by Bobbi Holmes
“What’s wrong?” Danielle asked after Carla left the table.
Heather shook her head. “You don’t need to hear my troubles.”
“What are friends for?” Chris asked.
Heather looked up into Chris’s eyes and asked in a somber voice, “Are we friends?”
“Well, certainly,” Danielle said quickly.
“Not just friends, but neighbors and onetime roomies. Well, we were practically roomies.” Chris grinned at Heather.
“I’m sorry if I sound like a drama queen. But first I find Steve’s body and then the peeping tom…”
Danielle reached over to Heather’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “That’s right, you found Steve’s body. It’s totally understandable that you’d be upset.”
“It wasn’t just Steve. I also found Jolene. Damn, it’s like I don’t even want to go on the beach anymore!”
“What’s this about a peeping tom?” Chris interrupted.
Heather picked up the glass of water Carla had filled when taking the order. She took a sip and then said, “I saw a man on the beach when I found Steve, but he took off, didn’t help. But then last night, the jerk was looking in my window!”
“What window?” Danielle asked.
“My living room window. He was standing in the planter, looking in. Of course, that idiot Joe Morelli points out there are no footprints in the planter, so I guess that makes me delusional or something. He is such a jerk.”
“What did the guy look like?” Chris asked.
“Looked like he was in his early thirties. Nice looking, if he wasn’t a freaking peeper. Weirdo was wearing the same thing yesterday that he had on the day before, a black suit and a red bow tie. I mean who wears a red bow tie, much less a suit, when walking on the beach? The jerk.”
Danielle’s eyes darted to Chris; their gazes locked. She knew they were thinking the same thing. Hillary’s muse. Heather had seen Hillary’s muse—or more accurately, the ghost who had been hopping into Hillary’s dreams for over a decade, showing her real murder scenes, which she then had used as inspiration for her books.
“I’m just so tired of it all.” Heather looked as if she was about to cry. “I wish it was me instead of Hillary.”
“Heather!” Danielle gasped. “You don’t mean that!”
Chris set his beef dip on the plate and studied Heather.
“I don’t? Look at me, Danielle, what do I really have in my life? What better way to go than in my sleep? I wouldn’t want to go like Steve. I keep trying to set things right, but crappy things keep happening to me. Karma can be such a bitch.”
Danielle took Heather’s hand in hers. “Heather, you aren’t responsible for what your great-grandfather did. And yeah, some crappy things have happened lately, but you’ll get through it. If you ever need a shoulder, I want you to know I’m here for you.”
Nine
“This muse thing concerns me, especially considering Heather’s mental state,” Chris said after they had finished lunch, and Heather had said her goodbyes. He sat alone with Danielle in the booth, waiting for Carla to bring the bill.
“What do you mean?”
“Heather seems unstable—more unstable than normal. I think she’s suffering with real depression. She looks horrible.”
“It doesn’t look like she’s slept for days. But what does that have to do with the muse?” Danielle asked.
“Remember when I suggested that maybe the muse was an opportunist? An evil one. According to Hillary, in her first dream the killer was the muse. We wondered how the muse happened to show up at all those murder scenes; after all, we know ghosts aren’t clairvoyant, they can’t tell the future.”
“At least we don’t think they are,” Danielle reminded him.
“True. But from our experiences, we’ve never heard of a ghost who can see into the future.”
“I’m still not sure what you’re getting at.”
“I wonder if maybe the muse just wanders around, looking for confrontation, and when he finds it, eggs it along. Like in Jolene’s case, maybe he used his powers to help Pete find that wine bottle. If he hadn’t, maybe Pete wouldn’t have killed Jolene in a fit of anger.”
“So what does that have to do with Heather?”
“What if the ghost senses Heather is facing an emotional crisis. She’s vulnerable, plus she is susceptible to paranormal influences. What if he nudges her toward…suicide?”
Danielle cringed. “I don’t even want to think about that. But I see what you mean. Maybe we need to talk to the chief.”
Absently stroking his chin, Chris asked, “Exactly how is that going to help? Is he going to put an all-points bulletin out on a ghost?”
“Of course not. But maybe if we can figure out who the muse is—or was—then maybe we’ll have a better idea on how to handle him.”
“I don’t want to handle him. Walt’s about the only ghost I want to put up with these days. And that’s only because I have no other choice,” Chris grumbled.
“When have we ever had a choice in all this? You certainly didn’t with Trudy,” Danielle reminded him.
“Exactly. Which is why I’m reluctant to seek out any restless spirits.”
“Don’t you want to help Heather?”
Chris sat quietly for a moment and then reluctantly agreed. “I suppose we don’t have a choice. I don’t want Heather to do anything stupid, and I certainly don’t want you to deal with this muse fellow alone.”
“I think I saw him yesterday.”
Chris frowned. “Where?”
“On our street. It was a few doors down from Heather’s, so maybe it was about the time he looked in her window.”
“If she saw him at the beach, then maybe he figured out she could see him, and that intrigued him. Maybe that’s why he was looking in her window,” Chris suggested.
Before Danielle could respond, Carla came to the table.
“I think I changed my mind,” Chris said when Carla handed him the bill.
“What, you want me to pick up the tab?” Danielle teased.
Chris grinned. “No, I’m paying.” Chris handed the bill back to Carla. “But I’ve decided I want dessert. Apple pie. Warm it up and add a scoop of vanilla ice cream, please.”
Carla, who seemed to be only half present mentally, took back the ticket and then looked at Danielle. “You want something?”
Danielle sighed. She considered the question for a minute. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Give her a hot fudge sundae. Extra fudge. No nuts,” Chris instructed.
After Carla left the table, Danielle chuckled. “I think you know me too well. But I really shouldn’t.”
“Aww, screw it, life’s short. And you can afford a few extra calories.”
“Not really.” Danielle sighed again.
“You look great to me.”
Just as Carla returned to the table with the desserts, the diner door opened. It was Adam Nichols. The minute Adam walked into the diner, he spotted Danielle and Chris and headed to their table.
“That looks good. I think I’d like some pie too,” Adam said. “But first bring me a cheeseburger.” Without invitation, Adam sat down on the booth’s bench next to Danielle, forcing her to hastily scoot over toward the wall.
“Hello to you too,” Danielle halfheartedly grumbled as she dragged her dessert to her end of the table, yet not before Adam grabbed the spoon and helped himself to the first bite of the ice cream. When he started to take a second bite, Danielle snatched the spoon from Adam.
“No double-dipping!” Danielle looked at the spoon and then realized she didn’t have a clean one.
Adam laughed. “Sorry. That was bad of me.” Adam stood up and snatched a clean spoon from the next booth. He handed it to Danielle.
“You aren’t sorry.” Danielle took the spoon.
Across the table Chris chuckled and scooped up a bite of pie.
“True. But are my germs really that scary?” Adam asked with a faux pou
t.
Danielle scrunched her nose at Adam. “Seriously? I don’t even want to imagine what kind of stuff you’ve picked up.”
Adam frowned and then slumped back in his seat. “I wish you were right. Sad to say my life is boring.”
“Have you heard from Melony?” Chris asked.
“Nahh. But I didn’t really expect to.”
“How come? I thought you two had something going on. I like Melony. I think she’s good for you.”
“Lord, Danielle, now you’re starting to sound like Grandma.” Adam groaned.
Danielle shrugged and took a bite of her sundae. “At least I figured you’d be talking to her about her mother’s house. I thought she was going to list it.”
“She isn’t ready to sell yet. I don’t think she knows what she wants to do with it.”
“I sort of got the idea she wanted to move back to Frederickport,” Danielle said.
Adam shrugged. “She talked about it, but I don’t think she was serious. She has a pretty good practice back in New York. Plus, her divorce isn’t final. I wouldn’t be surprised if she holds onto the house for a while and then calls me one day out of the blue to have me sell it. But move back to town? I don’t see that seriously happening.”
“I like Melony. Hope she at least visits,” Chris said.
Adam sat up in the booth and leaned forward, turning to Danielle. “So what is this about Hillary Hemingway dropping dead at Marlow House?”
Danielle frowned. “She didn’t exactly drop dead. The poor woman died in her sleep.”
Adam shrugged again. “Same thing.”
“We’re pretty sure she had a heart attack.” Danielle scooped up a spoonful of fudge.
“And what’s this about Steve Klein? Holy crap. They’re dropping like flies around here!” Adam shook his head.
“They say he fell off the pier when he was fishing,” Chris said.
“Yeah, I read that. You think he was drinking?” Adam asked.
Just then Carla came to the table to refill the water glasses. “Your order is almost up.”
“Hey, Carla, were you working the night Steve fell off the pier?”
Carla flinched at the question. She stared at Adam, frozen to the spot as if unable to move, oblivious to the fact the pitcher of water she was pouring was about to overfill the glass. Adam reached out and grabbed the pitcher, tipping it upright just as the water began to spill onto the table.
Danielle and Chris quickly grabbed napkins to soak up the water while Carla stood mute, frozen to the spot.
Gently tugging the water pitcher from her grasp, Adam studied Carla. “Hey, are you okay?”
Without a word, Carla turned and fled from the booth, disappearing into the kitchen.
“What in the hell was that about?” Adam asked.
“I guess she’s upset over Steve’s death,” Danielle suggested.
The next stop for Danielle and Chris was the police station to see Police Chief MacDonald.
“I just heard from the coroner,” the chief told them after they each took a seat in the office.
“Was it a heart attack?” Danielle asked.
“Yes.” Edward MacDonald leaned back in his office chair.
“Thanks for getting that address for me,” Danielle told him. “I boxed up everything this morning. Chris helped me take it to the post office. I found her new book, by the way.”
“She finished it?” the chief asked.
“She told me she intended to finish the first draft, but that she’d have to go through it again. I’m pretty sure that’s what this was. I imagine her publisher will hire someone to go through it before it goes to the final editor.”
“Did you read it?” MacDonald asked.
Danielle shook her head. “No. I didn’t really have time. Walt’s read it, though. He used to stand behind her shoulder and read while she was writing.”
“So annoying,” Chris muttered.
“That would drive me insane!” MacDonald said with a laugh.
“Well, Hillary didn’t know he was standing there,” Danielle reminded them.
MacDonald smiled. “I guess not.”
“Now I just have to wait for them to pick up her car,” Danielle said. “But I didn’t stop by just to talk about Hillary.”
“What do you need?”
Danielle then proceeded to tell the chief what she knew about the recent sightings of Hillary’s muse, and of her and Chris’s concerns regarding Heather.
“So Heather really did see someone looking in her window?” MacDonald asked.
“I’m certain of it. I can’t imagine she would just happen to come up with a description of a man who perfectly matched Hillary’s muse.”
“How is it Heather has never seen Walt? She stayed at Marlow House for a while. She saw the ghost of Presley House, Jolene, Hillary, and now this muse character. Why not Walt?”
“I think she did get glimpses of him. But I have a feeling her paranormal abilities are getting stronger. The last few times she’s been by the house, Walt’s made himself scarce. Now that he knows she could possibly see him, it’s easier for him to avoid being seen,” Danielle explained.
“So what now?” the chief asked.
“Danielle suggested that if we could identify this ghost, figure out who he was, then maybe we’d have a better idea on how to handle him. Perhaps even encourage him to move on.”
“You honestly think he played some role in Jolene’s murder? In all those other murders?” the chief asked.
Danielle considered the question a moment before responding. “I still believe a spirit is very limited in his or her capacity for physical violence. Yet that doesn’t mean it’s not possible they might be able to harness enough power to do harm. Look at Darlene. Maybe she didn’t drive Chuck’s car off the side of the road, but she frightened him enough to cause the accident.”
“If we want to identify this spirit, I suppose we could start with a police artist. You’ve seen him, right?”
“Yes, but I only got a good look at him in the dream. Maybe you could ask Heather. It would probably make her feel better to think you are really looking for this guy.”
“Unfortunately, he’s out of my jurisdiction.”
Danielle smiled. “You know what I mean.”
The chief considered it for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll have her come in, see if we can get a good likeness of this guy.”
“I sort of wish Hillary hadn’t left so abruptly,” Danielle said with a sigh.
“It often happens that way,” Chris reminded her.
Danielle nodded.
“How do you know she moved on?” the chief asked. “Heather saw her in front of her house, and according to her, she was going down to the beach. Maybe she’s still there. Have you tried looking?”
“I haven’t gone looking, but my house does face the ocean. I haven’t seen any sign of her,” Chris said.
“What about Steve?” the chief asked.
Chris and Danielle shook their heads no.
“How is that investigation going?” Danielle asked. “I saw his wife yesterday. Lily and I went over there to take her some food and give her our condolences. She said she hadn’t planned the funeral yet, that she didn’t know when they’re releasing his body.”
“And they probably won’t for a few days,” the chief said.
“Why is that? From what I read in the paper, it looked like he simply stumbled and fell off the pier. There was some mention of him hitting his head as he fell, but that there were no other marks on his body to indicate foul play,” Chris said.
“I can’t go into it right now. But the blow to the head didn’t kill him. And it wasn’t exactly a simple drowning.”
“Do you suspect foul play?” Danielle asked.
“It’s possible.” MacDonald glanced from Danielle to Chris. “And I expect whatever we talk about not to leave this room.”
“Fair enough,” Chris agreed. “I suppose I should tell you about
Carla’s odd behavior at the diner this afternoon.” Chris then went on to tell the chief what had happened after Adam had asked Carla about seeing Steve the night of the accident.
“That really doesn’t surprise me, considering everything, and the fact she was the last one to see him alive.”
“She was on the pier with him?” Chris asked.
“No, in Pier Café. He went in to buy some coffee, and she waited on him. As far as I know, no one else saw him after that.”
“Maybe she’s with her body,” Danielle blurted out.
Both Chris and the chief looked to Danielle.
“Carla’s with Steve’s body?” Chris frowned.
“No, silly. Hillary. Maybe Hillary’s with her body. You know spirits are often attracted to their own bodies. Before they move on, they always seem to want one final look—not sure why, to make sure they’re really dead, maybe? I don’t know. But they do. And they often don’t move on until after their service. So if Hillary isn’t wandering on the beach, maybe she’s at the morgue. Her body’s still here, isn’t it?”
“It’s at the funeral home. They’re having her cremated here and then sending her ashes to Vancouver for the memorial service.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Danielle said. “Any word on when the service is?”
The chief shook his head. “No.”
“So what about it, guys? Should we go see if we can talk to Hillary before she moves on? It would probably be my last chance to ask her any more questions about her muse.”
Ten
Before leaving for the funeral home, Danielle called Lily, telling her where she and Chris were heading. She asked Lily to pass on the information to Walt. Both Danielle and Chris were a little reluctant about going to the funeral home. Neither one was especially anxious to bump into any lost spirits. As it turned out, there were no spirits lingering at the funeral home, not even Hillary’s.
“How can they call themselves a funeral home; not one stinking ghost,” Danielle said as she got out of Chris’s car. She slammed the door shut and looked into the open window. Chris sat in the driver’s seat, the engine running. They were parked in front of Marlow House.
