The Ghost of Valentine Past (4 page)

O
fficers Joe Morelli and Brian Henderson
sat at a booth at Lucy's Diner, reading lunch menus. There was no reason for either of them to actually read the menus, they could easily recite them word for word—with their eyes closed. But habits are a hard thing to break, so they poured over the menus, though they would probably order what they normally did when visiting Lucy's for lunch.

They had just tossed their menus onto the table when Police Chief MacDonald entered the diner and walked in their direction.

“Hey Chief, you want to join us for lunch?” Joe offered.

“Have you ordered yet?” MacDonald asked.

Joe slid over in the seat, making room for his boss. “No.”

After MacDonald sat down, Brian handed him a menu.

“I don't need it.” The chief waved it away. “I already know what I want.”

Ten minutes later, after the server took their orders and brought their beverages, Joe asked the chief what he knew about Cleve Monchique's funeral services.

Before answering, the chief sipped his coffee and then set his mug on the table. “From what I understand, they aren't having one. Apparently, his estate goes to Earthbound Spirits, and he left Peter Morris in charge of handling his arrangements. I heard this morning that Morris issued a statement that Cleve was being cremated and they weren't having any formal service—but he did ask for donations, in lieu of flowers.”

“Donations to Earthbound Spirits?” Brian asked with a snort.

“Of course.” The chief shook his head in disgust.

“Didn't Cleve have any family?” Joe asked. “I would think they'd want to do something for him.”

“From what I understand, he's been estranged from his family since he got involved with that group. I heard somewhere he had a sister—or maybe it was a brother.” The chief shrugged. “Not sure his parents are still alive.”

“There is no way Morris didn't know about Cleve's plot to kill Winston,” Brian grumbled.

“I agree with you, but there's no way for us to prove it, especially after Cleve's handwritten confession he included with his suicide note.” MacDonald picked up his coffee mug and looked across the table at Brian. “I know there are some who believe Morris blackmailed Darlene over your affair.”

In response, Brian shrugged. Joe was about to comment when Adam Nichols walked into the diner with Chris Johnson. Adam waved at the officers, but led Chris to a table at the opposite end of the restaurant.

Brian watched as Adam and Chris sat down. “I wonder what those two are doing together.”

“I imagine Adam is showing him property,” MacDonald answered.

“What do you mean?” Joe frowned.

“According to Danielle, Johnson is planning to stay in Frederickport. Adam is helping him find a rental.”

“Don't you mean Glandon?” Brian asked.

Before the chief could respond, the server returned to refill their mugs and inform them their lunch would be out in a few minutes. When she was gone, the chief pushed his mug aside and looked seriously from Joe to Brian.

“I think we need to talk about something,” the chief began.

“Is there a problem?” Joe asked.

“No, not really. It seems Chris Johnson intends to make Frederickport his home for a while. And I expect you both to refer to him as Chris Johnson—not Chris Glandon.”

“But his legal name is Glandon,” Brian reminded.

“That's true. But, I understand why he chooses to use his mother's maiden name. As a new citizen of Frederickport, he deserves our protection, and I believe that if he uses that particular alias instead of his legal surname, our job will be much easier. I've already talked to the other people in the department who are aware of his real name.”

“This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he is some freaking bizzillionaire,” Joe grumbled under his breath.

MacDonald looked over at Joe and smiled. “Actually, it does, but not in the way you imply. The fact is, if Johnson didn't have the money he has, his surname would not be an issue. I'm not courting any special donation for the department—but Mr. Johnson has not broken any laws, and I believe he has a right to his privacy. If his real name were to be made public, I imagine this place would be overrun by con men looking for some way to get a piece of Johnson's fortune. As it is, we already have Peter Morris and Earthbound Spirits to contend with; do we really want more like them?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if
Johnson
just moved on?” Joe asked. “And I bet if his real name was leaked he would move on faster. That would make our lives easier.”

MacDonald studied Joe for a moment. Finally, he asked, “Joe, this wouldn't have anything to do with Danielle Boatman, would it?”

“Of course not,” Joe snapped. “But, Danielle doesn't need someone like that guy hanging around.”

“What, she doesn't need some good looking rich guy?” Brian snickered.

“
W
hat do you think
? Have you made a decision?” Adam asked Chris. The two men sat across from each other at a table in Lucy's Diner.

“I really liked that second house you showed me—the one right on the beach, three doors down from Ian's rental.”

“The only problem with that one—like I told you earlier—the owners intend to list it, so they're only willing to rent month by month. As long as you don't mind moving again, if it sells fast. The up side is, the rent is reasonable, since they'll only go month by month.”

Holding his water glass by its rim, Chris gently twirled the glass, watching the ice swirl around. He grinned and then looked up at Adam, while setting the glass back down on the table. “How about if I bought it?”

“You want to buy it? Seriously?”

“Sure, why not? It's about time I settled somewhere for longer than a few months. I really like that house, its location.”

“But you don't even know what they'll be asking.”

“Do you know what they plan to ask?”

“I haven't gotten the comps together yet.”

“You're the listing agent?” Chris asked.

Adam nodded. “I do mostly property management, but I also represent my owners, when they decide to sell.”

“Then talk to them. You can get both sides of the deal. Better for you. If they agree to sell, I'll talk to Danielle about renting the room until escrow closes; that way I only have to move once.”

“While I hate losing a prime rental property, the commission on the sale will help ease the pain,” Adam said with a laugh.

“Okay then!” Chris grinned. “Let's see if you can pull this together!”

A thought crossed Adam's mind and his smile quickly faded. “There's just one thing. Danielle assured me you wouldn't have a problem with the rent—but if you want to buy something, it's going to be a little tricky getting you financing. You aren't working right now, are you?”

Chris grinned again. “No, no I'm not. But I'm not going to need financing. I'll be paying in cash.”

W
hen Chris entered
the interrogation room, Officer Henderson was sitting down at the table, notebook in hand, reviewing his notes. Instead of standing up, he waved for Chris to take a seat and told him he would just be a minute.

After a few moments, Brian looked up from his notebook, while one hand rested on the open page. “I was just telling Danielle, it will be a bit more difficult for you to fly under the wire, what with Morris' murder and the investigation. I don't imagine it'll be possible to keep your true identity a secret. Especially if you had something to do with his death.”

“I didn't kill Morris. I had no reason to kill him,” Chris insisted.

“According to Danielle, you admitted he came to see you.”

“Yes, but that was a few hours before I found him in the parlor—murdered.”

“Let's start with why he came to Marlow House.”

“I got a call from him last night—on my cellphone. It was right before midnight.”

“What was the relationship between you and Morris?”

“We had no relationship. I only met the man a couple times—at Danielle's Christmas Eve party and again at the hospital when Richard was taken to the ER. Although, I don't recall talking to him at the hospital. I believe you were there.”

“But he had your phone number?”

“Yes. I don't know how he got it, but he did.”

“What did he say when he called you?”

“He told me he had to talk to me, that it was urgent. I thought it was pretty bizarre, him calling me, especially because it was almost midnight. And then…then he called me Chris Glandon.”

“He knew your real name?”

“Apparently.”

“So, what happened then?”

“He told me that if I didn't want him sending out a tweet letting the world know where I'd landed, I'd meet with him for a few minutes. He promised the visit would be short. As it turned out, he was already parked in front of the house when he made the call.”

“So you agreed to meet him?” Brian asked.

“Yes. I let him in the house, took him to the parlor. When I left him, he was still alive. I didn't see him again until I found him in the room, some three hours later.”

“What did he want to talk to you about?”

Chris let out a snort. “What do you think a man like Morris wanted? He wanted a donation. He actually believed I should join his cult and agree to giving sizeable—and frequent—donations. Or shall I say, blackmail payments.”

“Blackmail? What did he have on you?”

“Nothing, aside from knowing my real name. He actually thought I'd be willing to pay him for that. To be honest, he sounded...panicked.”

“Panicked?”

“Maybe frantic would be a better word,” Chris suggested. “It was like he desperately needed money, and he needed it fast. That's just the impression I had. It was as if he wasn't thinking rationally, especially since he actually thought I'd pay him for something like that.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I asked him how much he wanted.”

“Why did you ask him that? You just said you'd never pay him.”

“He didn't know that. I saw it as an opportunity to catch Morris. I know Danielle believes he was the one behind Cleve's actions—and death. I was planning to talk to Chief MacDonald this morning, see if we could arrange some sort of sting, to catch Morris in his blackmail scheme.”

“But wouldn't something like that potentially expose your true identity after trapping Morris? You would have to go to court as a witness. Something like that would get media attention.”

“Murdering Morris a few feet from the room I was staying at would also risk exposing my true identity to the world. If it was you, which one would you choose?”

“Fair enough. What happened after you told Morris you were willing to give him a donation?”

“I told him I'd have to arrange a transfer with my bank, that the checking account I used for my day-to-day living expenses didn't have that much money in it.”

“He agreed to that?”

“Not at first. He suggested I make the transfer online or with my cellphone. He also told me to turn over all the cash I had on me.” Chris laughed.

“Why is that funny?”

“I had less than twenty bucks on me. I asked him if he seriously expected me to hand over my pocket change. For some reason he assumed I carried a large sum of money on me.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him I never kept much money on me. And that I wasn't able to transfer money like that. I explained I'd expressly set up the account with my bank that any transfers of large funds had to be made in person—for security purposes.”

“So he was okay with that?”

“What else could he do? We agreed to meet late Friday afternoon. I told him I'd call him as soon as I made the transfer. And I started to walk him out…”

“What time was this?”

“I didn't check the time, but I don't think we talked for more than thirty or forty minutes.”

“So he left?”

“I thought he did.”

“What do you mean you thought he left? Did you lock the door after you walked him outside?”

“I didn't walk him to the door.”

“I thought you said you walked him out?”

“No, I started to. When we got into the entry hall, Heather stepped out of the living room and told me Danielle was looking for me and that she'd gone to the kitchen. She offered to walk Morris out, so I left her with him and went into the kitchen to see what Danielle wanted.”

“That was pretty late by then, wasn't it? Almost one in the morning?”

Chris shrugged in response.

“When you went into the kitchen to see Danielle, you didn't tell her about Morris' visit?”