by Bobbi Holmes
And you’re just being demanding, as usual.
Before Joyce finished the cupcake, her eldest son showed up at the table.
“Where have you been?” Agatha snapped. “Why has everyone deserted me?”
“I’m still here,” Joyce reminded as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“I was checking out the house. I went upstairs to the attic. It’s pretty interesting,” Larry explained as he took a seat. “I didn’t tour the house last year. They have some great antiques upstairs. I bet Henry is salivating over them. Although, nothing needs refinishing. They’re in great shape.”
“That’s what I want to do. Did you see Henry? He promised he would take me!”
“No, I didn’t see him. You want to go upstairs?” Larry asked.
“Your mother won’t take me,” she grumbled.
“Your grandmother seriously expects me to help her up the stairs and then carry the wheelchair up two flights so she can see the house. There is no way. I’d end up falling and killing myself.”
“Henry said he’d take me,” Agatha said stubbornly.
“Yeah, well, Henry is great at making promises. Not so great at carrying through,” Larry muttered. He then looked at his grandmother and a thought popped into his head. “Ahh…Gran…you want me to help you?”
“You mean you’ll help me up the stairs? Carry my wheelchair up?”
“Umm…sure. But like Mom says, it’s a little dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt,” Agatha snapped.
“You sure you want to do this? Even if it’s a little risky for you?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not risky. Just a little inconvenient. Which is why your mother refuses to help me. God forbid I inconvenience her.”
Joyce rolled her eyes, yet reserved comment. She watched as Larry wheeled her mother into the house. When they were no longer in sight, she stood up.
AFTER FINISHING A GAME OF CROQUET, Evan decided to go back into the house and see what Walt and Danielle were doing. In the kitchen he found Joanne and several other adults. They were sitting around the table, chatting.
From the kitchen he dashed to the library. A number of people were lingering there, some sitting, some looking over the impressive collection of leather-bound books, and others were discussing the massive portraits of Walt Marlow and his wife.
“Do you think that’s what Walt Marlow really looked like?” one of them asked.
Evan wanted to say yes! But he withheld comment and took off to check the other rooms on the main floor. Just as he dashed out into the hallway, he almost ran headlong into an older woman who was walking in his direction. It was Agatha Pine. They both stopped and stared at each other.
“You’re running again!” she snapped. “What did I tell you about running? Rude child.”
Confused, Evan looked around yet didn’t see what he was looking for. “You’re walking,” he stammered.
She cocked her head for a moment and looked down at her feet. “Oh. So I am.”
“Where’s your wheelchair?”
“My wheelchair?” She frowned and glanced around. “I don’t know. It has to be around here somewhere.”
“You’re walking!” Evan exclaimed.
“Yes. And you’re running. And running in the house is even worse than running outside. I’ll have to have a talk with your father about this.” She then turned and marched down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Oh crud, I’m going to get in trouble,” Evan muttered, hanging his head and letting out a defeated sigh.
Evan’s worries were put aside the next moment when a loud shout came bellowing down from the second floor.
“Help! Someone help! Quick!”
Following the shout, people ran out into the hallway from all the rooms—the library, kitchen, living room, parlor, and even the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?” Danielle asked with a shout as she sprinted up the stairway leading to the second floor.
For Evan, he found the answer to one of his previous questions. There, sitting at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor, was Agatha Pine’s empty wheelchair.
WHEN DANIELLE AND THE OTHERS—those who were in Marlow House and heard the cries—reached the second floor, they found Shane Pruitt kneeling by the crumpled body of Agatha Pine. At the foot of the stairway leading down from the attic, Agatha’s motionless body lay sprawled on the second floor.
“Oh my god, I think she’s dead!” Shane said in a panic as his hands moved from his grandmother’s wrists to the base of her throat, searching for a pulse.
Kneeling by Agatha, Danielle rechecked the woman’s pulse as Shane stood up, backing away from his grandmother. Still crouched on the floor by Agatha’s side, Danielle looked up. “Someone call 911. We need to get the chief up here.”
Taking a quick inventory of those now standing around her, gawking, Danielle spied Joyce standing toward the back of the crowd. She made no attempt to rush to her mother, but instead stood speechless, watching.
AGATHA PINE WAS DEAD. It appeared as if her neck was broken. But they would have to wait to see what the coroner had to say before determining the exact cause of death.
Everyone who had been in the house at the time they found Agatha’s body was asked to wait in either the living room or library. While no one seemed anxious to leave—curious to find out what had happened—MacDonald instructed Brian to keep an eye on the people in the living room while Joe stayed with those in the library.
Chief MacDonald sat alone in the parlor with Shane Pruitt, listening to his account of the story.
“I was up in the attic, just checking it out. And then when I came back downstairs, I found Gran. She was just lying there.” Combing his fingers through his hair, he shook his head and hunched over, as if he might get ill.
“Do you know how she got there?” the chief asked.
Shane shook his head. “I have no idea. Last time I saw Gran, she was outside with Mom, sitting at the table in her wheelchair. I don’t even know how she got up those stairs. No way could she do it by herself.”
“And you didn’t help her up the stairs?” MacDonald asked.
“Me? No.”
THE SECOND PERSON MacDonald interviewed in the parlor was Ben Smith. Ben, an elderly man who donated a good portion of his time to the local museum, was one of the first people Danielle had met when moving to Frederickport.
“I was using the upstairs bathroom,” Ben explained. “I thought I heard something. Maybe someone slamming a door. My hearing is not great. When I stepped out into the hallway, I saw Agatha by the foot of the stairs and her grandson came running down from the attic and started shouting.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE this is happening,” Joyce muttered when it was her turn to talk to the chief. She sat in one of the chairs facing the sofa, her hands nervously fidgeting with the straps of her purse.
“How do you think your mother got up those stairs by herself?” MacDonald asked.
Joyce looked up from her lap into MacDonald’s eyes. “Well, she couldn’t. Not by herself. I told her it was too dangerous. I warned her it was not a good idea. But Henry told her he would help her up the stairs. He even offered to carry up her wheelchair.”
“Henry brought her upstairs? From what I understand, Henry was in the downstairs bathroom when his brother started shouting.”
Joyce shrugged. “Well, Henry said he was going to the bathroom. He didn’t come back to get Mother, so Larry took her.”
“Larry took her upstairs?” the chief asked.
Joyce nodded. “Yes. What does Larry say happened?”
“From what I understand, Larry isn’t here,” MacDonald explained.
Joyce frowned. “What do you mean? Of course he’s here. I just saw him not thirty minutes ago.”
“According to your daughter, she saw her older brother drive off shortly before we found your mother.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE THIS,�
� Danielle groaned when she walked into the parlor with Evan. She closed the door behind them.
“Is Walt with you?” MacDonald asked.
“No. He’s looking through the house, seeing if he can find any sign of Agatha.” Danielle plopped down on the sofa.
The chief noticed Danielle was no longer wearing the Missing Thorndike.
“Did you put it back in the safe?” the chief asked, nodding toward Danielle.
Absently touching her throat where the necklace had been just minutes earlier, Danielle nodded. “I figured with all that’s going on, it was foolish to deal with the Thorndike.”
“Have you seen her?” MacDonald asked.
“I did, Dad,” Evan piped up.
Danielle looked over to MacDonald. “When we were waiting for you to finish up in here, Evan found me and whispered what he thought he saw.”
MacDonald looked at his son. “What he thought he saw?”
“I didn’t know she was a ghost at the time,” Evan explained.
“It must have been right after the fall,” Danielle said.
Evan then went on to tell his father about his encounter with Agatha.
“She didn’t happen to say what happened to her, did she?” he asked his son.
Evan shook his head. “I didn’t even know she was dead.”
“I just hope Walt doesn’t find her and she has moved on. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I really don’t need a grouchy spirit like Agatha Pine hanging around Marlow House,” Danielle said.
“Not so quick. It would help if you could talk to her before she moves on,” the chief said.
“Why?” Danielle asked with a frown.
“Because I don’t think this was an accident. I think Agatha was murdered.”
NINE
Walt stood with Heather and Chris by the foot of the staircase on the first floor of Marlow House. Upstairs, the police had directed the curious observers to go downstairs, and now most of those had already been allowed to go home. By the commotion, Walt suspected they were preparing to bring Agatha’s body down.
“So no sign of our recently departed?” Walt asked as he waved his hand for a cigar.
Heather shook her head, and Chris said, “Just Evan. And I suspect that was right after the fall.”
“I hope that old witch doesn’t end up at my house,” Heather groaned. Twirling one of her jet-black braids between her fingers, she absently took its tip in her mouth and began to chew.
Chris turned to Heather and shook his head. “Pretty cold, Heather. The poor woman just died.”
“Oh please,” Heather scoffed. “She was a miserable woman in life, and I can’t imagine death will rehabilitate her. If anything, it could embolden her to ramp up her bitchiness. Plus, she lived a long life. If she was my grandmother, I would have been tempted to shove her down some stairs a long time ago.”
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Chris muttered, and then he asked, “You think she was murdered?” Chris looked up the staircase.
“The chief seems to think that,” Walt said. He then glanced over at Heather, who continued to chomp on her braid. “I’m pretty sure there’s plenty of food in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.”
Flashing Walt a scowl, Heather dropped the braid. It was no longer in her mouth. “Well, I know what I’m going to do.”
“What’s that?” Chris asked.
“As soon as I go home, I’m going to cleanse my house of spirits.”
“Bringing out the oils?” Walt asked with a chuckle.
“Go ahead and laugh. It works. Just be grateful Danielle won’t let me set them up here,” Heather retorted. With a flounce, she turned from the pair and headed for the front door.
“How do you work with her all day?” Walt asked as he watched Heather disappear out the front door.
Chris shrugged. “She’s not that bad. She’s actually a pretty good employee.”
“I thought she irritated the hell out of you.”
“So do you. But I don’t hold that against you.” Chris grinned.
Rolling his eyes, Walt shook his head and looked back up the stairs again. He took a puff off his thin cigar. “So if it was murder, which one of her family bumped her off?”
“You didn’t see anything, did you?” Chris asked.
“I told you. I was with Danielle in the living room, keeping an eye on the necklace.”
“My gut says it’s the grandson who found her. But supposedly the other grandson is the one who was bringing her upstairs, and he’s missing.” Chris noticed the chief walking toward them with Joyce by his side. When the pair reach them, Chris smiled sadly at Joyce and reached out, giving her arm a reassuring pat.
“Go on up. I’ll be right there,” the chief told Joyce. She gave him a nod and started up the stairs. MacDonald looked at Chris, and when Joyce was out of earshot, he said, “Please tell me the reason you look like you’re talking to yourself is that Walt is standing with you.”
“He is.” Chris glanced around, now concerned someone else might have observed him seemingly talking to himself.
“Walt, I’ve told each family member they can see Agatha before they take her. Can you please get up there and listen to what they say?”
“Playing private dick? I can do that.” Walt vanished.
With a snort, Chris said under his breath, “Oh brother, why does he have to say something like that and then disappear before I have a chance to retort? What a waste.” Chris chuckled.
“Is he still here?” the chief asked.
“He just left,” Chris told him. “I suspect he went upstairs, playing private dick.” Chris chuckled again.
“Private dick?”
“Nothing, just something Walt said.” Chris chuckled again.
“I need to get up there to tell them to give Joyce some privacy.” The chief dashed up the stairs.
“I DON’T KNOW if this day could get any stranger,” Ian told Lily. He stood with her in the living room doorway, looking out into the hallway.
“So much for Dani’s wish for a drama-free day,” Lily said with a sigh.
“A few minutes ago I heard the chief telling Agatha’s grandkids they could each go upstairs and have a few minutes alone with the body before they bring her down,” Ian said.
“So?”
Ian shook his head. “That just seems odd. I wouldn’t think they would want to see her like that, and normally those kinds of goodbyes are saved for the viewing at the funeral home. But maybe he wants to see how they react.”
“What do you mean, see how they react?” Lily asked with a frown.
“Maybe this wasn’t just an accident.”
“Yeah…I kind of got that drift myself,” Lily muttered. “But to push your grandmother down the stairs, pretty cold.”
“Or maybe your mother,” Ian suggested.
“Joyce is really the only one of that bunch that I know, and I really don’t see her doing something like that, but she did take Dani’s coins.”
“And did you notice Chris a few minutes ago? He was standing by the stairs, talking to himself.”
Lily shrugged. “Chris often talks to himself.”
Ian looked at Lily through narrowed eyes. “He does? I never noticed that before.”
After a few moments of silence, Lily said, “So much for fireworks.”
“You don’t want to go?” Slipping his hand into his pocket, he touched the tip of the pouch holding the engagement ring.
“No. Not really in the mood.” She turned to Ian. “Did you still want to go?”
Ian removed his hand from his pocket. “No…not really.”
“I think I’ll stay here and help Dani,” Lily told him, thinking of the possibility Agatha’s spirit might show up.
“I’ll stay and help too,” he offered.
“No,” Lily said a little too abruptly. She then forced a smile and reached out, patting Ian’s hand. “Why don’t you go out to dinner with your sister and Joe? They asked us to go, and s
ince Brian is going with them, it’s not like you’ll be a third wheel or anything.”
“You want me to be Brian’s date?” Ian asked dryly.
“Don’t be silly.” Standing on her tiptoes, Lily planted a kiss on his cheek.
Ian eyed her curiously. He made no attempt to return the kiss.
WALT WAS DYING FOR A CIGAR. Not dying exactly, Walt thought, considering I’m already dead. In spite of his urge, he resisted, worried that the smoke might distract Joyce, and considering his close proximity to her, there was no way she wouldn’t notice.
The chief had come upstairs and asked all his people to go on downstairs, to allow each member of the family to see the body before it was removed. If anyone thought the request unusual, they kept it to themselves.
Joyce had been standing next to her mother’s body for several minutes, simply looking down. So far, she hadn’t said anything, and if she continued in her silence, Walt imagined the chief would be disappointed. But then, Joyce stepped closer to Agatha and leaned down to the lifeless body.
When Joyce reached for the dead woman’s hand, Walt expected her to hold it. He hadn’t expected her to take her mother’s pulse and then drop the hand as if it were a piece of litter to be discarded.
“I just needed to be sure you’re really dead. It would be just like you to get our hopes up and then you shout surprise and ruin everything,” Joyce whispered to her mother. “God, I’m glad I came today.” Flashing the corpse a look of contempt, Joyce stood and walked away.
“Touching,” Walt muttered.
A few minutes later it was Agatha’s youngest, Shane, who came to see the deceased. Walt guessed the young man was about eighteen years old. If he didn’t know Shane no longer lived with his mother, he might assume the boy was a little younger. But since he had overheard someone saying Shane lived with several friends in a rental house, he assumed he was probably older than he looked.
Tall and slender, an average-looking boy with closely cropped dishwater blond hair and a pale complexion marred with acne, Walt thought him a forgettable-looking fellow.
“Hey, Gran.” Shane knelt by the woman’s side. Like his mother, he checked her pulse. “Yep, you’re dead. Bet you never thought this day would happen.” Still kneeling by her side, he stared at his grandmother for several minutes before saying, “I wondered if I would feel something. You know, maybe a little guilty? Maybe even a twinge of regret?” He stared at her for a few more moments and then said with a chuckle, “Nope. Nothing. By the way, Martha and Dennis declined the offer to come up here. Of course, Martha is making it look like she is so distraught—you know, doesn’t want to see you like this. I just think she doesn’t want to walk up the stairs.” Flashing the dead body a grin, Shane stood.
