The Ghost Who Wanted Revenge (Haunting Danielle Book 4)

by Bobbi Holmes

  “Ian? No. He’s been out of town for the week. He left before Mrs. Anderson contacted me.”

  “Is there anything else you remember? Anyone who may have seen you? Maybe someone walking their dog, someone on the beach?”

  Danielle considered the question a moment and then shook her head. “No. I didn’t see anyone. But even if I had seen someone on the beach—which I didn’t—you can’t really see the swing from the beach because of the bushes.”

  “I’d like to check out a few things. I’m going to have Brian take you back to the interrogation room.”

  * * *

  Danielle waited alone in the interrogation room for almost an hour before the chief joined her.

  The moment he walked into the room, she stood up and asked, “Did you get ahold of Mrs. Anderson?”

  “Yes, I did.” MacDonald took a seat and motioned for Danielle to sit down.

  “What did she say?” Danielle asked anxiously, returning to the chair.

  “You were right. The address you gave me—it is owned by the Andersons. Unfortunately, Mrs. Anderson claims to have never heard of you. Says she doesn’t own a piano and is currently in Florida, attending a funeral. She didn’t recognize the phone number you gave me, and after doing some checking, that number seems to belong to one of those throw away phones you pick up at the grocery store.”

  Danielle frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “There is another problem. Wednesday mornings is trash day for that section of town. We got ahold of the men from the truck servicing Stoddard’s street, to find out what they saw. They both described a red SUV with dealer plates. One thought it was a Flex. It was parked down the street from the Gusarov Estate.”

  “There are other red SUVs in town.”

  “One of the men claims he saw a young woman leaving the estate and getting into the car around 7:30 this morning. According to his identification she was in her late twenties or early thirties, about five feet, five inches tall, brunette, wearing a braid.”

  Chapter Four

  Danielle sat alone in the dreary jail cell. During her last arrest, they had kept her in the interrogation room. Of course, that time, a murder victim hadn’t been the witness against her.

  She guessed it was close to 3 p.m., and she hadn’t had anything to eat all day. Her head throbbed. It was 6:45 a.m. when she had left Marlow House that morning, planning to eat breakfast with Lily when she returned home. But she had missed breakfast and then lunch.

  Motion from the corner of the jail cell caught her attention. Standing up, she narrowed her eyes and focused on the dark corner. A sphere of light appeared; it twisted and twirled, transforming into a blurred vision of a man. He walked toward her, his face staring down at the floor. She couldn’t tell who he was.

  Stepping backwards, she bumped against the barred walls of the cell, preventing her from putting more distance between her and the impending apparition. Trapped between the bars and the spirit, she held her breath a moment, waiting for him to show himself. When he was just a few feet away, he lifted his head and looked into her face. It was Stoddard Gusarov—and by his expression, he was furious.

  Stoddard reached for Danielle, his hand moving through her wrist. He made a second grab, yet he was still unable to make physical contact. Screwing his face into an angry scowl he yelled, “I will see you in hell for taking my life!” He then disappeared.

  “Crap,” Danielle muttered, glancing around the room.

  A few minutes later the chief entered lock up, carrying a white paper sack.

  “I brought you something to eat,” he said, holding up the bag.

  “How did you know I was starved?” Danielle asked, as she reached through the bars to accept the food.

  “I figured you’ve been here most of the day and hadn’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “I didn’t even have breakfast.” Danielle opened the sack. Inside she found a soda, wrapped burger, and fries. She reached in and pulled out the burger. Sitting down on a bench, she folded down the paper wrapping. Pausing a moment, she looked up to the chief. He stared at her.

  “I know now why Gusarov said I killed him,” she said before taking a bite of the burger.

  MacDonald stepped closer to the barred walls. “What do you mean?”

  “He was here, just a moment ago. You missed him.” She took another bite of the burger.

  “You saw Stoddard?”

  Danielle nodded.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yes.” Danielle wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked up into the chief’s face. “He was pissed. Told me he would send me to hell for taking his life.”

  “What are you saying?” The chief frowned.

  “For some reason, Stoddard Gusarov believes I killed him. That’s why he told Brian I was the shooter. I’m not. I don’t know who the trash men saw, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t drive down his street today. I didn’t shoot him, and that gun they found in my car is not mine. Someone is trying to frame me. And they’ve done one hell of a job, considering they’ve even convinced the victim.”

  “Danielle, you know I like you, and I want to help you. But you’re really not giving me anything to go with, other than confirming the fact our victim believes you’re his killer.”

  “I was rather hoping that if I was to run into Stoddard, he’d be telling me the name of his killer and then explain why Brian misunderstood him.” Danielle reached into the sack and pulled out a french fry. She popped it into her mouth.

  “I always assumed the spirit of someone who died would instinctively know something like their killer.” The chief leaned against the bars, looking down at Danielle.

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Look at Walt Marlow,” Danielle said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Walt Marlow didn’t know how he died. Everyone thought he killed himself. He didn’t. And while he had a good idea it wasn’t a suicide, he really didn’t know how he had died.”

  “What about Cheryl; did she know her killer?” he asked.

  Danielle shook her head. “Not at first. With Cheryl, she couldn’t remember everything that had happened to her—it came back in flashes. When she saw Renton talking to me, before his attack, she remembered.”

  “If you’re right, why do you think someone is framing you for Stoddard’s murder?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself.” Danielle took another bite of the burger. A moment later she said, “I’ll have to admit, until I saw Stoddard earlier, I wondered if Brian made up the story about Stoddard’s dying words. According to what I overheard, his wife was hysterical, so it’s possible she was too distraught to remember exactly what was said. I knew I wasn’t the shooter, so the logical conclusion is that Brian lied.”

  “Brian Henderson would never frame an innocent woman!”

  “Sorry.” Danielle shrugged. “I know he’s one of your men, your friend, and you trust him, but look at if from my perspective. Since Cheryl disappeared, he’s been convinced I’m either psychotic or homicidal. Maybe both.”

  “It’s just that he doesn’t understand—that you—well, you know.”

  “It doesn’t matter what Brian thinks about me. I know now, he didn’t lie about Gusarov. But why is someone trying to frame me?” Finished with her burger, she took out the soda and shoved her trash into the bag. Danielle pushed the straw into her soda cup’s lid after removing its paper wrapper. She took a sip of the soda.

  “The only person I can think of who might harbor a grudge against you is Stoddard. Without your intervention, Lily would probably be in Canada now, and he never would have faced jail time. But I don’t see Stoddard sacrificing his life just to get back at you.”

  “Neither do I.” Danielle considered the possibilities as she sipped the soda. “What about Darlene? She is just as guilty as Stoddard.”

  “Not according to Stoddard. He swore she didn’t know anything about it.”

  “And do you believe him?”
Danielle studied the chief’s face.

  “Not really, but we don’t have anything to prove otherwise. But I don’t see Darlene killing her husband just to get back at you—and from what Brian said, she was hysterical this morning.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Plus, I imagine Stoddard would recognize his wife if she was the one who shot him.” Danielle stood up and shoved her empty soda cup into the sack. She walked to the bars and handed the trash to MacDonald.

  “I do have a favor to ask you,” Danielle said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Lily’s arranging an attorney for me. If my attorney manages to get me out on bail, I’d like one of those ankle monitoring thingies. Even if a judge agrees to release me on bail without one, I still want it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone is trying to frame me. And if they really told Stoddard that Darlene was next, I don’t want to be out on bail if the killer is successful, and then get charged with two murders. My luck is not so terrific.”

  “You’re serious.” MacDonald frowned.

  “Very. The more I think about it—I bet this is about money. Stoddard is worth a fortune, especially after inheriting Isabella’s share of the estate. Who inherits if Darlene is gone?”

  The door to lockup opened. It was Brian Henderson.

  “Ms. Boatman’s attorney is here,” Brian said.

  “Bring him in,” the chief said, no longer leaning against the bars.

  “It’s a woman,” Brian clarified.

  “Then show her in.”

  “Thanks for the food,” Danielle said.

  “No problem. I’ll see what I can find out about his estate. I sincerely hope we can figure this out,” the chief said, giving her a brief nod. Danielle watched as he followed Brian out of the room.

  Several minutes later, a person Danielle had never seen before entered the lockup area. Tall and slender, she was an attractive woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties. She wore a tailored linen business suit and her blonde hair cropped short. In her left hand, she carried a leather briefcase.

  Behind her was a second person—Ian Bartley. Dressed casually, he wore denims, a red sweatshirt, jogging shoes, and his beloved Cub’s baseball cap.

  “Ian!” Danielle called out, her hands gripping the bars. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

  “Are you kidding? Lily called me this morning in a panic. Told me you’d been arrested. We figured you needed a good attorney. I want you to meet my old friend—Candice Holloway. She’s one of the best criminal attorneys in the state. Candice this is the woman I was telling you about, Danielle Boatman.”

  “Ms. Boatman,” Candice greeted, slipping her right hand through the bars to shake Danielle’s hand.

  Danielle accepted the gesture and said, “I really appreciate you coming.” She glanced at Ian. “Both of you.”

  “Ian wanted me to start working on your bail, but I explained I needed to meet with you first—and if you agree to hire me—”

  “If Ian says you’re the best, then that’s good enough for me. And I definitely need an attorney.”

  “Ian insists you’re innocent, but I’ve looked at what they have, and it’s going to be a challenge.”

  “I’m not guilty, Ms. Holloway. I didn’t kill Stoddard Gusarov. I promise.”

  “I don’t really care about that,” Candice said. “My job is to give you the best legal defense possible, regardless of whether I believe you’re innocent or guilty.”

  “If you don’t believe me, how can you help me?” Danielle asked.

  “Danielle, trust Candice. She really is the best,” Ian urged.

  “Ms. Boatman, what I personally believe won’t impact the jury’s decision.”

  “I suppose I can’t blame you for thinking I did it.” Danielle sat back down on the bench.

  “All we need to do is present reasonable doubt.”

  “That’s going to be impossible, considering the prosecution’s prime witness is the victim,” Danielle said.

  “I believe we can show the jury how a man who has been critically wounded—suffering from incredible pain due to his injuries, could become delusional. He knew what he did to your friend, so it’s only natural for him to start imagining you’re the one who shot him. I suspect Mr. Gusarov was out of his head by the time the officer arrived on the scene.”

  “What about the gun they found in my car?”

  “You’ve already admitted you were at a house only a block or so away from Mr. Gusarov’s home. I assume you parked in the street.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you lock your car?” the attorney asked.

  “No.”

  “Was the car in your sight the entire time you were at the house?”

  “No. I was on the back patio, watching the ocean for almost an hour.”

  “Then it’s possible the killer left Mr. Gusarov’s house and put the gun in your car.”

  “Wow, you’re making me feel better already.” Danielle smiled.

  “Hopefully we can get the jury to see it our way. But for now, why don’t I go see what I can do to get you home for the night.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” Danielle smiled.

  When Candice left a few minutes later, Danielle looked at Ian and said, “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “I don’t believe for a minute you shot Gusarov,” Ian declared.

  “Thanks for coming. I was worried about Lily.”

  “She’s fine, aside from being sick worrying over you. The nurse was at the house when I stopped by Marlow House, and Joanne is coming back over later to make her dinner.”

  “That makes me feel better.” And of course, Walt is there, she thought.

  “Have you seen Joe? I didn’t see him upstairs,” Ian asked.

  “No. He wasn’t there when they arrested me, and I haven’t seen him all day.”

  “I don’t suppose you asked where he was. I’m surprised he’s not involved in the case.”

  “I didn’t ask.” Danielle shrugged. “Figured it was his day off or something. Anyway, I don’t really need him around. Just someone else to insist I’m guilty.”

  Chapter Five

  Brian Henderson wasn’t happy Danielle managed to make bail. It didn’t seem right she wouldn’t be spending the night in jail, especially considering that—according to Stoddard—she threatened to kill Darlene. Chief MacDonald reminded him she would be wearing an ankle monitor, yet to Brian that was simply another example of how a spoiled little rich girl could get away with murder, and then go home at night and sleep comfortably in her own bed. Electronic monitoring came with a fee for the accused—a fee Danielle Boatman could easily pay.

  * * *

  “If looks could kill, we’d both be dead now,” Ian said as he drove Danielle home that evening.

  “What do you mean?” She sat in the passenger seat looking out the side window.

  “Brian—did you see him glaring at us when they were checking you out?”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Capital punishment is legal in this state. If they decide to fry me, Brian would probably be the first in line to volunteer to pull the kill switch.”

  “Damn Danielle, don’t even talk that way!” Ian cringed. “And whatever you do, don’t say something like that to Lily!”

  “Not up to gallows humor?”

  “Anyway, I think kill switch implies you turn something off. In that case, Brian would be saving you.”

  “Like that would happen,” she snorted.

  “How can you be so flippant?” Ian asked.

  “I don’t know,” Danielle murmured. With a shrug she added, “Defense mechanism, maybe?”

  They were silent for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts. With a sigh, Danielle glanced over to Ian. To her horror, Stoddard’s spirit sat in the driver’s seat with him. The two men seemed to blend, with Stoddard’s image a ghoulish film-like overlay covering Ian.

  Eyes wide, sh
e watched in morbid fascination as Ian drove toward Marlow House, unaware of the extra passenger sharing his seat—his lap. Stoddard’s hands clutched the steering wheel with Ian’s. The dead man turned to look at Danielle, his eyes wild, crazed. He smiled—an unnerving, malicious smile—and then, just as they were about to pass a truck, Stoddard’s hands jerked to the left, toward the oncoming vehicle, in an attempt to steer them into disaster. Without thought, Danielle let out a startled yelp.

  “What?” Ian looked over to Danielle, then back down the road, wondering what she’d seen.

  “I’m sorry. I…I guess I’m a little unraveled.” Danielle glanced around, wondering where Stoddard had gone.

  “I understand, but don’t do that again.” Ian shook his head. “Don’t want to get us killed. Lily would never forgive me.”

  When they pulled up to Marlow House a few minutes later, Danielle saw Stoddard again. He stood in the street, in the exact location where Ian intended to park his car. Danielle held her breath as Ian pulled alongside the curb, running the vehicle through Stoddard, who remained standing, stubbornly refusing to move. When Ian parked, the upper half of the ghost’s body stuck up over the hood of the car. Stoddard reached for Danielle, his hand moving through the windshield. She leaned back in the seat and quickly unfastened her seatbelt.

  Stoddard trailed alongside Danielle and Ian as they walked from the parked car up to the front door of Marlow House.

  “I’ll find some way to do it,” Stoddard hissed. “You will die, and I’ll send you to hell.”

  “Maybe I should grab us a pizza after we get you settled,” Ian suggested.

  “Uhh…huh...” Danielle glanced warily from Ian to Stoddard. “That would be nice.”

  “It should be slow. I want you to suffer, like you made me suffer, but a hundred times worse,” the ghost threatened.

  When they reached the front door, it was already wide open, with Lily standing inside, Walt behind her, and Sadie sitting between the two, squirming excitedly, her tail wagging.

  “Dani!” Lily squealed. “I was so worried about you!”