The Ghost Who Wanted Revenge (Haunting Danielle Book 4)

by Bobbi Holmes

  “It isn’t that Brian, can’t you see? I could lose everything.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would lose everything if you went to prison for Stoddard’s murder.”

  “That’s not what I mean!”

  “What did you mean?”

  Darlene glanced around nervously. “Us. People can’t know about us,” Darlene whispered.

  “There is no us, Darlene.”

  “There used to be. I don’t want people to start asking questions about us.”

  “What do you care? It’s not like Stoddard will divorce you. You’ve got everything you ever wanted.”

  “I just don’t want anyone to ever know I was unfaithful to Todd.”

  “I never thought you murdered your husband for me. You worried others will think that?”

  “Brian, have you told anyone about us?”

  “Like I said, there is no us.”

  “You know what I mean. When we were together, did you ever tell anyone about us? Joe perhaps?”

  “I don’t tell people my personal business, not even my partner.”

  “So you never told anyone, not even afterwards?”

  “No, never. But why does it matter now? Hell, now we can shout it to the world if we want.” Brian started to stand, pretending he was going to shout to the world of their affair. Darlene let out a horrified gasp.

  * * *

  Carla stood at the hostess station trying to memorize the menu. She had taken a night job as hostess, hoping it would turn into a waitress position. Servers at the seaside dinner house had to be bringing in bigger tips than she was earning at Pier Café.

  So far, she hadn’t memorized any of the menu items. Since coming on shift, she had been distracted, watching the interaction between Darlene Gusarov and Officer Henderson. Carla knew Brian; he was a regular at the café. She had waited on Darlene a number of times, but the woman wasn’t particularly friendly.

  Carla remembered Brian was the officer who had been with Darlene when she found her husband, shot and dying. Brian had been the one to hear Stoddard accuse Danielle Boatman of his murder. However, if the last newspaper article she read was correct, Danielle was innocent.

  Two men walked into the restaurant, interrupting Carla’s train of thought. She recognized one of the men; he occasionally came into Pier Café. She had never seen the second man. From their manner of dress, she assumed they were at the restaurant for a business dinner. While Pearl Bay was upscale compared to Pier Café, the male clientele rarely wore suits.

  “Good evening,” Carla greeted, picking up two menus. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “We’re meeting someone. She might already be here, Darlene Gusarov,” the man she recognized said.

  “Oh yes, she and Brian Henderson are already here.”

  “Brian Henderson?” the man frowned. “Officer Henderson?”

  “I thought we were meeting Mrs. Gusarov alone?” the second man said, looking at his companion.

  Carla dropped her voice to a whisper. “Brian was at the bar when Mrs. Gusarov came in. When he went over there, I just assumed that’s who she was waiting for, because he sat right down.”

  “We’re running a little late. I suppose we should be grateful she had someone to keep her company,” the man she recognized said.

  “Well, frankly, I think she’ll probably be relieved when you get to the table, so she’ll have an excuse to get rid of him.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?” the second man asked, glancing over at the man Carla recognized.

  “They seem to be having some sort of argument. She didn’t look happy, and he seemed angry. He even grabbed her.”

  “Grabbed her?” the men said in unison.

  “Well, just her wrist, but it did seem to upset her. Of course, he let it go. Brian is a police officer. Maybe it had something to do with her husband’s murder investigation.” Carla’s mind spun. She could imagine a dozen titillating scenarios for the display at Darlene’s table.

  “How so?” one of the men asked.

  “Considering how Officer Henderson was the one to find her husband, after the man had been shot, and how Mr. Gusarov practically died in their arms. I know there’s that ongoing investigation, what with Danielle Boatman being arrested for Mr. Gusarov’s murder, and then released. And then that man getting arrested for trying to kill Danielle Boatman and Joe Morelli and someone trying to frame Danielle for the murder.” Carla stopped talking and tried to catch her breath. Her heart pounded. “Maybe they are discussing the murder!”

  * * *

  “Please Brian, leave. Chuck is here,” Darlene pleaded.

  Brian glanced up to the front of the restaurant. “Who’s that with him?”

  “Just someone else who works for DCL. Please Brian.”

  Without saying another word, Brian stood up and walked from the table.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “What’s wrong with Carla?” Bill Jones asked Adam as they sat at the Pier Café lunch counter eating breakfast.

  Adam glanced over to Carla, who stood in the waitress station, her palms resting on the counter and her head bent down. If Adam didn’t know better, he’d swear she was sleeping standing up.

  “I heard she took a night job at Pearl Cove. By the looks of it, I’d say she worked last night.” Adam took a sip of coffee and resumed eating his breakfast.

  “So what’s going on with the Boatman woman? She’s been in the paper all week. First she gets arrested, then they drop the charges, and now I hear someone tried to kill her,” Bill asked.

  “Yeah, her and Morelli.”

  “I heard that. So what’s the deal?”

  “Looks like someone’s trying to frame her for Stoddard’s murder.”

  “She does know how to get herself in trouble.” Bill chuckled.

  “You should have seen Darleen tear into her at Stoddard’s funeral.”

  “I’m surprised you went,” Bill said. “Gusarov was a jerk.”

  “Grandma wanted to go. Danielle went with us.”

  “You two getting kind of chummy,” Bill snickered.

  “She’s alright.” Adam shrugged.

  “Yeah, alright to look at, if you can get past the ditzy.”

  “Whatever.” Adam took a bite of toast.

  “When you say someone’s trying to frame her, what do you mean?” Bill asked.

  “The murder weapon was planted in her car. And around the time Stoddard was killed, the trash truck was on the street, and the guys on the truck claim they saw a car like hers in the neighborhood and a woman matching Danielle’s description leaving Stoddard’s house. But Morelli claims it couldn’t have been her. He saw her over on Sea Cliff Drive at the time of the murder.”

  “So they think they were lying?”

  “Nah. The cops think whoever killed Stoddard had someone dress up to look like Danielle and then drive through the neighborhood around the time of the murder.”

  “Doesn’t she drive something like a Focus? I know at least half a dozen people in town with the same car and color.”

  “No. She recently got a new car. A red Flex.”

  “Hmmm…can’t recall seeing any of those in town. Of course, when I leave here I’ll probably see a dozen today,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.” Adam downed the rest of his coffee. “According to the article in the paper, there’s only one red Ford Flex registered to an owner in Frederickport: Danielle Boatman.” Adam popped his last bite of food in his mouth and then pushed his now empty plate to the other side of the counter.

  “I’m trying to remember what a Flex looks like.”

  “I don’t know—a short Suburban maybe? Although, Danielle’s sort of reminds me of a Woody with its grooved side panels and the white top.”

  “Thought you said her car was red.”

  “It is, with a white top.”

  Bill looked up at Joe. “I’ve seen a car like that in town. But I can’t remember where.”

 
“It was probably Danielle’s.”

  “No,” Bill shook his head. “It wasn’t. So I take it they haven’t figured out who was in that car, if it wasn’t Boatman.”

  “As far as I know. No.”

  “This is really going to bug me.” Bill tossed his napkin on his plate.

  “Why?”

  “Trying to remember where I saw that car. It was just the other day. Damn…”

  “They say the memory is one of the first things to go,” Adam snickered.

  “Oh shut up.” Bill stood up to get his wallet.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “You sure?” Bill asked.

  “Yeah, anyway I can write it off on my taxes.”

  Bill was gone when Carla returned to the counter to pick up the empty plates and drop off the ticket.

  “You paying for Bill’s?” Carla asked between yawns.

  “Nah, he said since you took so long to get back here, you could pick up his tab.”

  “What?” Panicked, Carla looked to the door. For a moment, Adam thought she was going to run after the handyman.

  Adam started to laugh. “I’m just kidding. Simmer down. What’s with you today?”

  Carla let out a sigh and leaned against the counter. “I’m just tired. I got home so late last night and had to be up before five this morning. These hours are going to kill me.”

  “Is the other job worth it?” Adam asked.

  “Hard to tell. They just have me hostessing right now.” Carla then grinned and said, “But I must say, my first night was very interesting.”

  “How so?” Adam asked.

  “Darlene Gusarov came in for dinner last night,” Carla explained.

  “Darlene is a regular merry widow,” Adam mumbled.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I saw her the other night at The Gray Whale, throwing back one too many and having a pretty good time.”

  Carla shook her head. “Well, this wasn’t like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was alone at the table, waiting for the rest of her party, when Brian Henderson joined her. They got into a fight. It got nasty. At one point, he even grabbed her. I thought they were going to start throwing punches.”

  “Brian Henderson? As in Brian Henderson the cop?”

  “None other.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “I don’t know, but it seemed pretty intense—and personal.”

  “Hmmm….”

  “I heard Darlene tore into Danielle at her husband’s funeral. Really made a scene. But I don’t know if it’s true,” Carla whispered.

  “It is. I was there. Danielle went to the funeral with Grandma and me. Darlene lit into her.” Adam paused for a moment, as if remembering something.

  “What?”

  Adam shrugged. “When Darlene was pitching her fit, Brian Henderson intervened. Took her off somewhere to calm down.”

  “Did he have to force her?”

  “Force her?” Adam wasn’t sure what Carla meant.

  “To go with him—when she was yelling at Danielle.”

  “No. In fact she seemed pretty comfortable with him.”

  “Well, they weren’t comfortable with each other last night.”

  “So what happened?” Adam asked.

  “Brian was still with her when the rest of her party arrived. They were just walking to her table when he took off. Didn’t say anything to them or me, just stormed out of the restaurant.”

  “Stormed out?”

  “Like he was pissed.”

  “Was he in uniform?” Adam asked.

  “No. Before she came in, he was sitting at the bar having something to drink.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Carla shrugged.

  “So you don’t have any idea what they were arguing about?”

  “No. But like I said, it looked intense and personal. I tell you what, I certainly wouldn’t want to get Brian Henderson pissed off. He gets a little scary.”

  * * *

  Bill Jones sat in his truck smoking a cigarette while flipping through the work orders on his clipboard. Adam kept him busy maintaining the rental houses in Frederickport Vacation Properties, yet that didn’t stop Bill from taking on side jobs. Sorting through the work orders, he removed the ones that had been completed and tossed them on the passenger seat.

  He added one of the completed work orders to the pile when a memory sparked. Frowning, he picked it back up, studying the paper a moment. It was for a vacation rental house on the south side of town.

  The job was a simple one: replace a fluorescent lighting tube in the garage. But he was running late that day, and he didn’t have time to stop at the hardware store, located on the north side of town, to purchase a lighting tube. He decided to borrow one from a rental house a few blocks away on Sea Cliff Drive. The second property was empty, and he had a key. He knew there were a couple spare fluorescent lighting tubes in the garage—he had put them there. He could borrow one; they were the same size, and then later, when he was at the hardware store, he could purchase a replacement. He didn’t call the owner of the Sea Cliff Drive property to ask permission; he didn’t see the point. After all, no one would miss the lighting tube.

  Tossing the work order and the clipboard on the passenger seat, Bill threw his cigarette out the window and started up his truck. Curiosity sent him back to the vacant rental property.

  A few minutes later Bill turned down Sea Cliff Drive. There weren’t any vehicles on the street and no sign of life. Most of the houses in this neighborhood were rentals and typically vacant this time of year, save for an occasional weekend visitor and the cat lady who lived on the corner.

  He pulled in front of the house where he had borrowed the fluorescent lighting tube. Parking the truck, he looked around and turned off the engine. Technically speaking, he wasn’t supposed to go into any of the houses he occasionally worked on without a work order. Some of the property owners, like this one, had given him a house key, making it more convenient to go in when needed.

  Rummaging through his glove compartment, he looked for the right key. Once he found it, he got out of the truck and sprinted up to the house. Standing at the front door, he glanced around, looking for any nosey neighbors. It took him just a moment to get into the house and make his way to the door leading to the garage. Once in the garage, he turned on the light. There it was: a red Ford Flex.

  “Damn,” Bill said aloud, walking toward the vehicle. When he had been here the other day, he was in and out, and paid little attention to the red car. Yet, he had seen it. The owner of the house had half a dozen vehicles, if not more. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to be parked in the garage during the off-season, when the house wasn’t being rented.

  Bill remembered what Adam had told him—no one in Frederickport, other than Danielle Boatman, owned a red Ford Flex. But the owner of this house lived in Frederickport. So who was the car’s registered owner? Was this the car the trash men had claimed to see on the day Stoddard was murdered?

  Curious to check out the vehicle’s registration, Bill walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Leaning into the car, preparing to open the glove compartment, he froze. There on the passenger seat was what looked like a long brown braid. He almost picked it up, yet thought better of it. There was something on the seat next to it—a red purse, a knit cap and gloves. Looking closer, yet not touching, he could see there was also something sitting on the middle console. A ski mask?

  Backing away from the car, he closed the passenger door.

  “Crap,” he muttered, heading to the door leading to the house. As he exited the garage, he turned off the light and hastily made his way to the front door. With his heart pumping, he locked up the house and returned to his vehicle.

  Once in the truck, he grabbed his cellphone off the dashboard. He was already driving down the street when he reached the person he was calling.

  “It’s Bill
Jones. I think I found something you might be interested in.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Using the remote control, he opened the gate leading to the Gusarov Estate’s private drive. After entering, he closed the gate behind him and parked the car on the side of the house, where it wasn’t visible to the street.

  Darlene had let the household staff go the day before. He wondered if it had been a shock to them. They had worked for Stoddard since before Darlene arrived. Yet, unlike Stoddard, Darlene could not speak Russian. It was never an issue when Stoddard was alive, and Darlene was more than content letting Stoddard direct the domestic help. As long as things were clean, laundry done, and food on the table, life was good. Unfortunately, being unable to communicate with the household staff proved frustrating. The new help would not be starting until next week, but by then, Darlene wouldn’t need them.

  Using the key given to him, he let himself into the house. Killing Darlene was never the plan—yet they had known it might be necessary, should things start falling apart. Things were falling apart.

  * * *

  Darlene didn’t know why he couldn’t just explain on the phone, but he insisted he needed to show her. It had something to do with Isabella’s estate. She drove Stoddard’s little T-Bird. He had rarely let her drive it when he was alive, yet since his death it was the only vehicle she drove. Of course they—now she—owned a half dozen other cars. But the T-Bird was fun to drive, especially on windy roads like this one.

  Just as she was about to keep driving, she saw him. She almost passed him by. Darlene didn’t recognize the vehicle. He must have gotten a new car. Pulling off the road, she looked in the rearview mirror, backed up and parked. Grabbing her purse, she got out of the car.

  It was sunny and in the high seventies. She wondered why he was wearing gloves and a bulky jacket on such a lovely day.

  “Thanks for coming,” he greeted, giving her a friendly wave when she walked toward him.