The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1)

by Bobbi Holmes

  “Please, must you be so graphic? I find it a little unsettling to even think about a noose.”

  “Or maybe you were psychologically scarred.”

  “Psychologically scarred?” He frowned.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of people being in a violent accident—or violently attacked—and they have no memory of the event, even though they were conscious at the time it happened. It could be something like that.”

  “If you could talk to anyone, who would you choose?” Walt asked.

  “Emma Jackson.”

  “Emma Jackson? Who is that?”

  “Emma Jackson was a black woman who was a cook at the Bluebell Diner back when you were killed.”

  “The Bluebell Diner? That’s about ten miles east of here.”

  “I doubt it’s still there.”

  “I remember a couple of coloreds worked out there.”

  “We don’t use the term colored anymore.”

  “Okay, Negros. But what does she have to do with my death?”

  “Actually these days it’s more proper to say Black or African American.”

  “Why?”

  “Times change.”

  Walt frowned at her comment, yet let it go and asked, “What does this woman have to do with my death?”

  “Last night I used the computer to find some old Oregon newspapers that mentioned your suicide.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes. And according to some of the articles, your brother-in-law claimed to have arrived in Frederickport from Portland on Thursday evening, after they found you. Which would mean he wasn’t here when you died. And since Angela was already dead, that would take them off our suspect list, which would leave us with no suspects.”

  “You still haven’t explained how Emma Jackson fits into this.”

  “According to the articles, a man by the name of Andrew Stone claimed to have seen Roger coming into Frederickport from Portland on Thursday evening. He ran into him at the gas station out by the Bluebell Diner.”

  “I know Andrew, or knew him. We were friends. He was not fond of Roger. Oh, he was friendly enough with him, mostly for my sake since I married Angela, but I know how he really felt. If he said he saw Roger coming into town, I’d believe him.”

  “But here’s where Emma comes into play. She claims Roger arrived the night before, had car troubles and was forced to stay there until the garage opened the next morning. He wasn’t able to leave until late Thursday. What if he never intended to show up in Frederickport on Thursday? Maybe he slipped into town Wednesday to kill you, and planned to get back to Portland before they found your body and his car broke down. Running into Andrew would complicate matters for him. He couldn’t say he was leaving Frederickport. He’d have to say he was on his way into town.”

  “So how did Roger explain Emma seeing him the day before?”

  “He didn’t. A couple of days later she recanted her story. Claimed she was confused, and had never seen Roger.”

  “It would mean Roger didn’t know about his sister’s death,” Walt said.

  “That’s pretty much what I’m thinking. According to the newspaper articles the police wanted to know why Roger hadn’t reported Angela missing. In fact, when he was first interviewed he acted like she was waiting for him in Portland.”

  “How did he explain that?”

  “Just double talk, claimed it was a misunderstanding, that he thought she was staying with friends. He said he was coming to Frederickport to talk to you; he said Angela and you were having problems and she wanted the marriage to work. If one believes Roger, you were mentally unbalanced and killed yourself because of your marital problems.”

  “He always was a lying bastard,” Walt growled.

  “Walt, did you have an attorney named James Martin?”

  “James Martin was our family’s attorney for years. Why?”

  “According to one of the articles, your wife stopped in his Portland office Wednesday afternoon. If I understand the timeline, that would have been not long before she was killed.”

  “Did the article say why she stopped to see him?”

  “Just that she wanted to discuss you. She claimed you’d been acting strange and that she was worried about you.”

  “I bet…” Walt murmured, now pacing the room, a cigar in his hand. “She was establishing an alibi.”

  “I think you’re right.” Danielle sat on the side of the bed watching Walt walk back and forth across the bedroom. “I’m pretty sure your wife and brother-in-law conspired to kill you, considering what I’ve read—what you remember. I think Angela was staying in Portland, being seen, telling people she was staying with her brother. I don’t imagine Roger ever intended to return to Frederickport on Thursday, but he had no other choice. And he had no way of knowing his sister had been killed. I imagine when she disappeared he wondered what the hell was going on.”

  “I want people to know the truth. I don’t want the world to think I killed myself.”

  “I can’t prove it, Walt. I’m not even sure what I could do if I could prove it. It happened so long ago.”

  “Maybe it’s ancient history to you, Danielle. But it is my history!” Walt vanished.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Something’s wrong with the television in the parlor. I think you should take it back,” Lily announced when Danielle entered the kitchen that morning for breakfast. Seated at the kitchen table, Lily nibbled on a slice of toast with peanut butter while drinking a cup of coffee. She had already dressed for the day and her red curls were free flowing over her shoulders.

  “It’s broken?” Danielle asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “I got up last night to use the bathroom and I heard something downstairs. I tell you it freaked me out at first. When I came down here I found the television on in the parlor.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up? You shouldn’t be coming down here alone if you think someone has gotten into the house.”

  “I brought a baseball bat with me.”

  “Baseball bat? Where did you find a baseball bat?” Danielle imagined how comically ferocious Lily must have looked the night before, clad in her nightgown, while she clutched the baseball bat and crept stealthily down the staircase to the parlor.

  “In the attic. There’s a croquet set up there too. Might be fun to put it in the backyard after the jungle is tamed. Anyway, it was just the television, but the damn thing wouldn’t stay off and it kept changing channels. I think the remote is broken. It must have a short.” Lily took a bite of toast and then added with a giggle, “That or this place is haunted.”

  Another image popped into Danielle’s head. This one of Walt lounging casually on the parlor sofa, so engrossed with what he was watching on the television that he stubbornly refused to consider how it must look to poor Lily, who was now arguing with the uncooperative remote, never knowing Walt was circumventing her attempts to turn off the television.

  “Hmmm…well, I’ll check it out.” Danielle grabbed a carton of yogurt from the ice chest and a spoon from the drawer. Standing by the sink she opened her carton of yogurt, tossing its foil lid into the trash can. I really need to talk to Walt about his television privileges.

  “Did you find out anything about Ian last night? Or should I say Jon?” Lily asked.

  “Yes. Ian didn’t exactly lie to us. At least not about his name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jon Altar is his pen name. His real name is Ian Bartley. He’s an author, but he doesn’t write travel books. I thought I recognized that name when Joanne mentioned it. I’ve watched a couple of his documentaries on TV.”

  “He’s famous?” Lily scrunched up her nose at the thought.

  “Sort of.” Danielle shrugged and took a bite of her yogurt.

  “What were the documentaries? Maybe I’ve seen them.”

  “One of them was about a guy who robbed a bank by tunneling from his house and another was about a murder.”
r />   “I saw the bank robbery one. I missed the first part, but it was interesting. Who was the other one about?”

  “I don’t remember his name. Some rich guy. His kids killed him.”

  “Is Ian married?” Lily asked.

  “I couldn’t find anything about a wife or family.”

  “If he’s famous he must have a Wikipedia page. Those usually list marital status.”

  “I didn’t see a Wiki page on him, but to be honest, I really didn’t look.” Danielle took one of the chairs across the kitchen table from Lily and sat down.

  “Either way, he lied to me. To us,” Lily said angrily, finishing the last of her toast. Using a paper napkin she wiped the corners of her mouth and took a sip of coffee.

  “But I’m not sure why.” Danielle took another bite of yogurt as she considered the why of Ian’s deception. What is he really hiding? she asked herself.

  Lily’s phone began to ring. Getting up from the kitchen table, she walked to the counter, where she’d plugged her cellphone in to charge earlier that morning. Lily glanced down at her phone. “Speak of the devil.” She let it ring and returned to the table.

  “Ian?” Danielle asked, finishing the last of her yogurt.

  “Uh huh.” Lily sipped her coffee.

  “You aren’t going to answer it?”

  “Nope.” Lily took another sip.

  “I’m sorry, Lily. But I imagine you’ll have to talk to him sometime.”

  “I know. But on my terms. Not his. When I’m ready. The lying jerk.”

  Lying jerk. I’ve been a bit of a lying jerk myself to Lily, considering I’ve never told her what I’ve been doing—investigating Walt Marlow’s murder. She doesn’t even know about the murder…or the supposed suicide. Time to come clean.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…but I didn’t want to freak you out.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. Although, it was Walt she didn’t want to freak out, not Lily. She wasn’t sure what Lily might say if all the information pointed to a suicide. She could just imagine Lily going on and on, speculating as to why poor Walt Marlow stuck his head in a noose to end his life. Bad things sometimes happened when a spirit became frustrated and unable to communicate with the source of his frustration.

  “You know the man in the portrait in the library?” Danielle asked.

  “Walt Marlow? The one I dreamed about? I rather like him.”

  “I found out he was killed in this house…murdered in the attic.”

  “Oh my god! Who murdered him? Why? That’s horrible. And he was so nice!”

  Danielle didn’t bother reminding Lily she had only dreamt about the man. After all, Lily actually had met him in those dreams. However, Lily didn’t know that.

  “Most people believe it was a suicide, but after reading all the articles I found online and talking to Marie Hemming, I’m certain Walt Marlow was killed by his brother-in-law. Walt’s wife was in on it. But things didn’t go as planned. Angela Marlow was killed by a hit and run driver in Portland, around the same time her brother was busy killing her husband.”

  “How do you know her brother didn’t kill them both for Marlow’s money?”

  “Because the brother wasn’t in the will. If his sister died first, the money would go to the housekeeper. Which is exactly what happened.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “For one thing, that housekeeper was my great-aunt’s mother. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if Walt Marlow’s brother-in-law had inherited the estate.”

  “Oh…that’s right…well, that bitch!”

  “You mean Angela?”

  “Of course. What an evil bitch!”

  “I do like your friend,” Walt said when he appeared in the kitchen a moment later.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to go over with me to Marie Hemming’s today. I’ll call her first to make sure it’s a convenient time.” Danielle did her best to ignore Walt’s looming presence as she and Lily talked. He stood behind Lily and smiled at Danielle. Damn, he can be a pain, Danielle thought.

  “Sure, for any special reason?” Lily asked.

  “After reading the online articles from the old newspapers, I’ve a few questions for her. If I can put together a credible case to support my contention Walt was murdered and it wasn’t a suicide, then maybe I can get the local newspaper to write a feature article—or maybe go to the museum.”

  “Thank you, Danielle,” Walt whispered.

  “I think that’s sweet Dani,” Lily said.

  “Yes, it is,” Walt agreed.

  “I also think it’s sweet how you call him Walt,” Lily added. “It is like you think of him as a real person.”

  “Well, he was a real person.” Danielle stared past Lily to Walt.

  “I know. But it’s like he’s still sorta here and you care about what people think about him.”

  “I suppose I do,” Danielle said with a smile.

  “So why do you think the brother-in-law did the dastardly deed?”

  “He and his sister had the classic motive—money. And it looks like he lied about coming into Frederickport on the day Walt was killed.

  The front doorbell rang, interrupting their discussion.

  “I bet that’s Ian,” Danielle said. “Coming to see why you didn’t answer the phone.”

  “Probably.”

  “You want me to get it?” Danielle asked.

  “No. I’ll do it. I might as well get this over with.” Lily left the room, leaving Danielle alone with Walt.

  “I mean it Danielle, thank you for doing this. What made you change your mind?”

  “It wasn’t a matter of changing my mind. I always wanted to help you. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. And then when I was talking to Lily, it just sort of came to me. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to petition the district attorney to bring charges against Roger and Angela.”

  “Yes, I imagine that would be a little difficult.” Walt grinned.

  “But this would make a great feature article for the local newspaper, if I can get my facts together. Or for the museum. And even if the Frederickport Press and museum aren’t interested, I can still tell your story, of your murder made to look like a suicide, when I put together the brochures for Marlow House.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? It might hurt your business if potential customers are told of my murder.”

  “Are you kidding? Inns often include interesting tidbits of their history in their advertising and marketing material. It would probably help business.” She quickly added, “But that’s not why I’m doing it.”

  “If I could kiss you, I would,” Walt told her.

  If you could kiss me, I think I might like it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On the front porch of Marlow House, Ian ran the bell for the second time. Danielle’s car was still in the driveway, so he assumed they were home. It wasn’t until he rang the bell for the second time did he consider they might still be in bed, which would explain why Lily hadn’t answered her phone when he had called earlier.

  “Damn,” Ian muttered under his breath, regretting pressing the doorbell. He was about to turn away when the door flew open and he came face to face with Lily. The moment his gaze took in her white shorts and powder blue sweat shirt, he smiled in relief. He obviously hadn’t gotten her out of bed, she was already dressed. His smile quickly faded when he noted her angry expression.

  “Is something wrong, Lily?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me… Jon Altar.”

  “You know?” Ian asked with a sigh.

  “Danielle found you online. I thought we were friends.” Much to her chagrin, angry tears welled in Lily’s eyes. She hated that about herself—that she cried when she felt emotional or passionate about something.

  “We are friends, Lily,” Ian said softly. He reached out to take her hand, but she stepped back away from him.

  “Friends don’t lie to each other.”

  “
I didn’t lie…exactly…”

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Lily said after taking a deep breath. Triumphantly she’d willed her tears to stay put, and they no longer felt as if they were about to pour out of her eyes and down her face. That would be just too damn humiliating.

  “It does matter,” Ian countered.

  “Not really,” Lily insisted. “After all, we just met each other. It’s obvious I don’t even know you, so no big deal. Have a nice life.” Lily started to shut the door when Ian put out his hand and stopped the door from closing on him.

  “Can we please talk, Lily?” Ian asked.

  “Lily, why don’t you let him in? I’d like to hear what he has to say,” Danielle said. She stood behind Lily in the entry hall.

  Her hand still on the open door, Lily silently considered what Danielle had just asked. Ian continued to stand on the front porch, not attempting to enter the house but watching to see what Lily would do next.

  “Fine,” Lily said at last, her delivery on the dramatic side. She turned from the door and marched toward the parlor, assuming Ian and Danielle would follow her into the room. They did.

  Lily and Danielle each took a seat; Ian remained standing. The two women said nothing. They waited for Ian to give his explanation.

  “I didn’t lie about who I am—not exactly. My legal name is Ian Bartley. It’s what my family and friends call me. For professional reasons and a degree of privacy I use the pen name Jon Altar. If anything, I suppose I lied by omission. But it’s not like I gave you a fake name.”

  “You said you were a teacher!” Lily reminded.

  “I was a high school English teacher.”

  “When was the last time you taught an English class?” Lily asked.

  “About eleven years—but technically speaking, I never said I was currently with any school district.”

  “I asked you if you ever considered writing a book,” Lily said.

  “As I recall my answer was something along the lines—doesn’t every English teacher? I never said I hadn’t written a book.”

  “Cut to the chase Ian. Why did you lie to us? And yes, you did lie. You led us to believe you’re currently an English teacher and said nothing about the fact you’re a fairly well known author,” Danielle asked.