by Bobbi Holmes
“That’s just it. I can see ghosts. I’ve been able to since I was a child. That’s how I happened to find out what you did to Lily. By the way, I met your niece—after she died. My point being, since I’m rather familiar with how all this afterlife stuff works—well, kinda sorta—I would be the last person to risk going to jail to plot anyone’s murder. Especially yours.”
“Why do you say especially mine?” He frowned.
“Because you, Stoddard Gusarov, simply are not worth the trouble. What you did to Lily—what you did to your niece—was inexcusable.”
“I didn’t hurt my niece,” he argued.
“You don’t think hiding her body, letting her friends think she just took off, wasn’t hurtful?”
Stoddard abruptly stood up. “This only proves you are the killer.”
“How do you figure that?” Danielle frowned.
“Because you must have known about the baby. You knew how important it was to me—to finally be a father. But now I will never be able to hold my son.”
“Darlene is pregnant?” Danielle remembered Adam had once mentioned something about Stoddard’s wife being pregnant, yet later heard that wasn’t true. Or had it been? “And it’s a boy?”
“I don’t know if it’s a son. It may be a daughter, which is another way you hurt me. I no longer have the opportunity to try for a second child if the baby is a girl. Then not only do I never get to hold my child, I never get my son. Maybe you win now, but mark my words, you will pay for what you did to me! You might think you’ve won, but you haven’t!”
Stoddard disappeared, leaving Danielle alone in the back yard of Marlow House.
Chapter Seven
Morning’s sea breeze sent the bedroom curtains fluttering inward. Before going to bed the night before, Joe Morelli had opened the windows, to take full advantage of the beachfront rental. He enjoyed the soothing serenade of the ocean breakers. Awake for almost thirty minutes, only the promise of morning coffee could coax him from bed.
Rolling off the mattress, he tossed the sheets aside. Standing up, he stretched lazily, walked to the window, and looked outside. There was no one on the beach—at least not that he could see.
Wearing just his boxers, he turned from the window and made his way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. When he got there, he flipped on the radio to listen to some music. As he filled the glass pot with water, the newsbreak began. Joe half listened to the news, yet froze when the newscaster mentioned a familiar name.
“Marlow House Bed and Breakfast owner, Danielle Boatman has been released on bail after her arrest for the murder of longtime Frederickport resident, Stoddard Gusarov…”
Joe turned abruptly, shut off the water, and faced the radio.
“…According to an unidentified source, Stoddard Gusarov named Boatman as his killer just moments before his death…”
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Chief MacDonald asked Joe Morelli when the young sergeant walked into the break room at the police station, thirty minutes later. “I thought you were on vacation for the rest of the week.”
“I imagine he heard about Boatman,” Brian said, following Joe into the break room.
“I didn’t go out of town,” Joe said as he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. “I rented a beach house on the south side.”
“And this is exactly why you need to leave town for vacation,” MacDonald said.
Brian grabbed himself a cup of coffee. He and Joe took a seat at the table with the chief.
“What’s going on with Danielle?” Joe asked. “I turned on the radio this morning and heard she’d been arrested for Stoddard’s murder. Stoddard is dead?”
“As a doornail,” Brian said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“They said he identified Danielle as his killer—according to an unidentified source. But that can’t be true.” Joe shook his head.
“Yes it can,” Brian said. “Not sure who the unidentified source is, although I suspect it is Darlene.”
“Darlene? You’re not telling me you’ve arrested Danielle because of Darlene’s account. She’d be my top suspect, considering what she’s likely to inherit.”
“I said Darlene was probably the unidentified source, not that she was the only one to hear Stoddard say Danielle Boatman shot him,” Brian explained.
“Who else heard?” Joe asked.
The chief tipped his cup toward Brian and said, “He did.”
“Stoddard told you Danielle shot him?” Joe asked incredulously.
“I’m not sure I believe it either—oh, not that Brian didn’t hear Stoddard accuse Boatman, but I’m not sure Stoddard knew what he was talking about,” the chief said.
“You’re just like Joe; you have a soft spot for that girl.” Brian shook his head. “I keep telling you both, she is nothing but trouble.”
The chief shrugged and took another sip of coffee.
“But you arrested her?” Joe asked the chief.
“I didn’t have a choice. Not only did Stoddard tell Brian she was the shooter, we found the murder weapon in her car. Doesn’t look good for her,” MacDonald explained.
“Were her fingerprints on it?” Joe asked.
“No, the gun had been wiped clean. But I suspect she was getting ready to dump it,” Brian explained. “The serial numbers had been removed. Of course, she insists she didn’t own a gun, claimed she didn’t even know how to shoot one.”
“I don’t think she did,” Joe said.
“Why do you say that?” the chief asked.
“Once, when we went out, we got on the topic of guns. She told me she had never shot one, and was a little afraid of them.”
“She obviously got over her fear,” Brian snorted.
“Did she have gun shot residue on her hands?” Joe asked.
“No, but we figured she wore gloves,” Brian said.
“Did you find any gloves?”
“No.”
“Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning,” Joe urged.
Brian set his mug on the table. “Yesterday morning I stopped in the diner to have breakfast, and I ran into Darlene Gusarov in the parking lot, cursing up a storm. She’s driving Stoddard’s little T-Bird and had just locked the keys in the car. I figured I could probably get the key out for her—not too hard on those old cars. Of course, I needed a piece of wire. But Darlene’s paranoid about scratching the car, says Stoddard will kill her. Tells me she already tried calling him to see if he’d bring down the extra set of keys, but he wasn’t answering the phone. One thing leads to another, and I end up driving her home to pick up her extra set of car keys.”
“And you found Stoddard?” Joe asked.
“Technically, Darlene found him first. I was waiting in the car while she ran up to the house to get her extra set of keys. The minute she went in the door, she started screaming bloody murder. When I got up to the house, he was barely hanging on, been shot twice—once in the gut and once in the knee cap.”
“I can’t believe Danielle would do something like that.” Joe shook his head in denial.
“While waiting for the paramedics to arrive, I asked Stoddard who had shot him. He said Danielle Boatman. I admit, at first I thought he was confused. According to Stoddard, he saw her—heard her. In fact, she threatened to kill Darlene too, for what they’d done to Lily and for trying to convince us she had murdered Isabella.”
“I find this impossible to believe.” Joe felt ill.
“I’m having a hard time believing it too,” the chief said. “Danielle says someone is trying to frame her.”
“Right,” Brian scoffed. “Pretty good frame up when you get the victim to play along.”
“Wait a minute…you said this happened yesterday morning?” Joe frowned.
“Yes. Stoddard was shot sometime between 7:15 and 8:30 yesterday morning,” the chief explained.
“I got there a little after 8:30 and Chuck Christiansen—Stoddard’s right hand man—claims to have talked to
Stoddard on the telephone at seven that morning—the call lasted about fifteen minutes, when Stoddard said he had to go because someone was there. The phone records check out.”
“But that is impossible. Danielle couldn’t have killed Stoddard!” Joe said excitedly.
“Why is that?” Brian frowned.
“Because I saw Danielle yesterday morning!” Joe jumped to his feet and started pacing the small room. “Chief, she’s right, someone is trying to frame her!”
“What are you talking about?” Brian asked.
“I’ve been staying at a beach house on the south side of town. Yesterday morning I heard someone pounding on the neighbor’s door, I looked out the window. It was Danielle. It was 7:00 a.m. I know, because I looked at the clock.”
“Was the rental on Sea Cliff Drive?” the chief asked.
“Yeah, how did you know that?” Joe asked.
“Because Danielle claims to have been on Sea Cliff Drive the time of the murder. Said she was there to look at a piano someone was selling.”
“She was there for about an hour. I got the feeling she was waiting for someone. She made a couple calls and finally went to the back of the house and sat on the porch swing. I thought the whole thing was a little odd.”
“Danielle didn’t mention seeing you,” Brian said.
“No, she wouldn’t have. I stayed in the house.”
“How can you be sure it was her?” Brian asked.
“Well…I…” Joe shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “I was watching her through the binoculars.”
The chief raised his brows. “Binoculars?”
“But what about the guy who works for the disposal company saying they saw someone matching Danielle’s description leaving the house—in the same model car she drives?” Brian asked.
“The car!” Joe combed his fingers through his hair. “There was a red car that went down the street when Danielle was sitting on the back swing. She wouldn’t have seen it. It looked like hers, in fact I wondered for a moment if someone had taken off in her new car. It stopped a moment by hers, before taking off again.”
“Did you see who was driving the other car?” the chief asked.
“No.” Joe shook his head.
“Did you see them put anything in Boatman’s car?” Brian asked.
“You mean like the murder weapon? No. But they could have.”
The chief stood up, “Are you positive this was yesterday?”
“Of course. Just because I decided to spend a few days alone doesn’t mean I’m drinking alone and getting my days confused!”
“Joe, I think we need to have a little talk with the DA and judge. See about getting the charges dropped against Danielle.”
“I wonder if that will be possible,” Brian murmured.
“What do you mean? I saw her. If he was killed during that timeframe then she’s innocent.”
“And considering your history with Danielle, you don’t think the DA or judge might question your motives for coming forward?”
“Are you suggesting I’m not telling the truth?” Joe asked angrily.
“Of course not,” Brian insisted. “But if I was the DA and the victim claimed to know the killer—and then the ex-boyfriend of the killer came forward with a story—”
“I was never Danielle’s boyfriend. We only went out a couple times.”
“No, but we all know you wanted to be,” Brian retorted.
“And we all know the reason Danielle is no longer interested—I helped arrest her for Cheryl’s murder.”
“And what a perfect way to ingratiate yourself to her. Be the star witness to exonerate her in what appears to be a slam dunk case,” Brian said.
“Enough!” the chief interrupted. “If Joe had come into this office yesterday morning, before we filed charges on Danielle, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Brian, I can’t believe you’d doubt Joe’s word.”
“I never said I doubted him.”
“It didn’t sound like that to me,” Joe grumbled.
“I was just playing the devil’s advocate,” Brian insisted.
“One thing I am fairly confident about,” the chief said. “Danielle Boatman is innocent, and someone is trying to frame her for Stoddard’s murder. Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to implicate Danielle. Darlene is looking like a prime suspect.”
“She seemed sincerely upset at Stoddard’s death,” Brian said. “And you don’t think Stoddard would recognize his own wife?”
“I would suspect she had an accomplice,” the chief said.
“Why do you think she’s involved at all?” Joe asked.
“For one reason, she’s the one who brought Brian to the house when she found her husband,” the chief said.
“But how would she have known…” Joe paused a moment considering his question. He turned to Brian and said, “That’s right. You said you were having breakfast at the diner—which you do every morning. Darlene knew right where to find you.”
Chapter Eight
Earthbound Spirits headquarters were perched high atop a rocky ridge, overlooking a section of Frederickport’s northern beach. The Hilton family—no relation to the hotel chain—built the house in 1935. The property remained in the family until the passing of Helen Hilton, who died at the age of 98. She bequeathed her entire estate to Earthbound Spirits, much to the displeasure of her four grandchildren.
Even Helen’s great-nieces and nephews took umbrage over the bequest, arguing Helen was only a Hilton by virtue of marriage to her late husband, and the property should remain within the Hilton family.
Had Helen been around to argue her decision, she would remind her unhappy family that since none of them made an effort to visit her during her final years, none of them was entitled to the property. The grandchildren contested the will, but their attorneys were no match for the legal team employed by the secretive and wealthy organization.
Peter Morris, founder of Earthbound Spirits, sat at his desk, examining the two documents just handed to him by his protégé, Cleve Monchique. The two men sat alone in the office, the doors shut.
Morris, who had recently turned sixty, looked more like a man in his late forties. Standing just under six-feet, with a tennis player’s physique, his regular manner of dress reflected what a wealthy and cultured CEO might wear at the golf course. He concealed his gray hair under Nice’n Easy’s Natural Black—though Natural Light Carmel Brown would have been a more flattering shade for his complexion.
“You got both wills…” Peter murmured. “Impressive.”
“It answers the question, did Isabella put Earthbound Spirits in her will as she said—or was she just telling us what we wanted to hear, while trying to annoy her uncle. I much prefer doing it this way, instead of creating our own forgery.”
While comparing the two documents, Peter sighed. “Earthbound Spirits was obviously the beneficiary, if only for a brief time. I was rather hoping Stoddard’s will was a forgery.”
“None of that matters, as long as we have this one!” Cleve said excitedly. “This is the original. We know Stoddard’s is nothing but a photocopy—which we can easily argue was forged.”
“I suppose this is my fault, having to do it this way.” Peter wearily shook his head. “I should have realized I was pushing her too hard.”
“It wasn’t as if you asked more of Isabella than any other member,” Cleve argued.
“But the pressure alienated her from us, and that didn’t have to happen. Had I only known she was telling the truth I could have eased off. Then maybe she would have never changed her will back, leaving everything to her uncle.”
“I disagree. You didn’t do anything wrong. Isabella was always more difficult than the others. Treating her differently would have set a bad example.”
“True, Cleve. But at one time, she was one of the more dedicated members.”
“It really doesn’t matter now. Isabella is gone, we have both wills, and Stoddard is dead.”
&
nbsp; “And with him gone, easier for us to cry forgery when we hand over Isabella’s will, leaving us her estate. And considering what Stoddard did to that woman, trying to pass her off as Isabella, shouldn’t be too hard to convince the court this was just another one of his cons.”
“This is going to work.” Cleve smiled with satisfaction. “If Isabella knew what her uncle was capable of doing, she’d thank us for setting this right.”
“I feel better about it now, now that you have both originals. And you’re sure all other copies have been destroyed?” Peter asked.
“Positive.” Cleve sat in a chair facing Peter.
“Clarence won’t be a problem.” Peter set the documents on the desk and looked at Cleve. “But what about that woman who worked for him—Gloria Comings—wasn’t that her name?”
“Yes, but she moved from the area. Considering what we have, there’s no reason for anyone to track her down.”
“All I have left to do is finalize things with Darlene.” Peter leaned across the desk and pushed one of the wills toward Cleve. “Shred it. I don’t want anyone coming across this.”
With a nod, Cleve stood up and took the document. He glanced at it briefly, making sure it was the newer will, the one leaving Isabella’s estate to her uncle. He smiled and then walked over to the paper shredder.
“I’d like you to put it in probate tomorrow.” Peter said. “But wait until you hear from me, and we know everything is set with Darlene.”
“Sure.”
Peter studied the will leaving Isabella’s estate to Earthbound Spirits as Cleve fed the other document through the paper shredder. “There is one thing that’s still bothering me. We all know Stoddard assumed Earthbound Spirits stood to inherit Isabella’s fortune—that’s why he took that woman. I can’t believe he just stumbled across Isabella’s current will in his files. Someone had to have told him where to find it.”
“I suppose we need to be prepared for that possibility—one of Isabella’s friends coming forward with a story about how Isabella told her—or him—that she’d changed her will back and put a copy of the revised document in her uncle’s file cabinet.”
