The Ghost of Valentine Past

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “Will this take long?” she asked. “I really would like to finish getting ready. David and I have a reservation, and I still need to fix my hair. It is Valentine’s Day, and well…that is why we came for the weekend.”

  “Really? Is that the only reason?” the chief asked.

  Releasing hold of a damp curl, Arlene dropped her hand to her lap. “What do you mean?”

  “Is there a reason you failed to mention your connection to our victim?”

  Arlene stared blankly at the chief. “I have no connection to Peter Morris.”

  “Maybe not directly. But your brother certainly did.”

  Dejectedly dropping her head, she looked down at her lap and then closed her eyes. “You know.”

  “Yes. Why didn’t you tell us Cleve Monchique was your brother?”

  After releasing a heavy sigh, she lifted her head and met MacDonald’s gaze. “Everything happened so fast.”

  “Were you involved in the murder of Peter Morris?”

  “No!” Arlene adamantly shook her head. “I had nothing to do with his death! I was as surprised as anyone to see him lying on the floor—obviously murdered. No, absolutely not!”

  “So why didn’t you tell us Cleve was your brother?”

  Arlene shrugged. “I never lied. I answered all your questions. I was afraid if I told you about my brother…I didn’t want to get involved.”

  “I’m surprised you stayed and didn’t leave after the murder. I know if I was on a romantic vacation and something like that happened, I’d check out early.”

  “I wanted to,” Arlene muttered. She looked down to her hands, which now fidgeted nervously in her lap.

  “Why did you and Mr. Hilton really come to Frederickport?”

  “We told you…just a holiday…” Arlene whispered.

  “I think it’s time you be honest with me. After all, David is in the other room with Officers Morelli and Henderson, and I’m certain they’ll convince him to explain why the two of you really came here. We also know about Helen Hilton.”

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “So, I’m free to go?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t decide later to bring you in for questioning—at the police station.”

  Down the hall in the parlor, David Hilton stiffly perched on a chair facing Joe and Brian, who sat together on the small sofa. David’s eyes were unable to keep from looking at the floor, where just the day before the grizzly sight of Peter Morris, his throat slashed, sprawled before the sofa.

  “Do we have to do this in here?” David asked.

  “Does it bother you, knowing Peter Morris was killed in here?” Brian asked.

  David shifted nervously in his chair. “I’ve never seen a dead person before. And certainly, never one who’d been attacked like that. Hard not to think about it.” He looked up into the officer’s face. “Why am I here?”

  “Can you explain why you never disclosed your past differences with Peter Morris,” Brian asked.

  “I assume you mean the lawsuit against Earthbound Spirits.”

  “Yes. Don’t you think that’s something you should have mentioned?” Joe asked.

  “Why? It’s public knowledge. I didn’t hide my name. Figured if you wanted to ask me something about it, you would.”

  “So, you’re saying you weren’t concealing—by omission—the grievance you had with Peter Morris and his organization?” Joe asked.

  “If you’re implying I had something to do with his death—that I was hiding the fact our family was bilked out of our rightful inheritance by those conmen to cover up my motive for wanting the man dead, you’re totally off base. I didn’t want to see Morris dead. I wanted to bring the SOB down and hold him accountable for all the damage he’s done to countless people.”

  “People like Arlene’s brother?” Brian asked.

  David visibly tensed for a brief moment and then relaxed and leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving the officers. “You know that too.” Absently combing his fingers through his hair he said, “Arlene didn’t have anything to do with Morris’ murder either.”

  “But you both had a motive to want the man dead,” Brian reminded.

  “Like I said, we didn’t want him dead. We wanted to hold him accountable. I wanted to see the SOB taken off to prison. I imagine right now, the current powers to-be at Earthbound Spirits are hailing this as some celebration—their beloved leader has been released from this world and moved onto paradise. It reinforces their sick message, that even if something horrible happens—like your throat gets slashed—there is reason for celebration, providing you embrace the teaching of Earthbound Spirits. And oh, by the way, don’t forget to leave us your money.”

  “Why don’t you tell us why you and Arlene really came to Marlow House.”

  “I met David online,” Arlene explained. “This was about nine months ago. “I was trying to find out more about Earthbound Spirits. We met on a forum. He told me about his grandmother, how she’d been brainwashed by the group.”

  “Your brother was involved with Earthbound Spirits for a number of years; had you looked into the group prior to this?”

  “Not really. I didn’t even know Cleve was my brother until about ten years ago, when his mother told him she’d gotten pregnant from a married man, and the father he thought was his, wasn’t. His world sort of fell apart, and he tracked down his biological father—my dad.”

  “How did that work out?”

  “Mother already knew about the affair and the child. When Cleve found that out, I think it bothered him more than had Dad kept it a secret. I always felt that in Cleve’s mind he wanted to imagine himself this love child—the baby my father bitterly gave up to save his marriage and protect the child he already had—me.”

  “I’m not sure why that scenario would matter one way or another.”

  “Since Mother already knew about the affair and obviously forgave Dad, Cleve didn’t understand why Dad hadn’t made any effort to be in his life. And when he met Dad, well, my father’s not the most affectionate of men.”

  “Did they ever come to terms with each other? Have some sort of relationship?”

  “No. Not really. But, after I learned about Cleve, I reached out to him. Both of us had grown up believing we were an only child, but we weren’t. We had each other.”

  “From what I read on your Facebook page, it didn’t seem like you saw him a lot.”

  “Ahh…so that’s how you figured this out. Well, they say we should be careful what we post online.” Arlene smiled sadly. “No, we didn’t see each other much, but we kept in contact. When he first started getting involved with Earthbound Spirits, and he told me about it, I got the feeling he was acting out—joining a cult to spite Dad.”

  “Why would that spite your father?”

  “Dad’s pretty involved in his church. I think Cleve saw that as hypocritical, my father the Christian Deacon who denied his own bastard son for most of that son’s life.”

  “Did you try to get your brother away from the group?”

  Arlene shook her head. “Not at first. At first, I thought it was harmless. After all, what he shared with me seemed pretty innocuous. I figured, if it made Cleve happy. But then, when we would see each other, I noticed he changed. He started working for them, and something about his entire demeanor seemed off to me. I suppose, if we had seen each other more frequently, in person, I would’ve tried to do some sort of an intervention. As it is, I was too late.”

  Walt felt like a badminton birdie, bouncing between the parlor and library, listening in on the interrogations. Although, he imagined if Danielle were to ask the chief if Arlene and David were being interrogated, he would tell her they were simply being questioned, and either one could leave if they wanted to. At least, that was the impression MacDonald and his men conveyed to Danielle’s two guests.

  So far, Walt had learned Cleve was Arlene’s half brother. He was tempted to pop o
ut for a moment and tell Danielle that tidbit, but he was afraid he’d miss something. He also learned Arlene and David were not romantically involved. That did not surprise Walt. Since keeping a closer watch of the two, not once had he been forced to vacate their room due to amorous activity. In his day, if you checked into an inn with a lovely young woman, most of that time was spent involved in activities requiring far less clothing. He didn’t imagine things had changed that much since he had been alive.

  With a wave of his hand, Walt summonsed a cigar and silently puffed, as he listened to what David had to say.

  “We were supposed to meet someone in town tonight, that’s the real reason we came to Frederickport,” David finally confessed.

  Joe glanced around the room and took a sniff. With a frown, he dismissed the sudden scent of smoking tobacco and focused his attention back on David. “Who were you meeting?”

  “A private detective we’ve been working with, trying to find the evidence to bring down Earthbound Spirits, once and for all.”

  “The detective’s name?” Joe asked.

  “Logan Mitcham. He has an office in Portland.”

  Brian and Joe exchanged quick glances before Brian asked, “When is this meeting to take place…and where?”

  “It’s tentatively set up for tonight at 7:00 at the pier.” David glanced at his watch. “But, he was supposed to call us, confirm that everything was still on. If you believe we had something to do with Peter Morris’ murder, I suppose you could come with us, talk to Mr. Mitcham. He’ll be able to confirm that’s the reason we’re in Frederickport—not to kill anyone.”

  “Why stay at Marlow House? Why come to Frederickport at all?” Brian asked.

  “Mr. Mitcham told us he’d uncovered some damning information on the group, something that would guarantee jail time for all those at the top of the Earthbound Spirits food chain. But he had one more piece of paper to get his hands on, which he could only do this afternoon. We planned to meet tonight, where he’d turn over all the evidence, which we were then going to hand over to the local police department. To you.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him?” Joe asked.

  David shook his head. “No. And that concerns me, in light of Peter Morris’ murder.”

  “How so?” Brian asked.

  “I assumed he would have contacted us right after learning of the murder. After all, we were all working together to bring Morris down, and Morris was killed at the same place we’re staying.”

  “Why did you decide to stay at Marlow House?” the chief asked Arlene just as Walt returned to the library.

  “Logan suggested Marlow House. He told us Danielle Boatman disliked Peter Morris, that she saw him for what he really was. And that she was friends with you. He assured me Danielle was someone we could trust and would help us. Once we had the evidence we needed, we planned to go to Danielle and then to you.”

  “Why not give the evidence directly to the police?”

  “Logan explained he’d tried to do that before—with another one of his clients whose son got involved with the group at the Astoria branch. But the authorities in Astoria just blew them off. Logan thought we’d have more of a chance being taken seriously if someone you trusted brought you the evidence.”

  “It sounds like you and Logan Mitcham got pretty close,” the chief noted.

  Arlene stood up. “I’ve told you everything. I’d like to go now.”

  “No, you haven’t told me everything. You didn’t tell me about seeing Mitcham at Marlow House, just after he murdered Peter Morris. You didn’t tell me how he kissed you and told you to go back upstairs.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Walt hadn’t expected MacDonald to just blurt out what Danielle had told him. After all, if Arlene called his bluff, he had no way to substantiate his claim. By her startled gasp and the way she fell back into the chair and broke into sobs, Walt was fairly certain Arlene wasn’t in any shape to call anyone’s bluff. The young woman was crumbling right before his eyes.

  “I didn’t know he killed Peter Morris,” Arlene sobbed. “I didn’t even know Morris was dead until we heard Heather scream, and we came downstairs.”

  MacDonald let Arlene cry and made no effort to calm her. He watched as she finally got a grip on her emotions and stifled her sobs. Using the back of her hand to wipe away tears, she looked up at MacDonald. “I swear; I had no idea he’d killed Morris.”

  “Are you saying when you all found Morris the next morning you didn’t know what had happened?”

  “I couldn’t believe Logan would do something like that. I figured there had to be some explanation. I wanted to talk to him, but he wouldn’t answer my phone calls.”

  “How long were you and Logan lovers?” MacDonald asked.

  She shook her head. “We weren’t. I mean, that one time…but it was just once. I told him we had to keep it professional, and I thought he understood.”

  “When was this?”

  “About two weeks ago.” Arlene stood up and walked to the desk. She removed several tissues from their box and then returned to her seat.

  “So what happened that night?”

  “I came downstairs to get something to drink, when I heard noise coming from the entry. I thought, maybe it was one of the cats. But it was Logan. To say I was surprised to see him was an understatement. He kissed me, told me he was taking care of things for me, and then he told me to go back upstairs.”

  “You didn’t think it was a little odd, him showing up at Marlow House in the middle of the night? From all appearances—as if he’d broken in?”

  “I was so startled to see him; I just did what he told me to. And when I was going upstairs the only thing I could think of was that he was there for me—checking on me. He knew I was there with David, that we were staying in the same room. Heck, he’d practically arranged it. He knew there was nothing between David and me—I just assumed—well, he had feelings for me. That our one night meant more than I realized. I was a little afraid at the thought, that he would just show up like that, yet a part of me—there was something romantic about it.”

  “What did you think when you saw Morris’ body?”

  “I…I…I don’t know. At first, I thought it had to be some sick coincidence, that Logan being here had nothing to do with Morris’ death. And then...then I started wondering if he’d killed Morris for me.” Arlene broke into sobs.

  When she calmed down again, MacDonald asked, “What does David know about any of this?”

  “David has no idea Logan and I ever…I mean…I never told anyone.”

  “Does David know about you seeing Mitcham here?”

  “No. The next day, after we left the police station, I just wanted to go home. I needed to think and figure this all out. He has no idea Logan may have killed Morris.”

  MacDonald arched his brows. “May have? Do you seriously have any doubt who killed Peter Morris?”

  “I keep thinking there must be some explanation for Logan being here. Maybe he was trailing Morris. Maybe he saw who murdered him. Maybe he’s in danger now too.”

  “I need some makeup,” Danielle muttered. Standing before the bathroom mirror, her reflection stared back at her. Methodically, her fingers unwove the braid. Dark circles visibly shadowed the area below her eyes.

  Lily was staying across the street at Ian’s. Kelly had been too frightened to return to Portland, not while her neighbor was still at large. The three intended to stay in for a homemade dinner and movie, certainly not the romantic evening Ian originally planned for Valentine’s Day. They had invited Danielle to join them, but she had declined.

  If it hadn’t been for Walt, Danielle would never have known what Arlene and David had said during their recent interviews. She understood why MacDonald didn’t go into detail with what they had learned; it wasn’t possible with Joe and Brian listening in. The two would never understand why MacDonald was so candid with a civilian.

  What she did know—thanks to Walt—was th
at Arlene and David had agreed to go with the police and help them locate Logan Mitcham. This meant they would be flanked by undercover police when showing up for their 7:00 p.m. appointment at the pier. Danielle wondered if the private detective would actually show up.

  While Arlene and David were being interviewed, Danielle received a text message from Heather. She wouldn’t be coming home for the night and wanted to make sure Danielle fed Bella.

  It was the first night without Chris in the house—which seemed odd. He had moved into Marlow House about eight weeks earlier and had immediately fit in—even with Walt. Perhaps Walt complained about Chris, but Danielle was fairly certain Walt was going to miss the good-natured man, who, like herself, could see and hear spirits.

  “I always loved when you’d unbraid your hair. I wish you’d wear it down more,” Lucas told her.

  Startled, Danielle turned around and came face to face with her husband’s spirit. She had no idea how long he had been standing behind her watching. Why would she? A spirit’s image has no reflection.

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “A while. You look tired. I don’t think running a bed and breakfast is a good idea. It’s dangerous. I’m sorry I left you. We had such a good life together.”

  “Lucas, you left me long before that car accident.”

  “We need to talk about that,” Lucas said. “But it’s Valentine’s Day. Can’t we have at least one night together where we just shut the world out? Where we go back in time, like it used to be—just you and me.”

  “We can’t go back in time.”

  “We could pretend. Just for one night. And it is Valentine’s Day—our day.”

  Instead of a response, Danielle’s gaze moved over Lucas. He looked exactly as she remembered—with his perfectly coiffed dark hair, reminding her a little of the guy on the evening news—his tanned skin, as if he’d spent the day at the beach or in a tanning booth—chiseled features and tailored fitting clothes.

  It seemed as if he had been away for more than 14 months. In some ways, it felt like 14 years. She then realized, even if it had been 14 years, he would still look the same—exactly the same. How peculiar that would be, she thought, if the man she once married remained at Marlow House, and as each year went by, her face, her body, aged, as people do—while Lucas’ image remained trapped in time, the oldest version of himself in life. For some reason, that thought horrified her.