The Ghost and the Doppelganger

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Walt was fascinated at how Macbeth fit the reproductions into the frames and adeptly replaced the backing. He had to admit, it was virtually impossible to tell the originals from the reproductions.

  The men carefully loaded Bonnet’s paintings into the crate, and when they were done, Macbeth relocked the container and slipped the key back in his pocket. Gathering up the tools, they quickly tidied the room.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow,” one of the men told Macbeth. “At the same time?”

  “Yes. I’m leaving first so I can get there and make sure everything is ready,” Macbeth told them.

  “You sure that’s a good idea? Letting Marlow take off with the paintings?” one of the men asked.

  Macbeth laughed. “He’s not going to double-cross us now. He doesn’t have the buyer, I do. Without me, he’ll be stuck with a couple of hot pieces of art that he can’t unload. If he tried to do this on his own and cut me out, he’d get a fraction of what I’ll be getting him, and he knows that.”

  “Oh dear,” Marie muttered. “It seems your cousin is a thief.”

  Walt let out a sigh. “It appears that way.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Marie asked.

  “It looks like they aren’t intending to take the crate out of the house now, so I’ll wait until Danielle gets back and discuss it with her.”

  Walt and Marie followed the thieves out into the hallway. After the three men left out the front door, Macbeth relocked it and took the suitcase of tools back to his room. Walt followed him.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Horsefeathers, Marie, you keep asking me that!”

  “Are you going to clobber him with something?” She followed Walt through the wall into the downstairs bedroom. There they found Macbeth, now sitting on the side of his bed.

  “No. I’m not going to clobber him. But I would like to see where he’s putting that key.”

  They watched as Macbeth removed the crate’s key and tossed it on the end table. He then pulled his cellphone from his pocket and sent a text message.

  At Pearl Cove, Danielle was just finishing up her dessert when Clint’s telephone buzzed. She glanced up and watched as he picked up the phone and looked at it.

  “It’s from Jim,” Clint said after reading the message. He looked up to Danielle. “He wants to know if you have any aspirin; he has a headache.”

  “Yes. Tell him there’s some in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom.”

  Eighteen

  Macbeth was in his room, the lights out, when Danielle returned to the house with Stephanie and Clint on Tuesday evening. She had driven back to Marlow House with them instead of going with the chief. The van had just a bench seat in the front, no seats in the back, which made for a crowded drive. Once home she thanked them again for the dinner, locked up the house, and then headed for her bedroom. When she got there, she found Walt waiting.

  “My cousin is a thief,” Walt announced when Danielle entered the room. Instead of responding to his proclamation, Danielle shut and locked her bedroom door, tossed her purse on the dresser, and arched her brows at Walt. Silently asking, What happened?

  Walt moved from where he had been standing by the fireplace to the right side of the bed, his shoes disappearing from his feet as he got onto the mattress, leaning against the pillows—still covered with the bedspread. He patted the empty spot to his left, waiting for Danielle to join him.

  Kicking off her shoes, she took the empty place next to Walt. They lay side by side on the bed, both fully clothed and shoeless, staring at the ceiling.

  “So tell me what happened,” Danielle whispered.

  After Walt told her about the evening’s unexpected guests and the switching of the paintings, Danielle silently contemplated all that she had just been told. Finally, she said, “Interesting, first Clint makes sure we all know it was the only key, and at the restaurant he makes a point of giving the key to Stephanie. Why?”

  “They made a show of loading the paintings this afternoon. I suspect he wanted to erase any future doubt you might have that anyone could have tampered with the crate. It’s probably why he wanted MacDonald to help load them, so he’d know firsthand it wasn’t something Macbeth could do on his own.”

  “Technically, he didn’t ask the chief. The chief volunteered. Clint wanted me to ask Ian,” Danielle reminded him.

  “Not so sure he did.”

  Danielle turned to Walt and frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Max told me this evening Clint was outside when Lily and Ian left for dinner. Clint knew Ian wasn’t home when he asked you to call him.”

  “Hmmm…maybe…but he didn’t know the chief was going to stop over.”

  “No. But he saw an opportunity. I suspect he intended all along to ask you to help him load the paintings, that way he would have a reason to ask you to dinner and get you out of the way while Macbeth made the switch.

  “He also wanted you to believe he held the only key to the crate, and while you were at the restaurant, he wanted you to know he had it on him. That way, when you got home, there would be no reason to believe it had been opened again. Of course, he also wanted you to help load the paintings so you would understand firsthand it wouldn’t be something Macbeth could do alone, even if he had managed to open the crate without the key. The chief arriving just sweetened his plan.

  “You have to remember, he probably figured you might someday discover the identity of the original artist, and when that time came, he wanted to shore up an alibi so you wouldn’t be able to accuse him of switching the paintings.”

  Danielle let out a sigh. “Considering the years this house sat empty, and the attorney my aunt had overseeing this property for years was a known thief and murderer, it would make it easy for Clint to avoid scrutiny, especially since we witnessed the reproductions being locked up in the crate before being removed from the house.”

  Walt nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Did you see Macbeth send a text message after those men left?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Did Macbeth come upstairs and go to the bathroom after he sent that message?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It must have been a signal to let Clint know it was safe to come home.” Danielle then explained the message Clint had received during dessert from Macbeth.

  “I’m sure it was,” Walt told her.

  “So, what do we do now? Call the chief and tell him what happened?” Danielle groaned. She leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes.

  “It’s going to be alright, Danielle.”

  “Is it? I really don’t look forward to another drawn-out court case. I’ll have to press charges. There will be all that negative press, again. I’ll have to go to the trial. Not to mention I’m going to have to concoct some story about how I know the paintings were switched, and that will probably involve running tests on the paintings to prove he has the originals. I was really hoping they would all just leave in the morning, and then I could figure out what to do with your paintings. I sure can’t keep them here. Even if your cousin hadn’t learned the truth about them, eventually someone else would.”

  “So, what do you want to do, Danielle?”

  Opening her eyes, she looked at Walt. “I just wish they could leave in the morning with the reproductions.”

  “Okay. That’s what they’ll do.” Walt smiled.

  Danielle frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll go switch them back.”

  “But should we do that? Won’t that mess up the chief’s case against them?”

  “I thought you said you don’t want a long drawn-out court case?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then I can just switch them back tonight while everyone is sleeping.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Certainly. In the morning they’ll leave believing they have the originals. By the time they discover they don’t, you’ll have moved my painting
s to somewhere more appropriate for art of that value—plus notified the museum about Eva’s portrait. While they won’t pay for their crimes in the typical fashion, I imagine whomever they try to sell those paintings to will not be forgiving when they realize they’re fakes. They’ll have some explaining to do.”

  “Just trying to figure out what happened will drive them insane.” Danielle chuckled. She then looked seriously at Walt and said, “I better not tell the chief about this tonight. He’ll want to arrest them.”

  “You’re probably right.” Walt studied Danielle. “Are you sure you want to do it this way? If you’re hesitant to have Clint arrested because he is my cousin, I—”

  “No, Walt,” Danielle interrupted. “That’s not why. I just…the thought of dealing with another court trial is exhausting.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  Danielle started to grin.

  Walt looked at her inquisitively. “What is it?”

  “I was just thinking how I handled Adam and Bill after they broke into Marlow House. I didn’t involve the police that time, and now look. Adam and I are friends.”

  “So, you think you might become friends with my cousin?”

  Danielle considered Walt’s suggestion a moment and then wrinkled her nose. “Nahh, that’s not happening.”

  Before Walt went downstairs, he checked on Clint and Stephanie. They were both sleeping, Clint’s arms wrapped around his bride-to-be while her head nestled against his bare chest. Walt’s next stop was Macbeth’s bedroom. Once there, he stood at the foot of the man’s bed. He wanted to make sure he was sound asleep. It looked as if Macbeth had been wrestling in his dreams, the way half of the blanket fell to the floor, the only thing preventing it from slipping all the way off the mattress was his left leg draped over it. Wearing just boxers and sleeping on his back, Macbeth’s belly rose slightly and fell with each snore.

  Walt spied the extra crate key sitting on the nightstand. He couldn’t very well take it through the wall with him, and he didn’t want to open the door and chance waking Macbeth. His only option was to slip the key under the door and retrieve it from the other side.

  “Where have you been?” Marie asked when Walt entered the library. “I’ve been waiting forever, and I kept worrying someone would come for the crate, and then what could I do if I couldn’t find you?”

  “I had to tell Danielle what happened tonight, so we could decide what to do next.”

  “And what did you decide?”

  Walt tossed the key he had been holding into the air. It floated over to the crate. “I’m going to switch the paintings back.” The key slipped into the lock and turned.

  “Didn’t Danielle call Edward? Isn’t he coming over? Arresting those men?”

  Walt shook his head. “No, Marie. Danielle doesn’t want to involve the police.”

  “So, she’s not going to tell Edward what happened?”

  “Yes. But after I switch the paintings back—and after Clint and the rest leave tomorrow.”

  The crate opened.

  “But—” Marie began, only to be cut off by Walt.

  “Quiet, please, Marie. I need to focus on what I’m doing. I don’t want to drop anything.”

  Marie let out a sigh and then sat back on the sofa and watched as Walt performed his spiritual magic. First, the originals lifted from the crate, one by one, and gently settled on the floor, leaning against the bookcase, waiting for their frames.

  Unlike Macbeth, Walt needed no tools to free the canvases from the frames. Once free, they floated across the room, each settling in the crate, Angela’s first, followed by Walt’s, the same order as the originals had been loaded.

  Marie watched in fascination as Angela’s portrait floated from where it had just been set to the antique frame and seemingly reinserted itself. Once it was in place, the material covering the back of the frame and canvas resumed its original position.

  Walt then turned his attention to his portrait. It levitated up from the floor and began floating across the room when suddenly Marie called out, “Walt!”

  His concentration momentarily broken, the portrait began falling. But the thud was not from the priceless art crashing to the hardwood floor—Walt managed to freeze it in midair—the thud was from Macbeth, now passed out at the doorway into the library.

  “He saw the painting flying through the air,” Marie explained.

  The two spirits looked down at Macbeth.

  “He’s fainted,” Walt muttered. “And I wouldn’t say it was flying.”

  “Odd, he didn’t look like the fainting type.” Marie looked up to Walt. “Now what?”

  Not wasting time, Walt looked over to his portrait still hovering in midair. It practically flew into its frame. Walt looked to the crate, its lid still open. He surmised Macbeth had probably seen not just the flying portrait but the open crate. The next moment its lid closed; the key secured the lock and then floated back to Walt.

  “What are you going to do?” Marie asked.

  “I’m going to put him back in his bed before he wakes up.”

  Like the paintings had done minutes earlier, Macbeth lifted off the floor, his unconscious body floating down the hallway. Just as they reached the door leading to the downstairs bedroom, it flew open.

  Walt was about to move Macbeth in the room when a dark shadow standing in the hallway caught his attention. He glanced over to it. It was Max, watching, his tail twitching back and forth.

  Walt looked to the cat. Their eyes met. Walt chuckled. “So, you think it’s funny as long as it’s not you?”

  Max meowed.

  “Hush, Max. He might not be able to hear Marie and me, he can hear you.”

  Max blinked but resisted his temptation to meow again.

  Macbeth’s body floated into his room. Just as he landed on the bed, he began to move. Walt quickly returned the key to the side table and closed the bedroom door.

  Macbeth jolted up in his bed. He looked around the room. It was dark. He glanced at the clock on the end table, noting the time.

  “That was one crazy dream.”

  Nineteen

  Wake up…time to get up…it’s morning…” Walt whispered.

  Danielle’s eyes flew open. She found herself curled up on her right side under a pile of blankets, looking into Walt’s smiling face.

  “I was having such a good dream,” Danielle said with a pout.

  “Was I in it?” Walt grinned.

  “No.” Disgruntled, she sat up in the bed, clutching the tops of her blankets. “Why did you wake me?”

  “Because your guests are up, and I thought you might want them to get that crate loaded, and keep them out of the library before they leave this morning.”

  “What are they doing?” Danielle glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was 7:32 a.m.

  “Macbeth was getting into the shower when I checked on him a few minutes ago. Not a pretty sight.” Walt sat down on the side of the mattress.

  “Is Joanne here?”

  Walt shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “And Clint and Stephanie?”

  “I know they’re awake; I could hear the giggles through the door. But I thought it best not to go in their room. Although, I expect they’ll be downstairs as soon as they finish…giggling.”

  Danielle cringed. “You know, Clint is such a jerk to everyone, but he does seem to sincerely care for Stephanie.”

  “Of course. Men are always nicer to women they can giggle with.”

  Danielle chuckled. “Why am I never going to think of giggling in the same way?”

  His blue eyes twinkling, Walt stood. “Get up, get going. We have a big day today, and tomorrow is your birthday.”

  “Oh…my birthday.” Danielle tossed the blankets aside. “All I want for my birthday is for it to get here.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Because then your current guests will be gone.”

  “And the sooner we get that crate loaded in Clint’s van, the sooner we can g
et them out of here. I imagine they are just as impatient to leave as we are to see them go.” Danielle picked her cellphone up off the nightstand.

  “Who are you calling?” Walt asked.

  “Ian. I know we could probably get the crate loaded without him—with me, Stephanie, Clint, and Macbeth, but considering Stephanie’s splinter yesterday—”

  “Despite what she said last night, I seriously doubt Stephanie will let the prospect of another splinter keep her from helping her load that crate, considering what she believes it’s holding.”

  “True. But that is assuming she knows. From what you heard last night, do you think she does?” Danielle asked.

  Walt considered the question a moment. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t really know. I would think so, but perhaps not.”

  “Plus, if Ian is here and I tell Clint he only has a few minutes to spare, it might get them to hurry up and move the crate, and I’m pretty sure once they get it in the van, they aren’t sticking around long.”

  Walt nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  Danielle focused her attention back on the cellphone.

  “But do you think it might be a little early to call Ian?” Walt asked.

  In the next moment, Ian voiced the same sentiment. “Danielle, do you know what time it is? You know, Lily has spring break this week. That means we get to sleep in. Unless, of course, someone calls us on the phone.”

  “Good morning, Ian. Aren’t you going to ask if there’s something wrong? Like, why am I calling you so early?”

  After a moment of silence, Ian hesitantly asked, “Is something wrong, Danielle?”

  “Yes. My houseguests are annoying, and I can’t wait for them to leave. Can you please, please come over right now and help them load the crate in the van so they can get out of here? Please.”

  “Crate?” Ian asked.

  “Yes. The crate with the paintings in it. It weighs a freaking ton and will take four of us to move it.”

  “I assume the crate contains the reproductions, not the Bonnets?” Ian asked.