by Bobbi Holmes
“Who’s to say he doesn’t?”
“For one thing, if he really is this author guy, he lied to us. And if he is married, well that really pisses me off. Yet to be honest, I have no right to be pissed off about it since we just met and it’s not like we went on a real date or anything.”
“I know how awful it feels to be betrayed by someone you care about.”
“Lucas…yeah…I thought about that tonight. I imagine that betrayal felt ten times worse than mine, considering everything.”
“Yes…well…like that old cliché says: time heals all wounds,” Danielle said.
“But does it really?”
“I don’t know.” Danielle shrugged. “Maybe it just dulls the pain. Perhaps the better cliché to cite would be: when one door shuts, another opens.”
“Marlow House is that other door?”
“I hope so.”
“Do you think you’re going to be happy here?”
“No guarantees on happiness. But it will at least keep me occupied.”
“I’m glad you’re turning the place into a B and B. I’d worry about you being lonely after I leave.”
“Well, this house…” Danielle glanced around the room. “…has a life of its own.”
“Do you think you’re going to miss your company…your job?”
“Considering what happened…no. Too many memories. Plus I can see it now…each time someone new is hired, one of the employees will feel compelled to tell them the tragic story of Lucas and Danielle. It was stupid of me to let Lucas hang that ridiculous portrait of us in the lobby.”
“It wasn’t ridiculous.”
“If you think about it, the only way I could take that damn portrait down—considering all that happened—was by selling the company.”
“You gave it to Lucas’s mom?”
“I think she was grateful I didn’t burn it.”
Danielle stood up and then asked, “You sure you don’t want to go surfing with me?”
“No, I’m going to go to sleep. You tell me what you find in the morning.”
When Danielle returned to her bedroom she found Walt sitting on the edge of her bed, watching television. Grabbing her pajama bottoms and t-shirt she headed for the bathroom. Absorbed in the television program he was watching, Walt failed to notice Danielle.
Walt was still watching television when Danielle returned to the bedroom twenty minutes later, wearing her pajama bottoms and t-shirt, and carrying her laptop computer.
“Don’t think you’re going to be watching that all night,” Danielle warned as she climbed onto her bed. Leaning against the headboard she sat up, her feet on the mattress, and placed the laptop on her lap and opened it.
“What’s that?” Walt asked, turning to Danielle. The television turned off.
“It’s a laptop computer,” Danielle explained as she powered it up. “Another technological advancement of my generation.”
“So that’s what one looks like…” Walt sat next to Danielle, looking over her shoulder.
“How did you know about laptops?”
“It’s amazing what one can learn from a television. It is surprising people manage to get anything done with all these fascinating distractions.”
“You aren’t the only one to wonder about that,” Danielle murmured as she entered her Wi-Fi password and went online.
“It looks like a television in a suitcase. What’s the difference?”
“You mean between a television and computer?”
“Yes.” Walt leaned back on the headboard, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.
“Well…it’s a little like a library…full of information. Sort of like a telephone, in that you can talk to people who are on their computers. And you can use it like a typewriter, but instead of your words going directly on paper, they’re saved in your computer, and you can print them out later.”
“What are you doing with it now?”
“I’m trying to see if I can find out anything on our neighbor, Ian.”
“I told you he wasn’t a teacher.”
“Yes, you’ve said that before.”
Walt watched as Danielle’s fingers danced over the keyboard.
“So you can find out information on Ian in there?”
“Well I’m not looking for Ian…yet. I’m searching for Jon Altar the author….Bingo!”
“What?” Walt leaned closer to the laptop. On the monitor was a picture of Ian.
“Oh crap…” Danielle moaned as she looked at Jon Altar’s webpage and scrolled down to his photograph. If she thought it was just an uncanny resemblance between the two men, that thought dissolved when she spied the golden retriever by his side—whose name, according to the webpage, was Sadie.
“Why would he hide the fact he was an author. Why lie about his name?” Danielle asked as she clicked through his website, reading all that she could find on the man.
“I don’t understand,” Danielle said.
“What?” Walt asked, confused by what he was seeing.
“Joanne said Jon Altar was working on a travel book. According to this, he doesn’t write those kinds of books. He does write non-fiction, but his are more…well…edgy…they’re about real life mysteries and intrigue. Now I know why his name sounded familiar. I’ve seen a couple of his specials on television. Travel shows are not his thing, unless he’s changing genre, but I don’t see why he would.”
“Does it say anything about him being a teacher?”
“Oh shut up about the teacher already!” Danielle elbowed Walt, only to have it move through his body.
Walt glanced down at his chest. “That wasn’t nice.”
Ignoring him, Danielle made another search, this time for Ian Bartley.
“Well this is interesting,” Danielle said a few moments later.
“What?”
“It seems our friend Ian isn’t a complete liar. According to this article on Jon Altar the author, his real name is Ian Bartley. Jon Altar is a pen name. It doesn’t mention anything about a wife or family.”
“Lily seemed rather upset. I believe she liked him.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Danielle closed the laptop.
“What was that about you and Lucas’s portrait?” Walt studied Danielle’s profile.
“You were listening to us, weren’t you?”
“I have good ears.”
“You don’t have any ears.”
“You are being mean again.”
“You invaded Lily’s dreams, didn’t you?”
“I’m not sure how I like the term invaded.”
“Well, did you?” Danielle studied Walt.
“I wanted to have a chat with Lily. She can’t see me, you know…not like you.”
“You visited her dream when we were staying at the Seahorse Motel, didn’t you?”
“I think so.” Walt looked unsure.
“You think so?”
“I’m not really sure how I did it exactly. But after you left and went back to the motel, I had some questions. I started thinking of you and Lily and then, well the next thing I know I’m with Lily. But it was very confusing and someone else was there.”
“Someone else?”
“Yes. I don’t know who exactly. The next thing I know I’m back here. I wondered if I could do it again. It was easier the second time. You’re the one who suggested I should learn how to harness whatever powers I might have.”
“I didn’t expect you to hop into Lily’s dreams. What did she tell you?” Danielle asked.
“That your husband Lucas was killed in a car accident—with his lover. And that you found out about this other woman when your husband was killed.”
“Lily is talkative in her sleep,” she grumbled.
“Lily is talkative awake or asleep. I’m sorry about your husband…and the fact you had to learn about his infidelity that way.”
“I wasn’t sure what to grieve for, my marriage or my husband.”
“I imagine yo
u grieved for both… But tell me about the portrait.”
“Lucas and I met in college.”
“You went to college?”
“Yes. Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’ve known a few women who’ve attended college, but only a few.”
“We were both marketing majors. It turned out there weren’t lots of jobs in the field so we decided to start our own business after graduation—which, as it turned out, proved to be very successful.”
“And the portrait?”
“For our company’s fifth anniversary Lucas had this bright idea to have our portrait painted and hung in the main lobby of our office. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he was so insistent so I went along with it. About a month after the portrait went up, he was killed in a car accident with his new assistant, who we soon discovered was his lover.”
“It must have been painful for you, seeing that portrait of the two of you hanging in the office.”
“It was embarrassing. And I felt funny taking it down, after all Lucas had just died. But it all seemed so fake—him and me displayed for all to see as some kind of ideal married couple, the co-founders of our company. Although I have to say, it wasn’t nearly as large as your portrait.”
“The portraits were Angela’s idea. They were her wedding present to me. Although, as I recall, I paid for them.”
“When I was at the museum there was a portrait there that really reminded me of yours. Well, of your wife’s, actually.”
“A portrait of Angela is at the museum?”
“No, it’s of another woman, an actress. Eva Thorndike.”
“So that’s where Eva’s portrait ended up.”
“You knew her?” Danielle asked.
“Yes, very well. We grew up together. Her family spent the summers here. The reason the portrait reminds you of Angela’s is because it’s by the same artist.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m afraid the artist Lucas commissioned wasn’t nearly as talented as yours.”
“Lily said you sold the company?”
“A few months after Lucas was killed I got news of Aunt Brianna’s death, and of the inheritance. One of our competitors made me an offer and I couldn’t see passing it up. Inheriting Marlow House just made it easier for me.”
“When did you decide to turn it into an inn? You know, you could live here without turning it into one.”
“A B and B,” Danielle corrected. “But I guess that’s about the same thing as an inn. I think it would be fun. It would give me something to do. I could meet people, and this house would make a fantastic B and B.”
“I suppose I’m getting used to the idea, my home being turned into an inn. It’s rather nice having people around again.”
“Walt, as much as I sincerely enjoy your company…”
“You do?”
“Well, certainly. I must say you’ve been one of the most affable and enjoyable spirits I’ve ever encountered. And I will sincerely miss you when you move on—but this isn’t the place for you any more.”
“How do you know?”
“Well…because…”
“Because?” Walt raised his brow.
“I just feel there’s something beyond this world…someplace we’re supposed to go when we die.”
“And it will still be there when I’m ready to go. We first need to find out who murdered me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Danielle sat alone on her bed, the computer still on her lap. Walt had said goodnight ten minutes earlier before disappearing. She suspected he was downstairs in the parlor watching more television. I hope he keeps the volume down, she thought.
She had given him the impression she intended to go to sleep, but the truth was, she had more surfing to do before she turned the lights out. Her first stop was Newspaper Archive, a subscription site where she could look up old newspapers. Perhaps she wouldn’t find back issues of the Frederickport Press; those were apparently lost in the fire long ago. But it was possible she would find articles about Walt’s death and any investigation in other Oregon newspapers.
It took her just a moment to sign up for an account. Her first search was for Walt Marlow appearing in any Oregon newspapers during 1925. She immediately came across several articles practically identical in content to the ones she had read in the museum. Skimming through those, she continued to look for later ones.
Walt Marlow’s attorney, James Martin, was interviewed regarding the disappearance of Marlow’s widow, Angela Calvert Marlow. “She stopped by my Portland office on Wednesday afternoon,” Martin said. “She told me she was concerned about her husband, claiming he had been acting strange…”
The headline Suicide Marlow’s Widow Found Dead blared out. Danielle cringed. She doubted Walt would appreciate being referred to as Suicide Marlow. Making herself comfortable, she began to read the article—and then the next—and the next…
The body of an unidentified woman who died at the Portland Hospital has been identified today as that of Angela Marlow, wife of the late Walt Marlow who is believed to have killed himself in their Frederickport’s home…
Questions continue today for Roger Calvert, brother of Angela Marlow…
Authorities continue to look closer into Roger Calvert who failed to report his sister missing following her disappearance last week…
Calvert insists it was all a misunderstanding. “I didn’t realize she was missing. I last saw Angela when she went shopping. I assumed she was staying with friends because the next day I was leaving for Frederickport to try and reason with my brother-in-law…
Marital problems for the new bride and groom cited as the reasons for Marlow’s suicide. “My sister wanted to make her marriage work,” Calvert said Monday in an interview with…
Andrew Stone of Frederickport confirms Roger Calvert’s claim that he arrived in Frederickport on Thursday evening, hours after Walt Marlow’s body was discovered. “I was just coming home from California when I pulled into the filling station and saw Roger. I went to say hello and he told me he was on his way to Frederickport.” The gas station is located ten miles east of Frederickport…
Emma Jackson, a Negro who works as a dishwasher at the Bluebell Diner, ten miles east of Frederickport, claims to have seen Roger Calvert arriving from Frederickport Wednesday evening. “I remember we had just closed up when he comes knocking on the back door of the kitchen, all in a hurry. I told him the garage next door wouldn’t open until the next morning. He slept in his car all night until the mechanic arrived. Car wasn’t ready until late Thursday night. I thought he was in some big hurry to get back to Portland, but when I saw him take off Thursday he headed back to Frederickport.” When asked how she knew he arrived from Frederickport she said, “I saw his car’s headlights when he first drove up to the diner. He drove in on the road from Frederickport.”
Hit and run driver of car who killed would-be heiress Angela Marlow arrested today…no connection to Roger Calvert…
Emma Jackson, the Negro who claimed to have seen Roger Calvert arrive from Frederickport on Wednesday and return there on Thursday, retracted her statement. “I got my white folks confused,” she said, insisting she was thinking of someone else. “I never saw Roger Calvert,” she told police.
Frederickport police say they are no longer investigating the death of Walt Marlow. “We believe Walt Marlow committed suicide… the deaths of Marlow and his wife were tragic coincidences and unrelated…. Charges are being filed against the hit and run driver…
Today the court ruled against Roger Calvert in his claim against the estate of his late sister and brother-in-law…
It was almost midnight when Danielle turned off the laptop and went to sleep. She woke up the next morning thinking of Emma Jackson. Was Emma coerced into retracting her story? she wondered. It wouldn’t be difficult to bully a black woman in 1925, she thought.
“If I could actually control what spirits I could communicate with,” Danielle said aloud as she cl
imbed out of bed.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Walt asked. Danielle jumped in surprise from his sudden appearance.
“I really wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” Danielle snapped as she started to make her bed.
“Why?” Walt sat on the side of her mattress.
“Would you please move? I’m trying to make the bed.”
“Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”
Danielle let out a little groan, and then flipped the bedspread over his head. Effortlessly it fell through him onto the mattress.
“So why would you like to control what spirits you can see? Would you tune me off, like you do the television with that little remote of yours?”
“Hmmm…I hadn’t thought of that…it would be handy…” she chortled. “But honestly, I was thinking more along the lines of cruising down to the local cemetery and rouse up the necessary spirits to give us the answers we need regarding your death.”
“Why can’t you?”
Danielle laughed at his question. “I already told you I can’t control how this works—who I can see. Plus, cemeteries aren’t the best place for me. I try to avoid them.”
“Why is that?”
“I never know when some spirit will try to attach itself to me. And just because I ask them a question, it doesn’t mean they’re going to be truthful. You should know that.”
“What does that supposed to mean?” He frowned.
“Tell me Walt, do you feel compelled to answer all my questions truthfully? I asked you about the jewel heist and I don’t remember any real answers coming from you.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Plus, the spirits I might choose to contact may not know the answer. After all, you were there when you died, but you can’t remember how it happened.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“It’s one reason I’ve come to believe you didn’t kill yourself. I’m pretty sure you’d remember that. But if someone did something to you first—like drugged you or hit you over the head before putting you up in that noose…”
