The Ghost Who Dream Hopped

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Blinking in disbelief, he looked away from the woman, his gaze settling on another table. To his surprise, the two women sitting at that table also had tattoos covering their arms. His gaze then darted around the diner and he began taking count. Over half the tables and booths were occupied with one or more customers who had tattoos—many were women.

  “Know what you want to order?” Danielle asked as she returned and took a seat. She picked up a menu from the middle of the table and opened it. When he didn’t answer her question, she lowered her menu slightly and peeked over it. Walt was staring across the diner.

  “Walt?” Danielle said in a loud whisper. “What are you looking at?”

  Walt turned in his seat and faced Danielle, a frown on his face. “Is the circus in town?”

  “Circus? What are you talking about?”

  “There are more than a half a dozen women in here with tattoos all over their arms or legs or both.”

  Blushing, Danielle shushed Walt and said, “Not so loud. They’ll hear you.”

  Walt shrugged. “I’m sure they know they have tattoos. Is the circus in town?”

  Danielle set the menu on the table and glanced around, checking to see if anyone had overheard Walt and was looking their way. No one seemed to have noticed his words. “What does a circus have to do with tattoos?”

  “Are you saying you don’t know?” Walt asked sincerely.

  The next moment the waitress arrived to take their order. Walt picked up a menu and skimmed through it while Danielle told the server what she wanted. When placing his order a minute later, he noticed the waitress had a floral tattoo on her neck.

  “What’s with the circus question?” Danielle asked after the server left their table. “And please whisper.”

  “It’s just all these women—they’re all tattooed up.” Walt looked around the diner and then back to Danielle.

  “You’ve seen Lily’s tattoo.”

  “I know. But that’s different. I don’t imagine all these women in here were kidnapped and forcibly tattooed.”

  Danielle let out a sigh. “We talked about this before. I told you it was common now. Goodness, you’ve been watching television, surely you noticed women with tattoos before.”

  “Not like this. And frankly, I never thought television depicted real life—not as it really is.”

  “So what does a circus have to do with any of this?”

  “It’s just that back when—the last time I was here—the only time you ever saw a woman with tattoos was in a circus. It was one of the acts—like the bearded lady.”

  Danielle groaned. “Please don’t say that too loud.”

  “It’s just a lot to take in. I didn’t expect it, not like this. I assumed there would be an occasional rose or butterfly.”

  Danielle reached across the table and patted Walt’s hand. “It’s a different world.”

  The hand Danielle patted quickly snatched hers. Walt held it and looked into her eyes. “What about you?”

  Danielle frowned. “What about me what?”

  “Do you think you’ll get tattooed someday?”

  “I’m not a big fan of needles. Plus, I’m afraid I’d get tired of looking at the same tattoo forever.”

  Walt seemed relieved at her answer. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then released his hold.

  Four

  When Brian returned to the police station on Wednesday, he noticed Danielle’s Ford Flex was no longer in the parking lot. He couldn’t help but wonder why she had stopped by, and why Clint Marlow—or Walt, as he now wanted to be called—was with her. He didn’t imagine Chris Johnson was thrilled that Marlow was taking up so much of her time these days.

  After getting out of his vehicle, he slammed the door shut and glanced at his watch. When he got off work today, he had promised to stop by Beverly’s and help her move some boxes in her garage. He wondered if this meant their relationship had proceeded to the next level—whatever that might be.

  They had gone out about a half a dozen times since they had started dating. There had been a few kisses at the door when saying goodnight, yet she had never invited him in for a nightcap—or anything else. Perhaps helping her around the house might ease the formality of their dating relationship, allowing them to proceed to a more adult activity beyond goodnight kisses. However, he didn’t want to pressure the woman. He understood she had been married a long time, and while her late husband had been unfaithful, Brian Henderson was fairly certain she had never been with another man during her lengthy marriage. She just needed some time, Brian told himself. Beverly Klein was one classy woman, he thought, and he didn’t want to mess things up with her.

  A few minutes later Brian walked into the police station and found Alvin Atherton waiting at the front desk. Alvin, a tall, slender, clean-cut man in his mid-thirties, with short hair and a receding hairline, worked at one of the main storage yards the department contracted with.

  “Hey, Alvin,” Brian greeted him.

  “Hey, Brian,” Alvin returned.

  “Maybe you can help him,” the woman at the front desk told Brian.

  Brian glanced from her to Alvin and asked, “What do you need?”

  “Last week we delivered some things we had in storage for Walt Marlow over at Marlow House.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  Alvin handed Brian the large manila envelope he had been holding. “I’m really sorry, but this envelope must have fallen out of one of the boxes when they were being moved. I found it in the back of our van. I didn’t know if the chief would want me to just take it over to Marlow House, or if he wanted me to drop it off here. Marlow already signed for the delivery. I brought a copy of the receipt with me.”

  Brian glanced at the woman and asked, “I take it the chief isn’t here?”

  “He just stepped out ten minutes ago,” she told him.

  Now holding the envelope, Brian said, “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  Alvin pulled a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Brian. “Here’s a copy of the receipt Marlow signed.”

  Ten minutes later Brian was alone in the break room with the manila envelope and receipt Alvin had given him. He tossed them on a table as he went to pour himself a cup of coffee. Sitting down at the table a minute later, he absently picked up the paper receipt and unfolded it. It listed the items delivered to Marlow House the previous week. Walt Marlow’s signature was sprawled on the bottom of the receipt.

  Taking a sip of his coffee, Brian tossed the receipt on the table and opened the envelope, curious to see what was inside. It contained rumpled slips of narrow paper. Setting the cup on the table, he removed the contents and flipped through them. They were primarily credit card receipts for restaurants and gas stations and, by the dates, were purchases made during the time Clint and his fiancée had stayed at Marlow House. There was also a larger folded piece of paper. When he unfolded it, Brian saw it was the rental agreement for the van Clint Marlow had rented to take him from Portland to Frederickport—the van that had been totaled in the accident.

  Brian was just about to return the papers to the envelope when he froze. Dropping the papers on the table, he picked up one of the credit card receipts in one hand and the van rental agreement in the other. Bringing them closer to his face, he compared the two signatures. He tossed the credit card receipt on the table and picked up the receipt Marlow had signed just ten days ago.

  “What the hell?” Brian muttered. He tossed the rental agreement to one side and picked up another credit card receipt, comparing it to the recently signed document. After a moment he tossed the credit card receipt down and picked up another—and then another—and another.

  “Any more coffee?” Joe Morelli asked as he strolled into the break room.

  Brian looked up from the pile of papers spread before him on the table. “Umm…yeah…”

  With a frown, Joe walked to Brian and looked down at the table. “What are you doing?”

 
“Alvin from the storage yard brought this in a little while ago. It was supposed to be in the load they dropped off at Marlow House last week.”

  “What are you doing with it?” Joe walked over to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “I told Alvin I’d take care of it. Planned to drop it off at Marlow House after checking with the chief. But I thought I’d see what it was first.”

  “Find anything interesting?” Joe sat down at the table with his now full cup of coffee.

  “I assume it is what they found in the glove box of the car. Credit card receipts for restaurants and gas, and the rental agreement for the van.”

  “Marlow will probably just throw it out. But you should probably give it to him.” Joe took a sip of his coffee.

  “Joe, look at this. See the signatures on the credit card receipts and the rental agreement?” Brian shoved the papers across the table to Joe.

  Joe glanced down and picked up one, giving it a quick glance before tossing it back on the table. “What about it?”

  “Now look at the receipt Marlow signed last week when Alvin delivered his stuff.”

  Taking another sip, Joe took the receipt from Brian and then set the cup on the table.

  “Look at Marlow’s signature,” Brian told him.

  Joe frowned. He studied the signature a minute and then glanced down at the papers strewn across the table. “It’s not the same signature.”

  “I know the recent one says Walt Marlow while the others are all Clint Marlow. But the Marlow is totally different from how he signed his name before the accident.”

  “Wow. I guess he really does have amnesia.” Joe handed the receipt back to Brian.

  “What do you mean?” Brian frowned.

  “His signature changed. It’s like he forgot how to write it. Weird.” Joe shook his head. “And here I wondered if he was faking it for some reason.”

  Brian didn’t respond. Instead, he quietly gathered up the credit card receipts and rental agreement and then tucked them back into the envelope.

  “I’ve never heard your handwriting changes when you have amnesia,” Brian said.

  Joe shrugged. “I’ve never known anyone who had amnesia before. But it would explain the difference in handwriting.”

  “I guess,” Brian muttered, looking down at the envelope.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Brian shook his head. “No. I’ve just had an overactive imagination lately.”

  “If you want, I can drop the envelope off at Marlow House tonight. I’m sure that’s what the chief is going to have you do anyway. Kelly and I are going out with Lily and Ian tonight, and we’re picking them up. We’ll just be across the street.”

  Brian nodded and handed the envelope to Joe. He picked up the receipt Marlow had signed for the storage company. “I’m going to file this.”

  Fifteen minutes later Brian was alone in the evidence room, preparing to file the receipt. Just as he opened one of the file drawers, he paused and then glanced down the room, toward the shelf housing the closed-case file on Walt Marlow’s bootlegging case.

  It wasn’t logical, but he had to look. Closing the file drawer, the receipt still in his right hand, Brian walked across the room. After locating the box where he had found the old fingerprint card, he removed it from the shelf and set it on a nearby table. He opened the box and began sorting through it. The fingerprint card he had found was still missing. It was obvious the chief had not returned it after taking it from him. From what the chief had told him, Brian had the impression he was going to take a closer look at who in the department might be playing games with each other. The chief had made it clear he did not want Brian to involve himself. The matter was between MacDonald and his officers—or so the chief insisted.

  At the bottom of the box Brian found what he was looking for, a document that Walt Marlow—the original Walt Marlow—had signed. Taking a closer look, Brian froze. While not exactly like the signature on the recently signed document, it was close enough that the two signatures could have been written by the same person.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Brian muttered.

  Sitting down at the table, he stared at the two similar signatures.

  The chief doesn’t believe Clint Marlow had anything to do with the fingerprint card I found, Brian told himself. But if Marlow is purposely signing his signature to match a signature in the same box where I found that card, then he has to be involved. But why? Is he attempting to imitate Walt Marlow’s signature? Is the signature I found in the box even the original Walt’s signature, or a fake like the fingerprint card must be?

  None of it made any sense to Brian. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing what he had found with anyone—not even Joe or the chief. How would he explain why he had looked in the old evidence box in the first place? And why had he? He had no idea.

  Sitting in silence for a few more minutes, Brian realized the only thing he could do was find the actual signature of Walt Marlow—the original Walt Marlow. It could help prove someone had tampered with the evidence box. However, if it did look similar to the signature found on the recent storage receipt and in the old evidence box, it would mean whoever was playing this game was going to a lot of effort.

  “The museum,” Brian said aloud. The museum was the only place he could think of that might have a copy of Marlow’s signature. Removing his cellphone from his pocket, he searched for the museum phone number and then placed the call.

  “Frederickport Museum,” came a male voice.

  “What time are you closing today?” Brian asked.

  “We close at five.”

  “Thank you.” Brian hung up the phone.

  I’d rather do this on my own time, Brian told himself. He was getting off work at four. His original plan was to head over to Beverly’s house, and after he helped move the boxes, he would suggest they grab a bite to eat. But now, he knew there was no way he would be good company for her, not with his mind on this mystery he was trying to untangle. He would rather not go to the museum during work hours. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to the chief why he was going through files at the museum on work time.

  Five

  After lunch Danielle drove Walt to the museum. If he didn’t have his leg in a cast, she would have suggested they walk. It was only down the street a short distance. He had been uncharacteristically quiet during lunch, and he wasn’t any more talkative during the short car ride.

  Danielle pulled into a parking spot near the front of the museum and turned off the ignition. She glanced to Walt, who sat silently in the passenger seat, staring ahead blankly, making no attempt to unbuckle his seatbelt.

  “Walt, is something wrong?” she asked in a soft voice.

  He turned to Danielle with a somber expression. “Have I made a mistake doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you first brought me home from the hospital, it was the roads.”

  “Roads?” Danielle frowned.

  “All the roads were paved.” Walt let out a deep sigh and looked back out the front windshield, leaning back in the car seat. “After going into Lucy’s, I realized it isn’t just the roads that have changed, it’s the people. You were right. It’s a different world. It’s not my world. Will I be able to adapt?”

  “Is this about the tattoos? If it makes you feel any better, there are a lot of people who don’t like tattoos.”

  Walt shook his head. “No, it’s not about the tattoos, really. But during that short time we were in the diner, I realized so much has changed. First it was the tattoos and then the cellphones.”

  Danielle frowned. “The cellphones?”

  “It’s not like I wasn’t aware of the behavior—after all, I have been watching television. But to actually witness it—to realize it wasn’t exaggerated.”

  Confused, Danielle frowned. “What wasn’t exaggerated?”

  “Just about everyone in the diner had a cellphone in their hands. Well,
at least half of them. They kept staring at it or doing that text thing you and Lily do.”

  Danielle grinned. “In the grand scheme of things, cellphones are relatively new. After all, the first iPhone didn’t come out until about seven years before I moved into Marlow House. So if you think about it, the feelings you’re experiencing are shared by many other people who are currently alive. Just like you, they didn’t grow up with cellphones. And trust me, I hear a lot of complaining about how people look at their phones too much.”

  “And don’t women wear hats anymore? And what’s with men’s hats? Everyone wants to be a baseball player?” he grumbled.

  “Baseball player?”

  “I know Ian always wears a baseball cap. And I’ve noticed the local police department, their hats are shaped like a baseball cap. However, I had no idea the extent of it all. In the diner just now, the men who did wear hats were wearing baseball caps. Has the game become more popular than I realized? And a few of them were wearing them backwards, what is that about? Why doesn’t anyone wear a respectable hat these days?”

  Danielle shrugged. “Some people wear hats. I guess they’re not as common as they used to be.”

  “And it’s the clothes. I don’t believe any woman in the diner was wearing a dress, but it’s not just women. Most of the men look as if they’re ready to go work on the farm with their blue jeans on. I didn’t see a single tie in there, much less a decent suit.”

  “I don’t imagine you did. But I’m rather surprised that…well, that you’re surprised. I know you’ve been locked up in Marlow House for over ninety years, but you have been watching television. You’ve seen how the world looks now.”

  “But it’s different actually seeing those changes in person. And I’m not saying all the changes I noticed in the diner are bad—or good. It just illustrated how different the world is today, and it made me ask myself, what other changes will I notice? Will I fit in? Or will I spend the rest of this life feeling like an outsider?”