Thirteen
Clint and Stephanie’s afternoon drive took them down the coast and back again. Before returning to Frederickport, they stopped for a late lunch at a little restaurant overlooking the ocean. Large picture windows dominated the west-facing side of the quaint rustic building, its exterior wooden panels aged by salt air and persistent sea breezes. Famous for its clam chowder, the restaurant’s special for the day was fish and chips. Clint ordered fish and chips while Stephanie ordered a sourdough bread bowl filled with piping hot clam chowder.
“I should feel guilty eating this,” Stephanie said while blowing gently on a spoonful of soup. She had tried to taste it, but it was too hot.
“Why?” Clint picked up the ketchup bottle and squirted some ketchup on his plate.
“The carbs are going to kill me.” She tasted the now cooled spoonful of soup.
“You don’t need to worry about carbs.” Clint picked up a French fry and dipped it in the ketchup.
“Oh, it is good. To heck with the calories. I’m going to enjoy this.” She took another bite.
Clint chuckled. “Babe, you look perfect how you are. I don’t think a bowl of clam chowder is going to hurt.”
“You’re sweet, Clint.” She ripped off a bit of the bread bowl and took a nibble.
“Just being truthful.” He popped the fry in his mouth.
“I wonder if they have clam chowder in France?” she asked.
“I remember once in college one of my roommates claimed it was the French who introduced clam chowder to the colonies. We were at the beach at the time, at some little restaurant.” Clint paused a moment and glanced around. “It kind of reminds me of this one. Down by Newport.”
“It’s a French dish?” Stephanie asked.
Clint shrugged and picked up a piece of fried fish. “One of the other guys there insisted the British introduced it, not the French. Never did find out who was right—I didn’t really care.” Clint chuckled. “But I bet we can get clam chowder in France.”
“I just can’t wait. There is so much to see! I’m so excited!” With a grin, Stephanie scooped up more soup with her spoon.
“Less than two weeks now, babe. I think you were right about me showing more interest in my family history. Sometimes I get so focused on what I want I forget to tie up the annoying strings.”
“Those annoying strings are what can get us in trouble.”
“I know.” Clint reached across the table and patted Stephanie’s hand. “That’s why I need you, babe. I’d never be able to pull this off without you.”
Officer Brian Henderson couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a date. His track record in the romance department wasn’t terrific. He had been married and divorced twice. His last serious relationship was with a married woman, and if it wasn’t for Danielle Boatman, he might now be serving time for murdering that ex-lover.
Over the last few months he kept running into Beverly Klein, the widow of Steve Klein, who had been the general manager of Frederickport’s bank until his fateful fall off the Frederickport Pier after going into anaphylactic shock.
Younger than Brian, in her mid-forties, Beverly was an attractive woman with startling green eyes, a trim body, and just the right amount of curves. Rumor had it she was an ex-beauty queen, and Brian never understood why Steve had been a habitual womanizer. He couldn’t fathom why Steve had taken up with Carla, a waitress from Pier Café. As far as Brian was concerned, Carla, with her ever-changing pastel-colored hair, wasn’t in the same league as Beverly Klein.
Another thing Brian couldn’t quite fathom—Beverly was interested in him. Joe had noticed it first and encouraged his partner to ask the attractive widow out. Brian finally took a chance—and she said yes.
It was their first date, and he was taking her to a little seafood restaurant on the outside of town, along the coast. The drive there would give them the opportunity to get to know each other a little better.
“I saw Marie Nichols’s house is on the market,” Beverly remarked. She sat in the passenger side of Brian’s car, watching the coastal scenery roll by.
“I was a little surprised he didn’t keep it and put it in his rental department.”
Leaning back comfortably in the seat and gazing out the side window, Beverly said, “Maybe Adam didn’t want to see renters in his grandmother’s house. I know they were very close. Plus, I imagine he can get a good price for it. I didn’t see what it’s listed for, but I heard she sold the Beach Drive house for over a million.”
“I guess Ian must do pretty well to afford a house like that.” Brian then muttered, “I think I’m in the wrong business.”
“He is a successful journalist. I’ve seen a few of his documentaries. Plus, I’m sure Lily got a good settlement from Stoddard’s estate.”
“True.”
“I heard Sunny took a plea deal,” Beverly said.
“Yes. But I think it was a mistake not to charge her for Marie’s death. Considering all the evidence; I think they could have made it stick.”
“She’s already going to prison. Does it really matter now?” Beverly asked.
“Yes. I think if someone does a crime, they should be held accountable.”
Turning to Brian, Beverly smiled. “And how do you define crime?”
Brian chuckled. “Isn’t that fairly obvious?”
Beverly shrugged. “Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, or the person didn’t intend for the inevitable outcome.”
“In Sunny’s case, there were no extenuating circumstances, and I’m sure when she put that pillow on Marie’s face, she knew exactly what the outcome was going to be,” Brian said.
When Brian and Beverly walked into the seaside restaurant twenty minutes later, they spied one empty booth by the front window. As the pair made their way to it, a man sitting at the next booth caught Brian’s attention. The man looked exactly like Walt Marlow—or at least the man depicted in the life-sized portrait sitting in Danielle Boatman’s home library.
The Walt look-alike was engrossed in a conversation with the woman sitting across the booth from him. The pair held hands across the table, and Brian caught a glimpse of the large solitary diamond glittering on her left hand. He wondered if this was the couple he had heard about, Walt Marlow’s cousin and his fiancée. According to Joe, the cousin looked just like the portrait, and if this was the man, he would have to agree.
Beverly failed to notice Brian’s fascination with the couple and instead continued to prattle on about some local gossip as they made their way to the empty booth. Just as Brian sat down—his back to the man who looked like Walt Marlow—Beverly excused herself to visit the restroom.
Waiting for Beverly, Brian picked up his menu and leaned back in the booth seat. Yet instead of focusing his attention on the menu items, he couldn’t help but listen to the conversation in the next booth.
“Danielle Boatman must be a little simple to hold onto that house and run it as a B and B,” the man told his companion.
“I think she’s a little simple not to just sell those portraits to you. Who would want those monstrosities in their house? Especially if they’re paintings of strangers. That’s just weird,” the woman said.
“Not my thing. Neither is Marlow House. That entire Second Empire mansard design does absolutely nothing for me,” the man said.
“By the way, I forgot to tell you I overheard Joanne talking to Danielle this morning. You know last night, when she told us she was going to have some friends over and said we were welcome to stay if we wanted?”
“I don’t know why she imagined we’d be remotely interested,” he said.
“Well, according to what I overheard, she originally planned that get-together so her friends could meet you,” the woman said.
“Why would we want to meet her friends? It’s our vacation. That’s rather presumptuous of her.”
“I guess she changed her mind. I think because you hurt her friend Lily’s feelings.”
“When did I do that?” the man asked.
“When Lily came up to us when we were at that little restaurant on the pier, and you pretty much told her you didn’t want to talk to her.”
The man laughed. “See. I told you it’s always best to be direct with people. Saved us time. You know I think it’s a waste to go through all that politically correct crap of pretending you care about getting to know someone when you really couldn’t care less.”
“I understand, Clint, but even you know sometimes you have to play nice.”
The man laughed again. “I love you, Stephanie. And I am playing nice with Danielle Boatman. I smile and everything.”
The woman giggled. “And it’s killing you.”
“Hey, I can be nice to Danielle Boatman if it gets us what we want. After that, I won’t waste my time on her.”
“Gosh, Clint, I hope you never get bored of me,” the woman said with a pout.
“Babe, that will never happen.”
After Beverly returned to the booth, the waitress arrived to take their order. After she did, the waitress brought the table next to them their bill, and less than ten minutes later, the couple Brian had been listening to left the restaurant.
“What is it?” Beverly asked when she noticed Brian watching the front door of the restaurant.
“That couple that just left, I think they’re staying at Marlow House.”
“Really?” Beverly craned her neck to get a better view, but the couple was no longer in sight. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself to them?”
Brian chuckled. “I don’t think so.”
Beverly frowned. “Why not?”
“They weren’t speaking very flatteringly of their host.”
“Really? I’ve always heard good things about Marlow House. I understand Danielle is an excellent cook.”
“Did you hear about Walt Marlow’s cousin coming to town? I’m pretty sure that was him sitting in the next booth.”
“Walt Marlow? You mean the man murdered in the attic of Marlow House?”
Brian nodded. “Don’t you remember seeing those life-sized portraits of Walt and his wife in the library at Marlow House?”
“Sure, why?”
“Because the one of Walt Marlow looks just like the man who was just in here. And according to Joe, who’s seen the guy, the cousin looks just like the portrait.”
“Wow. It must be a close cousin.”
Brian shrugged. “No idea. But considering the resemblance, he has to be a close relative.”
“Gee, then why didn’t you introduce yourself? I would love to have met this guy.”
Brian shook his head. “I don’t think you would. From what I overheard when you went to the restroom, he sounded like a major jerk.”
Beverly reached out and touched Brian’s hand. “Why, Brian Henderson, were you eavesdropping?”
Brian chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”
Fourteen
Lily entered the side yard of Marlow House through the unlocked gate and made her way down the walk to the kitchen door. Pausing at the back porch, she peeked in the side window and spied Joanne at the counter, prepping food for tomorrow’s breakfast. Lily knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for Joanne to answer; she walked right in.
Looking up from her work, Joanne flashed Lily a smile. “Afternoon, Lily. What are you up to today?”
Shutting the door behind her, Lily said, “Not much. Ian’s been in his office all morning working.”
“I thought he didn’t work on Saturdays when you’re off?”
Lily shrugged. “Something came up. So I thought I’d come over and see Dani. I noticed Clint’s van was gone. I’m assuming he’s not here?”
Joanne set the paring knife she had been using on the cutting board and then picked up a dish towel and wiped off her hands. She turned to Lily. “He and his fiancée took off early this morning. They didn’t even stay for breakfast. I’m not sure why I’m even prepping for tomorrow’s breakfast. I imagine it will be just Danielle and me again.”
“I’d be happy to come over and help you eat it if I knew he wasn’t going to be here.”
“I don’t know why, but for some reason I expected Walt’s cousin to be like him—or how I imagine Walt Marlow might be if I ever met him, considering the two look so much alike.” Joanne tossed the dish towel on the counter.
“I’m pretty sure the only resemblance between Walt and Clint are their looks. Beyond that, nothing alike.”
“I have to agree with you. One thing I know about Walt Marlow, he hired Brianna Boatman’s mother as a housekeeper when many people probably would not have, considering she was an unwed mother. That was rather taboo back then. And then he left her his estate because he understood how evil his brother-in-law was. Whereas Clint Marlow tried to get me fired just because I didn’t appreciate him making disparaging remarks about Marlow House.”
“Yeah, Dani told me. What a jerk. Where is she, by the way?”
“I think she’s still in the parlor. Mr. Hill is in the library, working on his paintings.”
“Have you seen them?” Lily asked.
“Not since he first arrived. I was surprised he’d already started working on them.” Joanne turned back to the counter and picked up her knife. She grabbed a bell pepper from a small stainless steel bowl and cut it in half.
“I guess he used the photographs Dani sent Clint to start them. I can understand. No way could he paint both of them in two weeks.”
“I haven’t seen them since then. He won’t let anyone in the library when he’s working, and when the library is open, his paintings are covered.” Joanne removed the seeds from the bell pepper.
“I’ll leave you to your dicing and go find Dani.”
“Is Walt here?” Lily whispered when she entered the parlor. She found Danielle lounging on the small sofa, reading a book.
Danielle glanced up over the open book. “He’s in with Macbeth.”
Lily closed the parlor door and walked to the chairs across from Danielle. She sat down.
“Although, when he comes out, I think I’m going to tell him he really doesn’t need to keep watching him,” Danielle said.
“What do you mean? I thought you were worried that they’re up to something?”
Closing the book, Danielle tossed it onto the coffee table. “I ran into Clint and Stephanie this morning. I understand why he wants the portraits.” Danielle then told Lily about their encounter at the cemetery.
“I still think he’s a jerk,” Lily grumbled after Danielle told her about the morning.
“What’s Ian doing?”
“Ever since you called this morning, he’s been locked up in his office.”
“I’m assuming he hasn’t found anything on the artist. He probably won’t.”
“I don’t know.” Lily shrugged. “I asked him why he didn’t search on his laptop in the living room with me. But he said it was easier for him in his office, so he could jot down notes. I checked in on him a few times, but he just waved me away. Rather annoying, really.” Lily frowned.
“Waved you away?”
“I have to assume he found something on Walt’s artist. Ian gets like that when he’s researching. He doesn’t like to share what he’s found until he’s put most of the pieces together.” Her cellphone began to ring. She pulled it from the pocket of her sweater and looked at it. “It’s Ian.” She answered the phone call.
“Come in my office,” Ian demanded.
“Umm…I’m not there. I’m across the street at Dani’s.”
“Good. Bring Danielle with you. Hurry. This is important. I found something.”
“Okay…be right there.” With a frown, Lily looked up at Danielle and tucked her phone back in her pocket. She stood up.
“You going back home?”
“Ian wants us both over there. He’s found something. It sounds important.”
When Danielle and Lily arrived, Ian was no longer in his office. They found him pacing the livi
ng room, his right hand holding several printouts from his computer’s printer.
Sadie didn’t jump up to greet them. She lay in the corner of the living room, her chin resting on her front paws as she watched Ian pace—back and forth. The moment Ian noticed Lily and Danielle standing at the entrance to the living room, he stopped pacing and faced them. Sadie lifted her head and looked to the new arrivals, her tail now wagging. Yet she made no attempt to jump up and greet them.
“You need to sit down,” Ian said impatiently, using his hand holding the printouts to point to the sofa.
Lily and Danielle exchanged questioning glances and then did as Ian instructed. Once they sat down, Sadie stood up and came to greet them, her tail still wagging.
“I found Walt’s artist,” Ian said excitedly.
“I sort of figured that.” Danielle reached down to pet Sadie, her eyes on Ian.
“This is big! Bigger than the Missing Thorndike!” He started pacing again.
“Ian,” Lily snapped, “sit down. You’re making us dizzy. What did you find out that has you so worked up?”
“How is it bigger than the Missing Thorndike?” Danielle asked. The Missing Thorndike was the necklace found hidden in Marlow House. Originally owned by Eva Thorndike, it had been stolen by Walt at Eva’s request, when she believed her ex-husband had switched the original gems for fakes. After Eva’s death a short time later, her parents had left the necklace to Walt in their will—should it ever be found. This meant that when it was found, it legally belonged to Danielle. The Missing Thorndike was valued at over a million dollars and currently resided in a safe deposit box at the local bank.
“As it turns out, your Jacque Jehan Bonnet is a very famous French artist.” Ian sat down on the recliner facing the sofa. Sadie wandered over to him and lay down by his feet, once again resting her chin on her front paws.
“According to both Eva and Angela, he was nothing more than a struggling artist. I don’t understand.” Danielle frowned.
“He didn’t become famous until the late thirties. According to what I found on him, he came from a very wealthy family in France. He was starting to get recognition in the art world when World War II broke out. His stepmother was Jewish, and when France surrendered to Germany, the family went into hiding and lost everything.”
The Ghost and the Doppelganger Page 9
