The Ghost and the Bride Page 18

Lowering her voice, Marie said, “Yes. I think that’s how I got my son.”

  Tammy and Mrs. Bartley laughed.

  Danielle peeked in the living room and then went back to the kitchen. “Looks like the moms and Marie are enjoying themselves. I have no idea what they’re laughing about, but they seem to be having fun.”

  Laura removed a cake pan filled with Jell-O shots from the refrigerator. “I think this will liven up the party for us.” She set the pan on the counter and then started handing out the small plastic soufflé cups—each filled with a Jell-O shot. When she handed one to Pamela, she was met with a nose wrinkle.

  “No, thanks. I’m not much for Jell-O shots.” Pamela briefly lifted her half-filled wineglass. “I’m fine with this.”

  Laura shrugged and then handed a cup to Kelly, who eagerly accepted it.

  Lily had kept her bachelorette party guest list intimate, as she had with her wedding list. The only ones invited from outside the family included Marie, Melony, and Heather. Technically, Danielle was not family, yet Lily considered her a sister.

  In the kitchen and dining room area, everyone seemed to be talking at once—everyone but Pamela. Danielle noticed her standing by the far wall, sipping her wine while staring absently at nothing in particular.

  Wineglass in hand, Danielle walked to Pamela and whispered, “Come outside with me. I need to talk to you for a moment about something.” Danielle then nodded to the hall leading to the back door.

  Assuming Danielle wanted to discuss something about the wedding—a surprise perhaps for her cousin—Pamela gave Danielle a nod of agreement and silently followed her. The two women walked outside, closing the door behind them.

  “It’s too bad it isn’t a full moon tonight,” Pamela said with a wistful sigh as she looked out to the ocean. Only a sliver of a moon hovered overhead. They could hear the breakers crashing on the beach.

  “I wanted to tell you something.” It was fairly dark outside, so Danielle couldn’t see Pamela’s expression.

  “What is it?” Pamela asked.

  “I’m not sure what Lily has told you about my marriage.”

  “I know your husband was killed in a car accident. I confess, I often feel very guilty feeling sorry for myself for what happened to Kent and me, when I remember your husband died. At least Kent is alive.”

  “Maybe Lily didn’t tell you. But my husband wasn’t the only one killed in the accident. His girlfriend was killed too.”

  Silence.

  “You see, Pamela, I learned of my husband’s affair when he was killed. I found myself not just mourning for the loss of my husband—I mourned for the loss of my marriage.”

  “I am so sorry,” Pamela whispered.

  “The reason I’m bringing this up—I know you and Kent are getting a divorce, and frankly it is probably for the best. In many ways, your husband died that day, just like mine did. And you deserve to find someone who loves you. But you need to know, that unlike with my situation, your husband was not having an affair. He loved you.”

  “How do you know that, Danielle?”

  “This is the part where you might get mad at me for butting in. But I started asking myself, if your husband wasn’t going to Morro Bay to meet a girlfriend, why was he there? The only thing I could think of, maybe he wanted to check out vacation houses—for you and him.”

  “Danielle, that’s sweet of you for trying to make me feel better, but—”

  “So I decided to call some vacation rental offices, and guess what? I just so happened to hit a jackpot on the first one I called!” Pretty far-fetched, Danielle thought. But not as far-fetched as telling her Kent’s body has been hijacked by a would-be jewel thief.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “It just so happens the first office I called remembered your husband because the day he met with him was the day of the accident. And he remembered that horrible accident because it was only a couple of blocks from his office.” Most of what Danielle was telling Pamela was true. The only part that was false was claiming she just happened to contact the correct real estate office on the first call. Kent’s spirit had told Danielle who to call.

  “What did he say?” Pamela asked.

  “Kent had made reservations for a beach house.” When Danielle mentioned the date of the reservation, Pamela gasped.

  “That would have been the weekend of my birthday!”

  “Which proves the reason Kent asked his boss to lie, he didn’t want to spoil the surprise for you. I guess Kent had given the man cash to hold the reservation. I suspect Kent didn’t want to use a check or credit card for fear you’d see the charge and figure it out.”

  “Oh my,” Pamela gasped.

  “On a humorous note, the guy who took the reservation acted a little embarrassed, as if he knew he should probably send the money to you. He had read about the accident in the paper, recognized Kent’s name and found out he was in the hospital. He knew there was no way Kent would ever keep the reservation he had made. In fact, he asked for your address so he can send you the money.”

  “I don’t care about the money,” Pamela said with a little sob. “Thank you, Danielle.”

  Beer in hand, Officer Brian Henderson studied the life-size portrait of Walt Marlow when someone asked, “You believe the stories that he haunts this place?” Brian turned to the voice. It was Adam Nichols; he had just walked into the library.

  “Nothing really surprises me anymore.”

  “I’m a little surprised to see you here.” Adam sipped his gin and tonic. “Didn’t realize you and Ian were friends, and especially considering your history with Danielle.”

  “They could say the same about you. I seem to remember Danielle claiming you had broken into Marlow House,” Brian reminded him.

  Adam chuckled. “Well, in all fairness, I did. Break in, that is.”

  Brian looked at Adam and began to laugh.

  Adam grinned. “The thing about Boatman, she sort of grows on you. And she doesn’t hold a grudge.”

  Brian let out a sigh. “I’ll have to agree with you on that one. If it wasn’t for her, I could be in prison right now. She didn’t have to help me. And considering everything, can’t say I would have blamed her if she had sat back and watched me go to trial.”

  “Like I said, she doesn’t hold a grudge.”

  “So what’s the deal with her and Glandon?” Brian glanced briefly to the open doorway leading to the hallway. They could hear the voices of the other men attending the bachelor party.

  “Just friends, I think. I’m pretty sure there was something going on there for a while. Don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s probably for the best.” Brian took a swig of beer.

  “Don’t tell me you’re interested in Danielle?”

  Brian scowled at Adam. “Hell no. Are you insane?”

  Adam turned to face Brian and laughed. “Well, she isn’t that bad.”

  “No, she’s not bad if you don’t mind a woman who finds trouble at every turn. A guy would have to be insane to hook up with Boatman.”

  Walt, who had been listening to the conversation, couldn’t help himself. He reached out, grabbed hold of Brian’s hand holding the beer, and then twisted it, sending the beer pouring down Brian’s shirt.

  Momentarily speechless, Adam stared at Brian, who now had a drenched shirt and an empty can of beer in his hand.

  “What the hell?” Adam finally muttered.

  Closing his eyes briefly, Brian took a deep breath. He opened them again and looked at Adam. “As to your question a moment ago. Yes. I think Walt Marlow haunts this place. But I suspect Danielle and Lily have nothing to worry about.”

  A look of confusion passed briefly over Adam’s face. But then it vanished and Adam smiled. He gave Brian a friendly pat on the back. “I didn’t know you were so funny when you drink. Hope you have a designated driver, hate to hear you got yourself arrested.” Downing the last of his cocktail, Adam then added, “I need another drink. But you might
want to cut back.”

  A few minutes later Brian found himself alone in the library with his empty beer can and wet shirt. He glanced warily around the room.

  “I guess I should feel stupid to ask this, but is that you, Marlow?” Brian grumbled.

  Silence.

  “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened,” Brian said aloud, still looking around the room, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear. “I remember when Danielle called out to you. Asking you not to hit Renton again. I thought she was just crazy. But she wasn’t, was she?”

  Silence.

  “You were protecting her. Just like you protected Lily. You were the one who knocked me down when I grabbed Lily’s arm, weren’t you?”

  Silence.

  “The reason Joe doesn’t remember disarming John Smith isn’t because he hit his head, it’s because you disarmed him, didn’t you? You were protecting them. Just like you made me spill my beer for making a crack about Danielle.”

  Brian didn’t scream the next moment when motion from the open doorway caught his eye—nor when he looked to the doorway and watched in fascination as a hand towel floated across the room to him.

  Taking a deep breath, Brian reached out and took hold of the towel hovering a few inches from his face. “Uhh…thanks.”

  With a nervous gulp, Brian used the towel to mop up the beer from his shirt.

  Twenty-Eight

  In the living room of Marlow House, Frederickport’s police chief, Edward MacDonald, sat at the game table with Ian’s and Lily’s fathers, and Chris, playing poker. Ian stood by the fireplace with Joe Morelli and Cory, listening to Adam tell him how Brian had just dumped a can of beer on himself.

  Kent—or at least the impostor—sat on the nearby sofa, half listening to the conversations around him while downing his second scotch. Slumped in the sofa, clinging onto the glass of scotch, he looked warily from the poker table to the men by the fireplace.

  Three cops under the same roof, he thought. And one of them the police chief. Felicia will laugh like hell when I tell her. Restless, he glanced at his watch.

  Tagg Billings was tired of living someone else’s life. In the beginning, he had been so focused on healing the body and dealing with hours of physical therapy that he hadn’t had time to think about his old life, the people he had left behind—like Felicia.

  However, he was feeling considerably better this week—it was a marked improvement over how he was feeling just last Friday, when he had boarded the plane to Oregon. Fact was, this new body was in far better shape than the one he had left behind. It wasn’t just because the other one no longer had an attached head, but Tagg had been smoking since he was eleven years old. This goody-goody Kent guy had never smoked a day in his life and had been into health food and regular exercise. Tagg couldn’t stand the crap Pamela fed him, but he had to admit, he felt better.

  One thing that had come back to Tagg this week—desire. He couldn’t wait to see Felicia, it had been too long. As he took another sip, he thought about the woman he had been sleeping next to the last few days. She wasn’t bad looking—if someone was interested in the skinny librarian look, which had never been his thing. Tagg preferred the bad girl. A woman who wasn’t afraid to overdo the makeup and color up her language with shocking words.

  Yet, to relieve some of his building tension, he occasionally asked himself, why not? But then he remembered he wanted out of Kent’s life, and initiating a physical relationship with the wife—even for one night—might make her less cooperative in dissolving the marriage. She had already agreed to a divorce and to forfeiting any of the money from the insurance settlement.

  Two scotches later, Tagg’s reason for abstaining faded away as desire took its place. With all this talk of weddings, I think I’ll have my own little honeymoon tonight, he thought.

  An hour later, Cory walked into the kitchen to get another bowl of chili from the Crock-Pot. He found Chief MacDonald sitting at the table, talking to Brian Henderson. The two older men stopped talking when Cory walked into the room, glancing in his direction.

  “You’re the one who dumped the beer on himself?” Cory asked Brian with a snicker as he spooned chili into an empty bowl.

  “Oh, I had a little help,” Brian said lazily. He grabbed a chip from a bowl sitting on the table and popped it in his mouth.

  “What? Did Adam really make you spill it?” Cory asked. “That’s not how he told the story.”

  “More like Walt Marlow,” Brian said, grabbing another chip.

  MacDonald looked at Brian and arched his brow. Brian countered with a shrug and then ate the chip.

  “Walt Marlow, right.” Cory laughed. “Those haunted house stories. What a crock.” Cory grabbed a handful of grated cheddar cheese from a bowl next to the crockpot and dumped it on his chili.

  “You don’t believe in ghosts?” the chief drawled.

  Cory chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  “I heard you’re staying in the attic,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, so?” Cory frowned.

  “You know, that’s where Marlow was killed. They found the poor guy hanging from the rafters in the attic,” Brian said.

  Walt, who also sat at the table, shook his head. “You’re trying to scare the kid, aren’t you?”

  After Cory left the kitchen, the chief looked at Brian. “So what is this about Walt Marlow and your spilled beer?”

  “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Brian said as he eyed MacDonald and took a slow drink of beer.

  “Thought about what?” the chief asked cautiously.

  “You already know about his ghost, don’t you? I bet you and Boatman have talked about him.”

  “Are you saying you think Walt Marlow’s ghost haunts this house?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk to Joe about this. It would just send him on some tangent about how there’s a logical explanation for everything. He’s too young to realize life is not logical.”

  “So you’re saying you believe Walt Marlow’s ghost is here?”

  Brian looked the chief in the eyes, a smile forming on his lips. “I suppose I just assume Marlow is the one who brought me the towel to wipe up the beer he dumped on me. But maybe it’s another ghost. Hell, enough people have died in this house during the past year.”

  The chief took a deep breath. He smelled the cigar. Glancing at the seemingly empty chair next to him, he wondered just how much of this Walt had heard.

  After finishing his bowl of chili, Cory realized his cellphone was not in his pocket. He began searching through the rooms downstairs, but when he couldn’t find it there, he headed upstairs to look.

  Once in the attic, Cory began tossing his dirty clothes off the unmade bed, onto the floor, in search of his cellphone. He heard a meow. Looking to the window, he spied Max sitting on the windowsill, watching him.

  “What are you doing in here? Dumb cat. You were all over my bed the other day. Lily said the door was shut and there was no way you were in here, but I saw all your hair on my blanket! Get out of here!”

  Max remained seated on the windowsill, watching Cory. He made no attempt to move.

  Reaching down to the floor, Cory picked up a flip-flop and tossed the shoe at Max. It hurled toward the cat, but halfway there, it stopped in midair, and then flew back to Cory, hitting him squarely in the forehead. Lily’s brother let out a scream and ran from the attic without his cellphone.

  The bachelor and bachelorette parties officially ended when the ladies at Ian’s wandered back to Marlow House. All except for Heather, who walked up the street to her own house. Both Marie and Melony had come with Adam, and they might have stayed longer, but Marie kept dozing off, and they thought it best to get her home and tuck her into bed.

  Mr. and Mrs. Miller said goodnight to everyone, thanking both Ian and Lily for the nice evening, and headed up to bed. Brian decided to let the chief drop him off at his house, and pick up his car later. He had had too much to drink
.

  Joe went with Kelly back to Ian’s house, where the pair sat on Ian’s back porch, snuggling under a beach blanket and listening to the ocean. Ian’s parents lingered at Marlow House, sitting in the living room with the remainder of the party guests.

  “I’m not sleeping in the attic,” Cory announced after everyone was settled in the living room.

  “What’s wrong with the attic?” Lily asked.

  Cory looked at Ian. “Can I stay at your house? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No, you can’t stay at his house,” Lily answered for Ian. “What’s wrong with the attic?”

  “That attic is haunted,” Cory declared.

  Both Danielle and Chris looked to Walt, who stood by the fireplace, casually smoking a cigar. Walt met their accusatory stare with a shrug and said, “He shouldn’t have thrown a shoe at Max. It was his own fault.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” Lily asked.

  “Either shoes can act like a boomerang or something weird is going on. And even that cop Brian said the house was haunted. Said it was Walt Marlow.”

  Once again, Chris and Danielle looked to Walt.

  “I have to give Brian some credit,” Walt said as he took a leisurely puff off his cigar. “He didn’t even bat an eye when I handed him that towel.”

  Danielle arched her brow as if to say what towel?

  “The one to wipe up the beer I dumped on him.” Walt grinned, immensely proud of himself.

  Impostor Kent stood abruptly and then grabbed Pamela’s hand. “I’ll leave you to your ghosts. But my lovely wife and I need to go to bed. It’s been a long night.”

  Shocked by the gesture, Pamela silently trailed behind the man she believed was her husband, her hand in his, as he led her to the bedroom. Pamela was not the only one startled by his actions. Both Chris and Danielle looked frantically to Walt—as did Kent, who was not happy with the look in what had once been his eyes.

  Kent led Pamela into the bedroom and then shut the door behind them. He turned to her, still holding her hand.