The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (3 page)

“Are you sure? You have a headache, I
can drive.”

“No, you stay here and take a shower,
relax. There are a couple things I need to pick up at the drug store anyway. No
reason for us both to go.”

Forgive me for lying to you, Lily. But I
need to have a private conversation—with a ghost.

Danielle stood at the front door of
Marlow House. Key in hand, she hesitated a moment before unlocking the door and
going inside. She wondered if he would make himself seen again. One thing she
had learned over the years: it wasn’t possible to conjure up spirits at will—at
least not for her.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped the
key into the lock and opened the door. Walking into the front entry of Marlow
House she glanced around.

“Hello!” she called out as she closed
the door behind her and turned on the light. “Mr. Marlow, are you here?” 

There was no reply. Eerie silence
engulfed the room. Walking down the entry hall she set her keys and purse on
the same table she’d placed them on earlier.

“I’ve asked you not to put your keys
there. You’ll scratch the table,” Walt snapped. Danielle jumped a little from
his abrupt appearance yet she didn’t scream.  She snatched the purse and keys
off the table.

“I don’t remember you saying anything
about it.”

“I didn’t?” Walt pondered her words for
a moment. “Perhaps I didn’t. But I thought it. Those keys will scratch the
table.”

Danielle stuffed the keys into her purse
before setting the purse back on the table. Walt frowned, but he didn’t tell
her to move the handbag.

“Where did you get keys to my house? Did
Joanne give them to you? Did Joanne send you?”

“Joanne?” Danielle asked.

“The cleaning lady. She has a set of
house keys.”

“We need to talk, Mr. Marlow.”

“Where’s your friend?” He looked over
her shoulder as if Lily might suddenly appear.

“She’s back at our motel room.”

“Odd bird. Seemed incapable of looking a
man in the eye—yet quite capable of expressing her, well, shall I say, less
than lady-like remarks.”

“Whatever
…
How about we go into
this room.” Danielle pointed to the door leading to the first room she and Lily
had gone into. “We can sit down in there and have a nice little talk.”

“You certainly have a habit of making
yourself at home.”

“I think it’s something you need to get
used to,” she muttered under her breath.

“You don’t make any sense, young woman.”

“Can we please just sit down and discuss
this?”

“Very well, let’s go into the parlor.” Walt
gave her a little nod then led the way to the closed door.

Parlor? How quaint, I like the way that
sounds,
Danielle thought.

He opened it for Danielle and allowed
her to enter first.  Danielle went to a chair and sat down. Walt took a chair
facing her.

“Why don’t you begin by telling me your
name and your true purpose for coming here.”

“My name is Danielle Boatman.”

“Danielle Boatman?” Walt frowned. “I’ve
never heard of you before.”

“Mr. Marlow, you say you were born in
this house—can you tell me the last time you left?”

“The last time I left? I don’t see where
that’s any of your concern.”

“I’ll be happy to tell you why I’m here,
but first I need you to answer some questions for me.”

“Miss Boatman—or is it Mrs.?”

“Actually, it’s Ms.” Danielle smiled.

“Miz? What in the hell is a Miz?”

“Okay…miss…or just Danielle. Call me
Dani if you like.”

“Miss Boatman, you are the trespasser,
not I. Therefore you will answer my questions, not the other way around.”

Danielle leaned back in her chair and
got comfortable. She eyed Walt Marlow. He really was a handsome man; Lily was
right. Danielle wondered how he had died and why she had never heard of him
before today. Considering the portrait in the library, he was attached to the
property.

“Sir, this will go so much easier if you
simply answer my questions first.”

“Do you want me to call for the police?”

“Go ahead.” Danielle smiled sweetly.

Walt stood abruptly, preparing to
summons an officer, but then a few seconds later he paused, confused and
disoriented.  He sat back down.

“Are you okay?” Danielle asked gently.

“I…I don’t know. Sometimes things get a
little balled up when I try to do certain things.”

“Balled up?”

“You know, confused, fuzzy,” Walt
explained.

“Like call for the police?”

Walt stared across the room, past
Danielle and gave a little nod.

“Mr. Marlow, when was the last time you
left this house? Please think really hard….try to remember.”

Walt closed his eyes, seemingly
searching for the answer to her question. Finally he said, “I miss the smell of
the sea.”

“Excuse me?” Danielle frowned.

“I can’t open the windows. I stopped
trying. They won’t open anymore. I want to smell the ocean.” He opened his eyes
and looked at Danielle. Something about him looked so sad, making her grateful that
she hadn’t blurted out the truth.

Danielle stood up and walked to a
window, pulling open the blind. Her hand went to the window latch.

“I told you, it won’t open.” Walt stood
up and walked toward her.  Danielle ignored his warning and unhooked the latch.
With minimal effort she slid the window open. Walt stood next to her and took a
deep breath.

“I don’t smell anything.” He sounded
disappointed.

“I can barely smell anything myself,”
she lied.

Walt shrugged, then returned to the
chair and sat down.

“You still haven’t told me; when was the
last time you left here?”

“I don’t know,” Walt said after a few
moments of silence. “It’s…it’s rather a blur. I suppose I’ve grown accustomed
to my solitude.”

“You mentioned you live here with your
wife.”

“Angela. She’s in Portland, visiting her
brother.”

“Do you know how long she’s been gone?”

The question seemed to confuse Walt. He
shook his head, indicating he was unsure.

“Do you remember the last time someone
visited you—aside from us today?”

“I wouldn’t really call yours a visit, as
much as a trespass.”

“Fine…but still, can you recall any
other visitors? When was the last time?”

“Joanne comes regularly. She came this
morning.”

“Joanne? She’s the housekeeper?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…well talk to her? Have
conversations?”

“With the housekeeper?” Walt scowled at
the idea. “She is the housekeeper, what have we to discuss? Although I
occasionally tell her I would like to have something done differently.”

“And how does that work out for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she do it your way?”

“No,” Walt scoffed. “She’s a stubborn
woman. I get the feeling she simply ignores me most of the time. But she does a
fair job and I’ve learned to accept her shortcomings.”

“So, you’ve never had a real discussion
with her—a conversation where one of you asks a question and the other one
gives an answer?”

“No, not really. Didn’t I just say
that?”

“I suppose you did. I’m curious, how do
you know her name is Joanne?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Did she tell you her name?”

Walt considered the question for a
moment before answering. “When she first came to the house a man brought her,
explained her duties. I heard him call her Joanne.”

“Who was this man?”

“I don’t know.” Walt sounded frustrated.

“Didn’t you find it odd that a strange
man had a key to your house? That he brought you a housekeeper?”

“I don’t know. That was a long time
ago.”

“Anyone else? Any other visitors that
you recall?”

“Just the woman with the clipboard.”

“Woman with the clipboard?”

“I’m not sure who she was. Joanne let
her in. I tried to talk to her, but her responses made no sense. She wasn’t
here long. Just walked through the rooms, taking notes. She wore the most
unflattering pair of men’s trousers. Why are women suddenly wearing men’s
clothing?”

“You prefer women in dresses, I assume?”

“It is not a matter of what I prefer—it’s
simply what women should wear.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It should be a simple one. I go to
sleep every night and wake up in the morning. What about you? Do you go to bed
every night?”

Danielle noted Walt’s expression of
concentration. He looked perplexed. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t find
an answer. She stood up.

“Please take me to the kitchen,”
Danielle told him.

“Excuse me?”

“Just do it, please.”

Walt shook his head but stood up and led
the way to the kitchen. Once there, Danielle was surprised at the room’s
generous size and the pristine condition of the antiquated appliances.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?”
Danielle asked.

“I don’t understand these questions.”

“People need to eat, Mr. Marlow. At the
very least once a day. Have you eaten today?”

“No…I haven’t been hungry.”

Danielle marched to the antiquated
refrigerator; its door was already ajar. She opened it wider and pointed
inside.

 “It’s empty,” Danielle announced. After
Walt had a look she went to the cupboards and started opening all the doors.
There was no food on the shelves, just dishware, glasses and pots and pans.

“Mr. Marlow, you admit you’ve been in
this house for such a long time that you can’t remember leaving. There’s no
food in the house, and you say you aren’t hungry.  Do you have any idea what
year it is?” When he didn’t answer she dashed from the room, telling him she
would be right back. She ran to the entry hall, where she grabbed her purse. On
route back to the kitchen she rummaged through the handbag. When she walked
into the kitchen she pulled a pocket calendar from her purse. Opening the
calendar she showed it to Walt.

“
Look
—it’s June ninth, 2014.
2014
.”

Dazed, Walt looked from the pocket
calendar to Danielle.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this…but
you died, Walt Marlow. For whatever reason your spirit is stuck here in your
old house. You’re dead. You’re a ghost.”

Silently, Danielle stood by the kitchen
counter watching Walt, who stared blankly over her shoulder. What he was
seeing, she had no idea. Since blurting out Walt’s state of being ten minutes
earlier, neither party had spoken another word. Danielle had carelessly tossed
her handbag and pocket calendar onto the kitchen table, and now stood with her
hands folded on the counter, waiting for him to say something.

Walt turned his attention to Danielle,
looking first at her face and then glancing down at her hands, still folded on
the counter. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had lovely hands—quite elegant
really—with long manicured fingernails, each polished in pale pink. On the
index finger of her right hand she wore a gold ring with a large aquamarine gem
stone. It was the only ring she wore. The feminine hands were a stark contrast
to her boyish denim farm pants.

Without saying a word, he reached out
slowly and set his right hand atop of hers. Instead of his palm resting on her
fingers, his hand effortlessly moved through hers to the countertop. With a
quick jerk he withdrew his hand and pulled it back to his chest. His gaze shot
up to Danielle’s dark brown eyes. She said nothing as she watched his reaction.

“I think a part of me always knew,” Walt
said at last, his voice barely a whisper.

Danielle wasn’t sure how to respond.
Should
I give my condolences?  Gee, so sorry to have to tell you you’re dead.

“I don’t understand. How is it I can’t
touch you? My hand moves through yours like vapor. But just minutes ago I
opened the door for you. And yet, it is impossible for me to open the
window—the front door. How can I be standing here? Why don’t I simply fall
through the floor like my hand moved through yours?”

“I don’t claim to understand how all of
this works, but your physical form—your body, the clothes you appear to be
wearing—is all an illusion. When you opened the door for me earlier it wasn’t
your hand that turned the doorknob—it was your energy willing it to open.”

“Why couldn’t I do the same for the
window? The front door?”

“I don’t know.  Do you remember the last
time you’ve been outside?”

“No.”  Walt lifted his hands toward his
face and studied them, turning them slowly to the right and then the left.

“It’s gone.” He stared at his left hand.

“What’s gone?” Danielle asked.

“The manacle.”

Danielle looked at Walt’s hands.
“Manacle?”

“My wedding ring, of course. I don’t
remember taking it off.”

“Even if it was there, it really
wouldn’t be,” Danielle reminded him. “Remember, your clothes and any jewelry
you have on is only an illusion.”

“I should be more…shocked….shouldn’t I?”
Walt looked into Danielle’s eyes. “Why am I not more surprised?”

“I suspect because a part of you always
knew, just like you said. Let’s try something. Come with me.”  Danielle led the
way from the kitchen, down the hall and toward the front entry.  Standing next
to the front door she pointed to the door knob. “Try opening it.”

Without saying a word, Walt reached for
the doorknob. His hand slipped through it; in much the same way as it had glided
through Danielle’s hands.  She frowned then opened the door for him.

“Can you go outside?” she asked.

Unsure, Walt shrugged. With deliberate
steps he walked to the doorway and proceeded to walk through it, yet as he did,
his body vanished. The only portion of his body still visible to Danielle was
that part still inside the house.  After taking his last step from the house to
the front porch, Walt vanished completely. Danielle rushed outside and looked
around.

“Mr. Marlow? Are you out here?” All was
silent. Danielle stepped back inside the house and shut the door behind her.
Turning around, she was surprised to come face to face with Walt. She let out a
little squeal and jumped.

“Don’t do that!” Danielle snapped.

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t. At least, not intentionally.
I don’t think I can go outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I stepped through the doorway, I
ended up back in this room. I never went outside.”

“Oh…that is bizarre. I’ve never met a
ghost who was stuck someplace.”

“You’ve met lots of ghosts?” Walt arched
his brow. He sounded amused.

“A few.”

“I suppose that explains your attitude.”

“My attitude?” Danielle asked.

“You seem rather…casual about all of
this.”

“You seem rather casual yourself—just
realizing you are….umm...”

“Dead?” he clarified.

“That is a rather unpleasant word.
Realizing you are a
spirit
. It has a more…positive connotation.”
Danielle smiled up into Walt’s blue eyes. He didn’t look amused. Turning from
her he walked to the parlor. Instead of opening the door, he stepped through
the wall. Danielle let out a sigh then walked to the parlor door and opened it.
She found Walt sitting on a chair inside the room.

“It’s your turn,” Walt told her when she
entered the room.

“Excuse me?” Danielle sat down on a
chair and faced him.

“Explain why you’re here.” Walt looked
up, fixing a steady and serious gaze on Danielle.

“I’ve inherited this house,” Danielle
announced.

“You’ve inherited my home? From whom?” Walt
scowled.

“From my great-aunt, Briana Boatman.”

“Like I said, I don’t recall any
Boatmans. How did this aunt of yours come in possession of my home?”

“She’s not a blood relative. She was
married to my grandfather’s brother, Harry Boatman.  I really don’t know the
history of the house, or how she came to own it. I always assumed it was passed
down in her family.”

“I don’t understand; how is that
possible? Who is Brianna Boatman to me and why is it I’ve never heard of her?
As far as I know she has never been to my home.”

“What’s the last year you remember? I
know Brianna was born in 1920.”

Walt considered the question a moment
before answering. “1925.”

According to what Mr. Renton had told
Danielle, the house had been vacant since 1925.

“Interesting. As for Brianna Boatman, I
can’t recall my aunt and uncle ever living in the States. Uncle Harry worked
for the government and he and my aunt traveled all over the world. They never
had children. I met them a few times over the years. I stayed with them one
summer, when they were living in London. He passed away about five years ago,
and Brianna eventually settled in Italy. We exchanged letters several times a
year—holidays mostly.  When she passed, she left me this house and a little
money. Frankly, I was surprised. But from what I understand, she had no blood
relatives and I was the only member of Harry’s family who made an effort to
keep in contact with her over the years.”

“That still doesn’t explain who she is
to me. How she came to own this house.”

“According to the paperwork, her maiden
name was O’Malley.”

“O’Malley? Brianna O’Malley?” He sounded
surprised at the name.

“You know her?”

“I did…her mother…not her really.
Kathrine O’Malley was my housekeeper. She had a young daughter named Brianna.”

“You left your estate to your
housekeeper?”

Walt didn’t answer immediately. Folding
his hands together, he sat on the chair, his back straight, considering the
peculiar chain of events.

“No, I left everything to my wife.”

“Your wife? The woman in the portrait?”

 He gave a little nod and then said,
“Angela. I knew something was wrong…” Walt frowned, trying to sort out his
memories. “This is so very odd. It’s like a fog has been lifted. Since the
moment you made me aware—aware of my situation—the haze muddling my mind has
begun to clear. I’m remembering things I haven’t thought about in years. It’s
like I’ve been looking at a blurred photograph, but now it’s slowly coming into
focus and I can finally make out the picture. Angela is not here. She should be
here with me. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry to be the one to say it—but I
imagine she’s been gone for years now.”

“Dead you mean?”

“Umm…yes.”

“But why isn’t she here with me?”

“I don’t know. But, I don’t think in the
grand scheme of things you’re supposed to be here. You’re trapped for some
reason. Your wife, well, I imagine she has moved on to wherever she’s supposed
to be.”

“Perhaps. But this is all so very
confusing. The only way Kathrine would have inherited this house was if Angela
died before me.”

“What do you mean?” 

Instead of answering, Walt waved his
right hand slightly. A thin cigar appeared between two of his fingers. Bringing
one end of the cigar to his lips he took a little puff. Red embers blazed on
the cigar’s tip, expelling a swirl of sweetly scented smoke. It floated by Walt’s
face before dissolving into the air.

“According to my will, Angela would
inherit my estate,” he finally answered. “But if she were to die before me,
then my estate was to go to my housekeeper, Katherine O’Malley.”

“I find it interesting that you left your
estate to your housekeeper.”

“Only if Angela died before me. Shortly
before we left on our honeymoon I had my attorney revise my will, leaving
everything to Angela. James asked me who I wished to name as heir should Angela
precede me. Angela’s brother, Roger, or my distant cousin in London, who was
named heir in my previous will.”

“James, I assume that was your attorney?

“Yes. I was not about to leave it to my
brother-in-law.”

“You disliked Angela’s brother?”

“Her twin brother, actually. A
four-flusher, but I tolerated Roger for Angela’s sake.”

“Floor-flusher, what’s that?”

“You don’t know what a four-flusher is?”
Walt asked.

“Was he a janitor or something?”

“Janitor?” Walt frowned. “Why do you ask
that?”

“Well, I don’t know; if he flushed
floors, maybe that’s what you used to call janitors.”

Walt laughed. “No,
four-
flusher.
It’s not someone’s occupation, it’s an expression.”

“What does it mean?”

“In Roger’s case, he was a freeloader, a
mooch. But he wanted people to think he had money. He was the one that made
sure I met Angela.”

“Because you had money?”

“I don’t imagine he wanted his sister to
hook up with me for my good looks.” 

“I can understand not wanting him to get
your money. But you mentioned a cousin.”

“A cousin I had never met. My
grandfather had named the cousin’s father as heir if I preceded him. After my
grandfather passed away and the estate went to me, I found out the distant
cousin had died, but he had a son. At the time I had no one else to leave the
estate to.” 

“You no longer wanted to include your
cousin in the will? I suppose the housekeeper worked for your family for a long
time?”

“Kathrine? No, a little over a year. I
didn’t really know her that well, but she did a good job and I felt sorry for
her. She was unmarried, had a young daughter. She had a difficult time finding
a job—her reputation and all.”

“Your wife must have died before you.
Which is why my aunt’s mother inherited your estate.”

“No. I would remember something like
that. If Angela had died before me, I would know.”

“Do you have any memory of your…your
last days?”

Walt stood up and began pacing the small
room, considering the question. “I remember the wedding.  We had it here, a
small affair. Roger gave away the bride, something I was not thrilled with. But
she loved her brother and I couldn’t see the harm.”

“Your wedding—that’s your last memory?”

“No—I remember our honeymoon.” Walt stopped
pacing for a moment and smiled. “We returned to Marlow House—we were home for
several weeks when Angela wanted to go to Portland and visit her brother. I
didn’t want to go, so she went alone. I had some business to attend to.” He
looked at Danielle. “That’s all—that’s as far as I can remember. I said goodbye
to my wife, went into the library to work on some ledgers. Wait—I remember
working in the library for most of the afternoon when George Hemming stopped
by. We shared a brandy—and then he went home…”

“What year did you say this was?”
Danielle interrupted.

“1925.”

“I thought drinking was illegal back
then?”

“Ridiculous law. Someday it will be
repealed.”

“Umm….they already repealed it, about
eighty years ago.”

 “Really?”

“Really.” Danielle nodded.

“Humm…” Walt cocked his head briefly and
gave a little shrug before he started to pace again. “It’s about time.”