The Ghost and the Leprechaun (Haunting Danielle Book 12)

by Bobbi Holmes

  When Danielle arrived back at Marlow House, Sadie greeted her as she walked through the back door into the kitchen. By the way the golden retriever persistently nosed her leggings, she suspected she was smelling Hunny.

  The Hortons’ car was not parked by the house, and Danielle assumed they had already left for dinner. The Spicers took off minutes after she arrived home, leaving her alone with Walt, Sadie and Max. Where Max was exactly, she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t greeted her, but she suspected he was tucked in some corner, napping.

  “That is an odd couple,” Walt told Danielle as he watched her sort through her sacks of takeout she had set on the kitchen counter.

  “How so?” Danielle pulled a wonton from a sack and took a bite.

  “They couldn’t wait for the Hortons to get out of here. I was fairly certain the moment they did, the Spicers would be making another run for the bedroom and the Mrs. would be whipping out her dust rag.”

  Danielle laughed and popped the rest of the wonton in her mouth.

  “But the minute you showed up, it was like they changed course and were out of here.”

  “Maybe they just like privacy. Wanted the place all to themselves. But now that I’m home, they decided to head down to the beach and find a secluded hideaway.” She looked at Walt and attempted to wiggle her brows, which made her look more like she had something in her eyes.

  Ignoring Danielle’s unsuccessful brow wiggle, Walt waved his hand for a cigar. “Perhaps. It was just rather abrupt.” He looked down at the sacks of food. “Is Chris coming for dinner?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No. He asked me if I wanted to go out, but I told him I just wanted to come home and crash.”

  “Then who’s coming? I thought Lily and Ian went to Astoria for dinner?”

  “No one’s coming, why?”

  Walt glanced again at the sacks of food. “I see you worked up an appetite today.”

  Danielle opened her mouth to object and then changed her mind. Looking again at the sacks of takeout, she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did overdo it.”

  “Are you just going to stand there and eat the food straight out of the boxes? Or are you going to sit down at the kitchen table?” Walt took a puff off his cigar.

  “Actually, I was considering taking this food upstairs, having a shower, and then eating in bed.”

  Thirty minutes later, Danielle, now freshly showered and wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, sat cross-legged on her bed, the sacks of food sitting around her on the mattress while she held a bowl of chow mien in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. Sitting next to her on the bed was Walt, who stretched out on the mattress as he leaned against the headboard. Napping on the floor between the bed and door were Sadie and Max.

  “I’m just trying to figure out who he is,” Danielle told Walt. She had just recounted the events of the day, including the mystery of Paddy Fitzpatrick.

  “Let me try it,” Walt suggested.

  “Try what?” Danielle un-daintily slurped up a mouthful of chow mien while wielding a pair of throwaway chopsticks.

  “See if I can make myself look like someone else.”

  “Who?” Danielle set the chopsticks in the bowl for a moment and grabbed a napkin. She wiped her mouth.

  “You tell me,” Walt said.

  Setting the napkin on her lap and still holding the bowl, she watched Walt. “Okay, do it.”

  Walt closed his eyes and concentrated. His face transformed. When he opened his eyes, he found Danielle staring at him. “Well? What do I look like?”

  “Like a ten-year-old Walt. Gosh, you were a cute kid. But you’re still you. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  Walt frowned. “I was going for Evan.”

  Danielle shook her head and took hold of her chopsticks again. She speared another helping of chow mien. “Nope. You don’t look a thing like Evan.”

  “Let me try again,” Walt insisted.

  “Okay, go for it.” Danielle watched as Walt transformed again.

  Danielle laughed.

  “What is it? Who do I look like?”

  “A much—much—older Walt. I wish I could take a picture so you would know what you would have looked like had you been able to grow old. But, still you.”

  “I was trying for Brian.”

  Danielle laughed again. “I think Brian might be insulted. Not how you look per se, but that you imagine he is that old. Of course, he isn’t aware you exist, so moot point.”

  When Danielle looked back at Walt after taking another bite of food, she noticed he was back to his normal self—neither a younger or older version of the man she knew. With a sigh, she proceeded to eat her dinner.

  Still by Danielle’s side and leaning against the headboard, Walt silently considered the recent events. His gaze wandered for a moment and then froze—someone was looking in the window.

  “Don’t move,” Danielle whispered.

  “Do you see him?” Walt whispered back, not moving.

  “It’s him. It’s the leprechaun.”

  Walt continued to stare at the window while the object of his attention was unaware he was being watched. Finally, Walt said, “No, Danielle, it is not the leprechaun.”

  “Yes, it is,” she hissed. “It’s the one who I talked to on the street. The one I saw looking in my bedroom before.” Diverting her eyes, Danielle took another bite of food so the man looking in the window wouldn’t know he had been detected.

  “No, Danielle. It is not a leprechaun.”

  “Okay, we agree there. It’s a ghost. And all evidence points to it being Paddy Fitzpatrick’s ghost, except for that stupid picture says otherwise.”

  “No, Danielle, it’s not Paddy Fitzpatrick either.”

  “Then who is staring in my window?”

  “That, Danielle, is the ghost of Sean Sullivan.”

  On the floor Max was just waking up. With a yawn he lifted his head and gave it a little shake. He heard Walt and Danielle talking. They were still lounging on the bed. While he didn’t understand their words exactly, if Walt focused some of his energy on him, he would be able to pick up the gist of the conversation. Being the curious cat he was, Max stood up and stretched and then leapt onto the bed, accidentally knocking over a container of sesame chicken. For a moment Max was distracted by the sweet-smelling chicken, yet motion at the window made his head jerk upward. He let out a piercing cry at the sight at the window. Sadie woke abruptly and leapt up, charging to the window to have a better look. When she got there, the man was gone.

  “Crud,” Danielle grumbled. Setting the bowl down on her blanket, she reached for the chicken that had fallen from the container. No longer interested in what was at the window, Max turned his attention back to the chicken and tried to grab a piece, only to be shoved away by Danielle.

  Walt looked at the window. “He’s gone.”

  “Darn animals scared him away. I wanted to talk to him.” Danielle climbed off the bed and started to pick up the opened containers. Still curious, Max attempted to poke his head into various cartons, only to be pushed away again. He was persistent, nosing the containers, causing them to fall, sniffing the escaping food now on Danielle’s once clean blanket. She groaned.

  “Max!” Walt snapped, now out of the bed.

  Danielle froze and watched as Max floated up over the bed, a confused expression on his feline face as he looked down at Sadie, who now sat by the bed, curiously watching the cat float overhead to the nearby sofa, only to be dropped unceremoniously onto the couch cushion.

  Max let out a tortured meow as he made contact with the sofa, and then he flew off the couch, taking refuge under the bed. Meanwhile, the cartons of food drifted up into the air and then floated effortlessly to the nearby desk, where they settled without more food spilled. The food that had been spilled also floated upward, its final destination, Danielle’s food bowl.

  Picking up the bowl, her chow mien now littered with random food Max had nosed, she looked up at Walt and fro
wned. “Thanks…I think.”

  “I intended to put that in your trash can, but changed my mind. I was afraid it would stain the wicker.”

  “Thanks, Walt. You’re always thoughtful,” Danielle said dryly. Turning to the desk, she set the bowl down. After getting a damp washcloth from her bathroom, she proceeded to mop any sauce or grease from her blanket. “I guess bringing all that food on my bed wasn’t the smartest idea.”

  “I think we would have been fine if we hadn’t had an unexpected visitor.” Walt sat back down on the bed.

  Danielle took a seat at her desk. Picking up one of the boxes, she began eating its contents with her fingers. “So why is Sean Sullivan dressed up as a leprechaun?”

  “And why is he here? From what you told me, he’s been dead for almost eighty years.”

  “I’d like to talk to him, but before I do, I need to know why he thinks he’s a leprechaun.”

  “Danielle, how do you expect to do that? Find out why he thinks he’s a leprechaun? Are you sure he actually thinks that?”

  Taking another bite, Danielle chewed her food carefully and considered the question. “Yes, I do. I got the impression he really believes he’s a leprechaun.”

  Crossing his legs at his ankles, Walt turned in the bed to get a better look at Danielle, who remained sitting at the desk, now grazing through the various cartons of Chinese takeout.

  “What do we know about Sean?” Danielle asked.

  “I know he was a little unstable, always talking about some leprechaun tormenting him.”

  Danielle stopped eating. She looked up at Walt. “According to those notes by Sullivan’s doctor, he claimed not to just see a leprechaun, but his grandmother after she died…and someone else. Someone who died at Marymoor.”

  Walt arched his brow. “So?”

  Setting the half-empty carton of food on the desk, Danielle stood up and started pacing the room. “And then what Agatha said about her grandfather—he was a prankster. Never knew when to quit, always pushing it too far. And how he was killed wearing that leprechaun outfit.”

  “And your point?”

  “You said Sean Sullivan was odd—even thinking he might be crazy, which was why you talked to Katherine O’Malley about him.”

  “I still don’t get your point.”

  “Sean Sullivan wasn’t crazy—at least not when you knew him. He was like me and Chris. As a child he could see spirits—but he didn’t understand. They thought I was crazy too.”

  “Okay, but why is he masquerading as a leprechaun now, in death?”

  “I suspect after Paddy Fitzpatrick died, he followed his wife and daughter here to be close to them. It’s not uncommon for a spirit to be dressed in whatever they wore when they were alive. Only after a spirit becomes aware of his or her true circumstance are they able to—well—change clothes. And in Paddy’s case, maybe he didn’t want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to?”

  “A person’s personality doesn’t alter after they die. Oh, maybe like Cheryl they become more self-aware and regret the mistakes they made when alive. But according to Agatha, her grandfather was a great jokester. He was killed after being thrown from a horse while trying to get people to chase him—while insisting he was a leprechaun.”

  “You think he tried to do that after he died?” Walt asked.

  “Either he was in that confused state, and he actually believed he was a leprechaun, confusing those last memories of life with his new reality. Or perhaps he was bored. While waiting for his wife—who he reportedly loved—to join him in the hereafter, maybe he latched onto Sean, someone who could actually see him, and decided to play jokes on him.”

  “But then what happened?” Walt asked.

  Danielle stopped pacing and faced Walt. “I don’t know. Maybe Paddy’s antics pushed Sean over the edge. Maybe in the end he had truly gone mad. We know he spent his last years at Marymoor. Living in a place like that could in itself make one go mad. Maybe Paddy moved on when his wife finally passed, leaving behind a confused Sean Sullivan, who for some reason actually came to believe he was a leprechaun.”

  Thirty

  After breakfast on Friday morning, Nola and Albert excused themselves to go pack. They planned to check out later that afternoon. As the pair went upstairs, Blake and Jeannie headed for the front door, announcing they were going to take a walk on the beach. Joanne had come into work that morning and was currently busy cleaning up after breakfast, while Lily went with Danielle to the parlor. Once in the parlor and the door closed, Danielle updated Lily on all that had happened the day before.

  “So what now?” Lily asked.

  Danielle walked to her desk and sat down. She turned on her laptop. “I’m going to see if I can find anything about Agatha’s grandmother and when she died. I wish I had thought to ask that question when I was there yesterday. They’d think I was crazy if I called them now and asked.”

  “If she died before the forties, you aren’t going to find anything online from the local paper.” Lily was referring to the fire that had destroyed the offices of the Frederickport Press in the 1940s, along with its collection of past papers. Now, the only editions of the paper prior to the fire were those donated to the museum from past subscribers or their families.

  “I know that. But there are other ways to find death information online.”

  Lily sat down on one arm of the sofa and watched Danielle. “What do you hope to accomplish by finding out when Agatha’s grandmother died?”

  “I want to see if it backs up one of my hunches.”

  “What hunch?”

  “That Paddy Fitzpatrick stuck around until his wife died.”

  Lily shrugged. “I’m not sure what that will prove.”

  Ignoring Lily’s point, Danielle focused her attention on the computer. Ten minutes later, she had her answer.

  “Well, according to this information,” Danielle began, her eyes still focused on her monitor, “Paddy’s wife died about a year after Sean. Which would mean, if his spirit was sticking around, waiting for his wife to pass on, he could have feasibly hung out with Paddy in the spirit realm for that year. I mean, why not? He was obviously hovering around Sean while he was alive, making a nuisance of himself.”

  “That’s what you assume. But what would it matter if they were together in death?”

  Danielle shut her computer and turned to face Lily. “When Heather and I saw Sean’s spirit, he was alone. Neither of us noticed a second spirit. Makes me think he’s traveling solo these days. But when I asked Sean if he was Paddy Fitzpatrick, he got this strange look and just vanished.”

  “So?”

  Danielle stood up. “So I think we have one really confused ghost on our hands. One who believes he’s a leprechaun. The only thing that makes sense to me, Paddy’s last practical joke before he moved on was to convince a newly departed soul—one who was already troubled in life—that he was a leprechaun.”

  “Okay, say you’re right. Tell me, why now? If this guy died like eighty years ago, why is he being a problem now? You’ve been here for a year and Chris for six months, why didn’t one of you see him before?”

  Danielle shook her head. “I don’t know, Lily. I honestly don’t know.”

  When Police Chief MacDonald asked him to stop by his office because there was someone he needed to talk to, Special Agent Wilson expected that someone to be Danielle Boatman. It had been almost a week since she had reported her gold coins missing. Since his initial interview with her after he had taken over the investigation, she hadn’t once contacted him, requesting an update. Wilson found her lack of apparent interest in the missing coins peculiar—especially for an uninsured innocent victim.

  Upon entering the chief’s office, Wilson found a woman sitting in one of the two chairs facing the desk. But the woman was not Danielle Boatman. It was someone he had never seen before. Whomever she was, it was obvious she was nervous, considering the way her eyes darted anxiously about. She gnawed on the nail of her l
eft index finger; it twisted and scratched against her teeth. By her lack of makeup and the fact her shoulder-length muddy blond hair looked as if she had barely combed it, Wilson wondered if she had simply been in a hurry that morning or if she was always so casual in her appearance. Dressed in a T-shirt, faded jeans, and flip-flops, she fidgeted anxiously.

  “Special Agent Wilson, thank you for coming in,” the chief greeted him. “I’d like you to meet Abby Dawson. She has something I think you need to hear.”

  “Dawson?” Wilson frowned. “Are you related to Ron Dawson?”

  Still sitting, she nodded. “He’s my husband.”

  The chief motioned to the empty chair. Wilson sat down, his eyes on Abby. He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small box sitting on her lap.

  Removing the finger from her mouth, she picked up the box and handed it to Wilson. “I think you need to see this.”

  Wilson accepted the box and opened it. Inside was a diamond bracelet. Still holding it, he looked to the woman for an explanation.

  “It’s the bracelet Ron claimed was in the safe deposit box,” she explained after first clearing her throat.

  “You had it all along?” Wilson asked.

  She shook her head. “No. He did. And he’s going to kill me when he finds out what I’ve done.” Abby looked to the chief. “You promised, when I’m finished here, a couple of your men will escort me home so I can get my things.”

  The chief nodded in reply.

  With a frown, Wilson set the lid back on the box. “Are you saying your husband lied when he claimed the bracelet was stolen?”

  “Ex-husband. Well, soon-to-be ex. I’m not going to live like this anymore, and I’m certainly not going to be involved in some felony.”

  “Abby, go ahead and tell Special Agent Wilson what you told me earlier, everything,” the chief gently urged.

  She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “We’ve been having money problems. Things have been rough this past year, and I told myself I was going to stick it out. After all, I made a commitment to this marriage. But it has been one thing after another, and now this. This is just too much.”