by Bobbi Holmes
Danielle pointed to the bedroom window. “It was horrible because of that!”
Walt glanced over to the window, where Stoddard hovered outside, silently beating against the glass pane.
“He’s getting annoying.” With a wave of Walt’s hand, the curtains closed, blocking Stoddard’s ghost from view.
“I can’t live my life with the windows always covered. Plus, I’m afraid he’s learning to harness his energy.”
Walt frowned. “How so?”
Danielle walked over to Walt and showed him the scratch on her arm. “This.”
Narrowing his eyes, Walt studied the red mark. “Are you saying Stoddard did this?”
Danielle noted the abrupt change in Walt’s demeanor. If he had been a cartoon character, she imagined there would be smoke coming out of his ears about now.
“Yes, at the funeral. He was grabbing at me. He wasn’t making contact—his hands just moved through me. And then I felt something. When I looked down, I saw the scratch. For just an instant he managed to harness his energy enough that he scratched my skin.”
“Did he do anything else?” Walt glanced over to the closed window. He imagined Stoddard was still outside, trying to get into Marlow House.
“This happened at the cemetery, while we were still outside. When we were in the chapel, he planted himself in front of me during the service and did his best to harness his energy.”
“Did he…touch you again?”
“No. But he did manage to fling a hymnal out of the rack and onto the floor.”
“I don’t like this, Danielle.”
“You don’t like it? How do you think I feel?” Danielle sat down on the bed and looked at Walt.
“So what happened? Did he just follow you home?”
“I was afraid he was going to do more than just toss a book on the floor, so I started to pray.”
“You prayed?” Walt smiled.
“We were in a chapel. God’s house, so to speak.”
“True.” Walt grinned. “I take it, there were no lightening bolts?”
“Well, not for me.”
Walt frowned and glanced briefly to the window. “For Stoddard?”
“In a way, I suppose. He vanished. One minute he was there, being incredibly annoying, yelling at me, drowning out the service, and the next I’m silently praying and poof, he’s gone. Just like that.”
“But he’s still here.”
“True. He is still here. However, the prayer did work—at least I believe it did. Unfortunately, it didn’t work exactly as I hoped it would. Didn’t banish him completely, just from the chapel. He was waiting for me on the front porch when I got home.”
* * *
Lily watched as the nurse flushed her IV line. Mentally she counted the days left in her treatment; she was halfway there. She still didn’t know the origin of the infection that had settled in her knee. According to her doctors, it might have come from either arm—the one with the recent tattoo done under questionable conditions, or the one scraped and scratched after she was dumped on the rocky and harsh desert floor, left to die. Or perhaps neither arm was the culprit.
“How did physical therapy go today?” the nurse asked as she removed her gloves and tossed them into the trashcan by the IV stand.
“I guess okay.” Lily shrugged. “But, I think he might be a sadist.” She watched the nurse move the IV stand slightly, while tidying the room. Lily guessed the nurse was a few years younger than herself—late twenties, perhaps.
“It’s important to do all the exercises he gives you. It might hurt now, but it’ll mean a faster recovery.” The nurse turned to Lily as she picked up her purse and keys.
“Are you coming back tonight, or the other nurse?” Lily searched her memory, trying to recall this woman’s name. The first two nurses the hospital sent were Carol and Barbara. What their last names were, Lily couldn’t recall. Carol took care of the morning treatment, while Barbara came in the evenings. The two nurses took turns giving the mid-day treatment. Last week this new nurse replaced Barbara—why exactly, Lily didn’t know. She just assumed Barbara took another nursing job, or was on vacation. Since making the change, Carol only came in the mornings, and this new nurse—what was her name?—came in afternoons and evenings.
Administering the IV medication wasn’t as difficult as Lily had first imagined. If necessary, she could probably handle it herself, yet it wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing. Lily’s medical insurance, along with financial help from Danielle, covered her medical and living expenses, but according to her attorney, a settlement from Stoddard’s estate was inevitable, and that would allow her to repay Danielle.
“I’ll be here this evening,” the nurse told her.
“I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” Lily confessed.
“Samantha. But you can call me Sam,” she told her.
“Sam. Cute name.” Lily leaned back on her pillows. “I feel horrible you having to drag yourself over here every night at eleven.”
“It’s my job.” Samantha shrugged. “You mentioned yesterday you might have an outing sometime this next week?”
“Yes, Monday. I so need to get out of here and do something!”
“Don’t over do it. Where are you planning to go?”
“Ian—you met him—he’s taking me to lunch in Astoria. We’re planning to leave after you give me my afternoon IV treatment.”
“It will probably be good for you to get out.”
“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it.”
“By the way, when I was here last night, I noticed another car parked in front of the house. Are there guests staying at Marlow House?”
“Yes. He checked in yesterday.”
“He? Just one guest?” Samantha asked.
“Yes. An older gentleman.”
“That surprises me. I thought you mentioned Ms. Boatman wasn’t planning to take guests while you’re recuperating.”
“I guess she changed her mind.” Lily shrugged.
“Will he be staying long?”
“I think he’s leaving at the end of the week. Why?”
“Oh…” Samantha blushed. “I was just being nosey.”
Before Lily could respond, the doorbell rang.
“Let me get that for you,” Samantha said as she hastily grabbed her purse, exited the room, and went to open the front door. When she did, Ian and Sadie were standing on the front porch.
Instead of bounding into the house the minute the door open, Sadie stood next to Ian, growling. The moment Samantha heard the golden retriever’s threatening growl she froze. Yet, the dog was not looking in her direction, but slightly to the right, at the window adjacent to the front door.
“Sadie, what has gotten into you?” Ian demanded.
Sadie continued to growl. Crouching down, her rear end in the air, the fur on her back bristled as she focused on some unseen enemy.
“Sadie, heel!” Ian ordered. The dog ignored his command.
“Is something wrong with her?” Samantha asked warily, glancing around, trying to figure out why the dog was growling. She’d met Sadie during a previous visit and the dog was friendly—but now the canine seemed prepared to attack. Attack what exactly; Samantha had no idea.
“I’m beginning to think so,” Ian grumbled when Sadie ignored him. He reached down and took Sadie by the collar, giving it a firm jerk. Samantha took that opportunity to scoot out of the house, slipping quickly around the growling dog.
“Lily is in her room,” Samantha said as she rushed down the walkway toward the street.
Ian dragged Sadie into Marlow House and closed the door behind them. When he released hold of Sadie, she dashed to the window, leapt up on the window seat and began barking.
“Sadie, down!” Ian ordered.
“What’s going on out here?” Lily asked as she hobbled out from her bedroom.
“The only thing I can think of, she’s seen a mouse or something. I’ve never seen her act like
this, but the last couple days, she’s been acting strange.”
“Stop barking girl,” Walt said when he appeared a moment later. Sadie did as he suggested and sat down by the window. She looked over to Walt.
“We need to figure out someway to get rid of him,” Walt said. “But barking like that isn’t going to do it, and it’s just making Ian think there’s something wrong with you.”
Looking at Walt, Sadie cocked her head from side to side.
“At least she stopped barking.” Ian looked down at Sadie and frowned. “But what is she looking at now?”
“She’s just being a dawg,” Lily said as she took Ian by the arm, using him for support. “Help me to the kitchen, would you? I’d love a sandwich.”
Ian glanced down at a now calm Sadie. Shaking his head in confusion, Ian helped Lily make her way to the kitchen.
Glancing over her shoulder, Lily wondered what Walt had said to make Sadie stop barking. She didn’t doubt the cause of Sadie’s agitation—Stoddard Gusarov.
Chapter Seventeen
By his manner of dress and the beach towel tossed casually over his shoulder, an observer would assume he was a tourist. Strolling along the stretch of beach adjacent to the houses on Sea Cliff Drive, a camera in hand, the man seemed more interested in capturing photographs of waves breaking on the shore than what was happening in the nearby houses.
* * *
Joe parked his car in the street in front of the Sea Cliff Drive beach house. He had rented the property through the weekend, but he had moved back home after hearing about Danielle’s arrest on the radio and going down to the station. He was no longer in the mood for a vacation. Next time, he told himself, I’ll get out of town on my two weeks off.
While he had packed up most of his belongings, the day he had heard about Danielle’s arrest, he had left a few things behind and he still needed to clean up the place. There were linens to wash, a refrigerator to empty, and a barbecue to clean.
Joe was in the beach rental for fifteen minutes before he headed to the back patio. He didn’t notice the tourist with the camera in his hand and a beach towel slung casually over one shoulder.
* * *
The man paused in front of the house next to Joe’s rental. Hanging the camera by its strap over one shoulder, he spread the towel out on the beach. Glancing around, he brought the camera to his face and looked through the eyepiece, staring in the direction of the ocean. After a few moments of snapping pictures, he turned slightly, pointing the telephoto lens at the man cleaning the barbeque.
A moment later, he turned his attention back toward the ocean and then sat down on the towel. Setting the camera on the towel next to him, he glanced back at Joe’s rental one more time before removing a cellphone from his pocket and placing a call.
On his third call, he told the other party, “I think we have our answer.”
“You know who the witness is?” the voice on the other end asked.
“Joe Morelli. Apparently he was staying in the house next door.”
“Sargent Joe Morelli? The cop?” the person asked with disbelief.
“None other.” He stared out to the ocean.
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would he rent a house? He already has a house in town. Maybe he’s there because of the witness. Someone else is in the house.”
“No. I made a few calls. Seems he rented the place for his vacation.”
“Who are you calling? You’re going to screw this up if you aren’t careful!”
Stretching out on the towel he said, “Hey, I’m not the one who screwed this up! I thought you’d taken care of this possibility—made sure there were no neighbors around.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be anyone staying at the houses on either side. And they’re never rented out.”
He glanced over to the beach house. Joe was still outside. “One was this time. And to a cop no less.”
“Are you sure he’s the witness?”
“According to my sources, he was staying at the house alone. No one at the department had a clue he was still in town. By the looks of things, he’s cleaning up the place.”
“Crap. This really screws up the works. I thought everything was working out perfectly.”
“You know, I was never sold on this plan. It was too risky, banking on Stoddard surviving the shooting just long enough to name his killer to a reliable witness.”
“It obviously wasn’t that crazy. The plan would have worked had Morelli had the good sense to go to Florida for his vacation.”
“Well he didn’t.” He glanced back over at Joe, who was still outside.
“There is always plan B.”
Staring out to the ocean he asked, “Plan B?”
“Set up Darlene for Stoddard’s murder.”
“At this point? You think that would be a good idea?”
“Maybe not. Let me think about this and I’ll get back to you.”
“Fine. I’ll hang out here for a while; see if anyone else shows up. Maybe my sources were wrong and there was another witness.”
After disconnecting the call, he tossed the phone on the towel. Picking up the camera, he stood up and pretended to take more pictures of the ocean. Glancing over to the beach house, he watched as Morelli walked back into the house. It looked as if he was locking the sliding door.
Fifteen minutes later, the cellphone rang.
“Yeah. What do you want to do?” he asked when he answered the call.
“At this point, I think there is only one thing we can do. Go with our original plan and make it work.”
“How do you intend to do that?” He sat back down on the towel.
“We need to get rid of Morelli. He’s the only witness that alibis Boatman.”
“This is getting out of hand. We can’t kill a cop.” He glanced over to the rental.
“Do we have a choice? How do we turn back now? We’re in too deep.”
“It’ll just make the police more suspicious. Morelli is one of their own. If he suddenly dies—especially from unnatural causes—they’re going to be even more convinced Boatman is being framed and start looking in other places. And you know what that means. We did this to draw attention away from us. Killing Morelli only brings the spotlight back in our direction.”
“Did you know Boatman and Morelli have a history?” the person on the phone asked.
“What do you mean?”
“They dated briefly when she first moved to town.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“It means he had a motive to lie for her.”
“We know he didn’t lie,” the man on the beach reminded.
“We know that, but no one else does. He was one of the arresting officers when that all came down with Renton.”
“Must have cut their dating short,” he snorted.
“Rumor has it he still has a sweet spot for Boatman. Been trying to get back in her good graces.”
“Everyone knows Morelli is a straight arrow. If you’re trying to pitch the angle he fabricated an alibi for the woman just to get close to her again—”
“Men do all sorts of stupid things for women,” the person on the phone insisted.
“True. But how does killing Morelli convince the cops he lied?”
“If it looks like Boatman is the one who killed Morelli.”
“And why would Boatman kill her alibi?” Standing back up, he picked up the camera and hooked its strap over his shoulder. “What are you thinking?” Reaching down, he grabbed the beach towel and gave it a shake. Slinging the towel around his neck, he started walking back down the beach to where he had parked his car.
“If we just get rid of the witness, you’re right. That’ll only reinforce the cops belief Morelli was telling the truth and someone wanted to shut him up. But if they think Boatman killed him because he was going to come forward and admit he never saw her, then that changes everything.”
Walking down the beach, he glanced back at the rental house. “I don
’t see how you’re going to get rid of Morelli and frame Boatman for it—at least not how you’re going to make it believable. How do you plan to do that?”
“We need a professional to handle this one. Someone who can do the job at Marlow House.”
He readjusted the camera strap hanging over his shoulder. “Stoddard didn’t leave us any choice, we had to kill him. It was his own fault. I’m not thrilled about killing a cop, but if it has to be done, then I guess we do it. Not sure how killing him at Marlow House will convince the cops Boatman did it.”
“Boatman’s going to have to be sacrificed too.”
The man on the beach stopped walking. “Wait a minute, now you are talking about killing Boatman too?”
“Hey, you didn’t seem to have a problem when we decided to frame her for Stoddard’s murder.”
He started walking again. “Yeah, but that isn’t the same thing as killing her. She’s got money. I figured her attorneys would get her off with a light sentence—or off all together. It wasn’t about sending her to prison, just convincing the authorities she was guilty even if the jury disagreed.”
“Well, that isn’t going to work now. We need to set it up to look like she panicked and killed Morelli when she thought he was going to retract his story and then broke her neck while falling down the stairs.”
He stepped from the beach onto the boardwalk, leading to his parked car. “What about the other people at Marlow House? Too many people around.”
“Don’t worry about them. We’ll make sure everyone is out of the house but Boatman when we take care of Morelli.”
He reached his car and unlocked the passenger door. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” He tossed the towel in the back seat and set the camera on the passenger seat before closing the door and walking to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“Do you want to go to jail for Stoddard’s murder?”
“No. But I didn’t kill him.” He opened the driver’s door and got into the car.
“You’re an accessory to murder—we all are. None of us likes this, but we don’t have a choice. Are you with us?”
