The Ghost from the Sea Read online

  The Ghost from the Sea

  Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  The Ghost and the Mystery Writer

  Haunting Danielle Series

  Bobbi Holmes

  Unlocked Hearts Series

  The Coulson Series

  Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  The Ghost from the Sea

  (Haunting Danielle, Book 8)

  A Novel

  By Bobbi Holmes

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  Editor: Vivian Delchamps

  * * *

  Copyright © 2016 Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  (v2)

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

  living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.robeth.com

  Dedicated to three of my author friends:

  Randall Morris, Nick Russell, and Billy Kring.

  For all the crazy questions you answer.

  Chapter One

  Jack imagined Thelma’s vacant eye cavities watched him as her skull rolled around under his feet. What little remained of Thelma did not remotely resemble the skeleton Doc Clemens had proudly hung in his office.

  A school of fish meandered by, taking a detour through what was left of Howard’s ribcage. Jack tried initiating a conversation. Like all the rest, the fish ignored him. The only ones who seemed interested in conversing were the dolphins, yet they never came inside. Jack made his way to the upper deck—or what was left of it. He often wondered what Walt would think of the Eva Aphrodite now.

  Shafts of early morning sunlight streamed through the seawater above. It glistened and sparkled as it showered his world and made him again crave what once was. He should have left when the others had, he told himself. Yet something kept him here—tied for eternity to the Eva Aphrodite—or at least until he figured out how he had arrived on the boat.

  Jack was about to return to the lower deck when something blocked the sunlight. He looked up and saw the bottom of a boat’s hull come to a stop; it rocked gently from side to side. A few moments later, someone from the boat jumped into the water and started swimming toward him. The diver’s finned feet kicked furiously.

  When the interloper reached the sunken craft, Jack recognized him. It was not his first trip to the Eva Aphrodite; he had come once before. He carried a light to help him see. He also carried a small box in his arms.

  Jack followed the visitor to the lower deck, to the cabin Thelma and Howard occupied. The diver deposited the box in one corner and then swam toward the exit, but paused a moment to inspect Thelma’s skull. He picked it up briefly, turning it from side to side. For a moment, Jack thought the diver intended to take her with him, and he didn’t think he could let that happen. Thelma and the rest had been with him since the beginning, and it didn’t seem right to let the stranger defile her in this manner.

  Unfortunately, Jack had no way to prevent the diver from taking off with Thelma’s skull; not unless he could convince a dolphin to intervene on his behalf, and he hadn’t seen any dolphins around for some time. In the next moment, the diver abandoned his find. The skull made a sluggish descent to the cabin’s floor as the man exited the ship.

  Relieved that problem was diverted, Jack followed the diver to the upper deck, and watched as he swam back up to the awaiting craft. Jack wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but finally the boat moved away, no longer blocking the sunlight. It was in that moment a thought occurred to Jack—Could I have gone with him? Could I have followed him back to his boat, stowed away? Returned to shore? Would that have been possible?

  Jack continued to stand on the upper deck, until it went dark again. Nighttime had fallen. He was still standing there the next morning, when the sun began to shine, teasing the depths with its brightness.

  Visions of departure consumed his thoughts. Jack closed his eyes and imagined the Eva Aphrodite on the water’s surface. Lost in keen desire, he didn’t notice the hull’s gentle rocking along the ocean’s floor was somehow different from normal. But when he opened his eyes a moment later and looked upwards, he realized the water’s surface was fast approaching. The moment he questioned the turn of events, the deck below him dropped, and the Eva Aphrodite plummeted back to the ocean’s floor, sending a cloud of silt billowing upwards.

  “What just happened?” Standing on the deck he watched as nearby fish hastily moved away from the unsteady wreckage. After a moment of reflection, Jack asked aloud, “Is it possible? Did I do that?”

  With a renewed sense of power, Jack stretched out his arms and willed the ship upwards, to the light. It didn’t happen instantly. First, there was a gentle rumbling from below, a shifting of the boat’s hull against the ocean floor. It then rocked slightly, sending more silt ballooning upwards, but then the ship seemed to unseat itself, and to Jack’s delight it began to rise, slowly at first and then picking up speed, scattering the sea life above from its path.

  Unable to contain his delight, Jack began to laugh, the intensity of his laughter in sync with the rise of the downed ship. At last the once defeated wreckage broke through the surface, sending sprays of seawater in every direction. Jack saw for the first time for what seemed like an eternity blue sky—unfiltered sky. He knew then it was only the beginning.

  “Home, Eva Aphrodite! Let’s go home!” he roared.

  The motor-less ship, powered only by Jack’s determination, headed east toward the rising sun. It was only when the shoreline came in view did he begin to lose confidence. Nothing was as he remembered. For a brief moment the ship slowed and began to fall back into the sea, yet Jack had waited too long to quit now. Focusing his energy, he lifted the Eva Aphrodite up above the water and moved it swiftly toward land.

  Instead of searching for the once familiar harbor, he concentrated all his energy on the swiftly approaching wide stretch of pale sand. As he neared the shore, the Eva Aphrodite took flight, hovering like a seagull over the water’s surface, until at last it reached the beach and settled itself a good distance from where the waves met the sand.

  It took a few moments before the ship settled itself comfortably on the beach. Looking out from the top deck, Jack surveyed his surroundings.

  “Where am I?” he asked aloud. “Am I even in Oregon?”

  Making his way off the boat, the soles of Jack’s dress shoes landed on the beach. He took a moment to wipe imaginary sand from his slacks before heading south. He had almo
st convinced himself he had arrived somewhere other than Frederickport when he saw a familiar building—it was George Hemming’s house. With an excited grin, Jack raced toward George’s back porch.

  Normally, he would just walk in; after all, this had been his home. Yet Jack wasn’t sure how long he had been gone, and he imagined George had long since rented out his room. He started to knock on the back door. Instead of his knuckles making a sound against the wooden door, they moved effortlessly through it. Without thought, Jack followed his hand into the house, his body moving through the solid door.

  Once inside, he looked around. Nothing was as he remembered. Confused, he stepped back outside again and took another look at the rear of the building.

  “I’m sure this is George Hemming’s house,” Jack muttered. Moving back inside, Jack surveyed his surroundings. If he imagined the space without the furniture, or any of the wall hangings and other items scattered around, it was as he remembered George Hemming’s home to be. Jack had been gone a long time—how long exactly he wasn’t sure—but he was certain if George was still around he would probably have new furniture by now.

  When Jack walked into the kitchen, he was surprised to find a large yellow dog sitting in the middle of the room, watching him, its tail wagging.

  “When did George get a dog?” Jack asked aloud.

  The dog cocked its head, tail still wagging. Jack frowned. He could swear he’d just heard the dog ask, “Who’s George?”

  Confused, Jack felt the sudden urge to go back to the boat. Abruptly, he turned to go. The dog barked and rush toward him. Startled, Jack took off in a run, heading for the back door. The dog, at a full gallop, ran through his body, reaching the back door before him. Still barking, the dog stood guard, facing Jack, daring him to come closer. Wanting nothing more than to be on the outside again, Jack made a dash to the dog’s right and effortlessly moved through the back wall, landing once again on the porch facing the ocean.

  He could hear the dog still barking inside, her paws now up on the windowsill as her nose attempted to push aside the curtain so she could get a look outside. It was then he heard a man’s voice yell out, “Sadie!” It didn’t sound like George’s voice, so Jack ran off the porch and headed north, back toward the Eva Aphrodite.

  Once he reached the boat, Jack entered the lower deck, curious to see how it had fared in the voyage. The first thing he noticed was that water no longer filled the lower cabins.

  “Where did it go?” he asked aloud. The disappearance of the seawater confounded him, so he moved to the upper deck, hoping to get a clearer picture of his surroundings and a possible answer to the mystery.

  Standing at the stern, Jack gazed out to sea. The sand from where the breakers touched the beach to where the Eva Aphrodite settled appeared to be dry. The only conclusion he could arrive at was that the water had somehow spilled out while the ship made its way toward shore. He remembered that for at least a portion of the journey the boat was completely out of the water. He then remembered the gaping hole in the hull and imagined all the seawater spilling out while the boat made its way to shore.

  Satisfied with his conclusion, Jack moved from the stern to the ship’s bow. Gazing down the beach, he could see the rooftop of George Hemming’s house. Jack smiled. Walt Marlow’s house was just across the street from George’s. He couldn’t see it from where he stood on the upper deck of the ship, but he knew it was there. Jack had no idea what he would find at Walt’s house.

  Just as Jack was about to leave the ship for a second time, he glanced down the beach and noticed something coming toward him from the direction of George’s house. Leaning over the side of the ship, he narrowed his eyes and watched the curious sight.

  He assumed it was a woman, considering the long black pigtails flopping up and down as she made her way toward him. Dressed all in purple like a giant plum, her arms, bent at the elbows, swung dramatically up and down, reminding him of a milkmaid preparing to torture some poor dairy cow. Her knees lifted dramatically with each step, faster than a walk yet not quite a run.

  As she got closer, he realized her eyes were closed. If she continued on blindly, she would run straight into the side of the Eva Aphrodite. Considering the speed of her jaunt, he winced. It’s going to hurt.

  He was about to shout out to her when he noticed something hanging from her ears—wires. From each of her ears there was a wire; the opposite end of each wire ran into the side pocket of her purple pants.

  Chapter Two

  Music blared through the headphones. Heather Donavon continued on her morning run, despite the chilly damp drizzle. Soles of her jogging shoes pounded against the sand, one after another, never stopping. She fisted her hands and pumped her arms to maximize her workout. With eyes closed, she blindly jogged down the empty beach, aiming to where the damp sand met the dry.

  Since moving out of Marlow House and back into her own place, Heather had taken up jogging. She ran this way every morning, starting at the pier, and she told herself she could do the entire run with her eyes closed. It was a personal dare she decided to accept. The worst thing that could happen, Heather told herself, was that she might run into another jogger.

  It wasn’t a straight run, as the shoreline curved slightly near Ian Bartley’s house. She allowed herself to cheat and opened her eyes for a moment. Yet instead of looking up, she kept her gaze down, just to make sure she continued to follow the shoreline’s curve and didn’t run into the ocean.

  A few houses past Ian’s the shoreline no longer curved and Heather felt confident she could blindly continue down a straight path. Lifting her head, her eyes tightly closed, she breathed deeply and relished the sensation of her heart bounding in her chest as music filled her head.

  A few moments later, Heather came to an abrupt halt and opened her eyes. She didn’t have time to ask herself why she had stopped so unexpectedly or why she opened her eyes. Instead, she stood stunned and stared at what appeared to be the wreckage of a beached ship, less than one hundred yards from her, perched stranded on the sand like a gutted whale.

  Dazed, Heather pulled the headphones from her ears, letting them dangle from her hand, as she tried to comprehend the scene before her.

  “What is that?” Heather heard a voice shout from the direction of one of the houses. She looked over to see one of her neighbors rushing toward her.

  Hands on hips, Sergeant Joe Morelli stood on the boardwalk at the edge of the sand, next to his partner, Brian Henderson. They stared in awe at the unexpected sight not far from the water’s edge. “I’ll be damned, we have our own Peter Iredale,” Joe murmured.

  Removing his cap briefly before fitting it back onto his head, Brian stepped off the sidewalk onto the sand. “Where in the hell did it come from?”

  Instead of following Brian onto the beach and toward the mysterious boat, Joe paused a moment and watched as two of the local residents approached them from the wreckage: Heather Donovan and Pete Rogers.

  When the pair was within hearing distance Pete shouted, “I told you!”

  Joe started walking, following Brian. When Pete and Heather were a few feet away, Joe responded with, “You said a boat washed up, but I didn’t imagine anything like this.”

  Now walking alongside the two officers, Pete said in a breathless voice, “It wasn’t even stormy last night! How did it ever get up on the beach like that?”

  With a shake of his head, Joe continued to follow Brian. “The tide must have brought her in.”

  Trailing beside them, Pete asked, “But where did it come from? It looks old.”

  “Also looks like it’s been under the water for some time,” Brian said when they reached the wreckage.

  Joe walked around the battered hull, attempting to make sense of the scene. “I suppose we need to call the Coast Guard.”

  “What’s the Coast Guard supposed to do?” Heather asked.

  “Well for one thing, it might be a hazard, especially if the tide takes it back into the ocean and it s
tays afloat. They might decide to haul it off and sink it,” Brian said. “But first, we need to figure out where it came from.”

  Midweek in March, it was especially quiet at Marlow House. The last two guests had checked out on Monday morning. Joanne had cleaned the house on Tuesday and wouldn’t be returning until Friday morning, when the next round of guests would check in.

  Lily refilled her coffee cup and joined Danielle at the kitchen table. She briefly glanced up to the ceiling before sitting down. “Is Walt in the attic?”

  Danielle poured extra cream into her coffee and said, “I think so. I noticed Max slinking up there when I came downstairs.”

  “I never thought I’d say this, but it seems a little strange without Heather here.”

  Danielle glanced over at Lily and smiled. “Strange?”

  Lily giggled. “Strange in a good way, I suppose. It’s not that I miss her exactly; she could be awful bitchy at times. But it’s so quiet around here when we don’t have any guests.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if Heather is a little bipolar, the way she runs hot and cold.”

  Lily considered Danielle’s suggestion for a moment before responding. “Bipolar? You know, you might be onto something.”

  Danielle shrugged and took a sip of her coffee.

  Lily set her cup back onto the table and looked at Danielle. “So tell me, how long is Chris going to be in Chicago? At first I heard him say he was going to be gone a week, and then Ian said it was two weeks.”

  “He’d like to be back in a week, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get everything done by then. So it looks like two weeks. Not sure.”

  “I guess that means he didn’t make his return reservation yet.”

  Danielle shook her head. “Nope.”

  “I was about to ask you why he didn’t just have his own jet—considering how much money he has. But then I remembered, he doesn’t even own a car.”