The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (14 page)

Danielle sat alone on her bed, the
computer still on her lap. Walt had said goodnight ten minutes earlier before
disappearing. She suspected he was downstairs in the parlor watching more
television.
I hope he keeps the volume down
, she thought.

She had given him the impression she
intended to go to sleep, but the truth was, she had more surfing to do before
she turned the lights out. Her first stop was
Newspaper Archive
, a subscription
site where she could look up old newspapers. Perhaps she wouldn’t find back
issues of the
Frederickport Press
; those were apparently lost in the
fire long ago. But it was possible she would find articles about Walt’s death
and any investigation in other Oregon newspapers.

It took her just a moment to sign up for
an account. Her first search was for Walt Marlow appearing in any Oregon newspapers
during 1925. She immediately came across several articles practically identical
in content to the ones she had read in the museum. Skimming through those, she
continued to look for later ones.

Walt Marlow’s attorney, James Martin,
was interviewed regarding the disappearance of Marlow’s widow, Angela Calvert
Marlow. “She stopped by my Portland office on Wednesday afternoon,” Martin
said. “She told me she was concerned about her husband, claiming he had been
acting strange…”

The headline
Suicide Marlow’s Widow
Found Dead
blared out. Danielle cringed. She doubted Walt would appreciate
being referred to as
Suicide Marlow
. Making herself comfortable, she
began to read the article—and then the next—and the next…

The body of an unidentified woman who died
at the Portland Hospital has been identified today as that of Angela Marlow,
wife of the late Walt Marlow who is believed to have killed himself in their Frederickport’s
home…

Questions continue today for Roger
Calvert, brother of Angela Marlow…

Authorities continue to look closer into
Roger Calvert who failed to report his sister missing following her disappearance
last week…

Calvert insists it was all a
misunderstanding. “I didn’t realize she was missing. I last saw Angela when she
went shopping. I assumed she was staying with friends because the next day I
was leaving for Frederickport to try and reason with my brother-in-law…

Marital problems for the new bride and
groom cited as the reasons for Marlow’s suicide. “My sister wanted to make her
marriage work,” Calvert said Monday in an interview with…

Andrew Stone of Frederickport confirms
Roger Calvert’s claim that he arrived in Frederickport on Thursday evening,
hours after Walt Marlow’s body was discovered. “I was just coming home from
California when I pulled into the filling station and saw Roger. I went to say
hello and he told me he was on his way to Frederickport.”  The gas station is
located ten miles east of Frederickport…

Emma Jackson, a Negro who works as a dishwasher
at the Bluebell Diner, ten miles east of Frederickport, claims to have seen
Roger Calvert arriving from Frederickport Wednesday evening. “I remember we had
just closed up when he comes knocking on the back door of the kitchen, all in a
hurry. I told him the garage next door wouldn’t open until the next morning. He
slept in his car all night until the mechanic arrived.  Car wasn’t ready until
late Thursday night. I thought he was in some big hurry to get back to
Portland, but when I saw him take off Thursday he headed back to Frederickport.”
When asked how she knew he arrived from Frederickport she said, “I saw his
car’s headlights when he first drove up to the diner. He drove in on the road
from Frederickport.”

Hit and run driver of car who killed
would-be heiress Angela Marlow arrested today…no connection to Roger Calvert…

 Emma Jackson, the Negro who claimed to
have seen Roger Calvert arrive from Frederickport on Wednesday and return there
on Thursday, retracted her statement. “I got my white folks confused,” she
said, insisting she was thinking of someone else. “I never saw Roger Calvert,”
she told police.

Frederickport police say they are no
longer investigating the death of Walt Marlow. “We believe Walt Marlow
committed suicide… the deaths of Marlow and his wife were tragic coincidences
and unrelated…. Charges are being filed against the hit and run driver…

Today the court ruled against Roger
Calvert in his claim against the estate of his late sister and brother-in-law…

It was almost midnight when Danielle
turned off the laptop and went to sleep.  She woke up the next morning thinking
of Emma Jackson.
Was Emma coerced into retracting her story
? she
wondered.
It wouldn’t be difficult to bully a black woman in 1925
, she
thought.

“If I could actually control what
spirits I could communicate with,” Danielle said aloud as she climbed out of
bed.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Walt
asked. Danielle jumped in surprise from his sudden appearance.

“I really wish you wouldn’t sneak up on
me like that!” Danielle snapped as she started to make her bed.

“Why?” Walt sat on the side of her
mattress.

“Would you please move? I’m trying to
make the bed.”

“Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”

Danielle let out a little groan, and
then flipped the bedspread over his head. Effortlessly it fell through him onto
the mattress.

“So why would you like to control what
spirits you can see? Would you tune me off, like you do the television with
that little remote of yours?”

“Hmmm…I hadn’t thought of that…it would
be handy…” she chortled. “But honestly, I was thinking more along the lines of
cruising down to the local cemetery and rouse up the necessary spirits to give
us the answers we need regarding your death.”

“Why can’t you?”

Danielle laughed at his question. “I
already told you I can’t control how this works—who I can see. Plus, cemeteries
aren’t the best place for me. I try to avoid them.”

“Why is that?”

“I never know when some spirit will try
to attach itself to me. And just because I ask them a question, it doesn’t mean
they’re going to be truthful.
You
should know that.”

“What does that supposed to mean?” He
frowned.

“Tell me Walt, do you feel compelled to
answer all my questions truthfully?  I asked you about the jewel heist and I
don’t remember any real answers coming from you.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Plus, the spirits I might choose to
contact may not know the answer. After all, you were there when you died, but
you can’t remember how it happened.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“It’s one reason I’ve come to believe
you didn’t kill yourself. I’m pretty sure you’d remember that. But if someone
did something to you first—like drugged you or hit you over the head before
putting you up in that noose…”

“Please, must you be so graphic?  I find
it a little unsettling to even think about a noose.”

“Or maybe you were psychologically
scarred.”

“Psychologically scarred?” He frowned.

“Yes, I’ve heard of people being in a
violent accident—or violently attacked—and they have no memory of the event,
even though they were conscious at the time it happened.  It could be something
like that.”

“If you could talk to anyone, who would
you choose?”  Walt asked.

“Emma Jackson.”

“Emma Jackson? Who is that?”

“Emma Jackson was a black woman who was
a cook at the Bluebell Diner back when you were killed.”

“The Bluebell Diner? That’s about ten
miles east of here.”

“I doubt it’s still there.”

“I remember a couple of coloreds worked
out there.”

“We don’t use the term
colored
anymore.”

“Okay, Negros. But what does she have to
do with my death?”

“Actually these days it’s more proper to
say Black or African American.”

“Why?”

“Times change.”

Walt frowned at her comment, yet let it
go and asked, “What does this woman have to do with my death?”

“Last night I used the computer to find
some old Oregon newspapers that mentioned your suicide.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes. And according to some of the
articles, your brother-in-law claimed to have arrived in Frederickport from
Portland on Thursday evening, after they found you. Which would mean he wasn’t
here when you died. And since Angela was already dead, that would take them off
our suspect list, which would leave us with no suspects.”

“You still haven’t explained how Emma
Jackson fits into this.”

“According to the articles, a man by the
name of Andrew Stone claimed to have seen Roger coming into Frederickport from
Portland on Thursday evening. He ran into him at the gas station out by the
Bluebell Diner.”

“I know Andrew, or knew him. We were
friends. He was not fond of Roger. Oh, he was friendly enough with him, mostly
for my sake since I married Angela, but I know how he really felt. If he said
he saw Roger coming into town, I’d believe him.”

“But here’s where Emma comes into play.
She claims Roger arrived the night before, had car troubles and was forced to
stay there until the garage opened the next morning. He wasn’t able to leave
until late Thursday. What if he never intended to show up in Frederickport on
Thursday? Maybe he slipped into town Wednesday to kill you, and planned to get
back to Portland before they found your body and his car broke down. Running
into Andrew would complicate matters for him. He couldn’t say he was leaving Frederickport.
He’d have to say he was on his way into town.”

“So how did Roger explain Emma seeing
him the day before?”

“He didn’t. A couple of days later she recanted
her story. Claimed she was confused, and had never seen Roger.”

“It would mean Roger didn’t know about
his sister’s death,” Walt said.

“That’s pretty much what I’m thinking.
According to the newspaper articles the police wanted to know why Roger hadn’t
reported Angela missing. In fact, when he was first interviewed he acted like
she was waiting for him in Portland.”

“How did he explain that?”

“Just double talk, claimed it was a
misunderstanding, that he thought she was staying with friends. He said he was
coming to Frederickport to talk to you; he said Angela and you were having
problems and she wanted the marriage to work. If one believes Roger, you were
mentally unbalanced and killed yourself because of your marital problems.”

“He always was a lying bastard,” Walt
growled.

“Walt, did you have an attorney named
James Martin?”

“James Martin was our family’s attorney
for years. Why?”

“According to one of the articles, your
wife stopped in his Portland office Wednesday afternoon. If I understand the
timeline, that would have been not long before she was killed.”

“Did the article say why she stopped to
see him?”

“Just that she wanted to discuss you. She
claimed you’d been acting strange and that she was worried about you.”

“I bet…” Walt murmured, now pacing the
room, a cigar in his hand. “She was establishing an alibi.”

“I think you’re right.” Danielle sat on
the side of the bed watching Walt walk back and forth across the bedroom. “I’m
pretty sure your wife and brother-in-law conspired to kill you, considering
what I’ve read—what you remember. I think Angela was staying in Portland, being
seen, telling people she was staying with her brother. I don’t imagine Roger
ever intended to return to Frederickport on Thursday, but he had no other
choice. And he had no way of knowing his sister had been killed. I imagine when
she disappeared he wondered what the hell was going on.”

“I want people to know the truth. I
don’t want the world to think I killed myself.”

“I can’t prove it, Walt. I’m not even
sure what I could do if I could prove it. It happened so long ago.”

“Maybe it’s ancient history to you,
Danielle. But it is my history!” Walt vanished.

“Something’s wrong with the television
in the parlor. I think you should take it back,” Lily announced when Danielle
entered the kitchen that morning for breakfast. Seated at the kitchen table,
Lily nibbled on a slice of toast with peanut butter while drinking a cup of
coffee. She had already dressed for the day and her red curls were free flowing
over her shoulders.

“It’s broken?” Danielle asked as she
poured herself a cup of coffee.

“I got up last night to use the bathroom
and I heard something downstairs. I tell you it freaked me out at first. When I
came down here I found the television on in the parlor.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? You
shouldn’t be coming down here alone if you think someone has gotten into the
house.”

“I brought a baseball bat with me.”

“Baseball bat? Where did you find a
baseball bat?” Danielle imagined how comically ferocious Lily must have looked
the night before, clad in her nightgown, while she clutched the baseball bat
and crept stealthily down the staircase to the parlor.

“In the attic. There’s a croquet set up
there too. Might be fun to put it in the backyard after the jungle is tamed. Anyway,
it was just the television, but the damn thing wouldn’t stay off and it kept
changing channels. I think the remote is broken. It must have a short.” Lily
took a bite of toast and then added with a giggle, “That or this place is haunted.”

Another image popped into Danielle’s head.
This one of Walt lounging casually on the parlor sofa, so engrossed with what
he was watching on the television that he stubbornly refused to consider how it
must look to poor Lily, who was now arguing with the uncooperative remote,
never knowing Walt was circumventing her attempts to turn off the television.

“Hmmm…well, I’ll check it out.” Danielle
grabbed a carton of yogurt from the ice chest and a spoon from the drawer.
Standing by the sink she opened her carton of yogurt, tossing its foil lid into
the trash can
. I really need to talk to Walt about his television
privileges.

“Did you find out anything about Ian
last night? Or should I say Jon?” Lily asked.

“Yes. Ian didn’t exactly lie to us. At
least not about his name.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jon Altar is his pen name. His real
name is Ian Bartley. He’s an author, but he doesn’t write travel books. I
thought I recognized that name when Joanne mentioned it. I’ve watched a couple
of his documentaries on TV.”

“He’s famous?” Lily scrunched up her
nose at the thought.

“Sort of.” Danielle shrugged and took a
bite of her yogurt.

“What were the documentaries? Maybe I’ve
seen them.”

“One of them was about a guy who robbed
a bank by tunneling from his house and another was about a murder.”

“I saw the bank robbery one. I missed
the first part, but it was interesting. Who was the other one about?”

“I don’t remember his name. Some rich
guy. His kids killed him.”

“Is Ian married?” Lily asked.

“I couldn’t find anything about a wife
or family.”

“If he’s famous he must have a Wikipedia
page. Those usually list marital status.”

“I didn’t see a Wiki page on him, but to
be honest, I really didn’t look.” Danielle took one of the chairs across the
kitchen table from Lily and sat down.

“Either way, he lied to me. To us,” Lily
said angrily, finishing the last of her toast. Using a paper napkin she wiped
the corners of her mouth and took a sip of coffee.

“But I’m not sure why.” Danielle took
another bite of yogurt as she considered the
why
of Ian’s deception. 
What
is he really hiding?
she asked herself.

Lily’s phone began to ring. Getting up
from the kitchen table, she walked to the counter, where she’d plugged her cellphone
in to charge earlier that morning. Lily glanced down at her phone. “Speak of
the devil.” She let it ring and returned to the table.

“Ian?” Danielle asked, finishing the
last of her yogurt.

“Uh huh.” Lily sipped her coffee.

“You aren’t going to answer it?”

“Nope.” Lily took another sip.

“I’m sorry, Lily. But I imagine you’ll
have to talk to him sometime.”

“I know. But on my terms. Not his. When
I’m ready. The lying jerk.”

Lying jerk. I’ve been a bit of a lying
jerk myself to Lily, considering I’ve never told her what I’ve been
doing—investigating Walt Marlow’s murder. She doesn’t even know about the
murder…or the supposed suicide. Time to come clean.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to
tell you…but I didn’t want to freak you out.” It wasn’t entirely untrue.
Although, it was Walt she didn’t want to freak out, not Lily. She wasn’t sure
what Lily might say if all the information pointed to a suicide. She could just
imagine Lily going on and on, speculating as to why poor Walt Marlow stuck his
head in a noose to end his life. Bad things sometimes happened when a spirit
became frustrated and unable to communicate with the source of his frustration.

“You know the man in the portrait in the
library?” Danielle asked.

“Walt Marlow?  The one I dreamed about?
I rather like him.”

“I found out he was killed in this
house…murdered in the attic.”

“Oh my god! Who murdered him? Why?
That’s horrible. And he was so nice!”

Danielle didn’t bother reminding Lily
she had only dreamt about the man. After all, Lily actually had met him in
those dreams. However, Lily didn’t know that.

“Most people believe it was a suicide,
but after reading all the articles I found online and talking to Marie Hemming,
I’m certain Walt Marlow was killed by his brother-in-law. Walt’s wife was in on
it. But things didn’t go as planned. Angela Marlow was killed by a hit and run
driver in Portland, around the same time her brother was busy killing her
husband.”

“How do you know her brother didn’t kill
them both for Marlow’s money?”

“Because the brother wasn’t in the will.
If his sister died first, the money would go to the housekeeper. Which is
exactly what happened.”

“How do you know that?”

“For one thing, that housekeeper was my
great-aunt’s mother. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if Walt Marlow’s
brother-in-law had inherited the estate.”

“Oh…that’s right…well, that bitch!”

“You mean Angela?”

“Of course. What an evil bitch!”

“I do like your friend,” Walt said when he
appeared in the kitchen a moment later.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go
over with me to Marie Hemming’s today. I’ll call her first to make sure it’s a
convenient time.” Danielle did her best to ignore Walt’s looming presence as
she and Lily talked. He stood behind Lily and smiled at Danielle.
Damn, he
can be a pain,
Danielle thought.

“Sure, for any special reason?” Lily
asked.

“After reading the online articles from
the old newspapers, I’ve a few questions for her. If I can put together a
credible case to support my contention Walt was murdered and it wasn’t a
suicide, then maybe I can get the local newspaper to write a feature article—or
maybe go to the museum.”

“Thank you, Danielle,” Walt whispered.

“I think that’s sweet Dani,” Lily said.

“Yes, it is,” Walt agreed.

“I also think it’s sweet how you call
him Walt,” Lily added. “It is like you think of him as a real person.”

“Well, he was a real person.” Danielle
stared past Lily to Walt.

“I know. But it’s like he’s still sorta
here and you care about what people think about him.”

“I suppose I do,” Danielle said with a
smile.

“So why do you think the brother-in-law did
the dastardly deed?”

“He and his sister had the classic
motive—money. And it looks like he lied about coming into Frederickport on the
day Walt was killed. 

The front doorbell rang, interrupting
their discussion.

“I bet that’s Ian,” Danielle said.
“Coming to see why you didn’t answer the phone.”

“Probably.”

“You want me to get it?” Danielle asked.

“No. I’ll do it. I might as well get
this over with.” Lily left the room, leaving Danielle alone with Walt.

“I mean it Danielle, thank you for doing
this. What made you change your mind?”

“It wasn’t a matter of changing my mind.
I always wanted to help you. I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. And then
when I was talking to Lily, it just sort of came to me. I mean, it’s not like
we’re going to petition the district attorney to bring charges against Roger
and Angela.”

“Yes, I imagine that would be a little
difficult.” Walt grinned.

“But this would make a great feature
article for the local newspaper, if I can get my facts together. Or for the
museum. And even if the
Frederickport Press
and museum aren’t interested,
I can still tell your story, of your murder made to look like a suicide, when I
put together the brochures for Marlow House.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? It
might hurt your business if potential customers are told of my murder.”

“Are you kidding? Inns often include
interesting tidbits of their history in their advertising and marketing
material. It would probably help business.” She quickly added, “But that’s not
why I’m doing it.”

“If I could kiss you, I would,” Walt
told her.

If you could kiss me, I think I might
like it.