The Ghost and the Leprechaun Page 13

  Pausing a moment, she bent down and picked up the piece of paper and looked at it. It was a handwritten letter addressed to someone named George.

  Lily tapped lightly on Danielle’s bedroom door. A few moments later it opened, and Danielle stepped aside, letting Lily into her bedroom before closing the door again.

  “I put the coffee on,” Lily said, and then handed Danielle the piece of paper she had found downstairs. “This was under the kitchen table, is it yours?”

  Danielle looked at it and smiled. “I must have dropped it there last night when I took the letters out of my purse.”

  “What letters?”

  Danielle walked over to her desk and set the letter down. “When I was at Marie’s, she gave me some old letters Walt had written her father. I took them out of my purse in the kitchen. This page must have fallen under the table.”

  Lily walked over to the desk and picked up the page, giving it a closer look. “Walt certainly had beautiful handwriting.”

  “I know. It’s a shame some schools don’t teach cursive handwriting anymore.”

  Lily sat down on the foot of Danielle’s unmade bed, still looking at the letter. “Unfortunately, with all the testing that’s required, cursive got shoved aside, because you can’t really test handwriting.”

  “I think it’s horrible not to teach it. Imagine future generations unable to read basic historical documents that were written in cursive—or even not to be able to read old letters written by your grandparents—or their journals.”

  “Not only that, many believe writing cursive improves memory skills, stimulates creativity, and even helps children with dyslexia. It uses both sides of the brain. If I had children, I’d teach them cursive even if the school didn’t,” Lily said.

  “Did your school teach it?”

  “Yes. They start in third grade. But there are schools that don’t teach it anymore.” Lily stood up, folded the letter, and set it back on the desk.

  “I just think it’s a shame.” Danielle grabbed the clothes she intended to wear that day from her closet and tossed them on her bed.

  “So what did you do with Walt’s letters?”

  “I gave them to Walt; they’re his. I’m not sure what he did with them.” Danielle pointed to the folded page on her desk and added, “I’ll have to give that back to him.”

  “It has to be that other ghost,” Lily told Danielle as she finished cooking the bacon at the stove later that morning.

  “You mean the one dressed like a leprechaun?” Danielle stood at the kitchen counter, dicing up melon.

  “Have you noticed any other ghosts hanging around lately?”

  Picking up the small cutting board, Danielle dumped the freshly cut fruit into a serving bowl. “No. But how do we know he’s really a ghost? Maybe they’re growing leprechauns bigger these days.” They both giggled.

  “It is pretty creepy, books flying off the shelf.” Lily began removing strips of bacon from the pan, arranging them on a large platter lined with paper towel.

  “Strange thing, Nola was quite thrilled at the prospect of staying in a haunted house,” Danielle said.

  “But I thought you told me she fainted when Walt twirled the spotting scope.”

  Danielle shrugged. “I guess she got over it.”

  A knock came at the kitchen door. They both turned to see who it was. Chris was peeking through its window and gave them a wave before he opened the door and walked into the house.

  “You really should keep your door locked. You never know who is going to just come walking in,” Chris said with a cheeky grin.

  “Morning, Chris. Did you come to mooch some breakfast?” Danielle asked as she peeled an orange to add to the fruit bowl.

  “I was hoping I wasn’t too late.” Chris helped himself to some coffee and then turned to face Lily and Danielle. Lily was just removing the last of the bacon from the pan.

  “You have a keen sense of timing,” Lily teased. “Where’s Hunny?”

  “She’s in the side yard, exploring.” Chris glanced around the room. “So where is Joanne?”

  “She had some doctor appointment in Portland, so I told her not to bother coming in today. We only have four guests,” Danielle explained.

  “So where is the old man?” Chris asked, glancing around the kitchen again.

  “If you’re talking about Walt, don’t let him hear you calling him that,” Danielle warned.

  “Yeah, yeah…” Chris waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll remind me I’m older than him.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Hey, Chris, have you seen any leprechauns around lately?” Lily asked.

  Chris looked at Danielle. “That guy show up again?”

  After Danielle told Chris about the episode in the library and their speculation as to who might be responsible, breakfast was ready to be served. Chris helped Lily and Danielle carry the serving platters with food out to the dining room.

  When they arrived, Albert and Nola were just sitting down. Jeannie was already sitting at the table, unfolding her napkin.

  “Is Blake joining us for breakfast?” Lily asked as she set the platter of bacon on the table.

  “Yes, he should be down here in a minute,” Jeannie said brightly. “Nola was telling me about your ghost.”

  Danielle looked up from the extra plate she was setting for Chris. “Was she?”

  “The haunted house angle can be a great gimmick,” Jeannie said, reaching for a slice of bacon without waiting for the rest of them to be seated.

  “I suspect there was some seismic activity that made those books fall off the shelves,” Danielle suggested as she took a seat at the table.

  “The books were flying,” Nola insisted.

  “I’m sure they were, dear,” Jeannie said, her tone condescending. She snatched another slice of bacon. Everyone was now seated around the table except for Blake, who still had not come downstairs.

  Nola flashed Jeannie a dirty look and slunk down in her chair.

  After eating the slice of bacon, Jeannie dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then tossed it on the table and stood up abruptly. “Perhaps I should run upstairs and see what’s taking Blake so long.”

  Just as Jeannie headed for the door, Walt appeared in the dining room.

  “I understand the restaurant down at the pier serves a wonderful breakfast,” Walt told Chris.

  A few minutes later, Jeannie opened the door to her room. She found Blake sitting on a chair, reading a magazine.

  “They’re all in the dining room having breakfast, hurry,” she told him.

  Tossing the magazine on the floor, he stood up and headed for the door. On his way there, he grabbed a small tool off the dresser. Jeannie rushed back to the stairs and looked down at the first floor. She could hear voices drifting out from the dining room.

  Without saying a word, Blake went to Danielle’s bedroom door and knelt down before its locked doorknob. Inserting the tool in the lock, he moved it ever so slightly from one direction to the next.

  “Bingo,” he whispered. Standing up, he opened the door and walked into Danielle’s room. He was in there for about five minutes when Jeannie rushed to the open door.

  “Hurry, someone is coming!”

  Dave sat alone on the swing in front of Marlow House. In one hand he held a lit cigarette, and in the other was his cellphone, which he held to his ear. The line was ringing, Dave was waiting for Kissinger to answer his call.

  “Did you get it?” Kissinger greeted him.

  “Give me time. I just got here.” Dave took a drag off the cigarette.

  “What do you mean, you’ve been there two days. She’s not going to leave it there forever.”

  “Slow down, red rider. I’m working on it,” Dave said lazily.

  “Tell me you at least found the safe,” Kissinger asked.

  “Yes. A rather cliché place, if you ask me. Hidden behind a painting in her bedroom. That thing will be a snap to op
en.”

  “Then why haven’t you done it yet?” Kissinger asked.

  “You told me Steph and I would probably be the only guests. There’s another couple staying here, and they’ve been hanging around the place. Danielle hasn’t been the issue, they have. In fact, she took off yesterday, and I was hoping I could grab it then. Unfortunately, they won’t get off their fat butts and do something touristy.”

  “I’m sure you can think of some way to get them out of the house.”

  “I’m working on it. Those keystone cops come up with anything new?” Dave asked.

  “Not a thing. But I think the FBI might be convinced Danielle Boatman lied about putting the gold in the safe deposit box. I overheard two of them talking, and I got the impression she’s not high on their list.”

  “She seems okay to me. Wonder what she did to piss off those feebs?”

  “Not sure, but listen to this, one of them even said something about Marlow House being haunted.” Kissinger laughed. “Of course, they didn’t know I was standing by the door listening when one said it.”

  “Haunted?” Dave sat up straighter and put his feet on the ground, stopping the swing from moving. “Did they say how?”

  “How? What do you mean how haunted?”

  “I meant why did they think it’s haunted?”

  “Hell if I know. It’s not like I could ask them what they were talking about. Why?”

  “You aren’t going to believe this. You know that other couple staying here? The woman told a story at breakfast about the books flying off the shelf in the library here. Insists the place is haunted.”

  Kissinger laughed. “If it was, I wouldn’t be surprised. I was reading about that place, and since Boatman moved in, two people have died there. One was murdered.”

  “Are you saying you believe in ghosts?” Dave asked.

  “Don’t be a jackass. Of course I don’t believe in ghosts. But when that many people die in one house during a short time frame, some yahoo is going to insist the place is haunted.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen any ghosts.” Dave flicked his cigarette butt. It landed in a nearby bush.

  “Of course, you could use this to your advantage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you really want to get that couple out of your hair, maybe convince them the place is haunted and they’ll leave.”

  “I don’t see that happening. The woman seemed rather happy over the possibility she’s staying in a haunted house.”

  A knock came at Alan Kissinger’s office door just as he got off the phone.

  Sitting behind his desk, he called out, “Yes?”

  The door opened and Susan Mitchell peeked her head in the office. When she saw he wasn’t on the phone or with anyone, she slipped into the room and gently closed the door behind her.

  Picking a pen up off his desk, as if he were preparing to write something, he looked at Susan and said, “What do you need?”

  Coughing nervously, Susan stepped closer to his desk. “We have a little problem.”

  “What kind of little problem? Can’t you handle it?”

  She stepped closer, her hands fidgeting by her sides. “It happened again.”

  He frowned. “What happened again?”

  “A safe deposit box. Another one has been cleaned out,” Susan squeaked.

  The pen dropped from Alan’s hand, and the color drained from his face. He stood up. “That’s impossible.”

  “Ron Dawson is demanding to talk to you.”

  “Ron Dawson?”

  “The man whose safe deposit box was robbed.”

  “I told you, no one’s safe deposit box was robbed!” he fairly shouted.

  “Can I please send him in here, and you can explain that?” she managed to say.

  “What the hell is going on with this bank?” the angry man shouted when he marched into Alan’s office a few minutes later and was introduced as Ron Dawson.

  “Please sit down,” Alan said with forced calm, pointing to the chair facing the desk.

  Susan, who had brought Ron into the office, quickly backed out of the room and closed the door.

  “I don’t want to sit down! This kind of crap never happened when Steve Klein was bank manager.”

  “Let’s see if we can figure this out.” Alan again motioned to the empty chair. Ron remained standing.

  Alan picked up his desk phone and pressed one button. A moment later he said, “Please bring me the ledger for the safe deposit box vault.”

  Shortly after Alan hung up the phone, Susan reentered the office, handed Alan the requested item, and quickly departed. Alan opened the book and looked through the entries.

  Finally, he looked up at the angry customer. “Mr. Dawson, according to this ledger, you were the last one to open your safe deposit box. No one else has been in it since then, so perhaps you mistakenly believe you put something in it that you didn’t.”

  “Like Danielle Boatman mistakenly put those gold coins in hers?”

  Alan shifted uneasily in his chair. “I really can’t discuss another bank customer’s business.”

  “Why not? It was in the paper! Everyone in Frederickport knows Boatman is probably the richest woman in town. No way is she going to lie about those coins.”

  Alan studied Ron a moment and let out a weary sigh. “Perhaps you should tell me what you believe is missing?”

  “It was a bracelet my grandmother left me. It was worth at least twenty thousand dollars.”

  “And you have something to verify this bracelet you claim is missing is worth what you say it is?”

  “What are you saying?” he asked angrily.

  “I hope you understand, before I proceed, I need to establish exactly what it was and its value.”

  Ron Dawson reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He tossed it on Alan’s desk. “This is an appraisal I had done on the piece a couple years ago, from a local jeweler. Sam Hayman. His store’s no longer open, but I heard he just moved back to town. He can verify he gave this estimate.”

  Twenty-One

  It didn’t take Danielle long to track down Ben Smith. After her discussion with Marie the previous day, she was curious to discover if he knew anything about Sean Sullivan and what might have happened to him. After breakfast on Thursday morning, she gave him a phone call and discovered he was on docent detail at the museum.

  She arrived at the museum shortly before noon on Thursday. Ben, a spry elderly man in his eighties, with kind blue gray eyes, greeted Danielle at the door. When Danielle stepped inside the museum, she glanced around. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the building except for Ben and herself.

  “It’s not very busy today,” Danielle said as she followed Ben toward the museum gift shop. Glancing down the hallway leading to the main exhibits, she wondered briefly if Eva Thorndike’s spirit was somewhere in the building. Eva occasionally visited the museum, but unlike Walt, her spirit wasn’t attached to any particular location. Which was why, unlike Walt, she was unable to harness any extra energy to move objects.

  “We’ve had a few people today. But it’s never that busy midweek.”

  “Lily tells me you had a good turnout yesterday. She had a lot of fun.”

  “Lily is great with the kids,” Ben said. “She was a tremendous help. We couldn’t have done it without her.”

  “I’ll have to tell her that.”

  “I read about your July fourth open house in this morning’s paper,” Ben said as he and Danielle entered the room housing the museum gift shop. He took a seat on the stool behind the store’s counter.

  “Ahh, I haven’t seen today’s paper. Lily told me she was running some ads.” Danielle leaned against the counter.

  “I was wondering if you were going to do something this year.”

  Danielle turned slightly to better face Ben, resting her elbows on the glass display counter. “I confess, I considered not doing anything this year. But Lily talked me into i
t.”

  Ben chortled. “Lily can be persuasive.”

  “That’s for sure. But we’re doing it a little different from last year. We’re hosting a hot dog barbecue in the backyard before the annual fireworks on the beach.”

  “I see you’re selling tickets this year, raising money for the local schools,” Ben said. “Good idea.”

  “It was Lily’s. Last year we sent out invitations to specific groups and people in the community. This year, we’re opening it to everyone. Of course, if everyone showed up, we would have a problem. Which is why we decided to sell tickets at the gate and then donate the money to a good cause. Lily chose the local schools.”

  “Understandable,” Ben said with a nod. “So why did you want to see me?”

  “I had a question for you, since your father was Aunt Brianna’s attorney.”

  The lines around Ben’s gray eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I’ll see if I can answer.”

  “Did your father ever talk about a friend of Katherine O’Malley named Sean Sullivan?”

  “Sullivan?” Ben frowned as he considered the name. Finally, he shook his head. “Sorry. That name doesn’t ring a bell. Who was he?”

  “He was a childhood friend of Katherine’s. I know he lived in Frederickport when Katherine worked for Walt Marlow. I’m curious to find out what happened to him.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”

  Danielle let out a sigh. “Drat. I was hoping you might know something.”

  “Why is this important?” Ben asked.

  Danielle shrugged. “I suppose it’s not really important, I’m just curious. I’ve been thinking a lot about Aunt Brianna and wondering who her father was, wondering if maybe she had siblings she never knew about.”

  “Are you suggesting this Sullivan was her father?”

  “No. I just figured he knew the identity of the father, since he and Katherine were close friends and he was around after Aunt Brianna was born.”

  “I imagine this Sullivan died years ago. Not sure how he can help you now.”