by Bobbi Holmes
“Dave, dammit, this isn’t funny! Help me get out of here!”
Now standing at the closed door leading to the bathroom, Joe and Wilson exchanged glances as Brian peeled a sheet of paper off the door. Together, the three silently read the note.
“So they sent you three,” Walt said to deaf ears when he reached the hallway. “I would have preferred the chief.”
Stepping away from the door, Joe and Brian readied their guns while Wilson reached for the door handle.
“I think you’re going to need my help here,” Walt muttered, focusing his energy on the lock mechanism he had jammed.
As Wilson slowly turned the doorknob and began to push the door in, the woman’s voice shouted, “It’s about time, Dave!”
Wilson stepped back and grabbed his gun when the door was jerked from his grasp and swung inward.
In the next moment the three came face-to-face with a woman, who, upon seeing them, exploded into a shrill scream as she leapt backwards, grabbing her chest in surprise. Eyes wide, she stared at the two uniformed officers and the conservatively dressed man in the dark suit. Stunned, she blinked her eyes in confusion as her mind raced to make sense of the unexpected turn of events—and then she quickly shifted into survival mode.
“Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said with a wide smile as she dramatically released the breath she had been holding. “I was hoping someone would help get this door unstuck, but I never imagined I would have three such handsome rescuers.”
“Oh, brother,” Walt groaned, rolling his eyes. He glanced over to the three officers and was relieved to see none of them appeared to be falling for her damsel-in-distress routine.
“Ma’am, would you please step into the hall,” Joe said curtly.
Wide eyed, she smiled up at Joe. “Why certainly, Officer. I’m not certain what is going on or why you’re all here—although I’m glad to see you, considering I’ve been stuck in this bathroom for what seems like forever. I’m Jeannie Spicer. I’m a guest of Marlow House. You can ask Danielle Boatman.” Flashing another smile, she stepped into the hallway.
Joe looked at Wilson and said, “Why don’t you stay down here with her, and we’ll check upstairs.”
Less than five minutes later, Joe returned to the first floor without Brian. He looked at Wilson and said, “I think you better come up here. Bring her with you.”
The smile vanished from Jeannie’s face.
Dave, aka Blake, had been rolling around on the floor prior to the officers’ arrival. Walt had been keeping an eye on him, pushing him away from any furniture, such as when it looked as if he might topple the desk or tip over its chair. Walt didn’t imagine Danielle would be thrilled if she returned to a bedroom that looked as if a wrecking ball had been let loose.
Breathing heavily, but lying still, it was obvious Dave was attempting to figure out who was in the bedroom with him. Was it the person who had attacked him from behind, blindfolded him, and tied him up?
When Steph, aka Jeannie, stepped into the room, Wilson closely by her side, she let out a little gasp upon seeing her husband bound and blindfolded on the floor, but she said nothing.
“Steph? Steph?” Dave called out.
“I thought you said your name was Jeannie,” Brian said as he leaned down and grabbed Dave by the forearm, jerking him to his feet. Still tightly bound, Dave wobbled unsteadily, trying desperately to keep erect.
Instead of removing the bindings securing Dave’s feet or hands, Brian removed the towel wrapped around his head, held in place with duct tape.
Now able to see his surroundings, Dave blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the light as he looked around frantically trying to figure out what was going on.
“Oh, Blake, who did this to you?” Stephanie called out dramatically. “I was in the bathroom and someone locked me in. Are you okay?”
“Yes…yes…someone must have broken in to Marlow House.” Dave looked from Joe to Brian and then said in a rush, “I’m so happy to see you officers!”
“I bet you are,” Joe muttered. “Maybe I need to get Lily now.”
“Oh yes, Lily! She’ll tell you who we are,” Stephanie urged.
Wilson instructed Stephanie to stand quietly next to the wall. Without comment, she immediately complied, but looked nervously at her husband.
After Brian released Dave from his restraints, he ordered him to stand next to the woman. Like Stephanie had done, he did as he was told, yet said, “We really are guests here. Honest. Lily will tell you.”
“Stay there and be quiet,” Brian gruffly demanded. “You’ll get your chance to tell your side in a minute.” He then pointed to the note still on the floor, the Missing Thorndike on top. Neither Brian nor Wilson knew the reason the man on the floor hadn’t rolled over the note was due to the fact Walt had kept him away from it.
Kneeling down beside the letter, Wilson cocked his head slightly so he could read the handwritten message. When he was done, he glanced up to the wall safe, its door still wide open.
“Who do you think foiled their burglary?” Wilson asked Brian.
“Apparently, whoever wrote that note,” Brian answered.
When Lily arrived upstairs with Joe and looked into Danielle’s bedroom, she knew exactly what had happened.
Brian pointed to the couple huddled nervously by the wall. “They say they’re guest here. They claim to be Blake and Jeannie Spicer, but according to the notes we found with them, that might not be their real names. According to one of the notes, she also goes by Stephanie, and when we found him, he was calling out to someone named Steph, and when we were downstairs, she was calling out to someone name Dave.”
“I have a brother name Dave!” the woman blurted out. “I was locked in the bathroom and panicked. I meant to say Blake!” She looked frantically at Lily. “Tell them, Lily, that we’re guests here.”
“Yeah, you’re guests here,” Lily said dryly. “But it doesn’t mean you aren’t also jewel thieves.”
More officers arrived to process the crime scene as Marlow House’s two remaining guests were put into the back of a police car to be taken to the station for further questioning. According to their identification, they were Blake and Jeannie Spicer, yet until their fingerprints were processed, Brian wasn’t certain who they actually were.
Lily sat on the sofa in the living room, a napping Max by her side. She detected a heavy scent of sweet cigar smoke in the room.
“Hey, Walt,” Lily said. While it appeared she was alone in the room with Max, she knew she wasn’t. “Good job up there.”
“Who are you talking to?” Wilson asked when he entered the room the next moment.
Lily looked up at Wilson and smiled. “Max, of course.”
Brian followed Wilson into the room. He pointed to the sleeping feline next to Lily. “The cat.”
Wilson and Brian each sat down, sitting in the chairs facing Lily.
“So what did Blake say when you questioned him? What did he say happened?” Lily asked.
“According to Mr. Spicer, he and his wife were alone in Marlow House when he heard someone walking around in Danielle’s bedroom. Knowing there was not supposed to be anyone in there, he went in to investigate, and someone attacked him from behind.”
“Someone? Like who?”
“He said he didn’t see them. Next thing he knew, he was tied up and on the floor, blindfolded. Claims he had nothing to do with opening the safe or removing the Missing Thorndike.”
Lily arched her brows. “Do you believe him?”
“Not sure why someone would leave behind the necklace if they went to all that trouble to steal it. We also found a pair of gloves on the floor and the tools used to open the safe. They’ll be fingerprinted, as well as the Missing Thorndike,” Brian explained.
Lily flashed Brian a smile and leaned back on the sofa. “Glad to see you have it under control.”
Wilson stood up and handed Lily a yellowed sheet of paper. “Have you ever seen this before? W
e found it on Danielle’s desk.”
Taking the paper from Wilson, Lily looked at it and smiled. “Sure. This is a letter Walt Marlow wrote George Hemming.”
“Walt Marlow?” Wilson frowned.
Brian glanced up to the ceiling and shifted nervously in his seat. “His grandfather built this house. He’s the one who left the Marlow Estate to Danielle’s aunt.”
Wilson snatched the letter back from Lily and turned the page from side to side. “How do you know Marlow wrote this? I don’t see a signature.”
“Obviously it’s only the first page of the letter. Marie Nichols—George Hemming’s daughter—gave Danielle some old letters Walt had written to her father. She figured Danielle would be interested in them since she now owns Marlow House. Danielle dropped that page in the kitchen when she was going through the letters. I found it on the floor and took it up to her room. So what is the big deal about this letter?”
“The handwriting in the letter is remarkably similar to the handwriting on the note left by whoever locked Jeannie Spicer in the bathroom and tied up her husband,” Wilson explained.
Pulling her bare feet up on the sofa, Lily tucked them under her as she made herself more comfortable. Leaning back again against the back cushion, she smiled up at Wilson. “About that…how exactly did Jeannie get locked in the bathroom downstairs? She claims the door was stuck, she couldn’t open it, but didn’t I hear you opened it up? Was it hard to open? I don’t recall ever having a problem with that door before.”
Walt shook his head and took a puff off his cigar. “Lily, Lily, you probably should have said the door was known for sticking. But you couldn’t resist, could you?” Walt sniggered. Lily couldn’t hear a word he said.
“Don’t change the subject.” Wilson shook the letter at Lily. “Who really wrote this?”
With a cringe, Lily inched away from Wilson, scooting back on the sofa. “I told you, Walt Marlow. If you don’t believe me, ask Marie Nichols. She’s the one who gave it to Danielle.”
“No. It could not have been Walt Marlow. Whoever wrote those notes this morning and called 911 is the same person who wrote this letter.”
Narrowing her eyes, Lily looked up at Wilson and smiled. “You might want to read the date on the letter you’re brandishing. And if you don’t believe the date or Marie Nichols, then I’d suggest you have your lab run some sort of test on the age of the ink used in that letter. The FBI does that sorta stuff, doesn’t it?”
“Are you trying to tell me Walt Marlow wrote those notes this morning?” Wilson snapped.
“Is that what you’re saying?” Walt asked deaf ears.
Unfolding her legs, Lily stood up from the sofa and faced Wilson. “No. What I’m saying, either someone with remarkably similar handwriting to Walt Marlow wrote those notes, or else Walt Marlow’s ghost wrote them. You decide.”
From his chair where he had been sitting quietly, listening to the exchange, Brian groaned.
Thirty-Six
“You expect Marie Nichols to contradict Lily’s story?” Brian Henderson asked. He drove in the car with Special Agent Wilson. Joe stayed behind at Marlow House with Lily while his team finished processing the crime scene.
“Lily insists Marie Nichols will back up her story. We might as well call her bluff and get that out of the way.”
Brian gazed out the side window of the sedan. Without turning in Wilson’s direction, he asked, “You think Lily was lying?”
“You actually believe Walt Marlow wrote those other letters?” Wilson snapped back.
Brian looked over at Wilson. “I don’t know what to think anymore. But there’s one good thing.”
Both hands on the steering wheel, Wilson continued to keep his eyes on the road ahead as he asked, “What’s that?”
“At least some invisible hand didn’t give me a push or try to punch me when we were in the house. How about you? Did Walt give you a shove?” Brian sniggered.
“You don’t believe that place is really haunted.”
With a shrug, Brian leaned back in the seat and let out a sigh. “Like I said, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“I don’t know how Danielle Boatman gets all of you under her spell, but she’s up to something. More I think about it, I’d say it’s a publicity stunt. Isn’t her Anniversary Open House next week?”
“It’s on the fourth. So, you’re saying all of this is some publicity stunt? The missing coins, the jewel heist?”
“I can’t really call it a jewel heist, since nothing was taken.”
“What was the Spicers’ role in all this?”
“Either they’re working with Boatman, or she hired someone to attack her guests and set this thing up.”
“That’s a pretty big leap. I don’t see Danielle doing something to endanger her guests, not to promote Marlow House.”
“Then they’re working with her.”
“I guess we’ll know more about them when we get back to the station.”
Ten minutes later, Special Agent Wilson and Officer Brian Henderson stood on the front porch of Marie Nichols’s house. She didn’t ask them inside.
Holding the letter just handed her, Marie looked from it to Wilson. “Yes, I recognize this. Why do you have it?”
“Do you know who wrote it?”
Marie frowned. “Certainly. Walt Marlow. What is this about, and why do you have this? I thought I gave this to Danielle. Is Danielle alright?”
“Danielle is fine,” Brian assured her. “It’s just that we’re trying to identify whoever wrote this letter, because it looks exactly like the penmanship of two notes we found at Marlow House.”
Marie scoffed and said, “Then I’d say Walt Marlow wrote those other notes you found. I gave Danielle a stack of letters; maybe they’re from those.”
“They’re in lockup,” the chief told Brian and Wilson when they returned to the police station. “The driver’s licenses they gave you are fake. Their real names are David and Stephanie Sterling. They’re from Clackamas, where they own a safe shop. Our Mr. Sterling is a professional locksmith. The car they were driving is a rental. Sterling rented the car under his alias, Blake Spicer; that was also the name on the credit card they were using. They don’t have any prior, but his fingerprints are all over the Thorndike diamonds, and I suspect we’ll find his DNA on the gloves you found.
Now sitting in one of the chairs facing the chief’s desk, Wilson glanced over to Brian, who was sitting next to him, and then looked back to the chief. “If this David Sterling is the one who opened Boatman’s safe, do you have any idea who stopped him?”
“I have no idea,” the chief lied. “But right now, I’d rather focus on the Sterlings.”
“Obviously, someone wants us to think Walt Marlow wrote those letters,” Wilson snapped. “Whoever it was went to a lot of trouble imitating Marlow’s handwriting.”
Brian glanced to Wilson and smiled. “So you now believe Lily was telling the truth, that Marlow wrote the letter we found on the desk?”
“It has to be some sort of publicity stunt,” Wilson grumbled.
“Or perhaps whoever wrote those notes today does not wish to be identified for some reason, so rather than penning them in his own hand, he tried to imitate an old letter he found sitting on the desk. You did say that’s where you found Marlow’s letter? And I would assume whoever wrote those notes probably sat at Danielle’s desk when he wrote them. I was told our people found blank paper matching the ones our mystery man used today in Danielle’s bedroom desk,” the chief said.
“Why would this person wish to remain anonymous?” Wilson asked.
Brian considered the question and smiled. “I can think of one person. Chris Johnson lives down the street from Danielle, they’re close, and I bet he has a key to her house. We know Chris likes to fly under the radar. I don’t see him wanting the publicity something like this would bring him.”
“Then let’s bring him in!” Wilson said.
The chief smiled and lean
ed forward, his elbows resting against the tabletop. “With all due respect, this one is our case. I suggest you might want to focus on yours. From what I understand, your partner is about finished with Danielle, and her attorney is asking that she be allowed to go home.”
Without a word, Wilson stood and turned to the door.
As he marched from the room and disappeared down the hall, Brian studied MacDonald. Finally, he asked, “Hey, Chief, you don’t think Chris wrote those letters, do you?”
MacDonald smiled softly and then stood up. “Lily told me earlier, Chris went to Portland with Ian this morning. I talked to them on the phone a few minutes ago. They’re still in Portland; they haven’t left yet.”
Before Brian had a chance to respond, the chief’s desk phone rang. After MacDonald answered the call, Brian stood up, preparing to quietly slip from the office so his boss could have his conversation in private. But when he started to turn away from the desk, the chief motioned for him to sit back down while he continued talking on the phone.
“Well, that was interesting,” the chief said when he hung up the telephone and looked at Brian.
Sitting back down in the chair, Brian asked, “What?”
“You know that cellphone you found on Sterling?”
Brian nodded.
“They’ve finished going through his calls. Over the last week, beginning on the day Danielle discovered her gold was missing, our Mr. Sterling has had frequent phone conversations with an employee from our local bank.”
“Are you suggesting Sterling is connected with the bank job?”
“I don’t know. But the person he has been talking to all week happens to be the new manager of the bank.”
Brian let out a low whistle and leaned forward. “Are you saying Alan Kissinger is somehow connected to David Sterling?”
“It looks that way. You might want to go get Wilson and Thomas. I need to let them know. Which means…” MacDonald let out a sigh. “This may not just be our case.”
