by Bobbi Holmes
“Ian—the man from across the street? The man who isn’t a teacher?”
“If you want to be useful, keep an eye on him. Not sure how I feel about the two being alone.”
“And exactly what am I supposed to do if your friend needs protecting?”
“Use your ghostly powers.” Danielle picked her purse off the bed and slipped its strap over her shoulder.
“My ghostly powers? If you recall, when I tried to touch your hand, mine simply moved through yours. The same when I tried to pet Sadie.”
“You also opened the parlor door for me.” Danielle stood by her bedroom door facing Walt.
“True, but you said that was my energy, that my body was simply an illusion.”
“Exactly, Walt. Your energy opened that door.”
Walt frowned and looked at his hands. The cigar he had been smoking vanished. Lifting his hands to his face he studied them for a moment.
“By the way,” Danielle opened her bedroom door. “I told Lily to have Ian bring Sadie over. If nothing else, you can pump the dog for information.”
“Are you mocking me?” Walt glared at Danielle through narrowed eyes.
“Only a little. But, I did tell her he could bring Sadie over.”
Chapter Twelve
Before entering the museum, Danielle looked through her wallet for the membership card Millie Samson had issued her the day before. When she walked into the museum, it wasn’t Millie who greeted her, but another docent. She showed him the card, and then made her way to the back of the museum to the old newspapers. Unlike yesterday, there were a number of visitors already at the museum, wandering through the various exhibits.
Danielle was the only one to take a place at the newspaper table. Since the books were numbered chronologically, it took her just a few minutes to locate the next book she needed. Opening to the first page, she found another article on the suicide.
The second article was primarily a recap of the first one, with one exception. It included an interview with Walt’s brother-in-law, Roger Calvert. The interview took place in Frederickport.
This is going to break my dear sister’s heart, Roger said in the interview. When asked why his brother-in-law would take his own life, Roger responded, I suppose none of us really knows what goes on in another man’s heart; however, according to authorities, he had been drinking the night he took his life. I can only guess at the demons that plagued him.”
According to the article, Angela Marlow was still not aware of her husband’s death. How is that possible? Danielle wondered. It isn’t like they didn’t have telephones back then. If Angela was still in Portland with her brother, how was it that he was in Frederickport giving an interview?
When flipping through the newspaper Danielle came across an editorial discussing the evils of alcohol, supporting prohibition and citing Walt Marlow’s recent suicide as proof that alcohol brings nothing but grief and destruction.
The next newspaper held a clue to Danielle’s question. According to the third article, Roger had arrived in Frederickport ten hours after George Hemming’s gruesome discovery. Why he was there the article didn’t say; it only said that his sister was still in Portland and couldn’t be reached.
“Why would Roger come to Frederickport if his sister was supposedly visiting him in Portland?” Danielle whispered aloud. Anxiously she turned to the next newspaper, hoping to find the answer. To her disappointment the next paper skipped years ahead.
“Someone must have gotten these out of order,” Danielle mumbled, thumbing through the papers. There was nothing more of 1925—or 1926—1927—1928 or 1929. She grabbed another book, hurriedly turning the pages.
“Can I help you with something?” a male voice asked. Danielle looked up into the blue gray eyes of the elderly docent who’d greeted her at the front door when she had first arrived at the museum that morning.
“I can’t find the rest of 1925—nothing until 1930.”
“I’m afraid that’s all we have. There was a fire back in…”
“Yes, I heard that. But I was told you had copies of the old papers.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a complete collection—only what’s been donated. Every once in a while someone will come across a missing edition and bring it in. But, I’m afraid everything we have is in those books.”
“Darn. Now I know what it feels like when you get to the end of a mystery novel and the last pages have been ripped out. Except in this case, the book is out of print.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I can help you. I’m pretty familiar with Frederickport history.” He took a seat at the table. “I’m Ben Smith, by the way.” Danielle estimated he was in his eighties—very spry eighties.
“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Danielle Boatman. I just moved into Marlow House.”
“I heard someone moved in there. I was so sorry to hear Brianna O’Malley had passed away. You must be her niece?”
“Actually, she was married to my great-uncle. You knew her?”
“I can’t say I really knew her. But I remember meeting her. She left quite an impression on me.”
“Can you tell me about it?” She hadn’t expected to meet anyone in Frederickport who knew her aunt. According to Mr. Renton, Brianna never visited Frederickport.
“It was right before the war. I must have been about thirteen.” Ben smiled at the memory. “She was twenty-one at the time, I remember because that’s why she was here. She’d just come into her inheritance, and came to meet with my father.”
“I don’t understand. Your father?”
“He was her court appointed attorney.”
“Wait a minute…her court appointed attorney? You say she came into her inheritance. Had her mother just died?”
“Her mother? No, Brianna was about five or six when her mother died. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I really don’t know anything about Brianna’s history. Mr. Renton didn’t seem to know much about it.”
“Renton, yes, I know him.” Ben didn’t sound impressed.
“If Kathrine O’Malley died when my aunt was five or six, that means she died not long after inheriting Marlow House.”
“That’s true.”
“I still don’t understand why Walt Marlow’s widow didn’t inherit the house.”
“Because she preceded him.”
“She died before him?”
“From what I understand, yes. I never knew the details. All that happened before I was born. To be honest, the only reason I know as much as I do about your aunt is because I was so smitten with her.”
“Smitten?” Danielle smiled.
“I was a young boy, thirteen, just starting to notice girls. Miss O’Malley came to stay with our family for the week, and I fell hopelessly in love. Followed that poor girl around like a lovesick puppy dog and was broken hearted when she left. After she was gone I pestered my father about her. He really wouldn’t say much, but my older sister, who worked in my father’s office, told me what she knew.”
“What was that?”
“Several months after Katherine O’Malley inherited Marlow House she married. Before she left for her honeymoon she shot her new husband, and fell down a set of stairs to her death. Leaving Brianna orphaned. A very wealthy orphan.”
“Oh my god, she killed her husband? Why?”
“I have no idea. The only thing I know was the husband was Walt Marlow’s brother-in-law.”
“She married Roger Calvert?”
“You know his name?” Ben raised his brows.
“He was interviewed in one of the articles I read in the old newspapers. Nothing was mentioned of his sister’s death—but you say she died before her husband?”
“Apparently so; that’s why Katherine O’Malley inherited the estate.”
“Where was my aunt when her mother shot Roger Calvert?”
“Oh, she was there, from what I’ve been told.”
“She witnessed the murder and her mother’s death?”
; “Yes. But she’d never talk about it. I remember my sister saying Brianna probably blocked all memory of her mother’s death from her mind since it was so traumatic.”
“What happened to my aunt after her mother was killed?”
“She didn’t have any family—and neither did her stepfather—the one her mother killed. The court appointed my father to act as a guardian. I don’t recall the legal term. My father was an honest man, and I think the judge knew he could trust him to do the right thing. The estate was worth millions—a lot of money back then. From what I understand Brianna gave away much of it over the years—various charities.”
“But she kept the house,” Danielle murmured.
“Yes. I always wondered why. She never lived in it. From what I understand, her mother refused to step foot in the house after Marlow killed himself.”
“Why was that?”
“Superstition, from what I’ve been told.”
“Who raised my aunt?”
“She was sent to a very respected boarding school. Received a fine education. When she came of age, she became a very wealthy woman.”
“I had no idea that she was wealthy. I didn’t even know this house existed until she died and I was told she left it to me. Do you know how Kathrine O’Malley and Roger Calvert got together?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you have any idea how Angela Marlow died?”
“Walt Marlow’s wife?” Ben asked.
“Yes. And Roger Calvert’s twin sister.”
“No. I just know she died before her husband, which is why Kathrine O’Malley inherited the estate. Is that why you want those old newspapers?”
“Yes.” Danielle considered her options for a moment. “Do you know of anyone else I could talk to? I assume the historical society would know about this.”
“I’m afraid the historical society is only about five years old. We opened the museum just three years ago.”
“Really? I’m surprised it’s that new.”
“People talked about it for years before someone actually did something,” Ben explained. “I can’t think of anyone in the historical society who might be able to help you—most of them are younger than me. But you might want to talk to Marie Hemming.”
“Hemming? Wasn’t the man who found Walt Marlow’s body named Hemming?”
“Yes, Marie’s father. I wanted to do an oral history with Marie, have her interviewed for the museum, but she refused. Maybe she would talk to you, since you’re living in the house.”
“She never married?” Danielle asked.
“She’s a widow. Actually her name is Marie Nichols now. Old habits, you know.” Ben shrugged.
“How old is Marie?”
“I think she just turned ninety. Still sharp. Good memory. She was just a baby when Marlow killed himself. But she was pretty close to her father. I imagine she knows more than anyone about what happened back then.”
“It’s worth a shot. I really appreciate all your help.” Danielle reached across the table and closed the books she’d been looking at before Ben joined her.
“I think I have Marie’s phone number in the office. She’s a member of the historical society.”
“Then I’m surprised she won’t agree to an interview.” Danielle stood up.
“Marie can be a little peculiar sometimes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Danielle didn’t intend to just walk up to Marie Hemming’s front door and ring the bell. First she’d give the woman a phone call, introduce herself, and see if she could arrange a meeting. On her way back to Marlow House from the museum, Danielle impulsively turned onto Marie’s street. She would just drive by and see where the woman lived.
She hadn’t expected to actually see Marie Hemming—but there she was, an elderly woman sporting a purple sweat suit and floppy straw hat, on her hands and knees in the front flower garden. Danielle wasn’t sure it was Marie Hemming, but she knew—according to Ben Smith’s information—that it was her house.
As impulsively as she had turned down Marie’s street, she pulled in front of the woman’s bright yellow house and parked her car. The woman in the garden glanced up, readjusted her hat with one gloved hand, while the second hand held a gardening trowel. When Danielle got out of her car and walked toward Marie’s house, the woman stood up—struggling a bit as she got off her knees—and slipped off her gardening gloves, tossing them and the trowel to the ground by her feet.
“Marie Nichols?” Danielle called out when she reached the front gate.
“Yes, how can I help you?” Marie asked, walking toward Danielle.
“Hello. My name is Danielle Boatman. I just moved into Marlow House.”
“You must be Brianna’s niece!” Marie said cheerfully. “I intended to stop by, after you got settled a bit.”
“You knew my aunt?”
“Why, certainly dear.” Marie opened the gate. “Please come in. Have you time for a cup of tea and a little visit?”
“I’d love to,” Danielle said brightly. After entering the gate she followed Marie up the walk to the front door.
“How did you happen to find me?” Marie asked.
“Ben Smith, at the museum, suggested I talk to you.”
“Ben Smith. Nosy little twerp,” Marie said as she opened the front door and removed her straw hat, placing it on the coat rack in the entry. She showed Danielle to a sitting room.
Less than fifteen minutes later Danielle sat primly on an upholstered straight back chair as Marie served her a cup of hot tea. She’d offered to help, but Marie insisted she could do it herself.
“How long did you know my aunt?” Danielle asked as she sipped her tea. Marie sat in a loveseat facing her.
“I can’t remember never knowing her. Kathrine O’Malley used to clean house for my parents, and Mother let her bring Brianna with her. I was three when they sent her away, after her mother died. In the beginning, Mother would visit her every few months, and take me along. When I was older, the visits stopped, but Brianna and I became pen pals. We kept in touch over the years—a lovely woman.”
“I really didn’t know her that well. But I was very fond of her,” Danielle said. “She was married to my grandfather’s brother.”
“I know she was very fond of you. She’d write me about you sometimes. She was touched that you made the effort to write her, keep in contact. That meant a great deal to her. She never really had family—aside from her husband—and she wasn’t able to have children.”
“I always thought she led such a glamorous life, traveling the world with my uncle.”
“I think she was happy. But she had regrets. I suppose we all do.” Marie sipped her tea then asked, “So tell me how you happened to chat with Ben Smith.”
“I’ve been looking for some information on the history of Marlow House. The only newspapers from that era are at the museum, yet the collection is incomplete. Ben is a docent at the museum, and he suggested I talk to you. I understand your father is the one who discovered Walt Marlow’s body.”
“Yes, it was something he could never forget. They were close friends.”
“One thing I’m trying to find out: what happened to Walt Marlow’s wife?”
“Angela? Why, she was killed in Portland. Tragic accident, run over by a motor car the afternoon before my father discovered Walt’s body.”
“So, she did die before him,” Danielle said more to herself.
“Oh yes, I’ll tell you a little secret—my mother could not tolerate the woman. Of course she avoided mentioning that to my father.”
“Why was that?”
“Oh, you know men. So easily taken in by a pretty face. When my father would talk about the circumstance of his friend’s death—and of Angela’s—he would go on and on with how tragic it all was considering they were so in love and had their entire future in front of them. When I was older, my mother gave me her true opinion of the woman. She found Angela to be a shallow gold digger, who only loved Walt�
��s money. My father’s adoration for the woman irritated her, but she let him have his illusions, considering Angela was dead.”
“Did your father ever speculate as to why Walt Marlow killed himself?”
“My father never believed it was a suicide. But no one would listen to him.”
“It seems like an odd coincidence that both Walt and Angela would die within 24 hours of each other.”
“And that—oh my—did that cause problems for my father.”
“How so?”
“Angela was visiting her brother in Portland. She was shopping downtown when, according to witnesses, a thief snatched her handbag. When running after the purse-snatcher, she was hit by a car. The thief disappeared with the handbag, and when they took her to the hospital, no one knew her identity. That was on Wednesday, the day before my father found Walt Marlow’s body. Angela died in the hospital, Wednesday evening. It was a week before she was identified. By that time Walt had been dead for almost a week himself.”
“What did you mean it caused problems for your father?”
“Roger took his sister’s death hard. Mother said they were very close. But he really went off the deep end when he discovered the estate was going to Kathrine O’Malley. Roger insisted his brother-in-law could have died before his sister on Wednesday night. Which would mean the estate would go to Angela—and upon her death, to Roger.”
“But your father knew that wasn’t true?”
“Angela’s time of death was on record. She died in the hospital. My father and Walt Marlow had shared a brandy over at Marlow House—after Angela’s time of death. If my father hadn’t testified, it’s possible Roger could have convinced the courts Walt died first.”
“Why didn’t your father believe it was suicide?”
“He said there was no reason for Walt to kill himself. He’d often cite Walt’s recent marriage, and how in love he was. Mother of course would roll her eyes, and shake her head. Not so Father could see, but for my benefit.”
“Does that mean your Mother thought it was suicide?”
