The Ghost Who Was Says I Do Page 16

  “You also implied he’s the reason you decided to stay here.”

  “Did I?” Dirk smiled.

  “You did.”

  Dirk sat in silence for a moment before answering. Finally, he said, “My wife and I had been talking about taking a trip along the coast for some time. I saw Clint—I mean Walt—on television and I looked him up on the computer.” Dirk smiled. “You did ask me if I ever Googled clients. He wasn’t a client, but a colleague. I read about Marlow House and thought it looked rather quaint—and so here we are.”

  “January is a little cold to travel along the coast. Had you always planned to come up here this month? Or just after you saw Walt on television?” she asked.

  Dirk shrugged. “I tend to be rather impulsive. I suppose Tanya would have been happier had I booked a room in the summer. But I never know what my schedule will be, and I had just sold my last listing, so I figured this would be an ideal time to take a trip, before business picked up again.”

  “I see…” Danielle murmured. You mean you figured this would be a good time to blackmail Clint.

  “I must say, I am quite impressed with Cl—Walt’s second career. I had no idea he was interested in writing. Who would have thought, from real estate agent to successful author?”

  “It looks like the chief won’t be back until Tuesday,” Danielle told Walt on Sunday morning. They were alone in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for their guests.

  “The boys missing school?” Walt asked.

  “I guess. It’s some family thing in Vancouver. He got my message and text messaged me this morning,” Danielle explained.

  “Perhaps we should be talking to a lawyer instead of the chief. I could call Melony,” Walt suggested. “She should be able to find out if the marriage license is legit and what we need to do to get it annulled. I suppose I can afford to give Claudia a settlement if that’s what it takes. Who knows, maybe I am a bigamist.”

  Holding a plate covered with a piece of paper towel in one hand, Danielle held a pair of tongs in the other while removing sizzling bacon from a pan. She began to laugh.

  Looking up from the fruit he was cutting, Walt asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “Us making breakfast for your blackmailers. I mean, really, do we live in bizarro world or what?”

  Walt flashed Danielle a grin. “It’s better than making breakfast for Chris’s uncles.”

  Danielle cringed. “So true. Now that was creepy. I wonder how it’s going for Chris. He’s supposed to see Simon today.”

  “He should have ignored the request.”

  In the dining room the guests—excluding the Russoms, who had already left for the day—gathered around the dining room table, waiting for breakfast. Claudia and Rachel had arrived first, followed by Dirk and his wife. Awkward silence permeated the room while Dirk waited for Claudia to finish with the coffee carafe so he could pour Tanya and himself a cup.

  Standing by the table were Eva and Marie, who eyed the two chairs they wanted to sit in, but neither chair was pulled out from the table. Leaving the chairs where they were meant that everything from the waist down on the two ghosts would be hidden under the tabletop once they sat down.

  “I suppose I can just do this…” Eva snapped her fingers and she was sitting in an invisible chair floating at the end of the table.

  “That really isn’t necessary,” Marie told her.

  “I will not sit in the middle of that table,” Eva said.

  “Give me a minute…” Marie looked at the four people at the table, and when she thought they weren’t looking, she moved two of the chairs out from the table…one at a time.

  Rachel was just about to take a sip of coffee when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. Holding the cup to her lips, she sat frozen as her eyes darted to her far right. Now gripping the handle of her coffee cup, her eyes widened as she watched a chair move away from the table. Saying nothing, she blinked her eyes and turned to the chairs while gently lowering the coffee cup back down to the table. She continued to stare.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?” Tanya asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Licking her lips, Rachel swallowed nervously and then looked to the other people at the table. “Umm…did any one of you happen to notice if those chairs were tucked under the table when we sat down?” She pointed to the two chairs. What she couldn’t see, they were now occupied—one by Eva the other by Marie.

  “Obviously they weren’t,” Claudia said impatiently.

  “I…I just saw one move. Didn’t any of you see it?” She looked around frantically.

  “I swear, Rachel, your imagination is working overtime,” Claudia scoffed.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Walt and Danielle were seated at the table and everyone was eating breakfast, Marie said, “I have to apologize. The reason poor Rachel seems so frazzled and out of sorts, I believe she saw me move these chairs.”

  “Marie dear, you say that as if you aren’t quite certain she saw you. She did. The poor girl blurted it out, and now they’re all looking at her as if she’s a little daft,” Eva corrected.

  Danielle glanced from Marie and Eva to Rachel, who sat quietly pushing her food around her plate with her fork.

  “I’m curious, Walt,” Dirk said a moment later. “Have you been working with anyone to help get your memory back?”

  “You mean like a psychologist?” Walt asked with a smile.

  Dirk shrugged. “I would think they could do something to help you remember.”

  “I was told it will probably come back gradually.”

  “Rather hard to remember something you never knew,” Marie scoffed.

  “Have you been able to recall anything?” Dirk asked. “Like me or Claudia, are we a little familiar? Like someone you just can’t place?”

  Walt looked up from his plate, his eyes meeting Dirk’s. “Not really.”

  After a few moments of silence, Dirk picked up a slice of bacon and said, “I suppose there are benefits to amnesia.” He took a bite of the bacon.

  “Benefits? How could there be benefits?” Tanya asked.

  Dirk finished the rest of the slice of bacon and then said, “For one thing, when a friend dies, you don’t have to be sad.”

  “If you’re referring to Stephanie, I may not remember her, but I do feel sad she died,” Walt said.

  “Actually, I was thinking of Jay Larson.” He picked up another piece of bacon and popped it in his mouth.

  “Who’s Jay Larson?” Danielle asked.

  “He was an appraiser Clint—I mean Walt—used to work with a lot,” Dirk explained. “He was killed last spring. Poor guy was mugged in LA.”

  “That’s terrible. But what do you mean Walt worked with him a lot?” Danielle asked.

  Dirk shrugged. “Larson was the appraiser for a lot of Walt’s buyers.”

  “I don’t know why we have to discuss business. After all, I’m on vacation,” Claudia said abruptly.

  Dirk looked over to Claudia. “Now that I think about it, didn’t you have the seller’s side of most of those sales that used Larson?”

  “What were you doing at breakfast?” Claudia asked Dirk later on Sunday when she cornered him alone in the library at Marlow House.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you rambling about now?” Dirk sounded bored.

  “All that stuff about Jay Larson.”

  “I was just trying to help Clint regain his memory. I thought reminding him of people he once knew might help.”

  “If you tell Clint about Jay—about any of it—what’s going to prevent him from going to the police? He has amnesia; he probably figures they won’t hold him responsible for something he did before the accident.”

  “I seriously doubt amnesia is a get-out-of-jail card. But I tend to agree he might think it is, and I’d rather he not go to the police. I’d prefer he remembers for himself. I’m just trying to jog his memory.”

  “And if he doesn’t give you wh
at you want?”

  Dirk shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to make good on my threat.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Why can’t I?”

  “I paid you, Dirk. I sold my condo to pay you off. You took every penny. If you do this, you’re reneging on our deal!”

  “I guess you can always take me to court over it.” He laughed.

  “That’s not funny.”

  The smile vanished from Dirk’s face and he leaned close to Claudia and whispered, “Then perhaps you need to do what you can to convince Clint to give me what I want—for both of your sakes. From what I remember, you and he used to be pretty close, at least before Stephanie came into the picture. Who knows, maybe this will bring you two back together again, and he’ll dump Danielle Boatman. But considering I intend to take a good share of his money, he might want to keep his rich little fiancée.”

  “This most definitely is about blackmail,” Eva observed.

  “Apparently so,” Marie said with a nod.

  The two ghosts sat on an imaginary sofa hovering in midair above the library’s desk. They looked down at the arguing pair. Tears filled Claudia’s eyes as she turned abruptly from Dirk and ran from the room. Dirk smiled and said, “Nice doing business with you, Claudia.” He laughed and then went over to a chair and sat down. Picking up the magazine sitting on the end table, he opened it and began to read.

  “I really don’t like that man.” Eva wrinkled up her nose. Waving one hand as if annoyed, she said, “Do something!”

  “Do something what?” Marie asked.

  “I don’t know. That stuff you do. He needs a good swift kick!”

  “Or…something more creative,” Marie murmured.

  Eva looked to Marie. “Creative how?”

  “Slapping, pinching, and kicking are a bit adolescent, especially when the subject has no idea it’s coming—or where it came from.”

  Eva arched her brows. “So?”

  Cocking her head slightly, Marie studied Dirk. “I just think something a little more creative…he isn’t a pot of boiling water…”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Eva asked.

  “Watch,” Marie said with a grin.

  The next moment the chair with Dirk lifted up from the floor until the top of his head hit the ceiling. It then dropped back down to the floor, making a crashing sound—breaking one of the chair’s legs.

  “Oh dear…” Marie muttered.

  Twenty-Five

  “Are you sure you feel up to going to work today?” Ian asked Lily on Monday morning. Sitting up in bed, he watched as she pulled socks from their dresser.

  “I don’t feel too bad this morning. That cup of dry Cheerios when I wake up seems to be doing the trick. What are you doing today?” Lily sat on the edge of their mattress in her underwear and started putting socks on her bare feet.

  “I promised Danielle I would do a little online research. They emailed me a copy of the marriage license.”

  Socks now on her feet, still sitting on the bed, Lily turned to face her husband. “I don’t know why they just don’t talk to an attorney or at least hire a private investigator to check out that woman’s story if Walt is so convinced it is a lie. But frankly, I have a sick feeling it’s true.”

  “That feeling could be morning sickness. But I think that’s what they’re going to do. I spoke to Walt last night on the phone, and he told me he was thinking of telling Claudia that he’s turning this over to his attorney and he wants a divorce—annulment if possible.”

  “He should have done that when she first sprung this on him,” Lily said, “instead of dragging this out.”

  “I think you’re being a little hard on him. Walt was blindsided when she dropped this on him. And this is more than simply getting a divorce or annulment, it means his marriage to Danielle is void, and that he is a bigamist. Not to mention, if he was legally married to this woman, will the courts decide she is entitled to half of everything he’s made on Moon Runners? That’s a lot to process.”

  “I suppose. Danielle told me Chris went to California to see his uncle Simon this past weekend—I don’t know why he wastes his time on that piece of trash—and while down there, he’s going to stop at the real estate offices Claudia and that other guy work at to see if he can find out anything about the charming blackmailers. But I just don’t know why they can’t leave this to a professional private detective,” Lily grumbled.

  “You of all people should understand why Walt and Danielle are reluctant to reach out to anyone regarding Clint’s past. It’s not the most conventional situation.”

  While Lily finished dressing for work, Chris sat at the window in the visitor’s area of the prison in Southern California, waiting for them to bring in his uncle Simon. Initially the plan was to see Simon on Sunday, but wires got crossed somewhere, and he discovered if he wanted to see him, he would have to do it Monday morning. Fact was, Chris didn’t want to see Simon at all, but he was growing weary of his uncle’s attorney badgering him to see his aging uncle. He glanced at his watch and hoped he had enough time after leaving the prison to visit both real estate offices so he could help Walt and Danielle find out more about Clint’s past. It was going to take him a couple of hours to drive from the prison to Huntington Beach.

  He heard the sound of a heavy lock and steel door opening, and the next minute he saw his uncle through the glass window, walking in his direction, a guard by his side and handcuffs on his wrists. Simon took a seat on the chair facing Chris. They were just a few inches apart, but a wall and glass pane separated them.

  Leaning closer to the window, Chris said, “Hello, Simon.”

  “I’m no longer Uncle Simon?” the elderly man asked.

  “You stopped being my uncle when you tried to kill Danielle and me.”

  Simon nodded. “Fair point. But no matter how you feel, I am still your uncle. I am your father’s brother.”

  “What do you want, Simon?” Chris asked impatiently.

  “Did you hear Loyd has lung cancer?”

  Chris shrugged. “I heard something about that. I also heard you cut a deal with the prosecutor to turn state’s evidence on your brother so you could avoid the death penalty. I wonder how Loyd felt about that?”

  “Loyd’s dying anyway. He’ll be dead before they ever execute him. He knows that. Loyd’s the one who told me to do it.”

  Chris arched his brow. “Really?”

  “It was also for you,” Simon said.

  “For me? For me how?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard yet, but we both pled guilty to all the charges in Oregon. That means there won’t be a trial. I thought that would make you happy. You won’t have to go through another court trial.”

  “You mean like when you tried to take my inheritance?”

  “Please, Chris, can we just let it go?”

  “Let it go?” Chris choked out.

  “I’m in prison. I’ll die behind these walls. So will my brother. That should make you happy.”

  “None of this makes me happy. Why would you even imagine it would?”

  “I know you don’t believe this, but Loyd and I deeply regret our actions.”

  “I imagine you do, considering you’ll be spending the rest of your days in here.”

  “You’re not going to make it easy on me, are you?” Simon asked.

  Chris let out a sigh. “Go ahead and tell me what you want. Why did you want to see me?”

  “It’s about Loyd. He’s in a lot of pain. He shouldn’t be in here.”

  “We are talking about the same brother you flipped on?” Chris asked.

  “I explained that. But the cancer has progressed, and he shouldn’t have to spend his final days in here. I am begging you. He’s in unnecessary pain. You could do it.”

  “I could do what?” Chris asked.

  “See if you can have him transferred somewhere else—like a sanatorium. Somewhere where he’ll be comfortable and taken care of.”


  “You do realize you’re talking about the man who was perfectly fine with watching me die before his eyes? I don’t recall any compassion coming from him when he thought it was my final hour.”

  “But you’re a better man than him,” Simon said.

  “Is that it? Or maybe you want to see if I can get catered meals brought in for you? Or maybe a private cell?”

  “I’m not asking anything for myself.”

  Chris stared at Simon, momentarily speechless. Finally, he said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “He’s my brother, Chris. He’s your father’s brother.”

  Back at Marlow House, Dirk leaned on the dresser in his room and groaned. His wife sat on a nearby chair and watched as he flinched again, attempting to push back the pain.

  “Dirk, take your medicine. This is ridiculous.”

  “I’ll be okay. I just need to walk this off.”

  “You don’t have to suffer like this,” she argued.

  “It’s either this or have another hallucination,” he told her.

  “You don’t know if that was from your pain medication,” she said.

  “I sure as hell hope it was! It was so real. I thought I was flying around in the library on a magic chair!”

  “Oh hooey,” Eva spat from where she sat on her imaginary chair, hovering nearby. “You did not fly around the room. The chair simply went up—and then down again. Let’s not make more of this than it was.”

  “Rachel insisted the chair in the dining room moved on its own,” Tanya reminded him.

  Dirk looked to his wife, his expression humorless. “Oh, please, don’t start with some ridiculous ghost theory.”

  “They do say this place is haunted.”

  “Why are you whispering, Tanya? Are ghosts hard of hearing? You don’t want them to hear?”

  “Don’t be like that, Dirk. I’m just saying—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re saying. But that’s just ridiculous. I looked it up on my phone, and one side effect of the pain medication the doctor gave me is hallucinations. It’s rare, but it has been known to happen. And it obviously happened with me. So until we get home and I can get a prescription for something else, I’ll just have to tough it out.”