by Lynn Bohart
Caroline slowly let out a sigh. “Well, this is something, isn’t it?”
“Are you okay with it? I mean, not everyone is comfortable with the idea of ghosts.”
“I’m not sure,” she said with another sigh, glancing over to where Amelia was giggling to herself. “When I was a little girl, I thought I saw my grandfather after he died. I probably wasn’t much older than Amelia is now. My mother chastised me and told me to stop telling lies. I argued with her, and so she punished me. I don’t want to do that to Chloe.”
“I think parents often discount things their kids say,” I said. “It’s natural, because children have such vivid imaginations.”
“Yes. But I saw my grandfather twice more after that and never told my mother. I never told anyone. I felt too ashamed.” She turned to Amelia again, and her expression softened. “She doesn’t deserve that. Besides, Amelia doesn’t have any friends. It’s nice to see her so happy.” Her voice shook a bit, and I poured her a glass of lemonade and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said. “You know, it’s tough when you have a special needs child. People stare. They whisper. I worry about her, and what life will be like when she gets older.” Caroline took a sip of lemonade, and I could see a tear glistening in the corner of her eye.
“I have a feeling Amelia will do just fine,” I said, pouring myself some lemonade. “She seems quite bright, and she’s very personable. Believe me, Chloe doesn’t like everyone. She’s notorious for playing tricks on people she doesn’t like, especially children. I think she likes Amelia.”
Caroline beamed a little at that. “Oh, my gosh. Amelia has a friend. A dead friend,” she said with a chuckle, glancing back at her daughter. “But a friend.” She paused and took a swipe at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand. “I think I’m good with that.”
“What will you tell your husband?”
“Well, that’s a whole other matter,” she said, turning to me. “I think we may have to ease into that one.”
“Hold on,” I said, getting up and going inside. When I came back out, I dropped a book on the table in front of her. “Leave this lying around, just to see what happens.” It was Jason Spears’ book, The Most Haunted Hotels in the Northwest. “The inn is featured in it.”
“Well, that ought to start a conversation,” she said with a smile, pulling the book towards her.
“No doubt,” I replied, glancing over at Amelia again. “Wouldn’t you just love to know what the two of them are talking about?”
As if she’d heard me, Amelia suddenly turned in our direction. “Mama, Chloe said there’s a baby here. Can I see the baby?”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Um…I don’t know.” Caroline turned to me. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
I stared at Amelia, my heart rate on overdrive. “Amelia, what else does Chloe know about the baby?”
Amelia twisted away from us a moment and seemed to be listening to someone. A few seconds later, she jumped up and ran to her mother. “Mama, guess what? Chloe says the baby looks just like me!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It took a few moments for me to recover from the shock, and then I had to explain to Caroline why I had tears in my eyes. Once more, she listened attentively. The fact that her daughter had just told us that the baby we’d found was a Down’s Syndrome baby was the hardest part to relay. And I worried that my new neighbor would become a stranger.
“I’ve seen the police car over here a couple of times, but I know you’re dating a detective. I didn’t realize you’d found a body,” she said, clearly flustered. Amelia had run off to the swings, and Caroline watched her. “I think I’m a little overwhelmed by all of this.”
“I understand,” I said. “It’s a lot to take in. I hope it won’t stop you from coming over. We are all very friendly over here, even the ghosts,” I said with a little chuckle, hoping to keep the conversation light.
“I think I’d better get Amelia home,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for the treats, Julia.”
She called to her daughter and a minute later, they were gone. I noticed too late that she’d left behind the book about haunted hotels, and my heart sank.
With a sigh, I took the book back inside with me, passing a few members of the Welch family as they came in for snacks. I hurried into the kitchen to avoid getting caught, and told April what had happened.
“You can’t blame Caroline, Julia. That was a lot to absorb in just a few minutes. But, wow!” she exclaimed. “So Marigold might have been a Down’s Syndrome baby. That might explain why someone was hiding her.”
“Yes, but how disgusting,” I said.
“Let’s face it, people with disabilities haven’t been accepted into the mainstream for that long, Julia.”
“I know. But to hide her away like that as if she were some sort of abomination. It makes her death even sadder.”
I left April and went to my apartment to call the girls. I was wound up and had to blow off steam. I talked to each one of them for ten to fifteen minutes, so by the time I was done, I was done. I’d worked through my shock and anger and resumed my normal schedule. But I have to admit, my dreams that night were anything but restful. I had this intense feeling of compassion now for Marigold. I wanted to protect her.
And I wanted revenge.
÷
Blair arrived the next day with her overnight bag and moved into my guest room. The dogs were ecstatic to have a visitor and followed her around the bedroom as she settled in, their tails wagging, noses poking into everything.
“We’re scheduled to see Judge Foster at two o’clock,” I said, shooing Mickey away from Blair’s purse. “Rudy gets back from Canada this afternoon. By the way, we’re all going to meet here after dinner tonight to review things. Why don’t you get settled and meet me out front. I need to finish up some things in the office before we go.”
“Okay. I want to change first, anyway,” Blair said, putting her cosmetic bag on the night stand.
Blair had on tight black jeans and a ruby-red tank top that had to be a size too small. Since this was standard Blair-wear, I wondered why she would change. But rather than ask, I just left for my office.
As I rounded the corner to the inn’s entrance, I came upon the elder Mrs. Welch and her husband hovering over the reception desk, talking to Crystal. The ever-cranky Mrs. Welch appeared to be complaining about something, and my first impulse was to make an about-face and hurry back to my apartment. But Crystal’s pale blue eyes met mine. Her expression flashed an SOS signal. I couldn’t abandon her.
“What’s on the agenda today for the Welch family?” I asked in an upbeat tone. “The Space Needle or Pike Place Market?”
Mrs. Welch spun in my direction, nearly knocking over her husband who had to reach for the counter to keep from falling.
“You haven’t done a thing about whoever is pounding on our door at night,” she snapped. “Poor Harvey here has a heart condition and needs his sleep.”
“I take my hearing aid out at night,” he mumbled. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Quiet, Harvey!”
“I think you said someone was knocking on your door, not pounding,” I said. “And I’ve asked around, but no one here has any idea who’s doing it. You’re sure it’s not a member of your family? Perhaps someone is sleepwalking or it’s one of the grandkids.”
She puffed up her scrawny chest. “You think one of my grandchildren is harassing us in the middle of the night?”
“I really don’t know,” I said. “It could also just be the building. You know…normal creaks and moans.”
“Maybe it’s the old pipes,” Crystal offered with a hopeful glance at me.
I gave her an appreciative look. “Yes, I bet that’s what it is. Just old pipes knocking.”
Mrs. Welch glanced back and forth between the two of us, as if deciding on our veracity. Just then, Blair appeared behind me with the dogs prancing along at her feet.
&
nbsp; “What’s up?” she asked.
Mrs. Welch gave her the once over. “Old pipes,” she said with a sneer.
I turned to Blair. “Mrs. Welch thinks someone is knocking at her door in the middle of the night.”
Blair erupted in a light-hearted laugh. “Oh, that’s just Chloe. She plays tricks on people she doesn’t like.”
I’m usually the one who mutters things out loud that should have been left unsaid. But Blair often functioned without a verbal filter of any kind, making me turn to her with a warning scowl.
“Chloe? Who’s Chloe?” Mrs. Welch demanded.
“A ghost,” Blair said nonchalantly, missing my signal. “The inn is haunted. Everyone knows that. I’m going to grab something to eat before we go,” Blair said to me. And she disappeared around the corner into the main kitchen, oblivious of the awkward silence left behind.
“What in the world was she talking about?” Mrs. Welch said with clenched brows.
I sighed. “The inn seems to have a couple of resident spirits. Haven’t you seen the book on the coffee table in the living room?”
I was referring to the book I had tried to loan to Caroline just the day before. I had several copies lying around.
Mrs. Welch’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious squint. “What book?”
“The Most Haunted Hotels in the Northwest,” I replied. “This Inn is featured in it. Chloe is one of our ghosts. She’s a little girl.”
“That explains it,” Harvey suddenly perked up. “Little kids hate Ruby.”
And with that, he shuffled away, leaving his wife speechless for once.
÷
Mansfield Foster had an office in Kent, some twenty miles south of Seattle. He operated out of the regional court there. I reviewed Rudy’s notes about him as we drove. He was 62-years old, divorced, and had a reputation as a man not to cross or even criticize among his peers. He’d served as an assistant prosecuting attorney for eight years before becoming a highly-paid corporate attorney. He was 48 when he was appointed district court judge when the sitting judge died unexpectedly.
Blair and I arrived at the Parkridge Building about fifteen minutes before our appointed time. Blair had changed into a black pencil skirt and white tailored blouse, with a wide, black leather belt. She wore her hair down in loose curls and had on black, patent leather, 3-inch heels. She meant business.
We entered the building and approached a long, polished counter, where a woman sat staring at a computer screen.
“We’re here to see Judge Foster,” I told her.
She gave us a vacuous smile. “Of course. His office is on the third floor. Jenny will check you in.”
I thanked her, and we took the elevator to the third floor, where Jenny did, in fact, check us in. We had to sign a sheet and take a visitor’s badge. We were a few minutes early, so I anticipated a wait. What I didn’t anticipate was a thirty minute wait. By the time Jenny finally chirped that the Judge would see us, I’d almost dozed off.
She showed us into a large office with a picture window that overlooked a greenbelt and walking path. The room was decorated in polished wood and leather and had all the command and presence you’d expect from a judge.
The man who came out from behind a huge walnut desk was approximately six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He wore his hair short, and like his sister, Emily, had intense, penetrating brown eyes that didn’t blink. As he reached out a large hand to grasp mine, I felt uncomfortable under his stare.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Applegate.”
That took me by surprise. “I’m sorry. Have we met before?”
He smiled, which did nothing to soften his expression. “Many years ago. Back when your husband was the prosecuting attorney. I was corporate counsel at the time for Vextel. We met at a campaign event for Judge Hartley.”
“I’m sorry. I attended so many events with Graham back then…”
“Of course,” he said, releasing my hand. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I was nobody then.”
That stung.
“I do apologize, Judge Foster. I don’t have a good memory for many of the people I met at big events like that.”
He gestured to two chairs on the opposite side of his desk, as he returned to his chair. “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Applegate. I’m sure it was difficult to live in the shadow of your husband for all those years. Eventually, it probably became too much.”
Really? Was he referring to my divorce? This guy could turn honey sour, I thought to myself.
“Actually, Julia has done quite well for herself since divorcing Graham,” Blair spoke up. “I don’t think she needed to be a Governor’s wife to complete her.”
He seemed to notice Blair for the first time, and his gaze skimmed her from head to toe. It was common for Blair to use her appearance as a way to manipulate men. But today she seemed different. She looked elegant sitting with her back straight and feet planted firmly on the floor. She met Mansfield Foster’s gaze and barely blinked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name,” he said to her.
“Blair…Wentworth,” she said, giving a slight emphasis to her last name. She sniffed the air. “And I recognize the Kilian Straight to Heaven cologne you’re wearing. Very nice. Very expensive.”
His eyes glinted, and he cocked his head to one side. “Your husband owns Wentworth Import Motors.”
She smiled as if she had just swallowed good wine. “Yes. And if I’m not mistaken, he sold you the BMW M6 convertible parked out front,” she said, crossing one shapely leg over another.
This time, his eyes followed her movements. “Yes, your husband has good taste in cars.”
Blair merely smiled again. “He has good taste in everything.”
I smiled inwardly. Damn, she was good!
The shadow of a smile flickered across his face, and then he turned his attention on me. “My assistant said you wanted to talk about a book you’re writing on the St. Claire Inn. What can I help you with? I lived there for only a very short time when I was a teenager.”
“We’re just trying to paint a picture of what life was like back then. We’ve already spoken to your sister.”
His eyes flared momentarily, and his right hand clenched around a pencil lying on the desk. Then his composure returned. “Emily,” he said. “I see. Well if you’ve met Emily, you’ve been to the compound.”
His sarcasm made me pause. “You mean the family home?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you could call it that. What did Emily have to say about Mercer Island?”
“She mentioned that it was lonely living on the island. Emily was only thirteen then. Is that right?”
He leaned back in his chair, as if none of this mattered to him. “Yes. I’m two years older than she is.”
“What did you and your friends do after school and on weekends back then?” I asked, remembering what Emily had said about her brother locking her up.
“Our home wasn’t a place where kids wanted to hang out. So I’d go over to my friend, Timmy’s house. Soapbox racing was big, and he and I spent a lot of time building cars and taking them on the hills.”
“Emily mentioned that you liked to play games,” Blair said.
The air in the room went still. It was a long moment, as we all stared at each other and the sound of a lawn mower outside purred in the background.
Finally, “All kids play games, don’t they?” He said to Blair, as if to challenge her. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Emily played mostly with her dolls. She had names for them and pretended they were real. She pretends a lot of things are real. I assume you know that she’s not well.”
“Yes, we do,” Blair replied. “I’m sorry about that.”
It grew quiet again.
“What about your older sister, Rose?” I asked. “Did she have a lot of friends?”
He turned to me. “She had a boyfriend.”
My senses came alert. “A boyfriend? Do you remember
his name?” I pulled out my little notepad. “You don’t mind me taking notes, do you?”
“As long as you’re not going to testify against me in court,” he said with a wry twist to his mouth. “Chris Stephens. That was the guy she hung around with most. His family might still be around. But if you want to talk to him, you’re out of luck. He died our first year there.”
I heard Blair suck in a quick breath. “What happened?”
He shifted his attention to Blair again. “I don’t know much about it. I just remember my father telling Rose that Chris was dead. Then I heard my parents talking about it later. The police thought he’d been in a fight. He was beat up pretty badly. His body was found where Luther Burbank Park is now.” A brief smile played across his lips.
“Your sister must have been crushed,” Blair said.
The smile disappeared. “I’m sure she was. At least she did a lot of wailing and carrying on about it,” he said without emotion. “But then my parents shipped me off to boarding school on the East Coast, so I don’t know what happened after that. At least until my sister died the following year,” he said, dropping his chin.
It was the first time he’d shown any emotion.
“We heard about that; it must have been very difficult for your family. How did she die?”
His chin came up and he gave me a haunted look. “I was told she fell into the lake and drowned. None of us had ever had swimming lessons, so who knows?” he said with a shrug. He paused a moment and seemed to reflect on something. “She was so damned upset about her boyfriend’s death though, that…” He stopped, his hands balled into fists on his desk. His eyes narrowed, and he looked up. “I wouldn’t want to see any speculation about how my sister died in your book,” he said quickly.
“Of course not,” I said. “We’ll be very careful. But that’s a lot of tragedy for one family to absorb in such a short time.”
His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. “Yeah, well, when God closes a door, as they say…” He was tapping his index finger on the blotter of his desk.
