The Ghost Who Dream Hopped Page 10

  About to open her car door, Nikki paused and turned to Danielle. “Are you talking about Brian Henderson?”

  Danielle nodded. “Brian’s had some bad luck with women, and I hate to see him get involved with someone who might hurt him again.”

  Nikki let out a snort. “I knew Brian’s second wife. What a piece of work. She really did a number on him.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me that can help me understand what it is exactly about Beverly that upset those people you know?”

  Nikki stared at Danielle for a moment, deciding if she should answer the question or not. Finally, she said, “Ask Melissa at Old Salts Bakery about the potato salad.”

  “Melissa? Her husband works at the bank, doesn’t he?” Danielle asked.

  Nikki nodded. “It happened a few years ago, so obviously Melissa isn’t at risk at being a suspect for what happened to Beverly. If she was going to do anything, she would have already done it by now. But it will give you an idea of what type of crap Beverly pulls.”

  “So now we’re going to the grocery store?” Walt asked after Danielle returned to the car.

  “First, Old Salts Bakery,” Danielle told him.

  Walt grinned. “Stocking up on cinnamon rolls, I hope?”

  “A person can never have too many cinnamon rolls,” Danielle teased. “Especially not with the new you in the house.”

  Walt chuckled.

  “But the real reason, I want to see if Melissa is working.” Danielle then told Walt what Nikki had told her.

  Melissa McGee had been working at Old Salts Bakery since Danielle had moved to Frederickport. Danielle knew they were about the same age. They were also the same height, yet Melissa was carrying an extra twenty pounds instead of Danielle’s extra fifteen—extra if one believed a woman their height and age should weigh 120 pounds. Considering where Melissa worked, Danielle was surprised the woman wasn’t heavier.

  Working in the bakery suited Melissa. She had an angelic heart-shaped face, and Danielle couldn’t recall ever seeing her without a smile. The color of her warm brown eyes matched her hair, which she always wore tucked neatly in a bun, hidden under a hairnet.

  There were no other customers in the bakery when Danielle and Walt walked in—Walt’s more of a hop-walk, intermittently assisted by his crutches. Melissa stood behind the counter and greeted the pair with a smile.

  “How are you today, Danielle?” Melissa smiled.

  “Doing good, Melissa. I would like you to meet Walt—”

  “Oh my,” Melissa interrupted, her eyes wide. “He really does look like the other Walt Marlow!”

  “Yes, he does,” Danielle agreed.

  “Nice to meet you, Walt.”

  Walt hopped up to the counter and flashed her a smile. “Nice to meet you too. I’m a fan of your cinnamon rolls.”

  Melissa returned the smile. “We do love our loyal fans. Keeps us in business.”

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you in private a minute?” While Danielle didn’t mind talking in front of Walt, she felt Melissa might be reluctant to discuss the matter in front of a virtual stranger.

  “Certainly, I hope nothing is wrong,” Melissa said, motioning to the other end of the counter. They left Walt alone, admiring the tempting bakery items in the display case.

  “I’d like to keep this just between the two of us,” Danielle began.

  “Of course.” Melissa nodded.

  “I’m trying to find out about Beverly Klein,” Danielle explained.

  Melissa’s eyes widened. “Beverly? Why do you want to talk to me? I barely know the woman.”

  “A mutual friend told me to ask you about the potato salad,” Danielle explained.

  Melissa groaned.

  “Please, it’s important, Melissa. I promise, this is not idle gossip.”

  Melissa considered the request and then nodded. “I heard about Beverly’s attack.”

  “I suspect everyone did.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “I never imagined you did!” Danielle insisted.

  “But I can understand why someone would want to smack the woman over the head.”

  “So what happened with the potato salad?”

  Melissa let out a sigh. “A couple of years ago there was a potluck for the bank employees. My husband, Ronny, works at the bank.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Ronny told me he had signed us up for potato salad. But what he really meant was macaroni salad. So I made the wrong dish. When we got to the picnic, I found out Beverly Klein had also brought potato salad. I could tell she was pretty pissed that I brought the same thing.”

  Danielle shrugged. “That can happen at a potluck.”

  “Yeah, well, later, after I had set my bowl of potato salad with the rest of the food, I noticed Beverly stirring it with the serving spoon. When I walked up to her, she just smiled sweetly and said it just needed a little extra seasoning. But when I tasted it later, I realized she had practically emptied the entire salt container in my salad. It was inedible. I had to throw it out.”

  “What did everyone say?” Danielle asked.

  “No one else saw her. And frankly, I think she wanted me to see what she had done. Oh, she acted all sickening sweety-sweet to me. But we both knew what she had done.”

  “I take it you didn’t confront her?”

  “Oh, heck no! She was the wife of Ronny’s boss. But after that, I stayed away from the woman.”

  Fifteen

  After Danielle and Melissa finished their private discussion, they returned to where they had left Walt looking through the display cases.

  “I see you do more than just cinnamon rolls,” Walt said.

  “We’re a full-service bakery. We even do wedding cakes.” Melissa beamed.

  Walt flashed Danielle a quick look and said under his breath, “I will have to remember that.”

  “Can I get you anything today?” Melissa asked.

  “A dozen cinnamon rolls,” Walt began.

  “Twelve? It’s just you and me until Friday,” Danielle reminded him.

  “I want to get some for Lily and Ian too. Don’t forget Joanne.”

  Danielle nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Maybe Chris would like one too,” Walt added. “If I get one for Chris, we shouldn’t forget Heather.”

  “Anything else?” Melissa asked while bagging up the cinnamon rolls.

  Walt peered into the display counter. He pointed to one item and then another. “Why don’t we try one of those…and one of those…”

  When he was done, he pulled out his brand-new debit card and asked, “Can I pay with this?”

  Melissa pointed to the nearby credit card machine and said, “Sure. Go ahead and insert your card.”

  Walt stood there a moment, unsure what to do. Danielle finally took his card from him and showed him how to use it. If Melissa thought it was odd, she said nothing.

  “That was surprisingly easy,” Walt said as he buckled up in the car a few minutes later. “Does anyone even use real money anymore?”

  “Not really. But to be honest, I tend to use my credit card these days instead of my debit card. It’s safer, plus I earn mileage with my credit card,” Danielle explained as she inserted the key in the ignition.

  “Mileage?” Walt asked. “What do you mean mileage?”

  Danielle paused a moment and looked over to Walt, giving him a smile. “Perhaps we need to sit down and have a discussion of finances in the twenty-first century.”

  Instead of having the finance discussion now, Danielle told Walt what Melissa had said about Beverly.

  “It makes me wonder if Beverly tampered with that girl’s drink,” Walt said after Danielle finished recounting the conversation.

  “Calling people who have crossed Beverly victims, as Nikki did, does lead one to believe Miss Beverly has a vindictive streak,” Danielle said.

  Walt chuckled. “I believe putting crabmeat in her husband’s food when he has a seve
re shellfish allergy already established that point.”

  “True.”

  When they arrived at the grocery store, Danielle showed Walt how to drive the electric scooter. Delighted to be mobile and curious about the store, Walt told Danielle he was going to do a bit of exploring while she shopped. Reluctant to turn Walt lose on the store, yet understanding she wouldn’t be able to convince him to stay with her, she said, “Just please be careful!”

  “I’ll be fine!”

  Danielle watched Walt drive away in the scooter, heading toward the cereal aisle, his crutches now in her shopping cart.

  Fascinated by the aisles and aisles of products and selection—plus types of food he had never seen before, Walt slowed down his scooter to have a better look. A moment later he heard an irritating repetitive beeping from behind. At first he ignored it, but then the beeps started coming faster and faster. He glanced behind him to find a silver-haired woman about Marie’s age driving a scooter like his. By her angry glare it was obvious she wanted him to either speed up or get out of her way.

  Walt quickly swerved the scooter to let her get by, but then he almost ran over a man’s foot. The man, who had been watching the horn-happy senior and Walt’s attempt to comply with her wishes, managed to avoid having his foot run over and was good-natured about the near miss, cheerfully accepting Walt’s heartfelt apologies.

  Now frustrated, Walt turned the scooter down the cereal aisle. There he encountered what appeared to be a father and son walking in his direction. By Walt’s estimation, the boy was about Evan MacDonald’s age—maybe seven or eight years old. He wasn’t as tall as Evan, but Walt knew Police Chief MacDonald’s youngest was tall for his age.

  “Would you hurry up!” the father snapped at the boy, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him a shove. “And don’t touch anything else or you won’t be able to sit down for a week!”

  As the pair walked by the scooter, Walt looked into the boy’s face. He couldn’t help but notice the sadness in the young eyes. The boy looked as if he was about to cry. Incensed by the man’s treatment of the child, Walt was unable to resist the temptation to give the bully a smack on his shoulder.

  By the way the man came to an abrupt halt and looked around, Walt was satisfied that his first attempt at hands-free smacking was a success. The man absently rubbed his shoulder and then continued down the aisle.

  Walt pulled his scooter up to what appeared to be the oatmeal shelf. He pretended to be checking out the products but continued to watch the pair as they walked away. The man and boy were about six feet from him when the man stopped and walked to a shelf on the other side of the aisle, his back to the boy and Walt.

  Walt’s and the boy’s eyes met, and Walt flashed him a smile. Reluctantly, the boy returned the smile, but quickly looked away. He wandered away from the man, who was busy picking up packages from the shelf and reading the labels. Now on Walt’s side of the aisle, directly across from the man, he began looking at the colorful cereal boxes, many promising a hidden surprise. Something on one of the higher shelves caught the boy’s eye, and he had obviously forgotten the man’s warning. The boy reached up and then, to his horror, several boxes started to tumble off the shelf.

  Seeing the falling boxes and noting the fear on the boy’s face, Walt instantly turned his attention to the falling items. They froze in midair and then floated upward from where they had fallen.

  The boy’s eyes now wide, his mouth gaping, he looked to Walt as if about to silently ask, did you see that? He was met with Walt’s smile and a wink.

  The boy’s eyes grew wider, and then the man called his name. Walt watched as the boy’s face broke into a wide smile before turning away and taking the hand of the man.

  Feeling self-satisfied at helping the young boy, Walt turned his scooter around, heading in the opposite direction from where the boy and man were walking. To Walt’s surprise he found himself looking at Officer Brian Henderson. By the expression on Brian’s face, Walt had no doubt the police officer had witnessed the reversal of the falling boxes.

  Blinking his eyes, Brian looked from where the boxes had seemingly floated back to the shelve, to Walt.

  “Did you see that?” Brian stammered.

  It was in that moment Walt realized that while Brian had witnessed what he had done—the officer had absolutely no idea he was responsible.

  “See what?” Walt asked innocently.

  Brian looked back to the shelf again and then shook his head. “Umm…nothing.”

  “How are you doing, Officer Henderson?” Walt asked pleasantly.

  His gaze darting back to the shelf again, Brian shook his head, trying to convince himself he was imagining things. He had imagined things before, he remembered—when he had been at Marlow House. With that last thought he looked back down at Walt and took a step closer.

  “It’s been a long day. Just stopped by on my way home to grab something for dinner. I thought I saw Danielle over in the produce section. I assume you came with her?” Brian asked.

  “Yes. I had an errand to run and she was nice enough to take me; she was going out anyway,” Walt explained.

  “The next time you could always take an Uber. That way you don’t have to bother Danielle,” Brian suggested.

  Walt frowned. “Uber?”

  “You have a problem using Uber?” Brian asked.

  “Umm…no.” Walt shook his head, silently reminding himself to ask Danielle what Uber meant.

  “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Brian said impulsively.

  “Yes?”

  “You know when we had to take your fingerprints?” Brian asked.

  “I remember,” Walt said. “You thought I might be responsible for Mr. Bandoni’s death.”

  “We did have to eliminate suspects. I’d hope you understand that, considering your association with the man.”

  Walt nodded. “I suppose. So what is it you’ve been wanting to ask me?”

  “It’s standard procedure to run fingerprints, and when we ran yours, nothing came up.”

  “I would think that would be a good thing,” Walt said.

  “Your fingerprints were on file—at least the fingerprints the California real estate department had on file when you applied for your license. But the problem is, they don’t match the fingerprints we took of you.”

  “Really?” Walt smiled. “That’s odd. Sounds like there’s some problem with the California real estate department’s fingerprint database. I’ll have to remember that if I ever decide to go back to California and start practicing real estate again, I’ll want to get that cleared up. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Do you think you’ll be going back to California?” Brian asked.

  Before Walt had a chance to answer, Danielle walked up behind them, pushing a grocery cart, and said, “Hey, Brian.”

  Brian turned to Danielle. “Hello.”

  “Have you heard how Beverly is doing?” Danielle asked.

  “I take it you heard what happened,” Brian said.

  “I think most of Frederickport has heard. We were at the bank earlier, and Susan Mitchell knew all about it,” Danielle explained.

  “I called over to the hospital before I left work. She said aside from a headache, she’s doing okay.”

  “Any idea who attacked her?” Walt asked.

  Brian shook his head. “No. And until she goes home tomorrow and takes inventory of her house, we won’t know if they took anything.”

  “I saw her just a few hours before she was attacked,” Danielle told him.

  “You did? Where?” Brian frowned.

  “She found some boxes in her garage that she thought I might be interested in. Some old news clippings and photographs about Marlow House and my aunt’s family,” Danielle explained. “She brought them over to me.”

  “Any chance they were Marymoor apple boxes?” Brian asked.

  “They were apple boxes and had an M logo, but I really didn’t read what it sai
d,” Danielle frowned. “Why?”

  “After I left work today, I stopped by Beverly’s house before coming to the store,” Brian explained. “We couldn’t tell if the attacker had taken anything or was just a vandal. But when I went over there again, I realized I didn’t see the Marymoor apple boxes in the pile. I was going to ask Beverly if she knew what was in them. Wondered if that’s what the attacker had taken.”

  “She brought me three boxes. Umm…did you say Marymoor?” Danielle tried to remember why that name sounded familiar.

  “That would be the Marymoor Orchard,” Walt said.

  Both Brian and Danielle looked to Walt.

  “What do you know about the Marymoor Orchard?” Brian asked.

  “Nothing,” Walt lied. “I…I read the logo on the boxes Beverly brought.”

  “Wait a minute…Marymoor…that’s the same name as the sanitarium that burned down,” Danielle said.

  “Same family,” Brian said. “The Marymoor Orchard was located outside of town. It was sold off years ago for residential lots.”

  Sixteen

  When Brian said goodbye to Walt and Danielle, he was no longer in the mood to cook dinner. Since he was still hungry and he didn’t have any food in his refrigerator at home, his remaining option was to stop somewhere and get something to eat. He was a little burned out on burgers, and he didn’t feel like steak—neither did his budget. After considering his options, he decided on Beach Taco. While it was primarily takeout, they did have a small area where customers could dine in.

  Fifteen minutes later Brian sat alone at a table at Beach Taco, waiting for his order to be cooked. All the other tables were taken, so when Joanne Johnson walked in a few minutes later, he felt compelled to ask her to join him. After all, she had invited him and Joe to sit with her when there were no tables at Pier Café several weeks earlier.

  “I never seem to want to cook anymore at home,” Joanne said as she added hot sauce to her taco fifteen minutes later.

  “Do you do a lot of cooking at Marlow House?” Brian asked just before taking a bite of his shredded beef and cheese burrito.