“Next door? The neighbor to the north or south of Marlow House?”
He considered the question a moment and then said, “The neighbor to the south.”
“So you never talked to Marlow?” Brian asked.
Hanson shook his head. “No, but if people are getting killed, maybe I should tell you something.”
“What?”
“Before I came here, I sent Marlow a letter—an anonymous letter. I…I wanted to scare him. Make his life feel uncertain like he made me feel. But I realize he doesn’t even remember any of it. And legally, well, my lawyer said there’s nothing I can really do. Not unless I want to spend a lot of money on a costly court case I can’t afford and would likely lose. You need to know I’m the one who sent that anonymous letter, but I had nothing to do with that woman’s death, I promise.”
THIRTY-FIVE
When Marie had been a little girl, she believed that when a person died, they would then become an angel with wings. The notion appealed to her, not because angels were ethereal creatures, but because anything with wings could fly. She would have been just as happy to learn that when a person died they became a bird.
What she had learned since death was that when a person died, they became a ghost—and while an experienced ghost might fashion wings, they would only be an illusion, in the same way as Eva’s glitter and Walt’s cigars had been. However, she didn’t rule out the possibility of advancing to an angel someday, because she still didn’t know what really happened once she chose to move on to the other side and leave her ghostly self behind.
In spite of being bereft of wings, she discovered to her delight that a ghost could fly. Perhaps it was not flying in the traditional sense, because the body she wore—one she was capable of changing by adjusting her age or wardrobe—was only an illusion, and when she soared above the rooftops, it was only her conscious spirit adjusting its perspective on the world.
All afternoon she had been observing Frederickport from an eagle’s view, searching for the spirit of Claudia Dane. Marie felt guilty for it all, wondering if the poor woman might have been saved had she returned to Marlow House the previous day. Marie also felt a hint of shame for the slap and pinch she had given the woman, in spite of the fact she still believed she deserved it.
However, Marie could still remember how she had felt when newly departed, wandering the streets of Frederickport, having no idea she had died. She felt compelled to help this confused soul, remembering the frustration of bewilderment, not understanding what was happening to her.
Marie was just about to turn back and return to Marlow House, wondering if perhaps Claudia had gone back there, when she spied the spirit in question. From this distance she wasn’t certain the blond woman below was in truth the wayward ghost. But then she witnessed a Cadillac drive straight through her. The driver of the vehicle had no idea what he had just done, and continued on, but Claudia—and Marie was now convinced it was Claudia—raised her fist and started shouting at the car as it sped away. Still standing in the middle of the road, Claudia was driven through by a second vehicle, this time a pickup truck, and again its driver didn’t flinch, but now Claudia was furious. From above, Marie watched as the newly minted ghost marched angrily up the road.
THE PLACARD on the door said Police Chief MacDonald. Claudia wasn’t sure how she got here exactly, standing alone in a corridor, inside a building that was obviously the police station, considering the plaques hanging on the wall.
“Can I help you?” came a female voice behind her.
Claudia turned quickly and found herself looking into the face of an elderly woman wearing a sundress and straw hat. She thought it odd attire for January. “Do you work here?”
“Not exactly. My name is Marie. And you are Claudia?”
Claudia frowned. “How did you know that?”
“Perhaps you should stand over here, away from the door. I believe there’s someone coming, and you’re in their way. And trust me, he won’t go around you.” Marie motioned for Claudia to join her a few feet from the entrance into the chief’s office.
“But I need to talk to a policeman,” Claudia said as she walked to Marie. “Two different vehicles almost ran me over a few minutes ago. They didn’t even stop. I think they need to do something about that intersection.”
“I’m afraid they’re rather busy right now,” Marie said. “They’re investigating a murder.”
“Murder? Who was murdered?”
“Shh, let’s be quiet and listen.” Marie pointed over Claudia’s shoulder. Claudia turned around and watched as an attractive police officer came walking their way. Tall and husky, he had warm brown eyes and dark wavy hair.
“That’s Sergeant Joe Morelli,” Marie explained. “I believe he’s on his way to talk to the police chief.”
“But I need to talk to him. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re going to have to wait. The murder and all,” Marie explained.
They watched as Joe knocked on the chief’s door and then went in a few seconds later.
“Let’s see what’s going on,” Marie whispered. She motioned toward the office and started following Joe.
“We can do that?” Claudia asked.
“They won’t mind if we’re quiet,” Marie promised.
With a shrug Claudia followed Marie.
“Any updates from the coroner’s office?” Joe asked.
“The bullet was from a .38,” the chief told him.
“Isn’t that what the sister said she carried?” Joe asked.
“A .38? I have a .38,” Claudia murmured.
“Her gun hasn’t been found. She also had defensive wounds. It looks like she was in a struggle before she was shot,” the chief said.
“You thinking someone tried to take it away from her, and she got shot with her own gun?” Joe asked.
“It’s possible, but if we can’t find the weapon, we aren’t going to know for sure. Did you find out anything about the funds from the sale of her condo?” The chief, who was sitting behind his desk, motioned to an empty chair.
Joe sat down. “It went into her bank account, which she depleted by withdrawing five thousand dollars a day until it was all gone.”
Claudia frowned. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
“You need to listen and try to remember, Claudia,” Marie whispered. “But it’s going to be okay. I’m here and will help you.”
“No idea where that money went?” the chief asked.
“That’s where the paper trail seems to stop,” Joe said.
“I wonder if our killer will have a bank account with regular five-thousand-a-day deposits?” the chief asked.
“Chief, I don’t know why you seem to think someone was blackmailing her. Her sister certainly didn’t think that was the case. Maybe she had a gambling problem, and that’s why she was going through all that cash. But as far as the murder goes, we do have one prime suspect, one who was seen with the victim right before her death, and who had a motive to want her dead.”
“I don’t believe Walt Marlow is the killer,” the chief said.
“Walt Marlow? Why are they talking about Walt Marlow?” Claudia looked frantically from Marie to the police chief.
“First of all, she wasn’t really his wife. Her sister told us that marriage license was fake, and for the record, I have since verified that fact. Claudia Dane and Clint Marlow were never married,” the chief explained.
Claudia gasped. “Why are they talking about me?”
“Chief, after I looked into the money, I decided to follow up a hunch of mine,” Joe told him.
“What hunch?”
“I never intended to pass this on, but considering the circumstances, I don’t have a choice,” Joe told him.
“Pass what on?” the chief asked.
“Danielle is pregnant,” Joe announced.
“Who told you that?” the chief demanded.
“Pregnant?” Marie gasped. “Oh, how wonderful!”
“I don’t want to say right now. Because of the fact she’s pregnant, I started wondering if maybe she and Walt decided to go ahead and get married now. They could still have the ceremony on Valentine’s Day.”
“Joe, this isn’t the 1950s,” MacDonald reminded.
“You sound like Brian,” Joe retorted.
“Are you saying Brian knows about this?”
“Brian knows about Danielle’s pregnancy, yes,” Joe said. “But he doesn’t know they’re already married.”
“What are you talking about?” the chief asked.
“Having a wife show up before your marriage can complicate things, but as you said, the marriage can be dissolved. But if he was already married to Danielle, then Claudia’s claim made him a bigamist. I decided to check to see if since learning of Danielle’s pregnancy, they had gotten married.”
“What are you saying?” the chief practically groaned.
“Yes, what are you saying?” Claudia asked.
“They are married all right. Fact is, they got married months ago,” Joe told him. “This changes everything.”
“No, it doesn’t,” the chief argued.
“I know you’re close to Danielle, but—”
“Are you suggesting I would shirk my duty because of my feelings for Danielle?” the chief asked.
“No, sir, it’s just—”
“Sergeant Morelli, Walt Marlow has absolutely no motive to murder Claudia Dane. And even if he had been legally married to Ms. Dane, I seriously doubt any prosecutor would pursue bigamy charges against a man who had amnesia and had no knowledge of the marriage. And you keep forgetting, Walt and Danielle informed me of Claudia’s claim the day after she made it, so if Walt had any intention of getting rid of a troublesome wife, he certainly would not have told the police chief of her existence.”
A knock came at the door. Joe turned around to see Brian standing at the open doorway.
“I’m dead,” Claudia muttered.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Marie told her. “I wanted to come right out and tell you, but I’m rather new at all this. I thought perhaps it might be the best way. Let you ease into the idea.”
Looking past Joe, the chief asked, “What did you find out, Brian?”
“I think we’re back to square one,” Brian said. “I don’t think Hanson had anything to do with Dane’s death, and he provided Walt an alibi.”
“How did he do that?” the chief asked.
“He admitted to being down at the pier when Walt was there with Claudia. When the two parted ways, he followed Walt back to Marlow House.”
“What are you talking about?” Joe asked.
Brian then went on to recap his conversation with Carla and then with Hanson. When he was done, he added, “Before coming back here, I stopped at Pearl Huckabee’s house. She confirmed Hanson’s story. Huckabee saw him standing outside Marlow House and asked him what he was doing.”
The chief looked at Joe. “Well, what did I tell you?”
“Did they think Albert Hanson killed me?” Claudia asked.
“They’re trying to find out who is responsible for your death. Why don’t you tell me?” Marie urged.
Claudia looked at Marie. “Who is responsible for my death? That’s easy. Clint Marlow.” The next moment, Claudia vanished.
THIRTY-SIX
Danielle’s head felt as if it were about to split in two. If Walt hadn’t gone for a walk along the beach to see if he could find Claudia’s ghost, she would get him to change the stupid lightbulb. Heck, he could do it without getting on the ladder or even touching the lightbulb. Reaching up to the fixture, she stood on her tiptoes and unscrewed the burned-out bulb.
“Danielle, what in the world are you doing on that ladder?” Marie asked when she appeared in the kitchen.
“I’m changing a lightbulb, what does it look like? If I knew you were going to be here, I would have waited a few minutes and had you do it.” Danielle finished unscrewing the lightbulb and then climbed down off the ladder.
“Let me finish!” Marie shooed Danielle away from the ladder.
Danielle shrugged. “Fine. Give it a shot, but please try not to break the bulb. It’s my last one.” Danielle picked up the good bulb and handed it to Marie. She watched as it lifted from Marie’s hand and floated to the ceiling, where it screwed itself into the socket.
“That’s actually pretty cool,” Danielle said. “You’re doing a lot better.”
“Thank you.”
“Heather told me you were off looking for Claudia. I take it you didn’t have any luck?” Danielle walked over to the counter and opened one of the overhead cabinets. She pulled out the bottle of aspirin and unscrewed its lid.
“Danielle, what in the world are you doing?”
The bottle of aspirin flew out of Danielle’s hand, sending aspirin flying out of the container onto the floor, with the bottle landing on the table.
Wide eyed, Danielle turned to the ghost. “Marie? Why did you do that?”
“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to take those. Not in your condition.” Marie glanced down, looking for the aspirin. They began floating up from the floor, making their way back to the aspirin bottle on the table.
“Not sure I want to take them now, after they’ve been on the floor,” Danielle grumbled. She looked at Marie and frowned. “What do you mean, my condition?”
“The baby, dear,” Marie whispered.
“What baby?” Danielle frowned.
“Yes, what baby?” Walt asked as he walked into the kitchen.
Danielle looked to Walt. “You didn’t see her?”
Walt shook his head. “No. But what is this about a baby?”
“Are you saying you aren’t pregnant?” Marie asked.
“Why would you think I was pregnant?” As soon as she asked the question, Danielle looked down at her stomach. Touching the waist of her jeans, she asked, “Do I look fat?”
“No, you don’t look fat,” Walt scoffed. “You look perfect.”
“Are you saying you aren’t pregnant?” Marie asked.
“No, I’m not pregnant. Why did you think I was?”
“Joe Morelli said you were,” Marie told her.
“Joe?” Walt frowned. “What would Joe know about if Danielle was pregnant or not?”
“He also knows you two are married.”
“What?” Walt and Danielle chorused.
“I also saw Claudia,” Marie added.
PULLING the curtain to one side, Heather looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set. If there wasn’t a killer on the loose, she would be tempted to slip on a jacket and walk down to the beach and watch it. With a sigh, she let the curtain drop back in place. Her teapot began to whistle.
Wrapped in a throw blanket, she made her way from the living room to the kitchen, dragging one corner of the blanket along the floor. It was chilly in the house, but she was attempting to conserve energy. Once in the kitchen, she set the blanket on a chair and walked to the stove. Picking up the kettle, she began filling her teapot when a woman walked through her wall into the room. Heather froze. It was the same woman she had found on the beach that morning, Claudia Dane.
“Do you always walk into people’s houses uninvited?” Heather snapped.
“You can see me?” Claudia asked.
“Yes, I can see you.” Heather picked up her teapot and empty cup and headed for the kitchen table. “Everyone has been looking for you.”
“Are you dead?”
Setting the teapot and cup on the table, she then picked up the blanket and wrapped it around herself. Sitting down in a chair, she said, “If I were dead, I wouldn’t be freezing my butt off right now. So, who shot you?”
“How do you know I was shot?” Claudia asked.
“That bullet hole in your chest is a big clue.”
“You aren’t very kind to someone who just died. Are you a demon or something? Am I in hell?”
Heather cocked her brow and looked at Clau
dia. “Do you deserve to be in hell?”
“Maybe…I haven’t always done the right thing.”
“I suspect few people always do the right thing. It’s more the summation of your life.”
“So this isn’t hell?” Claudia asked.
Heather shrugged. “Some think it is.”
Claudia groaned.
Picking up her teapot, Heather started to fill her cup. “I would offer you some, but ghosts don’t drink tea.”
“Is that what I am, a ghost? She said I was dead, but she didn’t say I was a ghost.”
“Seriously, you have to be told? You just walked through my wall, know you are dead, and basically admitted some people can’t see you. If that isn’t the definition of a ghost, what is?”
“Am I always going to be a ghost?”
“No. When you move over to the other side, I don’t think you’ll be a ghost anymore. Who were you talking about when you said she told you you were dead?”
“She said her name, but I don’t remember. Too much to process. She was an old woman—”
“Straw hat and sundress?” Heather asked.
“Yes!’
“Ahh, Marie!” Heather sipped her tea.
“You know her?”
“She’s another ghost,” Heather explained. “So tell me, who shot you?”
“Marie asked me who was responsible for my death, and I told her. Clint Marlow.”
“Clint Marlow is dead, so unless he’s come back from the grave, I don’t think so.” Heather frowned and then muttered, “Technically there was no grave, but whatever.”
“What do you mean he’s dead? Did someone kill him too?”
“If you’re talking about Walt Marlow, he’s still alive,” Heather told her.
“It’s the same person,” Claudia argued.
“Nope, it’s not. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll tell you the story of Walt and Clint Marlow.” Setting her teacup on the table, Heather reached over and pulled out a chair for Claudia. “And then you can tell me what happened to you.”
HEATHER SAT ALONE in her kitchen. Claudia had just left. She picked up her cellphone and called the police chief.
Haunting Danielle 20-The Ghost Who Was Says I Do Page 23
