by Bobbi Holmes
“I’ve got some friends in Astoria. Let me make a few calls for you and see if I can find someone who knows her, see if I can arrange a meeting for you.”
Excited with the prospect, Danielle flashed Adam a grin. Maybe I was wrong about this guy. He’s really been very sweet and helpful today.
Several hours later when Adam was back at work he called Bill Jones and told him to stop in the office as soon as possible.
“What’s up?” Bill asked when he walked into Adam’s office.
“Shut the door,” Adam told him, pointing to the chair across from his desk. Bill shut the office door before sitting down.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning; we’re going to get into Marlow House,” Adam said with a grin.
“What do you mean?”
“The ladies are taking a little trip to Astoria tomorrow. They should be gone for at least a couple hours. Hopefully enough time to get in and out of that house and find what we’re looking for.”
“Why are they going to Astoria?” Bill asked.
“It seems the new owner of Marlow House has a special interest in the house’s history.”
“Oh crap,” Bill muttered.
“No, not that. She’s trying to find out if someone murdered Marlow.”
“Isn’t that the guy that hung himself?”
“Yeah, but she’s trying to find some evidence to show he was murdered.”
“Why?”
“Because she likes a mystery, I guess. Who in the hell cares why? All I know, this is going to get them out of the house for a while.”
“I still don’t understand why they’re going to Astoria.”
“There’s someone there she wants to interview about the house, and I arranged the meeting for her.”
“But what if that isn’t enough time?”
“Fortunately Danielle Boatman seems a bit more friendly since I helped her out today, so if we don’t find it tomorrow, we’ll just have to go back.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Did Marie remember her father saying anything about someone seeing Roger coming from Frederickport on the day I was murdered?” Walt asked Danielle later that night when he found her alone in the library.
“No. She had never heard that story.” Danielle closed the book she was reading and set it on her lap. She looked up at Walt.
“Where’s Lily?” Walt glanced toward the door.
“She went outside to sit in the garden.”
“Garden. From how it looks from the attic window it looks more like a jungle.”
“That’s funny. When we arrived Lily said it looked like a jungle. Well actually, she said the entire grounds looked like a jungle. By the way, I’ve hired a landscaper to clean up the place. He starts tomorrow.”
Walt walked to the window. Looking outside he could see the silhouette of Lily as she sat on a wrought iron bench under the moonlight.
“What is she doing out there in the dark?” he asked.
“There’s a full moon,” Danielle reminded. “I think she just needed some alone time.”
“Pining over that Ian character?” Walt turned from the window and faced Danielle.
“Maybe a little. We talked about him. I guess what he did wasn’t so awful. It’s not like he turned out to be a mass murderer or escaped convict.”
“Not that you know.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Obviously your visit to Marie didn’t give you anything new to go on.” Walt sat down across from Danielle. With a slight wave of his hand a lit cigar appeared between two of his fingers.
“Actually, the trip was fruitful.” Danielle tossed the book from her lap onto the floor and looked at Walt, noting the change of his expression from disappointment to curiosity.
“Go on,” he urged.
“Apparently Emma Jackson is still alive. At least we think it’s the same Emma Jackson. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Emma Jackson?” Walt frowned. “Wasn’t that the colored woman who saw Roger driving from Frederickport?”
Danielle wanted to say, what color, green or purple? Instead she said, “Yes. She lives in Astoria and has agreed to see me tomorrow.”
“She must be over a hundred by now.” Walt absently puffed the cigar.
“106, to be exact. There was an article in the local newspaper about her. Adam recognized the name when I was telling Marie about the article I read online.”
“Adam?”
“Marie’s grandson. Remember, he was over here when you were flipping through the channels on the TV in my bedroom.”
“Which man—the dandy or the one that looks like a sneaky rat?”
“A sneaky rat?” Danielle giggled and shook her head. “That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t think he looked like a rat...well, maybe a little. It was the other one, the dandy.”
“There was something about him I didn’t like.”
“I got some bad vibes when I first met him. But you know, he’s really nice. He joined us for lunch today.”
“Really nice?” Walt arched his brows.
“Yes. He even arranged for me to talk to Emma Jackson. So you should like him, too.”
“I certainly do not have to like him.” Walt narrowed his eyes and stared at Danielle. “You like him?”
“I don’t dislike him.” Danielle shrugged. “But yeah, I guess I warmed up to him today. Plus he isn’t bad to look at.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Hey, you called him a dandy, so I figure you noticed it too. He is a good looking guy.”
“I was referring to his manner of dress, how he carries himself, his general attitude. As for his looks, I found him to be very…ordinary.”
“I don’t know…if I could tone down some of his…slickness...I think he would be pretty hot.” Danielle wasn’t sure she actually believed that, but she found teasing Walt mildly amusing.
“Hot. I can’t believe how women talk these days.” Walt shook his head in disgust.
“Oh come on, you lived in the Roaring Twenties. Don’t act like everything was all prim and buttoned up.”
“Roaring Twenties?”
“It’s what that era is called,” Danielle explained.
“You mean the 1920s?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Walt asked.
“For one thing, skirts got shorter and morals looser. It was also a time of prosperity, at least until it crashed at the end of the decade.”
“What do you mean it crashed?”
“I’m not a history buff, but I know it was called Black Tuesday, when the stock market crashed at the end of 1929. Overnight rich people lost their fortunes and it was the beginning of the Great Depression.”
“The Great Depression?”
“Another coined term, like the Roaring Twenties, to represent a time in history. I think it lasted through the forties, until the Second World War.”
“The second one?” Walt stood up, a fresh cigar in his hand. “I’ve missed so much.”
“When I was younger, I assumed spirits that communicated with me knew things that I didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Walt turned and faced Danielle.
“For one thing, I would have expected you to know who killed you—even if you didn’t see who did it. I guess I used to think spirits were in some way—god-like.”
“God like?” Walt laughed at the term. “How so?”
“You know, all seeing, all knowing.” Danielle smiled at the idea.
“Hardly,” Walt scoffed.
They were quiet for a moment when Danielle asked, “Walt, were you a dandy?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Well for one thing, your suit.”
Walt looked down at his clothes.
“That’s a pretty snazzy suit. Something out of the Great Gatsby,” Danielle said.
“I was reading that…” Walt narrowed his eyes as if he had just remembered something.
“What do you mean?” Danielle note
d his look of concentration.
“The Great Gatsby. I started reading it before Angela left for Portland.”
“I didn’t realize it was out back then.” Danielle tried to recall when the book was published.
“It was a fairly new book. I bought it for Angela; I thought she might enjoy it.”
“The way you say that, it sounds like she didn’t like it.”
“When I met Angela, she led me to believe she loved to read.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I suppose I had a reputation of enjoying the company of…well-read women.”
“What are you saying; a woman with a book in her hands turned you on?” Danielle teased.
“No, of course not,” Walt scoffed. “It’s just that I have no patience for ignorant women. I was always attracted to a woman with a lively mind—one who enjoyed literature, paid attention to what was going on in the world.”
“So you’re saying Angela faked her love of books, to earn points with you?”
“I suppose that accurately sums it up.”
“What did she do, rattle off all the books she supposedly read?” Danielle found the idea of seducing a man via a bookworm pose somewhat amusing.
“Of course not. But our first conversations were often about books we mutually enjoyed. I realize now it gave us something to talk about when we were first getting to know each other.”
“If she discussed those books with you, don’t you think she read them? I mean it’s kind of difficult to discuss a book with someone who’s read it if you haven’t.”
“I discovered Roger was the reader. Apparently he coached Angela so she could make me believe we shared a mutual interest.”
“That sounds a little—well, bizarre. How did you find out?”
“It was before she read my revised will. I used to like to buy her little gifts—normally jewelry. For some reason giving her the book seemed…well more intimate. I’m not sure if that makes sense.”
“Yes, yes it does.”
“I had the book gift wrapped—it was quite a lovely package.” Walt looked wistfully into the distance. What he was seeing Danielle could only imagine. “When I gave it to her she was so excited, just as she was whenever I gave her a present. But when she opened it her smiled disappeared. She looked at me and asked, ‘Just what am I suppose to do with this?’”
Walt laughed bitterly and then continued. “I will admit I wasn’t quite sure how to answer her question. At first I thought she was teasing. But then her eyes…I always thought she had beautiful blue eyes, but in that moment they looked quite cold and calculating.”
“What happened?”
“She ended up tossing the book aside, laughing at me. Telling me she didn’t like to read, that Roger had read all those books. When I asked her why she had lied, she said quite cheerfully, Darling, all’s fair in love and war.”
“Meaning she was just…ahhh…faking it…to gain your affections?”
“That’s what I took it to mean.”
“So what did you say?”
“I really didn’t know what to say. I just stood there like an idiot. She kissed me and said something like, ‘Be honest darling, you really don’t care if I read or not.’ And then she added, ‘Now be a good boy and go buy me something nice to make up for that boring book.’”
“Oh, I’m sorry Walt.” Danielle wanted to hug Walt and give him comfort, yet she knew that was impossible.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sitting on the wrought iron bench, Lily wrapped her arms around her body and hugged the sweatshirt close to her. It was a chilly summer evening, yet she hadn’t taken the time to swap her white shorts for a pair of jeans. Looking up at the sky, she watched clouds move across the full moon.
Closing her eyes, she listened and could hear the ocean breakers in the distance. With a deep breath, she inhaled the cool evening air. Her solitude was interrupted when she heard something running through the bushes, scattering the fallen leaves. Whatever it was, it was coming quickly in her direction.
Startled, Lily sat up straight and opened her eyes. A moment later she was greeted by Sadie who charged toward her at a full gallop, leaping playfully into Lily’s lap.
“Oh, it’s you,” Lily whispered, roughly petting the fur along the dog’s shoulders. Sadie nuzzled her wet nose into Lily’s neck and placed a sloppy kiss across her cheek. Gently pushing the dog back a bit, Lily glanced up and spied the dark silhouette of a man coming toward her. She knew without seeing his face that it was Ian.
“Sadie, come….oh Lily. I didn’t know you were out here,” Ian said when he reached the bench and could clearly see Lily by the light of the moon.
“Do you always lurk in other people’s back yards?” she teased.
“No, but Sadie got away from me.”
“She does that a lot doesn’t she?” she said playfully.
“You’re no longer mad at me?” Ian sounded relieved.
“I didn’t say that,” she quipped. Lily scooted over on the bench, making room for Ian. He accepted her silent invitation and sat down next to her. Sadie quieted down and curled up on the ground by their feet.
“Dani and I talked about it and while we weren’t thrilled you misled us, we can sort of understand why someone who is famous would want his privacy.”
“I wouldn’t call myself famous.”
“I looked you up on the Internet tonight, and you have an Emmy. I think that classifies you as sorta famous.”
“Fortunately, most people don’t recognize me by my real name, which suits me fine. Does this mean we can go back to being friends again?” Ian asked.
“I suppose…but now that we’re friends, does this mean you’ll tell me about the story you’re working on?”
Ian chuckled and said, “If it was just me, I would be tempted.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a writing partner. I’m afraid she would kill me.”
“Is she…umm…your girlfriend?”
“We’re close—very close. But she’s my sister.”
“You work with your sister? How come it didn’t say that online?”
“Because this is the first project we’ve ever worked on together. And for the record, I try to be as truthful as possible when setting up an interview, without giving away the project.”
“I don’t know about that. You told Joanne Johnson you were writing a book about travel on the Oregon coast, and wanted to include information about Marlow House.”
“I never said that exactly. You might say I misled her—let her jump to conclusions. I never once confirmed—or denied her assumption.”
“I have a feeling you’d make an excellent attorney.”
“I’ll try to remember that if I decide to change careers.”
“I can see how setting up interviews can be tricky…asking questions when you really don’t want the person you’re interviewing to know what you’re working on. Sort of like taking photographs of old portraits and trying to make someone think you want the picture for…oh I don’t know…just because you like pictures of old portraits of people you don’t know.”
Ian glanced down uneasily, his hands fidgeting. “I’m thinking you’re talking about the portraits in Marlow house, of Walt and Angela Marlow?”
“Gee, you’re quick. Interesting how you wanted to use your own camera—mine wasn’t quite good enough. Now my pictures turned out nice. It is amazing, the camera they put in those iPhones. But not quite good enough to reproduce in a book or magazine article; is that it?” Lily studied Ian’s reaction.
“Are you going to let me take the pictures?”
“Are you going to tell me what the story is about?” Lily countered.
“Does this mean you won’t let me if I don’t?”
“No. But it really isn’t my call anymore—it’s Dani’s. The portraits don’t belong to me and if they are going to end up in some book or magazine article I think she has the right to say yay or nay.”
“What makes you think that’s what I want them for?”
“For one thing, you remember not just Walt Marlow’s name, but his wife’s. Heck, I can’t remember her name and I’m staying in her house. Makes me think you’re doing a piece about Marlow House, not some regional thing that includes Marlow House in a broad sense.”
“If I was, it’s not something that would hurt Danielle or the business she’s starting.”
“You know, you aren’t the only one researching the history of Marlow House.” Lily watched for his reaction.
“What do you mean?” Ian frowned.
“Ah ha! You admit you’re researching its history for your story!” Lily grinned.
“I didn’t confirm anything. I simply asked what you meant.”
“Actually Dani and I are chasing an interesting story about the house. In fact, we’re going to Astoria tomorrow to conduct our own interview.”
“What—or who—is in Astoria?”
“What makes you think I’ll tell you more about what we’re looking into than you’d tell us about your story?” Lily flashed him a smug smile.
“Hell, you’re just pulling my chain.”
“No I’m not. I think it will make a fascinating story on Dani’s promotional brochures for the B and B, and on her website, when she sets one up. She was in marketing. Did you know that? She and her husband owned their own marketing company. They were really successful, so I have no doubt she’ll be able to promote the hell outa her business with this story.”
“I didn’t know Danielle was married.”
“She’s not any more. He was killed about six months ago. She sold her company a while back.”
“Lily, I can’t betray my sister’s confidence and tell you what we’re working on. I would hope you’d understand that. But if you two are really looking into an interesting story on Marlow House, I wish you’d tell me. Maybe I can work it into my piece—and you know that would end up helping Danielle’s new business by giving Marlow House extra exposure.”
“I’ll make sure and tell Dani.”
“You do that.”
“Aren’t you a little nervous we’re working on the same story?” Lily asked.
“Not at all.”
They sat quietly in the moonlight for several minutes, each looking out into the darkness. Sadie lay by their feet, her chin resting on Lily’s right shoe.
