“The scream. I know now, it was Heather. But at the time, we had no idea what was going on. It woke up David too. When we opened our bedroom door, Danielle and Lily were standing at their doorways. They had heard it too.”
“Then what happened?” Brian asked.
“Danielle insisted it was nothing. Reminded us Chris was downstairs.” Under her breath, she muttered, “With blood all over him.”
“Did you see Chris attack Peter Morris?”
Arlene shook her head. “No, but Heather said he did.”
“Back up, and tell me what you saw, exactly.”
“Danielle said she was going downstairs to see what was going on. Lily and David insisted on going too. I certainly didn’t want to be left upstairs all alone, so I grabbed my cellphone and headed downstairs with them. I was already searching for your number when I reached the first floor and saw Heather standing by the parlor door. When I saw the man on the floor, I immediately called you.”
“What was Heather doing?”
“She was standing by the parlor door, looking in, when we all got downstairs.”
“What was Chris doing?”
“He was kneeling by the body. There was blood all over his hands.”
“He didn’t have any blood on him when we arrived,” Brian reminded her.
“No. He washed his hands. David told him he shouldn’t, that he was washing off evidence. But he did it anyway.”
“Then what happened?”
“You arrived.”
“Had you seen Peter Morris—the man who was killed—at Marlow House earlier?”
Arlene didn’t answer immediately. Finally, she shook her head. “No.”
“Is there anything you want to add?”
“Just that you should talk to Heather next.”
“Why is that?” Brian asked.
“Because, according to Heather, Chris killed that man.”
“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Danielle asked Brian a few minutes later when she sat down across from him in the interrogation room. The two were alone.
“This isn’t how I expected to spend my Friday,” he told her.
“Friday…that’s right, it’s Friday the 13th,” Danielle murmured.
“Tell me, what was Morris doing at Marlow House? I didn’t think you two were that chummy.”
“You know I couldn’t stand the man,” Danielle admitted.
“Not the best thing to confess, with him found in your house and his throat slit.”
“You couldn’t stand him either,” Danielle reminded.
“True, but he wasn’t lying on my parlor floor, dead.”
“I suspect you don’t have a parlor,” Danielle quipped.
“You’re rather sassy considering your house is a crime scene—again.”
“You know I do this when I’m nervous. I thought you’d know that by now.”
“I was rather hoping I wouldn’t be interviewing you about another homicide. At least, not so soon.”
“Okay,” Danielle took a deep breath. “I’ll focus and try not be a smart-aleck. What do you want to know?”
“To begin with, why was Morris there?”
Danielle shook her head. “I have no idea. I didn’t know he was in the house—not until I saw him on the parlor floor, just minutes before you arrived.”
“Start from the beginning.” Brian studied Danielle. Instead of the pajama bottoms and T-shirt she had been wearing earlier that morning, she now wore blue sweat pants and an oversized sweatshirt. He was used to seeing her hair in a tidy fishtail braid, but this morning it was a bit of a tangled mess, pulled back into a haphazard bun, with stray tendrils framing her face. He had to admit she looked rather cute, and for a moment, he understood what Joe Morelli saw in the woman.
“I was asleep when I heard a scream—it woke me. When I got to the doorway, Lily, David, and Arlene were also up. I guess the scream woke them too. We all went downstairs to see what was going on, and we found Heather standing at the door to the parlor and Chris in the parlor kneeling by Morris, checking his vitals.”
“Wasn’t that a little risky, just charging downstairs?”
With a frown Danielle asked, “Risky, why?”
“You hear a woman scream bloody murder—and in this case, there was an actual murder—and you just charge downstairs, without considering your safety?”
Danielle shrugged. “I just assumed Heather went downstairs for some reason, and something frightened her…maybe a mouse. She can be a little dramatic sometimes. Anyway, I knew Chris was downstairs.”
“It’s almost like you already knew the danger passed—or maybe you knew the only person in danger was Morris, and he was already dead.”
Danielle let out a weary sigh. “Brian, please don’t read more into this than there is. I really had absolutely no idea Morris was in my house. Trust me; no one was more surprised than I was to find him downstairs—dead.”
“Do you have any idea why he was there?”
Folding her hands on her lap, Danielle closed her eyes briefly and let out another sigh. She opened her eyes again and looked directly at Brian. “I’ve an idea of why he was there. Please listen to what Chris has to say first. Don’t jump to conclusions. You tend to do that, and they’re often wrong.”
“Chris? According to Ms. Horton, Heather seems to believe Chris killed Morris.”
“That’s only because he was found with the body. But I believe what he said—that he was just checking Morris’ vitals and that’s why he got blood on his hands, which I’m sure Arlene already mentioned.”
“You said you have an idea of why Morris was there. Explain.”
“According to Heather, she was watching television in the living room, when she heard Chris answer the door. She saw him let Morris in, and the two went into the parlor together. But that was around midnight. And we found Morris in the parlor after three.”
“When was the last time you saw Peter Morris?” Brian asked.
“Me?” Danielle frowned and considered the question. “Back in December, I think. When Richard Winston was taken to the hospital. I don’t think I’ve seen him since then.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“Morris? No. Why would he?”
“I seem to remember Morris was rather interested in recruiting you.”
“Yeah, well, that was never going to happen. I would assume he finally realized that.”
Brian’s cellphone began to ring. Picking up his phone from the table, he looked at who was calling.
“I have to take this,” he told her. On the other end of the phone was one of the officers still at Marlow House, processing the scene.
“I think we found the murder weapon,” the officer told Brian on the phone. “I’m sending a picture now.” In the next moment, an image popped up on Brian’s phone. It was of a fishing knife, resting on a bloody hand towel.
“Where did you find it?” Brian asked.
“It was shoved under the dresser in the entry hall bathroom, wrapped in that hand towel,” the officer told him.
After Brian got off the phone, he showed Danielle the image. “Do you recognize the knife, or the towel?”
“It looks like one of the hand towels from the downstairs bathroom,” Danielle murmured, her attention on the knife in the photograph.
“What about the knife? Do you recognize it?” Brian asked.
Danielle swallowed nervously and said with a hoarse voice, “It looks like a fishing knife.”
“It is, a very sharp knife. Have you seen it before?”
“Maybe…” Danielle squeaked.
“Maybe? Where have you seen it before?”
“I suppose…looks a little like the fishing knife I gave Chris…but I’m sure there are others like it in town. I bought it at the local sporting goods store.”
“Do you know where Chris keeps his fishing knife?”
“I would assume in his tackle box. The last time I saw it—the tackle box—it was on
the back porch. That was a couple days ago; I remember because I moved it out of the rain. But I didn’t look inside.”
“Do you have anything you want to add—something you believe is relevant to the case?”
“No. But…well…I was wondering, do you know when the chief is going to be in?”
“He normally comes in around eight. Why?”
“I...I just would like to talk to him.”
“Danielle, I’m taking the lead on this case; if you know something, you need to tell me.”
“I was just wondering when the chief was coming in, that’s all.” Danielle shrugged.
Narrowing his eyes, Brian studied Danielle for a moment. “I think I’ll talk with Chris next. I suppose he should get used to being called by Chris Glandon, from now on. With Morris’ murder—especially considering who he was and the press this case is bound to catch, I doubt Glandon can continue using the name “Johnson,” regardless of how much money he has. I seriously doubt your friendship with the chief will fix this one, Danielle.”
Chapter Six
Six Weeks Earlier – January 2
Officers Joe Morelli and Brian Henderson sat at a booth at Lucy’s Diner, reading lunch menus. There was no reason for either of them to actually read the menus, they could easily recite them word for word—with their eyes closed. But habits are a hard thing to break, so they poured over the menus, though they would probably order what they normally did when visiting Lucy’s for lunch.
They had just tossed their menus onto the table when Police Chief MacDonald entered the diner and walked in their direction.
“Hey Chief, you want to join us for lunch?” Joe offered.
“Have you ordered yet?” MacDonald asked.
Joe slid over in the seat, making room for his boss. “No.”
After MacDonald sat down, Brian handed him a menu.
“I don’t need it.” The chief waved it away. “I already know what I want.”
Ten minutes later, after the server took their orders and brought their beverages, Joe asked the chief what he knew about Cleve Monchique’s funeral services.
Before answering, the chief sipped his coffee and then set his mug on the table. “From what I understand, they aren’t having one. Apparently, his estate goes to Earthbound Spirits, and he left Peter Morris in charge of handling his arrangements. I heard this morning that Morris issued a statement that Cleve was being cremated and they weren’t having any formal service—but he did ask for donations, in lieu of flowers.”
“Donations to Earthbound Spirits?” Brian asked with a snort.
“Of course.” The chief shook his head in disgust.
“Didn’t Cleve have any family?” Joe asked. “I would think they’d want to do something for him.”
“From what I understand, he’s been estranged from his family since he got involved with that group. I heard somewhere he had a sister—or maybe it was a brother.” The chief shrugged. “Not sure his parents are still alive.”
“There is no way Morris didn’t know about Cleve’s plot to kill Winston,” Brian grumbled.
“I agree with you, but there’s no way for us to prove it, especially after Cleve’s handwritten confession he included with his suicide note.” MacDonald picked up his coffee mug and looked across the table at Brian. “I know there are some who believe Morris blackmailed Darlene over your affair.”
In response, Brian shrugged. Joe was about to comment when Adam Nichols walked into the diner with Chris Johnson. Adam waved at the officers, but led Chris to a table at the opposite end of the restaurant.
Brian watched as Adam and Chris sat down. “I wonder what those two are doing together.”
“I imagine Adam is showing him property,” MacDonald answered.
“What do you mean?” Joe frowned.
“According to Danielle, Johnson is planning to stay in Frederickport. Adam is helping him find a rental.”
“Don’t you mean Glandon?” Brian asked.
Before the chief could respond, the server returned to refill their mugs and inform them their lunch would be out in a few minutes. When she was gone, the chief pushed his mug aside and looked seriously from Joe to Brian.
“I think we need to talk about something,” the chief began.
“Is there a problem?” Joe asked.
“No, not really. It seems Chris Johnson intends to make Frederickport his home for a while. And I expect you both to refer to him as Chris Johnson—not Chris Glandon.”
“But his legal name is Glandon,” Brian reminded.
“That’s true. But, I understand why he chooses to use his mother’s maiden name. As a new citizen of Frederickport, he deserves our protection, and I believe that if he uses that particular alias instead of his legal surname, our job will be much easier. I’ve already talked to the other people in the department who are aware of his real name.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he is some freaking bizzillionaire,” Joe grumbled under his breath.
MacDonald looked over at Joe and smiled. “Actually, it does, but not in the way you imply. The fact is, if Johnson didn’t have the money he has, his surname would not be an issue. I’m not courting any special donation for the department—but Mr. Johnson has not broken any laws, and I believe he has a right to his privacy. If his real name were to be made public, I imagine this place would be overrun by con men looking for some way to get a piece of Johnson’s fortune. As it is, we already have Peter Morris and Earthbound Spirits to contend with; do we really want more like them?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if Johnson just moved on?” Joe asked. “And I bet if his real name was leaked he would move on faster. That would make our lives easier.”
MacDonald studied Joe for a moment. Finally, he asked, “Joe, this wouldn’t have anything to do with Danielle Boatman, would it?”
“Of course not,” Joe snapped. “But, Danielle doesn’t need someone like that guy hanging around.”
“What, she doesn’t need some good looking rich guy?” Brian snickered.
“What do you think? Have you made a decision?” Adam asked Chris. The two men sat across from each other at a table in Lucy’s Diner.
“I really liked that second house you showed me—the one right on the beach, three doors down from Ian’s rental.”
“The only problem with that one—like I told you earlier—the owners intend to list it, so they’re only willing to rent month by month. As long as you don’t mind moving again, if it sells fast. The up side is, the rent is reasonable, since they’ll only go month by month.”
Holding his water glass by its rim, Chris gently twirled the glass, watching the ice swirl around. He grinned and then looked up at Adam, while setting the glass back down on the table. “How about if I bought it?”
“You want to buy it? Seriously?”
“Sure, why not? It’s about time I settled somewhere for longer than a few months. I really like that house, its location.”
“But you don’t even know what they’ll be asking.”
“Do you know what they plan to ask?”
“I haven’t gotten the comps together yet.”
“You’re the listing agent?” Chris asked.
Adam nodded. “I do mostly property management, but I also represent my owners, when they decide to sell.”
“Then talk to them. You can get both sides of the deal. Better for you. If they agree to sell, I’ll talk to Danielle about renting the room until escrow closes; that way I only have to move once.”
“While I hate losing a prime rental property, the commission on the sale will help ease the pain,” Adam said with a laugh.
“Okay then!” Chris grinned. “Let’s see if you can pull this together!”
A thought crossed Adam’s mind and his smile quickly faded. “There’s just one thing. Danielle assured me you wouldn’t have a problem with the rent—but if you want to buy something, it’s going to be a little tricky getting you financing. You
aren’t working right now, are you?”
Chris grinned again. “No, no I’m not. But I’m not going to need financing. I’ll be paying in cash.”
* * *
February 13, 2015
When Chris entered the interrogation room, Officer Henderson was sitting down at the table, notebook in hand, reviewing his notes. Instead of standing up, he waved for Chris to take a seat and told him he would just be a minute.
After a few moments, Brian looked up from his notebook, while one hand rested on the open page. “I was just telling Danielle, it will be a bit more difficult for you to fly under the wire, what with Morris’ murder and the investigation. I don’t imagine it’ll be possible to keep your true identity a secret. Especially if you had something to do with his death.”
“I didn’t kill Morris. I had no reason to kill him,” Chris insisted.
“According to Danielle, you admitted he came to see you.”
“Yes, but that was a few hours before I found him in the parlor—murdered.”
“Let’s start with why he came to Marlow House.”
“I got a call from him last night—on my cellphone. It was right before midnight.”
“What was the relationship between you and Morris?”
“We had no relationship. I only met the man a couple times—at Danielle’s Christmas Eve party and again at the hospital when Richard was taken to the ER. Although, I don’t recall talking to him at the hospital. I believe you were there.”
“But he had your phone number?”
“Yes. I don’t know how he got it, but he did.”
“What did he say when he called you?”
“He told me he had to talk to me, that it was urgent. I thought it was pretty bizarre, him calling me, especially because it was almost midnight. And then…then he called me Chris Glandon.”
“He knew your real name?”
“Apparently.”
“So, what happened then?”
“He told me that if I didn’t want him sending out a tweet letting the world know where I’d landed, I’d meet with him for a few minutes. He promised the visit would be short. As it turned out, he was already parked in front of the house when he made the call.”
The Ghost of Valentine Past Page 4
