The Ghost of Valentine Past

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Slowly turning the doorknob, Danielle made a special effort to be quiet, so as not to disturb the household. For a brief moment, she considered knocking on Lily’s door; she needed to talk to someone. But there was no light coming from under the door, and she assumed her friend was already asleep. While Lily would probably be willing to talk, Danielle didn’t want to wake the other guests. Since there was no light coming from any of the upstairs bedrooms, she surmised everyone was asleep.

  Glancing toward the ceiling, she wondered if Walt was in the attic. She could always talk to Walt. Tiptoeing across the hall, en route to the attic staircase, she heard muffled voices. It came from Arlene and David’s room. Pausing by their door a moment, she could hear arguing. What they were saying exactly, she couldn’t hear. Yet she couldn’t help but think about what Lucas had just told her about Arlene, and Morris’ killer.

  Quietly continuing on her way, she headed down the hall and then up the staircase leading to the attic, treading lightly on the wooden steps, cringing each time her slippered feet made the boards creak. At the top of the staircase, she found the door closed. Just as she reached out to take hold of the doorknob, the door swung open, seemingly from its own volition. But, she knew that was not the case. Just as she entered the attic, the door slowly closed behind her.

  “I heard you coming up the stairs,” Walt said from his place by the attic window. Max sat on the windowsill looking outside, his tail swishing back and forth.

  “I tried to be quiet.” Danielle walked to Walt.

  “Max told me Lucas was here.”

  “Yes, he was.” Danielle looked at Max, who continued to stare out the window, refusing to look in her direction. “Is Max mad at me?”

  “Annoyed would be a more apt description,” Walt told her.

  Danielle reached out to stroke Max’s neck, but he jumped down from the windowsill, ignoring her. He strolled away, eventually reaching the sleeper sofa, which he then jumped up on before snuggling down and closing his eyes.

  “He really is annoyed,” Danielle muttered.

  “He’s a cat. He’ll get over it.”

  Danielle stood next to Walt at the window, looking outside to the darkness.

  “Is he gone?” Walt asked.

  “I assume you’re talking about Lucas.”

  “Of course.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Gone for now, but for good? I’ve no idea.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It seems spirits normally have a reason for sticking around.”

  Walt smiled in the darkness. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I wonder if maybe your original suspicion was correct.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Maybe Peter Morris is the reason Lucas showed up when he did.”

  Walt turned from the window and looked at Danielle. She continued to stare out into the dark night.

  “Why do you say that?”

  She let out a deep sigh and then proceeded to tell Walt everything Lucas had told her about what he had seen downstairs, at the time of the murder.

  When she was done, Walt asked, “Are you suggesting your guest Arlene is in someway involved in the murder?”

  “According to Lucas, they knew each other. Good lord, he kissed her and sent her back upstairs.”

  “Yes, and to another man’s bed. Odd, this generation of yours.”

  “I’ll have to tell the chief, let him figure this out.”

  “Arlene did seem genuinely surprised to see a dead man in the parlor,” Walt reminded.

  “True. And according to Lucas, she asked the killer what he was doing here. Maybe she had no idea he’d just killed Morris.”

  “If that’s true, I wonder what she thought when she realized Morris had been murdered.”

  “I’ve a headache,” Danielle groaned.

  “Of course you do. You need your sleep.”

  “I’ve a favor to ask you.”

  “Anything,” Walt vowed.

  “Can you keep an eye on Arlene and David? Tomorrow morning I’ll call the chief, and let him know what I’ve found out.”

  “Okay. But you promise me you’ll go back downstairs to bed.”

  “I might as well. I should stop worrying about Lucas suddenly appearing at any moment. It’s likely he’s moved on.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Danielle looked up at Walt. “His reason for being here was probably to witness the murder, and since he’s passed the information on to me, he can go now.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  “Why not? Why else would he be here? We really have nothing to say to each other.”

  “To begin with, I don’t believe—and I don’t think you do either—that spirits generally have clairvoyant powers, especially one who just realized the reality of his existence. I didn’t even know who had killed me, so how can you imagine I could predict another person’s demise and manage to be there to witness it?”

  “That’s true. But sometimes there are other forces involved. Something that made sure he’d be here at that specific time.”

  Walt laughed at the idea. “Other forces? Are we talking God, angels, what?”

  Danielle shrugged.

  “I find it implausible to imagine some higher being thought it a terrific idea to bring your deceased husband up to Oregon, just to have him witness a crime and help you solve a murder.”

  “Then why is Lucas here?”

  “Why do you think, Danielle?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You of course,” he answered for her. “I would say you and Lucas have some unresolved issues, and perhaps it’s best for both of you to air them before he moves on—which may enable you to move on.”

  “I can’t believe it; you were actually listening to what I had to say,” Chris said from the doorway. Neither Danielle nor Walt had heard him enter the attic.

  Walt groaned as Chris walked to them. “Is no room sacred in my house?”

  “I’m just happy to see you were listening to me.” Chris joined them by the window.

  “You two talking about me behind my back now?” Danielle asked.

  “What do you mean now?” Chris teased. “You’ve always been our favorite subject of conversation.”

  “When did you say you’re moving out?” Walt asked.

  “In the morning. I’ve already packed.”

  “That shouldn’t have been too hard, considering everything you own fits into a pillow case,” Walt scoffed.

  “I wouldn’t say everything he owns,” Danielle reminded.

  Chris turned his attention to Danielle. “Have you talked to Lucas?”

  “He saw Peter Morris being murdered,” Walt told him.

  “Then he knows who did it?” Chris asked.

  “I assume Logan Mitcham, since that’s whose fingerprint they found out front,” Danielle said.

  “We could always see if your husband will agree to stick around for a line up,” Walt suggested. “I’m sure Chief MacDonald would appreciate the help.”

  “Line up? Who would be in the line up?” Danielle asked.

  “Isn’t that obvious? Mitcham…Chris,” Walt explained.

  “Me?” Chris frowned. “You know I had nothing to do with Peter’s murder.”

  Walt shrugged. “So you say.”

  “Oh stop that, Walt,” Danielle chided. “You know Chris didn’t kill Morris.”

  “I do?” Walt asked innocently.

  “For one thing, when Lucas appeared in the attic earlier, both you and Chris were there. Lucas asked me about Chris. If Chris had killed Morris, Lucas would have told me.”

  Walt shrugged. “Maybe. It’s possible Lucas didn’t get that close of a look at him in the library. As I recall, your husband was only there a moment.”

  “Are you forgetting; you woke Chris up. You seriously think he killed Morris and then went to bed and fell asleep?”

  “Of cours
e not. But you have to admit, it’s rather amusing watching Chris get agitated.” Walt smirked.

  Danielle glanced over to Chris, who looked a little more than annoyed.

  “What you want to do is slug me, don’t you?” Walt taunted Chris.

  “How did you guess?”

  “Oh stop, you two!”

  “He started it,” Chris grumbled.

  “Walt just gets a little bored. You would be too, hanging around the same house for almost a century, never going out.”

  Chris almost reminded Danielle that was Walt’s choice, yet instead said, “Fine. Why don’t you tell me what Lucas told you about Morris’ murder.”

  After Danielle recounted Lucas’ version of the murder, Walt said, “I told Danielle I’d keep an eye on Arlene and David while they’re here.”

  “Strange, when I went to the bathroom to wash my hands of Morris’ blood, Arlene seemed as if she was about to jump out of her skin. At the time, I assumed she was afraid of me—thought I’d just killed a man.”

  “If she really didn’t know Mitcham had killed Morris when she saw him downstairs—assuming Logan Mitcham is the man Lucas saw—then she was probably freaking out at that point, realizing what he had done, and how she might be implicated in the murder,” Danielle said.

  “Maybe they planned to murder him, but she didn’t know when Mitcham intended to do it,” Chris suggested.

  “But if she’s part of this, then why kill Morris while she’s staying here?” Danielle asked.

  “Maybe it wasn’t premeditated—at least at that moment. They were arguing; Mitcham took out his gun,” Walt suggested.

  “He just happens to have a gun?” Danielle asked.

  “If it was Mitcham, he’s a PI; so, I imagine he always carries a concealed weapon,” Chris said.

  “Is that legal in Oregon?” Danielle asked.

  Chris shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Of course, he didn’t use the gun. What was the knife doing on that shelf, anyway? I didn’t put it there.”

  “I don’t know. According to Lucas, it looked like a spur of the moment decision to use the knife instead of the gun,” Danielle said. “I just keep wondering: was this premeditated, or did something happen during the argument that turned the situation lethal?”

  “I’ll be curious to see what MacDonald learns about your guest, Arlene,” Walt said.

  “There’s definitely something she’s hiding,” Chris agreed.

  They were all quiet for several moments, considering the turn of events. Finally, Danielle broke the silence and said, “Now please explain what you meant, when you said you were glad Walt finally listened to you?”

  “He pointed out earlier that perhaps it might be good for you to take this opportunity, and talk to your husband,” Walt answered for Chris.

  “Why? I don’t see where we really have anything to say to each other. I’ve moved on, now he needs to do the same.”

  “Are you telling me that when he was killed in that car accident—and you found out about his affair—that part of you wasn’t angry, not being able to confront him? To tell him how you felt?” Chris asked.

  “Well…sure. But I’ve gotten over it.”

  “Danielle,” Walt said softly, “take this opportunity, it might be your only one. Telling someone how we really feel can be liberating.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chief MacDonald pulled up in front of the beach bungalow and parked his car. He sat there a moment and looked around. All was quiet. He hadn’t been back to the modest beach house since that day in the fall, when he had brought Danielle there to meet Will Wayne and confront the secret of the Gusarov family.

  MacDonald knew Wayne had petition the court to become Karen’s legal guardian and had won. The chief wasn’t surprised. There was no other family member left to oversee Wayne’s ex-wife’s care, and while there was a considerable fortune attached to the trust fund paying for her expenses, Wayne had his own fortune and took legal measures to prove his motives were not monetarily motivated.

  Fifteen minutes later, MacDonald sat in the bungalow’s kitchen. It was not quite 9:00 a.m. on Valentine’s Day.

  “Karen is still sleeping,” Will explained as he handed a mug of steaming coffee to the chief. “She had a rough night. Actually, the last few nights have been rough.” Will took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “Is it just you taking care of her?”

  “Goodness, no. There’re several excellent nurses and caregivers on staff; they rotate shifts. To be honest, I’m just here to oversee her care, make sure she gets what she needs.” He picked up the cane leaning against the table and briefly tapped his leg. “I’m afraid I don’t get around too well myself. I’ve discovered the dampness up here is not the best thing for my leg. I’ve been thinking about going back to Arizona.”

  “What about Karen?”

  “I’m working on that. I’d like to take her with me, if I can work everything out—legally. I’ll set her up somewhere. Someplace close to wherever I land.”

  “You won’t stay under the same roof with her anymore?”

  Will shook his head. “No. When I first got here, she’d have occasional moments when she’d remember Bobby—that boy I used to be. Of course, she had no idea I was Bobby. But now, she’s drifted off completely to another place. I realize I’m not getting any younger, and as long as I make sure she’s properly cared for, and I regularly check on her, then I think it may be time I move on.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.” MacDonald sipped his coffee.

  “So tell me Chief, why are you here?”

  “Did you hear the news?”

  “You mean about Peter Morris’ murder?”

  MacDonald studied Will. “I take that as a yes.”

  “I heard it on the radio yesterday. Almost called Danielle, but figured she was probably overwhelmed. Feel awful for her, having something like that happen right under her roof. Any leads on who killed him? According to the news, you hadn’t arrested anyone yet.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” MacDonald set his mug on the tabletop.

  Will let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I have to assume Danielle told you how I hired a private investigator after receiving several anonymous calls, telling me Morris was responsible for Isabella’s death. I’m sure that would put me on top of the suspect list. But if Morris was murdered early Friday morning, as the radio said, I have an alibi. I was here all night with Isabella and two nurses. Didn’t get much sleep. Like I said, the last few nights have been rough.”

  “Can you tell me a little bit about the private investigator you hired?”

  Will picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee before answering. “Logan Mitcham, what about him?”

  “Did he find out anything about Morris, in relationship to your daughter’s death?”

  Absently licking his lips, Will set his cup on the table and looked up into the chief’s eyes. “He claimed to have evidence Morris had her killed.”

  “What evidence?”

  Will shrugged. “I haven’t seen the evidence yet. Not sure if I will.”

  MacDonald frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “I suppose I would have come to you eventually. But I wasn’t quite sure what to do next,” Will explained.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “After Mitcham told me he had evidence Morris killed my daughter, I asked to see it. But he told me I’d never get any satisfaction going through the legal channels, because Morris was so well connected. He suggested I have Morris killed. Said if Isabella was his daughter, that’s what he’d do.”

  “He told you to kill Morris?”

  “He didn’t suggest I do it myself, told me he knew someone who could get the job done, but that it would cost me. I told him I wasn’t interested in killing anyone, I just wanted to know the truth. He told me to think about it.”

  “What was th
e evidence?” MacDonald asked.

  Will shook his head. “I don’t know. He never gave me anything. This was on Tuesday. I considered hiring another private detective. I figured if Mitcham was right, and Morris had Isabella killed, then someone in the coroner’s office had to be involved. But I didn’t want to call Mitcham back—even to ask him to turn over what he claimed to have so far. I felt very uncomfortable calling him, because of his offer to find someone to kill Morris.”

  “But someone did kill Morris.”

  “Yes. But I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “You said you were going to come to me?”

  “Danielle urged me to talk to you, after I told her about the phone calls I’d received. She said you had no love for Morris and would happily put him away.”

  “But you didn’t come to me, even after Mitcham offered to have Morris killed.”

  “His offer to hook me up with a hit man threw me. But it’s not like he offered to kill Morris himself. And this all happened just the other day. To be honest, I found myself more angered at the idea that someone in the coroner’s office would take a payoff to cover up a murder. I kept asking myself, should I call another private investigator to look deeper into it, call Mitcham back and insist he turn over what he had, or call you.”

  “What did you decide?”

  “I didn’t decide anything. Karen’s gotten her nights and days confused, and we’ve been trying to get her to sleep at night, but she’s been keeping us up, and then during the day I’m wiped out. Which, to be honest, is one reason I’ve realized it might be time to get my own place again and let the professionals handle Karen at night. I really don’t have the stamina.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Mitcham?”

  “That would have been on Tuesday, when he offered to find me a hit man.”

  “You haven’t talked to him again?”

  Will shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might be?”