The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (10 page)

Danielle didn’t intend to just walk up
to Marie Hemming’s front door and ring the bell. First she’d give the woman a
phone call, introduce herself, and see if she could arrange a meeting. On her
way back to Marlow House from the museum, Danielle impulsively turned onto Marie’s
street. She would just drive by and see where the woman lived.

She hadn’t expected to actually see Marie
Hemming—but there she was, an elderly woman sporting a purple sweat suit and
floppy straw hat, on her hands and knees in the front flower garden. Danielle
wasn’t sure it was Marie Hemming, but she knew—according to Ben Smith’s
information—that it was her house.

As impulsively as she had turned down
Marie’s street, she pulled in front of the woman’s bright yellow house and
parked her car.  The woman in the garden glanced up, readjusted her hat with
one gloved hand, while the second hand held a gardening trowel. When Danielle
got out of her car and walked toward Marie’s house, the woman stood
up—struggling a bit as she got off her knees—and slipped off her gardening
gloves, tossing them and the trowel to the ground by her feet.

“Marie Nichols?” Danielle called out
when she reached the front gate.

“Yes, how can I help you?” Marie asked,
walking toward Danielle.

“Hello. My name is Danielle Boatman. I
just moved into Marlow House.”

“You must be Brianna’s niece!” Marie
said cheerfully. “I intended to stop by, after you got settled a bit.”

“You knew my aunt?”

“Why, certainly dear.” Marie opened the
gate. “Please come in. Have you time for a cup of tea and a little visit?”

“I’d love to,” Danielle said brightly.
After entering the gate she followed Marie up the walk to the front door.

“How did you happen to find me?” Marie
asked.

“Ben Smith, at the museum, suggested I
talk to you.”

“Ben Smith. Nosy little twerp,” Marie
said as she opened the front door and removed her straw hat, placing it on the
coat rack in the entry. She showed Danielle to a sitting room.

Less than fifteen minutes later Danielle
sat primly on an upholstered straight back chair as Marie served her a cup of
hot tea. She’d offered to help, but Marie insisted she could do it herself. 

“How long did you know my aunt?”
Danielle asked as she sipped her tea. Marie sat in a loveseat facing her.

“I can’t remember never knowing her.
Kathrine O’Malley used to clean house for my parents, and Mother let her bring Brianna
with her. I was three when they sent her away, after her mother died. In the
beginning, Mother would visit her every few months, and take me along. When I
was older, the visits stopped, but Brianna and I became pen pals.  We kept in
touch over the years—a lovely woman.”

“I really didn’t know her that well. But
I was very fond of her,” Danielle said. “She was married to my grandfather’s
brother.”

“I know she was very fond of you. She’d
write me about you sometimes. She was touched that you made the effort to write
her, keep in contact. That meant a great deal to her. She never really had
family—aside from her husband—and she wasn’t able to have children.”

“I always thought she led such a
glamorous life, traveling the world with my uncle.”

“I think she was happy. But she had
regrets. I suppose we all do.” Marie sipped her tea then asked, “So tell me how
you happened to chat with Ben Smith.”

“I’ve been looking for some information
on the history of Marlow House. The only newspapers from that era are at the
museum, yet the collection is incomplete. Ben is a docent at the museum, and he
suggested I talk to you.  I understand your father is the one who discovered Walt
Marlow’s body.”

“Yes, it was something he could never
forget. They were close friends.”

“One thing I’m trying to find out: what
happened to Walt Marlow’s wife?”

“Angela? Why, she was killed in
Portland. Tragic accident, run over by a motor car the afternoon before my
father discovered Walt’s body.”

“So, she did die before him,” Danielle said
more to herself.

“Oh yes, I’ll tell you a little
secret—my mother could not tolerate the woman. Of course she avoided mentioning
that to my father.”

“Why was that?”

“Oh, you know men. So easily taken in by
a pretty face. When my father would talk about the circumstance of his friend’s
death—and of Angela’s—he would go on and on with how tragic it all was
considering they were so in love and had their entire future in front of them.
When I was older, my mother gave me her true opinion of the woman. She found Angela
to be a shallow gold digger, who only loved Walt’s money. My father’s adoration
for the woman irritated her, but she let him have his illusions, considering Angela
was dead.”

“Did your father ever speculate as to
why Walt Marlow killed himself?”

“My father never believed it was a
suicide. But no one would listen to him.”

“It seems like an odd coincidence that
both Walt and Angela would die within 24 hours of each other.”

“And that—oh my—did that cause problems
for my father.”

“How so?”

“Angela was visiting her brother in
Portland. She was shopping downtown when, according to witnesses, a thief
snatched her handbag.  When running after the purse-snatcher, she was hit by a
car. The thief disappeared with the handbag, and when they took her to the
hospital, no one knew her identity. That was on Wednesday, the day before my
father found Walt Marlow’s body.  Angela died in the hospital, Wednesday
evening. It was a week before she was identified. By that time Walt had been
dead for almost a week himself.”

“What did you mean it caused problems
for your father?”

“Roger took his sister’s death hard.
Mother said they were very close. But he really went off the deep end when he discovered
the estate was going to Kathrine O’Malley. Roger insisted his brother-in-law
could have died before his sister on Wednesday night. Which would mean the
estate would go to Angela—and upon her death, to Roger.”

“But your father knew that wasn’t true?”

“Angela’s time of death was on record.
She died in the hospital.  My father and Walt Marlow had shared a brandy over
at Marlow House—after Angela’s time of death. If my father hadn’t testified,
it’s possible Roger could have convinced the courts Walt died first.”

“Why didn’t your father believe it was
suicide?”

“He said there was no reason for Walt to
kill himself. He’d often cite Walt’s recent marriage, and how in love he was.
Mother of course would roll her eyes, and shake her head. Not so Father could
see, but for my benefit.”

“Does that mean your Mother thought it
was suicide?”

“I’m not really sure. She used to tell
me she wouldn’t be surprised if poor Walt finally realized the true nature of
his bride and decided to end it all. But then she would also tell me she
wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had been murdered, had Angela not been
killed in Portland. Angela was the only one who had a motive, according to
Mother. Of course, Father didn’t tell Mother everything he knew about Walt
Marlow.”

Danielle sipped her tea and asked, “What
do you mean?”

“Mother died first, of cancer. She went
fairly quickly, back in 1970. I took care of my father during his last years.
We would have long talks. He’d often reminisce about his old friend Walt, and
insist he’d been murdered. He told me things about Walt that he never told my
mother.”

“Like what?” Danielle set her cup on its
saucer.

“He was involved in moonshining. It was
during prohibition back then. Even though he inherited a fortune from his
grandfather, he preferred taking risks and living on the edge.  Father even
told me he was involved in a jewelry heist. The heist itself was fairly well
known back then—especially because the necklace was never recovered. Outside of
my father, I never heard a single soul suggest Walt Marlow was involved.”

“How would your father know something
like that? Was he…um, involved?”

“My father?” Marie laughed at the
suggestion.  “No. Father was a straight arrow, but I think he enjoyed living
vicariously through Walt. They were childhood friends.  My grandfather worked
for the Marlow family—they built ships.  Father grew up in the house across the
street from Marlow House. My mother moved into the house when she married
father.”

“Did you grow up in the house?”

Marie shook her head. “No, I was born
there, but we moved out shortly after the suicide. Father couldn’t get the sight
of Walt hanging in the window out of his head. We moved across town, but he
kept the property. We still own it today. My grandson rents it out.”

“Really? I met your new tenant. He’s a
teacher?” It was more a question than a statement.

“I stay out of all that. I let Adam
handle those matters.”

“So your family still lives in
Frederickport?”

“Just my grandson, Adam.” Marie sipped
her tea and then asked, “I believe your aunt mentioned you’re married. Is your
husband in Frederickport with you?”

“No. Lucas, my husband, was killed in a
car accident about six months ago.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, dear.”

“That’s one reason I decided to move
here when I inherited Marlow House.”

“A fresh start. Yes, sometimes that is
for the best.” Marie lifted the tea pot, silently offering to fill Danielle’s
cup.

“No thank you…About Katherine O’Malley,
do you know how she ended up with Roger Calvert, and why she shot him?”

“All very sordid, if you ask me!” Marie
set the tea pot back on the side table. “Mother always liked Kathrine. She felt
Roger seduced the poor girl, swept her off her feet for her money, in the same
way his sister had done with Walt.”

“So why did she shoot him?”

“I have no idea. I always wanted to ask Brianna
about that night, see what she really remembered, but I never did. It didn’t
feel right.”

“You mean how Kathrine fell?”

“According to Mother, the authorities
felt she panicked after shooting Roger, and tripped, falling to her death.
Tragic. A neighbor heard the gunshot and rushed over. Poor Brianna was at her
mother’s side sobbing, saying Roger had pushed Kathrine down the stairs.”

“So why did they think she shot him and
then tripped?”

“The police insisted Brianna was
confused.”

“But why would she shoot him in the
first place if she had agreed to marry him?”

“I can only guess. Mother speculated
that Katherine realized her mistake. Maybe she was afraid she’d end up like Walt
and Angela. Apparently she was a very superstitious woman. In fact, she refused
to step inside Marlow House after she inherited it, because of the suicide.”

“I heard that.”

“You know, Kathrine didn’t die
immediately.  She lingered for several days in the hospital.”

“And she never explained what happened?”

“Not as far as I know.”

A young man entered the house,
interrupting their conversation. Walking into the sitting room he called out,
“Grandma, are…” and then stopped when he saw Danielle sitting with Marie.

“Did you forget about your doctor’s
appointment?” he asked, glancing from Marie to Danielle.

“Oh my! That’s today?” Marie got to her
feet.

He glanced at his watch.  “In about
twenty minutes.”

Danielle stood up. “I guess I better get
going, so you can go to your appointment. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“Oh you didn’t, dear! I enjoyed our
visit.  Danielle, this is my grandson, Adam. Adam Nichols. Adam, this is
Danielle Boatman; she’s the new owner of Marlow House.”

Adam broke into a smile and put out his
hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you Ms. Boatman.”

Danielle accepted his gesture and was
surprised at the intimate way he squeezed her hand instead of shaking it. She
looked up into a pair of black eyes. He smiled, lingering a moment before
releasing hold of her hand.

“Nice meeting you.” After saying her
final goodbyes, she made a hasty exit. As she walked to her car she could feel
Adam Nichols’s eyes on her.

Sadie greeted Danielle at the front
door, tail wagging. Resisting the temptation to jump up, the dog pushed her wet
nose against the fabric of Danielle’s long skirt.

“Well, hello there.” Danielle reached
down and ruffled the fur along Sadie’s neck. “Where is everyone?”

“They’re upstairs in the attic,” Walt
called out from the parlor. Danielle tossed her purse on the entry table and
walked toward Walt’s voice, Sadie trailing beside her. She found him in the
parlor lounging on the small sofa—his feet up—reading an issue of
People
Magazine
.

“
Country’s Sexiest Men
…” Walt
read the front cover’s headline as he held the magazine up briefly for Danielle
to see. “Is this what women read these days? You like looking at these
pictures?” Walt thumbed through the pages in disgust.

Danielle glanced at the table next to
the sofa. On it was a stack of magazines.

“Ahh, Lily’s magazines,” Danielle said
as she took a chair.

“She was reading in here before Ian came
over.”

Sadie sniffed the magazine in Walt’s
hand, her tail wagging, and then she lay on the floor by his side.

“If you hear Ian and Lily coming, please
put that down.”

“Why?” Walt peered over the top of the
magazine at Danielle.

“I’ve a feeling all they’ll see is a
magazine floating over the couch. Might freak them out.”

“Interesting. I didn’t even consider
that.” Walt tossed the
People
with the rest of the magazines on the
table. “I’m not used to other people being here.”

“What about the housekeeper, Joanne? Did
you ever…ahhh….well open doors or move anything when she was around?” Danielle
chose not to remind him he could no longer be classified as
people
.

“I honestly don’t remember.” He
shrugged.

“I thought you were going to keep an eye
on things for me.”

“He seemed pretty harmless and I got
bored.” Walt reached down to pet Sadie. His hand moved through her fur as if
she were air.

Walt glanced over at the doorway, then
back to Danielle. “So, did you find out anything?”

“I’m not sure we should discuss this
now. What if Ian and Lily walk in?” Danielle looked over at the doorway.

“I told you, they’re in the attic.”

“But they could sneak up on us,”
Danielle whispered.

“The way your friend talks nonstop? I
seriously doubt it.”

“But still…”

“Sadie, go guard the stairs. Let me know
when Ian and Lily start coming down the staircase,” Walt instructed.  Danielle
was about to roll her eyes at such an outrageous command when Sadie jumped
up—her tail wagging—let out a bark, then dashed out of the room and parked herself
at the base of the stairs.

“She actually understood you,” Danielle
said in awe.

“I told you she was a smart dog.”

“I met Marie Hemming today,” Danielle
said after shaking her head in disbelief over Walt’s unusual relationship with
Sadie.

“Little Marie?” Walt sat up, placing his
feet on the floor.

“Little Marie is ninety,” Danielle
quipped.

“What did you find out about Angela?”

“I understand now why Katherine
inherited your estate. Angela was killed in Portland. She was hit by a car and
died a few hours before your death.”

Upon hearing the news Walt closed his
eyes for a moment. It was as if he was hearing about Angela’s passing for the
first time.

“I rather expected to hear Angela went
on to live a long and happy life. Remarried and had a few children.”

“Did she want children?”

Walt opened his eyes and looked at
Danielle. “No…not particularly. But I suppose not all women start out wanting
children.”

“If it makes you feel any better,
Marie’s father never believed you killed yourself. Unfortunately no one would
listen to him, so I assume it wasn’t really investigated.”

“Where was Roger when my wife was
killed? Was he with her?”

“That’s what’s odd. I would have asked
Marie more questions, but she had a doctor’s appointment and her grandson came
to pick her up.”

“What’s odd?”

“Unfortunately I could only find three
newspaper articles on your death. The rest of 1925—the rest of the 1920s, was
missing. The next paper in the museum’s collection was for 1930. But one of the
few articles I did read had an interview with Roger. It seems he showed up in Frederickport
the same day they found your body. George found you in the morning, and Roger
showed up that evening. I’m not sure why he was here or why he left Angela in
Portland. Angela was already dead by then.  Although, I suppose they may have contacted
him in Portland, and he came straight here. But why would he leave before
finding his sister?”

“I don’t really understand what you’re
saying.” Walt frowned.

Danielle didn’t respond immediately. She
kept playing over in her mind what Marie had told her, and what she herself had
read in the newspaper. There were too many unanswered questions, and the
timeline didn’t make sense to her.

“This is what I don’t understand.
According to the newspaper, your body was discovered on Thursday morning, when
George Hemming got up and looked out the window.  The night before he stopped
by and you two shared a brandy. Do you remember what time George left you that
night?”

“It was about seven. Why?”

“Well, you obviously died somewhere
between seven Wednesday evening and eight Thursday morning.  Your wife died in
the hospital Wednesday evening before seven. When she was hit by a car, a
witness claimed to have seen someone grab her handbag. Angela ran after the
thief and was hit by a car. When they took her to the hospital, they didn’t
know who she was, because she didn’t have any identification on her, since her
purse had been stolen. In fact it was a week before she was identified. This
would mean she went missing on Wednesday afternoon. If she was visiting her
brother, why would he leave Portland on Thursday and come to Frederickport?  I
would imagine someone had called him that morning, trying to contact Angela about
your death, so why would he leave without her?”

“Maybe he was looking for her?”

“I hadn’t thought of that....but why
didn’t they mention that in the paper? I mean, if he came to Frederickport
looking for her, why wouldn’t there be something in the paper saying that
Angela had gone missing?”

“Did you ask Marie about any of this?”

“That Roger was in Frederickport and didn’t
mention Angela’s disappearance? Not really. Her grandson showed up and she had
to get to the doctor.”

“Now I understand what happened to
Angela—why my estate went to Katherine O’Malley. Now I need to find out who
bumped me off.”

“There’s something else,” Danielle said.

“What?”

“Did you ever notice anything going on
between Roger and Katherine?”

“What do you mean?”

“According to Marie, not long after your
death Roger and Kathrine married.”

“What!” Walt jumped to his feet. “Good
lord, did those two conspire to kill me for my estate? Did Roger kill his own
sister?”

“I don’t know,” Danielle shook her head.
“I’ve a feeling it was something else. Their marriage didn’t last very long.”

“Long enough to pilfer my estate!”

“No, actually...they didn’t even make it
to the honeymoon. Kathrine shot and killed Roger, and moments later she fell
down the stairs. She died shortly after from the fall. My aunt, just a small
child, inherited her mother’s fortune, and was sent away to a boarding school.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why did
she kill him?”

“Marie seems to think he seduced her
into marrying him. And perhaps something happened that made her realize her
mistake.”

Sadie started barking. Danielle glanced
to the doorway.  A moment later she heard voices.

“Sadie, what are you barking at?”
Danielle could hear Ian say.  She got up and walked to the parlor doorway and
looked out into the entry.

“Danielle, when did you get home?” Lily
asked when she reached the landing, Ian by her side.

“Just a few minutes ago. Hello Ian.”

“This is a beautiful house,” Ian said.
“And you’ve some amazing antiques. Although, I’d be a little concerned about
leaving some pieces in rooms with your guests.”

“I finished the inventory!” Lily
announced, holding up a legal pad.

“So what’s the verdict?” Danielle asked.
Lily and Ian followed her back into the parlor. The three sat down. Walt was
nowhere to be seen.

“If you ignore Ian’s concerns, I don’t
think you need to buy much. A few pieces might need to be reupholstered, but
you already knew that.”

“Unfortunately, that can sometimes cost
more than replacing them,” Danielle noted.

“True. But they wouldn’t have the
character of those pieces,” Lily insisted. “Seriously, Dani, there is some cool
stuff in this house.  I used my iPhone to take pictures of everything. Figured
you’d want something like that—especially in case of a fire.”

“Thanks, Lily. Smart thinking.”

“I better take off.” Ian stood up.
“Sadie’s been acting a little strange today. I think she might need a walk.”

“Thanks for all your help,” Lily said
when she stood up.

“Oh, I met your landlord today,”
Danielle said.

“My landlord?”

“Marie Hemming, I mean Nichols. She owns
the house you’re renting.”

“I’ve never met her,” Ian said. “I
rented the house through Frederickport Vacation Properties.”

“I met her grandson too—Adam, Adam Nichols,
I think that’s his name. He handles the rental for her.”

Ian shook his head as if the name did
not sound familiar. “I never talked to a man.”

“I suppose he has Frederickport Vacation
Properties handle that for him.”

“That’s probably it,” Ian said before
letting out a little whistle for Sadie. She came rushing into the parlor, her
tail wagging.

“Ian really liked your house,” Lily said
after Ian and Sadie left.

“Sounds like you really like Ian,”
Danielle teased.

“He’s a nice guy.  You should have seen
him checking out everything,” Lily said with a laugh.

“So he likes antiques?”

“Not that, the house. In every room,
he’d run his hands over the walls, comment on the paneling, the workmanship. 
I’ve never seen anyone so taken with a house before.”

“Really?”

“He asked me if it he could take a
picture of the portraits. I didn’t think you’d mine.”

“The portraits?” Danielle asked.

“The ones of Walt Marlow and his wife.
They fascinated him.”

“Hmmm…I wonder why he’d want to take a
picture of them.”

“You can ask him when he takes them.”

“He didn’t take a picture of them yet?”

“No. I offered to give him a copy of the
one I took with my iPhone—you know, for the inventory. But he wanted to use his
own camera.”

“Have you had any lunch yet?” Danielle
asked as she stood up.

“Yes. I made sandwiches for Ian and me.”
Lily stood up and then asked, “Did you get much accomplished today?”

“Just boring errands.”

“How did you happen to meet Ian’s
landlady?” Lily asked as she walked with Danielle to the kitchen.

“Marie Hemming? I stopped at the museum
this morning.”

“The museum?”

“I was hoping to get a little history on
this house. The docent suggested I talk to Marie Hemming. Her family used to
live in the house Ian’s renting.”

“I thought you said your morning was
boring?”

Danielle changed the subject, not yet
ready to share with Lily what she’d found out about the house’s history. She
was afraid telling Lily about Walt’s reported suicide might result in Lily
indiscriminately discussing the event around Walt. From past experience, she
understood an agitated spirit could be difficult to live with—especially
troublesome if one wanted to open for business, and the resident spirit went
into haunting mode. She appreciated the fact Walt was behaving in a most
amicable manner, even if he did insist on sharing her bedroom.