The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (15 page)

On the front porch of Marlow House, Ian
ran the bell for the second time. Danielle’s car was still in the driveway, so
he assumed they were home. It wasn’t until he rang the bell for the second time
did he consider they might still be in bed, which would explain why Lily hadn’t
answered her phone when he had called earlier.

“Damn,” Ian muttered under his breath,
regretting pressing the doorbell. He was about to turn away when the door flew
open and he came face to face with Lily. The moment his gaze took in her white
shorts and powder blue sweat shirt, he smiled in relief. He obviously hadn’t
gotten her out of bed, she was already dressed. His smile quickly faded when he
noted her angry expression.

“Is something wrong, Lily?”

“I don’t know. You tell me…
Jon
Altar
.”

“You know?” Ian asked with a sigh.

“Danielle found you online. I thought we
were friends.”  Much to her chagrin, angry tears welled in Lily’s eyes. She
hated that about herself—that she cried when she felt emotional or passionate
about something.

“We are friends, Lily,” Ian said softly.
He reached out to take her hand, but she stepped back away from him.

“Friends don’t lie to each other.”

“I didn’t lie…
exactly
…”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Lily said
after taking a deep breath. Triumphantly she’d willed her tears to stay put,
and they no longer felt as if they were about to pour out of her eyes and down
her face. That would be just too damn humiliating.

“It does matter,” Ian countered.

“Not really,” Lily insisted. “After all,
we just met each other. It’s obvious I don’t even know you, so no big deal. 
Have a nice life.” Lily started to shut the door when Ian put out his hand and
stopped the door from closing on him.

“Can we please talk, Lily?” Ian asked.

 “Lily, why don’t you let him in? I’d
like to hear what he has to say,” Danielle said. She stood behind Lily in the
entry hall.

Her hand still on the open door, Lily
silently considered what Danielle had just asked. Ian continued to stand on the
front porch, not attempting to enter the house but watching to see what Lily
would do next.

“
Fine,”
Lily said at last, her
delivery on the dramatic side. She turned from the door and marched toward the
parlor, assuming Ian and Danielle would follow her into the room. They did.

Lily and Danielle each took a seat; Ian
remained standing.  The two women said nothing. They waited for Ian to give his
explanation.

“I didn’t lie about who I am—not
exactly
.
My legal name is Ian Bartley. It’s what my family and friends call me.  For
professional reasons and a degree of privacy I use the pen name Jon Altar. If
anything, I suppose I lied by omission. But it’s not like I gave you a fake
name.”

“You said you were a teacher!” Lily
reminded.

“I was a high school English teacher.”

“When was the last time you taught an
English class?” Lily asked.

“About eleven years—but technically
speaking, I never said I was currently with any school district.”

“I asked you if you ever considered
writing a book,” Lily said.

“As I recall my answer was something
along the lines—
doesn’t every English teache
r? I never said I hadn’t
written a book.”

“Cut to the chase Ian. Why did you lie
to us? And yes, you did lie. You led us to believe you’re currently an English
teacher and said nothing about the fact you’re a fairly well known author,”
Danielle asked.

“I’m curious about that myself,” Walt
said as he appeared in the room, standing next to Ian.

Times like this Danielle wished she
couldn’t see spirits, because they could be very annoying, especially when she
was trying to have a conversation with someone and the spirit was chiming
in—and only she could hear. Closing her eyes briefly she willed herself to
focus on what Ian was saying, while ignoring Walt’s presence in the room.

“Sometimes when I’m on vacation I would
just prefer…well, a sense of anonymity. Where I can just be myself.”

 “Ahhh, you mean like avoiding all those
pesky paparazzi so they don’t start following you around?” Danielle asked
sarcastically.

“Umm...no…” Ian shifted nervously. “I
didn’t mean that. Of course I don’t get paparazzi following me.”

“Ian, you’re still not being straight
with us. This isn’t about you taking a little break from your
celebrity
status as an author—you’ve told people you’re writing a travel book about the Oregon
Coast—including Marlow House. I don’t really believe it, because you don’t
write those kinds of books. But you are up to something, and your lying to us
had nothing to do with you wanting some privacy,” Danielle said.

“Who told you that?” Ian asked.

“You tell me? How many people have you
interviewed for your
travel book
?” Danielle asked.

“Damn, you don’t want to get Danielle
pissed off,” Walt said with a chuckle. Amused with Danielle’s tone, he sat on
the arm of the sofa, his arms folded across his chest as he watched.

“Shut up,” Danielle hissed.

“How can I answer your question and shut
up at the same time?” Ian frowned in confusion.

“Just…explain what you’re doing here,”
Danielle said, flashing Walt an annoyed look. Walt smiled in return and gave a
little shrug.

Ian sighed. “I’m writing a book. But
you’re right, it isn’t a travel book. I’ve interviewed a few people in
Frederickport, but I couldn’t tell them what the book was really about.”

“Why is that?” Lily asked.

“When I’m working on a project I tell
people as little as possible about what I’m working on—that goes for people I
interview.”

 “So you are working on a book, but it
isn’t a travel book on the Oregon Coast?” Danielle asked.

“Correct,” Ian said.

“But it is about Marlow House,” Danielle
said.

“He’s investigating Marlow House? Why?
Do you think he knows about my death?” Walt stood up and walked to Ian.

“I can’t say,” Ian said.

“So all of this friendliness on your
part was just a way to get some information from us? But what information?”
Lily asked angrily.

“I will admit I initially arranged a
meeting with you both for research purposes. But I like you, Lily; I like both
of you. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“So you admit you lied,” Lily said.

“I suppose I did.  I never considered
that we’d become friends. But I do think of you as my friends.”

“Are you married?” Lily blurted out.

“Married? No where did you get that
idea?”

“Joanne said a woman was with you. She
assumed it was your wife,” Danielle explained.

“Oh…it was Joanne who said something to
you about me. What happened, did she mention I was writing a travel book and
you looked me up online, then recognized me?”

“Not exactly,” Danielle said. “When she
came over here yesterday she saw you talking to Lily. She saw you walk across
the street to the Hemming house.”

“Joanne Johnson was here? I never saw
her.” Ian frowned.

“She had just pulled up in her car. She
recognized you. Obviously, you didn’t see her,” Lily said.

“When I interviewed Joanne I gave her my
pen name, not my real name. I figured that way if she looked me up online,
she’d recognize my picture. I didn’t expect to run into her again.”

“I don’t know why not. Frederickport
isn’t exactly a big town,” Lily said.

“You are writing about Marlow House,
aren’t you?” Danielle said.

“I really can’t discuss it,” Ian stood
up.

“I don’t understand,” Danielle said.
“You admit you arranged a meeting with us because of the story you’re working
on, yet I can’t remember any questions you asked me.” She glanced over at Lily.

“I just wish you both would understand
none of this is personal.  I just don’t feel comfortable discussing my current
work in progress, with anyone. Maybe I shouldn’t have led you to believe I was
still a teacher, but at the time I didn’t know either of you and I just felt it
would be easier not to say what I really did for a living—what my pen name
was—because then you wouldn’t ask me questions, like you are now.”

“If you’re writing about Marlow House, I
think it is my business,” Danielle said.

“And mine,” Walt chimed in.

“I can’t, Danielle. I’m sorry, but I
can’t discuss that now.” Ian walked to the doorway. He paused a moment and
looked back at Lily. “Lily, I’m sorry this got all twisted around. I was hoping
you would go out to dinner with me tonight.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Maybe some other time.” Ian smiled
sadly, gave a little nod, and then walked out of the parlor and to the front
door.

“If he is writing about Marlow House,
why hasn’t he asked me any real questions?” Danielle asked after she heard the
front door open and close. “Maybe it’s a story on Frederickport and not really
about Marlow House, per se.”

“I don’t know…” Lily walked to the
window. She pulled open the curtain and watched Ian cross the street to the
rental.

“Are you going out to dinner with him?
He does seem to genuinely like you. I guess I can understand what he was
saying.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling her
that!” Walt said.

“Does he really?” Lily asked, still
looking out the window, her right hand holding the curtain to one side. “Maybe
he just needs to pretend we’re friends so he can get what he needs for his
story.”

“But what does he need from us? From
you?  If you think about it, if he’s researching a local story—which I assume
he is—neither of us have ever been at Frederickport before. Of the two of us,
I’m the only one who has a connection to the town, through my aunt of course.
So if he wanted to interview one of us to see if we knew something about the
town or even the history of Marlow House, I would assume that someone would be
me, before you.”

“He needs something from me.” Lily let
the curtain fall back in place. She turned and faced Danielle. “He needs the
portraits.”

“The portraits?” Danielle asked.

“My portraits?” Walt echoed.

“Remember, I told you. He wanted a
photograph of the portraits in the library—of Walt Marlow and his wife. But he
wanted to take them with his own camera, not my iPhone. I bet anything he wants
it for whatever story he’s working on. And he needs to get back in my good graces
so he can take the pictures.”

Marie Hemming sat at the oak table
sipping a cup of warm tea. Waiting for her guests to arrive, she looked out the
kitchen window and admired the flowering geraniums. Gardening had always been
her passion, and while it wasn’t easy for her to get down on her hands and
knees these days to work in the soil, she managed to do it, much to her
grandson’s annoyance. He’d been badgering her for months to hire a gardener.

She smiled at the thought of her
grandson Adam. When she had called him earlier to ask if he would stop at the
deli and pick up some sandwiches for lunch, he had sounded somewhat annoyed.
Yet once she explained she was having company and who that company was, his
tone changed. After Danielle Boatman called that morning, asking if she and her
friend could stop over for a chat, Marie had insisted they come over for lunch.
The moment she got off the phone, Marie realized she had nothing to serve the
young women, which is why she called her grandson. It was obvious to her Adam was
interested in Brianna’s niece. Before Marie died, she wanted to see her
grandson married and starting a family. Perhaps Danielle might be the one.

“Get a sandwich for yourself, too,” she
had told him. “You can have lunch with us.”

An hour later Danielle and Lily arrived
at Marie’s and parked in front of her house. They were just getting out of the
car when Adam pulled into Marie’s driveway.

“Afternoon, ladies!” Adam called out as
he got from his vehicle and slammed the car door shut. In his hands he carried
two sacks of food from the deli.  Lily and Danielle paused at the front gate
and watched as he approached.

“Hello,” Danielle and Lily chorused.

He lifted the bags up for them to see.
“I
come bearing lunch!”

“Now I feel guilty,” Danielle said as
she opened the gate. “I wanted to ask your grandmother a few questions, but I
didn’t mean for you to go out of your way.”

“Don’t be silly,” Adam said as the three
made their way up the front walkway to Marie’s door. “My grandmother loves
having company, and I was more than happy to stop at the deli for her. Anyway,
I get a sandwich out of the deal.”

“So you’re joining us?” Lily didn’t mean
to voice the question, especially considering she sounded less than
enthusiastic.

“If that’s okay with you ladies.”

“Certainly,” Lily quickly replied,
feeling a blush of embarrassment for being so transparent.

Inside the beach cottage they found
Marie anxiously waiting for them. Instead of wearing her gardening clothes as
she had when Danielle first met her, the elderly woman wore a flowered print
cotton dress and straw hat.

“I thought we could eat outside, since
it’s such a lovely day,” Marie said after she was introduced to Lily. The three
followed Marie out to the back patio where they found a glass-topped wrought
iron table already set with linen napkins, tumblers filled with iced tea, and
china luncheon plates. Marie had carefully set the table, arranging the folded
napkins neatly on the left of each plate, adding slices of lemon to the
beverages and a bouquet of freshly cut flowers on the center of the table.

“This is lovely, I didn’t mean for you
to go to all of this trouble,” Danielle said. She and Lily stood by the table
while Adam pulled sandwiches—each wrapped in paper—from one sack and handed
them to Marie, who set them on the plates, fussing a bit as she removed the wrappings
and arranged the sandwiches.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, we’re delighted to
have you,” Marie insisted. “Please, please sit down.”

From the second sack Adam pulled out
several containers of salad, and set them on the table. Marie quickly removed
the lids and added a spoon to each plastic container.

Danielle and Lily each took a seat.
Before Marie sat down, she handed the discarded lids and paper she had removed
from the sandwiches to her grandson, who took them with the paper sacks into
the house to throw away. When he returned, he sat at the table between Danielle
and his grandmother.

“I was so glad you called.” Marie
motioned for her guests to help themselves to the salads and start eating. “I
hope you like pastrami sandwiches. The local deli has absolutely the best
pastrami.”

“It looks delicious.” Danielle took a
small bite from her sandwich.

“Neither of you are vegetarians are
you?” Marie glanced from Lily to Danielle.

“No, no we aren’t,” Lily assured her as
she helped herself to a portion of pasta salad.

“You mentioned you had some more
questions about Brianna?” Marie asked.

“Not really about Aunt Brianna. I have a
few questions about Walt Marlow’s death.”

“As you already know, I was just a small
child when he died.” Marie took a sip of her tea.

“Popular opinion is he killed himself.
Of course my great-grandfather thought he was murdered,” Adam said before
taking a bite of his sandwich.

“At the museum I could only find a
couple issues of the newspaper during that time,” Danielle explained. “But I
went online and found several articles—in other Oregon newspapers—on Walt
Marlow’s death.”

“Oh my, you can find old newspapers on
the Internet?” Marie asked.

“Yes,” Danielle said. “And it seems as
if there was some confusion about Roger Calvert.”

“Roger Calvert—was he the one that was
shot by his bride?” Adam asked.

“Yes dear, he married Brianna’s mother.”
Marie reached over and patted her grandson’s hand.

“Another good reason why not to get
married,” Adam said under his breath.

“Oh, Adam!” Marie shook her head. “Don’t
listen to him Danielle. Adam is waiting for the right girl to come along, and
when she does he will be just as anxious as his bride to get married.”

“I will?” Adam looked over at his
grandmother and frowned.

Danielle smiled and took a quick gulp of
tea and continued on with what she was saying. “I read something online that
suggested Roger Calvert may have been in Frederickport when Walt Marlow was
killed.”

“According to my father, Roger arrived
in Frederickport hours after he found Walt’s body. In fact, a man Father knew
ran into Roger about 15 miles out of town, when he was on his way in.”

“Someone also claimed to have seen Roger
the day before—before Walt Marlow was killed. According to this witness,
Roger’s car was seen coming down the road from Frederickport, but he had car
trouble and was forced to spend the night until he could see the mechanic the
next day,” Danielle told her.

“That’s interesting. My father never
told me that story.” Marie frowned.

“Why does it matter? It was almost
ninety years ago,” Adam asked.

“I intend to turn Marlow House into a
Bed and Breakfast, and when I share its history with my guests, I’d like to
give them the real story.”

“Plus it wouldn’t hurt to have a little
mystery in there to spice things up,” Adam said.

Danielle flashed him a smile and
thought,
if you only knew the real reason I want the truth.
She then
said to Marie, “I was hoping your father had mentioned something about it.”

Marie shook her head. “No, I hadn’t
heard that story.”

“Would it have mattered if he had been
in Frederickport before Marlow was killed?” Adam asked.

“I would think so,” Marie said. “Since
he had made such a point of telling everyone he arrived after the murder. I
remember my father talking about that. The newspaper article must have had it
wrong.”

“Apparently the person who told the
story later recanted,” Danielle explained.

“Perhaps she simply was confused about
the date she saw him, and later realized her mistake.” Marie smiled and took a
sip of her tea.

“It wasn’t about the dates. She
basically said she got her
white folks
mixed up,” Danielle explained.

“The woman was black?” Adam asked.

“Yes. She worked at a diner outside of
town. One minute she claims she saw him arriving from Frederickport, and the
next she says it was all a mistake.”

“Considering the time, she may have
decided it was not in her best interest to get involved,” Adam suggested.

“That’s what we thought,” Lily said.

“I wish there was some way to turn back
the clock and talk to Emma Jackson,” Danielle said.

“Emma Jackson?” Adam asked.

“She’s the woman who said she saw Roger
coming from Frederickport.”

“There is something familiar about that
name,” Adam puzzled then asked, “Do you remember the name of the diner she worked
at?”

“I think it was Bluebird…or
Bluebell…something like that. Why?” Danielle asked.

“Well I’ll be damned. I wonder if it’s
possible,” Adam mumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Danielle
asked.

“Maybe the newspaper you should be
reading is the current one and not some ninety year old edition,” Adam said
with a laugh. He stood up and tossed his napkin to the table.

“Where are you going?” Marie asked.

“Grandma, do you still have yesterday’s
newspaper?” Adam asked.

“Yes, but why do you want it?”

“I want to see if my hunch is correct,”
Adam told her.

“Is this about Walt Marlow’s death?”
Lily asked.

“Not exactly, but hold on a second and
let me get the paper.” Adam looked at his grandmother.

“It’s in the laundry room where I put
all the newspapers for the recycling bin.”

“I’ll be right back,” Adam said before
going to retrieve yesterday’s newspaper.

“What was that all about?” Marie asked.

“Maybe there was something in the paper
about Marlow’s death,” Lily suggested.

“I would have seen that,” Marie
insisted.

When Adam returned to the table he held
yesterday’s newspaper in his hand, folded over to a story he wanted Danielle to
read. He handed the paper to her and took his seat.

“What’s this?” Danielle looked at the
paper.

“Go ahead, read it,” Adam said.

“What is it?” Lily asked, leaning toward
Danielle to read over her shoulder.

“It’s an article about a woman in
Astoria who’s celebrating her 106
^th
birthday this month…Emma
Jackson?” Danielle looked up at Adam. “It couldn’t be the same woman.”

“Read the article. Talks about her life,
how she worked at the Bluebell Diner when she was a young woman. How many black
women named Emma Jackson were working at the Bluebell Diner back in the 20s?”

“Dani, we need to go talk to her!” Lily
said excitedly.

“She’s 106, Lily, I can’t imagine what
she’d remember,” Danielle said.

“Hey, you said you wanted to turn back
the clock,” Adam reminded. “This is the next best thing. And by the article,
sounds like she’s still pretty sharp. What do you have to lose?”

“How could I get ahold of her? I don’t
just want to show up.” Danielle wondered if Emma Jackson—assuming she was the
same woman—would remember anything.

“I’ve got some friends in Astoria. Let
me make a few calls for you and see if I can find someone who knows her, see if
I can arrange a meeting for you.”

Excited with the prospect, Danielle
flashed Adam a grin.
Maybe I was wrong about this guy. He’s really been very
sweet and helpful today.

Several hours later when Adam was back
at work he called Bill Jones and told him to stop in the office as soon as
possible.

“What’s up?” Bill asked when he walked
into Adam’s office.

“Shut the door,” Adam told him, pointing
to the chair across from his desk. Bill shut the office door before sitting
down.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning; we’re
going to get into Marlow House,” Adam said with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“The ladies are taking a little trip to
Astoria tomorrow. They should be gone for at least a couple hours. Hopefully
enough time to get in and out of that house and find what we’re looking for.”

“Why are they going to Astoria?” Bill
asked.

“It seems the new owner of Marlow House
has a special interest in the house’s history.”

“Oh crap,” Bill muttered.

“No, not that. She’s trying to find out
if someone murdered Marlow.”

“Isn’t that the guy that hung himself?”

“Yeah, but she’s trying to find some
evidence to show he was murdered.”

“Why?”

“Because she likes a mystery, I guess.
Who in the hell cares why? All I know, this is going to get them out of the
house for a while.”

“I still don’t understand why they’re
going to Astoria.”

“There’s someone there she wants to
interview about the house, and I arranged the meeting for her.”

“But what if that isn’t enough time?”