Danielle sighed. “Okay. You got me there. But I didn’t really think the PI would find anything, and I certainly never imagined the PI’s fingerprint would show up at a crime scene—on my property!”
“I just hope we find him soon and that he has some answers for us.”
“Me too. Kelly’s afraid to go home. She’s paranoid about living next to a possible murderer, especially considering she was over here last night, peeking in the windows.”
“So, she told you everything?”
Danielle nodded. “Yep. She was pretty freaked.”
“Any chance that you, Chris, or Walt might have run into Morris’ spirit since the last time we talked? It would make it a lot easier on me if he’d simply name his killer.”
“Sorry. The last time Walt saw Morris’ spirit was when they were taking his body away. He went with it. So, I suspect if he hasn’t moved on, he might be hanging around the morgue.”
“Any chance you might be willing to go to the morgue with me?”
“No. Nada. Ain’t happening. Nope.”
“Well,” MacDonald stood up. “If you change your mind…oh, how about that second spirit? You still say it’s your late husband?”
“It is. But I haven’t really talked to him either. He just sort of shows up and then vanishes.”
“Considering that, I suppose I understand your reluctance about going down to the morgue with me. You have your hands full.”
Danielle stood up. “Oh…I just remembered. But considering you have the finger print, this isn’t that big of a deal.”
“You remembered what?”
“According to Max—”
MacDonald arched his brows. “Max your cat?”
“Yes, sweet black furry little guy, white tipped ears, likes to chew on your fingers.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the little demon.”
“Ahh, that’s not nice. Plus, he has information for you.”
“I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever get used to the idea of getting tips from ghosts—but a cat? That one always makes me stop and wonder if I am losing my mind.”
“Well, you’re not. And if it makes you feel any better, it’s not like Max talked to you—or even me, for that matter. It’s just that thing between spirits and animals.”
“Okay, what information does—Max—have?”
“Last night, after Heather came upstairs to go to bed, Max saw Arlene slip out of her bedroom. This was after Heather went into her bedroom and closed her door. Arlene went downstairs.”
“Where was Chris?”
“I’m pretty sure he was in the kitchen about that time looking for me, because a few minutes later Chris came upstairs. According to Max, he walked to my bedroom door, but then looked as if he had second thoughts, so he went back down stairs.”
“Wouldn’t Chris have seen Arlene downstairs?”
“I didn’t ask Chris or Arlene about it. But I don’t think he saw her, or else he would’ve said something.”
“When did Arlene come back upstairs?” the chief asked.
“I don’t know. Max went up to the attic after Chris headed back downstairs.”
“I wonder why Arlene didn’t say anything about going downstairs?” the chief murmured.
“I wondered that myself. But this was late—after midnight. It’s always possible Arlene was half asleep when she got up, was thirsty, and maybe doesn’t even remember going downstairs.”
“And avoided running into Chris?”
“It’s possible. But I guess you can ask her about it. But like I said, now that you have that fingerprint, I don’t really think it’s anything significant. And plus, how do you ask her? I mean, you really can’t say, according to the cat…”
When Lily returned from Ian’s house later that evening, Marlow House was locked up and the only illumination came from nightlights plugged into random sockets throughout the house. Tiptoeing past the parlor, she noticed the door was shut. Just looking at it gave her chills. Chris’ door was also shut. She knew he had decided to spend one final night at Marlow House and start moving into his new place in the morning.
Upstairs, all the doors were closed and there was no light coming from under any of the doors—except for Danielle’s. Danielle was still up. Instead of knocking on Danielle’s door and risking waking up Heather and the others, Lily used her cellphone to send Danielle a text message. A moment later, Danielle’s bedroom door opened and Lily went inside.
“I thought for sure you’d be sound asleep by now,” Lily whispered. She sat with Danielle on the edge of the mattress. After coming home from the police station earlier, Danielle had finally made her bed. She hadn’t yet turned down the sheets and blankets for the night.
“I was hoping you’d come in here before you went to bed. We haven’t had a chance to be alone since all of this happened.”
“I can’t believe they kept us apart all morning, wouldn’t even let us talk to each other,” Lily said.
“I guess they couldn’t risk us comparing notes. After all, maybe the five of us killed Morris.”
“Like one of those old mysteries, where all the suspects are guilty?”
“Pretty much.” Danielle glanced around the room.
“You looking for Walt? Is he here?”
“No…I’m looking for Lucas.”
“Lucas? What are you talking about?”
“I saw Lucas today. Walt saw him first. The second spirt I told you about. It wasn’t someone connected to Peter’s murder like we assumed. Just some bizarre coincidence.”
“I don’t understand. Lucas has been dead for over a year.”
Danielle explained to Lily what she knew about Lucas’ spirit, beginning when Walt first encountered him before Morris’ body was found.
When Danielle finished, Lily said, “Oh my god, of all times for your deceased husband to show up…on Valentine’s Day!”
“Technically speaking, he showed up on Friday the thirteenth,” Danielle reminded.
Lily started to giggle.
“What is so funny?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Ironic in a twisted sick sort of way. Lucas showing up, sort of a Friday 13th Valentine’s Day surprise.”
“You have a strange sense of humor,” Danielle said with a sigh.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dressed in her plaid pajama bottoms and oversized red T-shirt, Danielle sat in the center of her bed, her bent knees pulled up to her chest as she protectively wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin atop her knees, she gazed across the dimly lit room. Lily had turned the overhead light off when she had left, but there was some moonlight coming through the bedroom window.
When coming upstairs earlier, Danielle had asked Walt to not come into her bedroom to say goodnight or chat. She suspected Lucas wouldn’t appear again if he, or anyone else, was with her.
Unable to stifle a yawn, Danielle glanced over to the nightstand and looked at the clock. She had been sitting alone on the bed for almost thirty minutes.
“Lucas, can you hear me? Are you nearby?” Danielle asked out loud. “Please, let’s get this over with, tell me why you came, so you can move on. This is unbearable, wondering if you’re going to show up at any moment.”
The room was silent. And then she heard it, soft pawing on the door.
“Oh Max,” Danielle mumbled, climbing off her bed. Walking to the door, she opened it, letting in the cat, who immediately began weaving in and out between her legs. She shut the door.
“For a while there, I thought you intended to hang out all night with Walt.” Reaching down, she picked up the black cat and carried him over to the bed, placing him on the foot of the mattress. She pulled down the blankets and climbed under the bedding. Purring, Max strolled up the bed and curled up beside her.
“You have a cat,” Lucas said. He stood next to the bed looking down at her.
Danielle bolted to a sitting position. “You’re here.”
“Finding you alone has been
a challenge.”
Max lifted his head and stared at the apparition. A gurgling growl—one he normally reserved for expressing his opinion of other cats—replaced the purr.
Cocking his head slightly, Lucas looked inquisitively at the unhappy cat. “You don’t like me.”
Snatching up the snarling animal, Danielle climbed out of bed. “Sorry Max, I need to talk to Lucas, alone.” After depositing Max in the hallway, she shut the door and faced her husband’s ghost.
“I could understand what that cat was thinking,” Lucas said in awe.
“Why did you come? Why now?”
Lucas glanced around the room. “I don’t understand why you’re here. Why Oregon? Why this house? Are you an innkeeper?”
“I own a bed and breakfast,” she explained.
Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Danielle. “Why a bed and breakfast? Why Oregon?”
“My great-aunt died and left me this house. I decided to turn it into a bed and breakfast,” she explained.
“What about your marketing degree? What about our business?”
“I needed a change. I sold the business.”
Abruptly, Lucas stood. “You sold it? How could you just sell it? We worked so hard; it was our dream.”
“You weren’t here anymore, Lucas. I needed to move on.”
“But you were fully capable of running the business…of growing it into what we always imagined. You just walked away from all that we built?”
“Lucas, you walked away from us before I ever considered selling the business.”
“You’re angry with me. I understand. I suppose I deserve that.”
“I’ve gotten over it. You can go now.”
“I’m not ready to go, Danielle. I have too many questions. There are things I need to explain.”
Weary, Danielle walked over to the loveseat and sat down. Lucas followed her. He stood before the unlit fireplace.
“I’m sorry I never truly believed you could see…ghosts. Is that what I am now, a ghost?”
“I suppose that’s one definition. Some prefer spirit to ghost.”
“Who’s the one that looks like he just stepped out of an episode of Boardwalk Empire?”
“You mean Walt?”
“I think so.”
“Walt Marlow, his grandfather built this house,” Danielle explained.
“He’s like me, isn’t he? He’s a ghost.”
“Walt prefers the term ‘spirit.’ But yes.”
“Why is he here? Why hasn’t he moved on?”
“Walt has his reasons.”
“He was in your bedroom. I saw him cover you up.”
“I guess he figured I was cold.”
“I don’t understand; how did he lift the blankets? I’ve tried to move things, but all I end up doing is tipping stuff over, making something move that I don’t want to move.”
“It’s about harnessing your energy; but Lucas, I don’t believer spirits are supposed to stay on this plane—they’re supposed to move on. You’re supposed to move on.”
“That’s what Meghan said,” Lucas mumbled.
“It sounds like your spirit got stuck after you died, which sometimes happens with a sudden, unexpected death. But now things have become clearer. You can focus on reality.”
He frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what happens. That’s what I’ve learned over the years. It’s pretty obvious to me, that after you came to terms with your death, you felt compelled to seek me out. Here I am. But there’s really nothing for either of us to say—at least not now. I’ve moved on, and so should you.”
“No, Danielle. Something is keeping me here. I can feel it. I can’t leave yet. There’s something I need to do.”
Danielle considered his words a moment. “When Walt first saw you, he didn’t know who you were. He thought you were in some way involved with Peter Morris.”
“The man who was murdered downstairs?”
“How did you know his name?”
“He told me.”
“What do you mean he told you? I don’t believe Peter Morris could see or hear spirits.”
“No. It was afterwards—after he stepped out of his body.”
“You saw his spirit leave his body?” Danielle asked.
“I was trying to find you. I could sense this was where you’d be—somewhere in this house. But then I saw the two men in the front room, arguing—a man sitting in a chair, who I later learned was Peter Morris. And the other man, the killer.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“I don’t really know. I didn’t care. They weren’t talking very loud, they were whispering, but I could tell they were angry.”
“Did you hear anything they said?”
“Not really. I wanted to find you. So, I went through the rest of the rooms on the first floor. Before going upstairs, I went back to the front room. The men were still there.”
“Was the light on?” Danielle asked.
“Only a nightlight. Just as the man walked behind Peter, he took out a gun.”
“A gun?” Danielle frowned. “Morris wasn’t killed by a gun.”
“For a moment I thought he was going to shoot Peter, but then something caught his attention. Something sitting on the shelf. I didn’t know what it was at first. But, he slipped the gun back into his pocket and kept talking in a whisper. I couldn’t hear what he was saying; I wasn’t close enough. But I could tell Peter was laughing at whatever it was. I thought it was bizarre.”
“Bizarre how?”
“Peter seemed oblivious to any danger. When the man pulled the gun out of his pocket, I was sure he intended to shoot Peter in the back. But then Peter laughed, and the man put the gun back in his pocket. I figured Peter must have said something that made the man change his mind. I was just about to leave and go upstairs to look for you, when the man grabbed something from the shelf. It was a knife.”
“It was the fishing knife, the one they found in the bathroom,” Danielle murmured. “Chris’ knife.”
“It happened so fast, like the man knew exactly what he was doing. Peter never saw it coming. I just stood there and watched as he stepped out of his body and looked down at himself. His killer shoved the dead body with his foot, and it just fell onto the throw rug by the sofa. I thought for a moment he was going to use the rug to wrap up the body and dispose of it, but he just left the room.”
“What did the killer look like?”
“There wasn’t much light, but he was a stocky man, about my age. I followed the killer out of the room and watched him go into the bathroom. Peter was still stumbling around his dead body, trying to figure out what had just happened.”
“He hid the knife in the bathroom,” Danielle whispered, speaking more to herself.
“When he came back out of the bathroom, I thought it was a good thing he’d left the knife behind, or there would be another dead body.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just as he came back out of the bathroom, he slammed right into that woman.”
“What woman?”
“I don’t know. She’s staying in a room upstairs with a man.”
“Arlene?”
“I don’t know if that’s her name. She obviously knew the killer, seemed surprise to see him. She asked him what he was doing here.”
“They knew each other?”
“He grabbed her by the arms, told her he was taking care of business, her business. And then ordered her to go back upstairs and go to sleep. Told her that in the morning she needed to remember to keep her mouth shut, because this would all come back on her if she wasn’t careful, and it would ruin everything they were working to accomplish.”
“What did she do?” Danielle asked.
“She ran back upstairs, after he kissed her.”
“He kissed her?”
“Yes.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“Not a word. She ran upstai
rs, and he left.”
“What happened then?”
“I went back in the front room, where Peter Morris was still moaning over his body. A few minutes later, I heard someone walking in the front hall, and then I heard a door on the first floor close.”
“That must have been Chris, returning to his room. Did you go back out into the hall?”
“Not then. I stayed with Peter Morris for a while. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Eventually he told me his name, and I explained that he was dead. I remembered what Meghan had told me, and I suggested he move on. He just kept rambling, not making any sense. I got bored and eventually left him there and then went upstairs, looking for you.”
“Did you ever see Peter Morris again?”
“No.” Lucas smiled at Danielle. “Can we talk about us now?”
“What’s there to say?”
“I still don’t understand how the Danielle I knew would trade the life she had in California for this.” He waved his hand, gesturing to the room around him.
“I guess neither of us knew each other very well.”
“Downstairs, when I saw you earlier, with Walt and that other man…”
“Chris.”
“This Chris, he could see me, couldn’t he?”
“Yes. Chris can also see and hear spirits. Just like me.”
“So he isn’t dead? Like me and that other one?”
“No. Chris is very much alive.”
“Who is he to you?”
“Chris is a friend. He’s been staying at Marlow House.”
“Lily’s here too? Isn’t she?” Lucas asked.
“Yes, Lily lives at Marlow House.”
“I don’t understand; did she take a teaching job here?”
“No, Lucas. Lily isn’t teaching right now. She had some medical issues, had to give up her class. She’s living here right now.”
Lucas smiled. “One thing hasn’t changed about you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re still taking in strays.” Lucas vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Closing her eyes did not help. She still couldn’t fall asleep. The fact that Danielle hadn’t slept the night before didn’t make slipping off to dreamland any easier. Tossing the blanket and sheets aside, she sat up and dropped her feet to the cold floor. Her wiggling toes searched for the slippers and found them tucked just beneath her bed. She stood up and walked to the door, grabbing her robe along the way.
The Ghost of Valentine Past Page 14
