The Ghost of Valentine Past (13 page)

D
ressed
in her plaid pajama bottoms and oversized red T-shirt, Danielle sat in the center of her bed, her bent knees pulled up to her chest as she protectively wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin atop her knees, she gazed across the dimly lit room. Lily had turned the overhead light off when she had left, but there was some moonlight coming through the bedroom window.

When coming upstairs earlier, Danielle had asked Walt to not come into her bedroom to say goodnight or chat. She suspected Lucas wouldn't appear again if he, or anyone else, was with her.

Unable to stifle a yawn, Danielle glanced over to the nightstand and looked at the clock. She had been sitting alone on the bed for almost thirty minutes.

“Lucas, can you hear me? Are you nearby?” Danielle asked out loud. “Please, let's get this over with, tell me why you came, so you can move on. This is unbearable, wondering if you're going to show up at any moment.”

The room was silent. And then she heard it, soft pawing on the door.

“Oh Max,” Danielle mumbled, climbing off her bed. Walking to the door, she opened it, letting in the cat, who immediately began weaving in and out between her legs. She shut the door.

“For a while there, I thought you intended to hang out all night with Walt.” Reaching down, she picked up the black cat and carried him over to the bed, placing him on the foot of the mattress. She pulled down the blankets and climbed under the bedding. Purring, Max strolled up the bed and curled up beside her.

“You have a cat,” Lucas said. He stood next to the bed looking down at her.

Danielle bolted to a sitting position. “You're here.”

“Finding you alone has been a challenge.”

Max lifted his head and stared at the apparition. A gurgling growl—one he normally reserved for expressing his opinion of other cats—replaced the purr.

Cocking his head slightly, Lucas looked inquisitively at the unhappy cat. “You don't like me.”

Snatching up the snarling animal, Danielle climbed out of bed. “Sorry Max, I need to talk to Lucas, alone.” After depositing Max in the hallway, she shut the door and faced her husband's ghost.

“I could understand what that cat was thinking,” Lucas said in awe.

“Why did you come? Why now?”

Lucas glanced around the room. “I don't understand why you're here. Why Oregon? Why this house? Are you an innkeeper?”

“I own a bed and breakfast,” she explained.

Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Danielle. “Why a bed and breakfast? Why Oregon?”

“My great-aunt died and left me this house. I decided to turn it into a bed and breakfast,” she explained.

“What about your marketing degree? What about our business?”

“I needed a change. I sold the business.”

Abruptly, Lucas stood. “You sold it? How could you just sell it? We worked so hard; it was our dream.”

“You weren't here anymore, Lucas. I needed to move on.”

“But you were fully capable of running the business…of growing it into what we always imagined. You just walked away from all that we built?”

“Lucas, you walked away from us before I ever considered selling the business.”

“You're angry with me. I understand. I suppose I deserve that.”

“I've gotten over it. You can go now.”

“I'm not ready to go, Danielle. I have too many questions. There are things I need to explain.”

Weary, Danielle walked over to the loveseat and sat down. Lucas followed her. He stood before the unlit fireplace.

“I'm sorry I never truly believed you could see…ghosts. Is that what I am now, a ghost?”

“I suppose that's one definition. Some prefer spirit to ghost.”

“Who's the one that looks like he just stepped out of an episode of
Boardwalk Empire
?”

“You mean Walt?”

“I think so.”

“Walt Marlow, his grandfather built this house,” Danielle explained.

“He's like me, isn't he? He's a ghost.”

“Walt prefers the term ‘spirit.' But yes.”

“Why is he here? Why hasn't he moved on?”

“Walt has his reasons.”

“He was in your bedroom. I saw him cover you up.”

“I guess he figured I was cold.”

“I don't understand; how did he lift the blankets? I've tried to move things, but all I end up doing is tipping stuff over, making something move that I don't want to move.”

“It's about harnessing your energy; but Lucas, I don't believer spirits are supposed to stay on this plane—they're supposed to move on. You're supposed to move on.”

“That's what Meghan said,” Lucas mumbled.

“It sounds like your spirit got stuck after you died, which sometimes happens with a sudden, unexpected death. But now things have become clearer. You can focus on reality.”

He frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Because that's what happens. That's what I've learned over the years. It's pretty obvious to me, that after you came to terms with your death, you felt compelled to seek me out. Here I am. But there's really nothing for either of us to say—at least not now. I've moved on, and so should you.”

“No, Danielle. Something is keeping me here. I can feel it. I can't leave yet. There's something I need to do.”

Danielle considered his words a moment. “When Walt first saw you, he didn't know who you were. He thought you were in some way involved with Peter Morris.”

“The man who was murdered downstairs?”

“How did you know his name?”

“He told me.”

“What do you mean he told you? I don't believe Peter Morris could see or hear spirits.”

“No. It was afterwards—after he stepped out of his body.”

“You saw his spirit leave his body?” Danielle asked.

“I was trying to find you. I could sense this was where you'd be—somewhere in this house. But then I saw the two men in the front room, arguing—a man sitting in a chair, who I later learned was Peter Morris. And the other man, the killer.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don't really know. I didn't care. They weren't talking very loud, they were whispering, but I could tell they were angry.”

“Did you hear anything they said?”

“Not really. I wanted to find you. So, I went through the rest of the rooms on the first floor. Before going upstairs, I went back to the front room. The men were still there.”

“Was the light on?” Danielle asked.

“Only a nightlight. Just as the man walked behind Peter, he took out a gun.”

“A gun?” Danielle frowned. “Morris wasn't killed by a gun.”

“For a moment I thought he was going to shoot Peter, but then something caught his attention. Something sitting on the shelf. I didn't know what it was at first. But, he slipped the gun back into his pocket and kept talking in a whisper. I couldn't hear what he was saying; I wasn't close enough. But I could tell Peter was laughing at whatever it was. I thought it was bizarre.”

“Bizarre how?”

“Peter seemed oblivious to any danger. When the man pulled the gun out of his pocket, I was sure he intended to shoot Peter in the back. But then Peter laughed, and the man put the gun back in his pocket. I figured Peter must have said something that made the man change his mind. I was just about to leave and go upstairs to look for you, when the man grabbed something from the shelf. It was a knife.”

“It was the fishing knife, the one they found in the bathroom,” Danielle murmured. “Chris' knife.”

“It happened so fast, like the man knew exactly what he was doing. Peter never saw it coming. I just stood there and watched as he stepped out of his body and looked down at himself. His killer shoved the dead body with his foot, and it just fell onto the throw rug by the sofa. I thought for a moment he was going to use the rug to wrap up the body and dispose of it, but he just left the room.”

“What did the killer look like?”

“There wasn't much light, but he was a stocky man, about my age. I followed the killer out of the room and watched him go into the bathroom. Peter was still stumbling around his dead body, trying to figure out what had just happened.”

“He hid the knife in the bathroom,” Danielle whispered, speaking more to herself.

“When he came back out of the bathroom, I thought it was a good thing he'd left the knife behind, or there would be another dead body.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just as he came back out of the bathroom, he slammed right into that woman.”

“What woman?”

“I don't know. She's staying in a room upstairs with a man.”

“Arlene?”

“I don't know if that's her name. She obviously knew the killer, seemed surprise to see him. She asked him what he was doing here.”

“They knew each other?”

“He grabbed her by the arms, told her he was taking care of business,
her business
. And then ordered her to go back upstairs and go to sleep. Told her that in the morning she needed to remember to keep her mouth shut, because this would all come back on her if she wasn't careful, and it would ruin everything they were working to accomplish.”

“What did she do?” Danielle asked.

“She ran back upstairs, after he kissed her.”

“He kissed her?”

“Yes.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“Not a word. She ran upstairs, and he left.”

“What happened then?”

“I went back in the front room, where Peter Morris was still moaning over his body. A few minutes later, I heard someone walking in the front hall, and then I heard a door on the first floor close.”

“That must have been Chris, returning to his room. Did you go back out into the hall?”

“Not then. I stayed with Peter Morris for a while. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Eventually he told me his name, and I explained that he was dead. I remembered what Meghan had told me, and I suggested he move on. He just kept rambling, not making any sense. I got bored and eventually left him there and then went upstairs, looking for you.”

“Did you ever see Peter Morris again?”

“No.” Lucas smiled at Danielle. “Can we talk about us now?”

“What's there to say?”

“I still don't understand how the Danielle I knew would trade the life she had in California for this.” He waved his hand, gesturing to the room around him.

“I guess neither of us knew each other very well.”

“Downstairs, when I saw you earlier, with Walt and that other man…”

“Chris.”

“This Chris, he could see me, couldn't he?”

“Yes. Chris can also see and hear spirits. Just like me.”

“So he isn't dead? Like me and that other one?”

“No. Chris is very much alive.”

“Who is he to you?”

“Chris is a friend. He's been staying at Marlow House.”

“Lily's here too? Isn't she?” Lucas asked.

“Yes, Lily lives at Marlow House.”

“I don't understand; did she take a teaching job here?”

“No, Lucas. Lily isn't teaching right now. She had some medical issues, had to give up her class. She's living here right now.”

Lucas smiled. “One thing hasn't changed about you.”

“What's that?”

“You're still taking in strays.” Lucas vanished.

C
losing
her eyes did not help. She still couldn't fall asleep. The fact that Danielle hadn't slept the night before didn't make slipping off to dreamland any easier. Tossing the blanket and sheets aside, she sat up and dropped her feet to the cold floor. Her wiggling toes searched for the slippers and found them tucked just beneath her bed. She stood up and walked to the door, grabbing her robe along the way.

Slowly turning the doorknob, Danielle made a special effort to be quiet, so as not to disturb the household. For a brief moment, she considered knocking on Lily's door; she needed to talk to someone. But there was no light coming from under the door, and she assumed her friend was already asleep. While Lily would probably be willing to talk, Danielle didn't want to wake the other guests. Since there was no light coming from any of the upstairs bedrooms, she surmised everyone was asleep.

Glancing toward the ceiling, she wondered if Walt was in the attic. She could always talk to Walt. Tiptoeing across the hall, en route to the attic staircase, she heard muffled voices. It came from Arlene and David's room. Pausing by their door a moment, she could hear arguing. What they were saying exactly, she couldn't hear. Yet she couldn't help but think about what Lucas had just told her about Arlene, and Morris' killer.

Quietly continuing on her way, she headed down the hall and then up the staircase leading to the attic, treading lightly on the wooden steps, cringing each time her slippered feet made the boards creak. At the top of the staircase, she found the door closed. Just as she reached out to take hold of the doorknob, the door swung open, seemingly from its own volition. But, she knew that was not the case. Just as she entered the attic, the door slowly closed behind her.

“I heard you coming up the stairs,” Walt said from his place by the attic window. Max sat on the windowsill looking outside, his tail swishing back and forth.

“I tried to be quiet.” Danielle walked to Walt.

“Max told me Lucas was here.”

“Yes, he was.” Danielle looked at Max, who continued to stare out the window, refusing to look in her direction. “Is Max mad at me?”

“Annoyed would be a more apt description,” Walt told her.

Danielle reached out to stroke Max's neck, but he jumped down from the windowsill, ignoring her. He strolled away, eventually reaching the sleeper sofa, which he then jumped up on before snuggling down and closing his eyes.

“He really is annoyed,” Danielle muttered.

“He's a cat. He'll get over it.”

Danielle stood next to Walt at the window, looking outside to the darkness.

“Is he gone?” Walt asked.

“I assume you're talking about Lucas.”

“Of course.”

Danielle shrugged. “Gone for now, but for good? I've no idea.”

“Why is he here?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. It seems spirits normally have a reason for sticking around.”

Walt smiled in the darkness. “I suppose that's true.”

“I wonder if maybe your original suspicion was correct.”

“What's that?”

“Maybe Peter Morris is the reason Lucas showed up when he did.”

Walt turned from the window and looked at Danielle. She continued to stare out into the dark night.

“Why do you say that?”

She let out a deep sigh and then proceeded to tell Walt everything Lucas had told her about what he had seen downstairs, at the time of the murder.

When she was done, Walt asked, “Are you suggesting your guest Arlene is in someway involved in the murder?”

“According to Lucas, they knew each other. Good lord, he kissed her and sent her back upstairs.”

“Yes, and to another man's bed. Odd, this generation of yours.”

“I'll have to tell the chief, let him figure this out.”

“Arlene did seem genuinely surprised to see a dead man in the parlor,” Walt reminded.

“True. And according to Lucas, she asked the killer what he was doing here. Maybe she had no idea he'd just killed Morris.”

“If that's true, I wonder what she thought when she realized Morris had been murdered.”

“I've a headache,” Danielle groaned.

“Of course you do. You need your sleep.”

“I've a favor to ask you.”

“Anything,” Walt vowed.

“Can you keep an eye on Arlene and David? Tomorrow morning I'll call the chief, and let him know what I've found out.”

“Okay. But you promise me you'll go back downstairs to bed.”

“I might as well. I should stop worrying about Lucas suddenly appearing at any moment. It's likely he's moved on.”

“Why do you think that?”

Danielle looked up at Walt. “His reason for being here was probably to witness the murder, and since he's passed the information on to me, he can go now.”

“You don't honestly believe that, do you?”

“Why not? Why else would he be here? We really have nothing to say to each other.”

“To begin with, I don't believe—and I don't think you do either—that spirits generally have clairvoyant powers, especially one who just realized the reality of his existence. I didn't even know who had killed me, so how can you imagine I could predict another person's demise and manage to be there to witness it?”

“That's true. But sometimes there are other forces involved. Something that made sure he'd be here at that specific time.”

Walt laughed at the idea. “Other forces? Are we talking God, angels, what?”

Danielle shrugged.

“I find it implausible to imagine some higher being thought it a terrific idea to bring your deceased husband up to Oregon, just to have him witness a crime and help you solve a murder.”

“Then why is Lucas here?”

“Why do you think, Danielle?”

She didn't answer.

“You of course,” he answered for her. “I would say you and Lucas have some unresolved issues, and perhaps it's best for both of you to air them before he moves on—which may enable you to move on.”

“I can't believe it; you were actually listening to what I had to say,” Chris said from the doorway. Neither Danielle nor Walt had heard him enter the attic.

Walt groaned as Chris walked to them. “Is no room sacred in my house?”

“I'm just happy to see you were listening to me.” Chris joined them by the window.

“You two talking about me behind my back now?” Danielle asked.

“What do you mean
now
?” Chris teased. “You've always been our favorite subject of conversation.”

“When did you say you're moving out?” Walt asked.

“In the morning. I've already packed.”

“That shouldn't have been too hard, considering everything you own fits into a pillow case,” Walt scoffed.

“I wouldn't say everything he owns,” Danielle reminded.

Chris turned his attention to Danielle. “Have you talked to Lucas?”

“He saw Peter Morris being murdered,” Walt told him.

“Then he knows who did it?” Chris asked.

“I assume Logan Mitcham, since that's whose fingerprint they found out front,” Danielle said.

“We could always see if your husband will agree to stick around for a line up,” Walt suggested. “I'm sure Chief MacDonald would appreciate the help.”

“Line up? Who would be in the line up?” Danielle asked.

“Isn't that obvious? Mitcham…Chris,” Walt explained.

“Me?” Chris frowned. “You know I had nothing to do with Peter's murder.”

Walt shrugged. “So you say.”

“Oh stop that, Walt,” Danielle chided. “You know Chris didn't kill Morris.”

“I do?” Walt asked innocently.

“For one thing, when Lucas appeared in the attic earlier, both you and Chris were there. Lucas asked me about Chris. If Chris had killed Morris, Lucas would have told me.”

Walt shrugged. “Maybe. It's possible Lucas didn't get that close of a look at him in the library. As I recall, your husband was only there a moment.”

“Are you forgetting; you woke Chris up. You seriously think he killed Morris and then went to bed and fell asleep?”

“Of course not. But you have to admit, it's rather amusing watching Chris get agitated.” Walt smirked.

Danielle glanced over to Chris, who looked a little more than annoyed.

“What you want to do is slug me, don't you?” Walt taunted Chris.

“How did you guess?”

“Oh stop, you two!”

“He started it,” Chris grumbled.

“Walt just gets a little bored. You would be too, hanging around the same house for almost a century, never going out.”

Chris almost reminded Danielle that was Walt's choice, yet instead said, “Fine. Why don't you tell me what Lucas told you about Morris' murder.”

After Danielle recounted Lucas' version of the murder, Walt said, “I told Danielle I'd keep an eye on Arlene and David while they're here.”

“Strange, when I went to the bathroom to wash my hands of Morris' blood, Arlene seemed as if she was about to jump out of her skin. At the time, I assumed she was afraid of me—thought I'd just killed a man.”

“If she really didn't know Mitcham had killed Morris when she saw him downstairs—assuming Logan Mitcham is the man Lucas saw—then she was probably freaking out at that point, realizing what he had done, and how she might be implicated in the murder,” Danielle said.

“Maybe they planned to murder him, but she didn't know when Mitcham intended to do it,” Chris suggested.

“But if she's part of this, then why kill Morris while she's staying here?” Danielle asked.

“Maybe it wasn't premeditated—at least at that moment. They were arguing; Mitcham took out his gun,” Walt suggested.

“He just happens to have a gun?” Danielle asked.

“If it was Mitcham, he's a PI; so, I imagine he always carries a concealed weapon,” Chris said.

“Is that legal in Oregon?” Danielle asked.

Chris shrugged. “I've no idea. Of course, he didn't use the gun. What was the knife doing on that shelf, anyway? I didn't put it there.”

“I don't know. According to Lucas, it looked like a spur of the moment decision to use the knife instead of the gun,” Danielle said. “I just keep wondering: was this premeditated, or did something happen during the argument that turned the situation lethal?”

“I'll be curious to see what MacDonald learns about your guest, Arlene,” Walt said.

“There's definitely something she's hiding,” Chris agreed.

They were all quiet for several moments, considering the turn of events. Finally, Danielle broke the silence and said, “Now please explain what you meant, when you said you were glad Walt finally listened to you?”

“He pointed out earlier that perhaps it might be good for you to take this opportunity, and talk to your husband,” Walt answered for Chris.

“Why? I don't see where we really have anything to say to each other. I've moved on, now he needs to do the same.”

“Are you telling me that when he was killed in that car accident—and you found out about his affair—that part of you wasn't angry, not being able to confront him? To tell him how you felt?” Chris asked.

“Well…sure. But I've gotten over it.”

“Danielle,” Walt said softly, “take this opportunity, it might be your only one. Telling someone how we really feel can be liberating.”