Christmas Ghosts - Fiction River by Fiction River

could get together this week for coffee. If you’re busy, I understand—”
    “No, no,” he said, moving toward her, relief washing over him. “I’ve definitely got time this week.” He couldn’t help but smile. She seemed sweet and considerate. He glanced at his watch. Almost noon. “What about this afternoon? Three o’clock. The bakery off Mullis?”
    Mallory returned his smile, running her hand through that thick, dark hair. Her intense grey eyes seemed lit from within and they made his heart race every time she smiled at him.
    “Three o’clock it is,” she replied, those grey eyes bright.
    High school memories flooded back and he remembered passing the long-legged sophomore in the hall every day just before lunch. She always looked a little shy, standing there in Doc Martens and ripped low-rise jeans (that embraced every curve) as she’d smile at him over her books. By her junior year, she’d graduated to miniskirts and midriffs (at basketball games and the spring festival). He’d been too scared to ask her out though, since she was constantly surrounded by half the guys in school. He thought he’d grown out of that crush, but seeing her brought it back full force. He’d even been dreaming about her.
    At twenty-seven, she’d barely aged. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t taken. When Hildy urged him to text her, he thought it was a joke. After so many bad dates—and that psycho, Lindsey Tull—he’d considered either the Peace Corps or the priesthood.
    Maybe things were starting to turn around? He’d get his grandma to watch the store—and Marshall—this afternoon. He was taking out Mallory Winter, the woman of his dreams.
    “I’ll meet you there,” said Mallory, moving toward the front door.
    Rowan waved as she walked out.
    He could barely hold the phone as he called his grandmother.
     
    ***
     
    Mallory sat near the ferry terminal, smartphone in hand, collecting every bit of information she could on Lindsey Tull. The salt air mixed with the cool scent of pine. Front Street faced the harbor where moored boats bobbed in the Salish Sea’s deep teal waters and the ferry docked. The sleek white and green ferry offloaded passengers, cars pouring onto Front Street and up Spring Street where dozens of unique shops and local restaurants lined both sides.
    Lindsey made it easy. She’d posted so much personal information on Facebook and her abandoned Myspace page. Address. Phone number. The name of the antique shop (Granny’s Attic) where she worked. Mallory found even more by searching Google images, finding pictures of her car, restaurants she frequented, and where she shopped. And a creepy photo-blog that should have been titled Way Too Much Information .
    Her blog was filled with posts about Rowan and how this Christmas would be the best ever. It was plastered with photos of Rowan in restaurants, with friends, and on the street. Captions beneath the pictures read: my adorable fiancé, my beloved, my soul mate, and father of my future children.
    Most disturbing was the latest entry, pictures of her stalking Rowan all the way to work, from truck to parking lot to the shop, all taken from a distance. She’d badly edited the photos, putting herself beside him in every shot. She wrote about how they’d had a fight and he’d hung up on her. She ended the post saying she’d make it up to him with dinner. The post ended with her writing that she expected him to propose on Christmas Day.
    Mallory squinted at the post’s time stamp: Thursday, December 20, 2012, 1:14 P.M. The time on her phone was 1:24 P.M.
    She shuddered. Ten minutes ago.
    Mallory walked toward Rowan’s shop, searching for his stalker.
    Tourists walked up and down the streets lit with Christmas lights. They wore heavy jackets, fanny packs, and cameras around their necks, walking two and three deep, carrying sacks and coffee cups. Lindsey blended in with them.
    She saw a bleached blonde with too much makeup sitting on a bench across