Christmas, the Krewe, and Kenneth Page 2

  “Mom!” Corby called from the living room. “Dad?”

  They headed back out.

  Corby was standing with Kelly in his arms; the ghost dog, Sean, was next to them.

  “Is the gate closed? I think Kelly needs to go out. And Sean doesn’t need to go out—he just wants to.”

  Angela smiled and glanced at Jackson.

  She sometimes wondered about the luck of her own life. To her, Jackson was as striking a man as ever. With mixed white and Native American blood, he was impressive with ink-dark hair, bronze skin, and blue eyes that were riveting against his coloring and high cheekbones. Better than that, though, Jackson had integrity and empathy. And while she found him to be unerringly kind, he was also bright and fierce when they were on a case; but he never let brawn outweigh the thought that went into any situation.

  He was Field Director Crow for their unit, and Special Agent in Charge. As the Krewe had grown from the initial six members, she had fallen into the role of coordinator and liaison for the cases and agents with which they worked.

  It was intense. They worked hard. They were happy together, and they were also married to their work in a way. Well, they had a unit full of agents who had all gone through the academy, and who also saw and spoke to the dead. That did often call for complete dedication.

  But last year, they had met Corby, an incredible orphan who also saw the dead. And Angela had also discovered they were about to have a child.

  So, now they had a son and a daughter and a dog—and a ghost dog. Sean’s last master had chosen to go on. Sean had chosen to stay with them.

  She was a lucky person. She knew more so than most because she did too often get to see the evil in mankind. But she was also able to see the amazing kindness that human beings were capable of as well. And she knew her own life was blessed.

  “Mom?” Corby said, frowning.

  “Sorry, sorry! Yes, the gate is closed. You two—sorry, you three--can go on out.”

  “Are we going to build the gingerbread house when I come in?” Corby asked hopefully. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

  “Yes, we will build the gingerbread house!” Angela assured him.

  Corby and the dogs headed out the front door.

  “Oh! Don’t forget,” Angela told Jackson. “I said you’d go over to Sandy’s house and check it all out.”

  Jackson nodded and glanced back at her, grinning, as he headed toward the front door.

  “I’ll use the gates. Not sure what you were doing over there, but . . . think I’ll use gates and maybe knock at the front door.”

  “Just go—no, wait!”

  He paused, looking back at her.

  They’d had a Zoom meeting with Krewe agents in the area and beyond. All had agreed that those not working would lie low for the holiday.

  They, like many others, usually loved their “office” party or just getting together in the groups of friends that had grown through the years.

  The vaccine was on the horizon. Households would celebrate alone.

  Angela loved having people over. But not this year. Getting a grip on the situation was close, and she wanted to get them all to the finish line.

  But . . .

  “You need to ask Sandy to come here for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I thought—”

  “Sandy doesn’t go anywhere. She has everything delivered. And I was just creeping around her yard, and you’re going to go through her house. She’s one person. Alone. I want to ask her to have Christmas Eve with us.”

  Jackson smiled.

  “You got it,” he told her.

  He headed on out.

  With Corby in the yard, Angela switched on the news.

  Two bodies, husband and wife, dragged out of the Potomac, apparently drowned. Kenneth, their seventeen-year-old son, remained missing, and police were looking for him.

  They put out a warning the boy was autistic and strong, and people were to call the authorities and not engage with him.

  Angela winced. The way the news came out . . .

  Yes. People would assume the missing son had done something to his parents.

  She cringed at the thought.

  Maybe he had. All possibilities had to be considered. She just didn’t want . . .

  She didn’t want it to be a boy who was surely hurting already.

  *

  “Jackson, thank you. This has been so strange. So very strange. I keep hearing the rustling out by the garbage cans. I could have sworn this morning . . . well, thankfully, Angela was out here,” Sandy said. “I’m so grateful to you both. Angela is always so kind. I hear, though, she’s hell on wheels when she’s on a case! Such a lovely woman, too, with that blond hair . . . she could have modeled. Thankfully, though . . . well, she’s a kick-ass neighbor!”

  “Thanks, Sandy, and I know Angela cares about you, too. We all do, of course. Corby says you’re the best. Oh, and Angela wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night,” Jackson said. “We prepare a roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, all that on Christmas Eve and get lazy on Christmas day.”

  “That’s so kind of you. Are you sure?” Sandy asked.

  She was wearing her mask. She had donned it before answering the door.

  “We would be delighted to have you.”

  “Well then . . . thank you!”

  “And for now, Sandy, I will go room to room and look in every closet and under every bed.”

  “Thank you!”

  Sandy followed him at a distance as he went through her house.

  When he had gone through every room—and into every closet and looked under the beds—he told her cheerfully there was no one in the house.

  “I think you’re fine,” he told her.

  “Do we have raccoons?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Sandy, yes, this area does have raccoons. If we have a problem, we’ll get someone out to humanely handle the situation. Okay? Right after Christmas.”

  “Funny,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “My bins are sealed. So are yours.”

  “So, the rustling sound may be raccoons trying to get the bins open.”

  “Okay. Maybe. And thank you—and Angela—for tomorrow.”

  “We’re happy to have you,” Jackson assured her. “I’m sorry you won’t have your children and grandchildren, but they love you, you know.”

  She nodded. “I know,” she said softly. She brightened. “I have something for Corby I think he’ll like. I can give it to him tomorrow night.”

  “That’s great of you. Thank you,” Jackson told her. “So, see you tomorrow!”

  She smiled and Jackson managed to leave the house at last.

  But when he returned—going out Sandy’s gate and in through his own—he found Angela was in the front yard, holding the baby, and watching as Corby threw a little ball for Kelly to go after.

  She looked concerned.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked her.

  She grimaced, looking at him.

  “Rustling,” she said.

  “Cattle rustling? My love, we don’t have any cattle.”

  “Ha-ha. I was getting the baby up and . . . I heard something. Outside.”

  “Okay, I’ll go around our house now.”

  “I did that. There’s nothing here.”

  “Maybe you listened to Sandy too long.”

  “Maybe. Anyway . . . okay, Corby!” she called. “Dad’s back. Let’s go do the gingerbread house.”

  They all went in. The gingerbread house was prefabricated. The walls were cookies that Corby could put up and stick together with the icing. Victoria helped now and then by sticking her fingers in the icing. The “house” didn’t exactly look like the box when they were done, but they had a great time putting it together. And as Corby said, they’d be tearing it down to eat it anyway.

  They made pasta and chicken strips for dinner then watched a Disney movie together. Victoria went down for the night, and then an hour later
Corby went to bed, too.

  Jackson and Angela curled up on the sofa to watch a suspense movie on cable he’d been wanting to see.

  Angela laughed as they watched.

  He did have a habit of really wanting to see a movie, then editing it along the way with comments like, “It would never really happen that way,” or “Oh, come on, seriously!”

  “Hey! We both know things are seldom by the book,” Angela said.

  She was smiling, curled against him, and it was wonderful. And then she promised she had a Christmas present for him in the bedroom, and he teased back he had one for her. “God’s gift, eh?” she asked him.

  “Oh? You said first that—”

  “Okay, okay!”

  Even though they’d been together a long time, making love had never grown old. And despite all, Angela had a wonderfully playful side. So she dressed in Christmas socks, a cap, and nothing else. She made him laugh, and as always . . .

  She was an amazing present.

  He fell asleep easily that night. He’d long ago learned there were others out there who also worked to solve the problems of the world, protect the innocent, and catch the guilty.

  He had time off. He was home for Christmas. He was sleeping with his wife and partner curled in his arms, and he knew he had a hell of a good life.

  It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that he jumped up aware Angela had flown out of bed and was grabbing her robe.

  *

  Angela had heard the rustling sound again.

  It had woken her up.

  Worse.

  It had come with a voice. A weak voice, garbled, not creating words, just . . .

  She saw Jackson was also awake and staring at her with total confusion.

  “Jackson, there is something out there! I heard it clearly! I swear, and it’s not that I went paranoid because of Sandy!”

  And Kelly and their ghost dog were barking, his sound softer like a whisper in the air.

  “Okay!” he said.

  Angela knew he hadn’t heard anything.

  She also knew he believed in her.

  The safe was in the closet and he went straight to it, opening it and handing her the Glock she carried for work and getting his own.

  He nodded to her.

  “Side door, out the laundry room, by the garbage,” she told him urgently.

  Right where Sandy had whispered to her that morning.

  “The dogs are barking,” Jackson said. “Let’s go.”

  They headed out together ready for anything. Kelly followed them, not snarling, but woofing and snorting and sniffing as with curiosity.

  “Wait!” she said as they started toward the laundry room. He held still, knowing she was going to look in on the baby and Corby.

  They both slept like little angels.

  She nodded and they started out together again, Angela standing back and to the side, Jackson unlocking the door and throwing it open.

  Nothing.

  They stepped out back-to-back, looking around, and still there was nothing.

  Angela nodded, indicating the yard. And by unspoken agreement, they moved in opposite directions, ready to circle back together after he went around the front and she went around the back.

  Angela loved their yard. It was covered in a light dusting of snow tonight, and she was chilly. She should have grabbed warmer clothing! Too late for that. They had decorated a few pines with colored lights, and they gleamed now casting beautiful Christmas shades upon the snow. But now she wished the yard wasn’t quite so rich with pines. They were great hiding places if someone did want to disappear.

  She was staring at the trees when she heard a voice—speaking softly, ethereally, but plainly.

  “Please, please, I know you can see me!”

  She swung around. And she let out a pent-up breath.

  There was someone there.

  Just not someone . . . in flesh and blood.

  The ghost standing there was clad in a uniform. She thought it was a World War II Navy uniform, and she wondered if he had come from the Arlington Cemetery.

  He’d been older at his death, and he had a rich headful of snow white-hair and a long, snow-white beard. Dress him in red, and he could pass for Santa.

  “Yes, I see you,” she said, lowering her gun. “How can we help you?”

  The ghost let out something that sounded like a sigh of relief. “Chief Petty Officer Arnold Hanson,” he told her, inclining his head. “They talk about you and your husband and your . . . unit.”

  “They?” Angela asked, confused.

  “At the cemetery.”

  “Ah—oh,” she murmured.

  Jackson came around from the front of the house. Kelly was with him, and Sean was at Kelly’s side. Kelly barked and Sean padded over to greet the newcomer with his tail wagging.

  “What they say is true,” the ghost murmured.

  Jackson arched a brow, looking at Angela. But he spoke to the ghost. “Jackson Crow, sir, and my wife, Angela. And the pup there is Kelly, and that’s Sean.”

  The ghost smiled. “Dog people! Dog people are good people!”

  “Well, we like to think so,” Angela murmured. “Sir—”

  “It’s the boy,” he said quietly.

  Angela and Jackson looked at each other, and then back at the ghost.

  “Sir, what boy?”

  “Those idiots! Yes, the kid has problems. But he’s out there alone and hurt, and people think he’s a monster, and he didn’t do a thing!” He shook his head. “I’m sorry; let me start over.”

  “Yes, please, that would be great,” Jackson murmured.

  But Angela already knew what he was talking about.

  “The autistic boy—Kenneth. The kid whose parents were found drowned in the Potomac,” she said.

  The ghost nodded.

  “I think he sees me. You know when one thing doesn’t work right, other things work better? Anyway, he’s been running around the neighborhood, hiding, and looking for food. Not far from here he was in a yard, and a man came out with a shotgun. I tried my best to lead him away. I’m afraid someone is going to shoot him and . . . okay, once again. Back to the beginning. His parents took him out in their boat—one they didn’t maintain very well.” He winced. “I don’t think they were nice people, but I don’t know, and I’m not judging. But when the boat went down, they reached for the life preservers and Kenneth was . . . on his own. But he reached shore, and he tried to drag his mother out, but she was dead and . . . he cried, and he ran. And now . . . he’s near here. Please, you have to help that kid before someone shoots him!”

  “Can you lead us to him?” Jackson asked.

  “He’s sleeping under a bench in the park. Yes, I can lead you to him.”

  “We’ll get dressed right away,” Angela said. “Wait—the kids.”

  “I’ll get Sandy to come over,” Jackson said.

  “Sandy?” Angela murmured. “Do you think—”

  “I think she’ll be fine,” Jackson said.

  He looked like he was about to leap the fence—but remembered he was wearing nothing but a robe. And nodding to them both, he hurried around to the front.

  “You’re welcome to come in,” Angela said. He was a ghost—he could have come in anyway. But she figured for this ghost that would be rude. He was an officer—and a gentleman.

  “Thank you. But please do hurry. I’ve spent a day trying to figure out how to get you outside so I could talk to you.”

  “You could have knocked at the front door,” Angela suggested.

  “I tried. I can rustle cans—haven’t managed the knocking yet.” He was quiet a minute and then said, “I haven’t been . . . as I am now . . . long. I just died last June. Heart attack, but . . . I had a good life. My one regret is I couldn’t say goodbye to my wife. She wasn’t allowed in the hospital at the time.”

  “Covid19,” Angela said.

  He nodded and then brightened. “I do catch what news I can. Hope is
on the way!”

  “Yes, it is. Come on in. We’ll go and find Kenneth!”

  He followed her in, along with the dogs, and took a seat in the living room while she quickly went in to change. Jackson came in a minute later.

  “Sandy?”

  “She’s out there.”

  Jackson looked odd.

  “What is it?” Angela asked.

  “She’s, uh, talking to our ghost.”

  “Oh!” Angela said, startled.

  “Go see while I get dressed.”

  Angela hurried out to the living room. Sandy and Chief Petty Officer Arnold Hanson were indeed talking, laughing, and enjoying one another’s company.

  “Um, Sandy. Thanks for coming to watch the kids,” she said. “And you—”

  “This is amazing!” Sandy said. “I always thought I was crazy. I mean, I never really got to talk to a . . .”

  Her voice trailed and she looked pained and uncomfortable.

  “Ghost!” Hanson told her. “It’s okay. I had a long and wonderful life. I just wish . . . well, I would love to see my wife. I would love to tell her I’m okay, that . . . it’s okay. That I’ll be waiting.”

  “Is she near here?” Angela asked.

  He shook his head. “Our home is in Nevada. I was buried here because of my military history.”

  “Well, we’ll work on something,” Angela promised.

  She was still surprised their neighbor—who had always seemed so paranoid about everything—was sitting there excitedly talking to a ghost.

  Jackson came out.

  “The kids should sleep,” Angela said.

  “I’ll watch the little angels!” Sandy promised.

  They headed out to the car. The park wasn’t far.

  Hanson slid into the back seat.

  “No,” Jackson murmured as they neared the park.

  There were police cars there already. Officers, guns in hand, were standing outside their cars.

  Angela jumped out of the car dragging her badge out and showing it as she approached the officers.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “The kid is in there—hiding in the swing set. We’ve been told he could be dangerous,” the officer in charge shouted.

  “No, he’s just scared!” she said. “Let me try to bring him out!”

  Jackson and the ghost were quickly behind her.

  Chief Petty Officer Arnold Hanson called out to the boy.