The Ghost Who Was Says I Do Read online

  The Ghost Who Was Says I Do

  (Haunting Danielle, Book 20)

  A Novel

  By Bobbi Holmes

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.robeth.com

  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

  The Ghost and the Baby

  Haunting Danielle Newsletter

  Haunting Danielle Series

  Bobbi Holmes

  Unlocked Hearts Series

  The Coulson Series

  Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  Dedicated to science fiction author and friend Stephen Arseneault, for giving me the title for Walt’s book, Moon Runners.

  One

  Coffee spewed from Claudia Dane’s mouth, and she began to cough. Grabbing a napkin from the kitchen table without taking her eyes off the television program, she used it to mop up the coffee from her chin and down the front of her robe. Letting out another sputtering cough, she shook her head at the morning show. “I don’t freaking believe this!”

  “Are you okay?” her sister, Rachel, asked as she entered the kitchen a few minutes later. “Sounded like you were choking to death in here.”

  Claudia and Rachel had been sharing the apartment for the past seven months, after Claudia had been forced to sell her condo or face criminal charges. While they were identical twins, it wasn’t difficult to tell them apart. Claudia had been bleaching her brown hair since she was a teen and wore it straight, falling midway down her back, its fullness and length aided by hair extensions. In contrast, her twin, Rachel, kept her brown hair short and spiky. Neither woman needed corrective lenses, yet Claudia’s naturally hazel eyes were violet by virtue of the opaque tint contacts she wore.

  Both women had tattoos; Rachel’s wrapped around her neck and down one shoulder, a dark collection, including Day of the Dead skulls and serpents. Claudia’s brightly colored tattoos, floral in design, covered just her right arm and left shoulder.

  Coffee cup in hand, Claudia motioned to the television while picking up the remote from the table with her free hand and turning off the set. “You won’t believe who they were talking about on the morning show.”

  Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Rachel asked, “Who?”

  “Walt Marlow.”

  “The author of Moon Runners?” Rachel added almond milk to her coffee. “It must have been good, had you all choked up.” Rachel laughed at her own joke.

  Not amused, Claudia glared at her sister and said, “Walter Clint Marlow.”

  Rachel walked to the table and sat down across from her sister. “So you saying it wasn’t the author?”

  “Clint Marlow,” Claudia snapped.

  Squinting her eyes, Rachel scrunched up her nose. “You lost me, Claud.”

  “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Whatever. But I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You know who Clint Marlow is.”

  “Like I could forget?”

  “He’s also the author you know as Walt Marlow. The author of Moon Runners. Clint is actually his middle name.”

  Rachel sat up straighter in the chair. “Are you saying your Clint wrote that book?”

  “He is not my Clint! And there is no way in hell he wrote Moon Runners. He’s pulling some scam; I know it.”

  Rachel slumped back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “I don’t get it. I thought you told me he was in some car accident in Oregon. Doesn’t he have amnesia or something?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “And he’s written a book? A bestseller? Aren’t they supposed to make a movie from it?”

  “That’s what they were talking about on the morning show a minute ago,” Claudia said.

  Rachel arched her brows, impressed. Before taking a sip of coffee, she said, “I’ve been wanting to read it. Now I have to.”

  “I knew Clint’s real name was Walter, but I had no freaking idea he was that Walt Marlow.”

  “I’m sure there’s more than one Walt Marlow out there. It’s probably not him.” Rachel shrugged.

  “They showed an interview clip with Clint—or Walt, as they called him. It’s him alright, and by what he had on, he’s obviously dressing for the part.”

  “What part?”

  “As an author.” Claudia closed her eyes a moment, replaying in her mind the video she had just watched on the television. Clint’s hair was longer than she remembered, but the face was the same. In one brief segment it showed him standing by a vintage black Packard Coupe, wearing a fedora hat, suit, and long dress overcoat. The Clint she knew never dressed like that. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn it was a clip from Moon Runners, set in the 1920s. Of course, it hadn’t been filmed yet, and Clint was no actor. He was no author either. Opening her eyes, Claudia looked over at her sister.

  Rachel set her cup on the table. “So are you saying he didn’t write the book—or did he?”

  “Everyone thinks he wrote it. But there is no way he did. Not in a million freaking years.”

  Rachel frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “For one thing, he has dyslexia.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. I read once that F. Scott Fitzgerald had dyslexia.”

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Please, spare me. Clint is by no stretch of the imagination an F. Scott Fitzgerald. But I know for a fact he never opened a book. He hated to read, and no way did he write one.”

  “Just because he hated to read doesn’t mean he couldn’t.”

  “Didn’t I just say he has dyslexia?”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me. When Clint and I first met, it was when we both went to work for John. We were in orientation when the broker called on him to read something to the group. It was so embarrassing. He could barely get through it. Later he admitted to me he had struggled for years with dyslexia. I told him he should’ve just told the broker he forgot his reading glasses, and that way he would have avoided reading in public and spared himself the humiliation.”

  “Still doesn’t mean he didn’t write Moon Runners. He wouldn’t be the first author who had dyslexia.”

  “No way. For one thing, Moon Runners required tons of research. They were talking about it on the morning show. How does a nonreader do that?”

  “I don’t kn
ow. But they do have books on tape. And maybe he hired someone to help him with the research.”

  “The Clint I know would never in a million years write a book. It took him forever to write a letter.”

  “People do change.”

  “Not Clint.” Claudia stood up.

  Rachel looked to her sister. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to Google that jerk. I want to see what he’s up to.”

  “I understand your curiosity. Heck, I’m curious too. But don’t let this consume you. Seriously. Considering everything, you just need to forget about him.”

  “I’m over him, Rachel. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Claudia turned from the table and headed toward the doorway leading to the hallway. Just before stepping out of the kitchen, she said, “But I sure as hell can hurt him.”

  Thirty minutes later Rachel found her sister sitting cross-legged on the living room sofa, staring down at the laptop’s monitor. No longer wearing her robe, Claudia sported navy blue leggings and a baggy, multicolored pullover blouse, her blond hair clipped in a messy knot on top of her head, and a laptop computer perched on her thighs.

  “Did you find out anything interesting?” Rachel asked as she sat down on a chair across from the sofa.

  Claudia looked up. “The jerk’s getting married next month.”

  “Married? I thought his girlfriend was killed in the accident.”

  “You mean fiancée?”

  “You’re confusing me.”

  “The accident he was in last spring, the woman killed was his fiancée,” Claudia explained.

  “I thought you just said he’s getting married next month?”

  “Obviously to another woman.”

  Rachel let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. “I suppose that shouldn’t surprise either one of us. From what I remember about Clint, he didn’t like to be alone. Didn’t take him long after Mexico to—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mexico,” Claudia snapped.

  “Sorry. Umm…are you sure it’s current information? Maybe it was written before his accident.”

  Claudia shook her head. “No. I found the article on an entertainment website. According to the date, it was just posted yesterday. I have to assume Clint’s agent—or publisher—is promoting a media blitz because of the movie deal, considering he was also featured on today’s morning show.”

  “So what does it say?”

  “Touched briefly on his accident. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year. The article said he moved into the B and B he and his fiancée were staying in before the accident. It’s owned by some wealthy widow.”

  Rachel began to laugh. “Don’t tell me, Clint hit on the rich widow?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Claudia looked over at her sister. “The way you said that sounded like you meant rich old widow.”

  “Are you saying it’s not some vulnerable older woman seduced by Clint’s dubious charms?” Rachel asked.

  “Not if the photograph of her is accurate. She looks like she’s in her late twenties.”

  Rachel arched her brows. “Oh…young and rich. Is she attractive?”

  “Yes. From what I read, she helped take care of him after the accident, and they started dating a little over a month ago. They’re planning to get married on Valentine’s Day. He said it was a whirlwind courtship.”

  Rachel scowled. “He said that?”

  Claudia nodded. “No kidding. Can you imagine Clint saying whirlwind courtship?”

  “No. But wow, that is quick. Only dating for a month?”

  “Technically, a month and a half, according to the article. But remember, he has been living with her since the accident.”

  “Does he still have amnesia?”

  Claudia closed the laptop computer and set it on the coffee table while moving her feet to the floor. “That’s what he claims.”

  “You don’t think he really has it?”

  Claudia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to process this.”

  “So how rich is this widow?” Rachel asked.

  “Pretty rich. But Clint’s not exactly poor himself these days. He’s done really well with his book, and now with that movie deal…”

  “Does this mean you now believe he wrote it?”

  Claudia shook her head. “I know he didn’t. I know Clint better than anyone, and I have the scars to prove it.” She stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Stay here. I want to get something,” Claudia said.

  Rachel waited quietly as her sister left the living room and then returned a few minutes later.

  Claudia handed Rachel a folded piece of paper and then took her place on the sofa again and propped her feet up on the coffee table, waiting for her sister to look at what she had just handed her.

  Opening the folded paper, Rachel stared at it a moment and then looked up at Claudia. Licking her lips, she carefully refolded the paper and stared at her twin. “What are you going to do?”

  “You mean, what are we going to do?” Claudia smirked.

  Rachel shook her head. “Uh-uh…I don’t want anything to do with Clint Marlow.”

  “You don’t have to do anything—just go with me, keep me company. It would look odd if I went alone.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to take a little trip up to Oregon.”

  Rachel shook her head again. “No, we aren’t.”

  Claudia nodded. “Yes, we are. Come on, don’t you want to spend the week in a little B and B on the Oregon coast? You told me you had some sick days you need to use up.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Rachel leaned over and tossed the folded document on the coffee table.

  “Because Clint is rich now. And he’s planning to marry an even richer woman. And I know how important money is to Clint. He would do anything to keep his new golden goose—I mean fiancée—happy.” Removing her feet from the coffee table, Claudia leaned over and picked up the document and unfolded it again. Settling back in the sofa, she reread it and then said, “And with this I can get Clint to share some of that wealth with me. He owes me. About time he settled up.”

  “But he has amnesia,” Rachel reminded her.

  “Exactly.” Claudia grinned.

  “What if he doesn’t?” Rachel asked.

  “You mean, if he is faking and doesn’t have amnesia?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Either way, this little document will get him to pay up. If he’s faking, I don’t think he wants his rich bride to know he’s been lying to her. And if he does have amnesia…he’ll pay me.”

  Two

  If Kelly Bartley hadn’t been rubbernecking the moving van parked next door to Marlow House, she would have noticed her brother’s garage door was open before pulling into his driveway on Monday morning. She didn’t expect to see her sister-in-law, Lily’s car. Lily should be at work. But there it was, sitting in the garage, parked next to Ian’s vehicle. Kelly was about to back out of the driveway and make a hasty retreat when her brother walked out the front door and waved. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her sister-in-law, but she was hoping for a visit with her brother—just her brother—without having to share him with Lily.

  Smiling weakly, Kelly parked her car in the driveway and turned off the ignition. Just as she got out of the car, Ian jogged by her, heading to the mailbox.

  “I’ll be right back,” he called out to her.

  She stood by her car and watched her brother retrieve his mail and then jog back in her direction. It was in that moment she realized he hadn’t come outside because he saw her pull up. He had come outside to get his mail, and she just happened to be there.

  “What are you doing today?” Ian asked when he reached her, mail in hand.

  “I thought I’d stop by and bum some coffee from you.” She nodded toward the garage. “Is Lily home?”


  “Yeah. She’s sick. I think food poisoning. We had some sketchy seafood last night.”

  “You feel okay?” she asked.

  “I think it was the tartar sauce more than the fish. I didn’t have any tartar sauce. Come on in. I just made some fresh coffee.”

  Kelly followed her brother into the house and was greeted by his golden retriever, Sadie. After sufficiently petting the dog, she joined her brother in the kitchen, where he was already pouring her a cup of coffee.

  “We should probably whisper,” Ian said in a low voice, handing Kelly a hot cup.

  Kelly glanced toward the direction of the master bedroom. “Is she sleeping?”

  “I hope so. She spent most of the morning on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet and puking.”

  Kelly wrinkled her nose. “Lovely imagery.”

  “That’s why I’m a writer and make the big bucks.” Ian picked up the stack of mail he had set on the counter before pouring the coffee, and started shuffling through the envelopes.

  Kelly rolled her eyes at his comment and then sipped her coffee.

  “She finally stopped throwing up and crawled back into bed about an hour ago. Last time I checked, she was sleeping.”

  “Maybe it’s the flu,” Kelly suggested.

  “Considering all the germs she’s exposed to at school, that’s always possible.”

  Kelly sneezed. She sneezed again. And then again.

  “You don’t sound so great yourself. Coming down with a cold?” Ian asked.