The Ghost and the Baby

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “Danielle usually puts on a good spread, kind of hard to say no. But if she’s serving chocolate cake for dessert, I might pass on that,” Brian said.

  Joe chuckled. “I don’t know. Danielle bakes a pretty good chocolate cake.”

  Now at the police car, Brian opened the back door and set the evidence bag on the back seat. Just as he closed the door, he heard a woman call out.

  “Woo-hoo, Officer Henderson!”

  Standing by the police car, Joe and Brian looked down the street to see Pearl Huckabee rushing in their direction.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Huckabee,” Brian greeted her when she reached them.

  “Aren’t you arresting anyone?” she asked, slightly out of breath from running.

  “Umm, for what?” Brian asked.

  “It was drugs, wasn’t it? I saw you confiscating contraband next door. I told you there was going to be a problem allowing those Marlows to operate an illegal motel. And it is illegal, if you ask me. Operating without a business license. Some people think they can skirt the law by finding a loophole. Hopefully this will make the city see I was right, that they need to shut down Marlow House once and for all before this happens again. Something like this can blow up out of control, and then you’ll really have a problem on your hands. I was right all along. Why aren’t you arresting anyone?”

  “I have no clue what you are talking about. What drugs?” Brian asked.

  Pearl glanced to the back car door where she had seen Brian deposit the plastic bag. “Isn’t that what was in the bag?”

  Brian shook his head. “No. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

  “Then why are you here? Something happened. I have a right to know what is going on. If the Marlows are allowing strangers to stay next door to me and bringing illegal activities into this neighborhood, then I want to know! I have my rights.”

  “We aren’t here because any of the guests did something wrong,” Brian told her.

  “Then it was something the Marlows did?” Pearl asked.

  “No. Walt and Danielle did nothing wrong. But we need to go now,” Brian said as he reached for the handle of the passenger door.

  “Why were you called here? As a citizen, I have the right to know when the police are called to my neighborhood. I have a right to protect myself,” Pearl insisted.

  “Ma’am, a bird dropped a suspicious object in Danielle’s backyard, and she wanted us to see it,” Joe explained.

  “What kind of suspicious object?” Pearl asked.

  “It hasn’t been officially identified yet,” Brian explained as he opened the passenger door. “So we really can’t say. But I’m sure when it is identified, you can read about it in the police report in the newspaper. Now, we really do need to get back to the station. Happy Easter, Mrs. Huckabee.”

  Pearl frowned as both men climbed into the police car. She watched silently as the vehicle pulled away a few minutes later, disappearing down the street.

  Easter dinner was to be served in thirty minutes. The guests gathered in Marlow House’s living room, enjoying appetizers and beverages—cocktails and wine for the adults, and soda for Brenda and Tammy. Chris and Heather had arrived twenty minutes earlier, joining the raffle guests for the evening. They had just been updated on the strange events of the afternoon. In the fireplace, flames flickered and danced, and several guests stood nearby enjoying its warmth. Faye sat on one of the chairs with a glass of wine, a knit afghan draped over her knees to keep her warm.

  “I don’t believe it’s real,” Faye told them.

  “It sure looked real,” Brenda grumbled.

  Faye shook her head. “I suspect it is exactly as that one officer suggested. Nothing more than a broken piece from some Halloween skeleton that the bird picked up from the trash.”

  “You’re probably right,” Chris agreed.

  “But the other is better story fodder,” Jonah said with a laugh. “Very Alfred Hitchcock. But having a piece of garbage drop from the sky, not very exciting. But I have to agree, it’s not real.”

  “You didn’t get a good look at it,” Brenda argued.

  Danielle was about to voice her opinion when the doorbell rang. She left her guests to answer the door while they continued to debate the subject.

  “I’m glad you decided to join us,” Danielle said after she opened the front door to Brian Henderson.

  “Thanks for asking me,” Brian said as he stepped into the house. “I’d like to talk to you alone for a minute before we see the others.”

  “Sure.” Danielle shut the front door and motioned to the parlor. “We can talk in there.”

  Once alone in the parlor, the door shut, Brian said, “It was real. And it wasn’t a bear.”

  “A bear?” Danielle frowned.

  “Sometimes skeletal remains of a bear claw can be confused for a human hand. But I didn’t think it was a bear skeleton when I looked at it. But I was hoping it wasn’t real.”

  “So it wasn’t part of a Halloween skeleton?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not unless someone was using a real human skeleton as a Halloween decoration.”

  “So what now? Look for the rest of the skeleton? Run DNA tests to identify him? Or her?”

  “We won’t know anything for sure until they finish their tests. But they think it’s old.”

  “How old?”

  “Old enough that there isn’t a sense of urgency. Typically, when older skeletal remains are found, it doesn’t have the same urgency as remains buried within the last fifty or so years. Chances are, no one is currently looking for the person, and if there was foul play, the guilty party is probably already dead.”

  “So you think it’s that old?”

  Brian shrugged. “It won’t be conclusive until they run some tests. But it’s going to take a few weeks before we know more.”

  “Either way, it’s pretty creepy,” Danielle said with a shiver.

  Brian glanced over toward the sofa. “Creepier than a dead body in here?”

  “Gee, do you always have to bring that up?” Danielle asked.

  “Or the dead body at the base of the attic stairs?” Brian asked, glancing up to the ceiling.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “Or the dead body in one of the upstairs guest rooms…”

  Danielle rolled her eyes. “Enough already. You want a drink?”

  Brian laughed. “Yeah. I could use a drink.”

  Twenty

  The late afternoon sunshine streamed in the parlor window at Marlow House. Walt sat alone in the room, smoking a thin cigar and contemplating his life and recent choices. Effortlessly he blew out smoke rings, watching them as they drifted up to the ceiling and disappeared. Angela had once been fascinated with the trick, but she soon grew bored with it—as she did with everything else. Taking another drag off the cigar, he drew in the smoke without inhaling. After forming an O shape with his mouth, he used his tongue to expel some of the smoke in a series of rings. Like the others, they floated upwards and vanished.

  He could hear the housekeeper singing as she cleaned the floors in the entry hall. She was always singing some quaint Irish song. Katherine was Irish too, but he couldn’t recall her ever singing while she worked. Tossing his cigar in the nearby ashtray, he wondered how long this new girl was going to be here. Angela had obviously brought her in to replace Katherine while she was away. He would be happy when Katherine returned. He didn’t care for strangers coming and going in his home, and Katherine did her work without making a lot of noise.

  The woman was singing a new song now. It was about whiskey and loose women. Walt chuckled and wondered what Angela would think if she heard the lyrics. He found it amusing the new housekeeper was so free with her music; it wasn’t as if she assumed she was alone in the house. Just minutes earlier she had cleaned the parlor while he sat on his chair watching her. She was a bold thing, shamelessly belting out provocative ditties while flashing him impish grins. If the woman wasn’t old enough to be his mot
her, he might assume she was actually flirting with him.

  The singing stopped. Walt sat there a moment and listened. He then heard the front door slamming shut. He suspected the housekeeper had left for the day. When cleaning Marlow House, she typically saved the entry hall for last, exiting out the front door so as not to leave footprints on the newly polished wood floors.

  Walt leaned back in his wingback chair and picked up the cigar from the ashtray. He would enjoy some quiet time before Angela returned home.

  “Hello, Walt.” A female voice broke the silence.

  Startled by the unexpected sound, Walt looked up and found Maisy Faye standing in the open doorway from the entry hall, smiling in his direction. She wore a stylish pillbox hat atop her blond curls; it sat at a sassy angle. The hat matched the full-length gray coat she wore over her red and white polka-dot dress. Maisy’s blue eyes fairly sparkled in that mischievous way she had, and the corners of her mouth tugged upwards in an impish grin. Her white gloved hands held a small handbag.

  “Your housekeeper let me in,” she explained, stepping into the room. “And I could smell your cigar, so I assumed I would find you in here. I hope it’s okay if I came in.”

  “You’re always welcome, Maisy Faye.” Walt motioned to the sofa across from his chair. “Please, come sit down and keep me company while I wait for Angela.”

  “She’s not back yet?” Maisy asked as she took a seat on the sofa, making no attempt to remove her coat. She sat primly, her back straight.

  “No. Sometimes I wonder if she ever will.”

  Maisy laughed at the suggestion. “Don’t be silly, Walt. I ran into her just a little while ago. I don’t think you need to worry. She isn’t going anywhere.”

  “You didn’t happen to ask my wife what’s taking her so long?”

  Maisy shrugged. “She was busy arguing with someone. You know how she loves to argue. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “I suppose she will be home soon enough, and then she can argue with me.”

  Maisy flashed Walt a smile. “I don’t know why anyone would want to argue with you. If you were my husband, I would just want to make you happy.”

  “You’re sweet, Maisy. But I suspect Angela would not agree with you.”

  “Oh piffle. Angela doesn’t know what a good thing she has! And I told her so!” She looked to the front window briefly and back to Walt. “Have you seen George lately? I still haven’t met him.”

  “No. He hasn’t been by in a while. But I suppose he’s busy these days, married and now a father.”

  “I think you will make a wonderful father someday,” Maisy told him.

  Walt fiddled absently with the cigar in his hand. He looked down at it, making no attempt to smoke it. “I’m not sure that is ever going to happen.”

  “Can’t Angela have children?” Maisy blurted. She immediately blushed after the words left her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Sometimes things just slip out of my mouth before I think.”

  “So what are you doing today?” Walt asked, changing the subject.

  “I stopped in to say goodbye,” she told him.

  “Goodbye? Where are you going?”

  “I heard from my mother. She’s having my father come and get me. I’m going home,” she explained.

  “When will you be back?” Walt asked.

  Maisy shrugged. “I don’t think I will be back.”

  “Not coming back? But I’m going to miss you,” he said.

  She flashed him a soft smile and lowered her eyes briefly. “You are so sweet.”

  “I’m not sweet. Hardly sweet,” he grumbled.

  “I think you are. And I’ve enjoyed our talks. I’ll miss them.”

  “Then don’t leave,” he told her. “Stay.”

  “I suspect your wife will be relieved when I leave.”

  “Angela doesn’t care,” Walt insisted. “She understands our friendship is purely platonic.”

  “I need to go, Walt. My parents want me to come home. They say it’s time.”

  Walt let out a sigh. “I suppose I’m being selfish. But I am going to miss you.”

  “And I’ll miss you. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed our time together. I don’t think you realize how helpful you’ve been.”

  “I’m just glad I was able to help.”

  Maisy stood up. “Be happy, Walt. You deserve happiness.”

  Walt looked up to Maisy, studying her a moment. “You look content. You want to go home, don’t you?”

  Maisy nodded. “I…I didn’t think I wanted to. But I think it’s time.”

  “And that beau of yours, will you see him?” Walt asked.

  Maisy shrugged. “Mother says he has been asking about me. Wanting to know when I’m coming home—if I am.”

  “So he’s waiting for you still?” Walt asked.

  Maisy grinned. “Yes. He is.”

  “He loves you, Maisy. Real love never dies—even when two people are parted. And you still love him, don’t you?”

  Maisy nodded shyly. “I do.”

  Walt’s eyes flew open. He stared up at the ceiling. If not for the nightlight plugged into the nearby socket, the room would be completely dark. He felt movement in the bed. It took him a few moments to get his bearings.

  “Danielle?” It was more a question—an urgent question.

  “Walt?” The lamp on the other side of the bed turned on. Danielle, now sitting up in bed, looked over at Walt. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Walt sat up in bed and shook his head. “Not a nightmare exactly. But it was a strange dream.”

  “The way you called out to me, it sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

  Now sitting up in bed next to Danielle, Walt looked over to her and said, “I dreamt about Maisy Faye.”

  Danielle arched her brow. “Are you talking about the elderly woman sleeping in our downstairs bedroom, or that attractive blonde I should be worried about?”

  Walt chuckled. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But no, it wasn’t about Faye. And to be honest, it felt more like a memory than a dream.”

  “Was it a dream hop?” Danielle asked.

  Walt shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Although I imagine the Maisy Faye of my dream is probably dead by now, considering I knew her when I was still married to Angela.”

  “Did you figure out who she was?” Danielle asked.

  “No. Not really. But so much was familiar in the dream. Like I had experienced it before.”

  “Déjà vu?” Danielle asked.

  Walt nodded. “I suppose. It was like I was watching a movie that I had already seen.”

  “So who was this Maisy Faye? What did you learn about her?”

  “She looked just like I remember. But there was nothing between us. So it’s not like she was a girl I dated in college and just couldn’t quite remember.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I made a comment in the dream about how we were just platonic friends. Oh, and Angela, I was married to Angela in the dream, and Maisy knew her.”

  “You did say you thought Maisy might have been one of Angela’s friends.”

  “I got the impression she was more my friend than Angela’s.”

  “Why is that?” Danielle asked.

  “Just by what was said. At least I have a general time of when I knew her—assuming the dream was more a memory. And like I said, it felt like a memory.”

  “Where were you in the dream?”

  “I was in the parlor, here, in Marlow House. And another thing, in the dream there was another housekeeper. Katherine still worked here, but she was away for some reason, and the new housekeeper was someone Angela hired to fill in. Funny thing, now that I’m awake, I can’t recall Katherine ever leaving while I was married to Angela, or being replaced, even temporarily, by another housekeeper. But the woman was so familiar. I know I’ve seen her before. I remember her songs. It was a memo
ry.”

  “Her songs?” Danielle frowned.

  “Yes, the housekeeper, the one filling in for Katherine, she would sing these little Irish ditties. You know, funny little songs. She had a thick Irish accent. Plump woman, probably in her fifties, with red frizzy hair and ruddy freckled cheeks. I can remember her cleaning Marlow House. At least…I think I do. But I know she was cleaning the house in my dream.”

  “Walt, it was also a dream. Just because a dream might show something that actually happened in real life, it doesn’t mean the dream will portray the event exactly as it occurred. For example, this plump housekeeper who liked to sing, she might have cleaned the house of some friend of yours, or maybe she was a waitress somewhere. It could be anything, even something you watched on TV.”

  “I suppose. But the dream felt so real, as if I was reliving a memory.”

  “So tell me about your Maisy. What did you learn about her?”

  “For one thing, she was not my Maisy. I was married to Angela, and she had a beau back home.”

  “She wasn’t from Frederickport?”

  Walt shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure she was just visiting for some reason. She was preparing to go home and stopped by the house to say goodbye. I remember feeling sad that she was leaving—like I was going to miss her—but also happy, because I knew she was anxious to see her family and boyfriend again.”

  “Well, at least I no longer have to worry about your Maisy Faye,” Danielle cheerfully announced before leaning over and dropping a quick kiss on Walt’s lips.

  “Why is that?” Walt asked with a chuckle.

  “Because you just said she had a boyfriend. And it certainly didn’t sound like you were jealous she was going back to him.”

  Twenty-One

  Danielle took her place at the end of the table while Joanne brought out the rest of the food for breakfast. Removing the napkin from beside her plate and placing it over her lap, Danielle looked up the table at Walt, who smiled back at her. Faye sat to Walt’s right, and Jonah sat next to his left. The couple from Portland sat on Jonah’s side of the table, while the sisters sat across from them. The guests began filling their plates, passing the serving platters to their right after they had taken what they wanted.