by Bobbi Holmes
“I seriously doubt that. Why do you suddenly have Brian on the brain?” Joe asked as he stepped on the gas and headed toward Lily and Ian’s driveway.
“No, don’t pull in the driveway,” Kelly said. “Go down the street.”
“What for?” Joe asked, stopping in front of Ian and Lily’s house without pulling in the driveway.
“I just want to see if I’m right. Brian’s car is not in front of Heather’s house, and if he is over there, I bet he parked in the alley behind her house.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Joe asked.
“If I’m wrong?” Kelly frowned.
“We should make this more interesting. If you want me to drive all around the block, what do I get if you’re wrong?” Joe teased.
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
Joe considered the question a moment and then flashed Kelly a mischievous grin. “If you are wrong, tomorrow night you make homemade lasagna, my mother’s recipe.”
Kelly arched her brow and stared at Joe. She had made the recipe before, and while delicious, it was a pain. Before taking the bet, she asked, “And if I’m right?”
“What do you want?”
“If I’m right, we give these tacos to my brother, and you take me to Pearl Cove again.”
“Deal.” Joe grinned and stepped on the gas.
Heather’s laptop computer, pushed to one side of the kitchen table, made room for the sacks of to-go food from Beach Taco. Brian and Heather sat at the table, each with a plate of food before them, while Heather’s calico cat, Bella, corralled a fly in one corner of the kitchen. It had entered the house with Brian.
Ignoring her cat swatting at the fly, Heather filled Brian in on the mountain man ghost while the pair ate tacos, chips and salsa, and each sipped on a cold beer.
“So what’s the connection with the ghost and Walt’s parents?” Brian asked.
“We don’t know. But I talked to Danielle on the phone right before you got here. After Danielle told the ghost Anna was at the cemetery and he disappeared, Walt went down to the cemetery to talk to him, assuming that’s where he had gone.”
“A cemetery seems like an obvious place for dead people to hang out.” Brian snorted.
Heather continued with the story, telling Brian what had occurred at the cemetery.
“So what now? Does this mean the ghost moved on?”
Heather shrugged. “Very possible. But Walt still doesn’t know about the connection between this ghost and his parents. And Mountain Man claims Walt’s dad killed him. That’s what I’ve been researching on the computer.”
“I don’t imagine you can Google who did Walt’s dad murder, and why?”
Heather, about to take a bite of a taco, paused and narrowed her eyes at Brian. “Do I have to hurt you?”
Brian grinned at the threat and wiggled his brows. “You tease.”
Heather’s frown turned into a smile. “Who are you?”
He picked up a tortilla chip and flipped it in her direction.
She caught the chip and laughed. After eating it, she said, her tone again serious, “I’m just trying to figure out why he would be in the mountains. By the way he was dressed, it looked like he had been there for a while, considering the work boots, denims and flannel shirt, and hat. My first thought, he was a real mountain man. Up there trapping for animal skins, that sort of thing.”
“When I think of Oregon mountain men, the pictures I’ve seen, they make their clothing from animal fur and leather, not denims and flannel. Plus, you believe your ghost died in 1904, that’s about two decades after Oregon mountain men faded away.”
“Yeah, that’s what I found. But then I thought, he could have been up there looking for gold. He accused me of snooping, it was like he was trying to hide something. And I imagine prospectors were protective about their gold mines, especially if they hadn’t staked a legal claim yet. It’s entirely possible he died up there on that mountain before he could stake his.”
“From what I remember about Oregon history, its gold rush ended around the same time as the Civil War began. And when it had its second rush, that took place in Eastern Oregon. In fact, I’m fairly certain there weren’t any notable gold mines where we were.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a gold mine up there that no one knows about—except for the ghost,” Heather reminded him.
“I suppose,” Brian conceded.
“I’d like to find the identity of the ghost. Who was he?”
“I assume he didn’t give Walt his name?”
Heather shook her head. “No. And when we saw him over at Marlow House earlier and asked, he just said, ‘Ask Alex.’”
“I wonder if Walt’s father really did murder this guy,” Brian said.
“I hope not. I know what it feels like to learn you’re descended from a murderer,” Heather grumbled.
“You can’t choose your family.”
“Yeah, I get that. But it doesn’t really help. For Walt’s sake, I’d like to prove the ghost was wrong. But frankly, I’m not sure we can. Especially if the ghost has moved on. Heck, we don’t even know who he was.”
Nine
“I suppose it’ll keep for another day, won’t it?” Lily asked as she looked into the refrigerator at the two steaks sitting in the bowl of marinade.
“I was looking forward to having steak tonight,” Ian grumbled as he pulled tacos from the to-go sack his sister had left with them. “But I don’t think these are going to keep. We should probably eat them.”
Lily shut the refrigerator door and turned to face Ian. “What’s with your sister lately? First, she practically runs out of here earlier, like she saw a ghost.”
“Maybe she did,” Ian suggested as he unwrapped a taco.
“Evan said nothing happened in there,” Lily reminded him.
Ian shrugged and took a bite.
“And then she randomly gives us tacos when she picks up her checkbook? What is that about?”
“Trying to be nice?” Ian took another bite. “Actually, this is pretty good.”
“So why did she really buy us tacos? She said they’re going to Pearl Cove for dinner. Was she afraid we were going to invite ourselves along, and she didn’t want us coming with Connor, so she figured giving us tacos would keep us from asking?”
“It’s possible they ordered tacos for dinner and then decided they would rather eat at Pearl Cove,” Ian suggested before taking another bite.
“Ian, they ate at Pearl Cove last night. Remember? Who goes to Pearl Cove two nights in a row?”
“I don’t know. Come on, let’s eat together.” Ian motioned to Connor, who sat in his highchair eating dinner. “Before our son decides he’s done.”
With a sigh, Lily walked to the breakfast bar and picked up the sack of food. She looked inside. “So what’s in here?”
“Tacos, and it looks like some chips and salsa,” Ian said.
Lily removed the chips from the sack and set them on the counter. She then pulled the container of salsa from the bag, removed its lid and set it next to the chips. Grabbing a taco, Lily took a seat at the breakfast bar with Ian.
“I wonder where her question about Brian came from,” Ian said.
While unwrapping her taco, Lily said, “I’m not sure why she’d ask if we’ve seen Brian at Heather’s, or why she would even care.”
Ian shrugged. “Brian and Heather seemed chummy last night—more like friends. Which really isn’t surprising considering what they experienced. Brian might have said something to Joe, who said something to my sister, which got that brain of hers spinning.”
It does spin sometimes, Lily told herself, yet she didn’t share the thought with her husband. Instead, she said, “I have to give Brian credit, he seems to be taking this all in stride.”
Joe stared at the prices on the menu and inwardly groaned. Last night he had paid with cash he had saved for the occasion. Tonight would go on his credit card. He looked over his menu at Kelly and found he
r staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
“We don’t have to stay,” Kelly said.
“Are you serious?”
She shrugged and set the menu she had been holding on the table. “I got carried away having to be right.”
Joe chuckled. “No, I started it. But we could try something instead of the lobster tonight.”
“I’ll just have a bowl of clam chowder,” Kelly suggested.
“That’s not enough,” he said.
“I’m not that hungry. And I love their clam chowder and bread. Anyway, I know you like their steak. Order that, and you can give me a couple of bites.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Actually, clam chowder sounds pretty good to me.”
Joe smiled and tossed his menu to the table. “Deal.”
Five minutes later, after the server took their order, Kelly asked, “What do you think is going on with Heather and Brian?”
“I don’t think anything is going on with them. I just think they’re friends now. Which I suppose is understandable, considering their harrowing experience. Although, if it were me and I got lost in the mountains a couple of days with Heather Donovan, I can’t imagine myself wanting to keep hanging out with her.”
“Agreed. But he would like Ginny. I wish you would talk him into going on a double date with us,” Kelly said. “Don’t you think it’s sad he’s all alone?”
“He wasn’t all alone tonight,” Joe reminded her.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Her family moved to this area around the same time as the Marlows. I think it’s great she donated all those newspapers to the museum. Finally, they have a complete collection.”
“I suspect she just wanted to get rid of them. I wouldn’t want to fill up my attic with old newspapers.”
“She could have just had them recycled, and that would have been such a loss,” Kelly said.
“I wonder if Marie knew her family.”
“I assume so. According to Ginny, her family was close to the Marlows, and Marie’s father was Walt Marlow’s close friend. So I imagine they all knew each other. I never asked Ginny if she knows Adam,” Kelly said.
“What did her family do back then? Did they work for the Marlow shipping line?” Joe asked.
“No. When her family moved here, they opened a livery stable,” she explained.
“Livery stable?” Joe grinned.
“And one of her great-uncles was close to Walt’s father. The original Walt, obviously. Not Danielle’s Walt.” Kelly giggled and then added, “I guess they grew up together.”
“Great-uncle?”
Kelly shrugged. “Well, great-great-not sure how many greats. But one of her ancestors grew up with Frederick Marlow’s son. But not a direct ancestor. It was the brother of one of her direct ancestors. The one who owned the livery stable. Actually, he was the brother-in-law of the guy who started the livery stable. Or it was the brother-in-law of the son of the guy who started the livery stable? Or grandson? Not the friend, the other one.”
“You totally lost me,” Joe said with a laugh.
Brian sat with Heather on her back porch, drinking a beer. Instead of beer, Heather had switched to wine.
“Thanks for the tacos. They were good,” Heather said.
“You’re welcome.” Brian leaned back in the patio chair and took a swig of beer.
“I was thinking about our mystery ghost and how he probably got stranded up in the mountains somehow and died. And how that could have been our fate too.” Heather shivered at the thought.
“If Walt’s father really was responsible for his death, then him being stranded up there probably didn’t get him killed.”
“Maybe. But he didn’t have any visible wounds. He looks more like someone who got stuck up there and died, considering his beard.”
“Visible wounds? Ghosts have wounds?” Brian asked.
“Sometimes. A disoriented spirit often takes on the same appearance he had right before dying. Which is why you might see a ghost with a meat cleaver imbedded in his bloody head if that’s how someone killed him.”
“Lovely imagery,” he said dryly.
“I thought you would appreciate it.”
“Have you seen a ghost like that?” he asked.
Heather shrugged. “No. But it’s possible. Although I did see one with a piece of broken glass sticking out of his back. Scared the crap out of me.”
Brian cringed. “I can imagine. Maybe our ghost got bit by a snake and died. Since he didn’t have Walt to save him. A snake bite you probably wouldn’t see.”
“We were lucky to have Walt with us. Made fishing easier.”
“Amen to that,” Brian agreed and took another swig of beer.
“You know what I read when researching Oregon mountain men?” Heather asked.
“What?”
“During the gold rush, the prospectors often carried sourdough starter with them so they could make their own bread. According to some articles, they would sleep with the starter to keep it warm and alive.”
“I’m sorry, what is sourdough starter?” Brian asked.
Heather frowned at Brian. “Don’t you like sourdough bread?”
“Sure. But what does that have to do with sourdough starter?”
“It’s what you need to make sourdough bread. Bread needs some sort of leavening agent, like yeast or baking powder, or sourdough starter. You can make sourdough starter by mixing flour and water, and somehow it collects the yeast from the air,” Heather explained.
“Wouldn’t they need some sort of oven to bake this bread?” he asked.
Heather shrugged. “I don’t know what they baked it in. I didn’t read that far. But I think I should try making some.”
“Why?”
“To be more self-sufficient. And the next time we get stranded in the mountains, I can make homemade sourdough bread to eat with our fish,” Heather said.
Brian cocked a brow at Heather. “So the next time some crazy witches kidnap us, you’re going to make sure you have sourdough starter with you?”
“It only takes flour and water,” Heather reminded him.
“Oh, so you’re going to make sure you have a bag of flour with you?” he teased.
“A glass jar too.”
Brian laughed.
Together Walt and Danielle sat on the front porch swing, a blanket draped over their laps to ward off the chill of the evening. Walt sipped brandy while Danielle enjoyed a glass of wine. Looking up to the moonless sky, Danielle said, “We’re lucky it’s not raining. According to the radio, it’s raining in Astoria tonight.”
“It feels like we may get some later.” While holding his brandy with his right hand, Walt wrapped his left arm around Danielle and pulled her closer.
“You think he moved on?” Danielle asked.
“Very possible,” Walt said. “You know, I’ve been thinking of those mountains since talking to our mystery ghost.”
“In what way?”
“I remember my father used to go fishing with Teddy and Bud up in the mountains. They would ride horses up there and camp. I’m not saying it was the same place they took us. But it could have been. I remember wanting to go, but Mom said I was too young, and Dad would tell me he would take me with them when I got a little older. Of course, that time never came.”
“I’m sorry,” Danielle whispered.
Walt shrugged. “That was a very long time ago. Maybe I never made it up to the mountains with them, but I remember going fishing on the pier, and Teddy and Bud were there. It must have been that last year. I have this memory of us standing on the end of the pier and Dad fixing my fishing pole. Uncle Teddy and Uncle Bud were arguing.”
“Arguing? About what?”
Walt considered the question for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember my father telling them to knock it off. And they stopped.”
“What were your uncle Bud and uncle Teddy like?”
&nb
sp; “First, they weren’t my real uncles.”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“I remember Uncle Teddy would sneak me candy, and Mom would get annoyed. But aside from that, I don’t recall anything specific, just that they were around a lot when I was little. I assumed they really were family. But after my parents died, and my grandfather asked Teddy to leave the funeral and Bud didn’t even show up, I felt abandoned. Looking back, they were flashes from my early childhood memories, before my parents died.”
A meow interrupted their conversation. Both Danielle and Walt looked down to see Max sauntering toward the swing.
“Max, what are you doing out this late?” Danielle asked as the cat jumped up on the swing with them.
Walt looked at Max and arched his brows. “Really?”
Max made himself at home on Danielle’s lap and stared up into Walt’s eyes.
“What is he saying?” Danielle asked.
“He was just over visiting Bella. Seems Heather had another visitor tonight.”
“Really?” Danielle looked down at Max and stroked his back. “Gee, Max, you and Walt are becoming a pair of gossips.”
Ten
In her last years of life, Marie Hemming Nichols grew reliant on her grandson, Adam, for transportation. She understood Adam had his own life and a business to run, so she had tried not to be a burden, and when possible, she found alternate forms of transportation, such as procuring rides with friends. Yet as the years moved on, more and more of her friends found themselves in the same situation as her, no longer driving. Or they had moved to the other side, where they no longer needed an automobile.
Almost three years had gone by since Marie had moved from the living world to the spirit realm. She had delayed her ultimate move to the other side and instead remained to observe and occasionally interact with the living—as a ghost. When Walt had been a ghost, he’d found offense at that word. Marie rather liked it. “I’m a ghost,” she would sometimes tell herself before breaking into a giggle.
One perk about being a ghost, she did not need to rely on others for transportation. When in a hurry, she could simply focus on her destination and within moments be transported to the spot. When not in a hurry, she could take her time and enjoy the journey, sending her spirit sailing along the rooftops, a ghostly version of the Flying Nun.
