The Ghost of Second Chances

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Danielle groaned and then pointed for the spirits to get out of her way. They quickly moved through the wall to the back porch. Danielle started to open the door when she paused and looked back to Walt.

  “You just didn’t want them hanging out here with you,” she accused.

  Walt smiled sheepishly and said, “Well, that was part of it. But you’ll need them to help you with Laverne.”

  Danielle groaned again and opened the door, hearing Walt chuckle as she left the house.

  When she reached her Ford Flex, she found the spirits inside, each fighting for shotgun. They appeared to be wrestling on the passenger seat, yet neither was capable of actually making any sort of contact with the other one aside from visually.

  Throwing open the car door, she shouted, “In the backseat, both of you. Or we aren’t going anywhere, and you two will be stuck together for eternity!” She doubted it was true, but she had to say something because there was no way she could drive down to the police station with both spirits on the passenger seat poking at each other like two unruly preschoolers. A few moments later she was relieved after they complied and moved to the backseat.

  With a deep breath to clear her thoughts, Danielle climbed into her car and tossed her purse on the now empty passenger seat. As she fastened her seatbelt, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the spirits each sitting quietly on the backseat—Macbeth on the left side and Chet on the right.

  “Don’t forget to buckle up!” she called out.

  She waited a moment and watched as the two reached for their seatbelts. When their hands moved through the belts, they each tried several more times to pick it up before realizing the futility of the task.

  Danielle chuckled under her breath and muttered, “That never gets old.”

  Chet glared at Danielle. “You really are mean.”

  Backing out of her driveway, Danielle said, “I’m sorry, Chet. I guess that was kind of mean.” But still funny, she thought.

  “You know, I was wrong,” Macbeth said as Danielle pulled out into the street.

  “About what?” Danielle glanced into the rearview mirror, expecting to see her passengers, but saw nothing but the backseat. Feeling momentarily foolish for forgetting ghosts had no reflection she thought, I suppose that serves me right for telling them to put their seatbelts on.

  “I told you no one had seen me since I died. But someone did. I’m sure of it. A woman on the beach.”

  “What woman?” Danielle steered her car down Beach Drive.

  “I’ve seen her before; I think at your house when we were staying there. I shot her with my gun and she screamed.”

  “You shot someone?” Chet asked. “You’re going to hell when we’re done.”

  “I didn’t really shoot her!” Macbeth argued.

  “Ahh…yes…that was Heather. She told us about seeing you. She’s like Walt and me. She can see spirits.”

  “How many people are there like you?” Chet asked.

  Danielle shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like they ever include that question in the census.”

  “What question?” Chet asked.

  “You know, can you see ghosts?”

  “I don’t want to be a ghost,” Macbeth grumbled. “But I really don’t want to go to hell either.”

  “I don’t even know if there really is a hell,” Danielle told him.

  “But you don’t know if there isn’t?” Macbeth asked.

  “I know there is something—and I know—well—yeah, I think there is something like a hell. But considering you both are still here and the Universe hasn’t sucked you up, then that’s a good sign.”

  “Sucked us up?” Chet squeaked.

  “I’m thinking of these two people I knew—not very nice. They weren’t even given the opportunity to set things straight after they died, like you two are. I watched as their spirits were literally sucked up.” Danielle cringed. “Looked most unpleasant for them.”

  Furrowing his bushy brows, Macbeth glared at the back of Danielle’s head. “You’re making this stuff up.”

  Danielle let out a sigh and said, “No, actually, I’m not. That was a true story.” By her tone, both Chet and Macbeth found her claim chillingly believable. They sank back in the seat and looked out the side windows while considering their current circumstances.

  After a few minutes of silence, Danielle asked, “Macbeth, can I ask you a question?”

  “I hate that name,” he grumbled. “Call me Mac.”

  “Actually, it’s about your name,” she said.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “I understand that in theater circles even saying Macbeth is considered taboo. Something about it being cursed.”

  “Yeah, so what?” he grumbled.

  “Wasn’t your mother an actress?” she asked.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Why would your parents name you Macbeth considering the stigma attached to the name? From what I’ve heard, some actors even avoid saying it because of the curse.”

  Macbeth let out a snort. “My mother named me Macbeth because it was her favorite play.”

  “What about the curse?” Danielle asked.

  “My mother was also an atheist. Both my parents were.”

  “Atheist? What does that have to do with anything?” Danielle asked.

  “My parents didn’t believe in God or any religion. It also meant they didn’t believe in superstitions, like Macbeth being cursed or bad luck. Mom thought that was all silly. When I was a kid, I wished my folks had believed in God. Not because I wanted religion in my life, but then maybe my mother wouldn’t have named me something that got my butt kicked every week when I was a kid. Well, that was until I learned to fight back.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry about that, Mac,” Danielle said sincerely.

  In the backseat Macbeth shrugged while Chet flashed his spirit companion a glare. Considering all the problems Mac had brought him, Chet wasn’t moved by a story on how Mac had been bullied as a kid.

  “Before we bring Laverne in to question her on this, I want you to go through that case file again,” Chief MacDonald told Brian. The two sat alone together in the chief’s office.

  “Unless there’s something they overlooked when investigating the fire or Laverne confesses, I suspect this will go nowhere. It’ll be nothing but hearsay on the Bandonis’ side. But I’ll look and see what I can find,” Brian said.

  A knock came at the door.

  “That’s probably Wilson and Thomas. I told the front desk to send them right back to my office when they got here,” the chief said as he stood up.

  Brian walked over to the door and opened it. As the chief had predicted, it was the two FBI agents.

  “I thought you two would be getting some sleep,” Brian said when he let them into the office.

  “No time for sleep,” Thomas told him.

  Brian glanced over at the chief and said, “I’ll go look for that file.”

  The chief nodded, and Brian left the office, closing the door behind him.

  “Sonya Kozlov checked out of the motel this morning,” Wilson told him.

  “I don’t think your murder has anything to do with our art-theft ring,” Thomas announced as he took a seat in one of the chairs facing the desk. The chief sat back down in his chair, while Wilson remained standing.

  “Why do you think that?” the chief asked.

  “It looks like the woman you originally arrested was probably the killer. You have a motive now, and her brother’s car matches the description two witnesses saw by Marlow House at the time of the murder. They were probably in on this together. I imagine she thought you were getting too close, which is why she confessed to save her brother. But when she found out he’d died in a car accident and she realized she didn’t have to take the rap for him, she changed her story,” Thomas explained.

  “You no longer believe Marlow was involved in the murder?” the chief asked.

  “We don’t think so, but
we believe he might be involved in a possible art heist. We suspect that’s why Macbeth Bandoni went to see him so late that night. I don’t think he wanted anyone else to see him going there. But frankly, we don’t really care about the murder; that’s your jurisdiction. But what we do care about is getting the goods on Kozlov, and we believe Marlow might be the key,” Wilson said.

  “Do you have anything to connect Marlow to Kozlov?” the chief asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “No. In fact, Bandoni wasn’t even on our radar until we intercepted that call Kozlov made to him after she visited your museum. We’re planning to dig deeper into Marlow. But first we want to talk again to the Bandoni brothers. We’d also like to have a chat with the Morrison woman.”

  Special Agents Wilson and Thomas were just leaving the chief’s office when Danielle arrived.

  “I was afraid they were going to stick around,” Danielle said after she and the chief were alone in the office. Alone if you didn’t count Macbeth’s and Chet’s spirits.

  “They’re convinced Walt is involved in this art-theft ring they’re after. They’re trying to connect him to Sonya Kozlov.”

  “Clint knew nothing about Sonya,” Macbeth said. “In fact, she didn’t even know he was in on the plan.”

  Danielle looked briefly to Macbeth and then back to the chief. “Mac said Clint didn’t know anything about Sonya, and she didn’t know he was working with him.”

  The chief frowned. “Mac?”

  “Well, he doesn’t really like being called Macbeth,” Danielle explained.

  “What are you saying, Danielle?” the chief asked.

  “I didn’t really want to go into this on the phone earlier this morning. Knowing those FBI agents have been intercepting cellphone calls doesn’t make me comfortable.”

  “What are you saying?” the chief repeated.

  “Mac and Chet are with me.”

  The chief glanced around the room. Danielle pointed to where they were standing. He let out a sigh and then looked back to Danielle. “Did they say who the murderer is?”

  “More like murderers. Chet was murdered too. And Laverne wasn’t involved. In fact, she didn’t kill anyone, in spite of what you told me on the phone this morning.”

  “So who is it?” he asked.

  “That’s the easy thing. I can tell you who they are, but we need to figure out a way to prove it.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Danielle had never before noticed how the ticking sound of a clock wasn’t much different from a persistent drip from a kitchen faucet. She had also never noticed the wall clock—whose ticking sound now filled her head. It hung on the wall behind her in the chief’s office. There was no other sound in the room. Not even the two spirits had made a peep since she had concluded her summation of the recent events, as told to her by the two now silent ghosts. The chief sat silently at his desk, his brows furrowed in a frown. Danielle imagined he was trying to figure out how they were going to prove the killers’ identities. She hadn’t yet shared with him her idea.

  Finally, Danielle broke the silence when she said, “I’m not thrilled with the fact Wilson and Thomas seem hell-bent on dragging Walt into this.”

  “We all knew this was one of the risks Walt faced when accepting Clint’s offer. But the fact this Sonya woman didn’t know Clint was involved might be the silver lining.”

  “Unfortunately, Mac’s cousins knew he was involved,” Danielle reminded him.

  “Which is one reason we need to find some way to prove who is behind the killings,” the chief reminded her.

  “There’s another thing,” Danielle began.

  “What’s that?” the chief asked.

  “If the FBI starts looking into Clint’s history, aren’t they bound to find out about the fingerprints?”

  “What about his fingerprints?” Chet asked from the sidelines.

  “Shut up. They aren’t talking to you,” Mac snapped.

  The chief winced. “I’ve been thinking about that. I told Brian and Joe it was probably a mix-up at the California Real Estate Department. But I still don’t understand why his fingerprints would change.”

  Danielle shrugged. “I don’t understand either. But Eva says Walt’s settling into his body. Making it his own. Whatever that means.”

  “I still say that’s creepy,” Chet muttered. “Using someone else’s body. Yuck.”

  “Are you two going to talk forever?” Macbeth grumbled. “We need to get over to Laverne’s before those FBI guys show up and talk her into a guilt confession.”

  Danielle glanced at Macbeth. “You might be right, Mac.”

  “What, you listen to him and ignore my question?” Chet whined.

  “He might be right about what?” the chief asked.

  “I need to go talk to Laverne before those agents show up at her house. And before Brian decides to bring her in for more questioning. We don’t need another fake confession muddying the waters,” Danielle told him. “But first, let me tell you my idea for getting the killers to confess.”

  Danielle parked her car in front of Laverne’s house. She glanced in the backseat at Mac and Chet. “Okay, do you two understand how this has to go?”

  “Yes,” Chet practically groaned. “You want us to keep quiet unless you ask a question.”

  “It’s really important you both keep quiet because it can get really confusing if you guys start talking while I’m trying to explain all this to Laverne. She’ll only hear me, and if I start talking to you guys too, she won’t hear or see you, so it’ll make me look nuts. And even if I don’t respond to you, it’ll be hard for me to focus on what I’m saying. And trust me, she’s going to think I’m nuts as it is. The objective is to prove I’m not crazy while trying to convince her to believe my crazy story.”

  A few minutes later Danielle stood on Laverne Morrison’s front doorstep, two anxious spirits by her side. Danielle was fairly certain Laverne was home, considering her car was parked in the driveway. She rang the doorbell and waited.

  When no one answered the door, Chet said, “Let me check to see if she’s here. It’s possible she’s at work and drove with someone else.” The next moment Chet disappeared into the house. When he returned, he said, “Ring the bell again. She’s just sitting in the living room, eating ice cream—straight from the carton. Looks like she’s been crying too, considering the stack of used tissues and her red eyes.”

  Danielle rang the bell again. When Laverne didn’t answer, she knocked firmly on the door and yelled, “Laverne, please, answer your door.”

  A few minutes later the door opened, the security chain preventing it from opening more than a few inches. Laverne peeked out over the chain and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Laverne, my name is Danielle Boatman. I was a friend of your brother, Chet. I’d really like to talk to you for a moment, please.”

  “Now I’m a friend!”

  “Shut up, Chet. You know what she said about talking!” Macbeth admonished.

  Laverne did not respond, but a few moments later she unchained the door and opened it wider, motioning for Danielle to enter.

  “Thank you,” Danielle said as she stepped into the darkened living room. There were no lights on. If it wasn’t for the sunlight streaming through the edges of the curtain, the room would be pitch black.

  “You really were a friend of my brother?” Laverne asked. “I wasn’t sure if that was just a story my brother made up.”

  “Gosh, Laverne, that doesn’t make me sound very good,” Chet whined.

  “Chet and I met a few times, and we had a mutual friend, Adam Nichols.”

  Laverne nodded. “Yes, I know Adam. He and Chet grew up together.”

  “Can we sit down, Laverne? I have a few things I need to tell you, and I think we should probably sit down.”

  Laverne looked uneasily at Danielle. For a moment Danielle wondered if Laverne was regretting letting her into the house. But then she motioned to the sofa while she moved to the chair she
had been sitting on when Danielle had first arrived. At least, Danielle assumed it was the chair she had been sitting on, considering the container of ice cream sitting on the end table next to it.

  Once Laverne sat down, she looked over at Danielle, who was now sitting on the sofa, and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “First, I want you to know I’m here to help you. I have your best interest at heart. Honest,” Danielle said.

  Laverne frowned. “Umm…okay…”

  “I am going to tell you something, and your first reaction will probably be to think I’m crazy and to ask me to leave. But I want you to hear me out.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can see ghosts. Your brother and Mac Bandoni are here with me right now.”

  Laverne bolted from her chair and pointed to the front door. “Out! Get out of my house!”

  Macbeth looked to Danielle and said, “Well, you called that one spot on.”

  Danielle remained seated. “Mac didn’t set the fire that killed your parents. He only said that because he was trying to manipulate you.”

  Laverne froze and stared at Danielle.

  “Mac took you on a picnic one night, down on the beach. You had some wine. You told him you had never had alcohol before. He asked you to go to Europe with him, and you said you couldn’t because of your responsibility to your parents. But then you had too much to drink, got a little drunk, and said things you later regretted. While you were drunk, you and Mac talked about how it would be better for everyone—even your parents—if they just died. A little more wine and you started talking about ways to kill them so no one would suspect.”

  Zombielike, Laverne backed up and flopped back down in her chair, still staring at Danielle. “I’ve never told anyone about that,” she whispered.

  “You told Chet. After your parents’ funeral. You were so guilt ridden,” Danielle said in a soft voice.

  Laverne shook her head. “This is impossible.”

  “It’s very possible. I’ve seen and communicated with spirits since I was a child.”