by Bobbi Holmes
The Ghost and the Silver Scream
(Haunting Danielle, Book 24)
A Novel
By Bobbi Holmes
Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey
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Copyright © 2020 Bobbi Holmes
Robeth Publishing, LLC
All Rights Reserved.
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This novel is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to places or actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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www.robeth.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
The Ghost of a Memory
Haunting Danielle Newsletter
Haunting Danielle Series
Bobbi Holmes
Unlocked Hearts Series
The Coulson Series
Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes
To fellow author and friend, Cameron Lowe. Thanks for suggesting The Ghost and the Silver Scream book title, and thanks for letting Lily and Heather read your book, A Ghost at His Back, Book One of the Rankin Flats Supernatural Thrillers.
One
Of all the ways he imagined his life ending, he never considered murder. After all, people adored him. He was not only handsome, he was generous, loving, and undoubtably the life of the party, any party. But murder? It was an insult, a blot on a life well lived. Plus, in his craziest alcohol-induced dreams, he had never imagined one of the people closest to him might be the one to pull the trigger. How had he missed the signs?
Trigger was just a metaphor. A firearm hadn’t been the murder weapon. Although, he was as dead as if he had been shot through the heart.
The impressive Victorian, with its intriguing mansard roofline, loomed over him. Looking up at the house, he guessed it had three floors, considering the number and position of the front windows. Turning his attention to the sign posted out front, he silently read: Marlow House, Established 1871.
“I guess I’m at the right place,” he murmured.
He started toward the front door, but then changed directions and made his way to the downstairs windows to look inside. Standing in the shrubbery bordering the front edge of the house, he peeked in one window. It appeared to be a living room. No one was inside. Moving to the next window, he found a bedroom. Once again, the room was empty.
Deciding not to enter through the front door or windows, he went to investigate what he could find by entering along the front gate to the side yard. A few minutes later he stood by what he would soon discover was the kitchen window. Peering inside, he was happy to find three people sitting at the kitchen table, having coffee and chatting.
One was an attractive woman, with dark wavy hair falling just beyond her shoulders. He guessed her age to be late twenties or early thirties. She wore a navy blue, long-sleeved T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. He was fairly certain she was Danielle Marlow.
The two men at the table with her were similarly dressed, each wearing what appeared to be dark jogging pants or pajama bottoms with T-shirts. The dark-haired thirtysomething man to her right, he recognized him immediately—Walt Marlow. It was Marlow’s bestselling novel, Moon Runners, that had gotten him into this mess.
If it wasn’t for that book, he wouldn’t be playing Peeping Tom in some little beach town along the Oregon coast. He also wouldn’t be dead.
He turned his attention to the third person at the table, a blond man whose back was to him. At least, he assumed it was a man, considering the broad shoulders stretching out the T-shirt. By the length of his wavy blond hair, barely touching the shirt’s collar and in desperate need of a comb, he admitted it could possibly be a woman, albeit a rather huskily built one.
Motion from the doorway leading to what he assumed was the hall caught his attention. It was then he noticed a black cat strolling into the kitchen and trailing behind him, a pit bull.
Danielle looked up from the table and watched as Hunny followed Max into the room. The pit bull kept a respectable distance behind the black cat, not wanting to get a swat on the nose for coming too close. What the pit bull, Hunny, didn’t know, Max the cat had long since realized the puppy had grown into a muscular dog who could easily take him down if she felt inclined. Hunny’s temperament prevented her from hurting the cat, yet Max hadn’t managed to last this long by using up his nine lives being overly cocky.
“I think Max is going to miss Hunny,” Danielle said as she watched the pair. A moment later Max curled up by her feet while Hunny made her way around the table, greeting everyone with a wet nose before settling between Walt and Chris on the floor under the table.
“Not sure about that. But Sadie will,” Walt said, referring to the golden retriever who lived across the street. “Those two have become quite the pair, always running around in the side yard or on the beach together.”
“I think it was those bones they dug up next door,” Chris said with a snort. “Partners in crime, those two dogs.”
The bones in question were the remains of a couple who had been murdered in the forties and had been put to rest almost six months earlier, after Hunny and Sadie’s discovery.
“I feel a little guilty having you move out before your house is done,” Danielle said.
“Ahh, don’t be silly.” Chris gave a shrug as he picked up his coffee cup. “It’s going to be a few weeks before I can move into the new house, so I can deal with staying at the foundation office until then. Heather tells me the bed she ordered is being delivered this afternoon. Anyway, I think I’m starting to annoy Walt.”
“No more than usual.” Walt smiled and sipped his coffee.
“Plus,” Chris continued, “you guys are going to need the room for all those Hollywood people. It’s going to be like having the B and B up and running again.”
“Yes, but this time Joanne will be doing most of the cooking,” Walt said.
“I’m playing lady of the manor.” Danielle grinned.
Before Chris could respond, Hunny jumped up from her place under the kitchen table and began to bark. The three turned toward the kitchen door leading to the side yard, to see what had set the dog off, and to their surprise they found a young man standing in the kitchen by the closed door. He looked to be in his early twenties. While it was shocking to find a stranger standing in the room with them—one they hadn’t heard come in—the vibes he gave off were anything but threatening.
“I know that door was locked,” Danielle muttered, her eyes wide as she stared at the stranger. Neither Walt nor Chris had gotten up from the table, but instead remained in their chairs, turned toward the intruder.
The man glanced around the kitchen curiously, unfazed by the pi
t bull still barking at him. After taking full inventory of the room, he looked to Danielle and smiled. “I didn’t come through the door.” He then reconsidered his words and laughed, adding, “On second thought, I suppose I did.”
The next moment the man abruptly took several steps backwards, disappearing through the door, and then in the next moment he reappeared.
“See?” he said cheerfully. “The lock was no problem.”
“You’re a ghost,” Danielle blurted.
Hunny, now silent, sat down and stared at the ghost, cocking her head from side to side, while Max looked up, annoyed, his sleep having been disturbed by the canine barking.
“And you can see me,” the stranger said, sounding surprised. He looked from Danielle to Walt and Chris. “And you can too. I hadn’t expected that.” He walked over to the empty chair and sat down, which fortunately for him had already been pulled out from the table, since he had not yet learned to harness energy and move objects.
“Who are you…and why are you here?” Walt demanded.
Instead of answering the question, the ghost looked from Walt to Chris, then Danielle and back to Walt. “I have heard there are people like you who can see ghosts, but I’ve never encountered one before. Are all of you alive? I know Walt Marlow is alive.” He turned to Danielle and added, “and I just assumed you’re Danielle Marlow, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are someone else. A dead someone.” He turned to Chris and asked, “Are you a ghost?”
“No, we’re all alive. But how do you know who I am?” Walt asked.
“You’re the reason I’m here,” the stranger explained.
“Me?” Walt frowned.
“Who are you?” Chris asked.
“Who I am is not as important as why I’m here,” the man explained. “And since you all can see me, then there is no reason for me to stick around once I tell you why I had to come.”
“Why is that?” Danielle asked.
“I want to prevent a murder,” the ghost said.
“Murder? Whose murder?” Danielle asked.
The man shrugged. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure. It could be several of them. Or none of them. But who knows, maybe all of them, considering I certainly didn’t see it coming.”
“Didn’t see what coming?” Chris asked.
The ghost looked at him. “Why, my murder, of course.”
“You were murdered?” Danielle asked.
“Didn’t I just say that?”
Danielle frowned. “And there’s going to be another murder?”
“I certainly hope not. That’s why I’m here.”
“And what does any of this have to do with me?” Walt asked.
“Just tell us who you are,” Chris insisted.
The ghost started to say something but then stopped. “I don’t know if I should say who I am. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
“Who would get in trouble if you told us who you are?” Walt asked.
“My killer, obviously.”
Danielle arched her brow at the ghost. “Your killer? You come and tell us you’ve been murdered, and then say you don’t want to get your killer in trouble?”
“It’s too late for me. I don’t want to see anyone go to prison over a little misunderstanding.”
“Your murder was a little misunderstanding?” Chris asked.
“Please, we’re getting off track here. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” the ghost insisted.
“Whose murder are you trying to prevent?” Danielle asked.
“Like I told you, I’m not quite sure,” the ghost said.
“Do you at least know who the would-be killer is?” Chris asked.
“Of course. The same person who killed me,” the ghost said.
“And who is this killer?” Chris asked.
“I told you, I can’t say. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
“Then I don’t know how you expect us to help you,” Danielle said impatiently.
“What does any of this have to do with me? Why are you here, and how did you know who I am?” Walt asked.
“Because they’re all coming here,” the ghost said matter-of-factly.
“Who’s coming here?” Walt asked.
“The possible victims, of course.” He then looked at Walt and said, “And I would probably still be alive if you hadn’t written that book, and I wouldn’t be standing in your kitchen right now.”
Before anyone could respond, the ghost of Marie Nichols—the image of an elderly woman—popped into the kitchen. She said a cheery hello; the other ghost looked at her in surprise and then vanished.
“Was it something I said?” Marie asked, glancing around the kitchen. She turned to the table. “Who was that?”
“Some guy who said he had been murdered,” Danielle explained.
“Murdered?” Marie repeated.
“Yes, and he seems to believe there’ll be more…here,” Chris said.
Two
Marie sat quietly at Marlow House’s kitchen table, listening to Danielle explain their odd encounter with the apparition minutes earlier. When Marie had first arrived, she had been wearing a straw hat with her sundress—a dress made from a brightly patterned poppy fabric in red, orange, green and yellow. At least it looked as if it were made from the cheerful floral fabric. The dress was only an illusion, like the elderly woman wearing it and the straw hat, which had vanished the moment after Marie had sat down at the table with her friends.
Danielle finished with the telling, and Marie leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh.
“And you have no idea who the young man was?” Marie asked after a moment of pondering what she had just heard.
“None. The only thing he really told us, someone might be murdered,” Danielle said.
“We also know this has something to do with Walt and his book.” Chris glanced briefly to Walt and then looked back to Marie.
“That’s the most ludicrous part of all of this,” Walt grumbled.
“More ludicrous than a ghost randomly popping up in our kitchen and foretelling a murder? Of whom, he didn’t know, and a killer—his killer—whom he refused to name,” Danielle asked.
“I’m just saying it’s ridiculous to imagine my book is responsible for getting anyone killed. It is a book of fiction. And while many of the events did actually happen, they occurred a hundred years ago,” Walt argued.
“It has to have something to do with that movie crew,” Chris said.
“The movie crew?” Danielle asked.
Chris looked at her. “That has to be it. The ghost talked about someone coming here and then talked about Walt’s book. The only people coming here in the immediate future—at least as far as we know—are the people making the movie.”
“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Danielle argued.
“I wish we could have gotten that ghost to tell us more,” Walt said.
“I’m sorry I scared him off,” Marie apologized.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Danielle said. “Maybe he’ll come back.”
“I’ll go down to the cemetery and check around,” Marie offered. “Perhaps someone knows who he is. Spirits often check into the local cemetery when they hit town—to get an idea what type of lingering spirits are nearby and if there might be any mediums in the area that can help them.”
“Oh, please,” Danielle groaned. “The spirits at the cemetery haven’t been giving out our names, have they? Like some Ghost Chamber of Commerce? If so, please take our names off the list.”
Marie chuckled. “It doesn’t quite work that way, dear. And would you want us to turn away a spirit in need?” Before Danielle could respond, Marie vanished.
Later that afternoon, Pearl Huckabee, Marlow House’s neighbor to the south, stood at her upstairs bedroom window, peering out the narrow opening between her curtains. She stared down into the driveway next door. The only car in the drive belonged to Chris Johnson. Walt and Danielle Marlow normally parked in their garag
e located to the rear of the property. Yet she knew only one car was currently parked there. Fifteen minutes earlier she had seen the Marlows drive off in their Packard.
She watched as Chris carried several suitcases to his car.
“Is he going somewhere?” Pearl wondered aloud. She glanced around the yard, looking for Chris’s pit bull, Hunny. She had once been terrified of the dog; she had even plotted to find a way to have it permanently banned from the neighborhood. But then the dog did something unexpected—it had saved Pearl’s life. She still did not like her neighbors and would prefer the house next door be vacant, as it had been when she was a child. However, Pearl now had a soft spot in her heart for Hunny.
She watched as Chris walked to the gate at the end of the driveway and opened it. A few moments later she spied Hunny coming outside through the doggy door. Chris opened his vehicle’s passenger door for the dog, who then jumped into the car. Pearl continued to stand at the window. She watched Chris back his car out of the driveway a few minutes later, taking his dog and suitcases with him.
She turned from the window and picked up the newspaper she had set on her dresser earlier that morning. Turning to the article about her neighbor, she reread the piece. It was an interview with Walt Marlow. Apparently his book was actually being made into a movie, and in a few days the producer, director, several movie stars, and others were coming to Frederickport and staying at Marlow House.
