The Ghost and Little Marie

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Adam looked over at his grandmother and smiled sadly. “I wish you really were here, and this wasn’t a dream, which would mean you’d still be alive.”

  “That’s sweet, dear, but you have to admit, I bet you’re a bit relieved to have me out from underfoot. You won’t have to be bothered anymore with changing my lightbulbs, taking me to the grocery store or checking on me.”

  Adam leaned back in the chair. “I have to admit you were sometimes a pain in the ass—”

  “Adam!”

  He chuckled. “It’s my dream. Anyway, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you.”

  “If I was really sitting here with you, what would you want to tell me?” Marie asked.

  Adam considered the question a moment. Finally, he said, “I guess I would want to ask why you took Dad off as a signer on your checking account.”

  Marie frowned. “I’m surprised you already know that. Doesn’t it take a few days before you can access my checking account?”

  “I told Dad we’d have to wait until after the death certificate was issued. Until then, we can’t really do anything. But that’s not really true. He went down to the bank and tried to withdraw money and was told he wasn’t a signer on the account anymore.”

  “What was the point? He was never here, and you handle my properties.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Well, I’m not really here to discuss my finances. I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that, Grandma?”

  “I need you to request an autopsy of my body.”

  Adam sat up straight in the chair and turned to Marie. “Now I have no doubt this is a dream. Grandma would never want an autopsy.”

  “That was before I was murdered.”

  “Ahhhaa! Now I know why I’m having this dream.” Adam chuckled.

  “What are you talking about?” Marie asked.

  “Danielle tried to talk me into requesting an autopsy. Something about you claiming someone wanted to kill you.” Adam paused a moment and then shook his head. He leaned back in the chair. “Why am I telling all of this to Grandma, like she’s really here…”

  “Because I am really here! And I was murdered, and you need to request an autopsy.”

  “This crazy dream is all Danielle’s fault. Who would want to murder my grandma?” Adam said more to himself, looking out into Marie’s side yard.

  “I have no idea who murdered me. But unless there is an autopsy, no one will be looking for my killer!”

  “I wonder if it was that second burrito? I should have stopped with the first one. But that second one, right before bed, that might not have been a good idea.”

  “Adam, this is not a regular dream.”

  “No kidding,” he muttered.

  “I’m really here, and I need you to listen to me.”

  “Well, I have to admit, that does sound like Grandma,” Adam said with a chuckle. “I wonder if I’m going to have a lot of dreams with her bossing me around?”

  Growing frustrated, Marie said, “I’ll prove it to you.”

  Adam turned to Marie. “Prove what?”

  “That I’m not a figment of your imagination. That this isn’t just a dream.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Marie considered her options a moment and then broke into a smile. “Because in the morning, Danielle is going to call you up and invite you to Marlow House for Thanksgiving. When she does, you’ll know I was really in your dream, and that I want you to request that autopsy.”

  Adam sat up abruptly in his bed and looked around the dark room. The only light came from the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. It was almost 3:00 a.m.

  “Wow, that was a crazy dream.” Adam grabbed a pillow, gave it a punch, and repositioned it under his head before settling back down on the bed and closing his eyes.

  Eighteen

  Marlow House seemed especially quiet on Wednesday morning. There were no guests, Lily now lived across the street, Joanne had the week off, and Max was curled up asleep on the bedroom sofa. Danielle assumed Walt was in the attic; as for Marie, she couldn’t be sure. Unlike Walt, Marie was not confined to the house and might be anywhere—over at Adam’s, at her own house, anywhere.

  Barefoot, wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, Danielle made her way down the stairs. Her first stop was the front door, where she found the newspaper, wrapped in plastic, on her front stoop. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, yet the yard was still wet. Fortunately, the newspaper was not.

  From the front door, Danielle walked to the kitchen. Removing the plastic cover from the newspaper, she tossed the plastic into the trash can and the newspaper on the kitchen table. She had just started the coffee pot when Walt appeared.

  “Good morning, Danielle,” he said brightly.

  “Morning, Walt. The paper’s on the table. Is Marie here?”

  “I haven’t seen her since last night.” Walt sat down at the table and picked up the newspaper, opening it. “I think she’s still over at Adam’s.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Danielle stood patiently by the coffee pot, waiting for it to brew.

  “Good morning!” Marie greeted them when she appeared by the kitchen table.

  “Morning, Marie.” Danielle filled a mug with coffee.

  “How did the dream hop go?” Walt asked, turning a page. He then pushed out a chair for Marie to sit on.

  “I was able to do it.” Marie sat down and looked over to Danielle. “Dear, I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Sure, what is it?” Danielle sipped her coffee.

  “Would you please call Adam and invite him for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Sure, I said I would.” Danielle took another sip of coffee.

  “No. I mean now.”

  “Now?” Danielle frowned.

  “Yes, right now. It’s important.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Okay, I guess so.” She reached for the cellphone on the counter and dialed Adam’s number.

  “Morning, Danielle. Rather early for a phone call?” Adam said when he answered the phone.

  Danielle glanced over at the table, where Marie was now looking over Walt’s shoulder, reading the newspaper and trying unsuccessfully to turn a page. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to let you know you’re still invited for Thanksgiving. I know, now with Marie gone, you obviously won’t be going to Seaside Village for dinner. I can’t imagine you feel like cooking.”

  “You’re inviting me for Thanksgiving?” he said dully.

  “Sure. Not just you, your whole family is welcome. And of course, Melony is still invited. You are all welcome, and if your parents don’t want to come, you and Mel can just come, your brother and his fiancée too. Whoever wants to.”

  “This is bizarre,” Adam mumbled.

  “What’s bizarre?” Danielle glanced over at the table and found Marie staring at her. Marie flashed her a smile.

  “Do you believe our loved ones who passed can visit us in our dreams?” Adam asked.

  Danielle didn’t answer immediately. Finally, she said, “Sure. Last Christmas I dreamt about my parents and Cheryl. Part of me felt like their spirits really visited me.” Actually, all of me knew they had visited me, Danielle told herself.

  “Well, I had a dream about Grandma last night. It was sort of crazy. She started talking about hot air balloons.”

  “Hot air balloons?” Danielle frowned over at the table at Walt and Marie, who were now occupied by the newspaper.

  “And then she told me I had to request an autopsy, insisted she was murdered. This is totally your fault, Danielle.”

  “My fault? How do you figure that?”

  “All your talk about autopsies and murder. Why else would I have that crazy dream?”

  “Umm…so it was just a crazy dream?” Danielle said dully.

  “It actually got a little crazier. In the dream Grandma
said she would prove to me that she was really there, that it wasn’t a regular dream.”

  “Umm…and how was she going to do that?”

  “You were going to call me this morning and invite me to Thanksgiving.”

  Danielle did not respond immediately. They were both silent for several moments. Finally, Danielle said, “Adam, I did call and invite you to Thanksgiving.”

  “To be honest, a minute ago, after you called, my initial thought was, Holy crap, Grandma really did visit me in my dream. But that’s just silly.”

  “Is it?” Danielle glanced over to the table. Marie was reading an article over Walt’s shoulder, instructing him on when to turn the page.

  “It’s obvious why I had that dream. You wanted me to have an autopsy. So I had a dream about it.”

  “What about my phone call?”

  “It doesn’t really surprise me that you’ve extended the invitation again, considering everything. I probably unconsciously worked that into my dream.”

  “And what if you didn’t?” Danielle asked.

  “Are you suggesting my grandmother’s spirit really visited me last night and told me to order an autopsy?”

  “You said yourself, in the dream she told you I would be calling to invite you to Thanksgiving,” Danielle reminded him.

  “Like I said, a coincidence. Plus, that would have to mean our future is predestined, since she knew what you were going to do. I can’t buy that. It has to be some coincidence, my subconscious working overtime.”

  Danielle glanced over to the kitchen table, and after seeing Marie and Walt still occupied with the newspaper, she quietly stepped into the hallway for more privacy.

  “It doesn’t really matter if Marie’s spirit actually visited you last night. But you know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Uhh, no, what?” Adam asked.

  “If you don’t order the autopsy, you will never know for sure if Marie was murdered. Your subconscious is clearly not certain if she died from natural causes. And if you don’t have the autopsy, you will never know for sure, and you could be plagued with similar dreams…dreams where your grandmother comes to you every night—night after night—asking you why you didn’t listen to her. Why, when she gave you proof. Oh, Adam, do you really want to ignore what your subconscious is trying to tell you?”

  Adam groaned. “Grandma could be a nag.”

  Danielle glanced to the open doorway leading to the kitchen. “You may not want to say that out loud.”

  “You really think I should request an autopsy?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Warren Nichols and his wife arrived at the funeral home first. They were sitting in the front lobby when Jason and his fiancée arrived.

  “Isn’t Adam here yet?” Jason asked.

  “No.” Chloe glanced at her watch. “When we get out of here, I was hoping we could all go out someplace for a nice lunch.”

  “Yes!” Sondra agreed. “I’m starved.” She took a seat next to her future mother-in-law.

  “I just wish we could have had the funeral today.” Warren shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “How long does this all take? No one’s ever died in my family,” Sondra asked.

  Chloe arched her brows and looked bemused at the younger woman. “Never?”

  Sondra blushed. “I mean—well, my grandparents died when I was little, so I naturally wasn’t involved in planning the arrangements. I just wondered how long it takes to plan a funeral and settle an estate.”

  “Ahh, looking forward to getting your hands on my youngest son’s share of the estate?”

  “Mother,” Jason snapped, “that was uncalled for.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, dear, you can’t wait to get your hands on that twenty-five percent. Although, it should rightly all go to your father first. He is Marie’s only son.”

  “Maybe if you could have gotten along better with my mother, she wouldn’t have rewritten her will,” Warren grumbled.

  Chloe gasped. “What? You’re blaming me now?”

  “You two never got along,” Warren reminded her.

  Chloe reached out and patted Warren’s hand. “Then I suppose we should all be grateful Marie died before she had a chance to carry out her threat and change her will again.”

  “Mother!” Jason gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Chloe laughed. “Oh please. Like your father said, Marie and I never got along. And the woman was ninety-one. She had a long life. I’m certainly not going to pretend to be grieving over an old woman I never really liked.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when Adam came walking through the front door.

  “It’s about time you got here,” Warren said as he stood up.

  “Sorry, I had to stop somewhere,” Adam explained. He looked over to his brother and future sister-in-law and flashed them a smile in greeting.

  Five minutes later the entire group was sitting in an office with Liz Cramer, who sat at her desk, glancing over her funeral calendar.

  “What do you think about Friday morning?” Liz suggested.

  “Friday morning?” Warren asked. “That would be perfect! But I thought this Friday was all booked up.”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t mean this Friday. I meant next Friday.” Liz smiled politely.

  “Next Friday?” Jason and his fiancée groaned.

  “That’s out of the question. I thought you said Tuesday might be possible?” Warren asked.

  Liz glanced over to Adam, who sat quietly in his chair. “That was before the autopsy.”

  Warren frowned at Liz. “Autopsy?”

  “There’s no autopsy,” Chloe snapped. “You have us confused with someone else. My mother-in-law died of old age in an old folks’ home, and there is obviously no reason for an autopsy—unless you think this is going to get you more money.”

  Liz nervously turned the pages of her funeral calendar. “I’m sorry, I assumed you all knew. But we aren’t doing the autopsy, the coroner is. It’s possible we can schedule earlier in the week, but I just assumed—”

  “What do you mean the coroner?” Sondra asked.

  “There has to be some misunderstanding,” Warren said.

  “No,” Liz assured them. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why’s the coroner doing an autopsy now? I thought they said that wasn’t necessary,” Jason asked.

  “From what I understand, a family member requested it,” Liz explained.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Warren stood up abruptly. “No one ordered a damn autopsy. I want to talk to your supervisor!”

  “Sit down, Dad,” Adam said dully. Instead of looking at his father, he continued to stare ahead blankly.

  “Did you know about this?” Warren snapped.

  “I requested an autopsy,” Adam explained.

  Chloe groaned. “Oh, Adam, how could you?” Resting her forehead in the palm of her hand, she shook her head in disbelief.

  “Another one of your stunts?” Warren accused.

  Adam looked over to his father. “Good lord, Dad. I’m not a teenager doing crap just to annoy you.”

  Warren glared at his oldest son. “You could have fooled me.”

  “Why would you do this?” Jason asked Adam.

  “I just felt we needed to know why Grandma really died.”

  “She died because she was an old woman!” Chloe snapped.

  “What’s the big deal?” Adam asked.

  “For one thing, I know how your grandmother felt about autopsies,” Warren answered.

  “You also knew how she felt about cremation, but that didn’t stop you from trying to change her funeral plans,” Adam countered.

  “I don’t understand; why would they even do an autopsy?” Sondra asked.

  “Obviously my brother thinks someone killed our grandmother,” Jason said with a snort.

  Liz stood up. “Perhaps I should give you all some privacy to discuss this. But if you want to schedule the funeral earl
ier, let me contact the coroner and find out when they plan to release the body.”

  Sondra reached over and gripped Jason’s wrist, squeezing it. Leaning close to him, she whispered in his ear, “I can’t stay until Friday. Let’s go home now, please.”

  Nineteen

  Just as Candy Ralston was about to enter room six, Clyde Archer, the patient on the opposite side of the corridor, rang his bell—again. Pausing, Candy glanced from the room she was about to enter to the patient ringing for assistance. With a sigh, Candy changed course. Clipboard in hand, she headed to Mr. Archer’s room. He had arrived at Seaside Village a week earlier, after knee replacement surgery. They hadn’t put him in the rehab section of the hospital, because according to his family, Mr. Archer would not be returning home after rehab. He had early stages of Alzheimer’s.

  “Hey, Candy Striper, I need some pain meds!” Mr. Archer shouted when she entered the room.

  Forcing a smile and ignoring the nickname he had given her after learning her first name, she approached his bed. “What do you need, Mr. Archer?”

  “I need some pain medication! My knee hurts like hell!”

  Candy glanced at her clipboard and then looked back to the patient. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Archer, but you were given pain medication just thirty minutes ago.”

  “Well, it isn’t working!”

  “Let me check with your doctor, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Several minutes later, Candy walked up to the front nurses’ station. There she found Sunny updating patient charts while SeAnne stood nearby, talking on the telephone.

  Dropping her clipboard on the counter near Sunny, Candy said, “It’s Mr. Archer again, asking for more pain meds. He’s been asking for more meds the last couple of days.”

  Sunny smiled at Candy and said, “I’ll talk to his doctor.”

  “Oh my god!” SeAnne cried out as she hung up the phone. Rushing toward Candy and Sunny, she said, “You are never going to believe this, but they’ve ordered an autopsy of Mrs. Nichols!”

  “Who ordered an autopsy?” Candy asked.

  “I guess the family,” SeAnne said.

  “But why would they do that? She obviously died in her sleep. Wasn’t she in her nineties?” Candy asked.