

The Ghost of Marlow House

(Haunting Danielle, Book 1)

A Novel

By Bobbi Holmes

Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

* * *

Copyright © 2014 Bobbi Holmes

Robeth Publishing, LLC

All Rights Reserved.

robeth.net

* * *

This novel is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

living or dead is entirely coincidental.
For my son-in-law, Joe,

because when my time is up he will

be one of the first people I haunt.

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

The Ghost Who Loved Diamonds

Haunting Danielle Newsletter

Haunting Danielle Series

Bobbi Holmes

Unlocked Hearts Series

The Coulson Series

Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

# One

If Walt Marlow opened the window, he would be able to hear the breakers crashing along the Pacific Northwest coast and breathe in the damp salty air. He missed the soothing sound of the sea, but he just couldn't seem to get the windows open these days. Perhaps they were rusted shut; _salt air did that sometimes_ , he told himself.

Two women stood at his front gate. Walt could see them from the attic window. The taller of the two, a young brunette, seemed overly excited. She kept pointing to his house while talking to her companion. He wondered if they intended to stand there all day or enter the gate and make their way up to his front door. People rarely visited these days.

He used the spotting scope to get a closer look at the pair. A stationary fixture at the attic window, the scope gave him a closer view of the ocean beyond the row of houses separating his home from the nearby beach. Had Marlow House not been two stories, plus the attic, his neighbors' rooftops would obscure the view.

The house directly across the street belonged to his old friend George Hemming. At one time, it was the only house on that side of the street. Walt couldn't recall when the houses to the left and right of Hemming's had been built or who lived there. George used to come over regularly to share a brandy with him, but it had been ages since his last visit.

The spotting scope brought the two women closer. The brunette's hair stubbornly refused to stay in place, tossed carelessly by the afternoon's gusty breeze. She continually brushed wayward strands from her face. Her hairstyle was not fashionable—at least not by his day's standards. The women he knew—those inspired by the avant-garde flapper—cropped their curls short. However, he found her long wavy hair appealing and feminine, reminding him of a gentler era. If he were to turn back the clock, he would assume she was unmarried. In his parent's day, a married woman typically wore her long hair up, not free flowing.

He guessed she was in her early twenties. She wore a fitted pink blouse over what he assumed was a skirt. Unable to see what she wore from the waist down, he could only make an assumption. What he could see, he found appealing, and he almost wished she would make it past his front gate. Walt experienced a brief surge of guilt for such a thought. After all, what would Angela think? Memories of Angela were fleeting and sporadic. There were times he forgot her entirely, then he would see her portrait hanging next to his in the library, and he would think, _Angela should have returned from Portland by now_. Somehow, he had lost track of the time.

He turned his attention to the second woman at the gate. He didn't find her half as interesting as her companion. She was attractive enough, but he was never partial to redheads. An abundance of rusty curls fell to her midback, secured in place by what he guessed was a ribbon. _It's quite obvious she and her companion don't follow the current fashion trends_ , he thought. This second girl was a few inches shorter than her friend and wore an unflattering boyish jacket over her outfit. Again he assumed—as he had with her friend—that she was wearing a dress or skirt.

_When was the last time I had a visitor?_ he asked himself. There had been the woman with the clipboard—a manly woman who wore men's trousers. She wasn't much of a conversationalist, and the few words she spoke made little sense to him. Of course, there was also Joanne. She came once a week to clean the house.

Walt Marlow had adapted to his solitude though there were times he missed sharing a brandy with one of his friends or admiring a pretty young woman. From what he could see, the brunette was attractive, yet by the way her lips kept moving, she was obviously a talker, not a trait he admired in a woman. Bored with watching the pair, Walt turned from the window and left the room, making his way down the stairs to the parlor. Outside, the two women continued to stand at his gate.

Danielle Boatman pointed to the dormer windows protruding from the mansard roofline. "The third floor is actually the attic." She frowned when something in one of the attic windows caught her eye.

"It looks like there's standing room up there. Extra living space, perhaps?" Lily suggested as she stood on her tiptoes, clutching the iron gate. Peering over the fence, she added, "You might be able to put a couple extra bedrooms up there. A bathroom would be nice, but that might cost a fortune."

Danielle pointed to one of the top windows. "Lily, look at that attic window."

"Yes?" Lily glanced upward.

"Do you see anything? There! There it is again!"

Narrowing her green eyes, Lily studied the window. "What? I don't see anything."

"I don't know...like a dark shadow passed by it."

"It's your imagination. I didn't see anything." Lily let go of the gate and settled back down on the balls of her feet.

"I guess you're right." Danielle shrugged then glanced over the yard. "I wonder if some of these trees'll need to be removed." She silently counted them. There were at least twenty on the property.

"Trees can play havoc with your plumbing. This place is definitely overgrown. It's like a jungle."

"I suppose I should be grateful the plants aren't all dead."

"When are they going to be here with that key?" Lily glanced down the street.

Danielle pulled a cellphone from her back pocket and looked at the time. "They should've been here by now."

"I can't wait to see inside. Are you sure you want to stay at the motel tonight? We could bring our stuff over and just stay here."

"We already paid for the room. Anyway, I want to see the condition of the property firsthand," Danielle said.

"I bet we can see the ocean from that attic window. I think I'm jealous you get to live here," Lily said with a laugh. "I wish they'd bring that key."

A moment later Lily got her wish when a black BMW pulled up and parked in front of Marlow House.

"Danielle Boatman?" the driver called out as she stepped from her vehicle, carrying a manila envelope. The woman slammed the car door shut and walked directly to Danielle, who offered her hand in greeting.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person," the woman said as she shook Danielle's hand. "I'm Gloria Comings, Mr. Renton's assistant. I assume you're Danielle Boatman."

"Yes. Nice to meet you at last, Ms. Comings. This is my friend Lily Miller."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Miller." Gloria quickly shook Lily's hand and then turned her attention back to Danielle. "Mr. Renton was very sorry he wasn't able to meet with you today, Ms. Boatman. Unfortunately, he was detained in New York, and it looks like he'll be there a few more days."

"That's fine. As long as I can get the keys, and I'm assured all of this is finally settled."

"Oh, of course." Gloria handed the manila envelope to Danielle. "You'll find the keys inside, along with all the necessary papers. Mr. Renton instructed me to include a checklist. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me."

"Is there any chance someone's inside the house right now?" Danielle asked.

"Inside the house? Not unless there's been a break-in. Why? Have you seen something suspicious?" Gloria asked, glancing at the house.

"She thought she saw something in the attic, but I didn't see anything," Lily said.

"The gate appears to be locked," Gloria noted as she inspected the sturdy padlock. "The cleaning lady was here this morning and went through the entire house. Unless you find some broken windows or unlocked doors, I seriously doubt you have a problem. I can't recall any break-ins on this property since I've worked for Mr. Renton. But of course, if you want me to come in with you..."

"Oh no, that's fine." Danielle opened the envelope and tucked her hand inside, searching for the keys.

"I'm afraid I'm running a little late. I should get going; I've another appointment. Things are a little upside down at the office, with Mr. Renton out of town."

"Of course. I appreciate you bringing this to me." Danielle smiled, now holding a key ring in her hand.

"Will you be staying at the house tonight?" Gloria asked.

"We rented a room at the Seahorse Motel. I know your office said the inside of the house was in relatively good shape—considering everything—but I think I'd like to have a look and see what needs to be done before I move in."

"You obviously weren't deterred by that old superstition," Gloria said.

"I'm not particularly superstitious," Danielle said.

_What superstition?_ Lily wondered. She was about to voice the question when her cellphone rang. Moving away from Danielle and Gloria, she answered her phone while the other two women talked.

Gloria looked at the vacant house. "I suppose I should get going." She glanced at her watch. "If you need anything, you know how to contact me."

Gloria had already said goodbye to Danielle and was just getting into her car when Lily ended her phone call.

"That was my mom." Lily and Danielle waved to Gloria as the BMW drove off. "She wanted to make sure we arrived okay. I guess I should've called her when we first got in town."

"Bad daughter," Danielle teased. "You ready to go see my house?"

"You bet!"

They turned and walked to the front gate. Danielle stared up at the house, hesitating a moment so she could take another look before going inside. _It really is a magnificent property_ , she thought—and it was all hers. Fumbling with the keys, she searched for the one to unlock the front gate.

"I suppose it would be considered a Victorian?" Lily studied the house.

"I don't know much about architecture. But after they sent me a photograph, I looked online to see what I could find. They call the style a Second Empire mansard house or something like that. It originated in France and became popular in the United States in the 1860s and '70s." _A Victorian with intriguing curves and angles_ , Danielle thought.

"When did you say it was built, 1871?" Lily asked.

"Yes. About a year after the town was founded."

"Wow, and to think it's been vacant almost a hundred years."

"Not quite ninety years. Since 1925. I just hope the inside looks as good as the outside."

"I still don't know why they didn't send you some interior pictures. He couldn't just snap some with his cellphone?"

"I don't think attorneys want to spend their time taking pictures for clients." Danielle unlocked the front gate. "I think Mr. Renton pretty much assumed I'd never come to see the property. He figured I'd just have him sell it."

Danielle led the way up the stone walkway to the front porch of Marlow House. It had been difficult to see much of the front yard from outside the gate, and now that she had a closer look, she wondered if the interior of the property was as neglected as its yard. The plants hadn't died, but she credited that to the Oregon Coast's damp climate. She wondered when a gardener had last trimmed the bushes or mowed the lawn.

Taking a closer look at the property as she made her way up the front steps, Danielle noted it could use a fresh coat of paint, yet it wasn't really in bad shape. She suspected it had been painted sometime within the last decade, perhaps even more recently.

"Are you excited?" Lily asked as she watched Danielle sort through the key ring, looking for the key to the front door.

"Excited...a little nervous." Danielle grinned as she slipped a key into the vintage lock. "Who knows what we'll find inside?"

Walt had just walked down the stairs and stepped onto the landing of the first floor when he heard it—a rattling at the front door as if someone was attempting to spring the uncooperative lock with a key. He had been meaning to replace the lock; Joanne always had a problem with it. Yet, it couldn't be Joanne, he thought. She had been there just that morning, and she only came once a week. Perhaps it was the woman with the clipboard. If so, he wasn't in the mood to deal with her today.

Whoever was wrestling with the key finally managed to spring the lock. They were just pushing the door open when Walt ducked into the powder room off the front entry hall, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could observe his uninvited visitors.

The first one who came through the doorway was the brunette he had spied earlier, standing by the sidewalk peering over his gate. Then he had only glimpsed the upper half of her body and assumed she was wearing a skirt with her fitted blouse. He was shocked to discover she was dressed like a farmer, wearing manly denim work pants several sizes too small, considering the way they hugged her hips and accentuated the shape of her womanly body. While he appreciated the outline of a woman's form, it was hardly appropriate or respectable attire for a young woman.

Following her into his house was the redhead, whose manner of dress was just as inappropriate. _What is this boldness of women wearing men's pants?_ Walt asked himself. Joanne wore slacks, yet he had come to accept her manner of dress, considering her housekeeping duties. He had to admit, it was more practical.

"I expected it to be covered in cobwebs!" Lily exclaimed as she made her way into the house and looked around the entry.

_Cobwebs?_ Walt frowned, finding that absurd comment highly insulting.

"I told you they had a cleaning lady come once a week." Danielle closed the front door behind them and looked around the entry. "Wow, I hope the rest of the house is in as good shape as this."

Walt watched as the brunette carelessly dumped her handbag and key ring on the cherry wood table his grandmother had brought from England. He almost scolded the reckless young woman, yet caught himself in time, not prepared to make himself known—at least not yet. _What are they doing here?_ he asked himself.

The first door they decided to open led to the parlor. The brunette rushed through its doorway, as excited as she appeared to have been when standing outside his gate. The redhead followed her into the room, and Walt could hear their voices as they chatted away. Yet, it was impossible to understand what they were saying. He could only make out snippets of the conversation. It was obvious they liked what they were seeing, and while he might have been flattered under different circumstances, he stood silently in the powder room, contemplating his choices. Having the pair arrested was one option; after all, he had not invited them into his home.

"I can't wait to see upstairs." Danielle walked back into the front entry with Lily.

"I wonder what's in there." Lily looked at the powder room door.

Walt stepped back away from the doorway as the redhead walked toward him. The room was small; there was no place to hide. It housed just a pedestal sink, commode, and small oak dressing table. An oval mirror, framed in gold, hung over the sink. Standing with his back to the mirror and sink, he cringed when the redhead threw open the door. He looked into Lily's inquisitive green eyes. She smiled in his direction.

"What a lovely little bathroom," Lily called out to Danielle, who was standing in the entry hall.

"A bathroom? Good, I could use a bathroom." Danielle walked toward the powder room.

Walt stood silently and watched as the redhead smiled but said nothing. She turned away, leaving him alone in the small room. He wasn't alone for long. The brunette came barreling in, slamming the door behind her before turning in his direction. She stopped abruptly, her dark eyes wide as she stared at Walt before letting out a bone-chilling scream.

# Two

Lily rushed into the small powder room. Grabbing Danielle by the forearm, she jerked her friend around to face her.

"What was it? Is there a mouse or something?" Lily asked in a panic, frantically glancing around the room, prepared to jump on top of the commode if necessary.

Danielle stopped screaming and looked from Lily to the mirror. The man was gone. Her heart pounding, Danielle took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before looking back at Lily.

"It's nothing," Danielle said at last, sounding calmer than she felt.

"Nothing? You scared the crap out of me! What made you scream?"

"I thought I saw something that wasn't there. It's been a long day. I think I'm just tired, overexcited."

"Don't do that again!" Lily scolded. "I think I about wet my pants!"

"Sorry." Danielle smiled weakly.

"I'll let you use the bathroom."

"I think I left my cellphone in the car," Danielle lied, touching the back pocket of her jeans where she had tucked her phone. "Would you mind running down to the car and getting it while I use the bathroom?"

"Sure, no problem."

Danielle dug her car keys from her jeans' front pocket and tossed them to Lily. Standing at the powder room door, she watched her friend dash from the house. After Lily closed the front door, Danielle walked to the table where she had placed her purse and house keys. Removing the cellphone from the back pocket of her pants, she tucked it into her purse.

Taking a deep breath, Danielle glanced around the entry hall and called out, "Who are you?" There was no response. _Why does this stuff happen to me?_ Danielle asked herself.

Prepared to call out again, she turned around and came face-to-face with the man who just moments before had been standing in front of the pedestal sink in the small half bath. This time she didn't scream.

"I'm the one who should be asking the questions. Who are you, madam?" Walt demanded.

"Oh crap," Danielle muttered, looking into Walt's face. For a ghost—spirit—whatever the hell he was, he was good looking, in spite of his angry scowl. If he was a living man, she would guess he was in his late twenties or early thirties, and by his manner of dress, he was on his way to a costume party dressed as a character from _The Great Gatsby_ , considering his vintage suit.

"We'll have to talk later. Lily will be back in just a few minutes, and she can't see you." Danielle walked toward a window by the front door.

"What are you talking about?" Walt followed her to the window.

Danielle stopped walking and turned to face Walt. "Who are you anyway?"

"I'm Walt Marlow. This is my house. The more important question is who are you, and why have you broken into my home?"

"Your home? Yeah, right...just my luck..." Danielle grumbled. She turned back to the window and glanced outside to see where Lily was. "I knew inheriting this place was too good to be true."

"Unless you give me satisfactory answers, I shall ring for the police," Walt threatened.

"Sure. Tell me how that works out for you." Danielle turned from the window and faced Walt, her arms folded below her chest.

"What did you mean inheriting this place was too good to be true? Young woman, if someone has told you you've inherited this property, you're being swindled. My grandfather built this house, it has been passed down to me, and I've lived here all my life. As you can see, I'm alive and well, which means you've been hoodwinked."

"Oh my, is that how it is?" Danielle sighed wearily. "Still alive, hey?"

Danielle hadn't screamed minutes earlier because she had seen a ghost. She screamed because she thought a man was hiding in the house. The fact Walt Marlow was not a living man changed everything; Danielle Boatman knew a few things about ghosts.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Walt snapped.

"Do you...umm...live here alone?" Danielle wondered if there were any other spirits floating around nearby.

"I live here with my wife. I'm not sure why that's any of your business."

"Is she here now?" Danielle glanced around.

"I said I will ask the questions!" The truth was, Walt couldn't recall the last time he had seen Angela.

"I tell you what..." Danielle glanced back out the window and saw Lily come up the walk. "My friend is...well, is kind of shy. So I don't imagine she'll want to talk to you. We'll have a quick look through your house—you can watch, make sure we don't steal the silver—and then we'll leave. I'll come back later, and we can have a nice little chat."

"What exactly do we have to chat about?" he asked.

"I got down to the car and remembered you had your phone. Remember you checked it for the time. You probably stuck it in your purse," Lily said as she walked into the house.

"I'm sorry, Lily, I just looked in my purse, and you're right. I was just coming to tell you."

"You're lying to your friend," Walt accused.

"That's okay. You ready to check out the rest of the house?" Lily asked cheerfully.

"I can't wait." Danielle flashed Walt a smile and then looped her arm through Lily's, guiding her down the hallway.

"You aren't going to scream again, are you?" Lily asked.

"I hope not." Danielle glanced over at Walt, who trailed beside them.

They came to a set of double doors. Letting go of Lily's arm, Danielle reached for the doorknobs.

"It's the library," Walt explained. "I don't like people going in there." He let out a little grunt when Danielle opened the library doors and the pair went into the room. Annoyed, he followed them inside and asked them not to touch anything. Lily ignored his request and picked up a bisque figurine, turning it over in her hand.

"That's quite breakable. Please put it down," Walt said impatiently.

"This is beautiful," Lily said as she examined the figurine. "I expected the house to be empty, not all this furniture, those books...it's like someone still lives here."

"Someone does live here. Now please put that down," Walt insisted.

"It's quite amazing this house hasn't been vandalized over the years," Lily said as she set the figurine back down on its table and went to take a closer look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining two of the four walls in the dark paneled room. Leather-bound books filled the shelves.

"Yes...quite..." Danielle glanced from Lily to Walt, noting the look of frustration on Walt's face. _He really has no idea she can't see him_ , Danielle thought.

"And it's all yours!" Lily walked to a portrait hanging on the far wall.

"Yes, it is all mine, and please don't touch anything else," Walt ordered, following Lily to the portrait. Danielle trailed behind Walt, wishing she had come to the house alone so she could have a real conversation with him. If she tried to do that now, her friend would think she had lost her mind. Danielle Boatman learned at a young age to conceal the fact she occasionally saw spirits. When having what appeared to be one-sided conversations with imaginary friends, people around you tended to want to lock you up in a cozy room with padded walls.

"Oh my god...I wonder who he was," Lily asked in awe as she studied the life-size portrait.

"It's Walt Marlow," Danielle said, looking up at the enormous painting. "His grandfather built this house."

"I thought you didn't know about the house's early history?"

"Umm...well, I don't know much. It's something I just...just remembered." Danielle glanced nervously at Walt, who stood silently at Lily's side. He was obviously the subject of the portrait, and if, in fact, he was Walt Marlow—then this house was named for his family.

"He was certainly a handsome man...no, hot. I mean wow...I wouldn't kick him out of bed!" Lily giggled.

Danielle cringed and looked over to Walt, who was now staring at Lily, an unreadable expression on his face.

"He's okay," Danielle countered with a shrug, still looking at Walt—not the portrait.

Walt's gaze shifted to Danielle; their eyes met. Arching his brow inquisitively, his lips twisted into a smirk-like smile.

"Okay? God, those blue eyes alone. Hell, I bet all he had to do was look at a woman, and she'd start taking her clothes off." Lily focused her entire attention on the portrait.

Walt and Danielle continued to look at each other. Breaking into a full smile, he moved his gaze up and down her body in an exaggerated gesture before cocking his head ever so slightly as if to say— _well, start stripping_.

Wrinkling her nose, Danielle frowned at Walt. What she found most annoying was the heat swelling in her cheeks, shading her complexion a rosy tinge.

Noticing Danielle's blush, Walt said, "Serves you right, you deserve to be embarrassed. Young women should not be barging into other people's homes uninvited."

Danielle was about to suggest to Lily that they leave now and come back in the morning. She could plead a migraine, which wasn't entirely false. Unaware spirits made her nervous, and this one definitely was clueless in regards to his state of being. His presence could alter her plans—yet to what extent couldn't be determined until they had a nice little chat—a private one. Danielle was just about to make the suggestion when Lily turned her attention to the portrait hanging next to Walt's. Just as large as his, the second painting was of an attractive woman fashionably dressed in the style of the mid-1920s. Obviously painted by the same artist as the first portrait, Danielle guessed she was Walt Marlow's wife.

"She's rather lovely, in a pouty-spoiled sort of way." Lily critically assessed the portrait, paying special attention to the feather-embellished hat fashionably set atop a head of blond bobbed curls. "It's a shame hats aren't in fashion anymore. I love how they used to dress. Do you know who she was?"

"I suspect she's Walt Marlow's wife." Danielle looked at Walt, noting the silent way he studied Lily, his expression unreadable.

"They must have had healthy egos," Lily observed.

"Why do you say that?" Danielle asked, her gaze still on Walt, who stood silently on the other side of Lily.

"The size of the portraits, for one thing. I can't imagine commissioning an artist to paint a life-size portrait of myself and then hanging it in my home."

"Lily, let's go back to the motel. I have a horrible headache," Danielle said abruptly.

"Now?" Lily turned to Danielle. "We still need to look at the rest of the house."

"We can come back in the morning. I just need to go to the room and lie down for a while."

Although disappointed with Danielle's sudden desire to leave Marlow House and return to their motel room, Lily didn't try to dissuade her. It had been a long drive from Sacramento, California, each taking turns driving so they wouldn't have to stop midway. They had checked into the Seahorse Motel before coming over to see Marlow House.

Walt said nothing and silently watched the two women leave.

"Are you okay, Dani?" Lily asked twenty minutes later as the two walked into their room at the Seahorse Motel. "You haven't said a word since we left Marlow House."

Lily walked to one of the two queen-size beds in the room and sat down on the edge of its mattress. She watched as Danielle walked to the sliding glass door leading to the balcony and opened it, letting in the cool ocean breeze. The room was clean and cheerful, yet well worn. Aside from the two beds, the room's furnishings included a dresser, nightstand, television, small table, and two chairs.

"I'm sorry, Lily, really. I guess the traveling just caught up with me."

"That was a long drive. Getting up before daybreak and driving straight here wore me out too. But I have to say, after you let out that scream, you seemed a little on edge. What did you think you saw?"

"I didn't see anything." Wearily, Danielle took a seat on one of the two chairs.

"The house is really in great shape, at least from what little I saw. If the other rooms look half as good, you could probably open for business with very little renovation—if any at all."

"Oh my..." Danielle closed her eyes. _A haunted B and B, some people love that sort of thing._

"You do still want to do it, don't you?"

"Sure. My plans haven't changed. I'm just a little tired, that's all. I think I'll run down to the store and get some aspirin." Danielle stood up abruptly.

"I'll get it for you. You lie down and rest." Lily stood up.

"No, you did most of the driving the last few hours while I napped. Why don't you go ahead and take a shower while I go out; then I can take mine when I get back. I'll pick up a pizza when I'm out, and then we can get to bed early and get some rest before heading back to Marlow House in the morning."

"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 drugstore 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._

# Three

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 had 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 ladylike 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 summon 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 pots and pans, dishware and glasses.

"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. En 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."

# Four

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 gemstone. 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 placed his right hand atop 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 are 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 doorknob. "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 hand. 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 and 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, Brianna Boatman."

"Like I said, I don't recall any Boatmans. How did this aunt of yours come into 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. Katherine 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 Katherine 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 marry 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?"

"Katherine? 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."

"So who was George Hemming?"

"My neighbor."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't recall. I remember walking him to the doorway, saying goodbye. I closed the door...started walking up the stairs...and...then..."

"Yes?"

"Everything after that—until you arrived today—is somewhat hazy. I think I've a better understanding as to how you came to inherit this property. However, it's not clear to me why Angela would have left the house to Katherine. Perhaps she finally realized what kind of man her brother was and had a new will drawn up—one that would leave the estate to Katherine."

"That's only if she died after you inherited the property. Obviously, she died before you."

"No, that is impossible."

"Wasn't it a little risky to leave your estate to someone you barely knew?"

"You mean because it would give her a motive to kill me? Katherine O'Malley didn't know she was in my will. I certainly never told her, and I can't imagine Angela would. As for you—what are your plans?"

"You mean for Marlow House?"

"Since those are the only plans that directly concern me—yes."

"I was hoping to turn Marlow House into a B and B."

"B and B?" Walt frowned.

"A bed and breakfast—you know, an inn."

"Are you telling me you intend to have strangers traipsing in and out of my home?" Walt shouted.

"Technically speaking, it is no longer your house."

"And just how do you intend to evict me?"

"I was sort of hoping you would do that yourself, now that you understand how things are." Danielle nervously smiled up into Walt's face.

"What are you talking about?"

_Follow the light_ , Danielle wanted to say. Instead, she said, "It's time for you to move on to the next level. I imagine you'll find Angela waiting there for you. For some reason you've been trapped in this house, but now you need to move on."

"Who says I want to move on?"

"Certainly you don't want to be stuck in this house for eternity?"

"Don't presume to tell me what I want."

"You said yourself you've been in a fog—confused since your passing. Maybe that's why I'm here today, to help you see clearer and move on."

Walt studied Danielle for a moment. "So tell me, how does one go onto the—the next level, you say?"

"Well...I've heard some people say to follow the light...do you see a light?"

Walt frowned at Danielle. She smiled back at him, looking somewhat sheepish while at the same time encouraging. She wanted him to give her suggestion a try.

"So, are you telling me I'll probably see Angela on the next level?"

"I think you'll be reunited with your loved ones—family and friends who've passed."

Walt closed his eyes, standing quietly before Danielle.

"Relax, Mr. Marlow," Danielle encouraged. "Follow the light—don't be afraid—move toward the warm glow of love..."

Her gaze fixed on Walt, Danielle continued to utter words of encouragement, urging him to pass to the other side. Gradually, Walt's form began to fade, going from solid to transparent until, at last, she could no longer see him. The room was silent, devoid of his presence.

"Walt? Mr. Marlow?" Danielle called out. "Hello? Are you here?" All was silent.

Thirty minutes later and with still no response from Walt Marlow, Danielle left the parlor and went to gather up her purse from the kitchen. Opening the front door, she paused a moment and called out to him one more time. There was no answer.

"Well," Danielle said aloud, "that was a most unusual exorcism." Without another word, she left the house and headed back to the Seahorse Motel.

# Five

Danielle glanced at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand between her bed and Lily's. It was almost 6 a.m. Lily was asleep, buried under the blanket and bedspread, her back to Danielle. Yawning, Danielle rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, replaying in her mind yesterday's events.

She was relieved to have the matter of Walt Marlow resolved before she and Lily returned to the house. Smiling, she felt a sense of accomplishment knowing she had in some way helped him come to terms with his death, to acknowledge it, thus allowing him to move onto the next plane. She was fairly confident he was in a better—happier—place.

"What time is it?" Lily grumbled from the next bed as she rolled over and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"It's about six. How did you sleep?" Danielle asked.

"Had a bunch of crazy dreams."

"Lily, what would you think about checking out this morning? Moving into Marlow house today?"

"Really? I thought you wanted to look at the entire house before making that decision."

"The downstairs was in great shape. If we find out it's a mess upstairs, we can camp out in the parlor or library while we work things out."

"Parlor?"

"The first room we checked out."

"So that's a parlor? Hmmm...sure, I'm game."

"I do feel a little guilty," Danielle confessed.

"What about?"

"You spending your summer vacation helping me get the house ready."

"Don't be silly. It sounds like fun to me." Lily jumped from the bed and headed to the bathroom while shouting, "Dibs on the bathroom first!"

Danielle smiled and climbed out of bed. She heard Lily slam the bathroom door shut. _Hope you don't wake the neighbors_ , Danielle thought as she walked to the window and opened the blinds to look outside. Dark clouds filled the morning sky, yet according to yesterday's weather report, they weren't expecting rain. Turning from the window after a few minutes, Danielle walked to the bathroom and told Lily to hurry it up.

Danielle and Lily dressed, packed, and were checking out by 8 a.m. Their first stop was the nearby café for some breakfast, and the second was the local market.

"I don't want to get too much cold stuff, because we'll need to keep it in the cooler for now." Danielle placed a carton of milk into her shopping cart.

"Surely that house has a refrigerator."

"Remember, the house has been vacant since 1925. I don't think we'll find a modern refrigerator in the kitchen." _Actually, I know we won't._

"You have a point. From what I recall, electric refrigerators were fairly new back then. If there's one in the house, I'd be surprised if it was still in working order."

"I need to get a new one anyway. If I'm turning the home into a B and B, I'll need modern appliances."

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Lily asked as they made their way through the bakery section of the market.

"Sure, what?"

"That lady yesterday, the one from the attorney's office, who brought the keys..."

"Yeah?"

"She mentioned something about the house...can't recall her words exactly, but you said later it was just superstition, what did you mean? What was she talking about?"

"Mr. Renton—" Danielle began.

"The attorney?" Lily interrupted.

"Yes. Mr. Renton assumed I would sell the house, not come live in it."

"You mentioned that. But I don't understand why he'd make that assumption."

"I guess because my aunt felt the house was cursed. So he figured I'd feel the same way and want to unload it." Danielle picked up a loaf of freshly baked bread and set it in the cart.

"Cursed? How?" Lily reached for a plastic container filled with chocolate chip cookies and set them in the cart next to the milk.

"Cookies, Lily?" Danielle teased.

"We can't very well buy milk without cookies. And considering your chocolate addiction, you have no room to talk. So tell me about the curse."

"Actually, I don't know much about it. First time I ever heard about a curse was when Renton mentioned it. Of course, I never discussed Marlow House with my aunt. I didn't even know she owned property in Oregon."

"But she knew about this curse?"

"According to Mr. Renton, she's the one who told him."

"Your aunt left you a cursed house? I thought you were her favorite."

"Personally, I think Mr. Renton was making too much of it. Sounded like silly superstition." _Now, had they said the house was haunted—that would make sense to me._

"Did some local witch place a curse on the property? What?"

Danielle laughed at Lily's suggestion. "No, nothing like that—at least Renton didn't mention a witch. It was more along the lines of past owners of the property having bad luck. But considering my aunt lived an interesting and long life, seemed very happy and content, I don't think she was plagued with bad luck."

"Yes, but didn't you say she never lived in the house?"

"I'm not entirely certain she never lived in the house. She may have when she was younger. I really don't know." _Although if her mother inherited the house and she was a small child at the time, it would stand to reason she moved into Marlow House. According to Walt Marlow, Katherine O'Malley was a single, unmarried mother with limited funds. I'd imagine she would move into the house or sell it for the money._

"What did the attorney tell you?"

"Not much, really. I probably should've asked more questions, but at the time, I was more focused on the property's current condition. Its history didn't seem that important at the time."

They arrived at Marlow House before noon. The sky was not as gloomy as it had been earlier that morning. Patches of blue had pushed aside the gray clouds. Lily got out of the car and unlocked the side gate so Danielle could pull the car up the drive and park by the side door.

"How did you know this door led to the kitchen?" Lily asked as she and Danielle carried sacks of groceries into the house from the car.

"A lucky guess," Danielle lied. She had noticed the door when she had been in the kitchen with Walt Marlow the previous day. "I knew it would be more practical to pull up to the house instead of hauling everything up the front walk. Just figured there had to be a side door off the drive. Lucky for us there's one that goes directly into the kitchen."

"This is an amazing kitchen. The appliances look brand new. Like we stepped back in time." Lily dumped the sacks she had been carrying, setting them on the counter, and then went to inspect the vintage electric refrigerator. "I've only seen old refrigerators like this in museums or historical homes. Do you think it works?"

Danielle pointed to the cord. "It's unplugged. I really don't want to try it. Last thing I need to do is plug in some faulty electrical appliance and burn the house down. Maybe I'll make a storage cabinet out of it."

"You're probably right. But it's really awesome." Lily lingered a moment by the refrigerator, looking inside and then at the motor atop the unit before going back outside to retrieve the rest of the groceries.

Together they brought in the cooler, each taking one end. At the store, they had filled it with ice along with perishable items, so it was too heavy for just one of them to carry. After setting it on the floor near the refrigerator, they went outside to bring in their suitcases and the rest of their things.

Danielle suggested they stack their suitcases in the entry hall by the staircase landing. Until they checked out the rest of the house, they wouldn't know where they would be sleeping. After setting the last suitcase down, Danielle stood silently for a moment, noting how quiet it was in the house. Lily broke the silence as she made her way up the staircase. Danielle followed her up, her hand holding onto the oak handrail as she walked up the wood steps.

"Kind of noisy," Lily said, glancing back at Danielle. The sound of footsteps echoed up the staircase.

"Maybe I should see about carpeting the steps or adding some sort of runner."

"At least you'll hear if someone's coming upstairs. Consider it a security system."

"I'd rather have a security system that stops the bad guys before they get into the house."

"Ahhh, in a perfect world!" Lily laughed.

Together they explored the rooms on the second floor before going to the attic.

"It's even dust-free up here," Lily noted. "I'd keep that same housekeeper."

"I wonder what this house would look like if it had been simply closed up all these years—almost ninety years." Danielle walked over to the spotting scope and peered through it. Adjusting the scope, she could see waves breaking on the beach beyond the rooftops of the houses across the street.

"Remember Joe Peters?" Lily asked.

"That Realtor you used to date?" Danielle peered through the spotting scope.

"Yeah. I remember once I went with him to check out a house he was listing. It happened to be the home of the lady who used to give me piano lessons when I was a kid. She'd died, and the house went to her nephew. I guess he had money, because he wasn't in a rush to sell it, and it didn't have a mortgage. Anyway, it sat empty, boarded up for about five years. I couldn't believe how it looked."

"What do you mean?"

"It was already starting to deteriorate. I remembered how it had looked when she was alive; it was in good condition. But five years later, it was pretty much falling apart. I said something to Joe about it. Initially, I assumed a vacant house would look better five years later than an occupied house—you know, the wear and tear of people living in it. But that wasn't the case."

"What did Joe say?"

"He reminded me that the utilities had been turned off, so there wasn't any temperature control. Extreme hot and cold can cause damage. And then there's the dust and critters. Dust accumulates, and things begin to rot. If something like a pipe happens to break, it might be days before someone catches it. Looking at this house, compared to my piano teacher's and considering this is probably seventy years older than hers—well, let's just say your aunt was smart to keep this place maintained in her absence."

"It couldn't have been cheap. Maintaining a house you never use...never visit."

"I wonder why she didn't sell the property." Lily stood by Danielle and looked out the window.

"I don't know. Want to look?" Danielle stepped away from the spotting scope, offering Lily a turn. Lily accepted the offer and stepped up to the scope, adjusting the lens to suit her.

"I think I've found my favorite spot." Lily turned the scope slightly and readjusted the focus. "You can get a close-up of who's at the front gate or peek in the neighbors' windows..." Lily turned the scope to face the house directly across the street. "Wow, I think I like your neighborhood." Lily peered through the scope, looking through the front window of the house across the street. A shirtless man stood inside looking out the window. She estimated he was in his early thirties, and by his impressive abs, he was obviously physically fit.

"Lily!" Danielle jerked the spotting scope to one side. "You can't be spying on the neighbors."

"Why not?" Lily stood up straight, no longer looking through the scope. "You didn't see him. What a hottie. We really need to get to know your neighbors!"

"Lily, I don't think elementary school teachers are supposed to be constantly checking out guys." Danielle laughed.

"Why not? I'm single and healthy."

"Your friend does seem to have an eye for the men," said a male voice by the attic doorway. Lily didn't hear it, but Danielle did. She turned around abruptly and faced Walt Marlow. He smiled and gave her a little nod in greeting. Danielle said nothing but glanced frantically from Lily to Walt and back to Lily. Lily didn't seem to notice her friend's abrupt change in demeanor. Instead, she started chattering on about the handsome neighbor's physical attributes.

Danielle gave Walt a questioning frown, ignoring what her friend was saying.

"You seem surprised to see me," Walt said. "Let me rephrase that—you don't seem happy to see me."

Unaware of the new arrival, Lily peered back through the spotting scope. Danielle looked at Walt, lifted her shoulders slightly, and turned her palms up, silently questioning Walt. _Why are you still here?_ she seemed to ask.

"We need to have a little chat, Danielle. If you want me to leave, there is something you first have to do for me."

# Six

Danielle moved into the master bedroom while Lily took a room down the hall. Lily's plan was to stay in Oregon for the summer and then return to California come August, to start a new school year.

It wasn't until Danielle carried her last suitcase into her new bedroom did Walt appear to her again. He had disappeared in the attic shortly after announcing they needed to have a chat.

"This is my room," Walt said after he reappeared.

"You mean this was your room." Danielle tossed the suitcase on the bed and opened it. She began to unpack, moving her clothes from the suitcase to the dresser.

"No, it's still mine." Walt sat on the edge of the bed and watched her.

"Then why don't you have any clothes in your dresser?" Danielle filled one drawer then opened another.

"You know why."

"Yes, about that." Danielle stopped unpacking and looked at Walt. "I thought you left. I told you to follow the light. Did you get lost or what?"

"There was no light, Danielle."

"Then where did you go?"

"Back up to the attic. I found your departure speech tedious."

"Sorry. I was just trying to help. So what is it I need to do before you can leave?"

"I need you to find out how I died. What happened to Angela?"

"Angela, your wife?" Danielle closed her now empty suitcase and sat on the bed with Walt.

"Yes. None of this makes any sense to me. I can't leave until I find out what happened."

"You mean you can't—or you won't?"

"I...I don't think I can."

Danielle studied Walt's sober expression. After a few moments considering his request, she let out a sigh.

"Okay, I'll see what I can find out. Unfortunately, the Internet isn't hooked up yet, so I can't go online. I guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way and take a trip down to the local newspaper office."

"Internet?" Walt frowned.

"Oh...that's right. I guess you missed the television too."

"Television?"

"Wow, you really have been trapped in this house for a long time. Okay, I'll see what I can find out. But I'll have to do it tomorrow. And then you'll leave?"

"You seem very anxious to get rid of me." Walt pulled his feet up on the bed and leaned against the headboard. Folding his arms across his chest, he studied Danielle.

"Don't take it personally." Danielle stood up. "But sharing the house with you and Lily...she would eventually catch me talking to you and assume I'm talking to myself. And, well, things tend to get uncomfortable after something like that happens."

"How many others have there been?"

"You mean spirits—ghosts?" Danielle asked.

"Is that what I am, a ghost?"

"I suppose it's the most common term." Danielle picked up the empty suitcase off the bed and set it on the floor.

"So how many?" he asked again.

"I don't know, ten maybe." Absently, Danielle wandered around the bedroom, looking at the furnishings as she talked with Walt. Along the far wall was a fireplace and near that a small sofa. Walking along the backside of the sofa, she ran her fingertips over its satiny upholstery.

"I take it your friends and family are unaware of these...communications?" Walt's eyes fixed on Danielle. Instead of farmer pants, today she wore fitted short slacks showing off shapely calves. Instead of wearing her hair loose, it was pulled back in a fancy braid. When he had first met Angela, he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world—fair, petite and everything he believed a woman should be. Danielle looked nothing like Angela, yet he found her oddly appealing. It wasn't lust—exactly—this stranger stirred in his loins—for if he understood things correctly, he no longer possessed loins. Whatever the sensation, he found it compelling.

"The first time was my grandmother. I was just a child." Danielle sat down on the sofa. She looked up and found Walt was no longer lounging on the bed. Instead, he stood by the fireplace, leaning casually against the mantel, smoking a slender cigar as he had yesterday. She could smell the sweet scent of tobacco. While she abhorred the stench of cigarette smoke, she found this scent pleasant. Reflexively, she glanced back at the bed, where he had lain moments before, then to the fireplace where he now stood.

"And you never told anyone?" he asked.

"I told everyone. My cousin, Cheryl, called me a liar, and my parents didn't take the incident too seriously, considering my age and the fact it was my first experience with death. It wasn't until the next time, a few years later, that I learned sharing my experiences wasn't a good idea. A neighbor boy was killed, and he desperately wanted me to tell his parents he was sorry for disobeying them and taking his bike out. He wanted me to tell them he was okay."

"And did you?" Walt puffed the cigar and then exhaled. White gray smoke curled around his face before dissolving into the air.

"Unfortunately, yes. My parents were furious. His parents thought I was a horrible person, trying to mock their loss. When I became so insistent that I had talked to the boy's spirit—that I wasn't making it all up—well, my parents took me to a psychologist."

"They committed you to an asylum?"

"God no—fortunately. But I suppose if I hadn't learned to tell them what they wanted to hear, who knows what would have happened. After that, I pretty much kept it to myself. It seemed like the easiest thing to do."

"And you never told anyone ever again?"

"No..." Danielle paused a moment. "No, not until Lucas."

"Who was Lucas?"

"Lucas was the first person I opened up to about this...gift. I mean after that unfortunate experience. I suppose it is a gift. I don't know, maybe a curse." Danielle leaned back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.

"Weren't you ever afraid, Danielle? Young ladies I know would be quite horrified to discover themselves alone with...a ghost."

Danielle shrugged. She remained quiet for a few moments, still staring up at the ceiling, considering his question. "The first time it was my grandma, and I suppose it was more comforting than scary. Maybe if I had been older the first time it happened, maybe it would seem...I don't know...more unnatural. A couple of times it was a little scary, but that had more to do with the spirit at the time."

"I take it, I'm not scary?" Walt smiled down at Danielle. She lifted her head and looked at him. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle.

"Not particularly."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"I have a question for you."

"Go ahead, ask."

"Do you want to leave here? After all, you've been hanging out for almost ninety years. Didn't you say your last memory was 1925? According to the attorney handling my aunt's estate, this house has been vacant that long."

"Yes, that's my last memory."

_Wait a minute_ , Danielle told herself. _If Walt died in 1925 and if the attorney is correct, the house has been vacant since then. Then my aunt probably didn't move into the house with her mother. But why not? If her mother was a single woman, cleaning houses to support herself, then why wouldn't she move into this house?_

"What are you thinking?" Walt asked, noting Danielle's look of concentration.

"Katherine O'Malley obviously inherited this house. Does that mean she inherited your entire estate?"

"According to the terms of my will, yes. But that was only if Angela preceded me, which I don't believe she did."

"Let's assume Katherine inherited your entire estate—was that, well...a lot of money?"

"Some would consider such a question crude."

"Oh please, don't get all proper on me."

"Yes, it was a considerable amount of money."

"Enough to, say...keep this house and then pay for another place to live?"

"Certainly. I assume your question is about more than the size of my estate."

"I was just wondering why Katherine O'Malley never moved into this house. You don't remember her living here. And the timeline indicates the house has been vacant since around the time of your death. I just figured a single mother struggling to support her daughter would move into the house she had inherited. I didn't take into account she'd also inherited your entire estate, which meant she could afford to live wherever she wanted to and still keep this house."

"Yes, she could. However, I still can't come to terms with the fact she inherited my estate. I know I would have remembered Angela's death. I'm certain of that. It makes more sense to me that Angela eventually saw Roger for the man he really was and that Katherine O'Malley continued to work for my wife, and because of her loyalty, she inherited this house."

"If that was true, wouldn't you have seen Katherine and Angela here?"

"I don't know. Would I? Do you know for certain how this all works? And who knows, perhaps Angela decided to stay in Portland after my death. That makes more sense. After all, this was only her home for a few weeks."

"I suppose you have a point. I'll look into it tomorrow and see what I can find."

"Who are you talking to?" Lily asked from the doorway.

"Lily...how long have you been standing there?" Danielle glanced from Lily to Walt. Walt gave her a little shrug.

"Long enough to hear you say you were looking into something tomorrow." Lily walked into the room. She looked around and wrinkled her nose then asked, "Have you been smoking?"

"Smoking?"

"Yes. It smells just like the cigars my grandfather used to smoke."

"You can smell that?" Danielle looked back at Walt.

"So you have been smoking up here!"

"No...I...well, I smell it too. Thought I was imagining things," Danielle lied.

"No..." Lily took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. "Definitely cigar...but not a disgusting one. Some can be so gross. This is...well, sort of spicy and sweet. But if you say you haven't been sneaking cigars..."

"Don't be silly. Of course I haven't been smoking cigars. This is an old musty house. Probably some old scents lingering."

"Or maybe a ghost!" Lily used the same tone she used for her students when reading a spooky Halloween story.

"Ghost?" Danielle squeaked.

"I will take that as my cue to leave. I hope you young ladies have a most enjoyable afternoon. I will anxiously be awaiting to hear what you find out." Walt then disappeared.

"Well, this is an old house. Remember, I told you I had wild dreams last night?"

"Yes." Danielle eyed her friend curiously. Lily seemed more amused than alarmed over the idea of a ghost.

"I dreamt this house was haunted—by that cute guy in the painting. What did you say his name was? Walt Marlow, yes, that's right. Walt Marlow."

"You dreamt this house was haunted?"

"Yes. I wish I could remember more of it. Don't you hate forgetting your dreams? Funny thing, I forgot about it, but the cigar smoke—it triggered my memory. I can't recall much of it, other than we were living in this house with Walt Marlow. It's sort of a jumble, but then he was a ghost. Damn. I really should have written it down."

"Well...I don't think there is a ghost."

"Are you sure? Sounded like you were talking to someone!" Lily teased.

"Oh, I was just thinking out loud," Danielle lied. "I was thinking of all the things I need to do to get this house in order."

# Seven

Standing at his front window, Ian Bartley looked across the street at Marlow House. Movement in its attic window caught his eye. Glancing upward, he saw what appeared to be two women. Just as they moved away from the window, his cellphone rang.

"Yeah," he answered his phone, still looking out the window. "Yeah...I'm settled in, but just my luck, looks like I'm a few days too late...Yeah, she's here...No, there's someone with her, another woman...I think they were watching me...Through some sort of telescope, from the attic...I don't think they know...I have no idea who the other woman is...Right...I seriously doubt that, nothing in my research indicated she was gay...Late twenties, I would guess...Yeah, they're good looking, why?...Right, a threesome, you do have an overactive imagination. Please stay focused...Perhaps...Maybe it'll work out better this way, but the fact is we really don't have any other choice...Right...I'll be careful...I'll check back later..."

Ian ended his call and tucked his cellphone into the back pocket of his denims. Moving away from the window, he called his golden retriever as he grabbed a shirt he had tossed on the back of the couch the night before. He slipped it on.

"Good girl, Sadie." Ian leaned over and gave the dog an affectionate pat after she bounded into the room, playfully leaping at his feet. "How about we play a little game, girl? You ready for a walk?" Sadie wagged her tail, dashed around in a quick circle, and headed to the front door.

Following Sadie, Ian grabbed his Cubs baseball cap from the coat rack, fitted it on his head, and then grabbed the leash off the floor. Without putting the leash on Sadie, Ian opened the front door. The golden retriever dashed outside, yet stopped when she reached the end of the walk leading to the sidewalk. She looked back at Ian, waiting for him to reach her.

Holding the leash in his hand, Ian walked down the street, Sadie close by his side. When they reached the intersection, Ian looked both ways then crossed the street and walked back up it, in the direction of Marlow House. Just as he reached Marlow House's side yard, he gave Sadie a silent hand gesture. She dashed off, disappearing into the trees behind the house. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then hastily made his way to the front gate of the property. Finding it unlocked, he let himself in and made his way up the walkway to the front door. Standing on the front porch of Marlow House, Ian rang the bell. A few minutes later a petite redhead answered the door.

"Hello," Lily greeted with a smile.

"I'm really sorry to bother you like this," Ian told her. "But I was walking my dog, and she must have seen a squirrel or something because she took off in your backyard. I didn't want to trespass, but..."

"Oh sure, come on in," Lily said brightly, opening the door wider and motioning for Ian to enter. "Come on through the house, and you can get her."

Just as Ian entered the house and closed the door behind him, he noticed a brunette standing quietly behind the redhead. She glanced down at the leash in his hand.

"I guess a leash doesn't work very well if it isn't attached," she said.

Ian looked down at the leash and smiled. "She's usually pretty well behaved."

"Oh, she's just messing with you. I'm Lily, and this is my friend Danielle. This is her house." Lily flashed Danielle a glance, as if to say _lighten up, girl_.

"Nice to meet you, Lily, Danielle. I'm Ian Bartley; I'm staying in the house across the street."

"Really? Are you just visiting the area?" Lily asked.

"I've rented the house for the summer. I'm a teacher—you know, summers off and all that."

"Really? I'm a teacher too! What do you teach?"

"Lily, don't you think you should take him to the back door so he can get his dog before it gets lost," Danielle interrupted.

"Oh, you're right." Lily blushed and then motioned for Ian to follow her as she led him to the door leading to the backyard. Ian flashed Danielle a smile and followed Lily. Taking in his surroundings, he attempted to memorize all that he could see.

When Lily opened the back door, Sadie was waiting patiently on the stoop. Wagging her tail, Sadie gave a little bark then charged into the house when she spied Ian.

"Good girl," Ian cooed as he dropped to his knees and secured the leash to Sadie's collar. "But you shouldn't have run off like that."

"What a beautiful dog, can I pet her?" Lily asked.

"Certainly." Ian released hold of the leash, allowing Sadie to walk to Lily. Dragging the leash behind her, Sadie sniffed Lily's outstretched hand then eagerly accepted the caress. Lily dropped to her knees and playfully rubbed the dog's furry shoulders. Sadie responded with a sloppy kiss across Lily's face.

"She likes you," Ian announced.

"Interesting that she was waiting at the back door," Danielle said. She stood nearby, observing the scene.

"She must have heard my voice," Ian suggested.

"What do we have here? A dog in my house?" Danielle heard Walt say. She turned and found him standing on the other side of the room. Sadie cocked her head at the sound of the new voice. Wiggling from Lily's hold, she ran to where Walt was standing and started barking.

"Sadie, what's wrong?" Ian frowned. He and Lily watched as Sadie appeared to be barking at the wall, her back to them.

"Shhhh...that's okay, girl," Walt said gently, leaning down to give her a pat. Instead of his hand stroking her fur, it moved through her head. Pulling his hand back quickly, Walt cursed. Sadie tilted her head curiously, stopped barking, and sat down. Looking up at Walt, she wagged her tail.

"Well, that is the damnedest thing," Ian grumbled. Walking to Sadie, he picked up the end of the leash.

"Maybe she saw a mouse or something," Lily suggested, walking to his side.

Danielle glanced curiously from Walt to Sadie. _The dog can see him, amazing._

"I'm really sorry for barging in this way," Ian said, now holding onto the leash. "Maybe I can make it up to you ladies. I understand they have great homemade ice cream at a shop on the pier. I'd be happy to treat if you're interested. Sadie and I were just heading down there."

"I haven't seen the pier yet, and I love ice cream." Lily smiled.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm going to be pretty swamped. But don't let me stop you two," Danielle said.

"Actually, I should take a rain check." Lily sounded disappointed. "We just moved in today, and I should probably finish unpacking and help Danielle get settled in."

Ian glanced around. "Really? Looks like you've lived here a while."

"No. We just started moving in today. Actually, I'm just staying for the summer—like you. What grade did you say you teach?"

"I think your friend likes him," Walt told Danielle.

Danielle glanced at Walt and rolled her eyes.

"What do you teach?" Ian countered.

"Second grade."

"Second grade? I teach...high school English."

"High school? I'm afraid I wouldn't last very long in high school. I did some subbing before I started working for my current district, and I hated subbing at high schools, but I think middle school was the worst." Lily cringed.

"Well...that's why we need summers off, right?" Ian grinned. He then turned to Danielle and asked, "Are you planning to live here full time?"

"Yes," Danielle answered.

"She's turning Marlow House into a bed and breakfast," Lily announced.

"Really? An inn? Interesting. Do you have a target date for an opening?"

"Not really. Like Lily said, we just got here, and I wasn't even sure this house would work."

"You mean you hadn't seen it before?"

"No."

"She inherited the house from her aunt," Lily blurted out. Danielle flashed her friend a cool look, yet Lily failed to grasp Danielle's displeasure.

"It looks like a fascinating property. When you have time, perhaps you could give me a tour."

"Tour? I suppose that would be possible. Maybe in a few days, when we get settled," Danielle said.

"The man is lying. He isn't a teacher," Walt said before vanishing. Sadie began to whine, looking around anxiously.

"I think I better go now." Ian glanced down at Sadie. "I've taken too much of your time."

"Good lord, Lily," Danielle said after Ian and Sadie departed. "Don't you teach your students about strangers and dangers?"

"What are you talking about?" Lily asked while she peeked out the window and watched Ian and Sadie walk down the walk toward the street.

"The man is a perfect stranger, and you just let him in the house?"

"He was looking for his dog."

"Come on, Lily. Haven't you discussed the _help me find my puppy_ ploy with your second graders?"

"Oh, don't be silly," Lily scoffed. "I knew he was our neighbor. It's not like he was just any stranger off the street. He was the one I saw with the spotting scope. And trust me, Dani, if you'd seen the boy without his shirt, you would've let him in the house!"

"Lily, sometimes you drive me crazy!" Danielle tossed her hands up in defeat.

"Dani, have you considered the fact you'll be regularly welcoming strangers into your house once you turn this place into a B and B? And not just for a brief visit—they'll be spending the night. When I leave in August, you'll be sleeping in this house with strangers. All alone. If me letting the neighbor in the house makes you so nervous, maybe you need to reconsider your plans."

When Danielle didn't respond, Lily shrugged and told her she was going to go finish unpacking. Danielle watched Lily walk up the stairs.

"Are you reconsidering your plans?" Walt asked a moment later when he reappeared. He and Danielle stood alone at the landing of the staircase.

"I don't know. Why did you say he wasn't a teacher?"

"Because he's not."

"How can you tell?"

"The dog told me." Walt sat down on one of the steps.

"The dog? You talked to the dog?" Danielle sat down next to him.

"She didn't actually talk to me. Dogs don't talk, you know. It was more, well, a communication exchange, so to speak."

"She could see you."

"Obviously."

"Why would he lie about being a teacher?"

"I don't know. Sadie didn't say."

"Sadie?"

"The dog. Her name is Sadie. She wasn't chasing a squirrel, by the way. He used that as a ploy to meet you. Smart dog. Well trained."

"So can all animals see you?"

"I don't know. She's the first one I remember seeing since...well, since I last remember being alive. What's your experience with this?"

"You mean the other times I talked to...well, ghosts?" Wrapping her arms around her bent legs, she rested her chin on her knees.

"Yes."

"I don't really recall...well, that's not true. Remember when I said there were a few nasty souls I crossed paths with?"

"Yes." Walt mimicked Danielle and wrapped his arms around his bent legs, resting his chin on his knees. He wore the same vintage gray suit—era 1925—that he had been wearing every other time she had seen him.

"I had a cat when I was in high school. She'd hiss up a storm and the hair on her back would bristle whenever he—one of the nasty spirits—appeared in my bedroom. Which, fortunately, was only two times."

"If he comes over here again—and judging by the way your friend was responding to him, I've a feeling that will be happening fairly soon—encourage him to bring his dog along. Make her welcome. I'll see if I can find out why he'd lie about his profession. Unfortunately, the dog seemed rather fond of the guy."

# Eight

Lily was still sleeping when Danielle slipped out of the house the next morning. Before leaving, she penned Lily a note telling her she was running a few errands and would hopefully return by noon. Since Danielle had woken to a gray sky, she dressed in denims, tennis shoes, and a blue swoop-neck sweater before weaving her hair into a side fishtail braid.

Her first stop was the local newspaper office, which opened at eight. She arrived five minutes after they unlocked their doors.

"I was wondering if you have a morgue," Danielle asked the middle-aged woman standing behind the counter.

"You mean for past issues?" the woman asked.

"Yes." _I didn't mean for dead bodies._

"Most of that you can find online. I'm afraid we don't keep any past issues here, but you can go to our website."

"Oh darn...I don't have Internet yet."

"They have some computers at the local library you can use. And if you have a laptop, I'm sure you can grab some free Wi-Fi. Most of the restaurants have it."

"Thanks. I guess I'll have to do that. Do you have a business card with your web address?"

"Sure." The woman reached across the counter, picked up a business card from a rack, and handed it to Danielle. "What years are you looking for?"

"1920s."

"Oh..." The woman frowned. "I'm afraid you won't find anything online that far back. The original office burned down in the forties, and they lost everything. So far, the only issues they've uploaded on the site are from the last ten years or so. But you could try the local museum."

"The museum? I didn't know Frederickport had a museum."

"Yes, it's not too far from here. Opens at nine, I think. They have a pretty good collection of past issues—including ones from the 1920s—papers that have been donated over the years from subscribers. That would probably be your best bet."

"By any chance do you have a local phone book?" Danielle asked.

"Sure." The woman reached under the counter and handed her a phone book. "You're welcome to keep it."

"You don't need it back?" Danielle flipped through its pages.

"I have an entire stack down here. We give them out all the time."

After thanking the woman and getting directions to the museum, Danielle headed back to her car. A few minutes later she pulled into the museum parking lot. According to the sign on the front of the building, the museum wouldn't open until nine—just as the woman in the newspaper office had predicted.

Sitting in her car, Danielle glanced at the dashboard clock. She had at least thirty minutes to kill before the museum opened its doors. Pulling out her cellphone and opening the phone book, she looked for a local electrician to check out Marlow House's wiring. After that, she would look for a landscaper to get the yard cleaned up. When the museum finally opened its doors at nine, Danielle felt a sense of accomplishment. She had scheduled appointments with an electrician and a landscaper.

"Welcome to Frederickport Museum. I'm Millie Samson. I'm a docent with the museum," an elderly woman greeted her.

"Hello, nice to meet you." Danielle glanced around. To her right was a small gift shop. Ahead was a roped-off area leading to the main section of the museum. According to the sign, there was an admission fee. Danielle dug into her purse.

"Are you visiting Frederickport?" Millie asked, patiently waiting for Danielle to get her money.

"Actually, I just moved here." Danielle smiled.

"Really?"

"I've moved into Marlow House. Do you know where that is?" Danielle pulled her wallet from her purse.

"Marlow House? Why certainly! Oh my, that's one of the oldest houses in Frederickport. It really should be a historical landmark."

Danielle handed Millie a five-dollar bill. Instead of taking it, Millie said, "You know, you might want to join the historical society. If you do that, you can visit any time without paying an admission fee—and you get a discount at the museum gift shop, along with a monthly newsletter."

"How much is that?"

"A family membership is just twenty-five dollars a year."

"Well, sure, sounds good." Danielle followed Millie to a counter at the gift shop to fill out a membership form.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see today or just here for a general visit?" Millie asked after Danielle completed the application form and paid for an annual membership.

"I wanted to look at some of the back issues of the _Frederickport Press_. The woman at the newspaper office told me you have a collection here."

"I love looking at those old newspapers. I'll show you where they are."

Danielle followed Millie into the main section of the museum while glancing around at the exhibits. A woman's portrait captured her attention. Pausing a moment, Danielle looked up at the painting. The subject of the portrait had an uncanny resemblance to the fictitious Gibson Girl created by illustrator Charles Dana Gibson in the late 1800s.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Millie stood by Danielle, looking up at the portrait.

"Is she supposed to be the Gibson Girl?" Danielle asked.

Millie laughed. "You aren't the only one who's mentioned the resemblance. No, she was a very real woman. I believe she was born about the same time the Gibson Girl was popular. The resemblance is purely coincidence."

"Who was she?"

The portrait's style bore a remarkable resemblance to the two hanging in Marlow House's library. Like Angela's portrait, this woman was elegantly dressed, yet her attire seemed more in fashion with what women wore in the early 1900s, as opposed to the 1920s, when hemlines and hairdos shortened.

"Eva Thorndike. She was a movie star back before talkies."

"Silent films?" Danielle studied the portrait.

"Yes."

"Why is her portrait here? Was she from Frederickport?"

"Her family had a cottage here—their summer home."

"Did she keep acting after talkies came out? I've heard many actresses weren't able to make the transition," Danielle said.

"Unfortunately, she died before talkies came out, not long after that portrait was made."

"God, she must have been young. How did she die?"

"It was her heart—a congenital problem. She suffered with it most of her life, and according to the stories, that was one reason her father didn't object to her acting—because she loved it so much. Apparently, she was quite indulged. Or so the stories go."

"Did her family have money?"

"Yes. They were wealthy. She was their only daughter."

"Do you think that necklace she's wearing is real? Looks like diamonds and emeralds."

"Ahhh...the Missing Thorndike. Yes, very real."

"Missing Thorndike?" Danielle glanced over at Millie.

"That's what they called it. Quite valuable. Disappeared around the time of her death."

"Well, she really was lovely..." Danielle turned from the portrait.

"Looking for anything specific?" Millie asked as she led Danielle further into the museum.

"I'm looking for information on one of the owners of Marlow House—Walt Marlow."

Millie stopped abruptly and turned to face Danielle. "Oh, the one who committed suicide."

"Suicide?" _No, that can't be. Walt doesn't seem like someone who would kill himself._

"Oh yes, quite the scandal at the time, from what I've been told. You know, his grandfather founded Frederickport. He was a shipbuilder. We have an entire section on him. But the grandson—oh, he was a rascal, they say."

"Before moving here, I tried to find out as much about Frederickport as I could, but never came across your website. And it wasn't mentioned on the Chamber of Commerce site, which, by the way, had very little historical information."

"Oh, the museum doesn't have a website. At least not anymore."

"Really? That surprises me."

"Long story. A bit of a falling out between the volunteer who put together a website and the director at the time. That was over a year ago. I believe the museum's board is working on something, but for now, you won't find us online."

Millie led Danielle to a table at the rear of the museum. On it were stacks of oversized books, each containing past issues of the _Frederickport Press_.

"I can't believe Walt Marlow killed himself," Danielle said as she sat at the table.

"Why is that?" Millie sorted through the books, looking for the one holding articles on Walt's death.

"I don't know...just what I've heard about him, I guess."

"I've read all the articles we have on the suicide. He and his wife had recently returned from their honeymoon, which was one reason people were so shocked at the time. Angela Marlow was a beautiful woman, and from all accounts, he was madly in love with her. But they found him hanging in the attic."

"The attic?"

"Yes, the attic at Marlow House. Whenever I think of it, I can't help but feel sorry for George Hemming."

"George Hemming?" _Why does that name sound familiar?_

"Yes, the man who lived in the house directly across the street from Marlow House."

_She must mean the house Ian is renting—I don't think the other houses along that side of the street are that old. George Hemming—yes—now I remember—the one Walt said visited him after Angela left for Portland._

"The Hemmings family has been in Frederickport since its founding. George's daughter, Marie, still lives in town. And his great-grandson. According to the newspaper articles, George got up one morning, looked out his window, and saw Walt Marlow hanging there in the attic window. Chilling. Something like that would give me a heart attack."

"And Walt Marlow's wife?" Danielle asked. "Was she at home at the time?"

"Oh no, she was in Portland, visiting her brother when it happened."

A bell rang, signifying someone had walked into the museum.

"Excuse me, dear, I think this is the book you want." Millie slid one of the large books across the table to Danielle and then dashed to the front of the museum to welcome the new visitor.

Not knowing what month the suicide occurred, Danielle started at the front of the thick book and began thumbing through its pages. She was tempted to ask Millie what month to look for, but she could hear more people coming into the museum.

Letting out a deep sigh, Danielle thumbed through the book, looking for some mention of Walt Marlow's death. It wasn't until she reached the last newspaper in the book did she find the first article reporting the suicide.

The newspaper article supported Millie's story. George Hemming had woken up to the gruesome sight of his neighbor hanging in the attic window across the street. According to the article, Walt Marlow's widow had not yet been notified, as she was reportedly visiting her brother in Portland, and they hadn't been able to contact her. Authorities were quick to suggest the death a suicide, noting there was no sign of a break-in or struggle.

Danielle closed the book and was about to reach for another, looking for later articles on the story, when her cellphone rang.

"Hi, Lily," Danielle answered her phone.

"Danielle, where are you?" Lily sounded frantic.

"Running errands. What's wrong?"

"A water pipe broke in the kitchen, and water is going everywhere!"

"You need to turn off the water to the house." Danielle stood up and grabbed her purse, hurriedly heading to the front door of the museum while still talking to Lily on the phone.

When Danielle returned to Marlow House, she found Lily in the kitchen with Ian, mopping up water.

"Ian helped me turn off the water. I couldn't find the shutoff," Lily told Danielle.

"Thanks, Ian." Danielle surveyed the damage. "Sorry you had to deal with this, Lily. Where did you get the mops and buckets?"

"They were at the house I'm renting," Ian explained.

"I called the plumber. He's on his way over," Danielle said.

"I guess I'll have to skip breakfast," Lily said. "Kinda hard to make it without any water."

"If the plumber ends up having to tear up the walls, I imagine it'll be a while before we can use the kitchen again. Why don't you two go grab something to eat while I wait on the plumber? I'll treat," Danielle suggested.

"You don't have to treat," Ian said. "I'll be happy to take Lily to breakfast. I haven't had anything to eat yet. Why don't you join us?"

"No..." Danielle flashed him a smile. "I need to wait for the plumber. You two go."

"Are you sure you want your friend to be alone with him?" Walt asked when he appeared a few seconds after Lily and Ian left the house.

"He seems like a nice enough guy. He did help her get the water turned off and cleaned up this mess. And Lily seems to like him."

"He lied about what he does for a living."

"Or so you say the dog said...or didn't say. Whatever. He seems harmless enough." Danielle glanced uneasily at Walt. She was not looking forward to telling him how he had died.

"The plumber said he probably couldn't get here for at least an hour. Why don't we talk while I wait for him?"

"You found out something?" Walt looked hopeful.

"Yeah...I did." Danielle pulled up a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. Walt joined her.

"I went to the newspaper office first. I learned that years ago there was a fire that destroyed all their past copies of the paper. But the lady suggested I check with the museum, because they've collected old issues from subscribers. So that's what I did."

"You found an article on my death?"

"Yes. The first article written in the local paper. Unfortunately, Lily called in a panic about the broken water pipe, so I didn't get a chance to read any of the other articles."

"What did it say?"

"Mr. Marlow, I don't think you're going to like this."

"Well, I don't imagine I would be thrilled with any news of my death. And please, call me Walt."

"Okay...Walt." Danielle paused a moment before continuing. "This probably explains why you're still here. Why you can't seem to leave."

"Go on."

"You killed yourself."

He didn't respond immediately—just looked blankly at Danielle. Abruptly he stood up; the chair he had been sitting on crashed to the floor.

"I did not kill myself!"

"You hanged yourself in the attic. Your neighbor—George Hemming—found you. He looked out his window and saw you hanging in your attic window."

"George found me?"

"He's the one who stopped over here after Angela left for Portland?"

"Yes. We were good friends. But this is impossible. There is no way in hell I hanged myself. There must be something in the other articles—the ones written after the first one—the ones you haven't read yet—that say it was all a mistake."

"I don't think so, Walt. The museum docent knew all about your story. Claimed to have read all the articles regarding your death and said it was suicide."

"What did it say about Angela?"

"Just that she was in Portland, visiting her brother. According to the docent, this wasn't long after you returned from your honeymoon."

"I remember Angela leaving for that trip. We argued before she left, but I certainly wasn't depressed and suicidal. No. There has been some mistake."

Danielle watched as Walt paced the kitchen in a fit of agitation. Suddenly he stopped pacing and faced Danielle.

"I know why I'm still here."

"Why?"

"Because I have to prove I didn't commit suicide. You have to help me. I can't leave while people believe I killed myself."

# Nine

Ian and Lily had just walked into Pier Café when they heard a man ask the waitress, "Do you think they'll change the name or call it Marlow House?"

Lily stopped abruptly and stared at the man. He was less than four feet away, his back to her as he sat at the lunch counter. She couldn't see his face, just the back of his gray dress shirt and his head of shortly cut dark hair. His breakfast companion, a second man sitting next to him at the counter, noticed Lily staring and turned around to face her, a cup of coffee in his hand. The waitress standing behind the counter, refilling the coffee cup of the man who had mentioned Marlow House, glanced up at Lily.

"Sit anywhere," the waitress told Ian and Lily. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Did you say Marlow House?" Lily asked the man in the gray shirt. He turned around to face her. Lily found herself staring into a pair of arresting black eyes. Both he and his companion looked to be in their early thirties. The attractive dark-eyed man looked as if he was dressed to go to the office, while his companion, an average-looking fellow with forgettable features, dull brown hair and pale blue eyes, looked like a construction worker, dressed in worn denims and a stained blue work shirt.

"Yes, why?" the man asked.

"Well...ahhh..." Lily stammered. A wave of embarrassment washed over her as the man boldly moved his gaze up and down her body before looking her in the eyes. The fact that she was with Ian did not curb his blatant perusal.

"My friend owns Marlow House." Lily almost said _I'm staying at Marlow House_ but quickly changed her mind because of how he was looking at her.

"Really? So when does it open for business?" the man in the gray shirt asked as he turned around completely, now facing Ian and Lily as he leaned back against the counter. Briefly, he glanced over at Ian before looking back at Lily.

"Open for business? What do you mean?" Lily frowned.

"I was just telling them how Marlow House is going to be a B and B," the waitress behind the counter explained. "So you're a friend of the new owner?"

"Yes, but how do you know anything about a B and B?" Lily asked.

"Small town," the waitress said with a shrug.

"So it's true?" the man in the gray shirt asked.

"Umm...well..." Lily suddenly wished she had kept her mouth shut. "It's one possibility, yes." Without saying another word, Lily grabbed Ian's hand and pulled him across the diner to a booth. They sat down, sitting across from each other.

"What was that about?" Ian asked. Lily glanced over at the counter; the man in the gray shirt was still staring at her.

"I just felt funny talking about Danielle's business with strangers. She gets a little annoyed with me sometimes when I blurt things out without thinking." Lily picked up two menus from the end of the table and handed one to Ian.

"So how do you think they knew?" Ian glanced over at the two men and waitress. The man wearing the gray shirt gave him a nod and then turned back around to the counter.

"Probably because it is a small town. Danielle had her attorney do all the legwork already—checking into the legalities, lining up necessary permits and licenses—figuring out what she needed to do to comply with the local laws. I guess when you start doing stuff like that, it's kind of hard to keep it a secret."

"So she's got everything in place, ready to go?"

"Not exactly. She wanted to check out the property personally before making the final commitment. Unless the contractor she's hiring to check out the house comes up with a ridiculous list of needed repairs, it's possible she could be ready to open within a month. That's, of course, if we work our butts off."

"That soon?"

Before Lily could respond, the waitress came to their table with coffee and took their order. When she left, Lily answered Ian's question.

"If last week someone had asked me when Dani would be opening the B and B, I would tell them not until next summer."

"A year? Now you say a month?" Ian sipped his coffee.

"I expected the house to be a wreck—after all, it's been vacant for almost ninety years."

"So that is true?" Ian set his coffee cup on the table and looked up at Lily. "It's really been vacant that long?"

"No one's lived in it since 1925."

"I'd heard that," Ian mumbled.

"You have? I didn't realize you were familiar with the house's history."

"I'm not really." Ian shrugged. "When I rented my house for the summer, I was curious about the neighborhood. Marlow House is in good shape, but by the condition of the yard, I didn't think anyone lived there. I asked around about it."

"Danielle's great-aunt—that's who left her the property—she hired a housekeeper to come once a week."

_Joanne Johnson_ , Ian said to himself. Lily chatted away; her conversation wandered from Marlow House to teaching. Ian smiled and nodded, yet his mind kept drifting back to his real reason for being at Frederickport. Lily asked him about his teaching job, jolting him back to the present. Before answering, he looked up into Lily's green eyes.

She was definitely his type, he thought—at least her physical attributes—busty yet petite. Tall women never appealed to him. He wasn't sure what it said about him that he preferred a woman to look up to him rather than standing at eye level. "I'm on vacation, so I'd rather not talk about my work. I'm here to get away from work," he lied.

"That must mean you don't like teaching." Lily sounded a little disappointed.

"It's not that, exactly." Ian took a sip of his coffee, trying to silently frame his next sentence. "But don't you ever feel you spend the entire school year focused on nothing but work? Don't you ever want to take the summer off and explore new things?"

"I guess you're right," Lily agreed. "That's why I'm here."

"So tell me about that," Ian said.

"What do you mean?" Lily set her coffee cup down and looked into Ian's eyes. _God, he is handsome_ , she thought. _I bet all those high school girls have crushes on him._

"It sounds interesting—your friend inheriting Marlow House. Her plans to turn it into a bed and breakfast. What do you know about its history?"

"History? Not much, really. I know her great-aunt left her the property. Not a blood relative. She was married to Dani's great-uncle, her grandfather's brother. She didn't even know the house existed when her aunt died."

"So she never knew anything about the house until then?"

"Nope, nothing." Lily shook her head. "Her great-aunt and uncle lived in Europe for as long as she could remember. She didn't even know they had property in the States."

"Interesting," Ian murmured. He glanced to the lunch counter, where the two men still sat. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Lily. "Does she know how her aunt came to own the property?"

"From what I understand, she inherited it from her mother. But beyond that, Danielle doesn't know much." Lily paused for a moment and then added, "Except about the curse."

"The curse?" Ian arched his brows.

"They say there's a curse on the property. People who own it have bad luck or something like that. I don't think Danielle believes there really is a curse."

"Do you know if the house has been repaired a lot over the years?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." Ian paused for a moment, again looking for the right words. _How can I get the information I want without it sounding like a strange question?_ "If Danielle intends to turn the place into an inn, I wondered how many repairs have been done over the years. How many walls torn down, that sort of thing. It might reflect on how sturdy the house is." _That sounded lame even to me,_ Ian cursed himself.

"From what I understand, the house has pretty much remained untouched over the years—aside from a weekly cleaning from a housekeeper. Of course, it has been almost ninety years, so I imagine there were repairs over the years. Even when someone doesn't live in a house, things can break. An unmaintained vacant house seems to deteriorate quicker than a maintained house that suffers the daily wear and tear of people living in it. In fact, Danielle and I had a discussion about this last night."

"You know, I'm pretty handy around the house."

"I noticed that this morning." Lily grinned.

"My dad was a general contractor. I worked for him during high school and through college. You mentioned Danielle was going to hire a contractor to check out the house. I would be happy to go through it for her, no charge. It would be fun."

"Fun? You have a strange idea of fun." Lily laughed.

"It would give me something to do, and I always enjoyed the work."

"Then why did you go into teaching and not construction, like your dad?"

"It's one thing to do something as a hobby and another to turn it into a full-time career—working for other people. I'd rather do my own thing."

"I've a friend who buys old houses and fixes them up to flip. He makes good money, and he pretty much works for himself."

"That can be risky," Ian said.

"I used to think teaching was a dependable job. Class sizes went down in California and teachers were in demand. They went up again, and there were layoffs."

Ian didn't comment, so Lily asked, "So why did you decide to be an English teacher?"

"Well...I like to write. It seemed to fit."

"Have you ever considered writing a book?" Lily asked.

"Doesn't every English teacher?" Ian grinned.

"I admire writers. I couldn't do it." Lily shook her head at the idea.

"Why do you say that?"

"For one thing, I don't think I'd have enough patience to sit in front of a computer or typewriter that long."

"I hear some people still write with a pen and paper."

"No way. I definitely couldn't do that. Sounds even more grueling than writing a book using a word processor."

Across the diner at the lunch counter, the two men sat alone, finishing their breakfast. Adam Nichols, the man wearing the gray shirt, briefly glanced over to Lily before turning his attention back to his companion, Bill Jones.

"The friend. She's hot," Adam whispered.

"Looks like Ian agrees with you. He sure gave you a dirty look when you were checking her out."

"I wonder what the other one looks like." Adam popped the last bite of toast in his mouth.

"You following Ian's lead?" Bill glanced over at Ian and Lily.

"It's a good guess he's already made it in the house."

"We wouldn't have to deal with this crap if Renton knew what the hell he was talking about. We were supposed to have a week to get it done." Bill picked up his mug and downed the remainder of his coffee.

"And we better figure out how we're going to do that before Ian beats us to it."

# Ten

Weary from the long day, Danielle snuggled under a pile of blankets and closed her eyes. She had brought fresh linens and blankets with her to Frederickport. She couldn't imagine sleeping in whatever dusty bedding she might find in the old house. It was her second night in her new home. The day had been busy, beginning with her visit to the newspaper office and museum and then dealing with the plumber. Fortunately, the leak was an easy fix, yet she was grateful it hadn't occurred last week, between visits from the housekeeper. The possible water damage could have racked up a serious repair bill.

One positive about the day's events was that the plumber had time to go through the house and see what needed to be done to help her bring the building into the twenty-first century. She wanted to order new, modern appliances and wanted to make sure she could hook up a washing machine and dishwasher, not to mention an ice maker on whatever refrigerator she ended up buying.

When Lily and Ian returned from breakfast, the plumber had already completed the repairs and was inspecting the rest of the house. Ian offered to go through the property, looking for other needed repairs, after explaining his construction background. Danielle thanked him and lied, saying she had already made arrangements with a contractor. While Ian seemed like a nice enough guy, she didn't feel comfortable, knowing he was not being truthful regarding his state of employment. That was, of course, she reminded herself, if she could believe a golden retriever.

Danielle assumed Ian was interested in Lily, considering the way he hung around for a good hour after returning from breakfast. It wasn't until Lily gently nudged him out the door, saying she needed to get some work done, that he finally took the hint and left. Danielle could tell Lily was a little sad to see him go.

After a closer inspection of the home's furnishings, Danielle realized it would be necessary to either reupholster or replace some of the pieces. In the room Lily was using, the fabric covering the small sofa crumbled when Lily set her suitcase on its cushion. While that was the only piece of upholstered furniture she found where the fabric had totally deteriorated, she noticed thinning and tearing upholstery on other chairs and sofas throughout the house.

Danielle hadn't seen Walt since that morning. He had vanished moments after announcing she had to prove he hadn't committed suicide. She had been so busy dealing with the plumber that she hadn't had time to consider his request or, more accurately, his demand.

Yawning, Danielle rolled over on her left side and then smelled something—cigar smoke. Opening her eyes, she was startled to find Walt Marlow lounging casually next to her on the bed, leisurely smoking a cigar as he leaned against the headboard. Still wearing the same vintage suit and polished leather dress shoes, he looked as if he was ready to go out on the town.

Sitting up abruptly, pulling the top edge of the blanket up to cover her chest, she glared at Walt. Under the blanket she wore plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"It's my bedroom." Walt let out a smoke ring and watched it curl and disappear.

"It was your bedroom," she corrected. "Get out of my bed!"

"You're in my bed, Danielle. I am willing to share. You are a selfish girl, aren't you?" He turned his face toward her and smiled.

"Technically speaking, this was never your bed. My aunt replaced the beds in this house about five years ago." Danielle scooted up a little straighter and then leaned back on the headboard, her hands still clutching the top of her blanket as she watched Walt.

"She did?" Walt arched his brows thoughtfully as if considering her words. "Hmm, that explains things."

"Explains what?"

"I thought Angela had ordered new beds. I wondered why at the time. I asked the deliverymen what they were doing. Where they were taking my beds. But they just ignored me."

"You're a ghost. They couldn't see you."

"I understand that now. Why did she buy new beds if she never came here?"

"I'm not sure." Danielle shrugged. "According to Renton..."

"Renton?"

"Mr. Renton, he was my aunt's attorney. According to him, everything in the house is pretty much as it was when he began managing her estate, all except the beds. I guess she was planning to come back to the US and stay at Marlow House. She didn't want to sleep on ancient mattresses. Who can blame her? So she arranged to have new beds brought in and removed the old ones. For some reason she changed her mind about coming. As far as I know, the last time she was in the States was when she got married."

"I suppose I should be grateful she didn't let Marlow House fall into decay."

"Will you get out of my bed now?" Danielle considered giving him a little shove, yet remembered it wouldn't do any good.

"Do you always dress that way to sleep?" Walt eyed Danielle.

Lifting her blanket slightly, she peeked under her covers. There was no way he could see what she wore—at least not now.

"You watched me dress!" Danielle gasped.

"More accurately, undress and redress again." Walt puffed happily on his cigar.

"I expect you to respect my privacy!"

"When a beautiful young woman chooses to undress in my bedroom, you can't expect me to look away."

"I'd expect for you not to be here," she snapped. _Beautiful young woman—well, I suppose that is sort of sweet,_ she thought.

"I won't follow you into the bathroom," he promised.

"While I appreciate that, I'd also like some privacy here."

"Why? It's not like I can actually take advantage of you, and frankly, I've missed watching beautiful women. I'm afraid Joanne isn't much to look at. Plus she's closer to my mother's age."

"You mean your granddaughter's," Danielle corrected.

"I suppose if I had a granddaughter, she could possibly be Joanne's age today, but that is hardly the point. And you never answered my question."

"What question?" Danielle felt flustered.

"Do you always dress like that for bed? I'd like to see you in one of Angela's silk nightgowns. You definitely have the figure for it. Much more feminine."

Danielle was both annoyed and flattered. She had never been happy with her body. For starters, she believed she was too short. The only time she didn't feel short was when she stood next to Lily. But then she felt overweight, considering her friend's tiny frame—tiny except for Lily's generous bust line.

Even if Danielle bleached her dark hair, she would never be a leggy blonde. While she wouldn't call herself fat exactly, she had fifteen pounds she had been trying to shed since high school, to no avail. Maybe if she were a few inches taller, those extra pounds wouldn't bother her so much. She suspected the only reason her B-cup boasted cleavage was due to her extra pounds, and had she slimmed down to her goal weight, that cleavage would disappear. Regularly riding her bicycle hadn't helped her lose weight, though it did keep her toned. Considering all that, Danielle couldn't help but be a little flattered that a man—albeit one who had been dead almost ninety years—found her figure negligee worthy.

"Those thoughts seem a little...earthy for a ghost," Danielle noted.

"Sorry, Danielle. I don't know the rules." Walt shrugged and then continued. "Why aren't you married? You aren't, are you?"

"Married?" Danielle frowned, glancing down at her left hand.

"Just how old are you?"

"You are a nosy ghost."

"I detest that term. Please refrain from using it," he ordered.

"What term?"

"Ghost. I'm still the man I've always been." Walt paused and reconsidered his words. "Perhaps I'm not exactly the man I used to be—physically I appear to be somewhat—well, elusive perhaps. But I feel the same—at least I do now, since you've let in the light."

"Let in the light? What in the world are you talking about?" Danielle released her hold on the blanket and folded her hands on her lap, atop the covering.

"For as long as I can remember I've been lost in a fog. Wandering this house, confused as if I had enjoyed a bit too much brandy. I wondered what was keeping Angela, why we had a new housekeeper, one who refused to talk to me. Understanding my current state has clarified things for me—brought everything into focus."

"I'm happy things are clearer for you now, but—"

"Why aren't you married?" Walt interrupted. "You're far too old to be unwed, and you don't look like a woman who would live out her life as an old maid."

"You think I look old?" She liked it better when he was complimenting her looks.

"Just how old are you?"

"Thirty, if you must know..."

"Thirty? Good lord, you can't be serious." He seemed genuinely surprised.

"For a ghost you can sure be a jerk sometimes," Danielle grumbled, leaning back on the headboard.

"It's just that I thought you were around twenty-one, twenty-three at the most."

"Well...I suppose you're not that much of a jerk," Danielle muttered.

"You're four years older than me," Walt announced.

"Okay, now you're back to being a jerk again." Danielle folded her arms across her chest and glared at Walt.

"Clearly an old maid in spite of your looks."

Danielle groaned, grabbed hold of her blanket again, and scooted down in the bed, pulling the bedding up over her head. Walt glanced over at the lump hidden under the coverings and chuckled.

"I'm sorry if you take offense at being called an old maid, but I did give you a compliment. You are a very attractive young woman. Perhaps the reason for your state of matrimony has something to do with how you dress. I'd like to see you dolled up."

"If you must know, I was married," Danielle blurted after she sat back up and uncovered her head.

"What happened, did he leave you when you refused to dress as a woman?" Walt asked with a grin.

"Lucas died."

Walt eyed her curiously for a moment before responding. He noted a hint of sadness shadowing her features. "You certainly don't expect me to be sympathetic? Especially considering my state."

"Your state?" Danielle puzzled.

"Obviously. Like your husband, I'm no longer alive. So where is he?" Walt glanced around the room. "Does this mean I can't see him in the same way your friend Lily can't see me?"

"He isn't here. At least I don't think so."

"Why not? I thought you can see...well...people like us."

"I can't control what spirit I see."

"Spirit. I believe I prefer that term to ghost."

"Well, I want to be politically correct, so I'll be sure to call you a spirit and not a ghost," Danielle quipped sarcastically.

"Why can't you see him?"

"I don't know. I don't know why I can see some spirits and not others. After my parents died I never once saw them. They didn't come to me. Neither did Lucas."

"You lost your parents too?" Walt asked softly.

"Yes."

"Have you any brothers or sisters?"

"No. Just an exceedingly annoying cousin named Cheryl."

"I'm sorry." He sounded sincerely sympathetic.

"I thought you weren't going to give me sympathy for something as trivial as the death of a loved one."

"It's not the death—it's being separated from them. What happened to your husband?"

"He was killed earlier this year in a car accident."

"And you had no children?" he asked.

"No. At one time we talked about it." But considering everything, it was best there were no children.

"My dear, one does not go about having children by talking about it. They come along most naturally. How long were you married before he was killed?"

"I was twenty-one when we were married. Why?"

"And you never had a child during your marriage?"

"We wanted to wait."

"Good lord! What kind of marriage is that?" Walt seemed appalled at the idea.

Narrowing her eyes, Danielle looked over at him. "When I said we wanted to wait, I meant we wanted to wait to have children—not that we were waiting to consummate our marriage—or enjoy each other physically. Sheesh..." Danielle shook her head at the idea. Then she added, "Fortunately, I live in an era when women can enjoy sex without getting pregnant."

"Good lord, woman, you're brash."

Danielle laughed and then said, "You make yourself at home in my bed, quiz me about my marriage, and then accuse me of being brash?"

"Wait a minute...you said your last name was Boatman, the same as your aunt's. Does that mean Boatman was your maiden name, or did you marry your cousin?"

"While marrying one's cousin might have been accepted in your time, it tends to be frowned upon these days. Boatman is my maiden name—I took it back after Lucas died."

"Why did you do that?"

"I had my reasons."

Walt didn't ask what those reasons were. Instead, he announced abruptly, "You really should get to sleep. You'll need your rest if you're going to prove I didn't kill myself." A faint sweet scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air after he disappeared.

_I guess I'll have to start dressing in the bathroom from now on,_ Danielle told herself. Rolling over on her side, she clutched a pillow in her arms and closed her eyes. Within fifteen minutes she was asleep, snoring softly.

Walt Marlow appeared next to the bed. Looking down, he watched as Danielle slept. "Danielle Boatman, I don't believe I've ever met a woman quite like you," he whispered.

# Eleven

"Do you mind if I give Ian a tour of the house today?" Lily asked Danielle during breakfast the next morning. The two sat across from each other at the kitchen table, each eating a bowl of cereal. Danielle had already dressed for the day and was wearing a long pale-blue peasant skirt and a white lacy blouse. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a loose fishtail braid.

Lily had tamed her unruly rusty curls, bringing them together in a high ponytail. They spilled around her face in disarray. Over the red T-shirt and Hello Kitty pajama bottoms she had slept in the night before, she wore a white terry cloth robe.

"I don't see a problem, especially considering that he helped so much yesterday. He's into old houses?" Danielle stood up and walked to the coffee maker, which had just finished brewing. She poured two cups of coffee, adding a splash of milk to each one. Walking back to the table, she handed one cup to Lily and sat back down.

"His father was a contractor. He enjoys restoration projects."

"But he's an English teacher, right?" Danielle sipped her coffee and looked up at Lily.

"Yes, but he doesn't like talking about teaching. He says when he takes the summer off, he doesn't like to think about work." Lily set her coffee cup down and started eating her cereal again.

"Really?" _Maybe that dog knew what she was talking about._ "Just be careful, Lily."

"What do you mean?" Lily looked up and frowned.

"You really don't know the guy. We just met him. Just be careful, that's all."

"Is there something about Ian you don't like?" Lily set her spoon down and looked across the table at Danielle.

"I don't even know him. How can I dislike him?"

"I just get the feeling something about him rubs you the wrong way. And I really don't understand why. He's been sweet, helpful, the perfect gentleman."

"I don't know." Danielle shrugged. "Maybe it's the thing with Lucas."

"Oh..." Lily's gazed dropped to the table. "I didn't even think about that."

"I'm trying my best not to think about it. After all, that's why I'm here, right?" Danielle forced a smile.

"Which reminds me..." Lily sounded cheerful again. "I had another dream last night. About Walt Marlow, and Lucas was in it, sort of."

"Walt Marlow?"

"You know, the guy in the portrait. Remember? His grandfather built this house."

"I remember, but what do you mean you had another dream?"

"I told you I had a dream about him the night we stayed at the motel. I can't remember what it was—it was sorta crazy and mixed up. But last night I had another dream about him. He woke me up and asked me to tell him about Lucas."

"What do you mean he woke you up?"

"In my dream. It's not like he really woke me up!" Lily laughed.

"How do you know you were asleep?"

"What kind of question is that? I think my first clue was that the guy from the portrait was sitting on my bed with me. Of course, at the time I didn't know I was dreaming."

Danielle tensed. She relaxed slightly when Lily added, "My second clue was that my bed was sitting on the beach—under the stars. It was really quite lovely. I think we should try sleeping on the beach some night."

"You say he asked you about Lucas?"

"I remember one thing that was kind of funny. He told me Ian was not a teacher—that the dog told him. Isn't that hilarious? How does my brain come up with this stuff?"

"Yes...indeed..." Danielle's head began to spin. "What did you tell him about Lucas?"

"I don't remember exactly." Lily shrugged. "I think I told him about Lucas's death, what happened. Oh, but I remember one funny thing, he told me not to tell you we spoke. So please don't tell him I told you!" Lily giggled.

"Anything else?"

"Wow, my mom used to say other people's dreams are boring. I guess she was wrong."

"I...I just find it interesting you're dreaming about Walt Marlow."

"I suppose it's to be expected. Staying in his house...that portrait. But I will have to admit, I was a little jealous in the dream."

"Jealous, why?" Danielle asked.

"That this good-looking guy is sitting on my bed with me and all he does is ask me questions about you. I mean, really. It was my dream." Lily grinned mischievously.

"Well...maybe the point of the dream was your subconscious telling you to be careful with Ian." Danielle seriously doubted that was the case. Walt had in some way invaded her friend's dreams.

"Perhaps." Lily shrugged. She stood up and grabbed the empty cereal bowls and dirty silverware off the table, then walked to the kitchen sink. "But maybe I want a dangerous summer romance."

Danielle chuckled and stood up. Picking the milk carton off the counter, she put it in the ice chest.

Danielle looked in the cooler. "I guess I better pick up some ice."

"So what's the deal with the appliances?" Lily asked as she washed the dishes in the sink.

"The electrician and contractor are supposed to be here later this afternoon. I'd really like to get the new appliances installed by the end of the week. This camping out sort of sucks."

"Are you going somewhere this morning? We talked about working in the yard, but it doesn't look like you're dressed for that."

"No. I've a couple errands I want to run, to tie up some loose ends for the business," Danielle lied.

"Want me to go with you?"

"No, it'll be pretty boring."

"You want me to get started with the yard?"

"No. The landscaper is stopping by later, and we might as well see what he'll charge to get the yard in order. That way we can spend our energy getting the inside ready."

"You want me to go ahead with that furniture inventory we talked about?" Lily asked.

"That would be great."

"Would you mind if Ian helped me?"

"Ian? You think he'd want to?"

"Like I said, he wanted a tour of the house—I've a feeling he might enjoy checking out the antique furnishings here."

"Fine, if he wants to help." Danielle paused a moment then added, "Tell him Sadie is welcome, if he wants to bring her."

"Sadie? His dog?"

"No reason to leave her home all alone."

"I guess he could tie her up in the backyard."

"No, let her come inside. She doesn't have to stay in the yard."

"Okay, I'll tell him Sadie is welcome. Thanks."

Ten minutes later Danielle was upstairs in her bedroom. She had just tossed her purse onto the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress to slip on her shoes when she heard Walt's voice.

"I must say you look very nice today, Danielle, all dolled up. You should dress like a woman more often, it suits you."

Danielle looked up. Walt leaned casually against the fireplace, smoking a thin cigar. She wondered briefly why he always wore the same suit. Perhaps when one died, they were only allowed one ensemble. The spirits she had seen in the past—those she had seen on more than one occasion—never changed outfits. She then wondered—who chose the clothes? Did Walt subconsciously make the selection, or was there some fashion angel whose job it was to dress up the newly departed prior to haunting?

"Those things will kill you, you know," Danielle said dryly. When Walt frowned, she gave a little nod and said, "The cigar."

"Too late." Walt shrugged.

"Do you have to smoke in my room?"

"I told you it was also my room."

Walt watched as Danielle slipped on her second shoe and then asked, "Where are you going?"

"Back to the museum to have a look at the rest of those newspapers. Hopefully, I'll find out what happened to Angela. Maybe get more details on your...your death."

"I wish I could go along. Is your friend going with you?"

"No. Lily's staying here and doing a furniture inventory."

"Furniture inventory?"

"She's going to make an itemized list of all the furnishings in the house—noting the condition of each piece so we can get a better idea of what needs to be repaired or replaced. Ian may be here helping her. I know she plans to give him a tour of the house."

"Ian—the man from across the street? The man who isn't a teacher?"

"If you want to be useful, keep an eye on him. Not sure how I feel about the two being alone."

"And exactly what am I supposed to do if your friend needs protecting?"

"Use your ghostly powers." Danielle picked up her purse off the bed and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

"My ghostly powers? If you recall, when I tried to touch your hand, mine simply moved through yours. The same when I tried to pet Sadie."

"You also opened the parlor door for me." Danielle stood by her bedroom door, facing Walt.

"True, but you said that was my energy, that my body was simply an illusion."

"Exactly, Walt. Your energy opened that door."

Walt frowned and looked at his hands. The cigar he had been smoking vanished. Lifting his hands to his face, he studied them for a moment.

"By the way"—Danielle opened her bedroom door—"I told Lily to have Ian bring Sadie over. If nothing else, you can pump the dog for information."

"Are you mocking me?" Walt glared at Danielle through narrowed eyes.

"Only a little. But I did tell her he could bring Sadie over."

# Twelve

Before entering the museum, Danielle looked through her wallet for the membership card Millie Samson had issued her the day before. When she walked into the museum, it wasn't Millie who greeted her but another docent. She showed him the card and then made her way to the back of the museum to the old newspapers. Unlike yesterday, there were a number of visitors already at the museum, wandering through the various exhibits.

Danielle was the only one to take a place at the newspaper table. Since the books were numbered chronologically, it took her just a few minutes to locate the next book she needed. Opening to the first page, she found another article on the suicide.

The second article was primarily a recap of the first one, with one exception. It included an interview with Walt's brother-in-law, Roger Calvert. The interview took place in Frederickport.

"This is going to break my dear sister's heart," Roger said in the interview. When asked why his brother-in-law would take his own life, Roger responded, "I suppose none of us really knows what goes on in another man's heart; however, according to authorities, he had been drinking the night he took his life. I can only guess at the demons that plagued him."

According to the article, Angela Marlow was still not aware of her husband's death. _How is that possible?_ Danielle wondered. _It isn't like they didn't have telephones back then. If Angela was still in Portland with her brother, how was it that he was in Frederickport giving an interview?_

When flipping through the newspaper, Danielle came across an editorial discussing the evils of alcohol, supporting prohibition, and citing Walt Marlow's recent suicide as proof that alcohol brought nothing but grief and destruction.

The next newspaper held a clue to Danielle's question. According to the third article, Roger had arrived in Frederickport ten hours after George Hemming's gruesome discovery. Why he was there, the article didn't say; it only said that his sister was still in Portland and couldn't be reached.

"Why would Roger come to Frederickport if his sister was supposedly visiting him in Portland?" Danielle whispered aloud. Anxiously she turned to the next newspaper, hoping to find the answer. To her disappointment, the next paper skipped years ahead.

"Someone must have gotten these out of order," Danielle mumbled, thumbing through the papers. There was nothing more of 1925—or 1926—1927—1928 or 1929. She grabbed another book, hurriedly turning the pages.

"Can I help you with something?" a male voice asked. Danielle looked up into the blue-gray eyes of the elderly docent who had greeted her at the front door when she had first arrived at the museum that morning.

"I can't find the rest of 1925—nothing until 1930."

"I'm afraid that's all we have. There was a fire back in—"

"Yes, I heard that. But I was told you had copies of the old papers."

"I'm afraid we don't have a complete collection—only what's been donated. Every once in a while, someone will come across a missing edition and bring it in. But I'm afraid everything we have is here."

"Darn. Now I know what it feels like when you get to the end of a mystery novel and the last pages have been ripped out. Except in this case, the book is out of print."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I can help you. I'm pretty familiar with Frederickport history." He took a seat at the table. "I'm Ben Smith, by the way." Danielle estimated he was in his eighties—very spry eighties.

"Nice to meet you, Ben. I'm Danielle Boatman. I just moved into Marlow House."

"I heard someone moved in there. I was so sorry to hear Brianna O'Malley had passed away. You must be her niece?"

"Actually, she was married to my great-uncle. You knew her?"

"I can't say I really knew her. But I remember meeting her. She left quite an impression on me."

"Can you tell me about it?" She hadn't expected to meet anyone in Frederickport who knew her aunt. According to Mr. Renton, Brianna never visited Frederickport.

"It was right before the war. I must have been about thirteen." Ben smiled at the memory. "She was twenty-one at the time, I remember because that's why she was here. She'd just come into her inheritance and came to meet with my father."

"I don't understand. Your father?"

"He was her court-appointed attorney."

"Wait a minute...her court appointed attorney? You say she came into her inheritance. Had her mother just died?"

"Her mother? No, Brianna was about five or six when her mother died. Didn't you know?"

"No. I really don't know anything about Brianna's history. Mr. Renton didn't seem to know much about it."

"Renton, yes, I know him." Ben didn't sound impressed.

"If Katherine O'Malley died when my aunt was five or six, that means she died not long after inheriting Marlow House."

"That's true."

"I still don't understand why Walt Marlow's widow didn't inherit the house."

"Because she preceded him."

"She died before him?"

"From what I understand, yes. I never knew the details. All that happened before I was born. To be honest, the only reason I know as much as I do about your aunt is because I was so smitten with her."

"Smitten?" Danielle smiled.

"I was a young boy, thirteen, just starting to notice girls. Miss O'Malley came to stay with our family for the week, and I fell hopelessly in love. Followed that poor girl around like a lovesick puppy dog and was brokenhearted when she left. After she was gone, I pestered my father about her. He really wouldn't say much, but my older sister, who worked in my father's office, told me what she knew."

"What was that?"

"Several months after Katherine O'Malley inherited Marlow House, she married. Before she left for her honeymoon, she shot her new husband and fell down the stairs to her death, leaving Brianna orphaned. A very wealthy orphan."

"Oh my god, she killed her husband? Why?"

"I have no idea. The only thing I know was the husband was Walt Marlow's brother-in-law."

"She married Roger Calvert?"

"You know his name?" Ben raised his brows.

"He was interviewed in one of the articles I read in the old newspapers. Nothing was mentioned of his sister's death—but you say she died before her husband?"

"Apparently so. That's why Katherine O'Malley inherited the estate."

"Where was my aunt when her mother shot Roger Calvert?"

"She was there, from what I've been told."

"She witnessed the murder and her mother's death?"

"Yes. But she'd never talk about it. I remember my sister saying Brianna probably blocked all memory of her mother's death from her mind since it was so traumatic."

"What happened to my aunt after her mother was killed?"

"She didn't have any family—and neither did her stepfather—the one her mother killed. The court appointed my father to act as a guardian. I don't recall the legal term. My father was an honest man, and I think the judge knew he could trust him to do the right thing. The estate was worth millions—a lot of money back then. From what I understand, Brianna gave away much of it over the years—various charities."

"But she kept the house," Danielle murmured.

"Yes. I always wondered why. She never lived in it. From what I understand, her mother refused to step foot in the house after Marlow killed himself."

"Why was that?"

"Superstition, from what I've been told."

"Who raised my aunt?"

"She was sent to a very respected boarding school. Received a fine education. When she came of age, she became a very wealthy woman."

"I had no idea that she was wealthy. I didn't even know this house existed until she died, and I was told she left it to me. Do you know how Katherine O'Malley and Roger Calvert got together?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you have any idea how Angela Marlow died?"

"Walt Marlow's wife?" Ben asked.

"Yes. And Roger Calvert's twin sister."

"No. I just know she died before her husband, which is why Katherine O'Malley inherited the estate. Is that why you want those old newspapers?"

"Yes." Danielle considered her options for a moment. "Do you know of anyone else I could talk to? I assume the historical society would know about this."

"I'm afraid the historical society is only about five years old. We opened the museum just three years ago."

"Really? I'm surprised it's that new."

"People talked about it for years before someone actually did something," Ben explained. "I can't think of anyone in the historical society who might be able to help you—most of them are younger than me. But you might want to talk to Marie Hemming."

"Hemming? Wasn't the man who found Walt Marlow's body named Hemming?"

"Yes, Marie's father. I wanted to do an oral history with Marie, have her interviewed for the museum, but she refused. Maybe she would talk to you, since you're living in the house."

"She never married?" Danielle asked.

"She's a widow. Actually, her name is Marie Nichols now. Old habits, you know." Ben shrugged.

"How old is Marie?"

"I think she just turned ninety. Still sharp. Good memory. She was just a baby when Marlow killed himself. But she was pretty close to her father. I imagine she knows more than anyone about what happened back then."

"It's worth a shot. I really appreciate all your help." Danielle reached across the table and closed the books she had been looking at before Ben joined her.

"I think I have Marie's phone number in the office. She's a member of the historical society."

"Then I'm surprised she won't agree to an interview." Danielle stood up.

"Marie can be a little peculiar sometimes."

# Thirteen

Danielle didn't intend to just walk up to Marie Hemming's front door and ring the bell. First, she would give the woman a phone call, introduce herself, and see if she could arrange a meeting. On her way back to Marlow House from the museum, Danielle impulsively turned onto Marie's street. She would just drive by and see where the woman lived.

She hadn't expected to actually see Marie Hemming—but there she was, an elderly woman sporting a purple sweat suit and floppy straw hat, on her hands and knees in the front flower garden. Danielle wasn't sure it was Marie Hemming, but she knew—according to Ben Smith's information—that it was her house.

As impulsively as she had turned down Marie's street, she pulled in front of the woman's bright yellow house and parked her car. The woman in the garden glanced up and readjusted her hat with one gloved hand while the second hand held a gardening trowel. When Danielle got out of her car and walked toward Marie's house, the woman stood up—struggling a bit as she got off her knees—and slipped off her gardening gloves, tossing them and the trowel to the ground by her feet.

"Marie Nichols?" Danielle called out when she reached the front gate.

"Yes, how can I help you?" Marie asked, walking toward Danielle.

"Hello. My name is Danielle Boatman. I just moved into Marlow House."

"You must be Brianna's niece!" Marie said cheerfully. "I intended to stop by after you got settled a bit."

"You knew my aunt?"

"Why, certainly, dear." Marie opened the gate. "Please come in. Have you time for a cup of tea and a little visit?"

"I'd love to," Danielle said brightly. After entering the gate, she followed Marie up the walk to the front door.

"How did you happen to find me?" Marie asked.

"Ben Smith, at the museum, suggested I talk to you."

"Ben Smith. Nosy little twerp," Marie said as she opened the front door and removed her straw hat, placing it on the coat rack in the entry. She showed Danielle to a sitting room.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Danielle sat primly on an upholstered straight-back chair as Marie served her a cup of hot tea. She had offered to help, but Marie insisted she could do it herself.

"How long did you know my aunt?" Danielle asked as she sipped her tea. Marie sat in a loveseat facing her.

"I can't remember never knowing her. Katherine O'Malley used to clean house for my parents, and Mother let her bring Brianna with her. I was three when they sent her away after her mother died. In the beginning, Mother would visit her every few months and take me along. When I was older, the visits stopped, but Brianna and I became pen pals. We kept in touch over the years—a lovely woman."

"I really didn't know her that well. But I was very fond of her," Danielle said. "She was married to my grandfather's brother."

"I know she was very fond of you. She'd write me about you sometimes. She was touched that you made the effort to write her, keep in contact. That meant a great deal to her. She never really had family—aside from her husband. She wasn't able to have children."

"I always thought she led such a glamorous life, traveling the world with my uncle."

"I think she was happy. But she had regrets. I suppose we all do." Marie sipped her tea then asked, "So tell me how you happened to chat with Ben Smith."

"I've been looking for some information on the history of Marlow House. The only newspapers from that era are at the museum, yet the collection is incomplete. Ben is a docent at the museum, and he suggested I talk to you. I understand your father is the one who discovered Walt Marlow's body."

"Yes, it was something he could never forget. They were close friends."

"One thing I'm trying to find out, what happened to Walt Marlow's wife?"

"Angela? Why, she was killed in Portland. Tragic accident, run over by a motor car the afternoon before my father discovered Walt's body."

"So she did die before him," Danielle said more to herself.

"Oh yes, I'll tell you a little secret—my mother could not tolerate the woman. Of course, she avoided mentioning that to my father."

"Why was that?"

"Oh, you know men. So easily taken in by a pretty face. When my father would talk about the circumstance of his friend's death—and of Angela's—he would go on and on with how tragic it all was considering they were so in love and had their entire future in front of them. When I was older, my mother gave me her true opinion of the woman. She found Angela to be a shallow gold digger, who only loved Walt's money. My father's adoration for the woman irritated her, but she let him have his illusions, considering Angela was dead."

"Did your father ever speculate as to why Walt Marlow killed himself?"

"My father never believed it was a suicide. But no one would listen to him."

"It seems like an odd coincidence that both Walt and Angela would die within twenty-four hours of each other."

"And that—oh my—did that cause problems for my father."

"How so?"

"Angela was visiting her brother in Portland. She was shopping downtown when, according to witnesses, a thief snatched her handbag. When running after the purse-snatcher, she was hit by a car. The thief disappeared with the handbag, and when they took her to the hospital, no one knew her identity. That was on Wednesday, the day before my father found Walt Marlow's body. Angela died in the hospital Wednesday evening. It was a week before she was identified. By that time, Walt had been dead for almost a week himself."

"What did you mean it caused problems for your father?"

"Roger took his sister's death hard. Mother said they were very close. But he really went off the deep end when he discovered the estate was going to Katherine O'Malley. Roger insisted his brother-in-law could have died before his sister on Wednesday night. Which would mean the estate would go to Angela—and upon her death, to Roger."

"But your father knew that wasn't true?"

"Angela's time of death was on record. She died in the hospital. My father and Walt Marlow had shared a brandy over at Marlow House—after Angela's time of death. If my father hadn't testified, it's possible Roger could have convinced the courts Walt died first."

"Why didn't your father believe it was suicide?"

"He said there was no reason for Walt to kill himself. He'd often cite Walt's recent marriage and how in love he was. Mother, of course, would roll her eyes and shake her head. Not so Father could see but for my benefit."

"Does that mean your mother thought it was suicide?"

"I'm not really sure. She used to tell me she wouldn't be surprised if poor Walt finally realized the true nature of his bride and decided to end it all. But then she would also tell me she wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had been murdered, had Angela not been killed in Portland. Angela was the only one who had a motive, according to Mother. Of course, Father didn't tell Mother everything he knew about Walt Marlow."

Danielle sipped her tea and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Mother died first, of cancer. She went fairly quickly, back in 1970. I took care of my father during his last years. We would have long talks. He'd often reminisce about his old friend Walt and insist he'd been murdered. He told me things about Walt that he never told my mother."

"Like what?" Danielle set her cup on its saucer.

"He was involved in moonshining. It was during prohibition back then. Even though he inherited a fortune from his grandfather, he preferred taking risks and living on the edge. Father even told me he was involved in a jewelry heist. The heist itself was fairly well known back then—especially because the necklace was never recovered. Outside of my father, I never heard a single soul suggest Walt Marlow was involved."

"How would your father know something like that? Was he...um, involved?"

"My father?" Marie laughed at the suggestion. "No. Father was a straight arrow, but I think he enjoyed living vicariously through Walt. They were childhood friends. My grandfather worked for the Marlow family—they built ships. Father grew up in the house across the street from Marlow House. My mother moved into the house when she married Father."

"Did you grow up in the house?"

Marie shook her head. "No, I was born there, but we moved out shortly after the suicide. Father couldn't get the sight of Walt hanging in the window out of his head. We moved across town, but he kept the property. We still own it today. My grandson rents it out."

"Really? I met your new tenant. He's a teacher?" It was more a question than a statement.

"I stay out of all that. I let Adam handle those matters."

"So your family still lives in Frederickport?"

"Just my grandson, Adam." Marie sipped her tea and then asked, "I believe your aunt mentioned you're married. Is your husband in Frederickport with you?"

"No. Lucas, my husband, was killed in a car accident about six months ago."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, dear."

"That's one reason I decided to move here when I inherited Marlow House."

"A fresh start. Yes, sometimes that is for the best." Marie lifted the teapot, silently offering to refill Danielle's cup.

"No, thank you...About Katherine O'Malley, do you know how she ended up with Roger Calvert and why she shot him?"

"All very sordid, if you ask me!" Marie set the teapot back on the side table. "Mother always liked Katherine. She felt Roger seduced the poor girl, swept her off her feet for her money, in the same way his sister had done with Walt."

"So why did she shoot him?"

"I have no idea. I always wanted to ask Brianna about that night, see what she really remembered, but I never did. It didn't feel right."

"You mean how Katherine fell?"

"According to Mother, the authorities felt she panicked after shooting Roger and tripped, falling to her death. Tragic. A neighbor heard the gunshot and rushed over. Poor Brianna was at her mother's side, sobbing, saying Roger had pushed Katherine down the stairs."

"So why did they think she shot him and then tripped?"

"The police insisted Brianna was confused."

"But why would she shoot him in the first place if she had agreed to marry him?"

"I can only guess. Mother speculated that Katherine realized her mistake. Maybe she was afraid she'd end up like Walt and Angela. Apparently, she was a very superstitious woman. In fact, she refused to step inside Marlow House after she inherited it, because of the suicide."

"I heard that."

"You know, Katherine didn't die immediately. She lingered for several days in the hospital."

"And she never explained what happened?"

"Not as far as I know."

A young man entered the house, interrupting their conversation. Walking into the sitting room, he called out, "Grandma, are..." and then stopped when he saw Danielle sitting with Marie.

"Did you forget about your doctor's appointment?" he asked, glancing from Marie to Danielle.

"Oh my! That's today?" Marie got to her feet.

He glanced at his watch. "In about twenty minutes."

Danielle stood up. "I guess I better get going so you can go to your appointment. I didn't mean to keep you."

"Oh, you didn't, dear! I enjoyed our visit. Danielle, this is my grandson, Adam, Adam Nichols. Adam, this is Danielle Boatman; she's the new owner of Marlow House."

Adam broke into a smile and put out his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Boatman."

Danielle accepted his gesture and was surprised at the intimate way he squeezed her hand instead of shaking it. She looked up into a pair of black eyes. He smiled, lingering a moment before releasing hold of her hand.

"Nice meeting you." After saying her final goodbyes, she made a hasty exit. As she walked to her car, she could feel Adam Nichols's eyes on her.

# Fourteen

Sadie greeted Danielle at the front door, tail wagging. Resisting the temptation to jump up, the dog pushed her wet nose against the fabric of Danielle's long skirt.

"Well, hello there." Danielle reached down and ruffled the fur along Sadie's neck. "Where is everyone?"

"They're upstairs in the attic," Walt called out from the parlor. Danielle tossed her purse on the entry table and walked toward Walt's voice, Sadie trailing beside her. She found him in the parlor, lounging on the small sofa—his feet up—reading an issue of _People Magazine_.

" _Country's Sexiest Men_..." Walt read the front cover's headline as he held the magazine up briefly for Danielle to see. "Is this what women read these days? You like looking at these pictures?" Walt thumbed through the pages in disgust.

Danielle glanced at the table next to the sofa. On it was a stack of magazines.

"Ahh, Lily's magazines," Danielle said as she took a chair.

"She was reading in here before Ian came over."

Sadie sniffed the magazine in Walt's hand, her tail wagging, and then she lay on the floor by his side.

"If you hear Ian and Lily coming, please put that down."

"Why?" Walt peered over the top of the magazine at Danielle.

"I've a feeling all they'll see is a magazine floating over the couch. Might freak them out."

"Interesting. I didn't even consider that." Walt tossed the _People_ with the rest of the magazines on the table. "I'm not used to other people being here."

"What about the housekeeper, Joanne? Did you ever...ahhh...well, open doors or move anything when she was around?"

"I honestly don't remember." He shrugged.

"I thought you were going to keep an eye on things for me."

"He seemed pretty harmless, and I got bored." Walt reached down to pet Sadie. His hand moved through her fur as if she were air.

Walt glanced over at the doorway, then back to Danielle. "So did you find out anything?"

"I'm not sure we should discuss this now. What if Ian and Lily walk in?" Danielle looked over at the doorway.

"I told you, they're in the attic."

"But they could sneak up on us," Danielle whispered.

"The way your friend talks nonstop? I seriously doubt it."

"But still..."

"Sadie, go guard the stairs. Let me know when Ian and Lily start coming down the staircase," Walt instructed. Danielle was about to roll her eyes at such an outrageous command when Sadie jumped up—her tail wagging—let out a bark, then dashed out of the room and parked herself at the base of the stairs.

"She actually understood you," Danielle said in awe.

"I told you she was a smart dog."

"I met Marie Hemming today," Danielle said after shaking her head in disbelief over Walt's unusual relationship with Sadie.

"Little Marie?" Walt sat up, placing his feet on the floor.

"Little Marie is ninety," Danielle quipped.

"What did you find out about Angela?"

"I understand now why Katherine inherited your estate. Angela was killed in Portland. She was hit by a car and died a few hours before your death."

Upon hearing the news, Walt closed his eyes for a moment. It was as if he was hearing about Angela's passing for the first time.

"I rather expected to hear Angela went on to live a long and happy life. Remarried and had a few children."

"Did she want children?"

Walt opened his eyes and looked at Danielle. "No...not particularly. But I suppose not all women start out wanting children."

"If it makes you feel any better, Marie's father never believed you killed yourself. Unfortunately, no one would listen to him, so I assume it wasn't really investigated."

"Where was Roger when my wife was killed? Was he with her?"

"That's what's odd. I would've asked more questions, but she had a doctor's appointment and her grandson came to pick her up."

"What's odd?"

"Unfortunately, I could only find three newspaper articles on your death. The rest of 1925—the rest of the 1920s—was missing. The next paper in the museum's collection was for 1930. But one of the few articles I read had an interview with Roger. It seems he showed up in Frederickport the same day they found your body. George found you in the morning, and Roger showed up that evening. I'm not sure why he was here or why he left Angela in Portland. Angela was already dead by then. Although, I suppose they may have contacted him in Portland, and he came straight here. But why would he leave before finding his sister?"

"I don't really understand what you're saying." Walt frowned.

Danielle didn't respond immediately. She kept playing over in her head what Marie had told her and what she herself had read in the newspaper. There were too many unanswered questions, and the timeline didn't make sense to her.

"This is what I don't understand. According to the newspaper, your body was discovered on Thursday morning when George Hemming got up and looked out the window. The night before he stopped by, and you two shared a brandy. Do you remember what time George left you that night?"

"It was about seven. Why?"

"Well, you obviously died somewhere between seven Wednesday evening and eight Thursday morning. Your wife died in the hospital Wednesday evening before seven. When she was hit by a car, a witness claimed to have seen someone grab her handbag. Angela ran after the thief and was hit by a car. When they took her to the hospital, they didn't know who she was, because she didn't have any identification on her, since her purse had been stolen. In fact, it was a week before she was identified. This would mean she went missing on Wednesday afternoon. If she were visiting her brother, why would he leave Portland on Thursday and come to Frederickport? I would imagine someone had called him that morning, trying to contact Angela about your death, so why would he leave without her?"

"Maybe he was looking for her?"

"I hadn't thought of that...but why didn't they mention that in the paper? I mean, if he came to Frederickport looking for her, why wouldn't there be something in the paper saying that Angela had gone missing?"

"Did you ask Marie about any of this?"

"That Roger was in Frederickport and didn't mention Angela's disappearance? Not really. Her grandson showed up, and she had to get to the doctor."

"Now I understand what happened to Angela—why my estate went to Katherine. Now I need to find out who bumped me off."

"There's something else," Danielle said.

"What?"

"Did you ever notice anything going on between Roger and Katherine?"

"What do you mean?"

"According to Marie, not long after your death Roger and Katherine married."

"What!" Walt jumped to his feet. "Good lord, did those two conspire to kill me for my estate? Did Roger kill his own sister?"

"I don't know." Danielle shook her head. "I've a feeling it was something else. Their marriage didn't last very long."

"Long enough to pilfer my estate!"

"No, actually...they didn't even make it to the honeymoon. Katherine shot and killed Roger, and moments later she fell down the stairs. She died shortly after from the fall. My aunt, just a small child, inherited her mother's fortune and was sent away to a boarding school."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why did she kill him?"

"Marie seems to think he seduced her into marrying him. And perhaps something happened that made her realize her mistake."

Sadie started barking. Danielle glanced to the doorway. A moment later she heard voices.

"Sadie, what are you barking at?" Danielle could hear Ian say. She got up, walked to the parlor doorway and looked out into the entry.

"Danielle, when did you get home?" Lily asked when she reached the landing, Ian by her side.

"Just a few minutes ago. Hello, Ian."

"This is a beautiful house," Ian said. "And you've some amazing antiques. Although, I'd be a little concerned about leaving some pieces in rooms with your guests."

"I finished the inventory!" Lily announced, holding up a legal pad.

"So what's the verdict?" Danielle asked. Lily and Ian followed her back into the parlor. The three sat down. Walt was nowhere to be seen.

"If you ignore Ian's concerns, I don't think you need to buy much. A few pieces might need reupholstering, but you already knew that."

"Unfortunately, that can sometimes cost more than replacing them," Danielle noted.

"True. But they wouldn't have the character of those pieces," Lily insisted. "Seriously, Dani, there is some cool stuff in this house. I used my iPhone to take pictures of everything. Figured you'd want something like that—especially in case of a fire."

"Thanks, Lily. Smart thinking."

"I better take off." Ian stood up. "Sadie's been acting a little strange today. I think she might need a walk."

"Thanks for all your help," Lily said when she stood up.

"Oh, I met your landlord today," Danielle said.

"My landlord?"

"Marie Hemming, I mean Nichols. She owns the house you're renting."

"I've never met her," Ian said. "I rented the house through Frederickport Vacation Properties."

"I met her grandson too—Adam, Adam Nichols, I think that's his name. He handles the rental for her."

Ian shook his head as if the name did not sound familiar. "I never talked to a man."

"I suppose he has Frederickport Vacation Properties manage it."

"That's probably it," Ian said before letting out a little whistle for Sadie. She came rushing into the parlor, her tail wagging.

"Ian really liked your house," Lily said after Ian and Sadie left.

"Sounds like you really like Ian," Danielle teased.

"He's a nice guy. You should've seen him checking out everything," Lily said with a laugh.

"So he likes antiques?"

"Not that, the house. In every room, he'd run his hands over the walls, commenting on the paneling, the workmanship. I've never seen anyone so taken with a house before."

"Really?"

"He asked me if he could take a picture of the portraits. I didn't think you'd mind."

"The portraits?" Danielle asked.

"The ones of Walt Marlow and his wife. They fascinated him."

"Hmmm...I wonder why he'd want to take a picture of them."

"You can ask him when he takes them."

"He didn't take a picture of them yet?"

"No. I offered to give him a copy of the one I took with my iPhone—you know, for the inventory. But he wanted to use his own camera."

"Have you had any lunch yet?" Danielle asked as she stood up.

"Yes. I made sandwiches for Ian and me." Lily stood up and then asked, "Did you get much accomplished today?"

"Just boring errands."

"How did you happen to meet Ian's landlady?" Lily asked as she walked with Danielle to the kitchen.

"Marie Hemming? I stopped at the museum this morning."

"The museum?"

"I was hoping to get a little history on this house. The docent suggested I talk to Marie Hemming. Her family used to live in the house Ian's renting."

"I thought you said your morning was boring?"

Danielle changed the subject, not yet ready to share with Lily what she had found out about the house's history. She was afraid telling Lily about Walt's reported suicide might result in Lily indiscriminately discussing the event around Walt. From past experience, she understood an agitated spirit could be difficult to live with—especially troublesome if one wanted to open for business and the resident spirit went into haunting mode. She appreciated the fact Walt was behaving in a most amicable manner, even if he did insist on sharing her bedroom.

# Fifteen

Ian Bartley walked along the seashore with Sadie, carrying his shoes and leash in one hand and holding the cellphone to his ear with the other. Oregon beaches were not as warm as those he was used to in Southern California. He wore denims instead of shorts with his T-shirt and light jacket. While he was more accustomed to a warmer July along the ocean, he appreciated the fact the shoreline here wasn't crowded. It was also clean—he hadn't seen any litter on the beach since he had arrived.

"She met with Marie...No, I lied...What else could I do?" Ian said into the phone. "I don't think she said anything. But if she did, Lily will tell me...That is none of your business...I won't...I doubt she could connect me with my alter ego...Internet search? The woman is ninety...I think you're worried about nothing...No, they're clueless...It's possible...They haven't...Lily, why?...That is none of your business...I won't...By the way, there's a great portrait of Marlow and his wife in the library...No, the library in Marlow House...Yes, it has a library. More of a large study with bookshelves...Not yet, but I plan to take my camera over there...She said it was okay...No, not Boatman, Lily...I don't think so...Yes, we'll use it...All right, talk to you later."

Ian disconnected from the call and slipped the phone in his jacket's pocket. He gave a little whistle to Sadie and started jogging back toward the boardwalk. Sadie ran along by his side.

When he reached the sidewalk, he slipped his shoes back on, then reached down and hooked the leash on Sadie's collar before heading back to the rental house. He paid little attention to the two men he passed on the sidewalk—the two men Lily had talked to at Pier Café when he had taken her out to breakfast.

The two men made an unlikely pair. Adam wore dress slacks, a neatly pressed button-down shirt, and brown loafers, while his companion wore faded denims, a wrinkled T-shirt, and dirty jogging shoes.

"Wasn't that Ian?" Bill Jones asked Adam when Ian was out of earshot.

"At least that's what he calls himself." Adam laughed.

"I keep forgetting," Bill said as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and gave it a tap on the back of his hand, sending several cigarettes protruding from the package.

"Do you have to smoke?" Adam asked.

"Hey, we're outside," Bill grumbled, using his yellowed teeth to drag one cigarette from the package before lighting it.

"Stinks like shit," Adam spat. "No wonder you don't get women."

"I get plenty." Bill took a drag. "So how are you doing with Boatman?"

"I was about to tell you I met her today."

"You went over there? Did you run into her friend? What did she say?" Bill studied Adam as the two slowly walked down the boardwalk along the beach.

"She came to me." Adam laughed.

"Came to you? What the hell does that mean?"

"When I went to pick up Grandma today to take her to the doctor, Boatman was there. Having tea."

"Why would she do that?" Bill frowned.

"I asked Grandma when I took her to the doctor's. She said Boatman wanted to learn more about the house's history. I guess Ben Smith from the museum told Boatman about her."

"Well, shit, is this going to mess up things?"

"I don't think so. Grandma doesn't really know anything. I mean, she does, but she doesn't know she does."

"Did she tell her about Ian?" Bill asked.

"If she did, it would cook his goose, wouldn't it?" Adam laughed. "But nah, I don't think so."

"Is this going to help us get into the house?"

"It gave me a couple of ideas. But yeah, I think so."

Later that evening Adam stopped back at his grandmother's house.

"Adam, I didn't expect to see you again," Marie said when he walked into her kitchen. He found her sitting at the table, eating a bowl of ice cream. Already dressed for bed, she wore a pink robe over her nightgown and toilet paper wrapped around her hair to protect her curls.

"Would you like some—chocolate?" she asked.

"No, thanks, Grandma. Just thought I'd stop in and see how you were feeling...after your doctor's appointment." He stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked around, as if trying to figure out what he wanted to say.

"Well, dear, you saw me after my appointment. But it is still nice to see you again. I feel fine. Sweet of you to ask." She put a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

"I think I'll have that ice cream after all." Adam opened an overhead kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bowl. Marie watched from the table as her grandson fixed himself a bowl of ice cream before joining her at the table.

"So that's the lady who's living at Marlow House now?" Adam asked.

"Danielle Boatman, yes. Brianna's niece—great-niece. She seems like a sweet girl." Marie picked up a napkin off the table and patted her mouth before taking another spoonful of ice cream.

"I understand she's turning the place into a B and B." Adam glanced up and watched for Marie's reaction.

"Where did you hear that?" Marie asked with a frown.

"Carla, at Pier Café." Adam stood up and went to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses.

"Carla is a little gossip," Marie said.

"Maybe so. But she's more reliable than the _Frederickport Press_." Adam filled each glass with water then returned to the table. He set one in front of Marie.

"Thank you." Marie took a sip of the water. Adam sat back at the table and started eating his ice cream.

"Are you going to see her again?" Adam asked.

"I don't know. I suppose if she has more questions, she'll want to talk to me again. So she might stop by. But it's too far for me to walk over there."

"You said she wanted to know about Walt Marlow?" Adam took a sip of his water.

"Well, the man did kill himself in her house."

"I thought you said your father thought it was murder?"

"Well, either way, having a murder or suicide in a house might make one a little uneasy."

"You mean to live in the house?"

"Yes."

"Did Miss Boatman seem uneasy...living in a house where something like that happened?"

"No...not really. More curious. I guess I can understand. She seemed mostly curious about how Brianna came to own the house. She didn't know Angela Marlow had died before her husband."

"All old news." Adam shrugged.

"I suppose." Marie finished the last of her ice cream and pushed the bowl to one side.

"Grandma, didn't you once show me some old photographs of Brianna O'Malley?"

"Yes, I have some wonderful pictures of her."

"Did you show them to Ms. Boatman?"

"No, it didn't even occur to me. Do you think she'd be interested?"

"I'm sure she would. I bet she'd like to frame some of them to hang in the house. After all, her aunt left her Marlow House. I imagine that sort of thing would go well in a B and B. Visitors to old historical sites always seem to eat up that sort of thing."

"Oh Adam, you're right! What a wonderful idea, and what a nice way for Brianna to be remembered."

"You know, Grandma, you've been saying how you want to go through all your old photographs, give them away to family members who'll appreciate them. I think you should give all the photos of Brianna to Danielle Boatman."

"Do you really think so? You wouldn't mind if I gave them away?"

"Of course not, Grandma. They don't mean anything to me. I think it would be nice." Adam leaned across the table and patted Marie's hand. "I tell you what, why don't I stop over in the morning and help you get that box down from the closet. We can go through it, and I'll take the pictures over to her."

"Are you sure you want to do that? I can always call her up and see if she's even interested in them. If she is, she can get the box down and look through the pictures. She gave me her phone number when she left."

"No, Grandma, I've a feeling she's pretty busy these days, trying to get the house ready to open up for business. If I take those pictures over there, it'll give her time to do something with them if she wants to."

"Adam, you're such a thoughtful grandson." Marie beamed.

Thirty minutes later Adam Nichols sat in his car in front of his grandmother's house. Before starting up the engine, he pulled out his cellphone and rang up Bill Jones.

"Yeah?" Bill answered the phone.

"You want to see the inside of Marlow House tomorrow?"

"What's the plan?"

"Grandma's giving me some photos for Boatman. I'm taking them over to Marlow House tomorrow."

"I'll go. But not sure what good it'll do looking through the house with her there," Bill grumbled.

"The very least, it'll give us a lay of the land."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and won't have to go back," Bill suggested.

"Yeah, right, like that will happen. But you know what I'm really pissed about?"

"What?" Bill asked.

"That I've been living in this damn town for my entire life, and for all that time that house has been vacant. I've never once been in it. All those missed opportunities. It would have been so damn easy back then."

"We didn't know back then," Bill reminded him.

"I know. But it still pisses me off."

"So when do we go over there?"

"I have to go over to Grandma's in the morning first to get the pictures."

"Want me to meet you there?"

"No. I'll give you a call and pick you up after I leave Grandma's."

# Sixteen

After getting out of the shower and drying off, Danielle slipped on a T-shirt and pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she quickly wove her clean damp hair into a French braid before brushing her teeth. Back in her bedroom she climbed into bed and pulled the top sheet and blankets over her as she sat up and leaned against the headboard.

It had been a fairly productive day, she thought. Lily did a good job with the inventory. Danielle had called around to get bids from local upholsterers to refurbish the damaged sofas and chairs. Both the contractor and electrician showed up as promised, and each gave her good news. Tomorrow afternoon the cable people were arriving to hook up her phone, cable, and Internet, and in the morning, she was shopping for new appliances. She wouldn't miss living out of an ice chest. She still needed to call the storage company and arrange to have the rest of her belongings delivered—things she hadn't gotten rid of after selling her house and what she couldn't fit in her car.

She hadn't seen Walt since he had left her in the parlor after Ian and Lily came down from the attic. She wondered what he did all day—where did he go? Just as she pondered that question, Walt appeared, standing at the side of her bed.

"Move over," he told her.

"Excuse me?"

"If you want me to lie on top of you, fine." Walt started to climb onto the bed, his body disappearing through hers.

Letting out a little groan, Danielle quickly scooted over to the other side of the bed. A moment later she and Walt lay side by side on the mattress—Danielle under the blankets and sheet—Walt atop them. As usual, he wore his suit and dress shoes. Together they leaned back against the headboard, Walt puffing on his thin cigar.

"You know, when I get a boyfriend, we'll have to stop this," Danielle quipped.

"You mean husband."

"No. I mean boyfriend."

"You certainly would not share your bedroom with a man who wasn't your husband?"

"I'm sharing my room with you, aren't I?"

"That is hardly the same thing."

"Don't get your panties in a wad. I'll be too busy for a boyfriend anyway."

"Panties in a wad? I really don't understand how you women talk these days. I knew giving women the right to vote was going to cause problems."

"Oh, poor Walt," Danielle teased.

"I read your friend's magazines. I'm not sure I like how much the world has changed."

"Maybe that's a sign for you to move on to the next level."

"You're always trying to get rid of me. I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you," Danielle insisted. "I just don't think our spirits are supposed to be trapped—earthbound. I believe there's something more after this—something better."

"I haven't seen it yet," Walt grumbled.

"No. But you're stuck here—by choice, I suspect."

"I've things to do first—things to find out before I can leave."

"Can I ask you one favor?" she asked sweetly.

"What's that?" Walt turned to look at her. From the cigar in his hand, a trail of smoke curled into the air.

"If you insist on having these chats in my bed, in my bedroom..."

"Our bedroom."

"Okay, our bedroom. Can you please refrain from smoking? I find it very unpleasant while I'm in bed, preparing to go to sleep."

Silently, Walt stared at Danielle for a moment. Finally, he waved his hand; the cigar and smoke disappeared. Only a hint of the cigar's scent lingered in the air.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Now I've something else I've wanted to ask you about all day," Danielle began.

"What's that?" Walt fidgeted with his fingers as if he couldn't figure out what to do with his hands without a cigar to hold.

"When I talked to Marie today—she mentioned something interesting about you."

"Yes?" Walt raised his brow and stopped his fidgeting. He folded his hands together and rested them on his lap.

"Were you a jewel thief?"

"She told you that?" His expression was unreadable.

"She also said you were involved in moonshining."

"My, little Marie has grown up to be quite the gossip."

"Like I said, Little Marie is ninety," Danielle quipped. "Not sure if discussing events that occurred almost a hundred years ago—when all parties are deceased—can really be classified as gossip."

"What else did she say about me?"

"That even though you inherited your grandfather's fortune, you liked to live on the edge."

"I suppose that was true. Following all the rules can be rather boring and predictable. Are you a rule follower, Danielle Boatman?"

"Me? I suppose so."

"I might have disagreed with your assessment of yourself had I not first read those magazines in the parlor."

"What do you mean?" she asked with a frown.

"In my time, a woman who planned to open a boardinghouse—one who shamelessly discussed bringing men into her bed without the benefit of marriage—one would assume she was a...well, a woman of ill repute. Definitely not a rule follower. However, since reading those magazines, it appears that sort of behavior tends to be the norm these days."

"Are you comparing me to a madam?" Danielle asked with an arched brow.

"I'm just saying..." Before he could finish his sentence, Danielle grabbed a pillow and started smacking his side of the bed. Surprised by her outburst, Walt glanced down and watched the pillow repeatedly move through his body. After her unsuccessful attempt to hit him, Danielle halfheartedly cursed and threw the pillow across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor.

Walt looked over at Danielle, who now sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, her arms folded across her chest as she chuckled under her breath and muttered, "Damn ghosts."

"What was that all about?" Walt asked, still a bit dazed.

Danielle looked over at Walt and shook her head. "If you are going to make yourself at home in my bed, at least try not to be insulting."

Together they lay on the bed, saying nothing for several minutes. Finally, Danielle said, "So is it true? You were a jewel thief?" She glanced over at him.

"It was only once. And I had my reasons."

"What were they?" she asked.

"They're mine," he told her.

"The jewels were yours?"

"No, the reasons. The reasons are mine."

"Okay...What happened to them? According to Marie, they were never recovered."

Walt shrugged. "It really doesn't matter now, does it?"

"I suppose not. But it is interesting. I'd love to hear the story sometime."

"I don't think so. Some things are better left in the past," Walt said wearily.

"Okay...I won't pry," Danielle promised. She pulled her knees to her chest. They were still covered by the blanket. Wrapping her arms around her bent limbs, she rested her chin on her knees and peeked over at Walt.

"I wonder how Marie knew. Her father must have told her. I wonder why," Walt murmured.

"She told me her father liked to talk about you."

"George was a good man. I'm surprised he told his daughter those stories."

"I think he missed you. From what Marie said, he lived vicariously through you."

"Vicariously through me?" Walt laughed harshly. "I didn't even make it to my thirtieth birthday. It sounds as if George lived a good long life."

"Sometimes it's not the length of a life, but what you do with it. It sounds like you lived an interesting one."

"Stop trying to patronize me, Danielle." The next moment he was no longer lying next to her but pacing the room, a lit cigar in his hand. Startled by his outburst, she sat up straighter.

"I wasn't patronizing you," Danielle said.

Bringing the cigar to his lips, he glared over at her. Realizing what he was holding, he let out a little curse, and the cigar vanished.

"What did I ever accomplish in my life?" he asked. "By the time my grandfather was my age—the age I was when I died—he was a successful shipbuilder, employed hundreds of people, built this town. What did I do with my life?"

"Who knows what you might have accomplished had you lived."

"I didn't even leave a son to carry on my grandfather's name. Do you want to know why I'm certain I didn't take my own life?"

"Why?"

"Because I was too damn selfish. There is no way in hell I would have killed myself."

Danielle didn't respond immediately. Finally, she said, "Do you have any idea who might have killed you?"

"I can only think of one person who had a motive."

"Who?"

Walt stopped pacing and stared at Danielle, his expression blank. Finally, his mouth curled into a sardonic smile.

"Who?" she asked again as he stood mute, smirking at her.

"Why, my lovely bride, of course."

"Angela?" Danielle was not prepared for that answer.

"Yes, Angela, my fair bride." He let out a bitter laugh and started pacing again. "I don't know if I'm relieved that she died before me—or simply confounded that she wasn't the one responsible."

"I don't understand. I got the impression that you loved your wife."

"Oh, I loved her. At least I thought I loved her, in the beginning. But was it love or pride that I felt? Ego?"

"Ego?"

"We met in San Francisco. All the eligible and wealthy bachelors chased her; she was a prize. But I didn't even have to chase her. She knew what she wanted, and I must say that stroked my ego."

"What happened?"

"You mean when did I realize she just wanted my money?"

"I guess that's what I mean."

"Not long after we returned from our wedding trip, my attorney dropped by my revised will, and she took it upon herself to read it. She was furious Katherine was in it."

"But why? I mean, Angela would have inherited your estate had she lived, and Katherine wouldn't have gotten anything."

"She was angry that I slighted her brother. She told me he was family, and Katherine was nothing more than a servant. She had a point, of course—after all, I hadn't added Katherine to my will because of love for the woman, but because I loathed my brother-in-law. Angela and I got into an argument, and in our heated exchange I told her I intended to add a codicil to the will to ensure her brother couldn't touch my money even if she did inherit."

"Is that even possible?"

"I don't know. I never got a chance to talk to my attorney about it."

"Why do you think she just wanted your money?"

"Our honeymoon was not ideal. I can't really explain it. But she seemed to change. When we had the argument before she left for Portland, I began to feel she was really no different from her brother. And then...then..." Walt paused a moment.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered something she said right before she left for Portland. Something she said under her breath. I don't think she intended me to hear it, but I did."

"What was it?"

"Why is it some of my memories seem to have been locked away from me until now?"

"I don't know how it all works."

"Under her breath I heard her say— _I can't become a widow fast enough_."

# Seventeen

Lily and Danielle spent the next morning away from Marlow House, out shopping. Danielle picked out kitchen appliances, a new washer and dryer, and two flat-screen televisions. They loaded the televisions in the car, but the appliances wouldn't be delivered until the first of the next week. They got home in time for lunch and in time to greet the cable man, who installed Danielle's new landline, cable, and Internet.

Exhausted from the busy morning and afternoon, Danielle sprawled out on her bed and began flipping through the channels of her new television. Ian had stopped by fifteen minutes earlier to invite Lily and Danielle out for ice cream down at the pier. Danielle declined the offer, certain that Lily would rather have Ian to herself. Danielle was alone in the house, except for Walt, whom she had not seen since the night before.

"What in the hell is that?" Walt asked when he appeared in Danielle's room. He stood in front of the television, hands on his hips, staring at the flat screen as Danielle flipped through channels.

"A TV. Or television. I guess you've never seen one." Danielle stopped channel hopping and looked up at Walt, who was still staring at the new television. He watched in fascination as cowboys on horseback galloped across the screen in an old John Wayne movie. Still watching, his eyes fixed on the horseback riders, Walt backed up to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"A movie theater in your home? Amazing..." Walt whispered in awe. "How is that possible?"

"There've been lots of changes in the world over the last hundred years," Danielle explained.

"I've seen movies in color...I knew they were working on sound...but this..."

Danielle sat up and moved to the end of the mattress, sitting next to Walt. She showed him the television remote and explained how it worked. Flipping through the channels, she described the different viewing options—entertainment, news, sports, history, education, regular features, movies, and more.

He began asking questions, and she could barely finish answering one when he would ask another. He wanted to know everything from how the pictures got into the little box to programming choices.

"Think of reading material," Danielle said when trying to explain the programing. "Watching a news show is sort of like reading the newspaper. Watching a sports show is like going to a sporting event, like a baseball game. A documentary, like something on _The History Channel_ , is like reading a nonfiction book, while watching a movie or some television programs is like reading a book of fiction. Like the movies back in your day, except with sound. Some shows, like cooking shows or home repair shows, are sort of like magazine articles for people who like to cook or fix up their houses. Some of the programs are just to entertain, while others inform."

"Fascinating..." Walt murmured, his eyes still focused on the screen.

Danielle was about to change the channel when it changed on its own.

"What the heck?" Danielle frowned, looking at the remote in her hand. The channel changed again. She looked up at Walt.

"Did you do that?" she asked.

"Interesting." Walt smiled as the channel changed again.

"You are doing that!"

Walt shrugged. "You told me to learn how to harness my energy. This is surprisingly easy. I don't even need that little controller of yours." Suddenly the television turned off. It then turned on again.

"Did you do that?" Danielle asked.

Walt didn't respond. He just smiled, his eyes fixed on the television.

Shaking her head, she got up from the bed. "Fine, watch if you want. But please, keep the sound down, especially when Lily gets back." Danielle let out a weary sigh and then walked to the bedroom door and glanced back at Walt. He sat on the edge of the mattress, engrossed in the TV as he flipped through the channels—never once touching the remote. He reminded her of a child with a new toy. Shaking her head, she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Just as Danielle got downstairs, she heard Lily and Ian entering the house. Lily was laughing, and then Ian said something and laughed.

"How was the ice cream?" Danielle asked as she stepped on the landing.

"Good. You should have come with us," Lily said as she, Ian, and Sadie walked into the house. Sadie trotted over to Danielle, greeting her with a wet nose and wagging tail. Just as Danielle patted Sadie, the dog took off, dashing up the staircase.

"Sadie!" Ian called after her.

"Oh, let her go," Danielle said. "She loves to explore up there, and there's nothing she can get into."

"I really don't know what's gotten into her lately. She's never acted like that before." Ian looked up the staircase where Sadie had just disappeared.

"Like what?" Lily asked.

"She doesn't listen to me," Ian said. "At least not over here. She's never done that before, just taken off and ignore me."

"She did that the first day we met," Lily reminded him.

"What?" Ian frowned at Lily.

Danielle watched Ian, noticing his brief confusion and then the moment he realized what Lily was talking about. Sadie—according to Ian—had run off and ignored his command the day she had run into the backyard of Marlow House. Or had she? Danielle wondered. What was Ian hiding? Had Ian used his dog as a ploy to meet Lily—that Danielle could accept—or was he lying about his profession? That she could not understand.

The doorbell rang, interrupting Danielle's train of thought. Lily, who stood closest to the door, turned and opened it. Standing on the front porch were two men—the two men Lily and Ian had encountered at Pier Café. Lily's eyes widened. The one she had initially spoken to at the café wore dress slacks and shirt, and his companion wore denims and a blue work shirt. One of them was carrying a cardboard box.

"Hello, is Danielle Boatman here?" Adam Nichols asked. Danielle heard his question, but she could not see who was at the front door and stepped closer.

"You're the man from Pier Café, the one who asked about Marlow House," Lily said.

"Mr. Nichols? Hello, how is your grandmother?" Danielle asked, now standing next to Lily in the doorway.

"She's fine. And please call me Adam. She found some photos of your aunt that she thought you might like."

"Photos? Oh, please come in. Lily, this is Adam Nichols; he's Marie Hemming's grandson. I told you about her." Danielle and Lily stepped aside and let the two men into the house. Ian stood quietly in the entry hall, watching.

"This is Bill Jones," Adam introduced as Danielle shut the front door. "We had a job in your neighborhood, and my grandmother wanted to know if I'd drop this off when we were over here."

"Let's go into the parlor," Danielle suggested as Bill handed her the box. "This is my friend Lily and our friend Ian. He's renting your grandmother's house."

"We met them at the café," Lily explained as they walked into the parlor.

"We didn't actually meet them," Ian reminded her as he quietly looked the men over.

"Yes, Pier Café. We were discussing Ms. Boatman's plans for Marlow House," Adam said, looking at Lily before turning to Danielle and asking, "You're turning Marlow House into an inn, I understand?"

"Please call me Danielle. And not an inn exactly, a B and B. Lily mentioned meeting you. Of course, I had no idea you were Marie's grandson. How did you hear about my plans?"

"I have to keep up on the potential competition." Adam grinned.

"Competition?" Danielle set the cardboard box on a small table by the window.

"I own Frederickport Vacation Properties," Adam explained. "Bill here works for me, does repairs and maintenance."

"That's who I rented my house from," Ian said. "Frederickport Vacation Properties."

"Yes, I handle my grandmother's properties. How's the house working out for you?" Adam asked.

"So far, so good." Ian smiled.

Adam turned to Danielle. "If you ever need a handyman—especially to help you get this place open, I can vouch for Bill here. He's dependable. Been working for me since I opened the company."

"I'm always looking for new jobs," Bill told her. "Need to keep busy."

"Well, thanks." Danielle smiled as she opened the box Bill had handed her. "I'll remember that."

"Does your grandmother need these back?" Danielle asked. "I could scan them."

"Oh no, they're yours if you want them. Grandma's been going through her things. Giving photos to family members and friends. She thought you might like these."

"That was very thoughtful of her..." Danielle murmured as she sorted through the box, looking at the photographs, turning each one over to read the inscription on the back. Lily stood at her side, looking at the pictures.

Lily picked up one of the photographs. "She was a beautiful woman."

"Yes, she was. But these pictures of her at the boarding school, it sort of breaks my heart," Danielle said, studying one photograph.

"Why is that?" Adam asked.

"It's just so sad that she lost her mother. That there wasn't any family to take her in."

"What happened to her father?" Ian asked.

"I don't know anything about him," Danielle said. "To be honest, my aunt never discussed her parents. I didn't even realize she'd been orphaned at such a young age. Not until I talked to Ben over at the museum."

"She and her mother never lived in this house, did they?" Bill asked, looking around the room curiously.

"As far as I know, they never did." Danielle placed the photos back in the box and closed the lid.

"I would love to see the rest of this house," Bill said. "I've always wondered what it looked like inside. Seems like it's in great shape."

"Well, come, I'll give you both a tour if you like," Danielle offered.

"Thanks, we'd love that," Adam said.

Lily and Ian stayed in the parlor while Danielle showed Adam and Bill from the room to the entry, heading first to the library.

"Something about those guys sort of creeps me out," Lily said when Adam and Bill were out of earshot.

"I know what you mean," Ian agreed. "If I understand correctly, the guy dressed like a car salesman—Adam—is the grandson of the woman who owns the house I'm renting? And she knew Danielle's aunt, the one who left her Marlow House?"

"Yes. Dani told me all about it when we went shopping this morning. I guess her aunt, actually her great-aunt by marriage, was just a little girl when her mother inherited this house from her employer, Walt Marlow."

"Yes, the man in the portrait. How did he die exactly?"

"Walt Marlow? Gee, I'm not really sure; we didn't talk about him. The only thing I know about him is that he left his estate to his wife, but if his wife died before him, the house was to go to his housekeeper. That was the mother of Dani's aunt, Katherine O'Malley."

"So obviously, his wife died first."

"Yes. Not long after Katherine inherited the house, she remarried—and this is the interesting part—she killed her new husband and then fell to her death, leaving poor Dani's aunt an orphan."

"So Danielle really knew nothing about the history of Marlow House. Were any stories passed down from her aunt?"

"No. She didn't know anything until she talked with the people at the museum and Marie Hemming."

"How did you know the portraits in the library were of Walt Marlow and his wife? I didn't notice any name plaques on the paintings."

"Dani told me."

"But how did she know?"

"I'm not really sure." Lily shrugged. "I recall asking Dani about that when we first saw the portraits, and she said it was just something she remembered."

"So she _did_ know some history about the house and Walt Marlow before coming to Frederickport."

"I guess so..."

# Eighteen

"Is that Walt Marlow?" Adam asked, looking up at one of the portraits in the library.

"Yes," Danielle answered.

"So he's the one who hanged himself in the attic." Bill glanced briefly at the painting then turned his attention to the rest of the library. As he walked along the bookshelves, his fingertips traced the outline of the woodwork.

"I don't think he hanged himself. I think he was murdered." The moment Danielle said the words she realized she believed them. Walt Marlow had been murdered. _But who killed him?_ she wondered.

Walt admitted he had been involved in the jewel heist and with moonshining. Had someone from his shady past had a reason to kill him? Or was it Angela and her twin brother? Had Roger been in Frederickport all along? Was Angela only in Portland to establish an alibi for herself and her brother? No doubt, she had visited friends in Portland who could have vouched for her when she was questioned about her whereabouts during her husband's death. However, she had been killed in an accident, which meant instead of becoming a rich widow, she had made Walt a widower—and his fortune would pass on not to her brother but to the housekeeper.

Had Roger found a way to get his hands on Walt's money—and perhaps Katherine discovered the truth? Was it possible Katherine killed Roger out of self-defense? Danielle's mind raced with all the possibilities.

"I've heard my grandmother mention that," Adam said.

Danielle stared up at the portrait, paying little attention to the two men, who took special interest in the library—and all its architectural secrets.

Adam glanced over at Danielle. When he could see she was not watching him but studying the portrait, he gently wiggled and pressed along the fireplace mantel and pushed against the paneling covering the wall.

Danielle faced the men. "I would really appreciate it if we don't discuss Walt Marlow." She frowned slightly when she noticed the way both Bill and Adam abruptly dropped their hands to their sides and looked sheepishly in her direction.

Adam reached out and awkwardly patted the paneling next to the fireplace. "Love these old houses. They sure don't build them like this anymore."

"No...I guess they don't," Danielle said with a puzzled frown.

"Why don't you want us talking about Marlow?" Bill asked.

"Well...you know...feng shui and all," Danielle said weakly, glancing up to the ceiling. She wondered if Walt was still glued to the television.

"Feng shui? Isn't that some hippy dippy thing?" Bill asked. "What's it have to do with Marlow?"

"The man did die in this house," Danielle whispered. "I really see no reason to stir all that up—negative energy and all."

"You believe in ghosts?" Adam asked.

"Ghosts? Why, certainly not!" Danielle gave a nervous laugh. "But I do believe in the power of positive and negative energy, and frankly, a violent death, be it suicide or murder, could interfere in my efforts to create...well, a positive feng shui...harmony. After all, I do intend to open Marlow House to guests. I'd like this place to have an inviting aura."

Adam and Bill stared at Danielle. Blushing, she could only imagine what they were thinking. _Hippy dippy_ , she thought. _Yep, that is definitely what they are thinking about now—and I would have to agree with them._

In her encounters with spirits, Danielle had learned that sometimes—if provoked—a spirit could be volatile. She would prefer not to test Walt, and she had no idea how he might respond if someone started discussing his reported suicide, especially since he was adamantly opposed to the idea.

"Uhh...well, sure. We won't mention Marlow if you think it will...uhh...screw up your feng shui," Adam promised. When Danielle turned to the doorway away from the men, Adam glanced at Bill and rolled his eyes.

Bill snickered under his breath. Looking at Adam, he mouthed, _Airhead_.

Danielle showed the men through the rest of the rooms on the first floor before heading upstairs.

"What's in there?" Bill asked when they passed the closed door leading to Danielle's room.

"Oh, that's my room," Danielle said, not offering to show them in.

"Did you take the master bedroom?" Adam asked.

"Yes, I believe it was."

"Does it have a fireplace? This room seems to be above the library," Bill said.

"Yes, it does have a fireplace."

"Can we see it?" Adam asked and then added, "We don't care if you didn't make your bed. It's just these old houses are so fascinating."

Danielle smiled weakly. _I did say they could see the house...and they did bring those pictures over_ , she told herself.

"Okay," Danielle said reluctantly, wondering if Walt was still watching her television. When she opened the door, she found Walt lounging on the bed with Sadie curled up on his lap, her body going through his as they watched _The History Channel_.

"You have a dog?" Bill asked. Sadie lifted her head, looked at Bill, and began to growl.

"No...she's Ian's...I thought I'd left the door shut..." she muttered. "I've never heard her growl before."

"I had to let her in," Walt explained. "She was scratching at the door. Who are your friends? I don't think Sadie likes them. And why are you bringing men to your room anyway?"

"Sadie, be nice. This is Marie Hemming's grandson, Adam, and his friend Bill."

"I don't think Sadie knows my grandmother," Adam smirked. He glanced over at Bill and rolled his eyes.

"You forgot to turn your television off," Bill said, picking up the remote and turning off the set. In the next moment it went back on again. Bill frowned and turned it off again. It turned back on.

"It's broken." Danielle grabbed the remote from Bill.

"Well, that's the damnedest thing," Bill muttered. "Here, I bet you can turn it off directly on the TV—"

"No!" Danielle grabbed his hand as he reached for the television. "Just leave it on. It'll keep Sadie company."

"That woman should be blonde." Adam laughed when he got into his car with Bill twenty minutes later.

"No shit. We have to watch what we say so we don't offend the house!"

"How about we leave the television on to keep her neighbor's dog company." Adam laughed.

"I gave her my business card, but I'm not sure she'll call me. I got the feeling she wanted to get us out of the house," Bill said. "You don't think your grandma said anything about me, do you? I know she doesn't like me."

"Don't be lame. When would they have talked about you? Until Boatman met you today, she didn't even know you were alive."

"I know, but her friend remembered us."

"Looks like she and Ian have gotten real cozy," Adam noted.

"Wonder what he's been able to find out."

"Not enough, considering he's still sticking around." Adam put the key in the ignition and started the engine.

"So what now?" Bill asked.

"Did you see any likely places?"

"A few, but I think our best bet is the attic." Bill looked out the car window and glanced up at the attic window of Marlow House as Adam pulled the car into the street.

"That's what I was thinking too." Adam drove the car down the road, away from Marlow House.

"If she doesn't plan to do any major renovation, then I think we have a little time. What I'm afraid of is some crew going in there and knocking down walls." Bill glanced over at Adam. "We're certain they're hidden? Not shoved in a shelf in the kitchen or under a bathroom sink?"

"According to Gloria, she did a complete inventory of the house after Boatman's aunt died," Adam told him.

"No mention of priceless jewelry?"

"No." Adam shook his head at the idea.

"You don't think she found it? And...well, you know...kept it?"

"Gloria? Hell no. I've known Gloria since junior high. Little miss goodie good."

"What about Joanne?" Bill asked.

"You really think Joanne would still be cleaning houses if she stumbled across something that valuable?"

"You never know. Maybe she figured it belonged to Brianna and she didn't want to go to jail. And then after the old gal died, she took it, figured no one would know."

"I don't think so." Adam shook his head. "She would have taken off by now. She hasn't."

"What about before the estate hired Joanne? One of the earlier housekeepers. That place has been vacant for years."

"I suppose that's always a possibility. But I have a gut feeling it's stashed somewhere in that house."

"That's what we hope. He could have put it anywhere, even sold it," Bill said.

"I don't think he took it to sell. The guy was loaded. No, he wanted it for himself. And I can't believe he would have kept it anywhere else other than Marlow House."

"It'll be an interesting treasure hunt. But it would've been a hell of a lot easier if we had jumped right on this and hadn't taken Renton's word for it that the new owner wasn't arriving for a few more weeks. We could have been in and out of there already."

"Well, we didn't. And if Boatman doesn't want to hire you, then there's only one thing left for us to do."

"Break into the house?" Bill asked.

"It'll be easy enough. We'll just have to do it when those two are gone for the day—and before they open for business. There'll be too many people around after that. I don't want anyone in the house when we go in."

"I'm glad that dog isn't theirs. Otherwise we might have to deal with it when we break in."

"No shit. That dog didn't seem to like you." Adam laughed.

"Didn't seem too thrilled with you either."

# Nineteen

Driving down the street toward Marlow House, Joanne Johnson noticed a man and woman standing by its front gate. She thought there was something familiar about the man, but she was too far away to see him clearly. Just as she pulled up in front of the house and parked, the man sprinted in front of her car before crossing the street. He didn't seem to notice Joanne as he raced by the front of her car, yet she recognized him immediately, or at least she thought she did—Jon Altar. She glanced up at Marlow House and noticed the woman, a petite redhead, was still standing by the gate, waving goodbye to the man. Glancing back at him, Joanne watched as he went into the house across the street.

_That's odd_ , Joanne thought as she turned off her engine and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. Exiting the car, she glanced up at Marlow House and noticed the redhead had just gone through the gate.

By the time Joanne made it to the front door of Marlow House, the redhead had already gone inside. Standing at the door, she rang the bell. A few moments later a brunette answered the door.

"Hello, can I help you?" Danielle greeted her. Her fingers absently combed through her now curly hair, which had just moments earlier been freed from its braid.

"I'm Joanne Johnson. I'm here to see Danielle Boatman."

"Oh, hello!" Danielle beamed, opening the door wider. "I'm Danielle. Please come in."

"Thank you." Joanne stepped through the doorway, clutching her handbag. She glanced around as if she expected the entry to look different from the last time she had been at the house. It didn't.

"I guess I have you to thank for keeping this house in such wonderful condition," Danielle said as she closed the door. At that moment Lily stepped out from the parlor to see who had arrived.

"Lily, come," Danielle said. "This is Joanne Johnson, the one who worked for my aunt all those years. Ms. Johnson, this is my friend Lily."

"Almost twenty-five years," Joanne said as she nodded hello to Lily. "But please, call me Joanne."

"Nice to meet you, Joanne. I have to agree with Dani, the house looked great when we arrived."

"Thank you. I hope you found everything in order. I wanted to leave you something in the kitchen, a few groceries so you'd have something when you arrived. But the icebox hasn't worked for years."

"That's okay. I suppose we have you to thank for the toilet paper—for that we definitely thank you." Danielle laughed. "Let's go into the parlor, it's more comfortable."

"Parlor?" Joanne raised her brow as she followed Lily and Danielle into the small room. "You call it a parlor?"

"Well, isn't that what they used to call this room?" Danielle asked as she showed Joanne to the small sofa.

"Yes, but I haven't heard that term in years. It's very quaint." Joanne smiled.

"I rather like the sound of parlor." Danielle grinned. "I believe every bed and breakfast should have one."

"I heard you were thinking of turning Marlow House into a bed and breakfast." Joanne sat on the sofa and glanced around. They hadn't made any changes, except for an addition of a television on the far wall.

"News sure travels fast in this town," Danielle said.

"Yes...yes, it does. I was wondering, is Jon Altar staying in the house across the street? I must say I was a little surprised to see him here."

"I'm sorry, who?" Danielle asked.

"Jon Altar, he was just leaving when I arrived." Joanne turned to Lily and said, "You were talking to him at the front gate."

"You mean just a few minutes ago?" Lily asked.

"Yes. Right when I drove up."

"That was Ian Bartley. He's renting the house across the street."

"No, that can't be right. Not unless he's Jon Altar's twin," Joanne insisted.

"Jon Altar, why is that name familiar?" Danielle asked.

"He's an author. Maybe you've read his work. I never have, but he interviewed me about Marlow House."

"About Marlow House? What did he want to know about Marlow House?" Danielle asked.

Confused, Lily looked from Joanne to Danielle.

"Apparently, he's writing a travel book about the Oregon Coast, featuring some of the old houses and their history. He wanted to know about the house's history. I was just surprised to see him again so soon. I had no idea he was renting a house here."

"There has to be some mistake," Lily insisted. "You're confusing Ian for this Jon. Ian's a teacher, not a writer."

"I told you he wasn't a teacher," Walt said, appearing in the room.

"If that wasn't Jon Altar, then it's true what they say, we all have a double. And in this case they are both Cubs fans."

"Cubs fans?" Lily asked.

"Why, yes. When Jon Altar interviewed me, he was wearing a Cubs baseball hat just like your friend."

Lily and Danielle exchanged questioning glances.

"Why would he lie about something like that?" Lily asked.

"Like I said, I told you he wasn't a teacher!" Walt reiterated. Danielle shot him a dirty look. She found him distracting, and the fact she was the only one in the room who could see or hear him added to her annoyance. She wanted nothing more than to be able to tell him to be quiet so they could figure this thing out.

"She did ask me not to discuss the book he was working on. I suppose I shouldn't have said anything to you," Joanne said.

"She?" Danielle asked.

"He was with a woman. She asked me not to discuss the book."

"Who was the woman?" Danielle asked.

"He didn't say exactly. I got the impression it was his wife."

"You're saying he's married?" Lily asked.

"I can't say for sure. But the way they acted, that was the general impression I got. You know, a husband and wife team."

"There has to be some mistake," Lily muttered.

"Do you smell that?" Joanne asked abruptly.

Lily sniffed the air. "Yeah, cigar smoke. Smells just like the brand my grandpa smokes."

"It is the oddest thing," Joanne said. "Every once in a while I get a whiff of that smell in this house. I've often imagined it was Walt Marlow smoking a cigar."

"See, I knew Joanne wasn't completely ignoring me all these years." Walt sounded pleased with himself. He took a seat on the sofa next to Joanne.

"I imagine you're wondering why I'm here." Joanne realized she hadn't stated her reason for the visit.

"Yes, I suppose I did wonder. But I've been wanting to meet you," Danielle said.

"I found an extra set of keys to the house, and I figured I'd bring them to you rather than dropping them off at Mr. Renton's office." Joanne opened her purse and started looking for the keys.

"You said you've been cleaning for my aunt for twenty-five years?"

"Yes. But you know, in all that time I never met her. She never visited Marlow House. I always thought that was such a shame, this place going to waste. A few years back I thought I'd meet her because she ordered the new beds."

"I understand she was planning to come, but something came up," Danielle said.

"Yes. Her husband died."

"That's right...I didn't think about that, but that was about the time he got ill and passed away. I wonder why she didn't come—after."

"I don't think your aunt wanted to live in this big house all alone. Although we never met, we talked on the phone from time to time. She would call to check on the house, see if it needed any repairs."

"I wonder why she didn't sell it," Danielle said.

"I got the impression she always intended to come back." Finding the keys, Joanne pulled them from her purse, stood up, and handed them to Danielle.

"Yes, but it was never really her home. So it's not like she would actually be coming back." Danielle took the keys from Joanne.

"I suppose you're right." Joanne sighed.

"I was wondering," Danielle asked, holding the keys in her hand. "I'll be needing a housekeeper, especially when we open for business. I don't know if you're taking any new jobs or if you'll be interested. But I'd like you to consider. The only problem, I'd need someone for more than one day a week."

"That sounds interesting," Joanne said. "I've always had a soft spot for Marlow House. Let me think about it, and I'll get back to you. Do you have a phone?"

"Yes. In fact, we just had our landline hooked up." Danielle walked to the small desk in the corner and opened a drawer. It was empty. "I really need to get some paper and pens to keep in here." She closed the drawer.

"Here, I've a pen and paper." Joanne fished in her purse again and found a slip of paper and pencil. She handed them to Danielle, who jotted down her name and phone number before handing the paper and pencil back to Joanne.

They chatted for about fifteen more minutes before Joanne told them she needed to be going. Lily and Danielle walked her to the front door, said goodbye, and watched her walk toward the front gate. Lily lingered at the open doorway after Joanne got into her car and drove away.

"You coming in?" Danielle asked from the entry hall.

"In a minute." Lily sighed.

"What's wrong, Lily?"

"Do you think she was right? Is Ian really this Jon guy? Is he married?"

"I don't know. But I can't see why he would hide something like that. And why keep some travel book a secret?"

"He did seem pretty interested in this house," Lily said.

"I know, but why not just come out and tell us he's writing a travel book and wants to include Marlow House? Heck, I'd love something like that—it would be great for business."

"You think he's married?"

"I don't know. But Joanne admitted she was only speculating. Maybe the woman is his editor or something. And as far as we know, Joanne may be wrong. Ian might just look like this Jon guy."

"And they're both Cub fans?"

# Twenty

In a long nightgown, with her back to the open doorway of the bedroom she was using, Lily pulled down the blankets and sheets of her bed.

"How are you doing?" Danielle asked from the doorway.

Lily turned to face her. "Fine, I guess." She shrugged.

"You're going to bed already? It's kind of early."

"I'm tired. It's been a long day. I feel drained." Lily got into the bed and pulled the covers over her.

"I was getting ready to hook up my laptop, take my new Wi-Fi for a test run. Figured we could Google this Jon Altar character, see if we can find any pictures of him. If he's an author, he must have some sort of web presence."

"You go ahead. You can tell me what you find in the morning. I don't want to deal with this now."

"You really like this guy, don't you?" Danielle walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I just met him Tuesday."

"But you wanted to get to know him better?"

"I guess...I mean, I really enjoyed spending time with him. I thought he liked me too."

"Who's to say he doesn't?"

"For one thing, if he really is this author guy, he lied to us. And if he is married, well, that really pisses me off. Yet, to be honest, I have no right to be pissed off about it since we just met and it's not like we went on a real date or anything."

"I know how awful it feels to be betrayed by someone you care about."

"Lucas...yeah...I thought about that tonight. I imagine that betrayal felt ten times worse than mine, considering everything."

"Yes...well...like that old cliché says, _time heals all wounds_ ," Danielle said.

"But does it really?"

"I don't know." Danielle shrugged. "Maybe it just dulls the pain. Perhaps the better cliché to cite would be, _when one door shuts, another opens_."

"Marlow House is that other door?"

"I hope so."

"Do you think you're going to be happy here?"

"No guarantees on happiness. But it will at least keep me occupied."

"I'm glad you're turning the place into a B and B. I'd worry about you being lonely after I leave."

"Well, this house—" Danielle glanced around the room "—has a life of its own."

"Do you think you're going to miss your company...your job?"

"Considering what happened...no. Too many memories. Plus I can see it now...each time someone new is hired, one of the employees will feel compelled to tell them the tragic story of Lucas and Danielle. It was stupid of me to let Lucas hang that ridiculous portrait of us in the lobby."

"It wasn't ridiculous."

"If you think about it, the only way I could take that damn portrait down—considering all that happened—was by selling the company."

"You gave it to Lucas's mom?"

"I think she was grateful I didn't burn it."

Danielle stood up and then asked, "You sure you don't want to go surfing with me?"

"No, I'm going to go to sleep. You tell me what you find in the morning."

When Danielle returned to her bedroom, she found Walt sitting on the edge of her bed, watching television. Grabbing her pajama bottoms and T-shirt, she headed for the bathroom. Absorbed in the television program he was watching, Walt failed to notice Danielle.

Walt was still watching television when Danielle returned to the bedroom twenty minutes later, wearing her pajama bottoms and T-shirt and carrying her laptop computer.

"Don't think you're going to be watching that all night," Danielle warned as she climbed onto her bed. Leaning against the headboard, she sat up, with her feet on the mattress. She placed the laptop on her lap and opened it.

"What's that?" Walt asked. The television turned off.

"It's a laptop computer," Danielle explained as she powered it up. "Another technological advancement of my generation."

"So that's what one looks like..." Walt sat next to Danielle, looking over her shoulder.

"How did you know about laptops?"

"It's amazing what one can learn from a television. It is surprising people manage to get anything done with all these fascinating distractions."

"You aren't the only one to wonder about that," Danielle murmured as she entered her Wi-Fi password and went online.

"It looks like a television in a suitcase. What's the difference?"

"You mean between a television and computer?"

"Yes." Walt leaned back on the headboard, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

"Well...it's a little like a library...full of information. Sort of like a telephone, in that you can talk to people who are on their computers. And you can use it like a typewriter, but instead of your words going directly on paper, they're saved in your computer, and you can print them out later."

"What are you doing with it now?"

"I'm trying to see if I can find out anything about our neighbor Ian."

"I told you he wasn't a teacher."

"Yes, you've said that before."

Walt watched as Danielle's fingers danced over the keyboard. "So you can find out information on Ian in there?"

"Well, I'm not looking for Ian...yet. I'm searching for Jon Altar the author...Bingo!"

"What?" Walt leaned closer to the laptop. On the monitor was a picture of Ian.

"Oh crap..." Danielle moaned as she looked at Jon Altar's webpage and scrolled down to his photograph. If she thought it was just an uncanny resemblance between the two men, that thought dissolved when she spied the golden retriever by his side—whose name, according to the webpage, was Sadie.

"Why would he hide the fact he was an author? Why lie about his name?" Danielle asked as she clicked through his website, reading all that she could find on the man.

"I don't understand," Danielle said.

"What?" Walt asked, confused by what he was seeing.

"Joanne said Jon Altar was working on a travel book. According to this, he doesn't write those kinds of books. He does write nonfiction, but his are more...well...edgy...they're about real-life mysteries and intrigue. Now I know why his name sounded familiar. I've seen a couple of his specials on television. Travel shows are not his thing, unless he's changing genre, but I don't see why he would."

"Does it say anything about him being a teacher?"

"Oh, shut up about the teacher already!" Danielle elbowed Walt, only to have it move through his body.

Walt glanced down at his chest. "That wasn't nice."

Ignoring him, Danielle did another search, this time for Ian Bartley.

"Well, this is interesting," Danielle said a few moments later.

"What?"

"It seems our friend Ian isn't a complete liar. According to this article on Jon Altar the author, his real name is Ian Bartley. Jon Altar is a pen name. It doesn't mention anything about a wife or family."

"Lily seemed rather upset. I believe she likes him."

"Yeah, I think you're right." Danielle closed the laptop.

"What was that about your and Lucas's portrait?" Walt studied Danielle's profile.

"You were listening to us, weren't you?"

"I have good ears."

"You don't have any ears."

"You are being mean again."

"You invaded Lily's dreams, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure I like the term invaded."

"Well, did you?" Danielle studied Walt.

"I wanted to have a chat with Lily. She can't see me, you know...not like you."

"You visited her dream when we were staying at the Seahorse Motel, didn't you?"

"I think so." Walt looked unsure.

"You think so?"

"I'm not really sure how I did it exactly. But after you left and went back to the motel, I had some questions. I started thinking of you and Lily, and then, well, the next thing I know I'm with Lily. But it was very confusing and someone else was there."

"Someone else?"

"Yes. I don't know who exactly. The next thing I know I'm back here. I wondered if I could do it again. It was easier the second time. You're the one who suggested I should learn how to harness whatever powers I might have."

"I didn't expect you to hop into Lily's dreams. What did she tell you?" Danielle asked.

"That your husband, Lucas, was killed in a car accident—with his lover. And that you found out about this other woman when your husband was killed."

"Lily is talkative in her sleep," she grumbled.

"Lily is talkative awake or asleep. I'm sorry about your husband...and the fact you had to learn about his infidelity that way."

"I wasn't sure what to grieve for, my marriage or my husband."

"I imagine you grieved for both...But tell me about the portrait."

"Lucas and I met in college."

"You went to college?"

"Yes. Why do you sound surprised?"

"I've known a few women who've attended college but only a few."

"We were both marketing majors. It turned out there weren't lots of jobs in the field, so we decided to start our own business after graduation—which, as it turned out, proved to be very successful."

"And the portrait?"

"For our company's fifth anniversary, Lucas had this bright idea to have our portrait painted and hung in the main lobby of our office. I wasn't thrilled about the idea, but he was so insistent, so I went along with it. About a month after the portrait went up, he was killed in a car accident with his new assistant, who we soon discovered was his lover."

"It must have been painful for you, seeing that portrait of the two of you hanging in the office."

"It was embarrassing. And I felt funny taking it down, after all, Lucas had just died. But it all seemed so fake—him and me displayed for all to see as some kind of ideal married couple, the cofounders of our company. Although I have to say, it wasn't nearly as large as your portrait."

"The portraits were Angela's idea. They were her wedding present to me. Although, as I recall, I paid for them."

"When I was at the museum, there was a portrait there that really reminded me of yours. Well, of your wife's, actually."

"A portrait of Angela is at the museum?"

"No, it's of another woman, an actress. Eva Thorndike."

"So that's where Eva's portrait ended up."

"You knew her?" Danielle asked.

"Yes, very well. We grew up together. Her family spent the summers here. The reason the portrait reminds you of Angela's is because it's by the same artist."

"That doesn't surprise me. I'm afraid the artist Lucas commissioned wasn't nearly as talented as yours."

"Lily said you sold the company?"

"A few months after Lucas was killed, I got news of Aunt Brianna's death and of the inheritance. One of our competitors made me an offer, and I couldn't see passing it up. Inheriting Marlow House just made it easier for me."

"When did you decide to turn it into an inn? You know, you could live here without turning it into one."

"A B and B," Danielle corrected. "But I guess that's about the same thing as an inn. I think it would be fun. It would give me something to do. I could meet people, and this house would make a fantastic B and B."

"I suppose I'm getting used to the idea, my home being turned into an inn. It's rather nice having people around again."

"Walt, as much as I sincerely enjoy your company..."

"You do?"

"Well, certainly. I must say you've been one of the most affable and enjoyable spirits I've ever encountered. And I will sincerely miss you when you move on—but this isn't the place for you anymore."

"How do you know?"

"Well...because..."

"Because?" Walt raised his brow.

"I just feel there's something beyond this world...someplace we're supposed to go when we die."

"And it will still be there when I'm ready to go. We first need to find out who murdered me."

# Twenty-One

Danielle sat alone on her bed, the computer still on her lap. Walt had said goodnight ten minutes earlier before disappearing. She suspected he was downstairs in the parlor, watching more television. _I hope he keeps the volume down_ , she thought.

She had given him the impression she intended to go to sleep, but the truth was, she had more surfing to do before she turned the lights out. Her first stop was _Newspaper Archive_ , a subscription site where she could look up old newspapers. Perhaps she wouldn't find back issues of the _Frederickport Press_ ; those were apparently lost in the fire long ago. But it was possible she would find articles about Walt's death and any investigation in other Oregon newspapers.

It took her just a moment to sign up for an account. Her first search was for Walt Marlow appearing in any Oregon newspapers during 1925. She immediately came across several articles practically identical in content to the ones she had read in the museum. Skimming through those, she continued to look for later ones.

_Walt Marlow's attorney, James Martin, was interviewed regarding the disappearance of Marlow's widow, Angela Calvert Marlow. "She stopped by my Portland office on Wednesday afternoon," Martin said. "She told me she was concerned about her husband, claiming he had been acting strange..."_

The headline _Suicide Marlow's Widow Found Dead_ blared out. Danielle cringed. She doubted Walt would appreciate being referred to as Suicide Marlow. Making herself comfortable, she began to read the article—and then the next—and the next...

_The body of an unidentified woman who died at the Portland Hospital has been identified today as that of Angela Marlow, wife of the late Walt Marlow, who is believed to have killed himself in their Frederickport home..._

_Questions continue today for Roger Calvert, brother of Angela Marlow..._

_Authorities continue to look closer into Roger Calvert, who failed to report his sister missing following her disappearance last week..._

_Calvert insists it was all a misunderstanding. "I didn't realize she was missing. I last saw Angela when she went shopping. I assumed she was staying with friends because the next day I was leaving for Frederickport to try to reason with my brother-in-law..."_

_Marital problems for the new bride and groom cited as the reasons for Marlow's suicide. "My sister wanted to make her marriage work," Calvert said Monday in an interview with..._

_Andrew Stone of Frederickport confirms Roger Calvert's claim that he arrived in Frederickport on Thursday evening, hours after Walt Marlow's body was discovered. "I was just coming home from California when I pulled into the filling station and saw Roger. I went to say hello and he told me he was on his way to Frederickport." The gas station is located ten miles east of Frederickport..._

_Emma Jackson, a Negro who works at the Bluebell Diner, ten miles east of Frederickport, claims to have seen Roger Calvert arriving from Frederickport Wednesday evening. "I remember we had just closed up when he comes knocking on the back door of the kitchen, all in a hurry. I told him the garage next door wouldn't open until the next morning. He slept in his car all night until the mechanic arrived. Car wasn't ready until late Thursday night. I thought he was in some big hurry to get back to Portland, but when I saw him take off Thursday, he headed back to Frederickport." When asked how she knew he arrived from Frederickport, she said, "I saw his car's headlights when he first drove up to the diner. He drove in on the road from Frederickport."_

_Hit-and-run driver of car who killed would-be heiress Angela Marlow arrested today...no connection to Roger Calvert..._

_Emma Jackson, the Negro who claimed to have seen Roger Calvert arrive from Frederickport on Wednesday and return there on Thursday, retracted her statement. "I got my white folks confused," she said, insisting she was thinking of someone else. "I never saw Roger Calvert," she told police._

_Frederickport police say they are no longer investigating the death of Walt Marlow. "We believe Walt Marlow committed suicide...The deaths of Marlow and his wife were tragic coincidences and unrelated...Charges are being filed against the hit-and-run driver..._

_Today the court ruled against Roger Calvert in his claim against the estate of his late sister and brother-in-law_...

It was almost midnight when Danielle turned off the laptop and went to sleep. She woke up the next morning thinking of Emma Jackson. _Was Emma coerced into retracting her story?_ she wondered. It wouldn't be difficult to bully a black woman in 1925, she thought.

"If I could actually control what spirits I could communicate with," Danielle said aloud as she climbed out of bed.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Walt asked. Danielle jumped in surprise from his sudden appearance.

"I really wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that!" Danielle snapped as she started to make her bed.

"Why?" Walt sat on the side of her mattress.

"Would you please move? I'm trying to make the bed."

"Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

Danielle let out a little groan and then flipped the bedspread over his head. Effortlessly it fell through him onto the mattress.

"So why would you like to control what spirits you can see? Would you tune me off, like you do the television with that little remote of yours?"

"Hmmm...I hadn't thought of that...it would be handy..." She chortled. "But honestly, I was thinking more along the lines of cruising down to the local cemetery and rousing up the necessary spirits to give us the answers we need regarding your death."

"Why can't you?"

Danielle laughed at his question. "I already told you I can't control how this works—who I can see. Plus, cemeteries aren't the best place for me. I try to avoid them."

"Why is that?"

"I never know when some spirit will try to attach itself to me. And just because I ask them a question, it doesn't mean they're going to be truthful. You should know that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He frowned.

"Tell me, Walt, do you feel compelled to answer all my questions truthfully? I asked you about the jewel heist, and I don't remember any real answers coming from you."

"I suppose you're right."

"Plus, the spirits I might choose to contact may not know the answer. After all, you were there when you died, but you can't remember how it happened."

"Why do you think that is?"

"It's one reason I've come to believe you didn't kill yourself. I'm pretty sure you'd remember that. But if someone did something to you first—like drugged you or hit you over the head before putting you up in that noose..."

"Please, must you be so graphic? I find it a little unsettling to even think about a noose."

"Or maybe you were psychologically scarred."

"Psychologically scarred?" He frowned.

"Yes, I've heard of people being in a violent accident—or violently attacked—and they have no memory of the event, even though they were conscious at the time it happened. It could be something like that."

"If you could talk to anyone, who would you choose?" Walt asked.

"Emma Jackson."

"Emma Jackson? Who is that?"

"Emma Jackson was a black woman who worked at the Bluebell Diner back when you were killed."

"The Bluebell Diner? That's about ten miles east of here."

"I doubt it's still there."

"I remember a couple of coloreds worked out there."

"We don't use the term colored anymore."

"Okay, Negros. But what does she have to do with my death?"

"Actually, these days it's more proper to say black or African American."

"Why?"

"Times change."

Walt frowned at her comment, yet let it go and asked, "What does this woman have to do with my death?"

"Last night I used the computer to find some old Oregon newspapers that mentioned your suicide."

"You can do that?"

"Yes. And according to some of the articles, your brother-in-law claimed to have arrived in Frederickport from Portland on Thursday evening, after they found you. Which would mean he wasn't here when you died. And since Angela was already dead, that would take them off our suspect list, which would leave us with no suspects."

"You still haven't explained how Emma Jackson fits into this."

"According to the articles, a man by the name of Andrew Stone claimed to have seen Roger coming into Frederickport from Portland on Thursday evening. He ran into him at the gas station out by the Bluebell Diner."

"I know Andrew or knew him. We were friends. He was not fond of Roger. Oh, he was friendly enough with him, mostly for my sake since I married Angela, but I know how he really felt. If he said he saw Roger coming into town, I'd believe him."

"But here's where Emma comes into play. She claims Roger arrived the night before, had car trouble and was forced to stay there until the garage opened the next morning. He wasn't able to leave until late Thursday. What if he never intended to show up in Frederickport on Thursday? Maybe he slipped into town Wednesday to kill you and planned to get back to Portland before they found your body, and his car broke down. Running into Andrew would complicate matters for him. He couldn't say he was leaving Frederickport. He'd have to say he was on his way into town."

"So how did Roger explain Emma seeing him the day before?"

"He didn't. A couple of days later she recanted her story. Claimed she was confused and had never seen Roger."

"It would mean Roger didn't know about his sister's death," Walt said.

"That's pretty much what I'm thinking. According to the newspaper articles, the police wanted to know why Roger hadn't reported Angela missing. In fact, when he was first interviewed, he acted like she was waiting for him in Portland."

"How did he explain that?"

"Just double-talk, claimed it was a misunderstanding, that he thought she was staying with friends. He said he was coming to Frederickport to talk to you; he said Angela and you were having problems, and she wanted the marriage to work. If one believes Roger, you were mentally unbalanced and killed yourself because of your marital problems."

"He always was a lying bastard," Walt growled.

"Walt, did you have an attorney named James Martin?"

"James Martin was our family's attorney for years. Why?"

"According to one of the articles, your wife stopped in his Portland office Wednesday afternoon. If I understand the timeline, that would have been not long before she was killed."

"Did the article say why she stopped to see him?"

"Just that she wanted to discuss you. She claimed you'd been acting strange and that she was worried about you."

"I bet..." Walt murmured, now pacing the room, a cigar in his hand. "She was establishing an alibi."

"I think you're right." Danielle sat on the side of the bed, watching Walt walk back and forth across the bedroom. "I'm pretty sure your wife and brother-in-law conspired to kill you, considering what I've read—what you remember. I think Angela was staying in Portland, being seen, telling people she was staying with her brother. I don't imagine Roger ever intended to return to Frederickport on Thursday, but he had no other choice. And he had no way of knowing his sister had been killed. I imagine when she disappeared, he wondered what the hell was going on."

"I want people to know the truth. I don't want the world to think I killed myself."

"I can't prove it, Walt. I'm not even sure what I could do if I could prove it. It happened so long ago."

"Maybe it's ancient history to you, Danielle. But it is my history!" Walt vanished.

# Twenty-Two

"Something's wrong with the television in the parlor. I think you should take it back," Lily announced when Danielle entered the kitchen that morning for breakfast. Seated at the kitchen table, Lily nibbled on a slice of toast with peanut butter while drinking a cup of coffee. She had already dressed for the day, with her red curls free flowing over her shoulders.

"It's broken?" Danielle asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"I got up last night to use the bathroom, and I heard something downstairs. I tell you it freaked me out at first. When I came down here, I found the television on in the parlor."

"Why didn't you wake me up? You shouldn't be coming down here alone if you think someone has gotten into the house."

"I brought a baseball bat with me."

"Baseball bat? Where did you find a baseball bat?" Danielle imagined how comically ferocious Lily must have looked the night before, clad in her nightgown while she clutched the baseball bat and crept stealthily down the staircase to the parlor.

"In the attic. There's a croquet set up there too. Might be fun to put it in the backyard after the jungle is tamed. Anyway, it was just the television, but the damn thing wouldn't stay off, and it kept changing channels. I think the remote is broken. It must have a short." Lily took a bite of toast and then added with a giggle, "That or this place is haunted."

Another image popped into Danielle's head. This one of Walt lounging casually on the parlor sofa, so engrossed with what he was watching on the television that he stubbornly refused to consider how it must look to poor Lily, who was now arguing with the uncooperative remote, never knowing Walt was circumventing her attempts to turn off the television.

"Hmmm...well, I'll check it out." Danielle grabbed a carton of yogurt from the ice chest and a spoon from the drawer. Standing by the sink, she opened her carton of yogurt, tossing its foil lid into the trash can. _I really need to talk to Walt about his television privileges._

"Did you find out anything about Ian last night? Or should I say Jon?" Lily asked.

"Yes. Ian didn't exactly lie to us. At least not about his name."

"What do you mean?"

"Jon Altar is his pen name. His real name is Ian Bartley. He's an author, but he doesn't write travel books. I thought I recognized that name when Joanne mentioned it. I've watched a couple of his documentaries on TV."

"He's famous?" Lily scrunched up her nose at the thought.

"Sort of." Danielle shrugged and took a bite of her yogurt.

"What were the documentaries? Maybe I've seen them."

"One of them was about a guy who robbed a bank by tunneling from his house, and another was about a murder."

"I saw the bank robbery one. I missed the first part, but it was interesting. Who was the other one about?"

"I don't remember his name. Some rich guy. His kids killed him."

"Is Ian married?" Lily asked.

"I couldn't find anything about a wife or family."

"If he's famous, he must have a Wikipedia page. Those usually list marital status."

"I didn't see a Wiki page on him, but to be honest, I really didn't look." Danielle took one of the chairs across the kitchen table from Lily and sat down.

"Either way, he lied to me. To us," Lily said angrily, finishing the last of her toast. Using a paper napkin, she wiped the corners of her mouth and took a sip of coffee.

"But I'm not sure why." Danielle took another bite of yogurt as she considered the why of Ian's deception. _What is he really hiding?_ she asked herself.

Lily's phone began to ring. Getting up from the kitchen table, she walked to the counter, where she had plugged her cellphone in to charge earlier that morning. Lily glanced down at her phone. "Speak of the devil." She let it ring and returned to the table.

"Ian?" Danielle asked, finishing the last of her yogurt.

"Uh-huh." Lily sipped her coffee.

"You aren't going to answer it?"

"Nope." Lily took another sip.

"I'm sorry, Lily. But I imagine you'll have to talk to him sometime."

"I know. But on my terms. Not his. When I'm ready. The lying jerk."

_Lying jerk. I've been a bit of a lying jerk myself to Lily, considering I've never told her what I've been doing—investigating Walt Marlow's murder. She doesn't even know about the murder...or the supposed suicide. Time to come clean._

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you...but I didn't want to freak you out." It wasn't entirely untrue. Although, it was Walt she didn't want to freak out, not Lily. She wasn't sure what Lily might say if all the information pointed to a suicide. She could just imagine Lily going on and on, speculating as to why poor Walt Marlow stuck his head in a noose to end his life. Bad things sometimes happened when a spirit became frustrated and unable to communicate with the source of his frustration.

"You know the man in the portrait in the library?" Danielle asked.

"Walt Marlow? The one I dreamed about? I rather like him."

"I found out he was killed in this house...murdered in the attic."

"Oh my god! Who murdered him? Why? That's horrible. And he was so nice!"

Danielle didn't bother reminding Lily she had only dreamt about the man. After all, Lily actually had met him in those dreams. However, Lily didn't know that.

"Most people believe it was a suicide, but after reading all the articles I found online and talking to Marie Hemming, I'm certain Walt Marlow was killed by his brother-in-law. Walt's wife was in on it. But things didn't go as planned. Angela Marlow was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Portland around the same time her brother was busy killing her husband."

"How do you know her brother didn't kill them both for Marlow's money?"

"Because the brother wasn't in the will. If his sister died first, the money would go to the housekeeper. Which is exactly what happened."

"How do you know that?"

"For one thing, that housekeeper was my great-aunt's mother. I wouldn't be standing here right now if Walt's brother-in-law had inherited the estate."

"Oh...that's right...well, that bitch!"

"You mean Angela?"

"Of course. What an evil bitch!"

"I do like your friend," Walt said when he appeared in the kitchen a moment later.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go over with me to Marie Hemming's today. I'll call her first to make sure it's a convenient time." Danielle did her best to ignore Walt's looming presence as she and Lily talked. He stood behind Lily and smiled at Danielle. _Damn, he can be a pain_ , Danielle thought.

"Sure, for any special reason?" Lily asked.

"After reading the online articles from the old newspapers, I've a few questions for her. If I can put together a credible case to support my contention Walt was murdered and it wasn't a suicide, then maybe I can get the local newspaper to write a feature article—or maybe go to the museum."

"Thank you, Danielle," Walt whispered.

"I think that's sweet, Dani," Lily said.

"Yes, it is," Walt agreed.

"I also think it's sweet how you call him Walt," Lily added. "It's like you think of him as a real person."

"Well, he was a real person." Danielle stared past Lily to Walt.

"I know. But it's like he's still sorta here and you care about what people think about him."

"I suppose I do," Danielle said with a smile.

"So why do you think the brother-in-law did the dastardly deed?"

"He and his sister had the classic motive—money. And it looks like he lied about coming into Frederickport on the day Walt was killed.

The front doorbell rang, interrupting their discussion.

"I bet that's Ian," Danielle said. "Coming to see why you didn't answer the phone."

"Probably."

"You want me to get it?" Danielle asked.

"No. I'll do it. I might as well get this over with." Lily left the room, leaving Danielle alone with Walt.

"I mean it, Danielle, thank you for doing this. What made you change your mind?"

"It wasn't a matter of changing my mind. I always wanted to help you. I just wasn't sure how to go about it. And then when I was talking to Lily, it just sort of came to me. I mean, it's not like we're going to petition the district attorney to bring charges against Roger and Angela."

"Yes, I imagine that would be a little difficult." Walt grinned.

"But this would make a great feature article for the local newspaper if I can get my facts together. Or for the museum. And even if the _Frederickport Press_ and museum aren't interested, I can still tell your story—of your murder made to look like a suicide—when I put together the brochures for Marlow House."

"Are you sure you want to do that? It might hurt your business if potential customers are told of my murder."

"Are you kidding? Inns often include interesting tidbits of their history in their advertising and marketing material. It would probably help business." She quickly added, "But that's not why I'm doing it."

"If I could kiss you, I would," Walt told her.

_If you could kiss me, I think I might like it._

# Twenty-Three

On the front porch of Marlow House, Ian rang 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 sweatshirt, 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 her eyes. She hated that about herself—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 him.

"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 teacher?_ 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 mad," Walt said with a chuckle. Amused by 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 Hemmings 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 in 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 photographs 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 them for whatever story he's working on. And he needs to get back in my good graces so he can take the pictures."

# Twenty-Four

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 had 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 whom 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 was why she had 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 been 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 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 fifteen miles out of town, when he was on his way in."

"Someone also claimed to have seen Roger the evening before—before Walt Marlow was found. 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. _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 found?" 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 one-hundred-sixth 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 one hundred and six, Lily, I can't imagine what she'd remember," Danielle said.

"Hey, you said you wanted to turn back the clock," Adam reminded her. "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 want to just 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 by 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 who hanged 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?"

"Fortunately, Danielle Boatman seems a bit friendlier since I helped her out today, so if we don't find it tomorrow, we'll just have to go back."

# Twenty-Five

"Did Marie remember her father saying anything about someone seeing Roger coming from Frederickport on the day I was murdered?" Walt asked Danielle later that night when he found her alone in the library.

"No. She had never heard that story." Danielle closed the book she was reading and set it on her lap. She looked up at Walt.

"Where's Lily?" Walt glanced toward the door.

"She went outside to sit in the garden."

"Garden. From how it looks from the attic window, it looks more like a jungle."

"That's funny. When we arrived, Lily said it looked like a jungle. Well, actually, she said the entire grounds looked like a jungle. By the way, I've hired a landscaper to clean up the place. He starts tomorrow."

Walt walked to the window. Looking outside, he could see the silhouette of Lily as she sat on a wrought-iron bench under the moonlight.

"What is she doing out there in the dark?" he asked.

"There's a full moon," Danielle reminded him. "I think she just needed some alone time."

"Pining over that Ian character?" Walt turned from the window and faced Danielle.

"Maybe a little. We talked about him. I guess what he did wasn't so awful. It's not like he turned out to be a mass murderer or escaped convict."

"Not that you know."

"Ha, ha."

"Obviously, your visit to Marie didn't give you anything new to go on." Walt sat down across from Danielle. With a slight wave of his hand, a lit cigar appeared between two of his fingers.

"Actually, the trip was fruitful." Danielle tossed the book from her lap onto the floor and looked at Walt, noting the change of his expression from disappointment to curiosity.

"Go on," he urged.

"Apparently, Emma Jackson is still alive. At least we think it's the same Emma Jackson. I'll find out tomorrow."

"Emma Jackson?" Walt frowned. "Wasn't that the colored woman who saw Roger driving from Frederickport?"

Danielle wanted to say, _What color, green or purple?_ Instead, she said, "Yes. She lives in Astoria and has agreed to see me tomorrow."

"She must be over a hundred by now." Walt absently puffed the cigar.

"One hundred six, to be exact. There was an article in the local newspaper about her. Adam recognized the name when I was telling Marie about the article I read online."

"Adam?"

"Marie's grandson. Remember, he was over here when you were flipping through the channels on the TV in my bedroom."

"Which man—the dandy or the one that looks like a sneaky rat?"

"A sneaky rat?" Danielle giggled and shook her head. "That wasn't very nice. I didn't think he looked like a rat...well, maybe a little. It was the other one, the dandy."

"There was something about him I didn't like."

"I got some bad vibes when I first met him. But you know, he's really nice. He joined us for lunch today."

"Really nice?" Walt arched his brows.

"Yes. He even arranged for me to talk to Emma Jackson. So you should like him, too."

"I certainly do not have to like him." Walt narrowed his eyes and stared at Danielle. "You like him?"

"I don't dislike him." Danielle shrugged. "But yeah, I guess I warmed up to him today. Plus, he isn't bad to look at."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, you called him a dandy, so I figure you noticed it too. He is a good-looking guy."

"I was referring to his manner of dress, how he carries himself, his general attitude. As for his looks, I found him to be very...ordinary."

"I don't know...if I could tone down some of his...slickness...I think he would be pretty hot." Danielle wasn't sure she actually believed that, but she found teasing Walt mildly amusing.

"Hot. I can't believe how women talk these days." Walt shook his head in disgust.

"Oh, come on, you lived in the Roaring Twenties. Don't act like everything was all prim and buttoned up."

"Roaring Twenties?"

"It's what that era is called," Danielle explained.

"You mean the 1920s?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Walt asked.

"For one thing, skirts got shorter and morals looser. It was also a time of prosperity, at least until it crashed at the end of the decade."

"What do you mean it crashed?"

"I'm not a history buff, but I know it was called Black Tuesday when the stock market crashed at the end of 1929. Overnight, rich people lost their fortunes, and it was the beginning of the Great Depression."

"The Great Depression?"

"Another coined term, like the Roaring Twenties, to represent a time in history. I think it lasted through the forties, until the Second World War."

"The second one?" Walt stood up, a fresh cigar in his hand. "I've missed so much."

"When I was younger, I assumed spirits that communicated with me knew things that I didn't."

"What do you mean?" Walt turned and faced Danielle.

"For one thing, I would have expected you to know who killed you—even if you didn't see who did it. I guess I used to think spirits were in some way—godlike."

"Godlike?" Walt laughed at the term. "How so?"

"You know, all seeing, all knowing." Danielle smiled at the idea.

"Hardly," Walt scoffed.

They were quiet for a moment when Danielle asked, "Walt, were you a dandy?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Well, for one thing, your suit."

Walt looked down at his clothes.

"That's a pretty snazzy suit. Something out of _The Great Gatsby_ ," Danielle said.

"I was reading that..." Walt narrowed his eyes as if he had just remembered something.

"What do you mean?" Danielle noted his look of concentration.

" _The Great Gatsby_. I started reading it before Angela left for Portland."

"I didn't realize it was out back then." Danielle tried to recall when the book was published.

"It was a fairly new book. I bought it for Angela; I thought she might enjoy it."

"The way you say that, it sounds like she didn't like it."

"When I met Angela, she led me to believe she loved to read."

"Why would she do that?"

"I suppose I had a reputation of enjoying the company of...well-read women."

"What are you saying; a woman with a book in her hands turned you on?" Danielle teased.

"No, of course not," Walt scoffed. "It's just that I have no patience for ignorant women. I was always attracted to a woman with a lively mind—one who enjoyed literature, paid attention to what was going on in the world."

"So you're saying Angela faked her love of books to earn points with you?"

"I suppose that accurately sums it up."

"What did she do, rattle off all the books she supposedly read?" Danielle found the idea of seducing a man via a bookworm pose somewhat amusing.

"Of course not. But our first conversations were often about books we mutually enjoyed. I realize now it gave us something to talk about when we were first getting to know each other."

"If she discussed those books with you, don't you think she read them? I mean it's kind of difficult to discuss a book with someone who's read it if you haven't."

"I discovered Roger was the reader. Apparently, he coached Angela so she could make me believe we shared a mutual interest."

"That sounds a little—well, bizarre. How did you find out?"

"It was before she read my revised will. I used to buy her little gifts—normally jewelry. For some reason, giving her the book seemed...well, more intimate. I'm not sure if that makes sense."

"Yes, yes, it does."

"I had the book gift wrapped—it was quite a lovely package." Walt looked wistfully into the distance. What he was seeing, Danielle could only imagine. "When I gave it to her, she was so excited, just as she was whenever I gave her a present. But when she opened it, her smiled disappeared. She looked at me and asked, 'Just what am I supposed to do with this?'"

Walt laughed bitterly and then continued. "I will admit I wasn't quite sure how to answer her question. At first I thought she was teasing. But then her eyes...I always thought she had beautiful blue eyes, but in that moment they looked quite cold and calculating."

"What happened?"

"She ended up tossing the book aside, laughing at me. Telling me she didn't like to read, that Roger had read all those books. When I asked her why she had lied, she said quite cheerfully, 'Darling, all's fair in love and war.'"

"Meaning she was just...ahhh...faking it...to gain your affections?"

"That's what I took it to mean."

"So what did you say?"

"I really didn't know what to say. I just stood there like an idiot. She kissed me and said something like, 'Be honest, darling, you really don't care if I read or not.' And then she added, 'Now be a good boy and go buy me something nice to make up for that boring book.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Walt." Danielle wanted to hug Walt and give him comfort, yet she knew that was impossible.

# Twenty-Six

Sitting on the wrought-iron bench, Lily wrapped her arms around her body and hugged the sweatshirt close to her. It was a chilly summer evening, yet she hadn't taken the time to swap her white shorts for a pair of jeans. Looking up at the sky, she watched clouds move across the full moon.

Closing her eyes, she listened and could hear the ocean breakers in the distance. With a deep breath, she inhaled the cool evening air. Her solitude was interrupted when she heard something running through the bushes, scattering the fallen leaves. Whatever it was, it was coming quickly in her direction.

Startled, Lily sat up straight and opened her eyes. A moment later, she was greeted by Sadie, who charged toward her at a full gallop, leaping playfully into Lily's lap.

"Oh, it's you," Lily whispered, roughly petting the fur along the dog's shoulders. Sadie nuzzled her wet nose into Lily's neck and placed a sloppy kiss across her cheek. Gently pushing the dog back a bit, Lily glanced up and spied the dark silhouette of a man coming toward her. She knew without seeing his face that it was Ian.

"Sadie, come...oh, Lily. I didn't know you were out here," Ian said when he reached the bench and could clearly see Lily by the light of the moon.

"Do you always lurk in other people's backyards?" she teased.

"No, but Sadie got away from me."

"She does that a lot, doesn't she?" she said playfully.

"You're no longer mad at me?" Ian sounded relieved.

"I didn't say that," she quipped. Lily scooted over on the bench, making room for Ian. He accepted her silent invitation and sat down next to her. Sadie quieted down and curled up on the ground by their feet.

"Dani and I talked about it, and while we weren't thrilled you misled us, we can sort of understand why someone who is famous would want his privacy."

"I wouldn't call myself famous."

"I looked you up on the Internet tonight, and you have an Emmy. I think that classifies you as sorta famous."

"Fortunately, most people don't recognize me by my real name, which suits me fine. Does this mean we can go back to being friends again?" Ian asked.

"I suppose...but now that we're friends, does this mean you'll tell me about the story you're working on?"

Ian chuckled and said, "If it was just me, I would be tempted."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a writing partner. I'm afraid she would kill me."

"Is she...umm...your girlfriend?"

"We're close—very close. But she's my sister."

"You work with your sister? How come it didn't say that online?"

"Because this is the first project we've ever worked on together. And for the record, I try to be as truthful as possible when setting up an interview, without giving away the project."

"I don't know about that. You told Joanne Johnson you were writing a book about travel on the Oregon Coast and wanted to include information about Marlow House."

"I never said that exactly. You might say I misled her—let her jump to conclusions. I never once confirmed—or denied—her assumption."

"I have a feeling you'd make an excellent attorney."

"I'll try to remember that if I decide to change careers."

"I can see how setting up interviews can be tricky...asking questions when you really don't want the person you're interviewing to know what you're working on. Sort of like taking photographs of old portraits and trying to make someone think you want the picture for...oh, I don't know...just because you like pictures of old portraits of people you don't know."

Ian glanced down uneasily, his hands fidgeting. "I'm thinking you're talking about the portraits in Marlow house, of Walt and Angela Marlow?"

"Gee, you're quick. Interesting how you wanted to use your own camera—mine wasn't quite good enough. Now, my pictures turned out nice. It is amazing, the camera they put in those iPhones. But not quite good enough to reproduce in a book or magazine article; is that it?" Lily studied Ian's reaction.

"Are you going to let me take the pictures?"

"Are you going to tell me what the story is about?" Lily countered.

"Does this mean you won't let me if I don't?"

"No. But it really isn't my call anymore—it's Dani's. The portraits don't belong to me, and if they're going to end up in some book or magazine article, I think she has the right to say yea or nay."

"What makes you think that's what I want them for?"

"For one thing, you remember not just Walt Marlow's name but his wife's. Heck, I can't remember her name, and I'm staying in her house. Makes me think you're doing a piece about Marlow House, not some regional thing that includes Marlow House in a broad sense."

"If I was, it's not something that would hurt Danielle or the business she's starting."

"You know, you aren't the only one researching the history of Marlow House." Lily watched for his reaction.

"What do you mean?" Ian frowned.

"Aha! You admit you're researching its history for your story!" Lily grinned.

"I didn't confirm anything. I simply asked what you meant."

"Actually, Dani and I are chasing an interesting story about the house. In fact, we're going to Astoria tomorrow to conduct our own interview."

"What—or who—is in Astoria?"

"What makes you think I'll tell you more about what we're looking into than you'd tell us about your story?" Lily flashed him a smug smile.

"Hell, you're just pulling my chain."

"No, I'm not. I think it will make a fascinating story on Dani's promotional brochures for the B and B and on her website when she sets one up. She was in marketing. Did you know that? She and her husband owned their own marketing firm. They were really successful, so I have no doubt she'll be able to promote the hell outa her business with this story."

"I didn't know Danielle was married."

"She's not anymore. He was killed about six months ago. She sold her company a while back."

"Lily, I can't betray my sister's confidence and tell you what we're working on. I would hope you'd understand that. But if you two are really looking into an interesting story on Marlow House, I wish you'd tell me. Maybe I can work it into my piece—and you know that would end up helping Danielle's new business by giving Marlow House extra exposure."

"I'll make sure to tell Dani."

"You do that."

"Aren't you a little nervous we're working on the same story?" Lily asked.

"Not at all."

They sat quietly in the moonlight for several minutes, each looking out into the darkness. Sadie lay by their feet, her chin resting on Lily's right shoe.

"It's nice out here," Ian said at last, breaking the silence.

"Yes, it is. Dani hired a gardener to clean the yard up. He's coming tomorrow."

"I hope he doesn't remove too much. This place has a special charm."

"Yes...yes, it does." Lily glanced down and smiled at Sadie just as Ian turned in her direction. He studied Lily's profile in the moonlight. She continued to look down at Sadie, unaware of his scrutiny. Without thought, Ian reached out to Lily with his right hand and captured her chin, gently turning her face in his direction.

Startled by his touch, Lily's eyes widened as she looked up into Ian's somber expression. Their gazes locked for several moments before Ian leaned toward her to claim a kiss. Closing her eyes, she accepted the brief intimacy. When the kiss ended, Lily pulled away from Ian and just stared at him.

"I...I think I need to go. We have a big day ahead of us." Lily stood up abruptly, dislodging Sadie's chin from its resting place on her shoe. The golden retriever looked up.

"Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow?" Ian asked.

Lily considered his question for a moment. "Okay. We should be back by late afternoon."

"Give me a call when you get home."

"Hell, Kelly, what if they stumbled on the story?" Ian ranted into the cellphone. He stood in the unlit living room, staring out the window. He could see the light on across the street in Lily's bedroom.

"It sounds to me like she was just trying to get you to tell her what we're working on," Kelly suggested.

"I don't know. She said they were going to Astoria tomorrow to interview someone. I swear, if this story ends up on someone's website before we go to print, I might as well go back to teaching."

"Right. You hated teaching," Kelly reminded him. "And after all this, you're taking her out to dinner?"

"Tomorrow night. When they get back from Astoria."

"You think she'll tell you how their little interview went?"

"I hope so. I'll call you tomorrow night." Ian disconnected the call and tossed the cellphone on the couch. He looked back out the window toward Marlow House.

Glancing upward, he noticed the light on in the attic. _Was this where George Hemming was standing when he saw Marlow hanging?_ Ian wondered. In the next moment the attic light went out.

His gaze dropped back to the second floor and Lily's lit window.

# Twenty-Seven

When Danielle and Lily arrived in Astoria the next morning they used the directions Adam had given them to locate Emma Jackson's house. It was a cheery little bungalow painted bright blue with white trim. An elderly black woman, whom they assumed was Emma Jackson, napped peacefully in a rocking chair on the front porch.

Lily and Danielle silently made their way up the walk leading to the front steps of the Jackson home. Reluctant to wake the woman, they paused a moment when they reached the steps. While deciding how to proceed, the front door opened and out walked a tall dark man wearing crisply pressed gray slacks and a blue golf shirt.

"You must be Danielle and Lily," the man boomed. Both looked over at Emma, not wanting to startle the elderly woman awake.

The man glanced for a moment to Emma then back to Danielle and Lily. "Oh, Grandma won't hear me." He motioned for them to come up. "She doesn't have her hearing aids in. Can't hear a thing without them. We'll need to wake her up if you want to talk to her. I'm Mathew Jackson, Emma's grandson. Please call me Mathew."

"Nice to meet you, Mathew," Danielle said as she shook his hand and stepped onto the porch. "I'm Danielle Boatman, and this is my friend Lily Miller. But I hate to wake your grandma up from her nap."

"Ahhh, don't be silly. Grandma is always dozing off." He shook Lily's hand. "Grandma loves talking about the old days. She's quite the talker once you get her started, and when Sam called and said you wanted to talk to her about Roger Calvert and Marlow House, she just perked up."

"Who's Sam?" Lily asked.

"Sam's a local Realtor. Goes to Grandma's church. He's the one who contacted us about you," Mathew explained.

"That must be Adam's friend," Danielle told Lily.

"Do you live with your grandmother?" Lily asked.

"No, I'm just visiting for her big birthday bash the family has planned." Mathew walked over to the rocking chair and gently nudged his grandmother awake. Momentarily disoriented, Emma blinked her eyes several times and looked around. When she noticed the two strangers, she tucked her hand in the front pocket of her blouse and pulled out her eyeglasses, which had hearing aids attached. After slipping on her glasses, she fitted the hearing aids in her ears.

"You the young women who want to talk to me about Marlow House?" Emma asked, her voice as loud and clear as her grandson's.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Danielle Boatman; this is my friend Lily Miller. I appreciate you taking time out of your day to talk with us."

"All I seem to have these days is time on my hands. Mathew, get these girls a glass of cold lemonade, they look thirsty."

Danielle started to say they didn't need anything to drink, but Emma hushed her and sent Mathew into the house to fetch the beverages.

"I understand you're living at Marlow House," Emma asked after Lily and Danielle each took a chair on the porch.

"Yes. My great aunt was Katherine O'Malley's daughter. She's the one who inherited the house after Walt Marlow died."

"Yes, I know who Katherine O'Malley was. She used to bring her daughter into the Bluebell for breakfast on Saturday mornings. Little girl loved her pancakes."

"You remember her?" Danielle wondered how that was possible; it had been so many years.

"I remember many of the regulars from the diner. Of course, it's easier to remember the O'Malley woman, with her inheriting all that money from Walt Marlow and dying so soon after marrying the brother-in-law."

"Roger Calvert," Danielle said. Lily sat quietly and listened.

"You know, it's been years since I talked to anyone about what happened back then. Seems all that people remember these days is what they've been told to remember. But those things we're told usually aren't what really happened. When a body lives over a hundred years and you see things for yourself—firsthand—when you live them—then you see things differently. How they really were."

"Like how Walt Marlow reportedly died?" Danielle asked.

"I don't believe the man killed himself. Never did. Not when that no-account brother-in-law of his lied about being in Frederickport the day he died."

Their conversation was interrupted for a moment when Mathew returned to the patio, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade. He set the tray on a side table and handed a glass to each woman. Emma waved away her glass, telling Mathew to drink it. He gave a little chuckle and sat down next to his grandmother, glass in hand. Before they continued with their conversation, Lily and Danielle thanked him for the beverages and each took a sip.

"So you did see Roger Calvert returning from Frederickport?" Danielle asked.

"How did you know about that?" Emma asked.

"I read some old newspaper articles about Walt Marlow's death. You were mentioned in a couple of them."

"His car broke down. Had to wait for the mechanic," Emma said. "I've thought about it a lot over the years. I don't for a minute think he intended to go back to Frederickport that day, but when he ran into someone he knew, he had no choice but to pretend he had just arrived and was on his way into town."

"Why did you recant your story?" Danielle asked.

"Hal Tucker—he was on the local police department back then—he paid me a visit and told me I shouldn't be meddling in white folks' business. That if I knew what was good for me, I needed to keep my mouth shut."

"Did you ever consider going to his superior officer and telling him Tucker threatened you?" Lily asked.

Emma looked at Lily and laughed, shaking her head at the foolish question. "Wouldn't have been a smart thing for me to do. Tucker reminded me I was in Oregon illegally."

"I don't understand." Lily frowned.

"During that time, it was illegal for blacks to live in Oregon," Mathew explained.

"What are you talking about?" Danielle asked. "What do you mean illegal?"

"The state voted against slavery, but it didn't mean they wanted us here as freemen. If someone brought slaves into the state, they were required to free them within a certain time frame—and the freed slave had a certain amount of time to leave Oregon before facing a whipping—or indentured service," Mathew told them. "I believe the laws were still on the books until around 1926."

"I had no idea," Danielle said. "I've always thought of Oregon as being a very liberal state."

This time Mathew laughed. "I'm not sure where you got that notion."

"I guess because Portland is so...so..." Danielle searched for the right word.

"Ah yes, _Keeping Portland Weird_ —not quite the same thing." Mathew grinned and then added in a serious tone, "The Klan was also pretty active in Oregon during the Marlow incident."

"That surprises me." Danielle shook her head in disbelief.

"So how did you live in Oregon if it was illegal?" Lily asked.

"My grandparents arrived in Oregon as slaves. When they were freed, they didn't leave," Emma explained. "We weren't welcome here, but my parents were born in Oregon, and so was I. So were my children. It was our home."

They were silent for a few moments. Danielle tried to comprehend what she had just heard.

"Why would Tucker want you to lie?" Lily asked, breaking the silence.

"I know he and Roger Calvert were fishing buddies. They used to stop in the diner on the weekends for breakfast."

"He was covering for his friend?" Danielle asked.

"I imagine that was part of it. Plus, he was sweet on Roger's sister, and at the time he probably figured the little gal was coming into the Marlow fortune."

"But what about when they discovered Angela was dead?" Lily asked.

"He was probably like the rest of the town, assumed Roger was inheriting the Marlow fortune, what with his sister gone." Emma rocked back in her chair.

"Do you think Tucker was involved?" Lily asked.

"Never really got that impression," Emma said. "Always had the feeling he liked the idea of having a man with that kind of wealth in his pocket. Not that Roger Calvert had any money, but he would have—had he been Marlow's heir. Of course, that didn't quite work out for him, since Katherine inherited."

"Did you ever tell anyone about the officer threatening you?" Danielle asked.

"No, I wasn't stupid," Emma scoffed.

"Why are you so interested in something that happened almost ninety years ago?" Mathew asked.

"Marlow House is my home now," Danielle explained. "I suppose I feel some obligation to Walt Marlow."

"They say he hanged himself, right?" Mathew asked.

"Yes," Danielle said. "But if he didn't—if he was murdered—I'd like to set the record straight."

"I don't understand how my grandmother can help you prove he didn't commit suicide."

Danielle explained the old newspaper articles she had read mentioning his grandmother and how she had witnessed Roger Calvert coming from Frederickport when he told authorities he was coming from Portland.

"I suppose you don't actually have to prove your theory, since it's not like you're going to take anyone to court," Mathew said.

"That's pretty much what I was thinking. I just want to present some reasonable doubt concerning Walt Marlow's supposed suicide." Danielle then turned to Emma and asked, "How did you know the officer was sweet on Angela?"

"Hal Tucker? I learned early on I'd best be keeping my mouth shut if I didn't want to attract the attention of someone who didn't take kindly to a person of color," Emma explained. "That meant I had more time for listening. When those two would come in for breakfast, Roger used to tease Tucker about being sweet on his sister, and the man never denied it."

"What about the mechanic?" Lily asked.

"Mechanic?" Danielle turned to her friend.

"You guys mentioned Roger had to spend the night and see the mechanic. Weren't they worried the mechanic would contradict Roger's story?"

"I hadn't considered that," Danielle murmured before looking at Emma.

"The mechanic was Mathew's grandpa," Emma explained.

"He was your husband?" Danielle asked.

"We hadn't been married long. Emmett—my husband—didn't want to get involved and told me to keep quiet. I was pretty strong willed back then, and when the reporter stopped in the diner, I told her about seeing Roger Calvert. I didn't mention the mechanic was my husband, and she never asked. After Tucker talked to me, Emmett was pretty angry, so I recanted my story."

"Did the reporter ever talk to your husband?" Danielle asked.

"After she talked to me, she stopped by the garage, but he told her he didn't know what she was talking about. After that, it was pretty easy to convince her I got confused."

"Do you remember anything else about Roger Calvert—anything else about that day?" Danielle asked.

"Just that he was real agitated. He was in a hurry to get back to Portland. Of course, he didn't return to Portland after Emmett fixed his car. He went back to Frederickport. At the time, I didn't know Walt Marlow had been killed. I'd seen Roger Calvert before, noticed him when he came in with Hal Tucker, when the two would go fishing. I knew he was Marlow's brother-in-law; the Marlows were a well-known family in the area."

"It's amazing you can remember it all," Lily said. "It was so long ago."

"I've thought a lot about it over the years," Emma said. "Troubled me to think Roger Calvert may have gotten away with murder. Eased my conscience a bit when he was killed within a year after Marlow. I figured the good Lord had his own way of dealing with the man's sins."

"I'm planning to put together an article on Walt Marlow's death that will suggest he didn't kill himself but was murdered. I would like your permission to include what you've told me today—about why you recanted the story," Danielle asked Emma.

"You have my permission. But not sure people will care after all these years."

# Twenty-Eight

Adam Nichols and Bill Jones entered the grounds of Marlow House from the back alley. Adam didn't want his mother's tenant to notice he and Bill were lurking around the property. Before picking up Bill, he had parked along the highway, watching for Danielle's car to pass by. He wanted to make sure she had taken Lily with her. Once he was certain Danielle and Lily were safely on their way to Astoria, he picked up Bill. Instead of driving to Marlow House, Adam drove to one of his vacant rentals about a block away. After parking his car there, he and Bill walked the rest of the way.

On the parlor sofa, Walt focused his attention on the flat-screen television as it repeatedly switched channels. When it landed on something that interested him, Walt would watch for a while before changing stations again.

Danielle had called it channel surfing. He thought that a peculiar term and couldn't quite understand what surfing had to do with rapidly changing channels on a television. It made absolutely no sense to him. She had also pointed out that people typically used a remote, whereas he used...what did he use? He wasn't quite sure how he did it.

He had just settled on a show to watch when he heard what sounded like glass breaking in another part of the house. Turning toward the doorway, he willed the television to turn off. He moved effortlessly from the sofa toward the sound, and in the next moment he was in the library.

"What the hell did you break the window for?" a man asked as he gingerly reached through the now broken window to unlock its latch before sliding it open—careful not to cut himself on the jagged glass. It took Walt just a moment to recognize the man. He was Marie Hemming's grandson, Adam Nichols.

"What are you doing breaking into my home?" Walt boomed.

"It wasn't my fault. I was trying to jimmy it open," the second man said.

Walt recognized the second man but couldn't recall his name. He wasn't sure he had ever heard it. He just knew this was the same man who had accompanied Adam to his house when Marie's grandson delivered the box of old photographs.

"Well, dammit, I was planning to use the door, not climb through the window."

"Maybe you can't hear me, but I promise Danielle will hear about this!" Walt fumed.

"You have a key?" Bill asked.

"No, I don't have a damn key," Adam said as he climbed through the window. "But I was going to pick the lock."

"You could've told me that," Bill grumbled as he followed Adam through the window. "This sure would have been easier if we had started looking before that Boatman woman and her friend moved in."

"Why are you here? Dammit, hear me! Hear me, I insist!" Walt fumed.

"I like this room," Adam said as he looked around, dusting his hands off on the sides of his slacks. He walked to the closest bookshelf and began pulling books down, one by one. After inspecting each volume, he placed it back on the bookshelf and grabbed another one.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?" Adam asked impatiently.

"What are you doing?" Bill asked.

"People often hide things in books. Haven't you ever seen those boxes that look like books? They're hollow inside. A perfect way to hide something in plain sight," Adam said as he continued to examine the books.

"You think he put it in one of these?"

"What are you looking for?" Walt demanded, frustrated that they couldn't hear him.

"It would be a good hiding place—good as any."

"Hell, you don't really expect to go through all these?" Bill's gaze swept across both bookshelves.

"Yes, I do."

"But it will take forever!"

"It will if you keep standing there," Adam snapped.

"I thought we agreed the attic was the most likely place to look."

"If you hurry up and help me, we can get to that."

"Fine," Bill grumbled before moving to the far bookshelf.

Silently, Walt watched as the two men methodically searched through the books. _What are they looking for?_ he wondered. Frustrated, he walked to Adam and tried snatching a book from the man's grasp. Walt's hand moved effortlessly through the book and Adam's wrist. While Walt was unable to take hold of the object, Adam paused a moment, still clutching the book, and looked around.

"That was weird," Adam said.

"What was weird?" Bill looked over at Adam.

"It felt like..." Adam shook his head.

"Felt like what?" Bill asked.

"I don't know, like someone tried to grab my wrist."

"Ahhhha! That's more like it!" Feeling a sense of power, Walt tried grabbing Adam's wrist. Once again his hand moved through Adam. Unfortunately, this time, Adam didn't seem to notice the attempt. Instead, the burglar went back to checking the books, oblivious to the frustrated ghost who stood by his side, repeatedly snatching at his wrist and hand, to no avail.

Adam and Bill made it about halfway through the bookshelves when they heard what sounded like an electric motor coming from the direction of the backyard. Bill tucked the book he was looking at back on the shelf and quickly went to the window and looked outside.

"I thought you said no one was going to be here!" Bill hissed. Adam quickly stopped what he was doing and moved to the window next to Bill and looked out. A truck was now parked in the backyard while a man trimmed hedges on the far side of the yard.

"Damn, she must have hired a gardener. What's he doing working on a Saturday?"

"What are we going to do now?"

"Now you're going to get arrested—just as soon as the gardener sees what you've done," Walt said.

"If we stay in here, he might notice us through the window. We should probably just go upstairs and look there."

"What about the broken window?" Bill asked.

"Yes, what about that window? Do you honestly think he'll overlook a broken window?" Walt asked.

"Hopefully, he won't notice the window—which is why I don't want to draw his attention by moving around in this room."

"He may not know the house is supposed to be empty," Bill said.

"But maybe he does. Come on; let's get the hell out of here and go upstairs while we still have some time."

"You are not to go upstairs!" Walt said angrily, following the men out of the room and up the staircase to the second floor. The first room they entered was his bedroom—Danielle's bedroom.

Helplessly, Walt watched as the two men entered the room and started inspecting the paneling. Angry, he willed the television to turn on. It did so at full volume.

"Ahhhhaa!" Walt said triumphantly.

Startled, Bill jumped back from the unexpected sound and shouted, "Holy crap!" Both he and Adam stared at the television. It rapidly changed channels. "Hell, that thing is still broken. I can't believe it just turns on by itself."

"Well, I can fix that," Adam said angrily as he walked to the set. Reaching down, he grabbed its electric cord and jerked the plug from the wall. The television went silent. "See, now let's hurry up." Adam turned his back to Bill and opened a closet.

Closing his eyes, Walt focused on the television. Once again it turned on.

"Not funny, Bill," Adam snapped, turning to face the television. Bill stood wide-eyed, watching the television in stony silence. Adam failed to notice Bill's odd expression. Reaching down, Adam pulled the plug from the wall a second time. "Stop fooling around!"

"I didn't do anything," Bill stammered.

Adam cursed under his breath and went back to searching the closet. The set turned on again.

"Dammit, Bill, I said stop screwing around!" Adam swung around to face Bill. Instead of making another denial, Bill pointed to the television, shaking his head in disbelief. Annoyed, Adam looked to where Bill was pointing—to the set's cord—which remained unplugged in spite of the fact the television continued to blare.

"Well, I'll be damned," Adam murmured, staring at the screen.

"It isn't plugged in...how is that possible?" Bill stammered. And how did it plug itself in the other time?

"Must be some electrical glitch," Adam suggested.

"Electrical glitch?"

"Yeah. I've heard it's dangerous to work on computer monitors, because you can get electrocuted even if they're unplugged. Somehow the power stays trapped in there. These new flat screens are sort of like computer monitors, maybe they're the same way."

"You mean they can turn on even when they're not plugged into the wall?"

"I guess." Adam shrugged. "I mean look, it's still running and not plugged in. That must be what's happening."

"I don't know, Adam..."

"Oh, come on, let's get out of here and check the rest of the house." Adam hurried out of the room, unconcerned. Bill continued to stare at the television as he backed out of the room.

Reluctantly, Walt left the bedroom and watched as the two men looked through the remaining rooms on the second floor. He then followed them upstairs to the attic. The men rummaged through boxes and tested the paneling for loose boards.

"If you're looking for what I think you are—you won't find it," Walt snapped, irritated that they couldn't hear him.

_What had Danielle said_ , he asked himself. _I can use my energy to move things...in the same way I turn the television channels, plug in the set, and open doors._ Glancing around the room, he watched as Adam searched one end of the attic while Bill searched the opposite end, their backs to each other.

Walt's eyes widened when he noticed Adam focusing his attention on a specific piece of paneling near the floor. Frantic, he looked around the room, searching for something he might use when he spied a croquet set in the far corner. Walt stared at one of the balls, willing it to rise up. It just sat there. _I was able to pick up the magazines and read them, why can't I pick up the ball?_ he wondered. _Why couldn't I grab the book in the library?_

He considered the situation, thinking back to when he first discovered Lily's stack of magazines. At the time it took no effort to lift the magazines. In fact, he hadn't even thought about what he was doing, he just did it. _Is that the key?_ he wondered. _Do I just have to do it—know I can do it, without overthinking the situation?_

Determined, he walked over to the croquet set and picked up one of the wooden balls. Instead of it passing through his hand as had the book in the library, the ball stayed put in his palm until he pitched it across the room and hit Adam in the back of the shoulder.

Adam let out a cry of pain. Angry, he turned to Bill, who seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Furious, Adam reached down, picked up the wooden ball off the floor and heaved it at Bill, hitting him soundly on the side of his arm.

"Damn!" Bill clutched his left arm and turned to face Adam. He was about to ask him why he had hit him when another ball flew in his direction—this one not thrown by Adam. Bill managed to avoid the missile, while Adam was not so lucky.

Before they had time to register what was happening, another ball flew in Bill's direction—and then one to Adam. When all the balls had been tossed, a croquet mallet flew across the room, followed by a second and then a third.

The color drained from the men's faces as they turned toward the door and flew from the attic, each shoving the other aside in an attempt to be the first one to escape.

Walt could hear the sound of the men's footsteps as they ran down the staircase. Laughing, he walked to the attic window and looked outside. He watched as Bill and Adam raced from the front door, down the walkway, and through the gate, disappearing down the street.

# Twenty-Nine

While walking from the Jackson's front porch to the car, Danielle turned around and gave Emma and Mathew a final wave goodbye. The pair returned the wave from the porch.

"That was interesting," Lily said as she opened the door to the passenger side of the car.

"Yes, it was." Danielle pulled her cellphone from her back pocket and turned it on. Before she had a chance to set it down, it started to ring.

"Hello," Danielle answered as she opened the car door and climbed into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her.

"May I speak to Ms. Boatman, please?" came a male voice.

"This is Ms. Boatman."

"Ms. Boatman, this is Craig Simmons..."

"Is everything okay?" Danielle immediately recognized the name. He was the one she had hired to clean the grounds around Marlow House.

"Well, I'm not sure..."

"What do you mean?"

"It looks like someone broke into your house," Craig told her.

"Broke in? What do you mean?"

"When I was trimming the hedges in the backyard, I noticed one of the windows appeared to be broken. I took a closer look, and sure enough, the glass was not only broken, but the window was wide open. It appears someone broke the glass then unlatched and opened the window. It's the one to the library."

"Oh my god..." Danielle said.

"What's wrong?" Lily asked with a frown. Danielle lifted her hand briefly, silencing Lily.

"I walked around the house, and when I came to the front door, it was wide open."

"The door was open?" Danielle echoed.

"Did someone break in? What was taken?" Lily asked excitedly. Once again Danielle silently hushed her friend while listening to the gardener on the phone.

"I hope you don't mind, but I called my brother-in-law."

"Your brother-in-law?" Danielle asked.

"He's a cop, works for the local police department. I didn't want to just go into your house, and I tried calling you first."

"I'm afraid I turned off my cellphone earlier. I just turned it back on right before you called," Danielle explained.

"Joe showed up, and he looked through the house. No one was there. Can't really tell if anything is missing, but the only damage was the window. We locked up the front door, and I boarded the window for you until you can get it fixed. Didn't think you'd want to have it wide open."

"Thanks, Mr. Simmons, I really appreciate that."

When Danielle finally got off the phone, Lily anxiously listened as Danielle recounted the phone conversation.

"Nothing's missing?" Lily asked while Danielle pulled away from the Jackson house, steering the car down the road.

"Not that he could tell. Of course, he has no idea what we had."

"I wonder if they were there when he first drove up. They probably ran out the front door in a hurry, leaving it wide open."

"I don't know. Hard to tell. It's impossible to see the front door from the street, so it may have been wide open when he got there." _But I can always ask Walt what happened._

"I wonder if Ian saw anything," Lily said. She opened her purse and took out her cellphone.

"What are you doing?" Danielle asked.

"I'm going to see if Ian saw anything suspicious." Lily quickly dialed Ian's number.

"Lily? Where are you?" Ian answered the phone.

"We're just leaving Astoria. I was wondering if you saw anything suspicious at Marlow House while we were gone."

"Suspicious? Some guy is working in the backyard. But I assume that's the gardener you told me about."

"Yes, he is. But someone broke into the house, and I wondered if you saw anything."

"Someone broke into Marlow House?"

"The back window was broken, the one that goes into the library. And the front door was wide open."

"Did you call the police?"

"The gardener did. They looked through the house, couldn't tell if anything was missing. I was just wondering if you saw anything suspicious."

"Sorry, I just got back about fifteen minutes ago myself. Noticed some guy cleaning up the backyard over at your place, but other than that, I didn't see anything unusual. Sorry."

"Okay, thanks."

"Is Danielle going to be okay staying there alone tonight?"

"Alone?" Lily asked.

"When we go out to dinner. Remember? We are still going out, aren't we, unless you'd rather not because of the break-in?"

"Let me talk to Danielle about it. I'll call you when we get back to Frederickport."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"I gather he didn't see anything suspicious," Danielle said when Lily got off the phone.

"No, he was gone all morning. Dani, do you want me to stay home tonight?"

"Why? Aren't you going out to dinner with Ian?"

"I was supposed to. But if you feel funny about staying there alone..."

"Don't be silly, I'll be fine." _Walt can keep me company._

"Maybe you should have the locks changed," Lily suggested.

"Why? Sounds like whoever broke in literally broke in—through the window. Doesn't sound like they used a key to get in."

"Damn, I hope they didn't take my iPad!" Lily suddenly remembered she had left her iPad sitting on the dresser in her room.

"I know, I was thinking about my laptop. I have so much stuff on there. It has a password, but damn, I hope they didn't take it."

"Most of my stuff is in the Cloud, and I use a password too. But crap...there is no way they didn't see it. It would be so easy for them to just pick it up and take it."

"Nothing we can do about it right now," Danielle said. "All we can do is wait until we get back to Frederickport and assess the damage."

"I guess you're right." Lily sighed and leaned back in the car seat. "I hate thieves."

"Me too. But maybe it was just some kids screwing around."

"I hope so." Lily looked out the side window and silently watched the coastal scenery roll by, wondering if her iPad would still be at Marlow House when they got back to Frederickport.

"I can't believe how sharp Emma Jackson was," Danielle said after a few moments of silence.

"She really was, wasn't she? You know, Ian should be interviewing someone like her."

"What do you mean?" Danielle glanced over at Lily and then looked back down the highway.

"The woman is one hundred six years old—the things she's seen in her lifetime—like she said, she lived it."

"I can't imagine what it was like for a black woman back then." Danielle continued to look down the highway, her hands firmly on the steering wheel.

"I know. I often wonder what it was like for women back in the early 1900s—you know, not having the vote until 1920. Second-class citizens. Birth control was illegal. But then I meet someone like Emma Jackson and I realize it was even worse for women of color. To think there were laws saying you weren't allowed to live in the state because of the color of your skin!" Lily shook her head.

"We don't know what Ian is working on, but I think you have a good point about Emma. Not only has she lived more than a hundred years, she seems to have a pretty good memory. I bet she could tell some fascinating stories."

"So what are you going to do now?" Lily asked, glancing over at Danielle.

"What do you mean?"

"About Walt Marlow's death."

"I imagine I've found all that I can about what happened back then. I'll put together something, reference the old newspaper articles and what Emma remembers. Maybe I can get the newspaper to run a feature article on Marlow House and the death, in conjunction with the ad I intend to place for the B and B."

"Pretty smart marketing," Lily said with a grin.

_Smart marketing—if only Lily knew_ , Danielle thought. None of this was about promoting her new business, but Lily was right, it could benefit the bed and breakfast. _But would it also benefit Walt Marlow?_ she wondered.

"It's too bad you can't get ahold of his autopsy," Lily said.

"Funny you should say that. I thought about that myself. But I don't even know if he had one—especially considering someone on the police department back then seemed bent on covering it up. And even if they did one, would they still have it? And if so, what would I do with it? It would mean nothing to me."

"You could find someone qualified to look at it—see if there was something that was missed. A lot has changed in forensic medicine in the past century."

"Did they even have forensic medicine back then?" Danielle asked with a laugh.

"You have a point. Maybe not."

# Thirty

Lily stood on the side porch entry leading to the kitchen, anxiously waiting for Danielle to unlock the door so she could rush inside and go upstairs to her room and see if anything was missing.

"Hold on, Lily, it's not like a few minutes is going to make a difference," Danielle chided as she fumbled with the key.

"I know...I know...but I need to see if they took anything. Just hurry up!"

"I'm trying, but this darn lock sticks, and you jumping up and down like a kid that needs to use the bathroom is distracting!"

The moment Danielle opened the door, Lily pushed past her and ran inside. Instead of following Lily into the kitchen, Danielle stood on the porch and surveyed the backyard. Craig Simmons had trimmed most of the hedges, but there was still a great deal of work left to do. His truck was nowhere in sight, but she noticed some of his tools on the other side of the yard and suspected he had left for lunch, considering the time. After taking a final look, she went in the house and closed the door behind her. Tossing her purse and keys on the counter, she made her way to the library to check out the broken window.

Lily was already on her way up the stairs. En route, she raced headlong into Walt Marlow, never realizing what she had just done. Walt paused a moment and looked down as Lily effortlessly moved through his ghostly form. Shaking his head, he glanced up the stairs and watched as she continued on her way—a girl on a mission.

Downstairs he found Danielle in the library, surveying the damage. Earlier, Walt had watched Craig Simmons board up the window and clean up the glass off the floor.

"They broke in," Walt announced.

Danielle turned from the boarded-up window and faced Walt.

"Your gardener cleaned up the mess and called the police," he told her.

"So I heard. Do you know who it was? Did they take anything?"

"It was Marie's grandson and that friend of his. The man who came with him when he brought you the photographs of Brianna. It was the grandson's friend who actually broke the window."

"Why in the world would they break in? And what did they take?"

"They didn't take anything. I made sure of that," Walt said smugly.

"What did you do?"

"I did what you suggested. I harnessed my energy."

Studying Walt, Danielle narrowed her eyes, wondering what sort of ghostly powers he managed to employ.

"My iPad is still here!" Lily announced as she barged into the library. And your laptop is still in your room. It doesn't look like anything is missing. The televisions are still here. But something strange went on in the attic."

"Something strange?" Danielle looked from Walt to Lily.

"Remember, I told you there was a croquet set up there? Well, it looks like someone had a good time tossing the balls and mallets all over the room. One of the balls must have hit the wall, because there's a dent by the attic door with a little red paint in the middle of it—same color as one of the croquet balls nearby on the floor."

"Damn, I dented the wall." Walt frowned. "I guess I need to practice my aim."

"Yes, that is strange," Danielle agreed. She glanced at Walt and then back at Lily. "Lily, why don't you run across the street and let Ian know you'll be going out to dinner with him tonight. I imagine he's wondering."

"Oh, I'll call him later. You think I should get out that inventory list and take a closer look? It's possible they took something I didn't notice."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was just kids horsing around. The croquet set confirms it for me. Go see Ian. If you guys are going out tonight, he may need to make reservations."

Lily considered the suggestion a moment and then said, "Okay, I guess I should let him know what's going on."

"Not-so-subtle way to get rid of her," Walt said with a chuckle after Lily raced from the room. Danielle didn't respond. Instead, she walked to the doorway, looked down the entry hall, and watched Lily leave through the front door.

"You threw the croquet set at them?" Danielle asked, turning back into the room.

"I tried scaring them away with the television. But apparently, televisions can operate without being plugged into the wall."

"They can?"

"That's what Marie's grandson thought." Walt shrugged.

"So why were they here?" Danielle had no idea what he meant about a television not needing electricity. However, she was more curious as to why Adam and Bill broke into her house.

"They were looking for something." Walt sat on a leather chair and waved his hand slightly, summoning a lit cigar.

"What?" Danielle sat down across from Walt.

"I don't know..." He took a puff off the cigar and then added, "That is not entirely true."

"Not entirely true? What do you mean?"

"They were looking for something left in this house prior to your arrival."

"How do you know that?"

"The grandson's friend said something about how he wished they had searched the house before you moved in."

"Do you think Joanne left something of value in the house?"

"I don't think they were looking for something left by Joanne." Walt took another puff.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because when the grandson started taking the books out of the bookshelves, checking to see if any had a secret compartment, his friend asked, 'Do you think _he_ hid them in a book?' Or something like that. Whoever hid whatever they were looking for was male."

"Do you remember any men coming into your house since you died?"

"Not really." Walt shook his head.

Danielle studied Walt's pensive expression. Finally, she asked, "Was it something you hid in the house?"

Walt didn't answer the question. Danielle glanced over to the bookshelves and then back to Walt.

"If they were looking for something that could be hidden in a book, it would have to be small."

"I suppose so." Walt studied the cigar in his hand, watching the smoke curl and rise.

"Marie told me about that necklace. It was never recovered. Is that what they're looking for?"

"Why look for it now?" Walt asked. "This house has been vacant for almost ninety years. If George told her about the necklace before he died—and I assumed she shared that information with her grandson—why didn't he look for it before?"

"Then what did you mean when you said you didn't know what they were looking for, but then said that's not entirely true?"

"I'll admit the thought occurred to me—that they were looking for the necklace. But I took it almost a hundred years ago. The moment the thought occurred to me, I put it aside. If it was the necklace, he would have already searched for it."

"Maybe..." Danielle paused and considered the possibilities. "Maybe she just recently told her grandson. It's possible she never really discussed Marlow House with him before, but with me showing up, she might have told Adam what her father had told her."

"I suppose that's possible. Whatever they were looking for, they assumed it was hidden—not sitting out in plain sight. I really can't think of anything else they could possibly be looking for that's small and might be hidden."

"So is it here someplace?" she asked.

Walt looked her in the eyes but did not respond.

"Come on, Walt, what did you do with the necklace? Is it here?"

"I told you before, it no longer matters."

"I think it does! If some valuable necklace is stashed somewhere in my house—and if those idiots were looking for it, what's to say more idiots won't show up and start looking?"

"Why would they? No one has for a hundred years, until now. And I chased them off. I don't think they'll be back."

"If this necklace is as valuable as Marie said, then I can't believe they won't be back. Or at least, hire someone to look for them. And what happens when I open for business? If Marie happens to mention that story to others, especially with the promotion I'll be doing for the B and B, she'll be more apt to tell those old stories to whoever will listen. Will I have to worry about guests taking down the paneling in their rooms, looking for some hidden treasure?"

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Walt vowed.

"I thought you were leaving when I tell the world you didn't kill yourself?"

"You really want to get rid of me, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter if I want you here or not. If it's time for you to move on, you will move on, but please don't leave me here with a house that attracts criminals looking for some hidden treasure."

"I think you're exaggerating."

"Walt, is it here? If you want me to tell the world the truth about you, I want to know if that damned necklace is in this house," Danielle said angrily.

Walt was silent for a few minutes before he said, "Yes, it is."

Surprised by his admission, Danielle did not immediately respond. She had assumed he had done something with the necklace long before his death—sold it or given it to a lover. But to hide it in his house? Why?

"Where is it?" she asked at last.

"That I will not tell you." Walt stood up. "It does not concern you. And please do not blackmail me again for answers. I will remind you I have learned to harness my energy—thanks to your advice. I don't believe it will be good for your business to have the furniture regularly flying across the room." Walt vanished.

"Damn," Danielle cursed, glancing around the library. She sat there a moment, wondering what to do next, when she heard the doorbell ring.

"Did Lily forget her key?" she asked the empty room as she got up to go answer the door. A moment later she discovered it wasn't Lily; it was Craig Simmons, the landscaper.

Holding a sweat-stained baseball cap in his hand, the fortyish-something sandy-haired man stood on the front porch, still wearing his work boots, faded jeans and stained T-shirt. "Hello, Ms. Boatman, I just got back from lunch, noticed your car in the back drive and wondered if you had a chance to look through your house. I wanted to make sure everything is all right."

"Yes, we went through the house, and nothing seems to be missing." That wasn't entirely true. She had only been to the library and kitchen, but according to Walt, Adam and Bill left empty-handed.

"That's good, I was worried. We don't hear about many break-ins around here; it's always been a safe neighborhood."

"I suspect it was kids just fooling around. It is summer and all. They could have easily swiped my friend's iPad—it was out in plain view. But they didn't steal anything. I noticed the croquet set we have stored in the attic was tossed about the room. Looks like they were playing up there," Danielle improvised. If she was going to point the finger at innocent children, she wanted to downplay the break-in. The last thing she wanted to do was get some poor kid in trouble. She just wished there was a way she could prove Adam and Bill had broken in, yet she didn't think that was possible. "Fortunately, they didn't break anything. Well, aside from the window."

"We noticed that croquet set in the attic."

"I wanted to thank you for taking the time to board up the window and for calling your brother-in-law to check things out."

"Oh, no problem. And that reminds me..." Craig pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Danielle. "Joe asked me to give this to you. He wanted you to give him a call when you have some time. He filled out a report, but he wanted to go over it with you, in case anything was taken."

"Sure, I'll be happy to."

"I better get back to work."

"Thanks again. The backyard is looking good, by the way."

Craig responded with a smile and nod, and then he made his way down the walkway to the side of the house, where he had parked his truck. Danielle stood at the open doorway for a few moments, then shut it and went back into the house. She glanced down briefly at the business card in her hand. Tucking it in her back pocket, she walked to the parlor and was startled to find Walt there on the sofa, flipping through Lily's magazines.

"I really hope Lily doesn't walk in here someday and find her magazines floating in midair."

"Why did you lead your gardener to believe children broke into the house? You know who did it."

"Because there's no way for me to prove it. And I don't want to freak Lily out. She'll sleep a little better believing the break-in was just a childish prank."

"Perhaps one of the neighbors witnessed those two fools running down the street."

"Do you remember what time it was?"

"No, why?"

"If I knew what time they charged out of here, I could go talk to the neighbors up and down the street and see if anyone saw anything around that time."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good with time," Walt confessed. "What about Ian? He's just across the street, and I've caught him looking over here often enough. Chances are he saw something."

"Lily talked to him on the phone when we were on the way back from Astoria. According to Ian, he got home after the gardener discovered the break-in. In fact, he wasn't aware of what had happened."

"Or so he says. We all know how truthful he is." Walt tossed the magazine he was holding to the floor.

"He didn't really lie. He was once a teacher. And he gave us his real name. He just chose not to tell us he was an author. Plus, he has never threatened me. I can't say the same about you."

"You blackmailed me," he reminded her.

"But only because I don't want more people breaking into the house. Of course, I really shouldn't worry about it, since you'll be terrorizing my potential customers by hurling furniture at them." Danielle didn't wait for Walt to respond. She turned and left the room, leaving him alone in the parlor.

# Thirty-One

Lily and Ian followed the hostess, weaving their way through the busy dining room. They were led to a dimly lit table overlooking the bay.

"Gorgeous view," Lily murmured as she removed the fringed shawl from her shoulders. The night air was too chilly to wear her sleeveless summer dress without a wrap, but she didn't need it in the restaurant. Sitting across the table from Ian, Lily placed the shawl and her purse on the empty chair next to her.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the hostess asked as she handed them each a menu.

"Would you like some wine, Lily?" Ian asked. "Or perhaps a cocktail?"

"A martini sounds good," Lily said with a grin.

"Martini? You don't fool around," Ian teased.

Lily smiled and looked up at the waitress and said, "I'd like a vodka martini, straight up and extra olives. House vodka is fine. And light on the vermouth—tell the bartender to just wave it over the glass."

"Vodka tonic for me," Ian said when the waitress looked to him for his order.

"I'll get those drinks in. Your server will be right with you."

"Sounds like you've ordered a martini before," Ian teased when the hostess left the table.

"I don't drink a lot of hard alcohol, but when I do, I do it right."

"I like a gin martini once in a while."

"Oh, I can't drink gin." Lily wrinkled her nose. "In college I got sick on sloe gin—just the smell..." Lily cringed then added, "You know what they say about martinis? That they're like women's breasts."

"I have to hear this!" Ian laughed. "Why?"

"Because one isn't enough and three's too many."

Ian laughed again and said, "When the server brings our drinks, I'll be sure to order your second one."

"Just as long as I don't have three, then I'm cool," Lily quipped.

Ian opened his menu and asked, "Do you like lobster? I heard they have great steak and lobster here."

"Lobster?" Lily glanced up at Ian. Truth was, she loved lobster, but she would never order it when on a date—especially one where her date was paying.

"You've had lobster before, haven't you?"

"Sure." Lily looked over her menu. "I love lobster. A couple years ago I went to Mazatlán with some friends and the lobster was so darn affordable—but the butter—yuck. Was a major disappointment. One of the best things about lobster is the butter."

"I don't think you'll have a problem with the butter here."

"I think I'll have the sole," Lily said cheerfully, setting her closed menu on the tabletop.

"Do you like sole better than lobster?" Ian asked.

"Better than? No, why?"

"Then why don't you order lobster?"

"I'm sure the sole here is delicious."

A moment later a server brought over their drinks just as their waitress showed up to take their order.

"Would you like an appetizer tonight?" the server asked.

"Yes, that sounds good." Ian looked over the menu. "Lily, is there a particular appetizer you'd like?"

"Whatever you want is fine," Lily said politely.

"Okay." Ian closed his menu and looked up at the server. "We'd like the combo appetizer plate. And for dinner, we'll both have the steak and lobster. Lily, how would you like your steak prepared?"

"Steak?" Lily looked from Ian to the server.

"Steak, I remember when we went out to breakfast, you mentioned you liked steak—so I know you eat red meat. How do you like it prepared? Rare, medium, well?"

"Medium rare," Lily said softly.

"Good choice." Ian smiled and picked up both menus, handing them to the server. "I'd like mine medium rare too."

The server looked at Lily and asked, "Would you like soup or salad?"

"Salad, please. With ranch."

"Baked potato or rice?" the waitress asked.

"Baked potato, please."

"Same here," Ian said cheerfully.

"Why did you order me steak and lobster?" Lily asked when the server left the table.

"If you really had your heart set on the sole, I'll call the waitress back. But I heard their steak and lobster is awesome."

_And really expensive,_ Lily thought.

"Are you always this pushy?" Lily teased.

"Only when I can get away with it."

"Well...I suppose I'll let you get away with it this time. If I must, I'll suffer through the steak and lobster."

"Good. I don't think you'll be sorry."

The meal proved to be as good as Ian had heard. Lily savored her dinner as she and Ian discussed her morning in Astoria.

"You really should do a story on that woman, she is so sharp. You'd never know she was one hundred six." Lily speared a piece of lobster and dunked it in melted butter.

"I still can't get over the fact Danielle is determined to prove Walt Marlow didn't commit suicide."

"I can understand. How would you feel if everyone thought you killed yourself, and the person who murdered you went free?"

"I imagine I'd be dead at that point and really wouldn't care what people thought."

"I don't believe that." Lily shook her head.

"What, that I wouldn't care after I was dead?"

"No, that you wouldn't care now. Come on; be honest with yourself. If you knew that when you died, everyone would think something really horrible about you—something that wasn't true and was embarrassing, wouldn't you hate that?"

"I suppose so, but once I'm dead, it would become sort of a moot point. But it is a good mystery. And I do love mysteries."

"Speaking of mysteries, I think Danielle is wrong. I don't think kids broke into the house this morning."

"Then how did the window get broken? I can understand the open front door; it may not have been closed all the way when you left this morning."

"No. Someone was in the house. I have no doubt about that. But I don't think it was kids just goofing around, like Danielle thinks. I have a feeling whoever it was, was looking for something."

"Why do you say that?"

"Cupboards and drawers that were shut when we left were ajar, as if someone had opened them and didn't shut them all the way. I could tell someone went in my closet, my suitcase was moved. But nothing was taken. Why would someone search through the house but not take anything? My iPad was sitting on the dresser in clear sight, and they didn't touch it. I think that is bizarre."

"And you haven't mentioned this to Danielle yet?" Ian picked up his glass of water and took a sip.

"No. But I think I should. She's supposed to call the police officer who was over at the house today. I think I should tell her before she talks to him."

"Lily, while you and Danielle have been playing detective..."

"It is mostly Danielle playing detective," Lily corrected.

"Okay...Danielle then...has she come across anything that might suggest there is something of value hidden in the house?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." Lily frowned.

"If whoever broke into Marlow House was looking for something—what do you think they were looking for? Do you have any idea?"

"Gosh, I don't know. You were with me when I did the inventory. Can you think of anything that someone might be willing to break in to get?"

"You have the list. Is anything missing?"

"I wanted to go through the inventory, but Danielle thought it was a waste of time. She seemed pretty convinced that nothing was missing."

"You want me to help you go through it, just in case?" Ian offered.

"Maybe...I don't know. I'll talk to Danielle about it in the morning." They were silent for several minutes, each focusing on the meal and their private thoughts.

"So your story has nothing to do with how Marlow died?" Lily asked after she ate her last bite of steak.

"No. I never really doubted Marlow killed himself. I think he had his own demons." Ian took a sip of his water.

"So you are researching Walt Marlow?"

"You know, now that I bought you a steak and lobster dinner, you owe me."

"I owe you? Technically, you haven't bought it yet, so maybe I better find out what you expect. I may decide I'm unwilling to ante up. Although, it was rather sneaky of you to trick me into buying such an expensive meal."

Ian grinned. "I'm a sneaky guy; what can I say?"

"Okay, so what do you expect?"

"If I tell you anything about my project, you can't mention it to anyone, outside of Danielle. And you can only mention it to Danielle if she agrees to keep it between us."

"Well, gee, you didn't have to buy me an expensive dinner for that. All you have to do is say, _Lily, don't tell anyone_ , and I won't."

"Really? You mean I wasted all this money?" Ian teased. "How about I change what you owe me?"

"Does it involve taking my clothes off?" Lily asked.

"Yes, but not all at once."

"Ha, ha...funny." Lily flashed him a smile.

"Hey, I'm old school. Buy a pretty lady dinner and expect illicit sex."

"Yes, you are an old-fashioned guy!"

"I try."

"Now, back to the story you're working on," Lily said.

"I thought the other conversation was more interesting." He grinned.

Lily smacked Ian across his arm with her cloth napkin.

"Okay, okay. You don't have to get violent. I'm working on an article about one of Walt Marlow's close acquaintances."

"Who?"

The waitress showed up at the table and silently took their dishes. Ian ordered them both dessert and coffee and then resumed the conversation when the server was gone.

"When Walt Marlow was a young man, he was very close to Eva Thorndike."

"Am I supposed to know that name?"

"Only if you're into silent movies. Her star burned brightly for a couple years, but she died in her early twenties. She came from a very wealthy family."

"And she was an actress? I thought that was a taboo profession for women back then, especially if she came from money."

"It was common knowledge that her parents indulged her. From what I've discovered, doctors at the time didn't think she'd make it past her teens. Not sure how different her life might have been if she hadn't had a congenital medical condition. Maybe then they would have been more prone to pull in the reins, but I guess we'll never know about that."

"How does Walt Marlow fit into the picture?"

"Every summer her family would vacation in Frederickport. Eva was a little older than Walt, and they became very close. From what I've learned, he fell madly in love with her. Apparently, she didn't return his affection. She ran off and eloped with another actor. When her health worsened and she was bedridden, her husband abandoned her. It was Walt Marlow who held her hand at the end, not her husband."

"How sad. So is your story about unrequited love?"

"Not exactly. Although that's one reason I bought the suicide scenario—his relationship with Eva and his later relationship with his wife."

"Danielle seems to think his wife and brother-in-law conspired to kill him."

"Which supports what I've uncovered about Angela and Walt's relationship, in that she married him for his money—not for love."

"So what's your angle?"

Before Ian could answer the question, the server returned to the table with the coffee and dessert. Ian adeptly changed the subject and managed to avoid answering Lily's question.

# Thirty-Two

Danielle wondered if Lily would be out late. Glancing at the clock on her dresser, she noted the time. It was a few minutes past 9 p.m. The house was quiet with Lily gone, and it had been hours since she had seen Walt. _Where does he go?_ she wondered. From what she understood, he couldn't leave the house.

Alone in her bedroom, Danielle looked around. Her gaze fixed on the fireplace. Walking to it, she paused a moment before putting out her right hand and caressing the paneling, looking for loose boards. Dropping to her knees, she looked inside the fireplace. She imagined it had been almost ninety years since anyone had built a fire in the brick firebox. Sticking her head inside, she reached up, searching for the flue.

"Looking for something?" Walt asked.

Danielle jumped in surprise, knocking her head against the brick. Crying out in pain, she grabbed her forehead and climbed out of the fireplace.

"I told you not to sneak up on me like that!" she snapped, still rubbing her injury.

"Sorry, but you looked a little ridiculous." Walt watched Danielle, who now sat on the floor, her back leaning against the wall as she massaged her forehead.

Glaring at Walt, who now sat casually on the edge of her bed, a thought flashed in her mind. "Don't tell me, you put it under your mattress," she accused.

"Under the mattress?" Walt glanced down at the bedspread. "If I did, then that would mean it was gone—carried off when they delivered the new beds."

"Wait a minute...no...when we discussed the new beds, you didn't seem upset about them removing the old ones. So, no, I don't think you put it there."

"Why would I care if they took it? I'm dead. What am I going to do with it?"

"But you didn't realize you were dead. Not then."

"True. You have a point. But I didn't come here to discuss the necklace."

"Why did you come here?"

"You never told me what you learned in Astoria this morning."

"Before we discuss that, I'd like you to first tell me why, if you have no use for the necklace, then why can't you just tell me where it's hidden?" She wanted to ask him why he stole it in the first place. In his time Walt Marlow was a rich man. When they initially discussed the theft, his _I had my reasons_ response made it clear he had no intention of sharing those reasons with her.

"Do you intend to keep it for yourself or sell it?" Walt asked.

"What? I only want to find it so I don't have people like Adam breaking in here searching for hidden treasure." Danielle stopped rubbing her forehead.

"But after you find it, what do you intend to do with it?"

"I suppose give it back to its rightful owner."

"Are you saying you wouldn't be tempted to keep it? After all, it's not like anyone is still alive to claim it."

"That wouldn't be right. In fact, I would think you'd want me to find it and return it to its legal owner. Who knows, maybe that's why you're trapped here. You need to right a wrong—set things straight—and then move on to the next level."

"Is that what you think?" Walt looked amused.

"Come on, Walt, just tell me where that frickin' necklace is so I can get it back to its owner."

"They are all dead now, Danielle. It's too late."

"Then it would go to their estate."

"Can we not discuss this right now? I will consider what you've asked. But for now, can you just tell me about your trip to Astoria? I've had a very trying day myself, what with those two palookas breaking in here."

"Which they probably wouldn't have done if you hadn't stolen that damn necklace," Danielle hissed under her breath. She stood up and faced Walt.

"Please, Danielle."

Danielle studied Walt for a moment without saying anything. Finally, she let out a sigh and told him what he wanted to hear.

"Emma Jackson in Astoria was the same Emma Jackson mentioned in the newspaper article. Surprisingly, she was very sharp; I would never have guessed her age. She remembered that night—remembered your brother-in-law coming from Frederickport and breaking down. According to her, she changed her story after she was threatened by a local police officer. Some guy named Hal Tucker."

"Tucker. He was a fishing buddy of Roger's."

"That's what Emma said. She remembered the two coming into the diner from time to time."

"I never had a problem with Tucker until I started seeing Angela."

"Was there ever something between Tucker and Angela?"

"I don't think so. As far as I ever knew, he was just an old fishing buddy of Roger's. Tucker was from Portland, where Roger lived. I knew Tucker was sweet on Angela, but she never seemed to pay him any notice—at least not that I ever saw."

"Emma mentioned that—about Tucker being sweet on your wife. I guess Roger used to tease him about it."

"I wonder if Tucker and Roger were responsible for my death."

"I suppose the two could have conspired. Although Emma sort of got the impression Tucker just wanted to keep in Roger's good graces so he could get closer to Angela. Putting her twin brother in jail wouldn't ingratiate himself with your wife."

"Do you think any of this will help me?"

"Emma gave me permission to tell her story and promised to verify it. Roger obviously lied about coming from Portland. He had actually come from Frederickport on the day you were killed. From everything I've read, I don't think he realized his sister had been killed. He assumed she would inherit your fortune—and he expected to benefit. I'm not sure everyone will be convinced you didn't commit suicide, but at least there will be reasonable doubt."

"I appreciate your effort, Danielle. Sincerely."

"I've one more thing I want to check out."

"What's that?"

"Who would have done your autopsy back then? I would assume they would have one, considering the circumstances of your death."

"Most likely Doc Clemens would have looked me over. That was pretty standard around here."

"Doc Clemens? Was he the coroner?"

"Doc Clemens was the local doctor—the only one in Frederickport. So what is it exactly you intend to do?"

"I'm going to see if the local police station has any of the old files on your death. Maybe an autopsy report of some kind."

"How is that going to help?"

"Maybe there's something in the report—something they missed the first time. I'll probably have to get someone to look at it, because I won't really know what to look for."

"When can you do this?"

"Well, tomorrow is Sunday, and I have some stuff to get ready around here. They're delivering our new appliances Monday afternoon, and my things arrive on Tuesday. Maybe I can stop over at the police station Monday morning."

"We need to fix the library window," Walt told her.

Danielle raised her brows. "We? Are you handy with tools?"

"You know what I mean." Walt paused a moment, hearing something. "I think Lily is home. I just heard the front door open and close." His suspicion was confirmed when the sound of Lily's footsteps could be heard coming up the staircase. "Good night, Danielle." Walt disappeared.

"Dani, you're still awake," Lily said when she reached the open doorway.

"I was just getting ready to take a shower. Did you have a nice dinner?"

"I had steak and lobster!" Lily walked into the bedroom and sat down on the small sofa, facing Danielle and the fireplace.

"Wow, must be nice. I can't even think of the last time I had lobster."

"It was really good. I was going to order the sole, but Ian insisted we both have steak and lobster."

"Glad you had a nice dinner."

"He told me a little about what he's working on. I can tell you, but you have to promise not to say anything to anyone."

"Who am I going to tell? I hardly know anyone in Frederickport." Danielle glanced to where Walt had been sitting earlier.

"His article is about an actress, Eva Thorndike. She was a silent picture star. He wouldn't really give me any details other than Walt Marlow was in love with her. She broke his heart."

"Eva Thorndike?" Danielle frowned.

"You've heard of her? I never had, but I'm not really into those old movies."

"Yes...no...I mean I had never heard of her before coming to Frederickport...not until I visited the local museum. They have a portrait of her there. The docent told me about her. She came from a very wealthy family, and they used to spend their summers in Frederickport. The docent never suggested a connection between the actress and Walt. Why does Ian think Walt was in love with her?"

"He didn't say exactly." Lily shrugged. "I guess she married someone else. It was one reason Ian accepted the story of Marlow's suicide. One woman broke his heart, and his wife was a gold digger. But you already suspected the wife was in some way involved in his death."

"The portrait of Eva Thorndike at the museum was painted by the same artist who painted Walt and Angela Marlow's portraits."

"Did the docent tell you that?"

"Umm...no...I noticed the author's signature," Danielle lied.

"What did she look like, the actress? Was she beautiful?"

"If the portrait is accurate, very beautiful. Have you ever heard of the Gibson Girl?" Danielle asked.

"Wasn't that a series of drawings supposed to be based on the ideal woman?"

"Yes, back in the late 1800s, I believe. To me Eva Thorndike looked a lot like the Gibson Girl."

"I remember what she looked like—the drawing, that is. Very feminine, a bit aloof. In some of the drawings I never could decide if her eyes were supposed to be sad or if she was just bored."

"In the portrait, Eva's eyes are a bit like that, but I think they are more sad than bored." Visualizing the portrait, Danielle remembered the woman's expression, manner of clothes—her jewelry.

"Oh my god, the Missing Thorndike." The moment Danielle blurted out the words, she covered her mouth with her palm, silencing herself. Glancing around nervously, she didn't want Walt listening in as they discussed him.

"Missing Thorndike?"

"I...I just remembered something the docent told me. In the painting Eva was wearing a beautiful necklace—emeralds and diamonds. She died very young, and around the time of her death the necklace disappeared. It was never recovered. The docent called the stolen necklace the Missing Thorndike." Danielle expected Walt to pop in at any moment.

_Is that the stolen necklace Marie mentioned? If so, did Walt steal it before Eva died—or after? If he truly loved Eva Thorndike, if she broke his heart as Ian seems to think, is that the reason he refuses to discuss the stolen necklace? Is he perhaps so sentimentally attached to it that he can't bear to let it go?_

# Thirty-Three

"It really pisses me off to have to spend money fixing this window," Danielle told Lily on Sunday morning as the two stood in the library, looking at the boarded-up window.

"Won't your insurance cover it?" Lily asked.

"There's a deductible, and if I claim it, my rates will probably go up."

"Does that mean you aren't going to report it to your insurance company?"

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Tomorrow I'll make a few calls and see how much it's going to cost me."

Danielle hadn't seen Walt since the night before, and she couldn't stop thinking about the Missing Thorndike and wondering if the diamond and emerald necklace in the portrait was the same one Walt Marlow stole a century ago.

"Lily, you want to go out to breakfast?" Danielle had an idea and she didn't want to discuss it in the house—just in case Walt was nearby listening in.

Almost an hour later Lily and Danielle sat together in a Frederickport restaurant, finishing their breakfast.

"Busy day tomorrow," Lily noted as she spread strawberry preserves on her last piece of toast.

"Looking forward to having a real refrigerator. The electrician promises to have everything finished by the time the appliances arrive, and the plumber will be there at four to hook up the washing machine."

"The rest of your stuff is arriving on Tuesday?" Lily asked.

"Yes. Not sure where I'm going to put it all. Maybe just have them take everything to the attic. It's mostly boxes—I sold most of the furniture. If everything goes as planned, Marlow House B and B will be opening for business July 4th—not that I expect to have any customers right away."

"You still plan on having a July 4th open house?" Lily pushed her empty plate to the edge of the table.

"Yes. I know that's pretty quick, but I think we can do it. And if I can wrap up the loose ends on Walt Marlow—and how he really died—I can put together some interesting brochures on the house's history. I'm banking on the local newspaper running a feature article on it."

"Which will be great exposure for your new business." Lily glanced up and flashed a smile to the waitress, who silently collected the dirty dishes from their table before walking away.

"Funny, we haven't even been here a week, and I've done a complete one-eighty in how I'm approaching this new business." Danielle picked up the bill left behind by the waitress.

"I noticed. On our drive up here, we were discussing names for the bed and breakfast," Lily said with a chuckle.

"I know. You think Marlow House Bed and Breakfast sounds okay?"

"If you're playing on the house's history, it would be foolish to use something else." Lily opened her purse and asked, "How much do you need?"

"I got this." Danielle waved Lily's hand away. "Hey, would you mind if we stopped at Marie Hemming's house?"

"That's fine, but do you think she might be at church?" Lily asked.

"I'll give her a call when we get to the car." Danielle's intention all along was to see Marie and to ask her questions regarding the jewel heist. She hadn't wanted to mention it while still at Marlow House, for fear Walt might be listening.

After returning to the car, Danielle called Marie, who was at home and welcomed a visit. Before driving to the older woman's house, Lily and Danielle stopped by the bakery and picked up some pastries. The elderly woman greeted them at the gate and ushered them to the back porch, where she had a pot of coffee and three cups waiting.

"I have been so anxious to see how it went yesterday," Marie said as she took a seat at the patio table. "Was she the Emma Jackson you were looking for?"

"Not only was she the same Emma Jackson from the old newspaper articles, she was sharp and remembered the incident," Danielle told her.

Danielle removed the pastries from the paper sack while telling Marie about their visit with Emma Jackson. Tucking a napkin under a sweet roll, she handed it to Marie before giving one to Lily and taking one for herself. She took a seat at the patio table with Lily and Marie. Marie stood up a moment and poured them each a cup of coffee while listening to Danielle.

"I have to admit, I wasn't sure Emma Jackson would remember much—if any—of it, assuming, of course, she was the right woman. I'm so glad it worked out for you," Marie said after Danielle finished recounting yesterday's trip to Astoria.

"I wanted to ask you about something," Danielle said after they finished discussing Emma Jackson.

"What is that?" Marie asked.

"You mentioned Walt Marlow was involved in a jewel heist."

"A jewel heist? How come I've never heard about this?" Lily asked.

"I believe I mentioned it to Danielle when we first met," Marie explained. Lily frowned at Danielle, wondering why she was just hearing about it now. "Funny thing, I hadn't thought about that story in years—not since my father told me about it. But then that writer interviewed me about it—and later I mentioned it to you. I guess sometimes it just works that way."

"A writer interviewed you?" Danielle asked.

"Yes, about a week before you arrived. I can't remember his name."

"Was it Jon Altar?" Lily asked.

"Yes! Yes, that's it!" Marie said brightly. "A nice young man, asked me if we could keep the interview between us—confidential. But I know I can trust you girls." Marie leaned across the table and patted Lily's hand and then Danielle's hand.

"Did you tell him about the jewel heist?" Danielle asked.

"I still want to know what you two are talking about—what jewel heist?" Lily insisted.

"Before I was born, there was a rather notorious jewelry heist in Frederickport," Marie explained. "It was always referred to as the Missing Thorndike, because the necklace belonged to Eva Thorndike. In my father's later years, he confided in me that Walt Marlow was responsible." Marie turned to Danielle. "But no, I didn't tell Jon Altar about the stolen necklace. He asked me about it."

"He asked you? Why?" Danielle asked.

"Apparently, he's doing a story on Eva Thorndike," Marie explained. "He came across some information that suggested Walt Marlow was responsible—and that when Marlow died, he still had the necklace. Mr. Altar wanted to know if I had ever heard anything about the story, since my father was close to Marlow."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this when you mentioned Marlow was involved in a heist?" Danielle asked.

"Oh, I couldn't." Marie shook her head seriously. "I promised Mr. Altar I wouldn't say anything."

"That's why Walt Marlow was killed!" Lily said excitedly.

"What do you mean?" Danielle frowned.

"Well duhh, if he stole some expensive necklace and supposedly had it when he died, and it has since disappeared—I'm assuming it has not surfaced—then doesn't it stand to reason he was killed for the necklace?"

Danielle looked at Lily. She didn't want to contradict her theory, because it wasn't bad—except Walt had already insinuated the necklace was hidden somewhere in Marlow House.

"I imagine you told Adam about the necklace?" Danielle asked Marie.

"No, we never discussed it."

"So he knows nothing about the Missing Thorndike?" Danielle asked.

"Of course he knows about the Missing Thorndike, that's folklore around Frederickport. But we never discussed Walt Marlow's possible involvement in the theft."

"Why not?" Danielle asked.

"Oh...no reason, really." Marie pondered the question. "In all honesty, it never came up. After all, my father told me those things years ago, before Adam was ever born. And frankly, I never thought the necklace was still in the house. I'm sure Roger Calvert went through Marlow House with a fine-tooth comb after Walt died. Knowing what kind of man Roger was, he probably had the gems chiseled out of the piece and sold before hearing of his sister's death."

"They would have let him in Marlow House?" Danielle asked.

"Certainly. Remember, they didn't know about Angela's death right away. I don't think anyone would've questioned Roger going into the house. After all, he was family."

"So Adam never knew Walt Marlow might have taken the necklace?" Danielle couldn't believe he didn't know, considering he had broken into her house.

"I suppose he could have overheard Mr. Altar and me discussing it." Marie shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Danielle asked.

"The day Mr. Altar came over, Adam and Bill Jones—Adam's handyman—were in the kitchen. Bill was fixing my oven. Adam knows I don't care for Bill, never have. The boys went to high school together, and Bill was nothing but trouble. But Adam insists he's changed and is good at what he does. I've told Adam if he wants Bill to do repairs here, he needs to stick around when he does it. I don't want to be alone with the man."

"You think Bill is dangerous?" Lily asked.

"Dangerous?" Marie laughed. "No. He's just irritating. Adam can deal with him."

"So you think it possible they overheard your conversation with Altar?" Danielle almost said _with Ian_ but caught herself.

"I suppose it is possible. Mr. Altar and I were sitting here, where we are now. The kitchen windows were open."

Danielle glanced over to the nearby kitchen window. From where they were sitting, there was not a clear view into the kitchen—yet it was close enough to possibly overhear a conversation taking place on the patio if standing by the stove.

"Did Mr. Altar know your grandson and Bill were in the kitchen?" Danielle asked.

"Hmm..." Marie considered the question a moment. "I don't think so. In fact, when Mr. Altar left, Adam came right outside and asked me who he was. I gave Adam his name and told him he was interviewing me for an article. But...why is all this important?"

"Oh...I was just curious," Danielle said. _It's not exactly a lie_ , she thought.

They chatted for about fifteen minutes longer, when Marie's grandson showed up at the house.

"Adam, I didn't expect to see you for another hour," Marie greeted him when Adam walked out onto the patio.

"I didn't realize you had company. Danielle...Lily...nice to see you both. How did your meeting with Emma Jackson work out?" He glanced from Lily to Danielle and smiled.

"It worked out nicely," Danielle said sweetly, trying to conceal her true feelings toward the man for Marie's sake. "Except for the fact Marlow House was broken into when we were in Astoria."

"Broken into? You never mentioned that!" Marie gasped.

"I'm sorry to hear. What did they take?" he asked.

"Nothing," Lily answered before Danielle, who was about to lie and say "just our computer and televisions" to see how he would respond.

"Nothing? I guess you're lucky." Adam smiled.

"Why would someone break into the house and not take anything?" Marie asked.

"We think something scared them off," Lily explained.

"Them?" Adam asked. "You think it was more than one person?"

"Oh, definitely. And we weren't that lucky. They broke the library window to get in. Now I have to hire someone to fix it."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Adam said.

_Yeah, right, you jerk. You and that sidekick of yours broke into my house...humm...I wonder..._

"You know that man you brought over to Marlow House with you? When you brought the photographs over?" Danielle asked Adam.

"Bill? What about him?"

"You mentioned he does handyman work. I need someone to fix the window in the library," Danielle said.

# Thirty-Four

"You hired that man to fix the window?" Walt paced the parlor floor as Danielle lounged casually on the small sofa, watching him with wry amusement.

"Bill Jones. His name is Bill Jones. After all, didn't you say he was the one who actually broke the window?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then it's only right that he fix it." Danielle smiled. Pulling the cellphone from her pocket, she looked at the time and then tucked the phone back in her pocket. "He should be here in about fifteen minutes. Don't you think it's nice of him to fix the window on a Sunday? Lucky for me he was able to get everything he needed, even the glass pane."

"You are paying a man to repair my window—a window he broke! That is absurd!" Walt boomed.

"Actually, it is my window. And who said anything about paying him?"

"I don't understand? He agreed to do it for free?"

"Of course not. But that doesn't mean I plan to pay him."

"Exactly how do you intend to get away with not paying him?"

"I'll figure something out," Danielle said with a shrug. "Do you happen to remember what he was wearing yesterday?"

"Wearing? Clothes, why?"

"Gee, thanks, you're helpful." Danielle rolled her eyes. "Do you remember the color of his shirt, his pants?"

"He was wearing denims. His shirt was red. Red plaid."

"Are you certain?" Danielle asked.

"Yes, I'm certain. I remember taking aim at it when throwing croquet balls at him. Where's Lily, by the way?" Walt glanced around.

"She has a migraine. She's upstairs lying down, trying to take a nap. When we were at Marie's, she had an interesting theory about what happened to the Missing Thorndike."

At the mention of the Missing Thorndike, Walt stopped pacing and stared at Danielle.

"That is the necklace you stole, isn't it?"

"Is that what Marie told you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"You know, I heard about the Missing Thorndike at the museum when I saw Eva Thorndike's portrait. When Marie first mentioned her father and said you were involved in a jewel heist, I had no idea she was talking about the necklace in the portrait."

"What was Lily's theory?" Walt asked.

"She suggested someone killed you for the necklace, which would mean it is no longer in the house. A new motive for your killer."

"No, I wasn't killed for the necklace—no one knew I had it."

"And it is still hidden in this house?"

"Didn't I tell you it no longer mattered?"

"Funny thing about that," Danielle said. "Maybe no one knew you took the necklace back then—but it seems like a whole bunch of folks know about it now. Me, Lily, Marie, Adam Nichols, Bill Jones, Ian..."

"Ian?" Walt frowned.

"Seems Ian is working on a story about Eva Thorndike. Apparently, he came across some information indicating you took the necklace."

"That's impossible." Walt shook his head.

"Apparently not. The thing is, once you tell just one person, there is no guarantee your secret will remain a secret. I know you said something to Marie's father. I've always wondered—why?"

"I had too much to drink."

"Excuse me?" Danielle frowned.

"George and I were having brandy one evening and I was feeling especially melancholy. I never actually told him I took the necklace—just that I might have it."

The doorbell rang, interrupting their discussion. Danielle jumped off the sofa and snatched a padlock off the coffee table. "I bet that's Bill," Danielle said as she went to answer the front door.

"This is a mistake," Walt said, walking alongside Danielle as she made her way from the parlor to the entry hall.

"Whatever. Just behave yourself. And try not to be too distracting," she whispered right before opening the front door.

"Ms. Boatman?" Bill greeted her. Leaning to the right and then the left, he looked over her shoulder into the house.

Danielle couldn't help but notice his unease. Forcing a smile, she cheerfully greeted him. "I do so appreciate you coming over—and on a Sunday!"

"I have everything in the back of my truck. I was wondering if I could just pull up in the drive."

"Certainly. The back gate is unlocked. You'll find the padlock hanging on the gate. Go on in, and I'll meet you at the back door to the kitchen. You can come in that way."

Bill gave a little nod before turning around and walking back down the front walkway toward the street. Danielle stood at the open door. When she heard him start up his truck, she walked to the gate, padlock in hand. Chuckling to herself, she locked the front gate with the padlock.

"Why did you ask that man here?" Walt asked after Danielle returned to the house.

She closed the door and started walking to the kitchen. "I told you. He broke the damn window; he can fix it."

Bill unlatched the back entrance of Marlow House before pushing the gate wide open. Returning to his truck, he turned on the ignition, put the vehicle in drive, and slowly turned into the driveway, parking in front of the broken window. Someone had boarded it up.

Bill chuckled to himself. He found it amusing that Danielle Boatman had called him to repair the window. He wasn't thrilled about going back into the house, and he still didn't understand what had happened in the attic, but he felt a measure of comfort knowing Boatman would be in the house with him. When he had visited Marlow House the first time, nothing peculiar had happened, and she had been there then. Maybe when he was finished fixing the window, he could get another look around the house. If nothing else, he would make some extra cash by fixing the window. _Maybe I should drum up business by going around breaking windows and leaving my business card_ , Bill told himself.

After the incident in the attic, he and Adam had run like hell from the house, leaving by the front door, and went straight to the rental to get Adam's car. At the time they hadn't considered someone might have seen them running down the street. It was a small town, and so far he hadn't heard anything; therefore, he assumed he was safe. He must be; after all, Danielle Boatman had even hired him to repair the library window.

When driving away from the rental house, Adam had spoken his first words since leaving Marlow House: remote control. Adam was convinced the croquet set was in some way rigged with a remote control device. Bill thought it was a logical explanation. The one thing he and Adam couldn't agree on—who was operating the remote control? However, Bill still couldn't find an explanation for the television plugging itself back into the wall.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _Adam had not unplugged it. Maybe it didn't actually get unplugged as they had initially thought._

Danielle was waiting at the kitchen door when he parked his truck. She sat outside on a bench and watched as he removed his toolbox from the back of the truck. He wasn't used to an audience when he worked, but he figured that considering what he planned to charge her, she was more than welcome to watch.

Danielle had to admit that Bill did a good job. She wondered where he had gotten a windowpane on such short notice but didn't ask. Standing at the kitchen doorway, she watched as he loaded his tools back into the bed of the pickup truck. He had even agreed to dispose of the scrap wood used to board up the window. It was already piled up in the back of his truck. She watched as he wrote out a bill. Danielle smiled as he walked to her and handed her the slip of paper.

"Could you do me a favor?" Danielle asked. "While I'm getting your check written, could you pull out of the driveway, put the padlock back on the gate, and lock it for me? I'll meet you around by the front gate and give you a check."

"No problem," Bill agreed. She stood at the back doorway, watching as he pulled out of the driveway, locking the gate behind him.

"The front gate's locked," Bill called out to Danielle, who was walking down the front walkway toward him. He rattled the gate to illustrate his point. Bill stood on the sidewalk outside the perimeter of her property.

"Yes, I know," Danielle said with a smile when she reached the gate. Bill glanced over the fence and noticed she wasn't carrying anything.

"I thought you were bringing me the check?"

"No. I won't be paying you," Danielle said with a smile.

"Excuse me?" Bill frowned in confusion.

"I figure you broke the window; it's only right you fix it. This way we're even. I won't be calling the police on you," she said calmly.

"You're crazy, lady. I don't know what you're talking about."

"I have witnesses. Just be happy I'm not calling the police on you. Consider this your lucky day."

"I don't believe you. If I really broke into your house and if you had a witness, you would have called the police on me."

"I don't want to upset Marie Nichols. She's been very nice to me."

"What does she have to do with this?" Bill asked nervously.

"If I have you arrested, I would have to arrest Marie's grandson, whom she depends on. I know you broke the window yesterday. After you broke it, you and Adam climbed through it and began searching through my house. At the time you were wearing a red plaid shirt and denims. You had a little problem in the attic, after which you both ran out the front door and down the street. You left the front door wide open, by the way. Now go home, and be grateful I didn't call the police."

Speechless, Bill stared at Danielle. Whatever bluster he had possessed evaporated.

"I don't understand," he muttered.

"You don't have to understand. Simply do not break into my house again."

Shaking his head in confusion, Bill stumbled back to his truck, glancing over his shoulder at Danielle, who remained standing inside her gate. Smiling, she gave him a cheerful little wave.

"She refused to pay you?" Adam asked when Bill showed up at his house late Sunday afternoon.

"She knows," Bill said as he pushed his way through Adam's front doorway. Adam followed Bill into the house and shut the door behind them.

"What do you mean she knows?"

"She said she had witnesses. Said she knows I broke the window, that we climbed in and searched the house. She described what I was wearing and even knew about what happened in the attic. Knew how we left the house."

"Why didn't she have you arrested?"

"Why didn't she have us arrested, you mean," Bill snapped.

"Okay, why didn't she have us arrested?" Adam asked.

"She said we were even, now that I fixed the window. That she wouldn't call the police because she likes your grandma, and she doesn't want to hurt her by having you arrested."

Adam was silent for a moment, considering everything Bill was telling him. Finally, he said, "She must have security cameras in the house."

"You mean like nanny cams?"

"Yeah. She probably has them all over the house. I bet I was also right about the remote control." Adam began to laugh. He started walking toward the kitchen and asked, "Want a beer?"

"What is so funny?" Bill asked, following Adam into the kitchen. He stood by Adam, who grabbed two beers from the refrigerator before handing one to him.

"I bet she was laughing like hell at us freaking out over that animated croquet set!" Adam laughed again and popped open the beer can before taking a quick swig. "Well played, Ms. Boatman."

"Easy for you to say. I spent an hour over there fixing that damn window, and she didn't even pay for the glass!"

"You did break the window, Bill." When Bill scowled, Adam added, "Okay, I'll pay for half the window. Let me know what you were going to charge—not the inflated bill, the real one—and I'll pay half."

# Thirty-Five

"You got the window fixed," Lily said when she wandered into the library Sunday evening. Yawning, she tightened the sash around the waist of her robe. She had removed her clothes earlier before lying down for a nap and had slipped on her Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, which she now wore under the robe.

Danielle tossed the book she was reading onto the floor and looked up at Lily. "Wow, you had some nap. You feeling okay? I can never sleep during the day."

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, Lily stumbled over to a chair and plopped down, sitting across from Danielle.

"For the first couple months when I go back to work, while I'm getting back in the groove, I come home every day after school and crash for about thirty minutes. A power nap. Perks me right up." Lily combed her fingers through her tangled red hair.

"You were out for more than thirty minutes. How is your head? You said something about a migraine."

"I took some aspirin before I lay down. It's fine now. But I think that visit to Marie's gave me the headache."

"What do you mean?" Danielle frowned.

"I need to talk to you, Dani. Something is bugging me. I think that's what gave me the migraine."

"What's wrong?" Danielle studied Lily's troubled expression.

"I think Ian was the one who broke into Marlow House yesterday."

"No, Lily. Ian didn't break in here. Trust me."

"Would you please hear me out?" Lily said impatiently.

"Okay, Lily, I'll hear you out, but I'm certain Ian wasn't the one who broke in here."

"I wish I could agree with you," Lily said sadly. "I really like him. I forgave Ian for not telling me what he really did for a living. And gee, he helped clean up the water leak in the kitchen, and he bought me steak and lobster. He's really good to Sadie. I couldn't like a guy who didn't love animals."

"Then why do you think he was the one who broke in?" Danielle asked gently.

"I didn't want to say anything to you at first, but even before we went to Marie's, I didn't think kids broke in here. Whoever was here was looking for something. When I walked through the house when we came back from Astoria, I noticed cupboards left ajar, drawers that had been closed that morning were partially open, and someone moved my suitcase in my closet, as if they were looking for something. If it was kids poking around, I can't believe they wouldn't have grabbed the iPad or your computer."

"Okay, I agree with you, it wasn't kids. But why do you think it was Ian?"

"When we went out to dinner, I told him what I thought—that someone had broken in trying to find something. He started quizzing me, asking me what I thought they were looking for. I've given it a lot of thought, and it was like he already had the answer and wanted to see if I knew."

"What do you think he was looking for?" Danielle asked.

"That stolen necklace, of course. He was the one who told me about Eva Thorndike, although he never mentioned the missing necklace. Of course, we now know he knew about it."

"You think he was here looking for the Missing Thorndike?" Danielle asked.

"It makes sense to me. It wouldn't surprise me if the necklace was what got Walt Marlow murdered, and the killer took off with it years ago. But Ian didn't know that. He was genuinely surprised that you uncovered information proving it wasn't suicide. I think Ian wanted to find the necklace. That's why he interviewed Joanne Johnson, to see if she knew anything about it. After all, it was possible she came across it years ago and gave it to whoever was managing the estate, and it never was made public. Had she found it and kept it, I doubt she would still be cleaning houses. And that's why he interviewed Marie, to see what she knew about the theft."

"All good theories, Lily, but you're wrong. Ian didn't break into Marlow House. He might very well be looking for the necklace, considering he was anxious to see the house and jumped at the chance to help with the inventory. But he wasn't the one who broke in here yesterday."

"How can you be so sure of that, Dani?" Lily wanted desperately to believe her friend.

"Because Adam Nichols and Bill Jones broke in yesterday, and I suspect they were looking for the necklace."

"Marie's grandson? No, it can't be. I admit I thought he was a little sleazy when I first met him, but he's been really helpful. He arranged that meeting with Emma Jackson."

"Yes, and conveniently got us out of Frederickport for the morning so he could break in."

"And Bill Jones? Isn't he the one who works for Adam, who you called to fix the window?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think they're the ones who broke in?"

"I can't really say—but I'm certain."

"Why can't you say?"

"It's hard to explain, let's just say I had a gut feeling—a hunch—and I confirmed it this afternoon."

"Confirmed it how?"

"After Bill fixed the window, I told him I wasn't paying him."

"You didn't!" Lily gasped.

"I did." Danielle grinned. "I told him I knew he and Adam broke in through the window. I told him that for Marie's sake, I wouldn't go to the police, and now that he had fixed the window, we were even."

"What happened?"

"He quietly left. Not exactly the response of an innocent man who was stiffed after being hired to make a repair."

"Marie did say they were both there when she and Ian discussed the missing necklace. But are you really sure?"

"Yes, Lily, I am. Ian didn't break into the house. And you forget, Ian knew the gardener was coming over on Saturday morning to work in the yard. You told me yourself you mentioned it to him. You can't believe he would break the library window knowing the gardener was about to show up at any minute."

"Oh...I forgot about that. He did know." Lily let out a sigh of relief.

"And Adam and Bill didn't. They figured the house was going to be empty."

"What are you going to do if you see Adam or Bill again?"

"I have no idea. It will be interesting. I have no doubt I will see them again. This is a small town, and I don't intend to end my friendship with Marie. But I would like to do something to get the Missing Thorndike out of our hair."

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

"The ideal situation would be to find it and return it to its rightful owner."

"You wouldn't try to keep it?"

"It's not mine. It was stolen. There has to be heirs out there somewhere. But in the meantime, I don't need some treasure-hunting thief breaking into the house."

"Maybe Ian didn't break into the house, but I'm pretty sure I know what story he's working on," Lily said.

"The Missing Thorndike?" Danielle asked.

"It must be. Makes sense, considering the questions he's been asking and what he obviously knows."

"I have to say, that actually makes me feel worse than imagining Ian was the one who broke in here yesterday," Danielle said glumly.

"Why is that? I don't understand," Lily said.

"Right now there are only a handful of people who believe there's a connection between Walt Marlow and that missing necklace—people who believe the necklace is hidden somewhere in this house. But once Ian's story comes out, the world will know. Who knows what kind of people will show up on my doorstep? Turning this place into a bed and breakfast makes it even worse."

"You know, it could be good for business," Lily suggested.

"I don't need guests who lock themselves in their rooms so they can pull up the floorboards or open up the walls."

"You have a point." Lily pondered the situation before announcing, "I guess we only have one choice."

"What's that?"

"We need to find the necklace."

"Find it?"

"Well, sure, isn't that the obvious solution? If it is in this house, we should be able to find it. Unlike Adam and Bill, we don't have to break in. We can take our time and methodically go through this house, room by room."

"I suppose we don't have any choice." Danielle glanced around the room, wondering where Walt was keeping himself this evening and if he was listening.

"Where and when do you want to start?" Lily asked.

"Let me think about it." Danielle was hoping Walt would come to his senses and simply tell her where he had hidden the stolen necklace. "By the way, where was Ian today? I haven't seen him since he picked you up last night."

"He had to drive back to Portland, and when he got back, he had some work to do on the computer. I guess for his story. I have to admit, I was rather glad he made himself scarce today, considering all the conflicting emotions I've had regarding him and that damn necklace."

"Well, it's been a long day. I'm going to go take a shower." Danielle stood up. "If you're hungry, there's a little lunch meat left in the ice chest."

"Thanks, Dani, I'll figure out something."

Lily followed Danielle out of the library. She turned in the direction of the kitchen when Danielle headed to the staircase. In the kitchen Lily made herself a ham sandwich and then wandered outside to eat it.

The sun was setting. If Lily wasn't wearing her robe and pajama bottoms, she would be tempted to take a stroll down to the beach. Instead, she walked over to the bench and sat down to enjoy her sandwich. She was halfway through it when Ian and Sadie showed up.

"Hello, stranger, we have to stop meeting this way," Ian teased as he walked toward her, Sadie trotting by his side.

"Evening, Ian. Did you have a productive day today?"

"It wasn't bad, but I got back from Portland later than I intended." He took a seat next to her on the bench. Sadie greeted Lily, begging for a bite of sandwich before lying on the ground by Ian's feet.

"Ian, the story you're working on—it's about the Missing Thorndike, isn't it?"

Ian didn't answer immediately, finally he asked, "How did you know?"

"Things you said to me; things you didn't say to me. Questions you asked others. Plus, we spoke to Marie Nichols this morning, and she told us about your alter ego's interview."

"I can't really discuss the details of the story, sorry." He sounded sincere.

"I think your story is the reason Marlow House was broken into yesterday."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know. I think you suspected last night when we discussed my theory that someone was looking for something. You knew then what they were probably looking for."

"You can't be certain."

"It was Marie Hemming's grandson and the guy that works with him. The two that were at the diner and asked me questions about when the bed and breakfast was going to open—when we first met."

"How can you be sure?"

"Danielle told me. But the point is, your article is exposing us to danger."

"Danger? How can you say that? After all, only a couple people know what I'm really working on."

"And two of those people broke into Marlow House. They were in Marie's kitchen, eavesdropping, when you started asking her questions. What's going to happen when your story comes out and treasure hunters start showing up on Dani's doorstep?"

# Thirty-Six

On Monday morning Danielle entered the Frederickport Police Department. A glass wall and counter separated the front lobby from the officers and staff. Danielle walked up to the front counter and waited for someone to open the window.

"Can I help you?" a woman asked as she slid the glass pane to one side.

"I have an appointment with..." Danielle glanced down at the business card in her hand and read the name, "Joe Morelli."

"Your name, please?" the woman asked.

"Danielle Boatman."

"I'll be right back," the woman said before sliding the window shut. Danielle stood at the counter, glancing around. According to the clock on the wall, it was 9:02 a.m., and her meeting with Morelli was for 9:00 a.m.

A few minutes later a door leading to the inner offices opened, and an officer extended his hand in greeting. "Ms. Boatman?" he asked, shaking her hand briefly. "I'm Sergeant Morelli."

She guessed he was at least six feet tall, in his mid-thirties, and if his surname hadn't been Italian, she still would have been able to determine his ethnicity by his dark good looks alone. _Damn, Lily is going to regret not coming with me_ , Danielle thought as she shook the handsome officer's hand and looked into his friendly brown eyes. Most of the cops she knew wore their hair buzzed short to the scalp, whereas Officer Morelli's neatly trimmed thick dark hair couldn't conceal his hair's propensity to turn into soft curls.

"Please call me Danielle or Dani. Sergeant Morelli, I wanted to thank you for your help on Saturday."

"Hey, no problem, that's my job. And I'll call you Dani if you call me Joe."

"Deal," Danielle said with a grin.

"Craig tells me nothing was taken."

"We were lucky."

"I appreciate you coming in."

"It's the least I can do." Danielle smiled.

"My office is this way." Joe walked over to the doorway he had just come through. The woman behind the counter pushed a button to unlock the door. Joe opened it for Danielle before saying, "Just follow me."

"I was wondering if I could ask you a question," Danielle said after they finished discussing the break-in.

"Sure." Joe sat behind his desk and leaned back, looking at Danielle, who sat in a chair facing him.

"How long does the police department keep old files?"

"Are you talking about case files?" Joe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop.

"Yes, and any autopsy reports."

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"If possible, I'd like to look at Walt Marlow's case file."

"Walt Marlow?" Joe frowned.

"His grandfather built Marlow House," Danielle explained. "You know, where I live."

"Ahh, Marlow—it didn't register. His grandfather, you say? Is your Walt the one who hanged himself in the attic?"

"I don't think he committed suicide. I believe he was murdered."

"Wasn't that back in the twenties?" Joe asked.

"Yes. So I guess that means you wouldn't have files that old?" Danielle looked disappointed.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's back there. And if you have a few minutes, I'll be happy to get it for you. But you'll have to look at it here. I can't let you take it from the office."

"Seriously? You would do that?" Danielle sat up straighter and smiled.

"Sure, I'll be right back." Joe stood up and tossed his pen on the desktop before stepping from the office. He was gone for less than ten minutes when he returned carrying a manila folder.

"Found it." He waved the file before tossing it on his desk and sitting down.

"I can't believe you were able to find it that quick."

"The truth is, we're in the process of digitalizing these old files. Had you asked me last month, it probably would have taken me days to track it down." Instead of handing the file to Danielle, he opened it and thumbed through its pages.

"As far as an autopsy goes, his body was checked out by a...Dr. Clemens." Joe looked up from the folder.

"Clemens? That was the local doctor at the time," Danielle explained.

"Really? How did you know that?"

"Umm...I've been doing some research."

"Dr. Clemens wrote a lot of notes on the condition of the body." Joe studied the report while Danielle sat anxiously, waiting for her turn to inspect the file.

"There were no defensive wounds, which is why the doctor ruled a suicide. There weren't any rope marks on his wrists indicating he was restrained, no sign of a struggle. He felt Marlow wasn't forced into that noose but went willingly."

"I can't believe that." Danielle sounded disappointed.

"Neither do I," Joe said, shuffling through the pages.

"What do you mean?"

"The condition of his neck and body and a head wound tell a different story."

"How so?"

"When you hang yourself, you want to be high enough so that the drop snaps your neck, a clean kill. Otherwise, you're strangled to death, which can be slow and painful. By the condition of Marlow's larynx and the rope burns described in Clemens's report, I'd say he died by strangulation."

"What does that mean in regards to it being a murder or suicide?"

"During strangulation, the natural tendency of the body—even for a suicide victim—is to try to get air. Unless his hands were bound—which according to the report they weren't—he would frantically be grabbing at the noose, leaving behind scratch marks or broken fingernails. But he didn't. Plus, when someone hangs themselves, they normally bite through their tongues—I've seen these types of suicide victims bite their tongues almost all the way off."

"Oh, please, that is a visual I could do without." Danielle felt a little sick.

"Sorry," Joe said with a sheepish grin.

"You mentioned a head wound?" Danielle asked.

"Yes. According to Clemens, there was a slight head wound at the back of Marlow's skull. The doctor claims the head injury most likely occurred after the police cut him down. But he mentioned swelling, and it wouldn't swell if postmortem."

"What do you think happened?"

"If I was to just go by the doctor's notes, I'd suspect Marlow was unconscious when he was put in the noose. Drugged or maybe he was knocked out, which would explain the head wound."

"So he really didn't kill himself..."

"I don't think so." Joe closed the file and pushed it across his desk to Danielle. She picked it up and began looking through its pages.

"I wonder how the killer got Marlow up in the noose. I'd imagine it would take more than one person," Danielle said.

"Not necessarily. A likely scenario, consistent with the doctor's report on the neck injuries, is that Marlow was unconscious when the killer put the noose around his neck and then threw the rope over the rafter in the attic and hauled him up, which probably killed him before he was dropped."

"Sounds so gruesome." Danielle shuddered.

"Murder tends to be gruesome."

"How did the doctor miss all that?" Danielle asked.

"He was probably a little country doctor—this wasn't a very big town back then. It's not that big now. I imagine he didn't have the experience or training. It was probably his first hanging."

"If this was a recent case, would you reopen it based on what's in this report?"

"I would definitely take another look." Joe studied Danielle as she flipped through the file. "I tell you what, while I can't let you take the file home, I can make a copy of it for you."

"You can?" Danielle looked up hopefully.

"Sure." Joe stood and gathered up the file, taking it from Danielle's hands. "Wait here, I'll be right back." Joe flashed Danielle a smile before stepping from the room.

Sitting alone at the desk, Danielle tapped her feet nervously. Glancing down, she smoothed the hem of her summer dress down past her knees, keeping her sandaled feet together.

_What now?_ she asked herself. Had she sufficiently looked into Walt's death? Would the information she gathered be enough to convince people Walt Marlow had not taken his own life? If so—would it matter? Would it liberate Walt and allow him to move onto the next level—wherever and whatever that might be? The thought of Walt leaving made Danielle a little sad. She had never gotten attached to a spirit before—not even during her grandmother's postmortem visit so many years ago.

While she might be able to prove Walt had been murdered, she saw little possibility of proving who had killed him. Roger was the most likely suspect, yet...Danielle frowned at the thought. Roger...

Danielle glanced at the office door, anxious to have another look at the case file. When reading through it, she saw no mention of interviews with Roger Calvert, which according to the newspaper had taken place, especially in regards to his discrepancies involving Angela's whereabouts during and immediately following Walt's death.

Joe returned to the office a few minutes later and handed Danielle her own file. "Here you go," Joe said with a smile. Danielle immediately opened the folder and began shuffling through it.

"You know, you can take it with you."

"I know, but I remembered something and I have another question for you." She continued to look through the file.

Joe sat on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he silently watched Danielle. After a few minutes she closed the file and looked up at him.

"There's nothing in here about any interviews with Roger Calvert. If they interviewed him, wouldn't that be in the case file?"

"Roger Calvert?"

"He was Walt Marlow's brother-in-law. I think he's the one who murdered Walt."

"Walt?" Joe smiled. "You've become pretty invested in this old case, haven't you?"

"I suppose. I just want the truth."

"If Roger Calvert was a suspect, there should be something in there. I don't remember seeing anything, but maybe I missed it."

"I came across some old newspaper articles about the case. At the time of Walt's death, his wife, Angela, was in Portland, supposedly visiting her twin brother, Roger. Walt's body was found on a Thursday, and Roger showed up unexpectedly in Frederickport that night. He led everyone to believe Angela was still back in Portland, but the fact was, she had been hit by a car the day before and had died in the hospital. It was a week before she was identified. Roger didn't know she had been killed—not until her body was identified a week later. But in the meantime, local authorities were trying to locate her and Roger couldn't come up with a clear reason for where she was. In the beginning he led people to believe he was with Angela on Wednesday night before he came to Frederickport. But, in fact, she was already dead, and I believe the reason he didn't know was because he was in Frederickport at the time."

"It would have been a priority to locate the victim's spouse. Let me see that..." Joe picked up the file he'd given Danielle and started thumbing through it. After a few minutes, he shook his head and handed it back to Danielle. "No, there is nothing in there about that—about any of it. Odd."

"There was a witness who saw Roger returning from Frederickport Wednesday night."

"There wasn't anything about that in the report," Joe said. Danielle went on to tell him about Emma Jackson and how she had met her over the weekend.

"You have one hell of a mystery there," Joe said. "The officer you mentioned, Tucker, I came across his name when going through those old files to digitalize. As I recall, he left Frederickport in 1928. I remember the date because that's the year they built the old courthouse. If Tucker intimidated Emma Jackson to suppress evidence, my guess is that anything regarding Roger Calvert went with Tucker."

# Thirty-Seven

_I f only I didn't have to think about that damn necklace, I'd be pretty content right now_, Danielle told herself as she drove from the Frederickport Police Department back to Marlow House. Turning on the radio, she listened to music while recapping in her mind the events since coming to Frederickport.

When Danielle had first pulled into town with Lily a week earlier, she imagined they would be spending their time working on Marlow House, doing what was necessary to open for business. Instead, she had spent a significant amount of her energy and focus investigating a decades-old mystery. Unraveling the mystery was for the sake of her new business—at least initially. Unshackling Walt Marlow from the weight of false accusations might free him to move on, a friendly exorcism of sorts. _Who needs a haunted B and B?_

Somewhere along the way, it was no longer about getting rid of Marlow and all about helping him, as she would any friend. Fact was, she would miss him when he decided to move on.

Unfortunately, the necklace disrupted everything. It made her vulnerable, a target for unethical treasure hunters like Nichols and Jones. She didn't understand why Walt was being so stubborn. She just hoped it was resolved before he moved on.

Danielle's train of thought was interrupted when she was forced to slow down due to roadwork ahead. Not wanting to wait in a line of cars, she decided to turn right and take an alternate route home. She hadn't been this way before, but she was fairly confident she could find her way back to Marlow House.

Before she got halfway down the street, she saw it: Frederickport Cemetery. Holding her breath for a moment, she drove alongside the green lawns and old-fashioned standing markers. She tried not to look, but cemeteries always had the power to draw her in, something she desperately tried to resist. Where there were graves, there were typically a few lingering souls who either refused to or were unable to move on to the next level. They sought her out, sensing her gifts.

She almost made it past the cemetery when her car's engine made a thumping sound and then stalled. Cursing, she steered the vehicle to the side of the road. Once the car came to a complete stop, she tried turning on the engine, but nothing. She hadn't passed another car on this road, and there didn't seem to be anyone walking around in the cemetery.

Taking out her cellphone, she tried to turn it on. The battery was dead.

"I can't believe this!" Danielle said aloud. "I put this damn thing on the charger last night!"

She looked around again, still no other vehicles on the street. _Don't be a baby, Danielle, get out of the damn car and walk home; it's only a couple blocks._

Cursing her bad luck, Danielle grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Walking on the sidewalk along the cemetery's perimeter, she calculated the time it would take to reach Marlow House by cutting through the cemetery verses staying on the sidewalk. Her appliances were being delivered in the afternoon, and she had a few things to do before they arrived. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and stepped off the sidewalk onto the manicured lawn.

Determined to block out anything paranormal, Danielle hurriedly made her way through the cemetery. It was quiet, just the sounds of a few birds chirping in a nearby tree and wind moving through the overhead branches. Relaxing a bit, she slowed her pace and breathed in the clean ocean scent.

"She said you would come," a female voice called out. Danielle stopped and turned toward the caller. Not six feet away, a young woman sat atop a massive headstone, her bare legs crossed casually, the fringed hem of her dress falling to midthigh. Danielle instantly knew who it was. The portrait artist had captured her likeness perfectly—Angela Marlow.

Walking toward the woman, Danielle glanced down at the headstone and read the inscription. It was Angela's. Danielle imagined Roger had chosen it for her. To the right, she noticed the neighboring grave's more discreet marker—it was Walt's.

Turning back to Angela, she asked, "Who said I would come?"

"She was right. She told me you wouldn't run away in fear if you were able to see me." Preening, Angela's right hand touched the sides of her blond curls while shifting her body slightly to strike a more flattering pose.

"Who told you? And how do you know who I am?" Danielle asked.

"You know who I am."

"Yes, you're Angela Marlow."

"I prefer to be remembered as Angela Calvert. Walt brought me nothing but bad luck."

"I know who you are because I saw your portrait. How do you know who I am?"

"Because she told me you would come," Angela said with a sigh, sounding bored.

"Who?" Danielle snapped impatiently.

"Katherine O'Malley, of course!" Angela laughed.

"Katherine O'Malley is here?" Danielle looked around.

"She was. Said something about her time, off to meet her daughter. Left me all alone."

"You're the only one here?"

"Of course not, look at all these graves!" Angela laughed again.

"And you know who I am?" Danielle asked.

"You're the one who inherited Marlow House. Katherine saw to that."

"I don't understand."

"Katherine became quite tedious. Fretted so about people thinking poor Walt killed himself. When she'd visit her daughter, she learned about a stepniece who had a special gift. Katherine believed it was her mission for you to inherit the house so you could help Walt."

"How did Katherine visit her daughter?" The moment she asked the question, she knew the answer.

"In her dreams, of course. We can't all do it, you know. It takes practice, and it's not like we can just pop into anyone's dream."

"How did Katherine know about me?"

"I suppose Brianna must have told her during one of their visits."

_Brianna didn't know about my ability—or did she?_ Danielle thought back to when she was just a young girl and had told her parents about the encounters. Their answer was to send her into therapy. Had they discussed Danielle with her great-uncle and his wife during that time?

"How did you know who I was?" Danielle asked Angela.

"I don't know," Angela said with a shrug. "I just had a hunch when I saw your car, decided to see if you were the one Katherine was talking about."

"You did something to my car and phone, didn't you?"

In reply, Angela smiled.

"Why? Why did you bring me here?" Danielle demanded.

"Because I don't want to be here anymore!" Angela jumped down off the headstone, landing on her feet. She faced Danielle.

"Are you stuck here like Walt?"

"Isn't that obvious? Do you really think I would choose to spend my eternity in a place like this? You might say I'm under house arrest."

"Was Katherine stuck here too?"

"Not in the same way. She insisted on sticking around until she felt things were set right. That woman could be so damn annoying!"

"You're stuck here because of the role you played in Walt's death, aren't you?"

"It isn't as if I was the one who put the noose around his neck. In all fairness, I tried to stop Roger."

"So you didn't conspire with your brother to kill your husband?"

Angela didn't answer immediately. Finally, she let out a deep sigh and sat on the grass, leaning against her headstone. "I didn't know it would be this difficult."

"What do you mean?" Danielle sat on the grass next to her.

"To be honest, I would rather be less than truthful and cast a more favorable light on my past behavior. But alas, if I do that, I will be forever shackled to this dismal place."

"I'm listening," Danielle said, waiting for Angela to tell her whatever she needed to say.

"Men marry women all the time who they don't love—and they don't care if the woman loves them. We are, after all, nothing more than a man's possession. Something they can show off like a new motor car—the prettier, the better."

"It isn't like that anymore." Danielle reconsidered her words and then added, "Well, it doesn't have to be that way. But yes, back when you married Walt, women were second-class citizens."

"Roger convinced me that if I had to marry someone, I should find the richest and most manageable man possible. When I met Walt, I knew he was the one. Not only was he the sole heir to the Marlow fortune, it was a well-known fact that he had been pining away for years over that cheap actress. It wasn't as if they were in a relationship when she died—she had married another man, for heaven's sake!"

"Had you always planned to kill him?"

"Oh my, you are blunt. But no, not in the beginning. But when I read that damn will and saw he would rather leave his money to our housekeeper than my brother if we both died, I wondered, what next? Would he get angry and write me out of his will? Divorce me and leave me penniless? He would, you know."

"So you and your brother conspired to kill him?"

"I must admit, it doesn't sound very nice when you say it," Angela said with a pout.

"No, no, it doesn't."

"But I tried to stop Roger, honestly!"

"Go on."

"The plan was simple. I was to go spend some time with Roger in Portland and establish an alibi for the two of us. I stopped by Walt's lawyer, told him I was staying in Portland with Roger."

"You also told him Walt was acting strange, maybe even suicidal."

"I never said suicidal. But yes, I wanted to establish a reason for why he was drinking excessively, to make the accident more believable."

"Accident? How can a hanging be an accident?"

"Roger was not going to hang Walt. I told you I tried to stop him!"

"I must be missing something..." Danielle shook her head.

"I knew Walt would be drinking brandy before he went to bed. The plan was for Roger to sneak into Frederickport on Wednesday. I gave him my key so he could easily get into the house without being detected. The plan was for Roger to simply sneak up behind him when he went up to go to bed and push him off the top landing. The fall would certainly kill him—or so we thought, and it would look like he'd had too much to drink and stumbled to his death."

"So what happened?"

"I was hit by that damn car, and the next thing I know, I'm back in Marlow House."

"You mean your spirit?"

"Obviously," Angela said impatiently. "There was my brother, getting ready to kill Walt, and I knew in that instant my soul would be damned for eternity if I didn't do something to stop it. I had no idea how to make my presence known—I had only been dead for such a short time. But I managed to give my brother a little shove."

"What happened?"

"My intent was to push him out of the way before he hurled Walt to his death. Unfortunately, it didn't work out like I had hoped. Roger managed to shove Walt, but instead of Walt falling down the landing, he was just thrown against the wall, hit his head and was unconscious."

"The wound on the back of his head," Danielle murmured.

"I tried to convince Roger to leave him there, but he couldn't hear me. In fact, Roger was in a rage, talking out loud to himself, trying to figure out how to kill Walt. Since Walt was only unconscious, Roger began to wonder if being tossed off the landing would kill him. What then, bash in his head with a mallet and leave no doubt it was murder? That's when Roger decided to drag his body upstairs and make it look like suicide."

"So he didn't have an accomplice other than you?"

"No. Roger was the only one there that night—other than me and Walt."

"After he killed Walt, what happened?" Danielle asked.

"Things became very...unsettled for me...I'm not really sure where I was...it was all very confusing...like a dream. And then one day I was at the cemetery, watching my funeral. Roger was there. My first thought was why did he bury me in Frederickport? I wanted to go back to Portland. I have been here ever since."

"I imagined you were buried here because you were married to Walt Marlow."

"I should never have listened to my brother."

"Did you see Roger again?"

"You mean after he killed Walt?" Angela asked.

"Yes."

"Only at my funeral, but he couldn't hear me. Couldn't see me. I tried to talk to him. Warn him that he needed to make some sort of restitution, or he would end up in a worse place than me. I may be stuck here, but had I not tried to prevent Roger from killing Walt, I'm certain I would be someplace much worse."

"Did you know Roger married Katherine O'Malley?"

"Oh yes, she told me when she arrived. My sister-in-law." Angela laughed sardonically.

# Thirty-Eight

Lily pushed the gates wide open while the delivery van, its engine idling, parked at the side entrance, waiting patiently. When she finished her task, she gave the driver a little wave and watched as the van slowly made its way down the driveway before parking by the kitchen door.

Upstairs, Walt watched from the attic window. He had tried to talk to Danielle when she returned from the police station, but Lily was in the room, making it impossible to have a conversation. One thing he had noticed, Danielle seemed distracted when she returned earlier. By the way everyone was rushing around in the house—the electrician, the plumber and now the deliverymen—he wondered if she was simply overwhelmed. What she needed in her life was a man to take care of things. He thought it foolish that two attractive young women like Lily and Danielle would be on their own without a man's guiding hand.

Turning from the window, Walt walked to the far wall, his gaze focused on the paneling along the floorboard. Leaning down on one knee, he reached out to touch the paneling, preparing to push in and to the side, when he paused a moment.

"I can't really touch it...my hand is only an illusion," he said aloud. "But if I concentrate, it will seem as if I can." His hand touched the paneling, and with concerted effort, it moved to one side, revealing a compact storage area. Reaching into the hidden compartment, he pulled out a velvet pouch.

"I took you for her, you know," Walt said as he opened the pouch, revealing a gold necklace identical in appearance to the one in Eva's portrait. "I should have simply tossed you in the ocean decades ago, but then I suppose they would still come looking for you." Gently, he returned the necklace to its pouch and then to the hidden compartment in the wall.

It was dark by the time everyone but Danielle left Marlow House—the electrician, plumber, deliverymen, and even Lily. Walt found Danielle in the kitchen, admiring her new refrigerator. She stood in front of the stainless steel double-door appliance, the doors wide open, its interior lit and on its shelf an almost empty half-gallon carton of milk and cube of butter.

"I noticed Lily left. Where did she go?" Walt asked.

Danielle closed the refrigerator and turned to face Walt. "She went with Ian to get pizza. They asked me to go with them, but I've had a long day."

"You look exhausted," he noted.

"I saw Angela."

"Excuse me?" Walt frowned.

"When I came back from the police station, I took another way home. I went by the cemetery."

"I thought you said you avoided cemeteries."

"I normally try to, but it doesn't always work out."

"I assume when you say you saw Angela...she is like me?"

"A spirit? Ghost? Yes."

"How is she?"

"Dead."

"I thought you saw her spirit."

"I did," Danielle said with a shrug. She walked to the kitchen table and sat down. "But she is still dead. Looks great though. Hasn't changed a bit in eighty-nine years."

"You talked to her?"

"Yes. Come, sit down, this is going to be a long story."

After Walt joined her at the table, Danielle began by telling him of her trip to the police station and what she had learned by reading the autopsy.

"Of course, I could have saved a lot of time if I had just stopped at the cemetery first," Danielle said before telling Walt how she had happened to turn down the street leading to the cemetery.

"She knew I was trapped here?" Walt asked after she told him about Angela's confession and how she had tried to stop Roger.

"She said Katherine told her. I'm not sure exactly how Katherine knew, but from what I'm starting to piece together from all this, when you die, not everyone has the same abilities. I'm not sure if it's determined by what you did when you were alive or if your own issues hold you back. For example, Katherine seemed to know that you're trapped in this house; she was troubled by it and went to great lengths to find someone that could help you."

"That's why Brianna left you Marlow House," Walt said.

"I think so. Katherine wasn't prepared to leave this realm, not when she believed her daughter needed her. She regularly visited my aunt's dreams, beginning when Brianna was just a small child. Brianna probably assumed they were comforting dreams, nothing more. According to Angela, Brianna told her mother how I communicated with spirits. I never discussed this with my aunt and uncle—ever. My guess is that my parents discussed it with them when I was a child, when they sent me to therapy."

"You said Katherine moved on...she's no longer at the cemetery?"

"It sounds like she moved on about the time Brianna passed away. I guess she figured her job was done here. Unlike Angela, Katherine wasn't trapped at the cemetery—it was her choice to stay. I suspect you're trapped here by your own personal unresolved issues, whereas Angela is, as she put it...under house arrest. Her past sins are holding her here. She was hoping I could in some way help free her, like she believes I'll be able to free you."

"Did Angela know anything about the marriage between her brother and Katherine?"

"It was as we suspected: he seduced her for her inheritance. Apparently, he planned to get rid of her in the same way he originally intended to get rid of you. She shot him out of self-defense. I suppose his plan worked, because she died not long after she fell. Unfortunately for him, she didn't intend to go alone. I have no idea how she happened to have a gun. Angela didn't have an answer. I guess that's something we'll never know."

"I wonder what would have happened to Brianna," Walt asked.

"You mean if he would have successfully pushed Katherine down those stairs without getting shot?"

"Yes." Walt nodded.

"I don't know. I suppose he could have played the part of the doting stepfather while spending her fortune. But the most likely scenario, considering his track record, the poor child would have met a similar fate as her mother." Danielle glanced down at the tabletop, her hands fidgeting with its edge. They sat in silence for a few minutes, considering the day's events.

"The necklace is in the attic," Walt announced.

"What?" Danielle's head shot up. She looked Walt in the eyes.

"Come, I'll take you to it." Walt stood up.

Danielle followed Walt to the attic and watched as he removed the velvet pouch from its hiding place. After he handed it to her, she gingerly removed the necklace from the pouch.

"It's beautiful," she said in awe.

"It's not real," Walt said.

"What? Not real?" Danielle looked from the necklace in her hand up to Walt and then back to the necklace.

"That's why I took it. I did it for her."

"It was fake all along?" Danielle asked.

"No." Walt reached out and took the necklace from Danielle. Holding it in his hand, he studied its glittering stones. "The necklace had been passed down in her family for several generations. She was her parent's only child, and it naturally went to her."

"What happened?"

"She was young and foolish and married another actor, who quickly abandoned her when she got so ill. It wasn't until after he left her that she realized he'd removed the diamonds and emeralds from the necklace and replaced them with fake stones. She was so embarrassed. She didn't want her parents to know how foolish she had been.

"Eva knew she was dying. The necklace would go back to her parents, and she didn't want them to be humiliated if they took it to a jeweler for some reason. She didn't want some stranger telling them the family heirloom was fake, and she couldn't bring herself to tell them the truth."

"She asked you to take it?" Danielle asked.

"Yes. We made it look like someone had broken in while I was visiting her. At the time I was never a suspect; not only was Eva my alibi, I don't think anyone would have imagined I would steal the necklace, considering who I was." He handed the necklace back to Danielle.

"I assume the gold is real?" she asked.

"Yes. He only swapped out the stones."

"It's probably still valuable—even with the fake gems. Are you sure they're fake? They look so real."

"Yes. Before Eva returned to Frederickport, she took the necklace to a jeweler in Portland to see if her hunch was correct. She showed me his appraisal."

"Was the necklace insured?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Wow, how did Eva's parents react when the necklace went missing?"

"They were losing their daughter, so it wasn't important to them, considering everything. Her parents were devastated over Eva's death; she was the world to them."

"That is so sad," Danielle murmured. She tucked the necklace back into the pouch. "I was wondering—how did you happen to tell George Hemming about the necklace—that you took it?"

"It was the anniversary of Eva's death. She had been gone for about seven years, and I hadn't met Angela yet. George was over; we were having a brandy. I guess I had a little too much to drink; I was feeling sorry for myself and missing Eva. Out of the blue he says, 'I wonder who took that necklace? You have any idea, Walt?' Without even thinking, I say, 'It's upstairs tucked away, who did you think took it?' __ George just looks at me and I smiled. He and I never spoke about it again."

"I'll get it back to Eva's heirs. It's still beautiful, even if it is a fake, and it should go back to them. It's only the right thing," Danielle said.

"I honestly don't know who that would be. They never had any other children, but she did have cousins. Her parents sold their Frederickport house after Eva died and moved back to Boston."

"Where is she buried?"

"In Boston, where her family's from."

"Maybe you'll see her again when you move onto wherever you're supposed to go."

"You think so?" Walt looked into Danielle's eyes and smiled softly. "Perhaps, but even if I don't, it's okay. I came to terms with my relationship with Eva long before I died. I loved her once, and she loved me, but I understand she loved me like a brother, nothing more."

"I'm sure there are others you're looking forward to seeing," Danielle said in a soft voice.

"I don't know." Walt shrugged. "I never really knew my parents, they died when I was young, and my grandparents raised me."

"Hopefully the truth coming out will give you the freedom you need. After I put everything together, I'll see if the newspaper is interested in writing a feature article. It's too bad I can't use the information Angela gave me, but I think I have enough."

# Thirty-Nine

In one hand she carried her sandals and in another her beach bag and towel. Looking down at her bare feet, Danielle wiggled her toes as she walked. Wearing flip-flops on a sandy beach gave her the same unpleasant sensation as fingernails on a chalkboard. She preferred to dive right in, immersing her feet and toes in warm sand as opposed to teasing her soles with gritty matter trapped between her shoes and feet.

"I think you had a good idea," Lily said as she walked alongside Danielle.

"I haven't been to the beach since the first day we arrived in Frederickport. Which is crazy since it's just a block away, and the weather is amazing. Although I wish it was a little warmer." Danielle breathed in the clean air, smiling as the cool breeze caressed her face.

"I guess we can fill up that new refrigerator later." That morning at breakfast Lily had suggested they spend the morning grocery shopping.

"There's always time for that. I wanted to talk to you about something and thought it might be nice to do it down here." Danielle stopped and looked to the right and then the left. The beach was sparsely occupied, with the closest people a good distance away. Tossing her shoes and purse on the sand, she spread out her towel and sat down. Lily followed suit.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Lily stretched out on her towel.

Before Danielle could answer, they heard Ian's voice call out: _Sadie!_ Looking from the ocean to the street, Danielle and Lily watched as Sadie raced toward them, Ian sprinting behind her, calling her name.

"I'm really sorry," Ian said with a laugh when he reached them. Sadie had arrived first, scattering sand over the towels in her enthusiastic greeting. Danielle and Lily did not complain. Instead, they affectionately greeted Sadie while calming her down before restraightening the towels and shaking off excess sand.

"This dog is pretty ferocious," Danielle teased, sitting back down.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Ian chuckled.

"What are you up to today?" Lily asked.

"I noticed you two heading for the beach. I don't mean to intrude, but I was wondering if I could talk to you a minute," Ian asked Danielle.

"Sure, what's going on?" Danielle looked up at Ian. Lily scooted over to one side of her towel and motioned for him to join her.

"I'm sure Lily's told you a little about the article I'm working on," Ian said as he sat down on Lily's towel.

"A little bit." Danielle was curious about what he had to say. She hadn't had a chance to tell Lily about what she'd learned at the police station. When she had gotten home the electrician and plumber had showed up and then the appliances, and after that Lily had taken off with Ian. Danielle was already in bed before Lily returned to Marlow House.

"I've been working on a story about Eva Thorndike, the silent film star, and the mystery of the Missing Thorndike. It brought me to Frederickport and to Marlow House. Lily expressed her concern that I might be putting you in danger with the story by suggesting the necklace is hidden in Marlow House. She told me about Nichols and Jones breaking in, and ever since she told me, it's been weighing heavy on my mind."

"I don't think you need to worry too much about it," Danielle said, grabbing her purse.

"I don't know, Dani," Lily began. "When Ian's story comes out, you don't need more people like Adam and that other guy trying to break into Marlow House, hunting hidden treasure."

"Lily told me about your theory regarding Marlow's death. If he really was murdered, maybe Lily's right, and whoever killed him killed him for the necklace. Maybe I can do my own research into his death and find something to support Lily's theory, which will make Marlow House less a target for future break-ins."

"I appreciate your offer," Danielle said, pulling a velvet pouch from her purse. "While I'd love it if you wrote about Marlow's murder, I have to tell you, the killer didn't take the necklace." She handed the pouch to Ian. Curious, Ian took the pouch and opened it.

"Holy shit!" Ian gasped, pulling the necklace from the pouch. "You found it."

"Oh my god, Dani!" Lily cried, leaning over to get a closer look at the necklace in Ian's hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to this morning. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I found it last night. It was in the attic."

"This is worth a fortune, you know." Ian glanced around nervously to see who else was on the beach.

"Yes, it would be. If the gems were real," Danielle said with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" Ian brought the necklace closer to his face to examine what appeared to be diamonds and emeralds.

"The diamonds and emeralds were stolen years ago—before it became the Missing Thorndike."

"How do you know that?" Ian studied the necklace, turning it to and fro.

"I can't say, but those aren't diamonds and emeralds. I promise you. We can take it to a jeweler to verify it."

"Why don't you think they're real?" Lily asked.

"Call it a hunch. They don't look real to me." Danielle shrugged. _I should have taken it to a jeweler first—or at least told them I had. What was I thinking? Naturally, they're going to wonder why I assume it's a fake._ "Anyway, it really doesn't matter to me if it is real or fake."

"Why do you say that?" Lily asked.

"Either way it's going back to its rightful owner. I'm just glad it was found so I don't have to worry about treasure hunters."

"Danielle, it will matter to you if the diamonds and emeralds are real," Ian said as he slipped the necklace back in the pouch and handed it back to her. Lily snatched it out of Danielle's hand so she could examine the necklace.

"Why would it matter?" Danielle asked.

"You want to know one reason why this story intrigued me?" Ian asked.

"Sure." Danielle stroked Sadie's head. The dog shared her towel, her chin resting on Danielle's knee.

"I guess I'm not much better than Nichols and Jones. I confess, I was also looking for the necklace. I hoped I might find it when I helped Lily with the inventory. But the difference between them and me is that I didn't want it for myself. I wanted to return it to its rightful owner. Imagine the dramatic punch for my story—unraveling the mystery of a necklace that was stolen a hundred years ago and then returning it to its unsuspecting rightful owner."

"Do you know who they are?" Danielle asked. "It will make my job a lot easier."

"Yes, I do." Ian snatched the necklace out of Lily's hand and handed it to Danielle. "You."

"Me? What are you talking about?" Danielle looked down at the necklace now in her hand.

"I hope you're wrong, Danielle. I hope they are real. Because you are the rightful owner."

"Me? What are you talking about?" Danielle frowned.

"By the time Eva Thorndike died, her marriage had been annulled," Ian explained. "After she died, everything she owned went to her parents. According to what I've uncovered, it was never clear when the necklace was actually stolen—before or after her death. Her mother said Eva had it when she returned home, yet they didn't notice it missing until after she died. The Thorndikes naturally changed their will after Eva's death. Before that time, everything went to their daughter. Interestingly, in their new will they left the necklace to Walt Marlow, should it ever be recovered. I doubt he ever knew, because he died before Eva's parents, and apparently they never bothered to change the will to leave it to someone else."

"But wouldn't it go to someone else if Walt was already dead? Another one of their heirs?" Danielle asked.

"No, not the way the will was written. It was to go to Walt and, if he was deceased, to his heirs. Therefore, the necklace was passed to Katherine. Since Katherine left her estate to Brianna, and Brianna left Marlow House to you—where the necklace was kept—I believe you're the rightful owner. Of course, this would have been much more exciting if it was real—which I'm not convinced it isn't."

"Would any of Brianna's other heirs have claim to the necklace?" Lily asked.

"I obtained a copy of Brianna's will, and the way it's written, she specifically leaves Danielle Marlow House and all its contents. Danielle is the only heir mentioned in the will who is related to Brianna—even if by marriage—the others are charities. So no, I don't believe they'd have a claim."

"You are right; it would be more fun if the stones were real." Danielle laughed. "But I think it's a beautiful necklace, and if Mr. Renton agrees with your finding, I wouldn't mind keeping it _." I should probably ask Walt if he wants me to do something else with it...but it is so pretty!_

"Would you mind if I had the necklace checked out by a jeweler?" Ian asked.

"No, that's fine. But I have a favor to ask you."

"Sure."

"In the story you're writing, do you have room to elaborate a little on how Walt Marlow died? Since he's the one who inherited the stolen necklace?"

"And the one who stole it," Ian reminded her.

"I guess finding it in Marlow House rather confirms that fact."

"Perhaps. But if the stones aren't real like you suspect, what happened to them?" Ian asked.

"You didn't answer my question," Danielle reminded him.

"Lily told me about Emma Jackson and what she saw, but I'm not sure that really proves Marlow was murdered. Just that his brother-in-law may have lied about where he was when Marlow was killed."

"True, but the autopsy report tells an interesting story. And according to Sergeant Morelli, who reviewed it with me, he told me that if it was more recent, he'd reopen the case." Danielle then elaborated, telling Lily and Ian about yesterday's visit to the Frederickport Police Department and what she found in the old case file on Walt Marlow's death.

"Would you mind if I have a look at the report?" Ian asked when Danielle was finished.

"I'd love for you to." Danielle grinned.

"Sometimes the stories we start writing aren't what we end up with," Ian said.

"If you're really a sweetheart, when you write your article, you can mention Marlow House is now a quaint B and B," Danielle said with a laugh.

"Don't worry, the B and B will definitely get a plug. By the way, when do you plan to open? Lily said you were shooting for the fourth?"

"I'm having an open house over the fourth. I was planning to have some brochures printed up for the opening, including a brief history on Marlow House and Walt Marlow's death. I hope that won't mess up your story."

"Let's work together," Ian suggested. "Let me write the history for the brochure. I'll use your opening as a full-circle sort of ending for my article. Good for your new business and a human touch for my piece."

"Are you working on an article or a book?" Lily asked.

"Both. Now that the necklace has been found, I'll call my publisher and step up the release date on the article. It's more a prequel to the in-depth biography I'm writing on Eva Thorndike. My book will be published later this year. I'm hoping the mystery of the necklace and its recent discovery will whet my reader's curiosity."

# Forty

Danielle stood with Sadie at the gate of Marlow House and watched Lily and Ian drive away. They had taken the Missing Thorndike with them, although Danielle thought the name no longer applied.

"I suppose we could still call it the Missing Thorndike," Danielle told Sadie as she scratched the dog's right ear, "in honor of the missing diamonds and emeralds."

Danielle turned toward the house and opened the gate. "Come on, girl, let's go inside and see if we can find Walt." Sadie followed Danielle up the front walk and into the house.

"Walt, where are you?" Danielle called out when she closed the door behind her and Sadie.

"Dog sitting?" Walt asked when he appeared a moment later. Wagging her tail, Sadie trotted to where Walt stood and walked in several circles, moving through his legs, before she sat down.

"That kind of creeps me out when she does that." Danielle shuddered.

"What do you mean?" Walt looked down at his feet under Sadie.

"The way she just goes through you all the time. Plopping down in the middle of your body or in this case your feet." Danielle looked at Sadie and shook her head before adding, "As for the dog sitting, I told Ian I'd keep an eye on her while he and Lily take the necklace to the jeweler."

"So you told both of them?" Walt raised a brow.

"Yep." Danielle tossed her purse and beach towel on the entry hall table. At Walt's sudden scowl she let out a sigh and picked up the purse, placing it on the towel instead of directly on the cherry wood tabletop.

"Did you tell them the stones are fake, or are you going to let the jeweler tell them?"

"I probably should have let the jeweler do it. Because I couldn't really come up with a logical reason why I thought they were fake."

"It's too bad you have to go public with the necklace. I understand why you want to, but I wonder if the heirs, when you contact them, will accuse you of removing the real diamonds and emeralds."

"Umm...I don't think that's going to be an issue." Danielle watched for Walt's reaction. "I haven't told you what Ian discovered in his research. Guess who's the rightful owner of the necklace."

"I imagine some distant relative of Eva's."

"You." Danielle grinned. "Well, technically, it's now me. For whatever reason, Eva's parents left the necklace to you in their will, should it ever be recovered."

"I don't understand. Why would they do that?"

"I have no idea. But according to their will, if you were deceased at the time of their death, then it was to go to your heir, which was Katherine. And when Katherine died, everything went to Brianna, and when Brianna left me her house, she included all the contents—which included the necklace."

Walt walked to a chair in the entry and sat down, his expression thoughtful. "I think I know why they left me the necklace."

"I'd like to hear this."

"I saw her every day that last month. I'd come over and sit with her to give her mother a little break. Mrs. Thorndike told me I was the one Eva should have married. Eva never loved me that way. But her mother knew how much I loved her."

"I don't really get it...leave you something they don't have anymore? It's sort of like your parents saying I have good news and bad news. The good news is we got you a pony; the bad news is it ran away."

"Not exactly. If you actually get the pony, you can ride him. I wasn't about to wear a woman's necklace. It was a sentimental gesture."

"I suppose..."

"Now what?" Walt stood up.

Wagging her tail, Sadie got to her feet and watched him.

"Ian is using the information I found about your murder in his article. People will finally know you didn't take your own life. This is what you wanted."

"Does this mean I'm free to go?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll have to see."

Silently, they stood in the entry hall, looking into each other's eyes. _Is this goodbye?_ Danielle wondered. She had only met Walt a little over a week ago, yet she felt as if it had been much longer.

"Thank you, Danielle." Walt reached out to her. She raised her hand to his, their fingertips touched—or so it seemed. Danielle looked down at where their hands tried to meet; she smiled sadly.

"I've enjoyed our time together," Danielle said. Until Walt, her encounters with spirits had been brief.

"I will say I've never met a woman quite like you. I've almost gotten used to those mannish slacks you often wear," he said with a chuckle.

"This house is not going to be the same when you go." Danielle lowered her hand to her side.

She watched as Walt silently blew her a kiss and faded away, leaving Sadie barking at the spot where he no longer stood.

"He doesn't belong here anymore," Danielle told Sadie as she reached down to calm the dog. When Sadie finally stopped barking, Danielle took her into the kitchen. After filling a bowl with water and setting it on the floor for the dog, Danielle sat wearily at the kitchen table.

_What's wrong with me? I should be happy. Everything is working out like I wanted. I've set the record straight regarding Walt's death, or at least it will be set straight when Ian publishes his article. The necklace was recovered, so future treasure hunters won't be a nuisance, and I no longer live in a haunted house._

Before Danielle could come up with an answer to her question, her cellphone began to ring. By the time she made it to the entry hall to retrieve the phone from her purse, she missed the call. Looking at the phone, she could see the caller was Lily.

"Dani, you have to get down here fast!" Lily squealed on the other side of the line when Danielle called her back.

"What's wrong? Get down where?"

"Ian and I are at the jewelry store. You were wrong; those aren't fake stones! They're real! And according to the guy, your necklace is probably worth over a million bucks! Holy crap, Dani; Ian and I don't want to be walking around town with something that valuable!"

When Dani got off the phone, she called out, "Walt, are you still here? Please tell me you didn't go for good!" There was no answer.

Leaving Sadie alone at Marlow House, Danielle drove immediately to the jewelry store. She found Ian and Lily inside, standing at the counter, talking to an excited jeweler.

"My dad and I used to joke about someone finding the Missing Thorndike and bringing it in to us to have it appraised. I can't believe I actually got to hold it!" the jeweler told Danielle when Ian introduced her to the man. As it turned out, the jeweler, Samuel Hayman, owned the jewelry store, which was founded by his grandfather in the 1920s. He had grown up hearing the story of the missing necklace.

"Are you sure the diamonds and emeralds are real?" Danielle asked.

"Without a doubt. What I told your friend about the necklace's value is only a rough estimate, but we do appraisals here, and I would imagine you'll want to get one done for insurance purposes."

"Insurance purposes?" Danielle's head began to spin. Things were much simpler when the necklace she had inherited—if, in fact, it was rightfully hers—was made with pretty glass. It would be fun to wear such a beautiful piece on special occasions, but would she actually wear a necklace worth over a million bucks? Not bloody likely. She needed to contact an insurance agent—her lawyer—would this mean she would have to pay more inheritance tax?

Rubbing her temple, Danielle felt a headache coming on. "I think we better go over to the bank and put this thing in a safety deposit box until I figure things out."

"Why in the world did you think the stones were fake?" the jeweler asked.

"Wishful thinking?" Danielle smiled weakly.

Danielle was at the bank with Ian and Lily, filling out the paperwork for the safety deposit box, when a newspaper reporter showed up, along with the police chief. It seemed Hayman had wasted no time spreading the word about her discovery.

"I thought jewelers were under some sort of confidentiality oath," Danielle muttered under her breath to Ian.

"You have to remember it's considered stolen property. I imagine he really had no choice but to call the police," Ian said.

"What about the reporter?" Danielle quipped as the pair approached them. A curious crowd was gathering, prompting the bank manager to usher Danielle, Lily, Ian, and the police chief into his office. The reporter was left standing in the bank, talking with Sam Hayman, who had just showed up.

"Danielle Boatman is the rightful owner of the necklace," Ian explained to the police chief. "The Thorndikes left it to Walt Marlow or his heirs, which was the mother of Ms. Boatman's great-aunt, who left her Marlow House."

"If it is the Missing Thorndike, it's stolen merchandise, and until this thing is straightened out, I need to take it into custody," the police chief insisted.

"Really, Chief?" Ian asked. "You honestly think a necklace worth more than a million dollars will be safer locked up in your evidence room than in a safety deposit box at the bank?"

"I just don't want Ms. Boatman to return tomorrow and remove the necklace, only to discover she isn't its rightful owner."

Danielle spoke up. "I understand. Until we get this thing sorted out, I would feel more comfortable having the necklace safely locked up at the bank—not at the police station—but I am willing to sign whatever is necessary saying I won't remove the necklace until this is resolved."

"I think that's reasonable," the chief said, secretly relieved.

The bank manager's desk phone began to ring.

"I'm tied up right now," the bank manager said when he answered the phone. He paused a moment then said into the phone, "Hold on, I'll see." Looking up at Danielle and the police chief, he asked, "The reporter from the _Frederickport Press_ wanted to know if we could get a picture with Ms. Boatman and the necklace before you lock it up."

"Fine with me," Danielle said. _It will be a good way to let Nichols and Jones know the necklace has been found._

# Forty-One

Unlatching the parlor window, Danielle tried opening it, but it stubbornly refused to budge. Recalling one of her first encounters with Walt and how he had been unable to open the window, she smiled sadly. Giving the window a firm tug, it finally opened. The cool evening breeze swept inside, sending the curtains fluttering. She stood there a moment looking out at the darkness, breathing in the night air.

"I'm going to bed now," Lily called from the doorway. Danielle turned from the window to face Lily.

"Goodnight," Danielle said with a faint smile.

"It was a crazy day."

"It was that," Danielle agreed. After returning from the bank, the moving van had arrived with the rest of Danielle's belongings. She had instructed the movers to take most of the boxes up to the attic and hadn't had time to sort through any of her things.

"I guess tomorrow we can finally get those groceries and fill up that new refrigerator of yours."

"Not a bad idea. I'm getting a little sick of peanut butter and cereal."

"So you're really going to sell it?" Lily sounded disappointed.

"What am I going to do with a million-dollar necklace? Anyway, the inheritance tax and insurance would likely kill me."

"It's still exciting. Well, night, Dani."

"Night, Lily." Danielle watched as Lily turned and headed upstairs to her room.

Danielle had just turned back to the window when she heard, "You could always wear it." Quickly turning around, her heart lurched as she came face-to-face with Walt.

The first thing she noticed—he was wearing a new suit. This one was blue with pinstripes—more casual than the other suit he had been wearing.

"I thought you were gone?" Danielle said excitedly, wishing briefly that it was possible to hug a spirit. "You have a different suit...I like it."

"I was getting a little weary of the other one." Walt glanced down briefly at his clothes and then looked back to Danielle.

"I don't understand?" Danielle said.

"I finally figured out how to—well, change my clothes, so to speak. Not that I put them on like I used to." He grinned.

"No, I wasn't talking about your clothes. I was talking about you—you're here. I thought you had gone. What happened, didn't it work?"

"Oh, it worked, I guess."

"You guess?" Danielle frowned.

"If I want to go, I can. I'm just not ready yet."

"What do you mean ready?"

"Wherever I'm supposed to go next will be there when I'm ready. But first, what is this about the diamonds and emeralds being real?"

"They're real. We haven't had it appraised yet, but the jeweler Ian took it to says it's easily worth over a million dollars."

"Over a million dollars? Prices have gone up a bit, I see," Walt murmured and then added, "I think you should keep it and wear it."

"Where am I going to wear something like that?"

"You could wear it to your open house."

"That would be a great publicity stunt." Danielle turned to the window and looked outside. She could feel her heart race— _why am I so happy he's back?_

"Yes, it—on you—would make quite an impression on your guests," Walt said as he stepped to the window and stood beside Danielle.

"How long are you staying?" Danielle asked.

"I don't know. I would like to find out how it is those diamonds and emeralds are real. Do you mind if I stay?"

"Not at all..." Danielle murmured. "I just want you to be where you're meant to be."

"I am, Danielle...I am..." They stood silently, side by side, gazing out the window when Walt took a deep breath and said, "I can smell it, Danielle...I can finally smell it..."

Danielle turned her head and looked up at Walt—his eyes closed and a peaceful smile on his face as he listened to the not-so-distant sound of the waves breaking on the nearby beach.

"What, Walt? What do you smell?"

"The ocean..."

# The Ghost Who Loved Diamonds

Return to Marlow House in

The Ghost Who Loved Diamonds

_Haunting Danielle, Book 2_

Everything is right on track for Danielle as she prepares for the grand opening of her bed and breakfast. All that changes when her cousin, Cheryl, shows up to claim her share of the inheritance—housemate Lily figures out there is a ghost in the house—and the million-dollar necklace goes missing.

* * *

There is blood on someone's hands, and if Danielle isn't careful, she'll be moving from Marlow House to the Big House.

# Haunting Danielle Newsletter

Keep informed on what's new in the series.

Sign up for the Haunting Danielle Newsletter

# Haunting Danielle Series

### by Bobbi Holmes

The Ghost of Marlow House, Book 1

The Ghost Who Loved Diamonds, Book 2

The Ghost Who Wasn't, Book 3

The Ghost Who Wanted Revenge, Book 4

The Ghost of Halloween Past, Book 5

The Ghost Who Came for Christmas, Book 6

The Ghost of Valentine Past, Book 7

The Ghost from the Sea, Book 8

The Ghost and the Mystery Writer, Book 9

The Ghost and the Muse, Book 10

The Ghost Who Stayed Home, Book 11

The Ghost and the Leprechaun, Book 12

The Ghost Who Lied, Book 13

The Ghost and the Bride, Book 14

The Ghost and Little Marie, Book 15

The Ghost and the Doppelganger, Book 16

The Ghost of Second Chances, Book 17

The Ghost Who Dream Hopped, Book 18

Sign up for the Haunting Danielle Newsletter

Find Haunting Danielle on Facebook

_Also available in paperback, regular and large print._

_Books 1 - 10 available in audiobook._

# Bobbi Holmes

### Also known as Anna J. McIntyre

Bobbi Holmes' Website

Find Bobbi on Facebook

Find Bobbi on Pinterest

Sign up for the Haunting Danielle Newsletter

Robeth Publishing, LLC

Anna J. McIntyre's Website

Find Anna J. McIntyre on Facebook

Sign up for Anna J. McIntyre's Newsletter

Sundered Hearts

After Sundown

While Snowbound

Sugar Rush

Find Unlocked Hearts on Facebook

# The Coulson Series

### by Anna J. McIntyre

Coulson's Wife

Coulson's Crucible

Coulson's Lessons

Coulson's Secret

Coulson's Reckoning

* * *

Find the Coulson Series on Facebook

# Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

Havasu Palms, A Hostile Takeover

* * *

Find Havasu Palms a Hostile Takeover on Facebook
