Danielle smiled. “If you will check Kenneth’s medical records, I imagine those legs will match. He lost part of his right leg in the war.”
“But the letters—” the chief began. “It’s well known both Daisy and Kenneth corresponded with family and friends after they supposedly left Frederickport.”
“At the Fourth of July party, I met an elderly woman named Margaret Richards. She told me her sister had been a close friend of Daisy Morton. Daisy had come to her, telling her about eloping with Kenneth, and how she was afraid of her sister.”
“Afraid of Faye? I thought you told me Faye was the sweet sister; it was Daisy who was the wild one. And that Faye had changed after her sister ran away with Bakken,” the chief argued.
“According to Margaret, Maisy was not as sweet as everyone thought.” Danielle then told the chief about the letter Margaret’s sister had mailed for Daisy from Los Angeles. When she was finished, she asked, “Perhaps Maisy found out about the elopement before they had a chance to leave—and in a fit of rage, killed them both.”
“But by that time the letter was on its way to LA to be mailed,” Walt interjected.
“And when the letter arrived from Los Angeles, maybe it gave Maisy an idea. She’d arrange to have other letters mailed to friends of Daisy’s, so they would believe she was alive. She had the money, could easily hire someone to do it. And from what I understand, Kenneth only sent one letter to his family—and that was not really a letter, more one word, sorry,” Danielle explained.
“Being twins, she probably felt more comfortable forging her sister’s handwriting, but not Kenneth’s,” Walt suggested.
“And she conveniently killed Kenneth off a year or so later, in another country, so his family wouldn’t wonder why he never returned to Frederickport. After all, if he hadn’t died, it wouldn’t make sense for him to stay away from his parents and sister indefinitely. Toynette said they had been close.”
“I’ll see if I can find any medical records of Kenneth Bakken that I might be able to use to identify those remains. I’ll also see about getting a warrant for Faye’s DNA. In the meantime, this can’t get out,” the chief said.
Thirty-Five
“You actually think this Maisy Faye could have killed her boyfriend and sister?” Lily asked Danielle later that afternoon. They sat on the back porch having lunch with Walt. “Did she seem capable of that?”
“I liked her. She seemed nice,” Danielle said. “But she’s ninety-five. I have no idea what she might have been like when she was younger.”
“I liked her too,” Walt said. “But someone killed those people and buried them next door, and the male victim certainly matches Kenneth Bakken’s description.”
“What I don’t understand, after Kenneth supposedly died in Europe, didn’t any of his family ever go to visit his grave?” Lily asked.
“You have to remember this was decades before the internet. According to Toynette, they never knew where he had been buried, and they weren’t sure how to look. Daisy never stayed in one place, and while she sent letters to friends, she never gave a return address. It was always a one-way conversation.”
“Are you still going out to the funeral home to talk to her son about the museum project?” Lily asked.
“Yes. Plus, it will give me the perfect opportunity to ask Norman questions without sounding suspicious. I talked to the chief about it, and he agreed.”
“You don’t think Norman has any idea his mom might have offed her own sister, do you?” Lily asked.
“I doubt it,” Walt said. “Faye seemed to sincerely care about her son. He was born long after any of this happened. So I can’t imagine her burdening him with any of that knowledge—if it is true.”
Later that afternoon Walt and Danielle sat with Norman Bateman in his office at the funeral home. Danielle had just explained the museum exhibit to him and asked him if he would be interested in participating.
“Most definitely. I’m proud that Morton Funeral Home has been in our family for three generations,” Norman said. “And I will definitely make a donation.”
“That’s wonderful. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the business so I can get an idea of how we might put together your section at the exhibit?” Danielle asked.
“Certainly. Ask away.” Norman grinned.
Once again Danielle was struck with how much Norman Bateman physically resembled the fictitious Norman Bates. Pushing that thought aside, she reached down to her purse and pulled out a notepad and pen. In doing so, her cellphone slipped from her purse onto the floor, unnoticed.
“I understand your grandfather died here after falling down the stairs?” Danielle asked.
“Yes.” Norman nodded. “He was alone and his office was upstairs. According to my mother, he had a bad knee. It was a terrible accident.”
“He had two daughters, but your mother inherited, is that correct?” Danielle asked.
Leaning back in his desk chair, Norman folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Like you know, my mother was a twin. According to Mother, her sister, Daisy, was spirited and misunderstood.” He smiled softly. “I think it always bothered Mother that her father left the business to her and wrote her sister out of the will. It put a wedge between the sisters, damaged their relationship. As much as Mother loved her father, I don’t think she ever forgave him for writing Daisy out of the will.”
“Couldn’t she have shared the inheritance?” Walt asked.
Norman shrugged. “I suppose she would have—had Daisy stuck around. But the damage was already done, and Daisy was understandably bitter. I don’t know how much you know about the story, but she ran off with Mother’s fiancé at the time.”
“With Kenneth Bakken,” Danielle said. “We talked to his niece this morning. The nursery is also participating in the museum exhibit.”
Norman nodded. “Yes, Kenneth Bakken. According to Mom, she wasn’t heartbroken over Kenneth breaking up with her—despite what everyone thought at the time. She always claimed they really weren’t right for each other. Mother said when she met Dad, she knew he was the only one for her.”
“Your father used to work for your grandfather and then left for a while to work in Portland?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. My father found a higher paying job in Portland. After he left, Grandfather hired someone to replace him. Of course, when he hired the man, he wasn’t thinking of someone to take over the business. At least, not in the immediate future. And when my grandfather died unexpectedly, Mother soon discovered the man he’d hired was not equipped to run the business. She was faced with selling or finding someone to replace him. Then she remembered my father.”
“You said your mother knew he was right for her when they first met—was that when he worked for her father, before his death?” Danielle asked.
Norman smiled. “No. While my mother met Dad the first time he worked here, she didn’t really know him then, aside from the fact her father thought highly of him and wanted to kick himself when he let him get away. After Grandfather died, and Mother realized the man he had hired to replace my father was not going to work out, she called Dad and asked him to meet her. Dad always said she made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. They fell in love not long after he came to work for her, married, and the rest is history.”
“When they married, they moved into the house you live in now?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. But if things had been different, we might be neighbors.” Norman smiled.
“Because your parents would have stayed at the Beach Drive house?” Walt asked.
“Mother always said she sold the house impulsively—a gut reaction to losing her father. Which is why she wanted to buy it back. But now, well, frankly, I’m glad they never accepted any of our offers.”
“Why is that?” Walt asked.
Norman arched his brows at Walt. “Those remains they found. I certainly wouldn’t want to be dealing with all that. It’s not terrific PR for a funeral direc
tor to have remains show up on private property they own.”
“But they could have been put there when your mom still owned the property,” Danielle daringly suggested.
“I certainly can’t imagine my mother or aunt having anything to do with that. Digging two graves? No. And my grandfather? Considering his physical shape at the time, no way. But I’ve heard stories about the people who bought the property. They seem a little shady to me.”
“Like you know, the granddaughter of the people who bought it from your mother lives there now,” Danielle reminded him.
“Yes. I understand they were able to get DNA from the remains, so hopefully they’ll be able to identify them,” Norman suggested.
“They haven’t been able to yet,” Danielle said.
Norman shrugged. “I suppose testing for DNA doesn’t always provide answers. Not everyone is anxious to have their DNA tested.”
“Have you ever had it done?” Danielle asked.
“No. I don’t have any kids, so I don’t really see the point. Plus, my mother is opposed to it.”
“Why?” Danielle asked.
“My mother is superstitious. She’s opposed to having our DNA tested, insists it will be put to some nefarious use.”
Walt and Danielle exchanged quick glances.
“I suppose we’re getting off track,” Norman said. “What else do you want to ask?”
“Umm…perhaps we can look at those portraits you have hanging in the entry again? It might give me some ideas for the museum when putting together your display,” Danielle suggested.
“Certainly.” Norman stood.
As Danielle stepped out of Norman’s office a few minutes later, Walt at her side and Norman leading the way, Danielle caught a glimpse of a bright ball of light moving down the hallway, disappearing into an open doorway. She and Walt exchanged quick glances.
“Did you see that?” Danielle whispered under her breath.
Walt nodded. By the way Norman continued to chatter on, leading the way down the hall, it was obvious he hadn’t seen the bright light. A few minutes later Walt stood in front of the portrait of Maisy and Daisy Morton. Mesmerized, he stared at their faces.
“They really were beautiful,” Danielle said, looking up at the portrait.
“That’s Maisy Faye,” Walt stammered.
Standing beside Walt and Danielle, Norman looked up at the portrait. “My mother hates that name. After my grandfather died, she started using her middle name. She used to say Maisy sounded like a hillbilly.”
“I guess some parents like to choose matching names for twins—Maisy, Daisy,” Danielle suggested, still looking at the portrait.
“My aunt Daisy always fascinated me. I was an only child, and here my mother had a sister—a twin sister—one she was estranged from, one I had never met. From what I’ve heard, they were as different as night and day. But they were also the same in many ways—like twins are.”
“How were they the same?” Danielle asked.
“For example, Mom and Dad went to Italy one year. And a few months later, her sister was there. We knew, because Aunt Daisy sent us a postcard from Italy. We thought it was bizarre at the time. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for years, but they were both in Italy at practically the same time. That’s the types of things I hear twins do—doing the same things even though they are miles apart and not communicating. It happened a few other times too. So, while they were different in some ways—like Aunt Daisy being a reader and playing the piano, and Mom preferring to do something more active, they were also doing the same thing—like traveling to the same place at around the same time.”
Danielle glanced at Walt to get his reaction to what he was thinking about Norman’s comments, but her husband continued to stare blankly at the portrait, as if he weren’t listening.
“Traveling to the same place at the same time?” Danielle repeated when she and Walt got into her car fifteen minutes later. He sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring ahead. She had been so preoccupied listening to what Norman had to say, she had failed to notice Walt’s distant behavior.
As Danielle hooked up her seatbelt, she said, “Gee, what a coincidence. Daisy happens to send letters to all her friends just months after Maisy visits the same area?”
“That was Maisy Faye.”
Danielle frowned at Walt. “Who was Maisy Faye?”
Walt turned to Danielle, his expression blank. “One of the women in that portrait. One of them was Maisy Faye.”
“Yeah? So?”
“The Maisy Faye in my dream. It was her.”
“What are you saying, Walt?”
“The woman I dreamt about. The woman I remembered. The one named Maisy Faye. The one I can’t place how or when I knew. It’s her. One of the women in that portrait. My Maisy Faye looks exactly like the Morton twins.”
“That’s impossible. They were practically babies when you died.”
Thirty-Six
Lily stood at the kitchen counter grating cheddar cheese while Sadie napped in the parlor and Max snoozed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. She looked up when Walt and Danielle walked in the back door.
“I’m making tacos for dinner,” Lily announced as a greeting.
“Sounds good,” Walt said, snatching a bit of the cheese as he headed for the door leading to the hallway. “Wait until I get back before you start telling Lily.”
“Telling me what?” Lily asked as Walt walked out of the room.
“Something freaky happened at the funeral home.”
“Did you see a ghost?” Lily asked.
Before Danielle could answer, the landline rang. Both women looked at the ringing phone.
“Another person you have to disappoint?” Lily asked. Since the landline had been used for primarily bed and breakfast business, calls these days tended to be people trying to make reservations, who ended up disappointed when they learned Marlow House B and B was no longer open for business.
Danielle answered the phone. “Hello?…Oh, hi…I did?…Let me check…” Danielle set the handset on the counter and then picked up her purse, opening it. She looked inside while Lily silently watched. A moment later Danielle put her purse down and picked up the handset again.
“Yeah, I did. How long are you going to be there? Okay. I’ll leave right now. You’ll wait? Thanks!” Danielle hung up the phone and picked up her purse.
“Who was that?” Lily asked.
“Norman Bateman, from the funeral home. My cellphone must have fallen out of my purse in his office. He just found it. But I need to leave right now to get it. He was on his way out, but he promised to wait for me, because all his employees have already left. Tell Walt where I went. Save me some tacos!”
Norman Bateman expected Danielle to walk through the front door, not his mother.
“What are you doing here?” Norman asked in surprise. “I told you I would be there as soon as Danielle picks up her phone.”
Faye sat down in one of the chairs in the front waiting area of the funeral home and let out a weary sigh. “I needed to get out of that place. The new owner plays the most gawd-awful music. I hate to say this, but I’m going to find a new hairdresser.”
“Who brought you?” Norman asked.
“I ran into Susan Mitchell from the bank. She had just finished getting her hair done and offered to take me home. I asked her if she would bring me here instead.”
“You should’ve had her take you home.” Norman glanced at his watch.
“Why? You’re here. And I was hoping we could stop at the grocery store on our way home. Now tell me about your little visit with the Marlows. What was that all about?”
Norman recounted his visit with Danielle and Walt while Faye sat quietly, digesting all that he was telling her.
“Is something wrong, Mother?” Norman asked.
“It just seems Danielle was overly curious about my sister.”
“To be honest, I was probably the one who brought up the subject, not
her.”
Faye glared at her son. “You know I don’t like discussing my relationship with Daisy.”
“Yes, I know, Mother.”
A smile suddenly replaced Faye’s glare. “Why don’t you run to the store now, and I’ll wait for Danielle and give her the phone. Then when you come back, we can go straight home.” Faye smiled brightly.
The parking lot was empty when Danielle arrived at the funeral home. She wondered if Norman had changed his mind and had left to pick up his mother without waiting for her to get there. After parking her car, she reached for her purse, intending to retrieve her cellphone so she could call Norman and see if he was inside or had left, before getting out of the car. The moment she grabbed her purse, she realized the absurdity of her actions.
“Real smart, Danielle,” she grumbled aloud. Tossing the purse back on the passenger seat, she unhooked her seatbelt. If Norman wasn’t here, she would have to go home and call him to make other arrangements to pick up her phone.
A short time later Danielle tried the front door of the funeral home and was relieved to find it unlocked. But when she walked inside, it was Faye Bateman sitting in the front waiting area, not Norman.
“Faye?” Danielle said in surprise.
“Hello, Danielle,” Faye said with a smile, making no attempt to stand up. “So nice to see you again. Norman will be back in a moment; he had to step out. Why don’t you come tell me about that museum project my son mentioned?”
“I would love to, but I really need to get going. I came to pick up my cellphone. It must have fallen out of my purse when I was here. Your son found it. Do you know where he put it?”
“I’m sorry, dear. Norman didn’t say anything about a cellphone. But he will be right back.” Faye’s hand clutched Danielle’s cellphone hidden under the jacket draped over her lap.
“Oh…okay…” Danielle started to take a seat and then paused. “Umm…can you tell me where the restroom is?”
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