by Bobbi Holmes
“I’m not really sure. She used to tell me she wouldn’t be surprised if poor Walt finally realized the true nature of his bride and decided to end it all. But then she would also tell me she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had been murdered, had Angela not been killed in Portland. Angela was the only one who had a motive, according to Mother. Of course, Father didn’t tell Mother everything he knew about Walt Marlow.”
Danielle sipped her tea and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Mother died first, of cancer. She went fairly quickly, back in 1970. I took care of my father during his last years. We would have long talks. He’d often reminisce about his old friend Walt, and insist he’d been murdered. He told me things about Walt that he never told my mother.”
“Like what?” Danielle set her cup on its saucer.
“He was involved in moonshining. It was during prohibition back then. Even though he inherited a fortune from his grandfather, he preferred taking risks and living on the edge. Father even told me he was involved in a jewelry heist. The heist itself was fairly well known back then—especially because the necklace was never recovered. Outside of my father, I never heard a single soul suggest Walt Marlow was involved.”
“How would your father know something like that? Was he…um, involved?”
“My father?” Marie laughed at the suggestion. “No. Father was a straight arrow, but I think he enjoyed living vicariously through Walt. They were childhood friends. My grandfather worked for the Marlow family—they built ships. Father grew up in the house across the street from Marlow House. My mother moved into the house when she married father.”
“Did you grow up in the house?”
Marie shook her head. “No, I was born there, but we moved out shortly after the suicide. Father couldn’t get the sight of Walt hanging in the window out of his head. We moved across town, but he kept the property. We still own it today. My grandson rents it out.”
“Really? I met your new tenant. He’s a teacher?” It was more a question than a statement.
“I stay out of all that. I let Adam handle those matters.”
“So your family still lives in Frederickport?”
“Just my grandson, Adam.” Marie sipped her tea and then asked, “I believe your aunt mentioned you’re married. Is your husband in Frederickport with you?”
“No. Lucas, my husband, was killed in a car accident about six months ago.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, dear.”
“That’s one reason I decided to move here when I inherited Marlow House.”
“A fresh start. Yes, sometimes that is for the best.” Marie lifted the tea pot, silently offering to fill Danielle’s cup.
“No thank you…About Katherine O’Malley, do you know how she ended up with Roger Calvert, and why she shot him?”
“All very sordid, if you ask me!” Marie set the tea pot back on the side table. “Mother always liked Kathrine. She felt Roger seduced the poor girl, swept her off her feet for her money, in the same way his sister had done with Walt.”
“So why did she shoot him?”
“I have no idea. I always wanted to ask Brianna about that night, see what she really remembered, but I never did. It didn’t feel right.”
“You mean how Kathrine fell?”
“According to Mother, the authorities felt she panicked after shooting Roger, and tripped, falling to her death. Tragic. A neighbor heard the gunshot and rushed over. Poor Brianna was at her mother’s side sobbing, saying Roger had pushed Kathrine down the stairs.”
“So why did they think she shot him and then tripped?”
“The police insisted Brianna was confused.”
“But why would she shoot him in the first place if she had agreed to marry him?”
“I can only guess. Mother speculated that Katherine realized her mistake. Maybe she was afraid she’d end up like Walt and Angela. Apparently she was a very superstitious woman. In fact, she refused to step inside Marlow House after she inherited it, because of the suicide.”
“I heard that.”
“You know, Kathrine didn’t die immediately. She lingered for several days in the hospital.”
“And she never explained what happened?”
“Not as far as I know.”
A young man entered the house, interrupting their conversation. Walking into the sitting room he called out, “Grandma, are…” and then stopped when he saw Danielle sitting with Marie.
“Did you forget about your doctor’s appointment?” he asked, glancing from Marie to Danielle.
“Oh my! That’s today?” Marie got to her feet.
He glanced at his watch. “In about twenty minutes.”
Danielle stood up. “I guess I better get going, so you can go to your appointment. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“Oh you didn’t, dear! I enjoyed our visit. Danielle, this is my grandson, Adam. Adam Nichols. Adam, this is Danielle Boatman; she’s the new owner of Marlow House.”
Adam broke into a smile and put out his hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you Ms. Boatman.”
Danielle accepted his gesture and was surprised at the intimate way he squeezed her hand instead of shaking it. She looked up into a pair of black eyes. He smiled, lingering a moment before releasing hold of her hand.
“Nice meeting you.” After saying her final goodbyes, she made a hasty exit. As she walked to her car she could feel Adam Nichols’s eyes on her.
Chapter Fourteen
Sadie greeted Danielle at the front door, tail wagging. Resisting the temptation to jump up, the dog pushed her wet nose against the fabric of Danielle’s long skirt.
“Well, hello there.” Danielle reached down and ruffled the fur along Sadie’s neck. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re upstairs in the attic,” Walt called out from the parlor. Danielle tossed her purse on the entry table and walked toward Walt’s voice, Sadie trailing beside her. She found him in the parlor lounging on the small sofa—his feet up—reading an issue of People Magazine.
“Country’s Sexiest Men…” Walt read the front cover’s headline as he held the magazine up briefly for Danielle to see. “Is this what women read these days? You like looking at these pictures?” Walt thumbed through the pages in disgust.
Danielle glanced at the table next to the sofa. On it was a stack of magazines.
“Ahh, Lily’s magazines,” Danielle said as she took a chair.
“She was reading in here before Ian came over.”
Sadie sniffed the magazine in Walt’s hand, her tail wagging, and then she lay on the floor by his side.
“If you hear Ian and Lily coming, please put that down.”
“Why?” Walt peered over the top of the magazine at Danielle.
“I’ve a feeling all they’ll see is a magazine floating over the couch. Might freak them out.”
“Interesting. I didn’t even consider that.” Walt tossed the People with the rest of the magazines on the table. “I’m not used to other people being here.”
“What about the housekeeper, Joanne? Did you ever…ahhh….well open doors or move anything when she was around?” Danielle chose not to remind him he could no longer be classified as people.
“I honestly don’t remember.” He shrugged.
“I thought you were going to keep an eye on things for me.”
“He seemed pretty harmless and I got bored.” Walt reached down to pet Sadie. His hand moved through her fur as if she were air.
Walt glanced over at the doorway, then back to Danielle. “So, did you find out anything?”
“I’m not sure we should discuss this now. What if Ian and Lily walk in?” Danielle looked over at the doorway.
“I told you, they’re in the attic.”
“But they could sneak up on us,” Danielle whispered.
“The way your friend talks nonstop? I seriously doubt it.”
“But still…”
“Sadie, go guard the stairs. Let me know when I
an and Lily start coming down the staircase,” Walt instructed. Danielle was about to roll her eyes at such an outrageous command when Sadie jumped up—her tail wagging—let out a bark, then dashed out of the room and parked herself at the base of the stairs.
“She actually understood you,” Danielle said in awe.
“I told you she was a smart dog.”
“I met Marie Hemming today,” Danielle said after shaking her head in disbelief over Walt’s unusual relationship with Sadie.
“Little Marie?” Walt sat up, placing his feet on the floor.
“Little Marie is ninety,” Danielle quipped.
“What did you find out about Angela?”
“I understand now why Katherine inherited your estate. Angela was killed in Portland. She was hit by a car and died a few hours before your death.”
Upon hearing the news Walt closed his eyes for a moment. It was as if he was hearing about Angela’s passing for the first time.
“I rather expected to hear Angela went on to live a long and happy life. Remarried and had a few children.”
“Did she want children?”
Walt opened his eyes and looked at Danielle. “No…not particularly. But I suppose not all women start out wanting children.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Marie’s father never believed you killed yourself. Unfortunately no one would listen to him, so I assume it wasn’t really investigated.”
“Where was Roger when my wife was killed? Was he with her?”
“That’s what’s odd. I would have asked Marie more questions, but she had a doctor’s appointment and her grandson came to pick her up.”
“What’s odd?”
“Unfortunately I could only find three newspaper articles on your death. The rest of 1925—the rest of the 1920s, was missing. The next paper in the museum’s collection was for 1930. But one of the few articles I did read had an interview with Roger. It seems he showed up in Frederickport the same day they found your body. George found you in the morning, and Roger showed up that evening. I’m not sure why he was here or why he left Angela in Portland. Angela was already dead by then. Although, I suppose they may have contacted him in Portland, and he came straight here. But why would he leave before finding his sister?”
“I don’t really understand what you’re saying.” Walt frowned.
Danielle didn’t respond immediately. She kept playing over in her mind what Marie had told her, and what she herself had read in the newspaper. There were too many unanswered questions, and the timeline didn’t make sense to her.
“This is what I don’t understand. According to the newspaper, your body was discovered on Thursday morning, when George Hemming got up and looked out the window. The night before he stopped by and you two shared a brandy. Do you remember what time George left you that night?”
“It was about seven. Why?”
“Well, you obviously died somewhere between seven Wednesday evening and eight Thursday morning. Your wife died in the hospital Wednesday evening before seven. When she was hit by a car, a witness claimed to have seen someone grab her handbag. Angela ran after the thief and was hit by a car. When they took her to the hospital, they didn’t know who she was, because she didn’t have any identification on her, since her purse had been stolen. In fact it was a week before she was identified. This would mean she went missing on Wednesday afternoon. If she was visiting her brother, why would he leave Portland on Thursday and come to Frederickport? I would imagine someone had called him that morning, trying to contact Angela about your death, so why would he leave without her?”
“Maybe he was looking for her?”
“I hadn’t thought of that....but why didn’t they mention that in the paper? I mean, if he came to Frederickport looking for her, why wouldn’t there be something in the paper saying that Angela had gone missing?”
“Did you ask Marie about any of this?”
“That Roger was in Frederickport and didn’t mention Angela’s disappearance? Not really. Her grandson showed up and she had to get to the doctor.”
“Now I understand what happened to Angela—why my estate went to Katherine O’Malley. Now I need to find out who bumped me off.”
“There’s something else,” Danielle said.
“What?”
“Did you ever notice anything going on between Roger and Katherine?”
“What do you mean?”
“According to Marie, not long after your death Roger and Kathrine married.”
“What!” Walt jumped to his feet. “Good lord, did those two conspire to kill me for my estate? Did Roger kill his own sister?”
“I don’t know,” Danielle shook her head. “I’ve a feeling it was something else. Their marriage didn’t last very long.”
“Long enough to pilfer my estate!”
“No, actually...they didn’t even make it to the honeymoon. Kathrine shot and killed Roger, and moments later she fell down the stairs. She died shortly after from the fall. My aunt, just a small child, inherited her mother’s fortune, and was sent away to a boarding school.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why did she kill him?”
“Marie seems to think he seduced her into marrying him. And perhaps something happened that made her realize her mistake.”
Sadie started barking. Danielle glanced to the doorway. A moment later she heard voices.
“Sadie, what are you barking at?” Danielle could hear Ian say. She got up and walked to the parlor doorway and looked out into the entry.
“Danielle, when did you get home?” Lily asked when she reached the landing, Ian by her side.
“Just a few minutes ago. Hello Ian.”
“This is a beautiful house,” Ian said. “And you’ve some amazing antiques. Although, I’d be a little concerned about leaving some pieces in rooms with your guests.”
“I finished the inventory!” Lily announced, holding up a legal pad.
“So what’s the verdict?” Danielle asked. Lily and Ian followed her back into the parlor. The three sat down. Walt was nowhere to be seen.
“If you ignore Ian’s concerns, I don’t think you need to buy much. A few pieces might need to be reupholstered, but you already knew that.”
“Unfortunately, that can sometimes cost more than replacing them,” Danielle noted.
“True. But they wouldn’t have the character of those pieces,” Lily insisted. “Seriously, Dani, there is some cool stuff in this house. I used my iPhone to take pictures of everything. Figured you’d want something like that—especially in case of a fire.”
“Thanks, Lily. Smart thinking.”
“I better take off.” Ian stood up. “Sadie’s been acting a little strange today. I think she might need a walk.”
“Thanks for all your help,” Lily said when she stood up.
“Oh, I met your landlord today,” Danielle said.
“My landlord?”
“Marie Hemming, I mean Nichols. She owns the house you’re renting.”
“I’ve never met her,” Ian said. “I rented the house through Frederickport Vacation Properties.”
“I met her grandson too—Adam, Adam Nichols, I think that’s his name. He handles the rental for her.”
Ian shook his head as if the name did not sound familiar. “I never talked to a man.”
“I suppose he has Frederickport Vacation Properties handle that for him.”
“That’s probably it,” Ian said before letting out a little whistle for Sadie. She came rushing into the parlor, her tail wagging.
“Ian really liked your house,” Lily said after Ian and Sadie left.
“Sounds like you really like Ian,” Danielle teased.
“He’s a nice guy. You should have seen him checking out everything,” Lily said with a laugh.
“So he likes antiques?”
“Not that, the house. In every room, he’d run his hands over the walls, comment on the paneling, the workmanship. I’ve never seen anyone so taken with
a house before.”
“Really?”
“He asked me if it he could take a picture of the portraits. I didn’t think you’d mine.”
“The portraits?” Danielle asked.
“The ones of Walt Marlow and his wife. They fascinated him.”
“Hmmm…I wonder why he’d want to take a picture of them.”
“You can ask him when he takes them.”
“He didn’t take a picture of them yet?”
“No. I offered to give him a copy of the one I took with my iPhone—you know, for the inventory. But he wanted to use his own camera.”
“Have you had any lunch yet?” Danielle asked as she stood up.
“Yes. I made sandwiches for Ian and me.” Lily stood up and then asked, “Did you get much accomplished today?”
“Just boring errands.”
“How did you happen to meet Ian’s landlady?” Lily asked as she walked with Danielle to the kitchen.
“Marie Hemming? I stopped at the museum this morning.”
“The museum?”
“I was hoping to get a little history on this house. The docent suggested I talk to Marie Hemming. Her family used to live in the house Ian’s renting.”
“I thought you said your morning was boring?”
Danielle changed the subject, not yet ready to share with Lily what she’d found out about the house’s history. She was afraid telling Lily about Walt’s reported suicide might result in Lily indiscriminately discussing the event around Walt. From past experience, she understood an agitated spirit could be difficult to live with—especially troublesome if one wanted to open for business, and the resident spirit went into haunting mode. She appreciated the fact Walt was behaving in a most amicable manner, even if he did insist on sharing her bedroom.
Chapter Fifteen
Ian Bartley walked along the seashore with Sadie, carrying his shoes and leash in one hand and holding the cellphone to his ear with the other. Oregon beaches were not as warm as those he was used to in Southern California. He wore denims instead of shorts with his t-shirt and light jacket. While he was more accustomed to a warmer July along the ocean, he appreciated the fact the shoreline here wasn’t crowded. It was also clean—he hadn’t seen any litter on the beach since he had arrived.
