by Bobbi Holmes
“The FBI? Wow, I guess you aren’t Jehovah Witnesses,” she mumbled. “Although, I suppose an FBI agent could be a Jehovah Witness…What in the world do you want to talk to me about?” Still holding onto the edge of the door, Danielle had not yet welcomed the officers inside.
“We’d like to come in and ask you a few questions about a friend of yours.”
“What friend?” Danielle asked, still not budging from the doorway.
Walt suddenly appeared next to Danielle, looking the men over. “So these are G-men?”
“Can we come in, please? It would be best if we discussed this inside, in private.”
Walt glanced over the men’s shoulders. “It’s just you two out there. Isn’t this private enough?”
Ignoring Walt, Danielle gave the agents a nod and opened the door wider so they could come inside.
“You know, it wasn’t called the FBI when I was alive. Back then, it was just called the Bureau of Investigation. And they didn’t call their agents G-men,” Walt told Danielle as he followed her to the living room, the two FBI agents trailing behind them.
“I was watching a movie,” Walt explained, “and heard the expression. I wondered why they were calling them G-men. Then I saw a special on the FBI. It’s quite fascinating how much one can learn from the television.”
“We can talk in here,” Danielle said as she showed them into the living room. Glancing over at Walt, she wished he’d stop talking.
“The use of G-man originated after they arrested Machine Gun Kelly. According to folklore, Kelly shouted, ‘Don’t shoot, G-men.’ Meaning, don’t shoot, government men. Of course, many believe that was fabricated by the press, and Kelly never said that.”
As the agents each took a seat, Danielle briefly turned their backs to them and faced Walt, hissing under her breath, “Hush!”
“Excuse me?” Agent Wilson asked from his place on the sofa.
Blushing, Danielle turned to the officers. “Umm…I heard my cat meowing for dinner. It’s too early.”
“That cat?” Thomas asked, pointing in the opposite direction to the fireplace, where Max was stretched out on the hearth, sleeping.
“Umm…” Danielle glanced to Max.
Walt chuckled. “You’re usually quicker on your feet than that.”
Taking a seat facing the sofa where the two agents sat, Danielle perched at the edge of the seat cushion, anxious to learn why they were here.
“I still say it’s Chris.” Walt sat down on the chair next to Danielle.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend Baron Huxley,” Wilson began.
“That’s who they want to talk about?” Walt shook his head and summoned a cigar.
“Baron Huxley? I know who he is, but I don’t really consider him a friend. More of an acquaintance. A new acquaintance.”
“Do you often fly off to dinner in other states with new acquaintances?” Wilson asked.
Danielle frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it true that Mr. Huxley asked you to fly to San Francisco to have dinner with him on Friday night?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t accept his offer.” Still frowning, Danielle asked, “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter? Was it supposed to be a secret?” Thomas asked.
“Not a secret, but it’s my personal business.” Danielle sounded less friendly than she had been when she had first answered the door.
“How long have you and Mr. Huxley been seeing each other?” Wilson asked.
“I’m not seeing Mr. Huxley,” Danielle snapped. “I barely know the man. I just met him.”
Agent Wilson was about to say something but paused and took a deep breath. He glanced around and then stood up. Looking at Danielle, he asked, “When was the last time Baron Huxley was here?”
Danielle shrugged. “He’s only been here one time, this past Friday.”
Wilson’s gaze locked with Danielle. In a menacing and threatening tone he said, “You’re lying.”
Walt bolted up from his chair and glared at the agent. Without pause, he waved his hand and in the next instant Wilson flew backwards, crashing into the sofa with such force it bounced him off again, sending the agent toppling to the floor by the foot of the sofa.
Thirty-Four
Agent Thomas managed to get off the sofa before his partner landed on the cushion next to him and bounced to the floor. Standing over Wilson, he offered him a hand and asked, “What just happened?”
Taking the offered hand, Wilson stumbled to his feet while shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know. It almost felt like someone hit me.”
Danielle flashed Walt a reproving glare.
“He shouldn’t have called you a liar. Very ungentlemanly like. And this is your home, Danielle. It’s never acceptable to come into someone’s home and insult them.” Taking a drag off his cigar, Walt didn’t appear the least bit sorry for his action.
Sitting back on the sofa, Wilson looked at Danielle. If she was startled or surprised with his recent collision into her sofa, she didn’t show it. The way she looked at him would make one believe she was quite used to seeing men flying across her living room and crashing into the furniture.
“Why did you call me a liar?” Danielle asked calmly.
“If Mr. Huxley hasn’t been here since Friday, why is it I can smell his cigar?” Wilson asked.
Agent Thomas stood and looked around. “You’re right! I thought I smelled something.”
Narrowing her eyes, Danielle glanced over to Walt.
Walt looked from Danielle to the cigar in his hand. “Huxley smokes the same brand?”
Still looking at Walt, Danielle arched her brows briefly and then looked back to the agents and smiled sweetly. “I don’t know anything about the cigars your Mr. Huxley smokes. But this is an old house, and I’ve been told before that it sometimes smells a little like cigar. I’m sure that’s what you smell.”
Agent Wilson stood up. “Then you wouldn’t mind if we look through your house.”
Danielle let out a sigh. “Well, you don’t have a search warrant, but since I don’t have anything to hide, go for it.”
“We’d appreciate if you’d stay in this room while we look around,” Thomas told her.
“Why certainly.” Had either agent been diabetic, Danielle’s hyper-sanguine tone might have sent him into a diabetic coma.
As the agents headed for the hallway, Danielle looked to Walt and gave him a little nod toward the doorway.
Grinning broadly, Walt stood up. “I’ll keep an eye on the G-men. Make sure they don’t get in trouble.”
Walt couldn’t help himself. As he followed the agents around the house, he randomly poked, tripped, and at one point grabbed Agent Wilson’s right earlobe and gave it a playful tug. Haunting, Walt decided, could be rather fun.
He was careful not to hurt either man—after all, they were simply doing their jobs, and just because one had spoken rudely to Danielle didn’t justify breaking any limbs—or necks.
By the time the two men returned to the library, Danielle thought they looked frazzled, reminding her of two little boys who’d just taken a tour of the haunted house on Halloween and had gotten far more than they had bargained for.
“Do you believe me now?” Danielle asked.
“We didn’t find Mr. Huxley, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. We could smell his cigar smoke all through the house.”
“Like I said, that is the way the house smells. You can ask anyone. What I don’t understand, why are you looking for Mr. Huxley? I’d assume you could find him at his house.”
“Mr. Huxley has been missing since yesterday.”
“I still don’t know why you think I might know where he is.”
The agents sat back down on the sofa.
“When you saw Mr. Huxley, did he say where he was going? Who he was meeting?” Wilson asked.
Danielle uncrossed and recrossed her legs while resting her elbows on the
chair’s arms. “As I told you, I barely knew the man. I first met him a little over a week ago when I stopped by to give my condolences to a friend who recently lost her husband.”
“Beverly Klein?” Wilson asked.
“Yes…” Danielle paused, suddenly hit by an aha moment. “That’s what this is about. You think he killed Steve Klein, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” Wilson asked.
Danielle shrugged. “Huxley gave Steve the tamales he ate on the night he died.”
“How do you know about the tamales?” Wilson asked. “I thought you weren’t that close to Huxley?”
“I think everyone knows about the tamales. So Huxley is really missing? You think he took off? Why did he kill Steve? I thought they were friends?”
“We’re here to ask you the questions,” Thomas reminded her.
With another shrug, Danielle uncrossed and recrossed her legs again. “I just figured it was my turn to ask a question.”
Thomas asked another question regarding her relationship with Huxley. In turn, Danielle went on to tell them exactly when and how they had met, about their second brief meeting at the real estate office, and finally about Huxley’s uninvited visit and dinner invitation.
“If you had just met Huxley, why did he offer to fly you to California for dinner? A rather extravagant first date for a woman he just met, especially considering his recent financial difficulties,” Thomas asked.
“Other than the obvious, my charm and beauty?” Danielle flashed them a grin and then with a more serious tone added, “Although it probably has more to do with my bank account. At least, that’s what one of my friends suggested.”
Thomas frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re the FBI, I thought you knew everything.”
“What did you mean, your bank account?” Wilson did not sound amused.
“It’s just that I…well, I have a lot of money.” Danielle let out a sigh. “That’s probably the real reason Mr. Huxley wanted to sweep me off my feet.”
“That’s why you didn’t accept his offer?” Wilson asked. “You suspected he was after your money.”
“No…actually I really thought he was after my charm and beauty,” Danielle said with a pout. “But I wasn’t interested. Heck, he is old enough to be my father. And yuck, the first time I met him he was all over—figuratively speaking—poor Beverly Klein. We talked about it afterwards. She thought she was imagining things, the way he seemed to be hitting on her. I didn’t think she was. So really, why in the world would I accept a date from a man like that?”
Before the agents left, Thomas handed Danielle a business card and asked her to call them if Huxley contacted her, to which she agreed.
Standing at the front door, Danielle watched the two men make their way back to their car and drive off. Taking her cellphone out of her back pocket, she dialed the police chief.
“Was it you?” she asked when he answered the phone.
“Were they there?” he asked.
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why in the world did you tell them about Huxley asking me out for dinner?”
Still talking to the chief on the phone, Danielle closed the front door and walked back to the living room to continue her phone call. What she failed to notice were the two spirits standing across the street in front of Ian’s house: Hillary and Antoine, who stood watching as the FBI agents drove away.
“You need to go talk to her,” Hillary told Antoine after Danielle shut her front door.
“What’s the point, she can’t see me.”
“Certainly she can. I told you Danielle can see spirits like us.”
Antoine shook his head. “No, I told you I tried. She was sitting in the restaurant with some guy and acted like I wasn’t even there.”
“Of course she did. If she was sitting with someone, she couldn’t let him know she could see you. He’d think she was crazy!” Hillary laughed.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“I’m sorry I was never able to help you.” Hillary reached out to touch Antoine’s shoulder, but her hand simply moved through his arm as if it were air.
“It’s not your fault. I was limited by the restrictions placed on me. If I could just settle this, I could finally move on.” Antoine looked at Hillary. “I’m so exhausted. I just want to move on.”
“Then let’s go talk to her,” Hillary insisted.
Lounging on the sofa, her feet up on the cushions, Danielle had just gotten off the phone and was about to tell Walt about her conversation with the police chief when Walt bolted out of his chair and stood, facing the doorway.
Sitting up, Danielle turned around and looked over the back of the sofa. There, standing in the doorway, were Hillary and Antoine.
“Hello, Danielle,” Hillary cheerfully greeted her. She looked at Walt. “Please be nice, Walt. I don’t care for that nasty look you’re giving poor Antoine.”
“Poor Antoine?” Danielle squeaked.
“He didn’t want to come over here,” Hillary explained. “And seeing Walt’s expression, I can’t say I blame him.”
Antoine stared at Danielle. “You can see me?”
With a sigh, Danielle stood up from the sofa. “Yes. I can. I met your sister, by the way.”
“Shirley, she’s here?”
Danielle shook her head. “I don’t think she is anymore. She told me she was leaving this morning. She stayed two nights at the Seahorse Motel, not far from here.”
“Why was she in town?” Antoine asked.
“You looked in Heather’s window. She saw you and didn’t know you were a ghost. When she reported it, the police had a composite drawing done. Your picture was in the local paper. She saw it.”
“Oh no,” Antoine groaned. Dejected, he slumped down in a nearby chair. “I didn’t want to drag Shirley into this…give her false hope. I don’t want her hurt any more than she already is.”
“Danielle, you need to help Antoine,” Hillary insisted.
“Absolutely not!” Walt roared. “I don’t appreciate how he just barges into her dreams, threatens Danielle—”
Hillary looked at Antoine. “Did you threaten her?”
Antoine shrugged. “I just told her to leave you alone. But in my defense, you were still alive at the time.”
Hillary let out a sigh. “He has a point, Walt.”
“He does?” Danielle and Walt said at the same time.
“Please, Danielle, do this for me. I’ve decided it’s time for me to move on—but I can’t do it unless you agree to help Antoine.”
“You’re ready to go?” Danielle asked.
Hillary smiled. “Oh yes!”
“What about your husbands?” Danielle asked.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to deal with them when I get there—wherever that may be—assuming, of course, they are there. Who really knows?”
“So why are we stuck with Antoine?” Walt asked.
Hillary frowned at Walt. “You’re not stuck with Antoine. In fact, Walt, you don’t have to do anything. Just let Danielle help him, I know she can. I believe the universe sent me to Marlow House in my last days to put these two together.”
Walt cocked his brow at Hillary. “The universe?”
“Or a guardian angel…or God…something did.” Hillary smiled.
“What I don’t understand, what’s changed since the last time we spoke?” Danielle asked Hillary.
“Antoine explained everything. He couldn’t before, not when I was still alive. But now I understand, but unfortunately I’m not in the position to help him, you are.”
“Why should she help someone who is a killer?” Walt asked.
“We aren’t really sure he is actually a killer,” Hillary said.
“I thought that’s what you saw in your dream?” Danielle looked from Hillary to Antoine. “Is she suggesting you showed her a dream where you were killing someone when, in fact, you didn’
t kill anyone?”
“Not exactly,” Antoine said in an unsure voice.
“Well, what is it exactly?” Walt snapped.
“The thing is…” Antoine explained, “I don’t know if I killed Melissa or not.”
Thirty-Five
“How could you possibly not know if you killed that poor woman?” Walt’s tone wasn’t the least bit sympathetic.
Antoine stood and faced Walt. “Hillary told me you didn’t know if you committed suicide or were murdered. So how is that any different?”
“That’s patently untrue,” Walt insisted. “I knew I didn’t kill myself. I simply didn’t know how I died. That is entirely different.”
“Perhaps you need to sit down and explain what you do know,” Danielle told Antoine.
Antoine looked to Hillary, who returned a nod of encouragement. They both sat down.
“I was researching a business owned by Baron Huxley and Steve Klein,” Antoine began. “Their company claimed to help homeowners who were struggling to pay their mortgage payments or were behind in their payments. I had reason to believe it was really a scam.”
“So you didn’t really know Baron’s wife, Melissa?” Danielle asked.
Closing his eyes briefly, Antoine let out a groan and leaned back in the chair. In the next moment, he opened his eyes again and looked at Danielle. “Oh, I knew Melissa. I met her when I first started investigating her husband’s business—but she had no idea who I was. I never meant for it to happen…but…well, we fell in love.”
“Did she know you were investigating her husband?” Danielle asked.
Sitting up in the chair, Antoine shook his head. “No, not until that night. Her husband was out of town. It was right before Valentine’s Day. She was talking about leaving her husband, and I knew I had to tell her everything.”
“How did she take it?” Danielle asked.
“She was furious with me.” Antoine paused a moment and fidgeted with his red bow tie.
Danielle leaned closer to Antoine. She hadn’t noticed before, but his red tie was embossed with tiny red hearts. “Are those hearts?”
