The Ghost of Christmas Secrets Read online

  Pulling his hands from hers, he sat back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. “How long?”

  Danielle shrugged. “I don’t know…a year maybe?”

  “A year! I can’t spend the next year spooning with the woman I love!”

  “Who says we just have to spoon?” Danielle smiled mischievously. “And we do have that convenient hidden staircase.”

  Walt shook his head stubbornly. “No. The first time we make love, I want you to be my wife.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  Danielle considered their dilemma a moment and then said, “I have an idea.”

  “Does it involve exchanging vows?” he asked.

  “Let’s elope,” she suggested.

  “Elope?” he said in surprise.

  “Sure.” Danielle grinned. “We can elope—and then later, when our relationship no longer appears so odd to the outside world, we can get married again with all our friends there. And I think I would like a real wedding—something like Lily had at Marlow House. Maybe the chief will walk me down the aisle.”

  “Elope?” Walt repeated, now seriously considering the suggestion.

  “Yes. But I don’t want to tell anyone—not even Lily.”

  “Why is that?” Walt asked.

  Danielle smiled softly, her gaze intently studying Walt’s features. “I don’t know…I think it sounds…well…sorta romantic. And frankly, I like the idea of you and I having this time alone—just the two of us getting to know each other—as husband and wife—without anyone intruding.”

  “When?” he asked.

  “You wanted to get married tonight—so—tonight.” Danielle grinned happily as Walt pulled her around to his side of the booth to seal the engagement with a kiss. While their intention was to keep their relationship secret until sufficient time had passed, in that moment they forgot, giving no consideration to who might be watching.

  Four

  Just as the kiss ended, Danielle looked into Walt’s blue eyes and said, “Oh crap.”

  His arms still around her, Walt arched his brow, the corner of his lips turning up in a crooked smile. “Is that a commentary on my kiss?”

  Danielle let out a sigh and moved out of his embrace, returning to her original seat. “We can’t get married after dinner. We don’t have a marriage license, and there’s no way we can get one tonight.”

  “Then we get one in the morning,” Walt suggested.

  “And we probably shouldn’t have just done that.” Danielle glanced around nervously.

  “Embarrassed to be seen with me?” Walt teased.

  “Oh, right.” Danielle rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Kissing in a public place might not be the smartest thing to do if we want to keep our relationship under wraps for the moment.”

  Before they could finish their discussion, the waitress arrived with two bowls of clam chowder. As she served the soup, Danielle pulled her cellphone out of her purse and began surfing for information on Oregon wedding licenses.

  Just as the server left the table, Danielle—her eyes still on her phone’s screen—said, “I don’t believe this.”

  “I take you to a nice restaurant, propose, and you start playing with your phone? What is it with your generation and cellphones?” Walt asked as he picked up his soup spoon.

  Danielle lowered the phone for a moment and looked across the table at Walt. “I was trying to find where we could get a marriage license.”

  “And?” Walt leaned over his bowl and gingerly tasted a spoonful of the hot soup.

  Danielle set her phone on the table. “We have to go to the county office in Astoria.”

  “That’s not a long drive. What’s the problem?” Walt asked.

  “There’s a three-day waiting period,” Danielle grumbled and then tasted her clam chowder.

  “Three days?” Walt looked up at her.

  “Yes, three days. Tomorrow’s Thursday and the county office will be open. According to the website, they issue licenses from nine to four. Then we have to wait three days, but I’m not sure if that would mean we could get married on Sunday or Monday. It depends when the waiting period begins. Neither day is ideal. I don’t want to get married on Sunday, because our guests for the weekend will still be here. And Monday isn’t ideal; it’s Memorial Day. But we might be able to get someone to marry us on Monday.”

  “What about in Washington?” Walt suggested. “We don’t have to get married in Oregon.”

  Setting her spoon down, she picked up the phone again and searched for information on Washington marriage licenses. After a moment, she shook her head and set the phone back on the table. “They have a three-day waiting period too.”

  “I’ve waited over ninety years; I suppose I can wait five more days—as long as we don’t have to wait a year,” Walt said before eating more clam chowder.

  Danielle smiled at him. “It hasn’t been almost ninety years—it hasn’t even been two years since we met.”

  Walt looked up, his eyes meeting hers. In a quiet voice he said, “That doesn’t mean I haven’t been waiting over ninety years for you.”

  “What are you staring at?” Susan Mitchell’s husband asked her. The two sat at an inside table at Pearl Cove, some distance from Walt and Danielle’s booth.

  Susan, who had been peering over the top of her menu, quickly put it on the table and looked to her husband. “I think that’s Danielle Boatman and Walt Marlow.”

  Menu in hand, Mr. Mitchell glanced over to where his wife indicated. “Oh, I think it is. Do you want to go over and say hi?”

  Susan quickly shook her head and picked up her menu again, opening it. “No!”

  “I thought you liked the Boatman woman?” he asked.

  “Awkward,” Susan said in a singsong voice while glancing through her entrée choices.

  “Awkward, why?”

  Susan lowered the menu and peered at her husband. “They were kissing. Right there in the booth, for everyone to see.”

  “There’s hardly anyone in here, and I think we’re the only ones that have a view to their booth. But you said they were kissing?” He frowned and glanced over to Walt and Danielle a moment. “Isn’t he the one with amnesia?”

  “Yes, and his fiancée was killed just two months ago.”

  Her husband shrugged and looked back to the menu. “Well, if he has amnesia, he probably doesn’t remember her. What’s wrong with him and Boatman kissing? They’re both adults, single. And considering he’s staying at Marlow House, not surprising something like this might develop.”

  “But he’s using her,” Susan whispered.

  “Using her, how?” He frowned.

  “He opened a bank account from me, but he didn’t have any of his own money to deposit, so Danielle loaned him five thousand dollars. She said he was waiting for a refund from the airlines.”

  “That was generous of her. But I suppose she can afford it.”

  “I know she can afford it—and obviously so does he. When he brought in the refund check from the airline, it wasn’t enough to cover what Danielle had given him, but he never paid her back anyway. And then he deposited a large check from Danielle. He said she had purchased those reproductions he’d commissioned. According to him, that check was to pay for the paintings.”

  “They obviously have some arrangement worked out between them,” he suggested.

  “He’s seducing her! Taking advantage of her.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You didn’t see how they were kissing; I did!” Susan snapped.

  “It’s none of our business.”

  “Danielle Boatman is my friend—and she is a client of the bank. I don’t want to see this guy clean out her bank accounts. How do we even know if he has amnesia?”

  “Susan—”

  “And why doesn’t he have any of his own money? We know he and his fiancée were going to Europe after they left Marlow House. If he doe
sn’t have any cash, what were they planning to spend there? Like I said, the only deposits he’s made into his bank account have come from Danielle and the airline refund. It’s just not right.”

  Her husband let out a sigh and glanced briefly to Walt and Danielle’s table and then back to his wife. “Maybe he intended to use credit cards, or perhaps his fiancée was planning to pay the expenses in Europe.”

  “Now he expects Danielle to pay his way?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe Marlow doesn’t have any of his own money. Maybe that’s why he’s really staying at Marlow House.”

  “Isn’t that what I was just saying?” She frowned.

  After dinner and dessert, Walt ordered them each a brandy.

  As Danielle sipped her drink, she said, “I never do this.”

  “Do what?” Walt asked.

  “Have an after-dinner drink. It’s all very…sophisticated,” she said in a haughty voice followed by a giggle.

  His eyes on Danielle, he smiled. Lifting his glass in salute, he said, “This is a celebration.”

  “So it is.” She grinned, her gaze never leaving his as they each sipped their brandy.

  “I want to get you an engagement and a wedding ring—but it all seems very awkward, since it’s your money, even what’s in my bank account.”

  Danielle shook her head. “A good share of my money was yours. And even if that wasn’t the case, you have the money from the ticket refund and the sale of the portraits.”

  “Which is technically Clint’s money,” Walt reminded her. “I’m actually destitute.” He sounded more amused than distraught.

  “It is an unusual situation.”

  Walt chuckled. “The understatement of the century.”

  “Anyway, there’s no reason to buy rings now, it’s not like I can wear them—I can’t even wear an engagement ring or people would start asking questions.”

  Walt set his glass on the table and reached over, taking hold of Danielle’s right hand, gently massaging her index finger with his thumb. Looking at her hand, he asked, “What happened to that ring you used to wear?”

  “My aquamarine one? It’s in my jewelry box. I just haven’t worn it much lately. Why?” She looked from the hand he held to his face.

  “Aquamarine is your birthstone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Still holding her hand, his thumb caressing her index finger, he said, “I remember noticing your hands when we first met—they’re so graceful—feminine. I remember the ring. We were in the kitchen, when you told me I was dead.” He smiled and released her hand.

  “Well, someone had to tell you,” she teased.

  “You know what I’d like us to do?” Walt asked.

  “What?”

  “We need to find a jeweler, one who can take some of those gold coins and make them into a wedding band. It can be your wedding ring for our secret marriage, and later, when we say our vows again, I’ll buy you a wedding set—whatever you want. You can wear the gold band on your right hand, and if anyone asks, you can tell them the truth—that it’s made from some of the gold coins.”

  The gold coins Walt referred to were once owned by him and his business partner, Jack. Jack, who had been staying in the house Ian and Lily now owned, across the street from Marlow House, had hidden the coins under some floorboards in a closet. After they were discovered, the courts decided the coins legally belonged to Danielle Boatman. Walt’s estate had been left to the mother of Danielle’s great-aunt Brianna. After the mother died, it went to Brianna. Brianna left her estate to Danielle, which included what had come from the Marlow Estate—which, decades later, included the gold coins hidden under a neighbor’s floorboards.

  “I think I like that idea,” Danielle told him. “I just have to find someone who can do it.”

  Five

  It sounded like a horn, somewhere beyond the surf or perhaps a distance down the shoreline. Zara stood at the end of Frederickport Pier, speculating on where it was coming from. Her guess would be a lighthouse. Overhead, the bright moon painted light on the water’s surface, and nearby a fisherman cast out his line.

  This was where Loyd had said she would find him. Of course, he had refused to be any more specific than that. Considering what had happened at his house, she didn’t imagine he was going to tell her more; he wasn’t ready. But she wasn’t giving up. If she couldn’t find what she needed on her own, she would return to his house and demand he give her the information. Of course he would ignore her, but she would find some way to make him listen.

  If Loyd refused to break his stubborn silence, there was always his brother, Simon. It was obvious Simon was in as deep as Loyd, considering his complicity in the drugging of her tea. If they refused to help, then she would find some way to use what they had done to her as leverage.

  Turning from the end of the pier, Zara headed toward the diner she had seen when first arriving. It was late, but its lights were still on, so she was fairly confident it was open. She didn’t feel it would be wise to start asking the locals if they knew Chris Glandon. From what she had seen, Frederickport was a small town, and small towns often protected their own from outsiders. Instead she would hang out at some of the local establishments, and perhaps if she was lucky, she might hear something that would point her in the right direction.

  She was about ten feet from the diner’s entrance when she noticed a woman coming her way. Zara paused for a moment, standing in the shadows, watching where the woman was headed—to the diner or the end of the pier. With the lighting, she couldn’t make out the woman’s face, but her figure’s silhouette reminded Zara of a Playboy Bunny. The woman turned to her left and headed to the entrance of Pier Café. Zara waited a minute before continuing on to the restaurant.

  Ten minutes later Zara sat alone in a booth, a cup of coffee sitting on the table before her. It was only half full. In the next booth over was the woman who had entered the café a few minutes before her. The woman sat alone, looking through a menu. Zara watched as a waitress with streaks of blue and purple in her blond hair walked up to the woman’s booth to take her order.

  Carla stepped up to the table, menu pad in hand. She eyed the woman and then asked, “Hey, aren’t you the new hostess over at Pearl Cove?”

  The woman closed her menu and looked up. “Yeah. Did I wait on you there?”

  Carla shrugged. “I haven’t been to Pearl Cove in ages. Too freaking pricy for me. But I’ve seen you around town. Someone mentioned you were working there. I used to hostess at Pearl Cove.”

  The woman arched her brows. “Really? Hey, could you join me for a cup of coffee? Since I moved here, I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone aside from who comes in the restaurant, and it’s usually couples.”

  “I know what you mean. Sure, I would love to join you. I’m due for a break anyway. You want me to put an order in for you first?”

  “My name’s Mindi, Mindi Scholes,” the woman said after Carla joined her a few minutes later. Neither one was aware Zara, in the next booth, was hanging on their every word.

  “I’m Carla. Carla Vann.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carla. So how come you’re over here and aren’t working at Pearl Cove?”

  Carla opened a packet of sugar and dumped it in her cup of coffee. “I was working here first and thought I’d get a side job and pick up some extra cash. But my schedule is always changing here—days—nights.” Carla opened another sugar packet. “It was just too freaking hard working both places. And frankly, I make more here waitressing.”

  “You married?” Mindi asked.

  Carla shook her head, took a sip of coffee, and then said, “No. You?”

  “No.” Mindi sighed. “What’s with the guys in this town?”

  “Tell me about it,” Carla groaned.

  “A few of our regular customers are hot, but they always bring a date—or wife—with them.”

  Carla fiddled with the rim of her coffee cup as she talked. “A while back I hooked up with a guy who
wasn’t anything special to look at, but at least he would take me to decent restaurants. But he was married, so I shoulda known there was no future there.”

  “What happened?”

  Carla nodded toward the west side of the restaurant. “Fell off the pier. Drowned.”

  Mindi gasped. “How did that happen?”

  “Basically, his wife poisoned him. He had some reaction to food she gave him, and he fell off the pier and drowned. That happened a while back, but they just arrested her. A real nutcase. I’m just glad she didn’t come after me!”

  “No kidding! Well, fortunately, some of the hot guys that’ve come in to the restaurant don’t seem to be married. I just haven’t figured out how to get them to leave their dates at home.”

  Carla leaned back a moment in the booth and eyed Mindi up and down. “Honey, with a figure like yours, I don’t think you’d have a problem.”

  Mindi grinned. “Thanks, you’re sweet.”

  Carla leaned forward, setting her elbows on the table, and said, “So tell me. Who are some of these hot guys; maybe I know them.”

  “I think the yummiest is this guy named Chris Johnson.” Mindi practically swooned when she said his name.

  “Oh, I know Chris! He…umm…works over at the Glandon Foundation.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard. What is that anyway?”

  Carla shrugged. “I guess they give money away.”

  “Give money away? Hey, I could use some!” Mindi laughed.

  Carla giggled. “Yeah, you and me both. It’s some sort of charity thing.”

  “Chris is super hot. But who’s the weirdo he hangs out with? Reminds me of a snotty version of Abby. You know, the character on NCIS.”

  “Ahh…that would be Heather Donovan. In fact, both of them live on this street.”