The Ghost of Christmas Secrets Read online

  Adam Nichols had arrived a few minutes after his grandmother, yet he had no idea her spirit trailed after him. Chris Johnson had arrived a few minutes later, and now the two men walked together in the attic, admiring Jones’s work while Danielle and Marie stood silently by the doorway and listened.

  “I have to say, I wasn’t sure he could pull it off.” Chris opened the door leading into the new attic bathroom. “I can’t believe he finished all this in less than a month.”

  “I knew he could,” Adam said. “But I had to talk him into it. Bill wasn’t thrilled to be working up here alone, but he hired a couple of guys to help him. This attic tends to creep him out.” Adam shivered at the memory and then added, “Sort of creeps me out too, but it seems different now. Maybe the remodel got rid of all the old ghosts.” He laughed nervously and glanced around.

  “Hmm…should I take offense?” Marie asked Danielle with a chuckle. Danielle flashed Marie a smile.

  “Maybe,” Chris muttered under his breath as he entered the bathroom.

  Adam turned to Danielle and asked, “So you’re really going to rent this to Marlow?”

  “I have to rent it to someone. After all, that’s what I do—I rent rooms.”

  “You’re a B and B, not a boardinghouse,” Adam reminded her. “At least, that’s what you’re always telling me.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Maybe I like the idea of a real Marlow living under the roof. And considering I have the portraits back in the library—well, at least the reproductions—it might be fun for the guests to get to meet the Marlow who looks exactly like the man who used to live here, the man in the portrait.”

  Marie lovingly watched her grandson. “I find it sweet how concerned Adam is for your welfare.”

  Danielle resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

  Adam glanced briefly to the ceiling by the window, where, according to legend, his great-grandfather had found the original Walt Marlow hanging from the rafters after being murdered. Back then the general consensus was that the man had committed suicide. Adam shivered at the thought and then looked at Danielle and shook his head. “I just can’t get over the fact he is staying. I thought by now he’d be ready to move on. Isn’t he getting his cast off today?”

  Danielle glanced at her watch and then looked to Adam. “Yes, and I’m taking him. I’ll have to leave in a few minutes.”

  Chris stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Looks great, Danielle. Walt’s going to love it up here.”

  “If you guys don’t mind, could you lock up for me? I really need to leave, or Walt’s going to be late for his appointment.”

  “No problem.” Chris flashed her a smile.

  “Thanks. See you guys later.” Danielle turned and dashed from the room.

  “I just remembered, I have to leave too. I promised Eva I’d meet her this afternoon at the theater,” Marie said right before vanishing.

  Adam stood quietly for a moment, listening to Danielle’s steps as she made her way down the attic stairs. He turned to Chris and shook his head.

  Chris frowned. “What?”

  “I don’t get you. What happened with you and Danielle?”

  Chris shrugged. “Nothing happened…”

  “I guess not. Not if Marlow is moving in here, and you don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

  Chris wandered over to the window and looked out at the street below. “Danielle and I are good friends. I just don’t think we were meant to be—well, you know.”

  Adam shrugged and walked to Chris’s side. “No. I really don’t. And frankly I can’t believe you’re okay with Marlow staying here. It’s only been—what—eight weeks since the accident? Eight weeks ago he was engaged to another woman and taking off to Europe. Now he’s moving into Danielle’s attic.”

  “I’m okay with it—honest. Anyway, I have other things on my mind right now.” Chris turned from the window and faced Adam. “I was hoping to talk to Danielle about it, but I forgot she was taking Walt to the doctor this afternoon.” He leaned back against the windowsill.

  “You can talk to me. I’m a good listener.” Adam paused a moment and then chuckled. “Actually that’s not true. I’ve always been a crappy listener, but I’m working on it.”

  “Because of Melony?” Chris teased.

  “Something like that.” Adam grinned. “Go ahead, I need the practice anyway.”

  Chris let out a sigh and then said, “I got a letter from my uncle Loyd.”

  Adam arched his brows. “Is that one of the uncles who tried to take your inheritance?”

  Chris nodded. “I only have two uncles—my father’s older brothers, Loyd and Simon. Dad was the youngest. There was a huge age gap between him and my uncles. They were old enough to be his father.”

  “So what did he want? Money?” Adam asked.

  “Claimed he didn’t. Said he wanted to apologize for what happened after my parents died. He insisted both he and Uncle Simon regretted what they had done.”

  “I bet,” Adam snorted. “Not too bright pissing off your billionaire nephew.”

  “They claim this isn’t about money. Insisted they aren’t asking for anything. It’s not like they need any money. They each inherited a few million from their parents, and both of them have been frugal all their lives. I’m sure they still have the money their parents gave them and more.”

  “But not billions like you inherited?” Adam asked.

  Chris shook his head. “All the sons inherited the same amount. I’ll just say Dad was better with money than my uncles.”

  “No kidding,” Adam muttered. “So is that why they tried to contest your parents’ will, because they were jealous their younger brother did better with his inheritance?”

  “I used to think so.”

  “Used to?” Adam frowned.

  “According to my uncle’s letter, the reason they contested my parents’ will was that they were worried I’d end up giving it all away.” Chris chuckled. “Which I have been trying to do. Uncle Loyd insisted what they really wanted was to control the inheritance so I wouldn’t end up broke. Claimed they were ultimately doing it for me, but things spiraled out of control.”

  “So what does he want, just to apologize?”

  “That’s what he said. Told me he and his brother don’t want—or need—a penny of my money. They just want me back in their lives. They don’t have any children. I think they’re just getting old and realize how alone they are.”

  “How did they even find you?”

  “No secret my foundation headquarters is located here. They sent a letter to the office.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what I wanted to talk to Danielle about. What do you think I should do?”

  Adam considered the question a minute. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but you and I have a lot more in common than I realized.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Adam shrugged. “Just thinking of the money I inherited from my grandmother and how my parents and brother were barely included in the will.”

  Three

  The date had been arranged two weeks earlier. It had been Walt’s idea. After having his cast removed, he would take Danielle out to dinner at Pearl Cove to celebrate. No one else was invited—not even Lily and Ian. When they returned home from the doctor’s office, Danielle immediately took Walt upstairs to see his new room. Marlow House now had three master suites, and the one in the attic was the most impressive.

  Joanne had offered to move Walt’s wardrobe and other belongings up to his room after she had finished cleaning earlier that day. Walt had objected, telling her he didn’t want her carrying his things up two flights of stairs, insisting he would do it later, after his cast was removed. Joanne thought the gesture considerate. After all, she was a hired employee of Marlow House, and he could have reasonably expected her to move his things up to the attic. What Joanne didn’t realize was that Walt planned to levita
te his belongings up to the attic when he and Danielle were alone in the house. Of course, even if he hadn’t been able to levitate items, he still would not have felt right having Joanne do it for him.

  Since the new bed and furniture hadn’t yet arrived when Joanne had cleaned the room, she hadn’t been able to put the linens and blanket on Walt’s new king-sized bed. Instead, she had left a neat pile of folded linens in his closet. Danielle watched in amusement as the linens and blanket floated from the closet, and the bed appeared to make itself. After that, Danielle left for her room to take a shower and get ready for dinner while Walt stayed in his room and did the same.

  Danielle sat primly in the parlor, waiting for Walt to join her so they could leave for the restaurant. Her cat, Max, napped on a nearby chair. She had chosen a pale blue dress for the occasion—it reminded her of spring. She had added leggings under its skirt, because while it might technically be spring, it still felt like winter to her, especially in the evenings.

  Restless, she fidgeted with the handbag on her lap while looking toward the hall, waiting for Walt to walk through the doorway any minute. “Dang,” Danielle said aloud, “I don’t think I was this nervous when I went on my first date in high school. Get a grip, Danielle!”

  Her outburst woke Max, who lifted his head and looked her way, letting out a lazy yawn and then a meow.

  She looked to the cat. “Sorry, Max, did I wake you?”

  He blinked in response. She knew he didn’t understand what she was saying. Of course, had it been Walt who was talking to him, Max would know exactly what Walt was saying.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, Max. I mean, we’re just going out for dinner. Heavens, this is Walt; why should I be nervous?”

  Max stared at her with unblinking eyes. Danielle had the oddest sensation that the cat understood what she was saying—and he didn’t believe her for a moment.

  Danielle groaned. “I know exactly why I feel nervous.” Max blinked and then resumed his nap. “Walt and I are alone in the house…” She paused a moment and added, “Not counting you, of course.” If offended, Max didn’t show it. He kept sleeping.

  Danielle closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath.

  When Walt had been a spirit, he had frequently joined Danielle in her bed, where the two would chat for hours. After she fell asleep, he would often take her for a dream hop. But then Walt rejoined the living world and moved into the downstairs bedroom of Marlow House, and Danielle began to miss their nightly chats. One evening, after the terrifying encounter with Beverly Klein, Danielle had slipped downstairs and crawled into Walt’s bed.

  In some odd way Walt’s cast had served as a bundling board. Their nightly encounters were almost as platonic as they had been when he had been a spirit—yet not quite. There had been kisses—some rather passionate kisses, even more so than the ones they had shared in a few dream hops when he had been a spirit. Danielle blushed at the thought.

  She hadn’t visited Walt every night—only when there were no guests in the house. Of course, all that could change now that he was moving into the attic bedroom, and there was a secret staircase leading from her room to his. If either one of them wanted to visit the other one in his or her bedroom, it would now be possible to do without any of the guests—or Joanne—ever having to know. Although, it wasn’t as if it was anyone’s business. They were adults. They had both been married before. And the truth was, Danielle had long ago accepted the fact she was in love with Walt Marlow. She had realized that when he was still a ghost—which had been utterly futile at the time. She loved him in a way she had never loved her husband Lucas.

  Her train of thought was broken when a voice asked, “Ready to go?”

  Danielle opened her eyes and looked to the parlor doorway. The moment her eyes set on Walt, it felt as if a hand had reached in and roughly grabbed hold of her heart and refused to let go. It squeezed; and she found it difficult to catch her breath.

  No longer encumbered by the cast, he stood casually by the doorway, smiling in her direction. Before Walt had come home from the hospital two months earlier, Danielle had purchased some clothes for him to wear. The pants had been selected to accommodate the cast. However, last week she had driven Walt to Portland, where they had gone clothes shopping. Instead of Danielle picking out his wardrobe, Walt had made the selections, and Danielle had to admit, he didn’t need a woman to dress him—he was fully capable of doing that himself, and he did it well.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she took in this new Walt. She hadn’t realized how much she appreciated looking at a handsome well-dressed man, with his tailored slacks, silk shirt—and for some reason his new jacket stirred the memory of how Walt looked shirtless. She swallowed nervously and then licked her suddenly parched lips. In that moment she no longer faulted Walt for the times he had made comments to her about wearing a dress. If she enjoyed the sight of a well-dressed man, then why fault Walt for enjoying the sight of a well-dressed woman? Although, she suspected she would not be experiencing this physical reaction with just any well-dressed man.

  “You look lovely this evening,” he told her as he stepped farther into the room.

  “So do you,” she said, her voice faltering a bit.

  He frowned. “Are you alright?” He sounded sincerely concerned.

  She stared into his vivid blue eyes and thought, I don’t think I’ll ever be alright again. Instead she stood up and said, “Yes, I’m ready to go.”

  They sat at a small secluded window booth on the west side of the restaurant with a view of the ocean. Outside, the moon cast a golden glow over the water’s surface. In the background, music played, obscuring any other voices or sounds beyond their table, giving them a sense of intimacy. The server had just brought them each a glass of wine. Danielle looked down at the table as she absently fiddled with the stem of her wineglass while Walt sipped his drink, his intense gaze focused on her.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  Danielle looked up and smiled softly. “I was just thinking about the symbolism of your cast.”

  Walt’s smile widened. He set his glass on the table and asked, “Symbolism of my cast? What do you mean?”

  “In some ways the cast was a link—between Clint’s life, when he broke his leg—and you, when his body became yours. You kept telling me you were certain the leg was no longer broken, like in some way Clint’s body morphed into what had once been yours—but there was still the cast, a reminder of where the transformation had begun. It wasn’t just limiting your movement; it was tying you to Clint’s old life. But now it’s gone and you’re free to move forward—to resume your life fully. Does that make sense?”

  Walt picked up his wineglass, took a sip and then said, “In a way. It does feel as if today is officially my beginning…on many different levels. Which reminds me, I haven’t told you yet about what Ian told me.”

  “Ian? Told you about what?”

  “When you were showing the attic to Chris and Adam, Ian stopped by to talk to me.”

  “And?”

  “He liked the manuscript. In fact, he asked me if it would be okay if he sent it to his agent.”

  “You’re kidding me? I thought it was great, but that’s amazing!”

  The manuscript in question was actually a novel of historical fiction Walt had written over the last three weeks. The idea had come to him after he had finished sorting through the historical documents Beverly Klein had given Danielle weeks earlier. Since his story was set in the 1920s, in coastal Oregon, involving prohibition and bootlegging, it didn’t require any research—Walt knew that era, location, and subject matter intimately. The story itself was based on true events from Walt’s first life, woven together to create an intriguing mystery rich in accurate historical detail. Ian had been surprised Walt managed to finish the first draft in such a short time.

  “Not sure what this means—if it will turn into anything. But it’s a good feeling knowing Ian l
iked my manuscript—liked it enough to want to send it to his agent.”

  “I’m very proud of you.” Danielle reached across the table and took hold of his left hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  Walt placed his right hand over Danielle’s and gave it a pat and then said, “Which brings me to the real reason I wanted to bring you here tonight.”

  “I thought it was to celebrate getting your cast off?”

  “Like you said, Danielle, the cast was symbolic—holding me back from fully pursuing what I want in this new life—and what I want is you.”

  The imaginary hand that had been squeezing her heart earlier tightened its grip. Speechless, Danielle stared at Walt.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  She leaned forward and placed her free hand over Walt’s right hand, clutching it possessively. “You want to get married?”

  “Of course I want to get married. I’m in love with you. The only reason I’m here right now—that I’ve accepted this second chance of life—is that the one thing I wanted more than anything is a life with you—with you as my wife.”

  “I love you, Walt.” Their hands pressed together tighter.

  “Then will you marry me? Tonight?”

  Without thought Danielle leaned back, her hands slipping from Walt’s hold. “Tonight? I can’t marry you tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  Danielle shook her head. “Walt, we can’t get married right now. It’s too soon.”

  “Too soon? You don’t know yet if you want to marry me?”

  She reached back over the table and grabbed his hands, holding them tightly.

  “Of course I want to marry you. I love you. You’re my best friend.” She paused a moment and then added with a smile, “But don’t tell Lily.” Briefly squeezing his hands, she added, “But think about it. While I normally don’t care what other people think, this is different. Aside from a handful of our closest friends, everyone thinks you lost your fiancée just two months ago. As far as anyone knows, I barely know you, and they think you have amnesia. It would make us both look ridiculous. We need to give it more time to put more distance between you and Clint.”