“Indeed, we did. We had beautiful trees. We would have an annual party where we invited the neighbors and acquaintances and business associates. It was a gay time.” The ghost smiled recalling the happy times. “We would play games and dance if music could be found. Of course, there were always piano players about. I can remember standing by the piano and singing noels. I’m afraid my voice was not a good one, but I did like to sing loud, as if quantity would make up for my poor quality.”
“I’m sure your singing was just fine,” Hope told the ghost. “Perhaps, if Cori is not about, you could sing a song for me.”
“My singing would make you cry, and I refuse to cause you tears.”
She laughed. “We would make a very poor duet since I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, as the saying goes.”
“I’m certain your voice would shame the nightingale,” Max said. “But enough of our bragging. Has there been any movement on our mutual quest?”
Hope had taken up the investigation of Max’s murder, and while she’d helped the police solve a number of murders since she’d moved to Castle Park, she found the pursuit of Max’s killer particularly difficult.
Hundred-year-old crimes had passed the solve-by date. There were no witnesses to interrogate, no suspects to chase. Everyone involved, from police chief to coroner, was dead and buried, their knowledge and theories buried with them. She simply didn’t have enough information. Max had provided a list of places where his possible killers had frequented, but she had found most of those old places closed or converted to other businesses. Lists of suspects and people involved proved equally unwieldy. Facts about an old murder were not routinely passed down from generation to generation. In a word, she was stumped.
“As you know,” Hope said. “I’ve managed to identify several people whose ancestors might have had knowledge of your murder. So far, no one has produced any real breakthroughs.”
Max’s smile faded a bit, making Hope feel less than adequate.
“But don’t worry, I’ll continue with the interviews. In fact, I’m going to speak to Clive Thomas soon. He’s descended from Captain Thomas, who you identify as the chief suspect in your murder.”
“Indeed, I do believe the scoundrel did me in, but I await the proof you will bring me.”
“We’ve discussed this before,” Hope said. “While we hope to solve your murder, we know it will be difficult at best and impossible at worst.”
“Yes, I know, and you are justified in reminding me. Yet, I have faith, as it is all I’m allowed to have these days. I will not badger you about it. All in good time, as we were wont to say, all in good time. Now, I will let you get to work. Before I go, I want to tell you that of all the Christmas trees I have seen decorated in this house, yours is the best. It shines like a sun in the darkness, which seems impossible, but it’s true. One of these days, you must inform me of the meaning of some of your ornaments which are vastly different from those of my era.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you about them, Max. Right now, I have to do some things for school. One more week before winter break so I have to tidy up all the grades.”
“Of course. Good luck with your work. Good night, Mrs. Herring.”
“Good night, Max.”
Hope watched Max fade to nothing. In a way, she was sad to see him go. He was an enjoyable source of conversation, now that her Doug was no longer with her. Max provided a link to reality, an anchor. She needed that, as Cori was still a child. She was growing up quickly, but she was not yet an adult. While Hope might have wished to chat with Max, she really did have work to do. Her grade spreadsheet wasn’t going to update itself.
The next hour was spent on the grades. Hope didn’t hurry. She had learned to double check her grade sheet. When she first started teaching, she’d made a mistake that had pushed a young girl close to the edge, as her parents were the driving sort that constantly harped on the importance of good grades. Hope had had to apologize profusely for her mistake. It had been a good lesson in accuracy and Hope hadn’t forgotten it. At the end of the hour, she was satisfied. Some of her pupils wouldn’t be, but that couldn’t be helped. Numbers never lied … unless they were statistics.
Cori was ready for bed when Hope stepped into her daughter’s bedroom. It was behavior that led Hope to believe that Cori did acknowledge a bit of the Santa Claus lore. Children had to be good in order to receive gifts. While he might not see her day and night, the threat of surveillance might be more than enough.
“Ready for the last week of the semester?” Hope asked.
“I studied, just like you said I should.”
“No hubris?”
“I would hate to have to push a boulder up a hill for eternity.” Cori giggled.
“So would I. Even with persistence it would push me to my limit.”
“What are your other limits?” Cori slipped under the covers.
“I can’t sing,” Hope laughed. “Which reminds me, have you practiced for the recital?”
“Yes, and I’m glad I don’t have a solo.”
“I’m glad you don’t too.”
They both chuckled.
After a good night kiss, which Cori accepted, Hope went about her nightly routine. She made sure all the doors and windows were secure. She turned off the outside lights and the Christmas tree lights, which saddened her just a bit. The tree was joyful, and joy was always in short supply during the bleak winter.
In her bedroom, she looked out the window to the almost full moon. The winter air was clear and cold—by North Carolina standards. A sliver of guilt nagged at her. She hadn’t done any work on her husband’s laptop, but that couldn’t be helped. She knew Doug’s death was going to be a long-term project, and one not likely to come to a happy ending. The unanswered questions surrounding his death haunted her, but life had to come first.
How could he have crashed on a dry road, in the middle of the afternoon?
Hope pushed the endless question to the back of her mind. Sleep was needed, refreshing sleep. As she pulled up the quilt, she suddenly remembered that the school staff holiday party was the next evening—and she hadn’t yet bought a gag gift.
What was she going to bring to her first holiday party in her new school? Her mind puzzled over what to bring … and sleep was long in coming.
3
The classroom was quiet with nothing more than the soft scratch of pencils on paper. Hope stood at the front, watching over her students. She knew most of the children would follow instructions and not cheat. But there were a few who couldn’t quite figure out that cheaters often got caught. And half of those kids didn’t have to cheat. They did it because … it was some sort of game. They managed to cheat, and that was fooling the teacher.
Maybe it gave them bragging rights in the cafeteria with high-fives all around. She could count on them to try, and they could count on her to thwart their attempts and lower their grade. It was the rule. And they all had to abide by it.
As Hope collected the tests, she noted the faces that looked happy and the faces that looked sad and the faces that didn’t care. The non-caring faces were the ones she didn’t like to see. The children who didn’t care were the ones who wouldn’t care when they were adults. When people didn’t care, they were capable of anything. Hope always wanted them to care.