by Bobbi Holmes
“You killed the poor girl off in your book,” Heather said.
“It was fiction,” Walt reminded her. “I told you I got ideas from real-life events, but the story was my own.”
“Kinda brutal, killing off poor Charlene because her lover’s family found out she was black,” Heather said.
“I didn’t kill off Charlene. I killed the character based on her. As you well know, there was considerable Klan activity back then,” Walt reminded her. “When I heard Charlene was black—”
“She was also half white,” Heather interrupted.
“Yes, I know,” Walt said patiently. “But that didn’t matter. If a person had even a drop of black blood, society considered them black. And Charlene was playing a dangerous game. She was beautiful like Eva and surrounded by men professing their devotion. Some of those men were Klan members. Trust me, had any of them found out she was Desiree’s sister, it could have been deadly. Especially if she married one. It was for the best that she took off to California.”
“What about the bootlegger you mentioned?” Ian asked. “The one Desiree tried stealing from.”
“I based that character on Beauregard Porter. He moved to the area not long after my grandfather founded Frederickport. Like in the book, he had two sons. The oldest was Beauregard Junior; he wasn’t a bad fella, nothing like his younger brother, Ambrose. He was a bully.”
“Can you blame him?” Lily asked.
“What do you mean?” Walt frowned.
“They named the poor kid Ambrose,” Lily said.
“Perhaps, but I suspect it had more to do with his dad, Beau Senior.”
“Hold on,” Danielle said, hurriedly writing on more cards. “So we have two Beaus and an Ambrose?” After she wrote their names on cards, she added them to the bulletin board.
“The character in the book who cries on Hunter’s shoulder over some Sheba after she left him for another man, that was Beau Junior,” Walt explained.
“What were you going to say about Beau Senior and making his son a bully?” Ian asked.
“Beau senior was thick with the Klan, and he was a brutal man. He saw nothing wrong with giving one of his sons or his grandson the back of his hand—or fist.”
“Grandson?” Lily asked.
“Yes. Ambrose was a few years older than me. He had a son who was around eleven or twelve. Ambrose had gotten his girlfriend, Dolly, pregnant, when he was seventeen. She was about fifteen at the time. Her parents had died, and she was living with an uncle who I suspect was abusive. Her and Ambrose married and moved in with Beau Senior and Junior. But Dolly couldn’t take the physical abuse, probably from her father-in-law and her husband. They were men who believed a woman needed a fist to remind them who was boss. One night she upped and ran away. She left her son behind.”
“That’s so sad,” Lily said. “But I can’t understand how a mother could desert her child like that.”
“I imagine she had no choice, not if she wanted to get out alive. And if she had tried to take off with Ambrose’s son, I don’t even want to think what they would have done to her. My grandfather once told me Beau Senior had fought for the Confederacy. He was only a kid himself at the time. And when the war was over, his family was gone, and he ended up in Frederickport about five years later. I believe being in that war, at such a young age, experiencing unimaginable horrors for a boy, shaped him into the twisted hate filled man I remember.”
“Bizarre to imagine you met someone who actually fought in the Civil War,” Heather said.
“There’s a lot of bizarre that goes on around here,” the chief muttered.
“What else do you remember about the family?” Ian asked. “I’m thinking they might be an excellent place to start. See if any of the Porters are still around.”
“They used to say being named Beauregard was bad luck,” Walt said.
“Why is that?” Lily asked.
“Beau Senior and his wife had ten children, four were boys. Only two of their children survived to adulthood. They named their first son Beauregard. He died in infancy. A few years later, they had another son. They named him Beauregard. According to my grandfather, he died before his fifth birthday. The next Beauregard was the one I knew, and their last child was Ambrose. When Ambrose was born, his mother died in childbirth; their father never remarried.”
“How much you want to bet that poor wife was happy to move on, if her husband was as bad as Walt says,” Heather said.
“Perhaps. But I can’t imagine the heartbreak of losing that many children,” Lily said.
“Does this Porter have family in Frederickport?” Chris asked. “I remember in the book, his character belonged to the Klan. It’s possible they’ve passed down some unsavory stories within the family, and someone may have read Moon Runners and recognize their ancestor?”
“Chris has a point,” Lily said. “Look what some museum board members did trying to cover up the Klan members on their family trees.”
“At least they didn’t try killing us,” Danielle said.
“So is it possible?” Chris asked.
“I can’t think of any Porters in town,” the chief said.
“When Walt was researching for his book, we found one Porter in the phone book,” Danielle said. “They had moved here fairly recently.”
“I think you need to check a little deeper,” Ian suggested.
“We will,” Walt said.
“Who else to add?” Ian asked.
Walt looked at the board for a minute. “The other characters in the book are composites of people from my life, or pure fiction. But honestly, I can’t imagine how any of this has to do with whoever wants my diary.”
“They don’t just want your diary,” Marie reminded him. “They want you dead.”
“Danielle will need to help me come up with something,” the chief said a moment later. They all looked at him.
“What do you mean?” Danielle asked.
“According to what Marie was told, the person threatening you will be at your fundraiser on the fourth. I think we should have a couple of officers here undercover. But I’m trying to decide how best to explain my concern. I can’t very well say a ghost overheard a conversation—which he retold to another ghost.”
“Not sure how I feel about you guys always insinuating I’m some skilled liar,” Danielle grumbled.
“It’s not that you’re a liar exactly…” the chief said.
Thirteen
“What sort of favor?” Adam asked Danielle on Monday morning.
She stood in his office alone while Walt waited outside in the Packard.
“Can you install surveillance cameras in Marlow House?” she asked. “Before Wednesday.”
“Um…how many are we talking about, and why?” he asked.
“I’m not sure how many. Chris is picking them up. He said he’d help you.”
Adam frowned. “That’s sneaky of you.”
“Sneaky how?”
“I can’t say no to Chris.” Adam wasn’t exactly kidding. While he considered Chris a friend, he was also one of his best and more lucrative clients. There was no way he could deny a favor to his best client.
“Sure you can. The person you can’t say no to is me.”
“Why is that?” Adam asked.
“Because this is something your grandma would want you to do for me.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Well, you did make me that divinity. I assume you want the cameras installed so you can monitor the people coming through your house on Wednesday?”
“Yeah.” Danielle smiled sweetly.
“Whatever happened to the cameras you used to have installed in the house?”
Danielle understood Adam believed she had already installed hidden cameras in Marlow House. How else could she have known when he and Bill had broken in not long after she had moved to Frederickport?
“They all died,” she lied.
“Okay, but you owe me,” he said.
“Consider thi
s a favor for Chris.”
Adam chuckled. “Yeah, right.”
“One more thing,” she added.
“What?”
“Please don’t mention this to anyone. And I mean not to anyone.”
“Not even Mel?” he asked.
“Okay, you can tell Mel. One more thing…”
“What’s that?”
“You need to make sure that when you install the cameras, no one will know they’re there.”
Ten minutes later, Danielle opened the passenger side of the Packard.
“I assume by that smile he said yes?” Walt asked as Danielle got into the car.
“He did. Now let’s see what we can find out at the museum.” Danielle slammed the car door closed.
Walt started down the street and said, “I’m glad Marie offered to stay at the house while we’re running errands. She had planned to return to Astoria.”
“Me too. And if we’re lucky, when we get home, we’ll find the culprits tied up, and I can stop playing Nancy Drew,” Danielle said.
“Don’t count on it. If they meant what the ghost overheard, they don’t plan to come back until Wednesday.”
“Which is one reason I’m glad Adam agreed to install the cameras. If we can record everyone who comes to Marlow House, maybe we’ll catch one of them trying to find the nonexistent diary. Marie can’t exactly monitor everyone. And if they notice the cameras and don’t search for the diary, at least we’ll have a record of everyone who shows up. That will be something to work with.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Walt promised.
“I hope you’re right. Because, if we don’t soon, it will be nerve-racking being vigil for someone who wants to kill us while we sleep.”
Walt reached his hand over and patted Danielle’s knee. “Don’t worry, love. It will be okay. It won’t get that far.”
“And what about Ian and Lily? Our mystery killer suggested they might break into their house if they can’t find what they’re looking for,” Danielle reminded him.
“Ian is taking precautions, as we all are. And trust me, Marie will let no one get near Connor.”
Millie Samson, one of the elderly docents and a historical society board member, welcomed Walt and Danielle when they walked into the museum late Monday morning. In the gift store another docent stood behind the counter ringing up books and postcards for one museum visitor, while two couples and a family of four toured the displays.
“It’s been so busy today,” Millie chirped.
Before Walt or Danielle could ask a question, two more people walked in the door. Since they didn’t belong to the historical society, Millie scurried from Walt and Danielle to sell the recent arrivals admission tickets.
“They look busy,” Danielle whispered.
“We might as well look through the old newspapers,” Walt suggested.
“You know their collection isn’t complete,” Danielle reminded him.
“Won’t hurt to look.”
Together Walt and Danielle walked to the back of the museum and sat at the table with the books of old newspapers. They searched through them for about thirty minutes, and as Danielle predicted, they kept coming up empty.
“Looking for anything in particular?” Millie asked when she eventually walked up to the table.
Danielle closed the book and looked up to Millie. “Actually, we were wondering, do you know anything about a family who used to live in Frederickport named Porter? Beauregard Porter?”
“Certainly,” Millie said. “They still have family in town. In fact, Earl recently moved into the same care home Marie was in.”
“Earl Porter?” Danielle asked.
Millie shook her head. “No. His mother was a Porter. His last name is Barr. He’s younger than I am. I heard he has Alzheimer’s.”
“Is he married?”
“He’s a widower. His wife died a few years back. To be honest, we were casual acquaintances at best. Family always kept to themselves. Very private. I believe the Beauregard Porter you mentioned was his great-great-grandfather.”
Danielle’s evil-self resisted the temptation to ask Millie if she knew who Beauregard was because her Klan ancestors used to night ride with him. But to be fair, Danielle told herself, other than wanting to cover up her family’s racist history, Millie had seemed sincerely ashamed of that branch in her family tree.
“Does he have any children?” Walt asked.
“Yes,” Millie said. “Two girls, but they aren’t exactly girls anymore. They married and left Frederickport years ago. They rarely visit their father. Although, they were in town recently to move Earl into a nursing home. Why do you ask?”
“Marie mentioned Beauregard Porter once,” Danielle lied. “Said he fought in the Civil War—for the Confederacy. I found that fascinating.”
“Did she now?” Millie frowned. “I wonder where she heard that?”
“And you ask why we talk about your uncanny ability to spin a yarn at a moment’s notice?” Walt teased as they got into the Packard fifteen minutes later.
“A yarn? What are you, from a hundred years ago or something?” she teased back.
Walt chuckled.
A moment later they sat quietly in the parked car, in front of the museum, the doors shut. “Well, that was a bust,” Walt said.
“I don’t see a guy with Alzheimer’s coming after us,” Danielle said.
“And according to the ghost, it was a man and woman.”
“I suppose it could be one of Earl’s daughters and her husband,” Danielle suggested.
“The way Millie was talking, I don’t think the daughters are in town.”
“She did say they came to help their dad move. Maybe they’re still here. Also, creepy that they put the poor guy in that place.” Danielle shivered.
“The person responsible for Marie’s death is no longer there. Hopefully, they now have better staff.”
When Walt and Danielle returned to Marlow House, they told Marie what they had learned at the museum.
“Earl Barr?” Marie said. “Unpleasant man. A few years back, one neighbor had him arrested, but they dropped the charges. Never heard why he’d been arrested, and the neighbor refused to talk about it.”
“I wonder what happened,” Danielle muttered.
Marie shrugged. “I didn’t remember his mother was a Porter, but now that I think about it, that sounds familiar. I liked his wife, though. She was a sweet thing. I used to see her at church sometimes.”
“I don’t remember you going to church,” Walt teased.
“I did sometimes,” Marie said primly. “And how would you know? You never left this house.”
“Did you know the daughters?” Danielle asked.
“Not really. But I don’t recall them ever getting in trouble. I used to think Earl smacked Lizzy around. Lizzy was his wife.”
“Pleasant man,” Danielle said. “And I was feeling bad about them putting him in the same nursing home as you were in.”
“Perfect place for a man like him,” Marie said. “While the family used to keep to themselves, I would occasionally see Lizzy at church and run into her at the grocery store. A few times I noticed what I was sure was a black eye under makeup. She was a timid thing and rather jumpy. But when I’d see her with her daughters, she seemed like quite the doting mother. From what I recall, those girls left town when they turned eighteen. But I heard they used to come back to visit their mother. You say they were here to put Earl in a home?”
“That’s what Millie says.”
“Well, there is one thing I can do,” Marie said.
“What’s that?” Danielle asked.
“I’ll pop over to the home, see if I can find out if the daughters are still in town. If they aren’t, then I suspect this is a dead end,” Marie said.
Danielle was about to ask Marie how she intended to find out about the daughters, but the ghost vanished before she had a chance.
“I think Marie rather enjoys the freedom of
being a spirit,” Walt said.
“Yes, I noticed that,” Danielle agreed.
“Someone who spent almost a hundred years as a spirit confined to one location, and only able to harness energy the last couple of years, might be jealous of Marie,” Walt said.
“But you aren’t?”
“No. I’m exceedingly grateful how it all worked out.”
Danielle stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss over Walt’s mouth.
After the brief kiss Walt said, “Why don’t we go make some sandwiches?”
Walt and Danielle sat at the kitchen table, eating tuna sandwiches, potato chips, and sweet pickles, when Marie materialized in the room.
“I’m back!” the ghost announced.
“So I see. That was quick,” Danielle said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Did you learn anything?”
“I did,” Marie said as she took a seat at the table with them. “I don’t believe Earl or his family are who you’re looking for.”
“Why do you say that?” Walt asked.
“I met a friendly man there, Fred,” Marie began.
“Fred?” Danielle cocked her brow.
“He had the room before Earl. Good thing I got there when I did. He was just getting ready to pass over to the other side. But fortunately, he stuck around, and we had a brief chat,” Marie explained.
“I assume you’re talking about a ghost?” Danielle asked.
“Didn’t I say that?” Marie asked.
“So what did he tell you?” Walt asked.
“Fred saw the daughters when Earl first moved in. Said they were very cool toward him. Not rude or cruel, but there was no sign of affection. He overheard some discussion about how they were selling the father’s home, and that money was paying for his care. The day they left, Fred overheard them tell the nurse they were leaving town, going back home. Wherever that is. The nurse asked if they would be visiting soon, and the girls didn’t answer. But he overheard one sister whisper to the other, right after the nurse walked away, ‘When hell freezes over.’ Fred assumed that was in response to the question about visiting their father.”
