The Ghost of Valentine Past (6 page)

“Seriously?”

“Yes. But I can't think about it right now. I'm trying to figure out where I'm going to stay tonight. As it is, I have to get rid of most of my upholstered furniture—even my bed. The mold got into everything.”

“It's that bad?”

“Worse. I don't know what I'm going to do. I suppose I should just find a home for Bella, but I don't want to do that.”

“Stay with me. Bella's welcome.”

“Stay with you? I can't do that. I can't afford to stay at an inn.”

“We'll work something out. Heather, if it wasn't for you, I could've died in that fire. And you didn't have to give me the emerald. I can give it back to you. You can use it to pay for an attorney, help get your property back.”

Heather shook her head. “No. I can't do that. That emerald belongs to you. The sins of my great-grandfather demand that it be returned to the rightful owner.”

“You had nothing to do with what he did.”

“I feel cursed enough these days. I don't want to test fate.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Very.”

“At least accept my invitation to stay while your house is fixed.”

“Danielle, they say it's going to take a month, or more.”

“That's okay. I'm letting Chris rent a room while he waits for his house to close escrow.”

“Chris is buying a house?”

“Yes, on our street. He'll be our new neighbor.”

“Sweet. When does he move in?”

“I don't know. The sellers have just decided on an asking price; they haven't even written up a purchase contract yet. But I don't imagine it'll take more than a month.”

“It'll probably take longer than that. Getting loan approval can be a bitch, and Chris isn't working yet, is he?”

“Umm…I believe he has a little inheritance he's using to help him buy the house.”

“Nice.”

“So, you want to stay at Marlow House?”

“I'd like to…but I honestly can't afford to pay what you normally charge.”

“I told you, we can work something out.”

“
D
anielle
? Danielle?” Brian repeated.

“Oh…I'm sorry,” Danielle gave her head a quick shake. She looked over at Brian and smiled.

“Where did you zone out to?”

“I'm sorry, I was just thinking of something. Now, what was it you wanted to know?”

“I was wondering why Heather is staying at Marlow House.”

“Oh…that…her house has mold.”

W
alt had changed
from the beach apparel he had been sporting in Danielle's dream back to his normal attire—a three-piece suit, circa 1925—and his feet were no longer bare. He stood in the middle of the entry hall and watched as the responders processed the crime scene. They were preparing to move the body.

Earlier, they had discovered what they believed was the murder weapon, a fishing knife. Upstairs, officers combed through every room, but so far, they hadn't found anything else related to the crime. Walt had already completed his own search. He looked for the second body, but so far, he hadn't found it. Perhaps it was outside.

He suspected the younger man, who had been watching Danielle sleep, was somehow connected to Morris' death. Had the killer murdered them both? Or perhaps the younger man was the killer, but had met some fatal accident when fleeing the crime scene, which would explain his appearance earlier.

Peter Morris' spirit had fled the premises, but Walt knew there was no guarantee the ghost wouldn't return. Spirits often felt connected to the site of their death, especially when it was a violent one. Walt himself had stuck around Marlow House after his murder, and Darlene seemed connected to Pilgrim's Point, where she had been killed. Walt found the thought of sharing Marlow House with a spirit of Morris' ilk highly repugnant.

He preferred to believe Morris had moved on, and if he hadn't, then Chris or Danielle would simply need to convince him to leave permanently. However, at the moment, Walt was more concerned about the spirit of the younger man. Who was he? And where was his body?

Upstairs, Max was in the attic with Bella. While Max wasn't thrilled about having the younger female cat trail after him, he was getting used to it. Walt had given him a firm lecture, preaching the necessity of exerting patience with the smaller feline, who was practically a kitten in comparison. He reminded Max it was only a temporary situation. As soon as Heather was able to return to her own house down the street, the unwanted cat would go with her. Bella no longer hissed at Max. Instead, she found it far more amusing to pounce on his tail when he wasn't looking.

Walt was about to go upstairs and check on Max and Bella when he heard an officer call out from the parlor doorway, “You can't come in here.”

Walt turned to the front door. It was open, with crime tape blocking the entry.

Ian stood on the front porch looking in. “What in the hell is going on? Where's Lily? Danielle?”

Ian sounded frantic. Sadie was nowhere in sight. Walt assumed Ian had left the golden retriever at home across the street, and had rushed over when he'd woken up and seen the police cars parked out front. Walt smiled.
He really does love Lily.

“Oh, Mr. Bartley, it's you. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you,” the officer said. “But I'm afraid you can't come in; this is a crime scene.”

“My god, Lily? Danielle?” Ian looked prepared to leap over the tape.

“Ms. Miller and Ms. Boatman are fine. They went down to the station with Mr. Johnson and the others, to give their statements.”

“What happened?”

“I'm sorry; I really can't discuss it at this time. Like I said, this is an active crime scene, so you need to leave.”

Ian didn't argue with the officer. Instead, he turned and rushed away from Marlow House. Walt walked to the open doorway and watched Ian's hasty departure. He suspected Ian was going home to get his car so he could drive to the police station to find Lily.

Walt was about to turn from the doorway when he saw him: Peter Morris. Unlike the body in the parlor, Morris' ghostly form looked a good ten years older, with gray-white hair. Yet Walt did not doubt for a moment that it was indeed Morris' ghost outside.

Walt was tempted to call out to Morris, to find out who had murdered him and ask about the identity of the younger man. Yet he was reluctant to invite the spirit back into the house, for fear that he would not leave.

Voices from behind Walt caught his attention. He turned around. They were bringing Morris' body out. Moving to one side, out of their way, he watched as they carried the corpse from Marlow House to a waiting van parked outside.

Peter Morris trailed behind his body and climbed into the van. A few minutes later, the vehicle drove away, carrying both the body and spirit of Peter Morris.

Walt turned from the open doorway and made his way down the entry hall and up the stairs. By the time he reached the last stair leading to the second floor landing, the officers were coming downstairs, moving right through him. Startled by their hasty departure, he paused a moment and looked down at his body, as one officer after another rushed through him as if he were an open doorway. Disgusted with the invasion of his space, he was tempted to give one of them a shove, but resisted. He didn't think Danielle would appreciate some officer falling to his death on her staircase. Plus, the last thing he needed was another spirit haunting Marlow House.

The officers were all downstairs now. He wondered when they would finally leave and when Danielle and the rest would be allowed to return. It was then that he heard a new voice downstairs, one he recognized: Chief MacDonald. He suspected the police chief had stopped by on his way to work to check out the crime scene.

Walt continued on his way to the attic. But first, he decided to look through the rooms on the second floor to see what damage—if any—had been done during the police search of the property.

The first room he stepped into was Danielle's. It was no surprise that the bed remained unmade. A few of the drawers were partially opened and the closet door was ajar, yet other than that he didn't see any damage.

He was about to move back into the hallway when a male voice asked, “Why were the police here? Where did Danielle go?”

Turning to the voice, Walt looked into the dark eyes of the man he had seen earlier, watching Danielle sleep. “You've returned.”

“I didn't really go anywhere. Just outside. I'm surprised you can see me,” the man said.

“Why is that?” Walt asked.

“Since I've arrived, no one has been able to see or hear me. Except for you,” the man said. “And Peter Morris.”

“Who are you?” Walt asked. “What do you have to do with Peter Morris?”

“Why does it matter? He's dead. Are you dead too?”

“Did you kill Peter Morris?” Walt asked.

“Is it possible for a ghost to kill a living person? I hadn't considered that possibility,” the man muttered, more to himself than Walt.

“I'm talking about when you were alive, of course,” Walt said impatiently. “Where is your body?”

“I suppose I could ask the same of you. Where is your body? Did you kill Peter Morris?”

Walt sighed impatiently. “This is my house. You're the one who needs to answer the questions.”

“If you're dead, how can you own this house? How is that even possible? I understood Danielle owns this house.”

“You just stay away from Danielle, and answer my questions.”

The man laughed. “Now, that is definitely something I will not do.”

Before Walt could respond, the man vanished.

W
hen Ian arrived
at the police station on Friday morning, they wouldn't take him in to see Lily. Residents of Marlow House were still being interviewed. No one would tell Ian what had happened. He just knew Lily was unharmed.

He had been waiting for about thirty minutes in the front lobby when Chief MacDonald arrived. MacDonald was preoccupied and wouldn't answer any of Ian's questions, but he asked Ian to wait, telling him someone would be out in a few moments to get him. Twenty minutes later, Joe Morelli stepped out from the inner offices.

Ian stood up. “Can I see Lily now?”

“In a minute. But first, would you come with me?” Joe asked.

After leading Ian into his office, Joe closed the door, gestured for Ian to sit down, and said, “I thought we could do this in here, since all the rooms are full.”

“Do what?” Ian asked as he sat down.

Joe took a seat behind his desk and grabbed a pen and pad of paper. “I need to ask you a few questions.” Joe couldn't help but remember how well he and Ian had hit it off when Joe had briefly dated Danielle, some eight months earlier. The two men were about the same age, and the four of them—Ian and Lily, and Danielle and Joe—had enjoyed each other's company. There had been laughter and a promise of a bright future, a romance with Danielle, and a friendship with Ian and Lily—until everything changed. While Joe still considered Ian a friend, any bromance had cooled sufficiently.

“What's going on, Joe? I get up this morning, see cops parked all over the street, crime tape in front of Marlow House, and they tell me everyone has been brought down here. What happened?”

“Ian, where did you sleep last night?”

“My house. Why?”

“You didn't stay at Marlow House?”

“No.”

“What time did you get up this morning?” Joe asked.

“It was almost eight. Why?”

“What time did you go to bed last night?”

Ian let out a deep sigh and leaned back in the chair before answering. “It was after midnight. What's going on?”

“Did you go outside at all last night? Did you ever look out the window? Look across the street to Marlow House?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I was pretty exhausted. I'd been working all day. Hit the bed and that was pretty much it. I would probably have slept longer, but Sadie woke me up. She had to go out. That's when I looked across the street and saw all the cop cars.”

Joe tossed the pen onto his desk and leaned back in the chair. His gaze met Ian's. “Peter Morris was murdered last night.”

“Damn, are you serious? That's going to change everything.”

“Change what?” Joe frowned.

“I've been working on an exposé on Morris and Earthbound Spirits. This will change the direction of my piece. What happened? Any idea who did it?”

“I guess you'll have to ask Lily and Danielle about that.”

Ian frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That's the reason for the crime tape. Early this morning, Peter Morris was found murdered at Marlow House.”

“What do you mean found at Marlow House?”

“In the parlor, to be exact. With his throat slashed.”

“Holy crap.” Ian stood up and briefly lifted his Cubs baseball hat from his head before putting it back on. He paced in front of the desk for a moment and then paused and looked at Joe. “Have you arrested anyone?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you know who did it?” Ian asked.

“It's an ongoing investigation. Like I said, we haven't arrested anyone yet.”

“I can't believe this. He was murdered at Marlow House? What happened?” Ian sat back down.

“As far as we know, his body was found in the parlor of Marlow House between three and four this morning. His throat had been slashed. Initially, Heather found Chris standing over the body with blood on his hands. Chris claimed he'd just found Morris and was checking his vitals. We do know Morris had come to Marlow House at midnight to see Chris. He threatened to reveal Chris' real name if he didn't make a large donation. That's pretty much all that we have right now. Oh…and we found the murder weapon.”

“No way Chris killed him,” Ian insisted.

“Why do you say that?” Joe asked.

“Why would he?” Ian scoffed. “And even if he wanted to, Chris has enough money to make Morris disappear without anyone suspecting him. Not to mention, he has absolutely no motive.”

“He was being blackmailed, that's a motive.”

“Blackmailed, for what?”

“I told you, he threatened to reveal Chris' real last name.”

“Come on Joe, you aren't serious. If Chris was so desperate to keep his identity a secret—which I don't believe he is—then he certainly isn't going to commit a sensational crime just a few steps from the room he's staying in. That makes absolutely no sense.”

“I'm not saying it was premeditated. But a crime of passion—maybe. He seems intent on staying close to Danielle. Found a way to keep renting a room from her, even though she doesn't operate a boarding house. Maybe he panicked when Morris made his demand. He grabbed the first thing he could find—his own knife—and in a fit of rage, slit Morris' throat. He waited for everyone to go to bed before moving the body. But Heather surprised him, and when she screamed, it got the entire house up.”

Ian stared at Joe. “Are you saying the murder weapon belonged to Chris?”

Joe nodded. “It was his fishing knife.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” Ian said dully. “You actually believe Chris murdered Morris?”

“Yes, I do,” Joe said solemnly.

Ian stood up abruptly, and just as he did, the office door opened. Standing at the doorway was Chief MacDonald.

“They told me you were in here with Joe,” MacDonald greeted. He then looked at Joe and asked, “Are you done with him? Lily is ready to leave, and I told her Ian was here for her.”

“Yes,” Joe said with a nod.

Without another word, Ian rushed from the room.

“Is Danielle still here?” Joe asked.

“Yes. I haven't had a chance to talk to her yet. I asked her to wait, but I have to run to my office and make a phone call first.”

“Would you mind if I talk to her?”

“That's fine. When you're done, send her to my office. Give me at least ten minutes.”

J
oe was sitting
at his desk when Danielle came into his office.

“They said you wanted to talk to me for a minute?” Danielle asked wearily.

“You look exhausted.” Joe stood up and motioned to the empty chair. “Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee?”

Danielle shook her head and flopped down in the empty chair. “No thanks. I think I've already downed about three, maybe four cups. Which I'm going to regret. But if you happen to have any bacon and eggs lying around, I'll take it. I'm starved.”

Joe smiled. “Sorry, I don't. But I'll be happy to take you out to breakfast after you finish talking to the chief.”

Danielle flashed him a kind smile. “Thanks, Joe. I appreciate the offer. But Chris is waiting for me. We drove over in my car.” Danielle watched as Joe sat back down behind his desk. He'd had a recent haircut, she thought. The style he normally wore reminded her a bit of an old-fashioned boy's haircut, one that allowed his soft dark curls to remain. While this new cut was longer than a buzz cut, it was far shorter than Danielle had ever seen him wear his hair, and the curls were gone.

“Are you okay, Danielle?”

“Well, aside from the fact I got about an hour of sleep last night—if that—and someone was murdered in my house, I guess I'm terrific.”

“It really does seem Marlow House wasn't meant to be an inn.”

Danielle frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Looking back, most of the bad things that have happened to you since you arrived never would have happened if you hadn't pursued the bed and breakfast. Opening your house to strangers just invites danger.”

“Now you're making up rhymes?” Danielle smirked.

“This is serious, Danielle. You know what I mean.”

She let out a weary sigh. “Unfortunately, yes I do. But don't start that again. Please, not right now. I'm too flipping exhausted to argue with you.”

“I don't want to argue with you,” Joe insisted.

“Sure sounded that way. And it's always the same argument.”

“I just worry about you, Danielle. I won't apologize for that. You have no idea how I felt when I heard Morris had been brutally murdered under your roof. What would've happened had you walked into the parlor at the wrong time? It might be you lying in the morgue right now.”

“I appreciate your concern, Joe. And trust me, that thought has crossed my mind too.”

“How about I take you away from all this ugliness—at least for a couple hours. Let me take you out to dinner tonight. You need a break.”

“Thanks, Joe. But honestly, all I want to do is go home and crawl back into bed and sleep. Which will not be so easy, considering all that dang caffeine I consumed this morning.”

“Then let me take you out tomorrow night.”

Danielle studied Joe for a moment before responding. “Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.”

“Do you have a date already?”

“Umm…no…but…well, restaurants are always swamped on Valentine's Day.”

“I'm sure I can get us in somewhere.”

“Thanks for the invitation, Joe. But I just don't think it would be such a terrific idea.”

“Ah, come on Danielle. We're still friends, aren't we?”

“Sure we are.”

“Then what will dinner with a friend hurt?”

“On Valentine's Day?” Danielle shook her head. “I don't think so. I don't want to give you the wrong impression. We are friends, Joe. But just friends. Nothing else.”

Joe leaned back in his chair and studied Danielle. “It's Chris, isn't it?”

“Chris has nothing to do with this.”

“I think he's dangerous, Danielle. I believe he murdered Morris.”

“Don't be ridiculous. There is no way Chris would've killed him. He had no motive.”

Joe then proceeded to share his theory with Danielle—the same theory he had given Ian. When he was done, Danielle silently stood up.

“Where are you going?” Joe asked.

“I imagine the chief is off the phone by now.” Danielle turned toward the door, but then paused and turned briefly back to Joe. “You're wrong about Chris. Please don't do this again.” Without waiting for a response, Danielle left the office.