“Certainly,” the teller said with a smile. She then turned her attention to her computer. After a few moments of searching, she turned to him with a frown. “Um, this isn’t your account number.”
“Technically, it was my mother’s, Marie Nichols. But I’m a signer on the account.”
“Umm…just a minute.” The teller smiled at Warren and then walked away. She returned a moment later and then pointed to a desk off the main lobby. “You need to speak to Mrs. Mitchell.”
A moment later Warren Nichols sat at the desk of Susan Mitchell.
“Marie was your mother?” Susan asked.
“Yes, she was.”
“I’m very sorry to hear about Marie. She was one of the first people I met when I moved to town,” Susan said with a smile. “I know your son Adam.”
“From what I remember about Frederickport, it’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone.” The way he said it, it didn’t sound as if he thought it was a good thing.
“Yes…I suppose it is…Now, how can I help you today?”
“I need to withdraw some money from my mother’s bank account.”
“I’m afraid that account’s in a trust, and only a trustee on the account can remove any funds.”
“I’m a signer on the account. Of course I can withdraw money,” he argued.
“I’m afraid you aren’t.”
“I’ve always been a signer on her account!” he insisted.
Without considering her words, Susan said, “Adam is the trustee. He’s the only one who can withdraw any funds from the account.”
“Damn!” Warren stood up abruptly. “I don’t know what that boy’s trying to pull! I’ll be talking to my attorney, and then I’ll be back.” Not waiting for a response, he stomped from the bank.
Fifteen minutes later, Warren Nichols sat in an office of the funeral home, waiting to see the pre-need counselor. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Mr. Nichols,” the young woman greeted him when she walked into her office and extended her hand to him, “I’m Liz Cramer. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Standing up, he accepted her brief handshake and then sat back down. “Thank you. I wanted to talk to you about my mother’s services. I was hoping we could have it right away.”
Liz took a seat behind her desk and smiled at Warren. “Your son Adam called earlier and told me he would be in tomorrow so we could discuss the date.”
“Yes, well, I am Marie’s son; Adam isn’t. I don’t think we need to wait to schedule her service. And I also want to talk to you about cremation.”
“Cremation?” Liz opened one of her desk drawers and pulled out a file. Opening it, she glanced over the pages before looking back at Warren. “Your mother isn’t being cremated.”
“I understand she arranged for a burial, but Mother tended to do things a certain way because it was the way it had always been done—not because it was the best option. She isn’t going to know one way or the other if she is buried or cremated. I see no reason why she can’t be cremated, save the ridiculous expense of a casket, and have her ashes buried with my father.”
Liz closed the file and set it on her desk. “I’m sorry, but the only person authorized to make any changes is your son Adam.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m her only son. It should be my decision, not Adam’s.”
With a sigh, Liz picked up the file, opened it, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to Warren. As he took it, she pointed to one line.
“As you see, according to the contract, your mother specified the only one authorized to make any changes to her funeral plans is her grandson Adam.”
“But I’m her only son! Certainly that means something!”
“I’m sorry. Had your mother put down the name of her gardener instead of her grandson’s, the gardener would be the only one with authorization to change her plans—regardless of the fact he’s not a relative. You see, these are your mother’s arrangements—she made them and paid for them—and only she or whoever she delegated can make any changes. Certainly you can understand.”
“No, I can’t understand. I suppose this means I have no say in when to have the funeral?”
“I suggest you talk to your son and the rest of your family before Adam comes in tomorrow.”
“I was hoping we could have the funeral tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry. We already have several funerals planned for tomorrow, and the next day is Thanksgiving. Frankly, even if we didn’t have any funerals tomorrow, the soonest we could possibly have your mother’s funeral would be Tuesday.”
Warren stood abruptly. “Perhaps I’ll take your advice and go talk to my son.”
When Danielle arrived home from Pier Café, she found Marie in the parlor with Walt. The two sat together on the sofa.
“Where’s Eva?” Danielle asked as she tossed her purse on the small desk.
“She left,” Walt told her. “Said something about attending a theater production opening in Astoria.”
“She invited me to go,” Marie told Danielle. “I thought that was very sweet of her. She’s really nothing like I imagined she would be. Very helpful. And did you know I once could see spirits too!”
“See spirits?” Danielle asked.
Walt chuckled. “She told you about the lullabies, didn’t she?”
“Lullabies?” Danielle asked.
“Before Walt died, Eva used to keep an eye on him. Which I can understand,” Marie said with a snort.
Walt frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Sorry, Walt, but men can be foolish. Even my dear father was taken in by that manipulative wife of yours. But my mother had her number!”
Walt chuckled. “I suppose you have a point, Marie. I remember your mother was nobody’s fool.”
“So what is this about lullabies?” Danielle asked.
“When I was a baby, Eva’s spirit would visit me in my crib and sing to me—and I saw her! She said I responded to her songs, and you know what?”
“What?” Danielle asked.
“I remember! I always thought it was a dream. But I recall the first time I saw Eva’s portrait in the museum, I had this vivid memory of her standing over me, singing the most soothing lullaby. To be honest, I always assumed I was recalling a dream, and since the first time I saw Eva’s likeness was her portrait, I naturally assumed that I had dreamt about the Gibson Girl singing to me. Although, when I saw Eva’s portrait, it was troubling. My memory wasn’t of a caricature like Gibson’s drawing, but of a real woman. It was that woman in the portrait. And now I know it was.”
“Interesting…” Danielle murmured.
“Eva invited me to go with her this afternoon, but I told her maybe next time. I thought I better stick around here and get my murder squared away.”
“When that happens—and I hope it will—don’t you think you’ll be moving on afterwards?” Danielle asked.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Walt flashed Marie a grin. “Don’t feel bad. Danielle believes it’s some moral duty of hers to cheer us on to the next leg in our journey.”
“I’m not done here!” Marie insisted.
“And I’m not sure we’ll be able to prove it was murder. We have a problem.” Danielle plopped down on one of the chairs facing the sofa and let out a sigh.
“Didn’t you tell the chief about Marie?” Walt asked.
“Yes. But he can’t just order an autopsy at this point. Not when the medical examiner thinks she died of natural causes.”
“What kind of medical examiner is that?” Marie snapped.
“One that didn’t do a complete autopsy. At this point, aside from what you’ve told me, they’ve no reason to believe there was foul play. According to the chief, I would need to get Adam to request an autopsy.”
“Then do it!” Marie urged.
“I tried.” Danielle then recounted her visits with the chief and Adam.
“Oh dear,” Marie muttered. “I did carry on once
about autopsies. Foolishly told Adam he better never let anyone cut on me unnecessarily.”
“I imagine at the time you didn’t think you’d be a murder victim,” Walt said.
“True. So what do we do now?” Marie asked.
“I suppose we could still try to figure out who killed you. But there won’t be much the chief can really do to help us. At least, not on the record.” Danielle let out a sigh. “And if we do figure out who killed you, I’m not sure what we can do about it.”
“If I could only talk to Adam like I can to you…” Marie groaned.
“Perhaps you can,” Walt said with a smile.
Danielle looked at Walt. “A dream hop?”
“It’s worth a shot. Maybe Marie can convince him. And considering how quickly Marie caught on to wardrobe changes—as Eva calls it—I’m fairly confident I can guide her in her first dream hop.”
Seventeen
Rain began falling late Tuesday afternoon and continued into the evening. Adam stood in front of his microwave oven, waiting for a frozen burrito to finish defrosting, when he heard the doorbell. Glancing at the kitchen wall clock, he saw it was almost half past six. Leaving the microwave running, he went to answer the door.
“I stopped at your office,” Warren greeted him the moment Adam opened the front door. Not waiting for a response, he pushed into Adam’s house and began taking off his wet overcoat.
“Didn’t Mom tell you?” Adam took his father’s jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “I told her I’d talk to you all in the morning. It’s been a long day; I’m beat.”
“Yes, she told me.” Warren headed for Adam’s kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you now. Have any beer?”
“Yes,” Adam said with a grunt as he trailed after his father, following him into the kitchen. Just as he entered the room, the microwave began to buzz.
“What are you cooking?” Warren opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a beer.
“Just a frozen burrito. Want one?”
Warren frowned. “Hell no.” He opened the beer and took a swig.
With a shrug, Adam opened the microwave and stabbed the burrito with the tip of one finger. It wasn’t completely thawed yet. He set the timer for another minute. Turning from the microwave, he faced his father, who was now sitting at the breakfast bar. “What did you need to talk to me about that can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I stopped at the bank. They told me I’m no longer on Mother’s account.”
“That surprises you?” Adam asked. “Grandma changed that a few years ago.”
Warren angrily gripped the bottle of beer. “Yes, it surprises me. Why did she do that? And why did you keep it a secret? What are you trying to pull, Adam?”
“What is your problem, Dad? I’m not trying to pull anything. Grandma just decided it wasn’t necessary to have you on her account. I was the one managing her properties, taking care of her. And hell, when was the last time you were even here? Three, four years ago?”
“I have a business to run. I can’t just take off whenever I feel like it. Was it your idea to remove me from the bank account?”
“I had nothing to do with that! You know Grandma, she was quite capable of making those kinds of decisions on her own. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal, I wanted to take out some cash—after all, this trip is costing us more than we expected. I’d planned to head home the day after Thanksgiving, but now we have a damn funeral to plan. And each day I’m here, it’s costing me money.”
Adam ignored the buzz of the microwave. “It’s not like you have to pay for a hotel. What’s the big deal?”
“I have a business to run, and if I’m here, I’m losing money. I have obligations. Something you never quite seemed to understand.”
“Excuse me? The last time I noticed, I was the owner of a successful property management company.”
“Yes, because of my mother. But she’s no longer here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When we liquidate Mother’s estate, I can’t imagine that’ll leave you with many properties in your rental program. Of course, I guess with your share of the proceeds, you can figure out something new to do.”
By the time Danielle reached her bedroom with her cup of hot cocoa, the only evidence of whipped cream in the cup was the swirl of white atop the chocolate. Before heading downstairs to make the drink twenty minutes earlier, she had laid out a fire in her bedroom fireplace. Upon reentering the room, she was happy to find the fire blazing, a fitting companion to the sound of rainfall on the roof.
Curling up on the small sofa, she looked into the dancing flames and took a sip.
“You look comfortable,” Marie said as she suddenly appeared, standing between Danielle and the fireplace.
Danielle smiled up at her friend. “Hello, Marie, did you finish your dream hop instructions with Walt?”
“I did.” Marie took a seat next to Danielle. “And I now understand why you have such horrible luck with men!”
About to take a sip, Danielle paused and arched her brows. “Excuse me?”
“First it was Adam…”
“Adam?” Danielle took a sip of the cocoa.
“I know you were interested in him,” Marie began.
Danielle choked on her cocoa. When she stopped coughing, she looked at Marie. “Me? Interested in Adam?” Danielle remembered there had been a time when Marie had accused her of having an interest in her grandson.
“I assumed it was because of Cheryl—that she got to Adam first. But then I found out you were seeing Joe Morelli. And I realized I might have misread the extent of your interest in Adam.”
Danielle smiled and before taking another sip muttered, “Something like that.”
“But then you let Kelly snap up Joe right from under your nose,” Marie continued.
“Well, in all fairness, I wasn’t dating Joe anymore. So he wasn’t exactly under my nose at the time.”
“No, there was Chris. And I rather like Chris, especially now that I know when he comes back from his trip, he’ll be someone I can talk to.” Marie smiled.
Danielle resisted the temptation to ask, Won’t you be gone by then? Moved on?
“But from what Adam told me, you and Chris are no longer an item.”
Danielle shrugged. “But we’re still good friends.”
“Oh poo!” Marie scoffed. “You’re a young woman. You need a man in your life. Someone you can start a family with. Not a buddy. And I now know the reason you have such a horrible time maintaining a relationship with a man. It’s because of Walt.”
“Walt?” Danielle set her half-full mug on the coffee table.
“Certainly.” Marie glanced to the ceiling and lowered her voice. “I must say he’s even more charming and handsome than I imagined. I can understand why my father was so fond of him, and why my mother felt somewhat protective toward him. Oh, if he were a living breathing man, I would help you plan your wedding!”
“Walt’s a ghost!” Danielle reminded her.
“Exactly.”
“What are you saying, Marie?”
“I think your feelings for Walt are interfering with your ability to establish a relationship with a man—a man like Chris or Joe. Or even Adam, although I imagine he has his sights on Melony now.”
“Not Adam,” Danielle muttered under her breath as she picked up her mug. “And never Joe.”
“And it certainly doesn’t help that Walt returns your feelings.”
“Marie, Walt and I are just good friends.”
Marie rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“And we are both perfectly aware that we live in two different worlds—quite literally. Walt’s not stopping me from dating.”
“I’ll just have to make sure that’s true.” Marie let out a sigh. “But I do like him. It’s a shame he’s dead.”
Danielle muttered, “No kidding,” and then took a sip of her drink.
After a f
ew moments of silence, Marie asked, “I have a favor to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“One bright spot in this death thing, I don’t have to suffer through Thanksgiving at Seaside Village.” Marie shuddered. “I’ve no idea why my son thought that was preferable to having dinner here.”
“You think they’ll make dinner at your house?”
“I seriously doubt that. And I hate thinking of Adam going to some restaurant for Thanksgiving.”
“You want me to tell Adam that the invitation is still open?”
Marie perked up. “Would you?”
“Certainly. I’ll tell him they’re all still welcome to come.”
Marie stood up. “Now that that’s settled, I think I’ll check in on Adam, see if he’s asleep yet.”
Adam opened his eyes and found himself sitting on his grandmother’s side porch.
“I couldn’t make up my mind where to go,” came a familiar voice to his right.
Turning to the voice, Adam found himself looking at his grandmother, who sat rocking in the chair next to him.
“Grandma?” Adam stammered. He knew she had died, yet there she was, sitting next to him.
“We could have met on a ship, or up on a mountaintop, or in a hot air balloon. To be honest, the idea of a hot air balloon never appealed to me. Imagine if it suddenly lost air or a wind gust came up and pushed us out to sea? But of course, none of that would matter now, so maybe I should have gone for a hot air balloon.”
Adam frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“For this dream, Adam. You’re dreaming, haven’t you figured that out yet? After all, I am dead.”
Adam considered her words a moment and then shook his head and leaned back in the chair. “I guess this has to be a dream,” he muttered. “Doesn’t feel like a regular dream. But it has to be.”
“That’s what I was told, that it would feel different from normal dreams. Maybe next time we can try the hot air balloon. It’s probably best I stick to something familiar for my first go at this.”
The Ghost and Little Marie Page 11
