The Ghost of Valentine Past (10 page)

“I didn't kill Peter Morris.”

“Frankly, I don't care who killed that SOB. They did the world a service. But I'd hate to see you go to jail over that dirt bag.”

“I didn't kill him, I promise.”

“Please be careful, Arlene.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

Adam looked into Arlene's pleading eyes. He studied her a moment and then finally shook his head. “No.”

L
eaning back
in his desk chair, cellphone in hand, Police Chief MacDonald read Danielle's text message. “No news.”

With a disgruntled sigh, he tossed the phone onto his desk. He had hoped when Danielle returned to Marlow House, Walt would tell her the identity of the killer—or perhaps she would run into the ghost of Peter Morris. But so far, having someone on his side who could communicate with spirits wasn't giving him the edge on this investigation.

A knock came at his office door. Looking up, he watched as one of his officers peeked in.

“Carla, the waitress from Pier Café insists on seeing you. Says it has something to do with Morris' murder,” he told MacDonald.

“Show her in.”

A few minutes later, Carla sat in a chair facing the chief. They were alone in his office, the door closed.

“Was Peter Morris really murdered at Marlow House?” she asked.

“Yes. Now, what did you want to tell me?”

“I heard on the radio that he'd been murdered—after midnight at Marlow House. I just knew I had to come talk to you! I think I saw the killer running away from the house last night.”

“You were by Marlow House last night?”

Carla nodded. “I drive right by there every day for work. When I was coming home last night, I saw someone running away from Marlow House. I almost hit her!”

“Her?”

Carla nodded again. “Yes, I'm sure it was a woman. She looked right into my headlights. But she was wearing one of those hoodies, you know, like those gang kids wear.”

“Hoodies? Are you talking about a hoodie sweat shirt?”

“Well, I guess it was actually a coat. But it had a hood, and she had it pulled up over her head. Real suspicious like. Of course, at the time I had no idea she had just killed someone.”

“You say she looked into your headlights?”

“Yes, when I almost hit her. I had to slam on the breaks. I'm so afraid!”

“Why are you afraid?”

“Now I know she killed someone, and she saw my car. She might track me down and kill me too! After all, I'm a witness!”

“If she looked into the headlight, you must've seen her face.”

Carla shook her head. “It happened so fast. I just know it was a woman. Or I suppose it might have been a man, a very slender man. Maybe a boy?”

The chief pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “Let's slow down a bit, Carla. Do you know what time this was?”

“Sometime between midnight and one. I can't be sure exactly.”

“Don't you know what time you left work? It's only a few minutes from Pier Café to Marlow House. What time did you get off work?”

“Last night I got off work at 11:30, but I didn't go right home. I ran into someone in the parking lot, and we started talking…time just sort of got away from us.”

“You were having a conversation in the dark parking lot in the middle of the night, with the weather we've been having?”

Carla scooted down in her chair “I wasn't exactly standing in the parking lot. I was sitting in his car.”

“Whose car?”

“He said his name was Martin Smith, but I don't think it was.”

“You don't know the name of the man whose car you were sitting in during the middle of the night?”

“He said he was staying at the Seahorse Motel, but when I went over there this morning, they had no Martin Smith registered.”

“Why were you talking in his car?”

“Oh come on Chief, I came here to help you. You know Martin and I weren't actually talking. He's a cute guy. We were having fun. And when it got a little out of hand, I told him I had to go. But I didn't check the time.”

The chief lifted his brows “But you went to the motel to find him this morning?”

Carla shrugged. “Like I said, he was real cute.”

Shaking his head and putting aside images of Carla and a strange man rolling around in the backseat of a car like two teenagers, he asked, “So tell me about this person you almost ran over.”

“I was driving down the street and this dark shadow seemed to jump out in front of me, from the direction of Marlow House. This person just appeared in my headlights, and I slammed on my breaks. It was like she didn't realize a car was coming. She looks up at me and then kept running.”

“Did this woman get into a car?”

“Like I said, I'm pretty sure it was a woman, but I suppose it could have been a man, or maybe teenage boy.”

“Did this person get into a car? Did you see where she—or he—went?”

“That's the funny thing…” Carla leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I was so shook up; I watched to see where she went. Ran right over to the house across the street and climbed into a car parked in the driveway and drove off.”

“House across the street?”

“Yes. The one Ian Bartley rents. But I know it wasn't Ian. I would've recognized him. Although, now that I think about it, it looked a little like Ian.”

“It was Ian?”

Carla shook her head. “No, it definitely was not Ian, but it looked a little like him.”

After the chief finished with Carla, he phoned Ian. According to Ian, he and Lily were just heading back to Marlow House, but he agreed to stop at the station first.

“
W
hat's this about
, Chief?” Ian asked when he was led into the interrogation room, and Lily was asked to wait in the front lobby.

The chief motioned to one of the empty chairs at the table, before closing the door. The two men sat down.

“Joe talked to you this morning, when you came to pick up Lily.”

“Yes.” Ian watched the chief pick up a file from the table and open it.

Glancing over the contents of the file folder, the chief looked up at Ian and asked, “You told Joe you went to bed around midnight last night.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Can you tell me, what cars were parked in your driveway from…let's say…about thirty minutes before you went to bed until this morning, when you woke up.”

“What cars?” Ian frowned.

“From what I remember about your driveway, you have enough room to park maybe—two cars there?”

“Yes.”

“So, tell me. What car—or cars—were parked in your driveway last night?”

Ian let out a sigh. “My car…and Kelly's.”

“Kelly? Your sister?”

“Yes.”

“You didn't say anything to Joe about Kelly being in Frederickport.”

“She's not. She went home last night.”

“Last night? When?”

Ian shrugged. “It was around midnight.”

“Why didn't you tell Joe?”

“I answered Joe's question; he didn't ask me if there was anyone at my house.”

The chief slammed the folder shut, his hand hitting the tabletop with a loud slap. “What are you hiding, Ian?”

“I'm not hiding anything.”

“Don't give me that. Don't try playing stupid, it doesn't suit you. Why did you withhold information regarding your sister being in Frederickport? Joe asked if you'd seen anything last night; I don't believe for an instant you wouldn't realize Joe would want to question your sister about what she saw when leaving your house.”

Ian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Kelly's been working with me on my current project. It's an exposé on Earthbound Spirits—and Peter Morris. Obviously, Morris' death changes the direction of our article. I confess; I wanted to talk to Kelly before you did—I wanted to see if she saw anything.”

“I assume you've spoken to her?”

“Yes. I called when Lily and I got back to my house. Kelly told me, she didn't see anything unusual last night.”

“And you didn't realize we'd still want to interview her?” MacDonald snapped.

“Yes, of course. I told Kelly to call Henderson. I understood he was taking the lead on this case.”

“She hasn't called.”

Ian shrugged. “I assumed she would've called right away. But I guess she figured since she didn't see anything, there was no rush.”

“Did Kelly go back to Portland?”

“No. She went to Astoria to stay with some friends.”

“Ian, something has come up, and I need to talk to her as soon as possible. Can you get her to come back to Frederickport?”

“You mean today?”

“Yes. I'd rather not have to send someone to Astoria to pick her up, and bring her back here.”

“You're serious aren't you?”

“Very.”

M
acDonald was alone
in his office an hour later when his cellphone began to ring. In was Danielle.

“What's this about you ordering Kelly back to Frederickport?” Danielle asked McDonald the moment he answered her call.

“Why didn't you tell me she was in town last night?” he asked.

“I didn't know. Ian mentioned it after we left the police station, but he told me Kelly would be calling you.”

“He told me he didn't tell Joe about Kelly being here because he wanted to talk to her first—in case she saw something he might use in his article,” the chief explained.

“Yeah, that's pretty much what he told me. I really don't think it's any big deal. I know you're probably irritated, which I assume is why you told him to have her come back to town, but I think you could've probably just talked to her on the phone. She told Ian she didn't see anything.”

“I know Ian's a good friend of yours, Danielle—”

“He's your friend too, Chief,” she reminded.

“I know, but this is a murder investigation. I can't let personal feelings hinder the investigation.”

“Will Brian be interviewing Kelly?”

“I sent him home to get some sleep.”

“Is Joe still there?” Danielle asked.

“I think so, why? You want to talk to him?”

Danielle sighed. “No. I was just curious. He's the one who initially questioned Ian; just wondered what he thought about Kelly being here.”

“I spoke to him. Actually, he blamed himself. Said Ian did answer his questions—Joe just didn't ask the right ones.”

“It's really pretty typical of Ian. He's always closed mouthed about whatever he happens to be working on.”

“I hope that's all it is,” MacDonald muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Oh nothing,” he lied. “But I was wondering, have you figured out who that second spirit might be?”

“I think so—saw him once—he hasn't shown himself again. But I don't think it has anything to do with Morris' murder. It's just a coincidence, a second spirit showing up at this time.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

“Because it's Lucas.”

“Lucas?” he asked.

“My late husband.”

He didn't respond immediately. Finally, he said, “I didn't think you'd ever seen his spirit before.”

“I haven't. I need to figure out why he's here. It would be nice to solve at least one of today's mysteries. Have you learned who that bloody fingerprint belongs to?”

“I really shouldn't have mentioned that to you,” MacDonald grumbled.

“Do you know who it belongs to?”

“Yes.”

“Well, who? Is it someone I know?”

“I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. Not at this time.”

Danielle groaned. “I can't believe you aren't telling me.”