“And I don’t think you’re going to want to keep staying in the downstairs bedroom.”
“About that…” Walt grinned mischievously. “I was thinking I should move back to my old bedroom.”
“Old bedroom?” Danielle frowned.
“The one I had before I died.”
“Umm…that’s my bedroom now. Where am I supposed to stay?”
Walt grinned. “It’s a big bedroom.”
Danielle snatched up the pillow from her foot and hurled it to Walt. This time it made its target. He caught the pillow, laughed, and held it on his lap. “Does this mean you’re not willing to share the room with me? Not very generous of you.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I can just see Joanne’s horrified expression if I let you move into my room with me.”
Walt chuckled. “Okay, what was your idea before I so rudely distracted you?”
“It’s actually something Lily suggested when we first moved in.”
“What’s that?” Walt asked.
“She suggested we turn the attic into a bedroom and maybe add a bathroom. I was thinking maybe we should do that. Turn it into another master suite—the entire attic. Add a bathroom. It might even be possible to get the renovations done by the time you’re out of your cast and can get up the stairs. You always seemed to like the attic. What do you think? It could be your room.”
Walt considered the idea for a moment. He tossed the pillow back to the sofa. It landed on the end by Danielle’s feet. “One would think I might take issue with making the attic my room—considering I was murdered there—”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” Danielle cringed.
Walt laughed. “But I don’t have a problem with the attic. Actually, I always felt very comfortable there. And the fact is I have no real memory of my murder. I rather like your idea. But won’t others—even Joanne—find it strange you’re remodeling the attic for me?”
“I’ll handle it like it’s something I’ve always considered. I’ll get Lily on board. She can tell people it was her idea. And we don’t have to tell anyone outside our intimate friends that it’ll be your room. We can later say you offered to rent it from me after you decided to stay in Frederickport longer.”
Walt smiled. “I like that idea.”
Danielle’s cellphone began ringing. She stood up and walked to the small desk and picked up her phone and answered it. Walt sat quietly and listened to her side of the conversation. When she hung up the phone, she said, “It was the chief.”
“That’s what I gathered.”
“Beverly Klein was attacked last night.”
Walt arched his brows. “Our husband killer? Attacked how?”
“Someone broke into her house last night and hit her over the head, knocked her out. When she woke up, she was locked in the hall closet. She’s at the hospital now. They don’t know what they took, if anything, but they ransacked her garage.”
“Is she okay?”
“Aside from some stitches and a nasty bump on the head, the chief thinks she’s going to be okay. But they want to keep her overnight at the hospital for observation.” Danielle set her phone back on the desk and returned to the sofa. “They won’t be able to tell what was taken from the house until she goes home. Nothing obvious is missing, but I guess they trashed her garage. Took everything out of the cabinets and threw it on the garage floor. They didn’t do anything like that in the house. According to the chief, it didn’t look like anything in the house was disturbed.”
“She didn’t recognize her attacker?” Walt asked.
“The chief said she was hit from behind and didn’t see anyone.”
Twelve
Beverly Klein loathed hospital gowns. Unfortunately, she didn’t have anything else to put on aside from what she had been wearing when they had brought her to the hospital that morning. She might have considered wearing her robe instead of the hospital gown had the robe not been stained in her blood. Brian had offered to go back to her house and get her something else to wear, but she didn’t want him rummaging around in her things. Beverly liked her privacy.
In spite of Beverly’s emotional state at the time she had been loaded into the ambulance, she’d had the presence of mind to ask someone to get her purse. She always kept a supply of makeup and a brush in her handbag. The makeup she had just finished applying, yet the brush was minimal help, considering the bandage on her head. Since before her days in beauty pageants, Beverly prided herself on always looking her best. Even with half-combed hair, a bandaged head, and a hospital gown, Beverly Klein was an attractive woman.
She had already spoken to her daughter, Roxane, on the phone, and Roxane and her boyfriend were driving in from Portland first thing in the morning. After she arrived, Beverly would have her go over to her house and pick up a few things. She would need a change of clothes before she went home.
Beverly sat in the hospital bed, a blanket pulled up to her waist, as she made a list of things for Roxane to pick up at the house.
“Are you up to having any visitors?” came a voice from the open doorway.
Beverly set her pad of paper on her lap and looked to the new arrival. There, standing just inside the doorway, was Pastor Chad from her church.
“Chad, hello,” she said brightly. “Please come in!”
Chad walked to her bedside. “I heard what happened, and I came right over. Are you okay?”
“That’s what they tell me.” She pointed to the nearby chair. “Why don’t you pull the chair over and sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Unless, of course, you need to leave right away.”
“No, I have time to talk. That’s why I’m here.” Chad turned around briefly and pulled the chair to the bedside. He sat down and looked up at Beverly.
“So you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yes, but the hospital insisted on keeping me overnight for observation. I was tempted to argue with them, but since I live alone, I thought that might not be wise. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Of course. Tell me, what happened?”
“I suppose part of it is my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I left the door from the garage to the side yard unlocked. Stupid of me. But I had been working in the garage all day, and well, I just forgot to lock it.”
“Do you remember what happened? Ben told me they found you in the closet in your house. That you had been knocked unconscious.”
“Ben?” Beverly chuckled. “I forget how fast news travels in this town. I had been working in the garage all day, trying to get it cleaned up before summer. Brian Henderson came over earlier and helped me get some boxes down from the rafters. Steve had put them up there, and I felt it was time I went through them.”
“What happened?” he asked again.
Beverly shook her head. “I worked into the evening sorting through things. I was tired—forgot to lock the door—went in to take a shower. When I got out of the shower, I realized I had skipped dinner, so I went out to the kitchen to grab something to eat. That’s when I heard it. Something in the garage. At first I thought the neighbor’s cat had gotten in again. I walked in the garage, and the next thing I know my head feels like it’s been crushed, and then everything goes black. I woke up later in my hall closet, and I couldn’t get out. They locked me in. I must say I was terrified. I actually thought I was going to die in that closet.”
“I’m so sorry, Beverly. You didn’t see your attacker?”
“No. But from what Brian told me, they trashed my garage. Dumped everything I’d put in the bags all over the floor. Emptied the garage cabinets and threw stuff around. Just made a mess. Who would do something like that?”
“Do you have any idea who it was?” Chad asked.
Beverly shook her head. “No. None at all.”
“I’m so very sorry. I’ll be happy to go over there and straighten up your garage before you get home. You don’t really need to deal with this, not after what you’ve been th
rough.”
“I appreciate the offer, but Roxane and her boyfriend are coming in the morning. I’m just going to have them put everything back in trash bags, and next week I’ll put it all out for trash pickup. Except for whatever tools were in the cabinets. I was going to give those to Roxane’s boyfriend anyway. They can just take what they want now.”
“There isn’t anything Steve had in the boxes you want to keep?” Chad asked.
“Not really. You know what a packrat he could be. It was just a bunch of junk. The only things of interest were some old wooden apple boxes filled with old historical documents. I considered giving them to the museum, but I glanced through them, and it seemed most of the material pertained to Marlow House, so I gave them to Danielle.”
“You gave them to Danielle Boatman?” Chad asked in a toneless voice.
“Yes. Three old wooden apple boxes. I know the museum probably would have liked them, but from what I saw when I glanced through them, it looked like information on Marlow family history. Frankly, I’m surprised Steve hadn’t given them to Danielle. In one box was a newspaper clipping—a wedding announcement for the mother of Danielle’s great-aunt.”
“I…I imagine Danielle appreciated it,” he stammered.
“Yes. That girl is rather obsessed with the history of that house. But frankly, local history was never my thing. I know you’re one of the Historical Society’s founding members, as was Steve. But I’m more interested in the news of today, not what happened when my grandparents were alive. Plus, I’m not from Frederickport, so its history is not interesting to me. Not like it would be to you.”
“Do you know if Danielle has gone through the boxes yet?”
Beverly smiled. “Don’t worry. Danielle has already said she plans to offer the museum anything that she doesn’t want. And knowing her, she’ll be sharing with you whatever she does keep.”
“So I imagine she’s already started going through them?”
“Aww, you remind me of Steve. News of some historical find has you eager to learn more. When I left them with Danielle, she said she probably wouldn’t be able to get to them until next week. Something about getting ready for their next round of guests. Although, I wonder if she’s going to be disappointed when she starts going through them.”
“Why is that?”
“Steve obviously put the boxes up in the rafters and forgot about them. So the information can’t be that interesting.”
When Pastor Chad left the hospital, he drove straight to Lucy’s Diner after making a phone call. There, waiting for him in a booth, were Millie Sampson, Herman Shafer, and Ben Smith. Chad was in his sixties, while the other three were old enough to be his parents. All four were founding members of the Frederickport Historical Society.
“How is she?” Millie asked when Chad took a seat next to her.
“She seemed fine. Had a couple of stitches. But they’re keeping her overnight for observation.” Chad picked up a menu from the end of the table and then said, “Steve lied to us. He didn’t destroy the information.”
Millie, Herman, and Ben stared at Chad, waiting for him to finish what he was saying. Before he had a chance to elaborate, the server came to their table. After taking their order, she left the four alone in the booth.
Chad glanced from anxious face to anxious face. “Beverly doesn’t know what she had. She took the boxes to Danielle Boatman’s yesterday afternoon.”
Millie groaned. “Oh no…”
“Are you sure they were the same boxes?” Ben asked.
“She said they were wooden boxes—apple boxes. Three of them. I’m certain they were the same ones. Remember that newspaper clipping of Katherine O’Malley’s wedding announcement? It was in one of the boxes.”
Resting her forehead in the palm of her right hand, Millie shook her head.
“Does this mean Beverly went through them?” Ben asked.
Millie lifted her head from her hand and looked at Ben. “She couldn’t have. There’s no way she would have taken them to Danielle. Knowing Beverly, she would have contacted someone from the museum.”
“From what she said, I got the impression she went through them quickly. Didn’t really read anything. Just saw a few headlines on some of the newspaper clippings, familiar names associated with Marlow House that jumped out at her,” Chad explained.
“What now?” Ben asked.
“I don’t think we should tell Sam about where Beverly took those boxes,” Chad said. “Not yet.”
Millie chewed her lower lip nervously and nodded at Chad. “I think you’re right.”
“I feel like an utter fraud,” Chad moaned.
“We need to get those boxes from Danielle. Unless she’s already gone through them. In that case, our gooses are cooked,” Millie said.
“She may not have gone through them yet,” Chad told them. “According to Beverly, Danielle has guests arriving tomorrow and didn’t have the time to go through them. We might have until next week.”
“I’m too old for this,” Herman groaned. “Maybe it’s not going to be as bad as we thought.”
“Maybe not for you!” Millie snapped. “After all this time—all that we’ve done—I’m not going to just give up. It will destroy me! It will destroy all of us.”
“We can always claim we had no idea what was in those boxes,” Ben suggested.
“What’s that going to do?” Millie asked.
“We stick to the story we had no idea what Steve found. After all, Steve’s dead. Maybe he did it for us. That’s what we could tell them,” Ben suggested. “And yes, some of us—like me—will have consequences. But maybe it’s for the best.”
“I like Ben’s idea,” Herman said.
“I don’t think Ruby is going to be thrilled,” Millie said.
“I think Ruby has done enough damage,” Chad grumbled.
Millie looked at Chad. “Oh, come on, you don’t really think…”
“Ruby has the most to lose, and she can be a hothead,” Chad reminded them.
“Maybe Ben’s idea should be plan B, if plan A doesn’t work out,” Millie suggested.
“And what’s plan A?” Herman asked.
“We figure out a way to get to those papers before Danielle reads them,” Millie said.
Thirteen
Walt joined Danielle in the kitchen for lunch on Thursday afternoon. Chicken salad sandwiches and barbecue potato chips were on the menu. Instead of just eating the potato chips, Walt picked up a chip, hesitantly took a sniff, and then set the chip back on his plate before picking up another one.
“Are you going to eat it or just keep smelling it?” Danielle asked.
“I know I’ve seen you eating these before…but…” Walt picked up another chip and then licked it. Frowning, he set the chip back on his plate and looked across the table to Danielle.
“I take it you don’t like barbecue potato chips?”
Walt shrugged. “I’ve just never had one before.”
“They had potato chips back then, didn’t they?” she asked.
“Yes. But not flavored.”
“Oh, go ahead, give it a try. But whatever you do, when Joanne comes back in the kitchen, please don’t sniff and lick your chips. It’s just weird.” Danielle picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite.
With a sigh Walt picked up another chip and quickly popped it in his mouth. He frowned for a moment while chewing and then smiled. “It’s rather good.” He picked up another chip and took a bite.
“I finished vacuuming,” Joanne announced when she walked into the kitchen the next moment. She looked at Walt and said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I set those boxes by your bed in your closet. There was room, and I wanted to vacuum the floor.”
Walt was about to take a bite of his sandwich, but paused instead and looked over at Joanne, who was just opening the refrigerator.
“I’m sorry, Joanne. I should have put them in the closet before I came to lunch,” Walt said.
Joanne looked at
Walt and smiled. “Don’t be silly. I don’t see how you’re going to be moving those boxes by yourself for a while. Not unless you can get them to float again!” She laughed and turned back to the refrigerator.
Walt and Danielle exchanged quick glances and continued eating.
“Hello, everyone! How have you all been?” a cheerful voice boomed just as Marie Nichols—an eighty-year-old likeness of herself—appeared in the middle of the kitchen, standing between Joanne and the kitchen table.
“Good sandwich,” Walt said, nodding behind Marie.
Marie turned around quickly and spied Joanne standing before an open refrigerator, organizing its shelves.
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. She can’t hear me anyway!” Marie, wearing a purple jogging suit, practically skipped to the table. Unfortunately, no one had pulled a chair out for her, and since she was not able to do it herself, a portion of her body—or at least the illusion of it—went through the table when she sat down on the chair, giving the impression she was cut in half by the tabletop, reminding Walt once again of Houdini.
Danielle looked at Marie for a moment and said, “I just realized, Marie had the same jogging suit that Heather does.”
Joanne turned to Danielle. “Goodness, Danielle, what in the world made you think of Marie’s jogging suit?”
Danielle shrugged. “I guess Marie just sort of popped—into my head.” She took another bite of her sandwich.
Marie smiled at Danielle. “I’m not sure you want to tell Heather that. Don’t imagine she’ll appreciate being told she dresses like a ninety-year-old.”
“You were ninety-one,” Danielle reminded her.
“Who was ninety-one?” Joanne asked.
Danielle flashed Joanne a smile. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I was just thinking of Marie.”
Joanne frowned at Danielle’s peculiar comment and then turned her attention back to the refrigerator.
Marie glanced down and looked at the tabletop cutting her in half. “I really wish you would do something about this.”
The Ghost Who Dream Hopped Page 8
