more a benign senior citizen.

  “Do you think she’s going to make it in this weather?” Wearing gray slacks and a tweed jacket over a white dress shirt, Simon stood akimbo, gazing out the front window, his back to Loyd.

  “Would you get away from there!” Loyd leaned forward in his chair, attempting to swat his brother with his cane. His manner of dress was similar to Simon’s, yet instead of a tweed jacket, he wore a red cardigan sweater. “She’ll see you. I told her I’d be alone!”

  “Have you even looked outside?” Simon asked. “There’s no way she’s going to find the house.”

  “I’m sure she has one of those GPS gizmos on her phone. Now move away from that blasted window!”

  Aside from stature, the two brothers could have passed as twins in their younger days. Just two years apart, with Loyd being the oldest, they resembled their father, with the same blue-gray eyes and strawberry blond hair. Most of that hair had since fallen out, with the remaining wisps now snowy white. Loyd was slighter and a good six inches shorter than his brother Simon. Both brothers were widowers, and neither had had children. Simon’s wife had died first, and then Loyd lost his wife two years later. That had been twenty years earlier. Since then, the two brothers had lived together.

  There had been a much younger third brother. He had looked like their mother’s side of the family, with jet black hair and deep brown eyes. But he was dead now. While he might not have looked like his two older brothers, he had been no more prolific than they had been. He and his wife only had one child, and they had adopted him.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’s her!” Using his cane more for show than function, Loyd stood.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” Simon said while his brother ambled to the entrance hall.

  When Loyd opened the door several minutes later, he found Zara Leighton standing on his front porch, behind her a backdrop of dense fog, giving her a surreal—almost ethereal quality.

  He had never cared for tall women—he saw them as some sort of perverse measuring stick, reminding him of his own height deficit. His late wife had been a little over five feet tall, which had been the first thing that had attracted him to her. Leighton was a few inches shy of six feet, an Amazon of a woman in his mind. But she was thin—thin enough to be a model. She didn’t seem to have many curves, but she had a pretty face and enormous blue eyes. However, her hair was far too short in his estimation.

  Loyd greeted Zara and ushered her inside. He led her to his living room and to two matching wingback chairs. They faced a leather sofa. Sitting between the two chairs was a small mahogany table, and on it sat two glasses of iced tea, each sitting on a coaster.

  “I thought you might be thirsty after your long drive.” Loyd motioned to the beverages sitting on the table as he took one of the wingback chairs.

  “That was very thoughtful, thank you.” Zara set her purse by her feet as she sat down.

  “I hope you understand why I didn’t want to discuss this at my office.” Loyd picked up the glass closest to him and took a sip.

  “Certainly. Does this mean you can give me the information?” she asked hopefully.

  “I have many regrets in regards to my nephew, Chris,” Loyd began. “At the time, we were sincerely trying to do what we felt was best for him.
He was young. For most of his life he was sheltered. Probably too sheltered. He has no idea how many people out there are ready to take advantage of someone like him. But I know now, we went about it the wrong way, and it is something I deeply regret. I won’t do anything that will hurt him.”

  “I don’t intend to hurt him,” she promised.

  “How do you know it’s really him?” he asked.

  “It has to be him. I told you what I found,” she reminded him.

  “Who have you discussed this with?” Loyd asked.

  “I don’t really feel this is anyone’s business. I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Anyone but you.”

  “You have to understand, if people discover this connection between you and my nephew, you’ll find yourself as vulnerable as he has been. Why do you think he takes such measures to avoid publicity? It’s not just Chris I’m concerned with, it’s you.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I have to do this.”

  Loyd took another sip of his tea and then said, “I do understand your desire to contact him. But I don’t want to see Chris exploited.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want anything from Chris. And I haven’t told anyone about him, I promise.”

  He started to take another sip of tea but then paused and nodded to the untouched glass on the table. “You really should try the tea. I brew it myself—sweetened with berries I grow in my garden. It’s my late wife’s recipe.”

  Zara smiled at Loyd and reluctantly picked up the tea and took a drink. She paused a moment and then took another sip. “Oh my, this is really very good. I’m not much of a tea drinker, but this has a most unusual flavor. Fruity.”

  Loyd smiled at Zara and leaned back in his chair, his half-full glass of tea in his right hand. “Take another drink and tell me if you can guess what kind of berries I use. There are two different kinds. No one has ever been able to guess.”

  Zara took another sip and then said, “One has to be strawberry.”

  Loyd shook his head. “No. Everyone guesses strawberry. But I didn’t use a single one.”

  Zara smiled weakly and said, “That surprises me. It tastes like strawberries. The tea is very delicious, but…are you going to help me?”

  “I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and yes, I would like to help you.”

  Zara smiled broadly. “Oh, thank you!”

  Loyd held up his right palm for a moment. “But you have to understand, it’s not just my call.”

  She frowned.

  “I’ve discussed this with my brother,” Loyd explained. “He’s willing to hear you out—as I have—and if he agrees, then yes, we will help you.”

  “Is he here?” Zara looked around anxiously.

  Loyd glanced at his watch. “He’s supposed to be here any minute. While we wait, why don’t you just sit back, relax, enjoy your tea. I’m sure by the time you finish your drink, he should be here.”

  Zara flashed Loyd a smile and then took another sip of tea. He asked her again to guess what berries he had used, encouraging her to drink more. Before she knew it, she had consumed the entire glass. Just as she was setting the empty glass back on its coaster, she began to sway. “I feel funny,” she muttered, closing her eyes.

  Silently, Loyd reached over and took the glass from her hand before she dropped it to the floor.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Zara moaned, her eyes still closed. “Everything is spinning…what was in that tea?”

  Before Loyd had a chance to tell her, Zara lurched forward and fell to the floor face-first.

  He hadn’t expected her to fall out of the chair. Staring down at the lifeless body, he considered taking her pulse, but there was no way he could get down on the floor with his bad knees. He picked up the cane leaning against his chair and used it to jab Zara’s unconscious body several times. When she didn’t move, he called for his brother.

  “Is she dead?” Simon asked several minutes later as he stood over the body.

  “I told you, she would have to drink five glasses of that stuff to actually kill her.”

  “What did you find out?” Simon asked.

  Loyd snatched Zara’s purse from the floor and started rummaging through it. “She claims she didn’t tell anyone. But we need to figure out what we’re going to do in case someone else shows up.” He fished a set of keys from the purse and tossed them to his brother.

  “What’s this for?” Simon asked, looking at the key ring now in his right hand.

  “You need to move her car into the garage before the fog lifts and someone sees it.”

  Two

  Being dead wasn’t so bad. Although, Marie Nichols had to admit being alive had been better. She had been born to loving and doting parents who’d had the good sense to invest in beach property. When their estate eventually passed to Marie, it had secured her financial future.

  As a young woman she had fallen in love and married. Unfortunately, as the years wore on and her blinders eventually came off, she saw her husband for who he really was—a putz. However, it wasn’t an unhappy marriage, and it had produced one child. Regrettably, he turned out to be a putz like his father.

  Her son’s marriage produced two sons. The eldest, Adam, had given her life purpose and had enriched her golden years. She realized Adam wasn’t perfect. In fact, since moving over to the other side, she began noticing he had a number of bad habits. It was one reason she was reluctant to move on to the other side. Adam wasn’t fully evolved yet, and she needed to stick around and make sure he got to where he needed to be. One place he needed to be was married.

  Adam wasn’t the only reason Marie was reluctant to move over to the other side. There was Danielle Boatman, her surrogate granddaughter. Marie wanted to find out how it was going to work out between Danielle and Walt. While she assumed moving over to the other side wouldn’t prevent her from learning how it had all turned out, she didn’t imagine there was any way she could intervene on the other side if necessary. One thing Marie especially enjoyed about death was how she could instill herself into the living’s life and make a difference. Just look at her grandson Adam. He was no longer visiting those shameful websites.

  Today was the day Walt’s cast was coming off, and Marie couldn’t help but wonder how the dynamics might change between Walt and Danielle when he was no longer depending on her as much as he had since the accident. It wasn’t just the broken leg—most men wouldn’t let something like that interfere with their lives—but Walt was just getting used to having a life again, and the broken leg had slowed down the adjustment process.

  After checking in on Adam, Marie headed to Marlow House.

  At five feet five inches tall, Danielle Boatman had been wanting to lose fifteen pounds for as long as she could recall. She had never been terribly committed to the goal, considering she enjoyed baking, sampling her confections, and she found it impossible to resist Old Salts Bakery’s cinnamon rolls. But that morning, as she stood on the bathroom scale, she was perplexed to find she had lost five pounds—without even trying. If her jeans hadn’t been loose, she might have suspected the scale was broken.

  Later that afternoon, as she stood on the front patio of Marlow House, watching the furniture van drive away, she looked down at her jeans, once again noting the change in their fit. Grabbing hold of one seam, she gave it a tug and frowned.

  “You’ve lost weight,” Marie announced when she appeared the next moment.

  Letting go of the seam, Danielle looked up at Marie and smiled. The once elderly woman—now a ghost—wore a bright floral sundress and straw hat. Had she been flesh and blood, Danielle imagined a warm sweater and slacks might have been more appropriate considering the chilly May weather.

  “Afternoon, Marie. Yes, I have. Five pounds. I just can’t figure out how I did it.”

  “Obviously the normal way. You ate less.”

  Danielle shrugged. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s probably because of Walt.”

 
“Walt?” Danielle rolled her eyes. “If I’m going to try to lose weight, it’ll be for my health—for myself, not for a man. Not even for Walt. Anyway, he’s always telling me I’m perfect just the way I am.”

  Marie laughed. “That’s not what I meant. Ever since Walt moved back over to your side, he’s developed quite the sweet tooth. Who knows, maybe he always had one. Every time I’ve been over here and you start eating anything sweet, Walt tends to finish it off before you have a chance to.”

  Danielle considered Marie’s suggestion for a moment and then laughed. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! That brat has been poaching my share of the cinnamon rolls.”

  Marie smiled. “The van that just left, was that the furniture for the attic?”

  Danielle nodded. “Yes. Everything’s set up. Walt can’t wait to see it, but I convinced him it was a bad idea to go up two flights of stairs with a cast on. The last thing he wants to do is fall and break something else, especially since he’s getting the cast off today. Would you like to see the attic?”

  “That’s why I’m here. And to tell you my grandson will be here in a minute. He wants to see the attic too.”

  Danielle stood at the open doorway of Marlow House’s attic, surveying the stunning transformation. Bill Jones had packed up his tools the day before, and this morning Joanne had given the space a thorough cleaning, just in time for the furniture delivery.