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    The Ghost Who Came for Christmas
    The Ghost Who Came for Christmas
    The Ghost Who Came for Christmas
    Ebook370 pages5 hours

    The Ghost Who Came for Christmas

    By Anna J. McIntyre and Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    It’s Christmastime at Marlow House Bed and Breakfast, and Danielle has a full house.

    When a woman, stranded far from home, shows up on the doorstep and begs for a room for the night, how can Danielle tell her the inn is full and turn her away? After all, it’s almost Christmas.

    The woman makes quite an impression on the other guests, especially when she mysteriously disappears. Is it foul play—or something supernatural?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnna J. McIntyre
    Release dateNov 27, 2015
    ISBN9781311858030
    Author

    Anna J. McIntyre

    Anna J. McIntyre is the nom de plume for USA Today bestselling author, Bobbi Holmes.McIntyre's Coulson Family Saga includes five books in the series. The saga begins in 1900 and brings the reader to current times, with romance, mystery and family secrets. It is now available in audiobook by Dreamscape Media.McIntyre's Unlocked Hearts series is about falling in love. Expect light romance with happy endings, between sweet and spicy.The Coulson Family Saga and Unlocked Hearts are currently exclusive at Amazon, but will be returning to Smashwords mid-May 2021.Bobbi Holmes is author of the popular paranormal cozy mystery series, Haunting Danielle. She lives in Oregon with her husband of 45+ years and two miniature Aussies.

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    4.5/5

    22 ratings2 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Not much to this book. We all know it takes perseverance and a bit of skill to write a book so brava to the author for this series. There is a little bit of magic and mysticism in the story but not seeing any depth to the characters.
    • 5/5
      Another breezy, easy, fun read! I love this Series, will continue reading the next one ASAP

    Book preview

    The Ghost Who Came for Christmas - Anna J. McIntyre

    One

    Spending the holidays with strangers wasn’t Chris’s idea. It was Trudy’s. Chris could feel her watching him. She sat on the cushioned bench seat at the table while he shoved his meager belongings into the worn duffle bag. He had left the cabin door open. They could hear the seagulls from outside and the occasional sound of a boat’s horn. The floor beneath them lightly swayed.

    He paused a moment and looked at her. You know, I’m going to freeze my butt off in Oregon. It’s practically cold enough to snow.

    Trudy shrugged. It’s supposed to be cold at Christmastime. Don’t you want a white Christmas?

    "Not particularly. Thankfully, it’s not that cold. I looked up the weather for the area. The average low for this time of year is around thirty-eight degrees, with a high of forty-eight."

    That’s not much different than here.

    Chris let out a snort and resumed his packing. Not if you consider twenty degrees warmer no different. He zipped up his bag.

    Trudy watched Chris. Thank you for doing this for me.

    Did I have a choice? he asked.

    We all have a choice.

    Chris laughed. He knew that wasn’t true, and so did Trudy.

    Will you miss me? She flashed him one of her rare smiles.

    Chris studied Trudy for a moment, seriously considering her question. He suspected she had been a beautiful woman in her youth. Now, her pale skin reminded him of a rippling pond. He wondered what color her gray hair had once been. Blonde, he guessed, considering her blue eyes.

    Miss you? I suppose I will. As much as I’d miss an abscessed tooth or a splinter in my big toe.

    That’s hardly flattering! Trudy scolded.

    I didn’t mean it to be. Chris grabbed his wallet and cellphone off the table and shoved them into his back pockets as he glanced around the sailboat’s cabin, looking for any stray belongings.

    Before Trudy could respond, the sailboat dipped slightly and then righted itself. A voice called out, Chris, you ready?

    Chris picked up the duffle bag and looked toward the open cabin doorway. Ken Palmer, who had just jumped onto the sailboat from the dock, stood on the boat’s deck, peeked inside the cabin, and looked around. For a man in his early seventies he was still agile, which he credited to the fact that he spent all his free time at the docks, either working on his sailboat or helping his friends work on theirs. Ironically, his free time didn’t include actual sailing.

    You all packed? he asked.

    I think I have everything. Chris started for the doorway, the duffle bag now slung over his shoulder.

    Goodbye, Chris, and thank you again for doing this, Trudy called out.

    Chris paused a moment and looked back at Trudy, giving her a nod goodbye before making his way out of the cabin.

    Ken climbed off the sailboat first, followed by Chris, who fumbled a bit with his duffle bag, careful not to drop it in the water. When Chris stepped onto the boat slip, he paused a moment and looked around, mentally saying goodbye to his home of the last six months. For a Friday, it was fairly quiet on the docks, but it wasn’t quite 9 a.m. He had already said his goodbyes the previous day. Taking a deep breath, he hoisted his duffle bag back over his shoulder and hurried up the dock, catching up to Ken.

    I saw the new owner up at the office a few minutes ago, Ken said when Chris reached him. Both men continued to walk up the dock toward the ramp leading to the parking lot.

    He stopped by the boat thirty minutes ago. I already gave him the keys, Chris explained.

    I still can’t believe Tad sold the boat. Ken shook his head and dug his hand into the front pocket of his work pants, searching for his truck keys.

    Chris shifted the weight of the duffle bag from one shoulder to the other. Doesn’t surprise me. He hasn’t used it for the last year, what with the divorce and all.

    Ken pushed through the gate leading from the dock to the parking area. Yeah, but now where are you going to live?

    I’ll figure out something. Chris shrugged. I want to thank you again for taking me to the airport this morning.

    Hey, no problem. You coming back to Dana Point after Christmas?

    There’s no reason to. Chris stopped by Ken’s truck and waited for the older man to unlock it. With Tad selling the boat, no place for me to stay.

    If you want, I could ask around. Someone might be looking to rent out their boat. Ken climbed into the driver’s seat.

    Chris tossed his duffle bag into the back of the truck and then got into the passenger side of the cab. Why would I want to rent something? Chris laughed. Tad let me crash there for free.

    You got to stay somewhere. Ken slipped a key into the ignition and turned on the engine.

    I suppose, but it was time for me to move on anyway. Chris slammed the door shut and buckled his seat belt.

    You said you’re going to Oregon? Ken asked as he drove the truck out of the parking lot and headed for the highway.

    Yes. Flying into Portland, and I plan to rent a car there. Staying at a bed and breakfast on the coast, a little town called Frederickport.

    Never heard of it. You said you’re staying through Christmas? Ken glanced briefly at Chris and then looked back down the road.

    Yeah. Chris leaned back in his seat and looked out the side window.

    Is this some family get-together? Ken asked.

    Chris shook his head. Nope. I don’t have any family in Oregon, at least not that I know of.

    Both hands on the steering wheel, Ken started to chuckle.

    Chris glanced over to Ken. What’s so funny?

    I get it. This is a little romantic holiday getaway. I should have figured it out when you said you were staying at a B and B. My wife has been trying to get me to stay at one of those for years.

    Chris shook his head. No. I’m not meeting anyone. Well, at least no one I know personally.

    You going by yourself? Ken frowned. "What about that cute little gal who was always hanging around the sailboat? The little blonde whose parents own Weekend Warrior."

    You mean Bridget? Chris glanced briefly at Ken.

    Ken nodded. Yeah, I think that’s her name.

    Bridget is practically jailbait.

    Practically, but I’m sure she’s at least eighteen. And by the way, she was always mooning over you…damn…I’d love to be your age again!

    Chris laughed and shook his head. Not really interested in schoolgirls, Ken. She’s a nice girl, but not my type.

    Ken narrowed his eyes and glanced over to Chris. Umm…you do like girls, don’t you? I mean…well, if you don’t, that’s okay with me. After all, I have a nephew who prefers…well…you know…

    Chris flashed Ken a smile. I like women all right. I just prefer one who isn’t looking for a meal ticket.

    Guess as long as you remain homeless, you won’t have to worry about that, Ken said with a laugh.

    I guess not. Chris smiled and leaned back in the seat.

    After a few moments of silence, Ken asked, So this trip to Oregon, it’s just you. All alone for Christmas?

    I won’t be alone, Ken. I assume there’ll be other people staying at Marlow House.

    Marlow House?

    It’s the name of the bed and breakfast.

    Can I ask you something? Ken asked.

    Chris thought the question amusing, considering Ken had practically just asked him if he was gay. Sure, ask away.

    Whatever gave you the idea to book a room at this bed and breakfast for the holidays?

    I…I saw a brochure on the place; it looked interesting, Chris lied.

    While I can’t say I’d choose to stay alone at some B and B, I have to admit I rather envy your freedom to be able to just up and go wherever you want, whenever you want.

    Yeah, I’m one lucky guy, Chris said dryly. Still leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes and thought about Marlow House and his real reason for going there.

    Without a sound, Walt appeared in the kitchen and found Danielle standing at the counter, about to dump an open bag of walnut pieces into a stainless steel mixing bowl. I assume you’re making more cookies?

    Startled, Danielle let out a squeaky yelp and looked up into Walt’s blue eyes. You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that! She turned her attention back to her cookie batter.

    Sorry. But why are you so jumpy? Walt leaned closer and peeked into the bowl.

    I’m not jumpy. I just didn’t expect you to pop in like that. Danielle grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter and started to stir the batter. And yes, chocolate drop cookies. My grandma’s recipe.

    I wish I could have one. Walt sighed, leaning back against the counter. Waving his hand, a lit cigar appeared between two of his fingers. It’s been decades since I’ve enjoyed a cookie.

    Danielle paused a moment and looked at Walt. Maybe you can’t eat one of these, but wouldn’t it be possible to…well, conjure up one like you do a cigar?

    I’m a spirit, Danielle, not a witch.

    "I think the proper term is warlock."

    Warlock? Walt frowned.

    Yeah, you know, a guy witch. Danielle grinned.

    Walt shrugged and took a drag off his cigar. Well, in either case, I can’t just conjure up food like some magician or wit—warlock.

    Well, I’m sorry about that. Danielle sounded sincerely contrite. One thing I love about Christmas is the baking—cookies and pie and homemade pumpkin bread. Closing her eyes briefly, she let out a satisfied sigh before opening her eyes again and resuming her task.

    Danielle, you like all those things even when it isn’t Christmas.

    True that. Which is one reason a bed and breakfast is an ideal business for me. I can do all the baking I want, and someone will be around to help me eat it.

    So who’s helping you eat this? Don’t your guests start arriving tonight? Walt glanced around. Where’s Lily, by the way?

    She’s over at Ian’s.

    I thought it sounded awful quiet around here.

    Enjoy the solitude now, because we’re going to have a full house all the way to the New Year.

    I don’t know if I mentioned it, but the Christmas tree looks beautiful. You and Lily did a wonderful job decorating it. Although I don’t know why you just didn’t use the Christmas lights I had in the attic. They were brand new.

    Walt, they were brand new when you bought them ninety years ago. I’m afraid they would probably burn down the house if I tried to use them.

    I suppose you have a point. Walt watched Danielle and then added, The Christmas tree brings life to the living room. Since you moved in here, I don’t think I’ve seen you go into that room a half a dozen times.

    Danielle shrugged. I always thought the parlor felt more intimate, and there’s something cozy about the library. The living room—well, is just sort of large and impersonal.

    It doesn’t feel that way now. Walt smiled.

    No, no, it doesn’t. Although, I’ll have to think of something to do with the room when Christmas is over and we take the tree down. Otherwise it will go back to being a big ol’ lonely room.

    Walt waved his hand and the cigar vanished. You didn’t answer me; do your guests start arriving tonight?

    Just one. I guess he’s flying in from California to Portland and then renting a car and driving here. I’m not sure what time he’ll actually get here.

    He’s coming alone? Walt frowned.

    Yes. His name is… Danielle stopped stirring the batter for a moment and tried to remember the man’s name. Chris, Chris Johnson.

    Any relationship to Joanne?

    I doubt it. He didn’t mention anything and neither did Joanne. Johnson is a pretty common name.

    So he’s not coming with a wife? Is he meeting someone here?

    Danielle grabbed a small scoop and began spooning up balls of cookie dough, strategically placing them on a cookie sheet. No. Just him.

    Don’t you find that…odd?

    Danielle shook her head. Not particularly. Maybe he has family or friends in Frederickport.

    You really need to start asking prospective guests more questions, Walt scolded.

    Oh, Walt, you worry too much! Everything is going to be just fine! After all, it’s Christmas!

    Two

    I just heard it on the news. Clarence Renton is dead, Cleve Monchique announced from the open doorway of Peter Morris’s office.

    Peter looked up and waved him in. Shut the door. Strewn across his desk were papers. He hastily shoved them into an empty manila file folder, which he then set aside. When Cleve reached the desk, Peter motioned to one of the empty chairs facing him.

    What are they saying? Peter asked.

    Cleve sat down. That he hanged himself in his cell. The guards found him this morning.

    Any talk of foul play?

    Cleve shook his head. No. But they did say it was currently under investigation.

    That’s to be expected. I’m just happy to have that out of the way. Let’s hold off a few days before we file his will with probate. I don’t want to seem too anxious to cash in on poor Clarence’s untimely death, Peter instructed.

    That’s what I thought too.

    Peter glanced at his watch. Richard Winston is supposed to be here any minute. I don’t want you to mention anything about Clarence around him.

    Cleve glanced to the closed door. Did he know Clarence?

    I doubt it. While he’s bound to hear about Clarence’s death—considering the notoriety of the case and his connection to Earthbound Spirits, I’d prefer to avoid the topic. It would only confuse Richard, especially now, when he has a job to do.

    And you think he’s the one to do it?

    Peter picked up the file folder. Opening it, he plucked out a news clipping from amongst the papers. He looked at it a moment; it was about Danielle Boatman. She’s a very wealthy woman. He leaned across the desk and handed the clipping to Cleve.

    Cleve took it from Peter, studying the picture of Danielle Boatman in the article. And she’s a very attractive woman.

    What makes her especially attractive: she has no family. No one. The poor dear is all alone in the world. She and Richard have a lot in common. Peter grinned, showing off straight white teeth, a stark contrast to his bottle-dyed black hair.

    Cleve leaned forward and set the scrap of paper back on the desk. Her friend—Lily Miller—it’s my understanding that she’s come into a considerable sum of money now that the lawsuit has been settled.

    Peter shook his head. That one will pose more of a challenge. Remember, she comes from a large family, and they appear to be close. She’s also seeing Jon Altar. Or Ian Bartley, whatever he chooses to be called these days. I just hope they don’t get in our way with Boatman. People like that are too skeptical—they don’t have an open mind. They’re the types who’ll continue repeating the same mistakes and never move onto where we’re going—where Clarence went.

    Cleve moved uneasily in his chair, his right hand restlessly combing through his hair.

    Peter leaned back and narrowed his eyes, studying the younger man. You need to get over it, Cleve. We had no choice. It was for a higher good. You know that.

    Yes…yes, I do. Cleve looked down.

    And Clarence is in a better place now. As for Lily Miller, I don’t see the point in wasting our time on her right now, considering her friend is perfect for us. Danielle Boatman needs us. She’s a beautiful, vulnerable woman, and without our help, some unscrupulous man will swoop in and take advantage of her. It’s our duty, Cleve.

    Richard Winston’s need to wear six-hundred-dollar shoes was not a matter of choice, but of habit. He had learned as a young child it was easier to go along with the wishes of his controlling mother, Rachel Winston, rather than attempting to assert any independence. Even from the grave she continued to exert influence over his wardrobe.

    While he continued to dress the part of a Winston, his rebellion had begun. Peter Morris’s Earthbound Spirits provided a new road for him to travel, one to contentment and peace—unlike the road he had inherited from his parents, paved with deceit and lies.

    When he arrived at Earthbound Spirits’ offices, Peter Morris was there to greet him. Please, take a seat, Richard. So glad you were able to make it in today.

    Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Morris. Richard grinned eagerly and took a seat, anxiously glancing around the office. Thought I’d be seeing Mr. Monchique today, not you, sir.

    Peter smiled and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. You have a very important assignment, and I wanted to see you personally.

    I just want to do my part, Richard insisted. Whatever I can do to help.

    Are you ready for your little holiday trip? Peter asked.

    Yes, sir. I check into Marlow House tomorrow morning. I have a reservation through New Year’s.

    Have you asked her about the Christmas open house?

    Mr. Monchique and I discussed that. We decided I should casually bring it up in conversation after I get there. It’ll sound more natural.

    Peter sighed. I suppose that’ll work. But you’ll need to call me and let me know what she says.

    Richard nodded. Yes, of course.

    Very good, Richard. Excellent. Danielle Boatman needs us.

    There’s just one thing… Richard nervously cleared his throat.

    What’s that?

    I feel a little hypocritical…it being Christmas and all, since I no longer celebrate Christmas.

    Didn’t you tell me Christmas wasn’t very important in your family? I understand some members have a difficult time relinquishing their notion of Christmas and all its traditions—the drivel we’ve been fed over the years by retailers out to make a buck. Sentimental nonsense. Christmas has nothing to do with our spiritual growth. If anything, it hinders it.

    There was nothing sentimental in how my parents celebrated Christmas. Richard turned his head slightly and gazed out the window. It looked out to the ocean. Like you said, it was simply an opportunity to make more money.

    Then what is it? Peter asked.

    I imagine the other guests at Marlow House will be there because of what the brochure promised—an old-fashioned Christmas.

    And the problem?

    Richard shrugged and looked from the picture window back to Peter. While I agree it’s nothing but nonsense, I’ll feel a little like Scrooge…

    Peter laughed. What, like you’re there to take away their Christmas?

    I suppose, in a way.

    Put your mind at rest. I don’t expect you to interfere in any of Marlow House’s scheduled Christmas festivities—after all, I plan to attend the Christmas open house, remember? Our point is not to convert whoever is in residence at Marlow House over the holiday—just to reach its proprietor. I’m certain this holiday will be a stark reminder to the poor girl of how alone she really is.

    What do you mean? Richard frowned.

    Danielle Boatman has no family. I don’t believe the void, the void many people feel so keenly this time of year, can be filled with strangers. She needs a new family. She needs Earthbound Spirits in her life.

    Danielle stood at the kitchen counter, spooning dark chocolate frosting over her cooled chocolate drop cookies, when her cellphone began to ring. Gingerly setting the now frosted cookie onto the platter, she set the spoon back into the bowl of frosting and licked her fingers before picking up the phone.

    Danielle checked to see who was calling before she answered. Hey, Chief, a merry Christmas and ho, ho, ho to you, she said cheerfully.

    Have you been listening to the news? the chief asked.

    The news? No. I’m listening to Christmas carols. What’s up?

    It’s Clarence Renton, he’s killed himself.

    What? Danielle hastily walked over to her iPod and turned off the Christmas carols, giving her full attention to the phone call.

    They found him this morning. He hanged himself in his cell.

    What does his cellmate say?

    His cellmate was in the infirmary for the night, claimed to have stomach cramps. Renton was alone.

    What about the guys in the other cells around him?

    All claiming they didn’t hear anything. Which, of course, would support suicide.

    Yeah, like a bunch of convicts really want to rat out someone who might sneak into their cell during the night and slit their throats.

    You don’t believe it was suicide?

    I don’t see Renton as the type to kill himself. Danielle paused a moment and then groaned. Oh crap…

    What’s wrong?

    You don’t think he’s going to show up here, do you? Dang, he is absolutely the last person…ghost…I want to see.

    You would know more about that than me. Aren’t you always telling me you don’t see everyone you know who dies—or that you can’t control who you can see?

    That’s what I’m afraid of. I really don’t want to go through another Stoddard episode. Danielle groaned.

    If he stops by, you might want to ask him if he really killed himself.

    Talk about putting a damper on the Christmas spirit, Danielle grumbled. She grabbed a chocolate-frosted cookie, sat down at the kitchen table, and shoved the cookie in her mouth.

    I just thought you’d want to know.

    Biting off a large chunk of the cookie, she responded with her mouth full. Yeah, thanks.

    Are you eating something? he asked.

    Uh-huh, cookies, she said, taking another bite. She grabbed a glass of milk off the table and took several gulps.

    From what I understand, Renton rewrote his will a while back and left Earthbound Spirits everything, the chief told her.

    That figures, considering he was so closed-mouthed about Isabella’s will.

    I was always a little surprised you never sued Renton for embezzling from your aunt’s estate, and never filed a civil suit for killing Cheryl.

    It wouldn’t have brought Cheryl back. Anyway, after the courts looked into those bogus charities Renton set up, most of that money went back to my aunt’s estate. And to me.

    True, but still, from what I understand, Renton was by no means a pauper.

    Yes, and now whatever he had goes to Earthbound Spirits. I still don’t understand why those guys are still in business. I figured after trying to pass off Isabella’s old will as the current one and blackmailing Darlene, someone would have gone to jail, and they would have lost their nonprofit status.

    I told you, we couldn’t prove anything. A little difficult to haul Darlene’s ghost into court to testify about the blackmail, the chief reminded her. There was no way to connect those photographs we found to Earthbound Spirits.

    I suppose you’re right. But if I ever see those lying jerks again…

    Three

    Patricia Morgan held the prize letter in her right hand and her landlord’s eviction letter in her left. She studied them each a moment longer before tossing them both onto the kitchen table and glancing up at the wall clock. She would need to leave in thirty minutes to pick her daughter up at school.

    Jessica believed they would be buying a Christmas tree this evening; after all, it was the beginning of Christmas vacation, and Patricia had been promising her for weeks they could get a tree as soon as school was out. Normally, they bought

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