“Not enough to justify never cooking at home.” Joanne took a bite of her taco.
“I ran into your boss—and Marlow—at the grocery store before coming over here.”
“She had Walt with her?” Joanne asked. “Can’t imagine it was easy for him in that cast. Although, he seems to be hopping around the house with no problem.”
“He was using one of those scooters the store has,” Brian told her.
“Ahh…that makes sense.” Joanne set her taco on her plate and looked at Brian. “I know I said some things about Walt to you and Joe that I probably shouldn’t have.”
Brian arched his brows. “So you’re calling him Walt now?”
“This sounds horrible—and please don’t repeat this—but I kind of hope he doesn’t get his memory back.”
Brian frowned. “Why is that?”
“He’s much nicer than he was before. I guess amnesia made him forget how to be a jerk.” She picked up the taco again and took another bite.
“So you don’t mind calling him Walt now?”
Joanne shrugged. “Not really. He…well…sort of seems like a Walt now.” She then chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“He did the craziest thing this morning. I’m still trying to figure out how he did it.” She shook her head at the thought and took another bite.
“What did he do?” Brian asked.
Now finished with her taco, Joanne picked up a paper napkin and wiped her mouth before answering the question. “Beverly brought some boxes over—oh, how is Beverly, by the way? Horrible what happened to her.”
“She’s doing fine. Has a major headache, and the hospital is keeping her overnight for observation, but she’s supposed to come home in the morning.”
“That’s just horrible. Who would do such a thing? Has anyone been arrested?”
“No. It’s an open investigation. Now, what were you saying about what Walt did?” Brian asked.
“Beverly brought over some boxes for Danielle. From what I understand, some family history stuff Steve had collected on the Marlows. Wanted Danielle to look through it before they turned it over to the museum. Since it’s actually Walt’s family, Danielle gave the boxes to him to look through first. But the craziest thing, I walked into the hallway and one of those boxes was floating in the air. All by itself!”
Dumfounded, Brian blinked several times and then asked, “What do you mean floating in the air?”
“Just that. A couple of feet above the floor, just hovering there—and then boom. The box falls to the floor. It was insane!”
“And you don’t find that…odd?”
Joanne laughed. “Of course I find it odd. Scared the crap out of me, if you want to know the truth. Which makes me feel a little silly now, after Walt explained. But I still would like to know how he did it.”
“I am confused.”
“It was all a magic trick. You know, sleight of hand.” Joanne started to unwrap her second taco.
“Magic trick?” Brian frowned.
“Apparently he’s been studying magic online. Gives him something to do while he’s cooped up. And I have to say, he sure had me believing that box was floating in midair.”
“And it wasn’t?” Brian asked.
“Obviously boxes don’t float by themselves. Of course it was some sleight-of-hand magic trick—and a darn good one. Impressed me. I’m a little annoyed at myself that I didn’t look a little closer at that box. Must have been some wires I didn’t see. But I was a little frazzled at the time, even when they told me it was a magic trick.”
“They?”
“Danielle was there. But actually, she didn’t tell me it was a magic trick, Walt did.”
Brian slumped back in his chair as Joanne started eating her second taco. He thought about the boxes in the store, which had looked as if they were falling—and then floating. Floating like the box Joanne had witnessed.
“Magic?” Brian muttered under his breath. Sleight of hand, like swapping out fingerprint cards and documents with old signatures?
Also sitting in Beach Taco was the couple who lived on the south side of Beverly’s house. Brian didn’t recognize them, but they knew who he was.
“I think you should go over there and tell him what you heard the other day,” the man whispered to his wife.
“No. I already told the police officers everything I know, and I’m not going to bring that up. It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened.” Refusing to look over to Brian’s table, she ripped the lid off the two-ounce salsa container and then dumped its contents on her tostada.
“The officer asked us if we heard anything that day—and if we knew of anyone who may have a grudge against Beverly.”
“But it didn’t happen on Wednesday. Plus, Beverly seemed like the one who had the problem, not him.”
“You know how she can be,” he grumbled as he picked up his soda to take a drink.
“I know exactly how she can be! Did I tell you I saw her throw something at poor Snowball the other day?”
“Yes, you did. But we need to figure out some way to keep Snowball out of her yard.”
“Oh piffle. Snowball doesn’t like to be kept indoors. He’s not bothering her. She’s just a nasty old witch who likes to pretend she’s Miss Something.”
“I know you don’t like her. Neither do I. But we need to tell the police what you overheard.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want to jeopardize his job at the motel. And something like this could,” she reminded him.
“If he was the one to attack her, we need to tell the police what you know.”
“I know nothing!” she insisted. “I’m sorry, but I refuse to drag him into this mess based solely on the fact Beverly Klein went off on him like that. I don’t know how I managed to stay her neighbor for as many years as I have without me hitting her over the head with something,” she snapped.
“Not so loud!” he hissed.
“You’re the one who brought this up.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t more concerned about the fact our next-door neighbor was attacked in her home.”
She shrugged. “I don’t go around throwing things at innocent cats. I’m sure whoever hit her over the head had a darn good reason.”
Seventeen
He paced the small kitchen, anxiously waiting for her to finish the phone call. It was impossible to accurately read the situation considering her side of the conversation consisted primarily of a series of uh-huhs. But what really got to him was when she muttered something like, “That’s terrible.”
When she finally got off the phone, she looked at him and said, “At least you won’t be brought up on murder charges.”
He stopped pacing, took a deep sigh, and absently combed his fingers through his hair. With a groan he said, “I can’t believe this is happening.” Sitting down at the kitchen table, he asked, “What did she say?”
Tossing her cellphone on the counter, she walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed them each a soda. “I still can’t believe you hit her over the head—and then locked her in the closet! She said if Brian hadn’t showed up, Beverly might have died in that closet.” She walked to the table and handed him a soda before sitting down.
“She wasn’t going to die in the closet. I intended to make an anonymous call to the police station and let them know she was in there.” He opened his soda can and took a swig.
“How did you intend to do that without them tracing your call? Your number would show up.”
“I don’t know. I was going to think of something,” he snapped.
“And you left her in there all night!”
He shrugged and took another drink of his soda.
“This was not supposed to go down this way. Hitting Beverly was never part of the plan.”
“What was I supposed to do? You weren’t there! I thought I was alone in the garage, and then she just walks in. I’m grateful she didn’t see me. She didn’t—did she?
”
“I don’t think so. From what Barbara told me, the police are basically at a dead end. I guess they’re waiting for Beverly to get home tomorrow so she can look through her house, see if anything is missing. They’re hoping that will give them a clue.”
He chuckled. “Since I didn’t take anything, I guess it’s not going to help them.”
“Just as long as you didn’t leave any clues around—like DNA.”
“I wore gloves. I’ve already cleaned my flashlight. And other than the flashlight, I didn’t get Beverly’s blood on anything.”
“Not even when you dragged her in the house?”
He shrugged. “I guess I might have gotten something on my clothes, but I already washed them. So what else did Barbara say?”
“The most important thing, Beverly is going to be alright. She had a couple of stitches, and they’re sending her home in the morning. But everything else we already knew.”
“Now what do we do?” he asked.
“Let’s just hope the police aren’t able to trace any of this back to you.”
Millie Samson sat on her front porch swing, watching the sun set and waiting for the others to arrive. Wrapped in a heavy jacket, she looked down the street to where Presley House had once stood. The battered Victorian had burned down a couple of years earlier, on Halloween. It was now a vacant lot. From what she knew, Heather Donovan’s family once owned the property, but then lost it in back taxes, and it was subsequently sold to Earthbound Spirits. The last Millie heard Earthbound Spirits had also lost the property, but she had no idea who now owned it. She kept waiting to see a for-sale sign pop up or for someone to start building a new house on the lot. It was a prime piece of property, and Millie couldn’t imagine the current owners would just let it sit idle.
Millie’s train of thought had just shifted back to Earthbound Spirits, the cultish religious nonprofit that’d had its share of scandals over the last few years, when Ben Smith pulled up in front of her house. In his passenger seat sat Herman Shafer. Just as Ben and Herman started getting out of the vehicle, Pastor Chad pulled up and parked behind Ben’s car. Fifteen minutes later they were all sitting comfortably in Millie’s living room.
“Has anyone talked to Sam today?” Millie asked.
“I tried calling him a couple of times, but he isn’t answering my calls,” Ben told her.
“Do you think he knows those boxes ended up at Marlow House?” Chad asked.
“I don’t know how he could,” Ben said.
“I think we need to do something before he gets Ruby involved,” Millie suggested.
“If he hasn’t already,” Herman groaned.
Ben cringed. “I don’t even want to consider that possibility.”
Millie let out a sigh. “We need to get those boxes.”
“I still say the easiest thing would be to let it play out,” Herman suggested. “Just deny we know anything.”
“That’s not going to help Ruby,” Millie reminded him.
“What did I get myself into?” Chad rubbed the heel of his right hand against his forehead.
“If we could just talk to Sam. If he would just answer his damn phone!” Ben grumbled.
“Sam’s not going to listen. He’s obviously already talked to Ruby. She has the most to lose in all this. I don’t think she’s going to just let it all play out,” Millie said. “Seriously, that’s not going to happen.”
Chad buried his face in his palms and groaned.
“But I have an idea,” Millie said.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
Chad stopped groaning and looked over to Millie.
“Instead of breaking into Marlow House, one of us could just go over there. You heard what Danielle told Beverly. She doesn’t have time to go through those boxes. Not until next week. But maybe if one of us—” Millie looked to Ben “—like you, Ben, goes over there, starts up a conversation, mentions Beverly, which will be easy to do considering what happened, and then when Danielle mentions the boxes, you offer to take them back to the museum and go through them for her—organize them. Tell her you want to make photocopies of everything. After all, those boxes are technically the property of the Historical Society. Beverly should never have taken them to Marlow House. They should have gone to the museum.”
“And exactly what do we do when Danielle asks for them back?” Chad asked.
“We refill the boxes with censored material. She’ll never know the difference. As long as she hasn’t gone through them yet. Which is why we can’t wait another day. Ben should go over there now,” Millie insisted.
“Me? Why me?” Ben asked. “And how do I explain why I’m stopping by in the first place?”
Millie flashed Ben a smug smile. “I’ve already figured that out. The Marlow portraits.”
“Marlow portraits?” Ben frowned.
“We all know those paintings the cousin commissioned are at Marlow House. And from what I heard, Danielle isn’t even displaying them.”
“You forget, they don’t belong to Danielle,” Ben reminded her.
“I know. But I heard the cousin doesn’t even want them. I say you should go over there, ask Danielle if she’ll talk to Walt Marlow and see if he’ll be willing to loan the portraits to the museum to display, since the Thorndike portrait is still in Portland with the others. It would give you an excuse to stop by.”
“Or it could give you an excuse,” Ben grumbled.
Millie’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“It’s your idea. I think you should do it. I’ve never been good at lying,” Ben said.
“And you’re saying I’m good at lying?” Millie gasped.
“I don’t think lying is the right word,” Herman interrupted. “Maybe the word you’re looking for is manipulation.”
“Manipulation! Exactly what does that mean?”
“Oh, come on, Millie, you know it’s true. You’ve got a way of getting people to do what you want.” Herman chuckled. “And frankly, I can see Ben going over there and just blurting out something about those boxes, which will just make it all look suspicious.”
“I don’t think I would exactly blurt…” Ben grumbled.
Danielle walked into the library Thursday evening carrying a glass of wine for herself and a brandy for Walt. They were alone together in Marlow House—save for Max, who was roaming in the attic, and Sadie, whom they were pet sitting.
The moment Danielle entered the library, she spied Walt sitting on the sofa, his broken leg propped on the coffee table, and Sadie sitting on the sofa next to him, her chin resting on his lap.
“Really, Walt? Letting Sadie on the furniture?” Danielle handed Walt the brandy and eyed the golden retriever critically. Sadie, who wasn’t sleeping, kept her eyes closed, pretending to nap.
“You let Max on the sofa,” Walt pointed out before taking a sip of his brandy.
“Max is a cat. It’s impossible to keep cats off furniture,” Danielle said as she took a seat across from Walt.
“That’s not really fair.” Holding the glass of brandy in one hand, he used the other one to stroke Sadie’s neck. “Anyway, technically speaking, I bought this sofa.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “And I paid to have it reupholstered.”
Walt glanced briefly to the sofa and then to Danielle. “Now that I think about it, technically, Angela bought this sofa. She picked it out, anyway.” He took another sip of his brandy.
“Angela?” Danielle groaned. “Why did you have to say that? I really liked that sofa.”
Walt chuckled. “I just thought that way you really wouldn’t care about getting dog hair on it.” Walt set his brandy on the side table. He took his now free hand and tucked it under Sadie’s chin, lifting the dog’s head so Danielle could see her puppylike innocent face. “Now seriously, how can you resist this adorable mug?” Sadie sleepily opened her eyes and looked to Danielle. Her tail began to wag.
Danielle laughed. “Okay, you win. But just talk to her about staying off th
e sofas when we have guests. Okay?”
Walt looked down at Sadie. Sadie looked up to Walt. After a silent exchange, Walt glanced over to Danielle and said, “Deal.”
“So tell me, did Angela really pick out that sofa?” Danielle sipped her wine.
Walt picked up his half-full glass off the side table. “Actually she did. It was right before the wedding. She hated the sofa that was there before. Said it was too old-fashioned.”
“And now the sofa she picked out—definitely old-fashioned by today’s standard.”
“I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.” Walt sipped his brandy, his free hand still stroking Sadie, who had set her chin back on his lap, her eyes closed again.
“Walt, now that you’re free to leave Marlow House—and can see spirits—have you considered visiting Angela?”
“Visiting Angela? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Danielle shrugged. “Clear the air, maybe. I know she believed that you taking this second chance might give her the opportunity to move on.”
“If that’s true, then she probably isn’t at the cemetery anymore anyway.”
“Umm…that’s what I assumed too. But Marie told me something when she was here earlier.”
Walt arched his brows. “And?”
“I guess Angela is still trapped. Still at the cemetery. According to what Eva told Marie, you need to visit her so you two can talk—put things behind you. That way she can finally move on.”
Before Walt could respond, the doorbell rang. Sadie lifted her head and let out a bark. She jumped off the sofa and raced out the door to the hallway. Danielle stood up and set her glass of wine on the side table. “Think about what I said. I’ll go see who’s at the door.”
When Danielle opened the door a few minutes later, Sadie sitting at her side, she found Millie Samson standing on her front porch.
Eighteen
“Millie,” Danielle said in surprise. She opened the door wider, motioning for the elderly woman to come inside.
The Ghost Who Dream Hopped Page 11
