Haunting Danielle 25 The Ghost of a Memory

by Bobbi Holmes

  Back on the patio where Walt and Danielle had been sitting and watching their friends, Walt stood.

  “I should probably help them. I wonder what those two have gotten into,” Walt said before taking off in a jog, heading to the dogs. Danielle followed at a slower pace.

  Hunny and Sadie refused to listen to their humans, who repeatedly shouted for them to let go of the drenched burlap bag. The smells were too enticing, and the prize inside too tempting. Plus, this game of tug-of-war made it impossible for either dog to break concentration and listen to their humans. Each dog understood if she did that, she would lose hold of her end and the other dog would get the prize.

  The rest of the Frisbee players gathered nearby, watching and chuckling at Ian and Chris’s inability to get control of their dogs—normally exceptionally well-behaved animals. The moment Walt reached the group, the bag tore open and its contents spilled out onto the beach.

  The dogs went wild with excitement—bones! Just as they each grabbed a large bone, Walt noticed it, as did everyone else, a skull—a human skull. Both Chris and Ian tried to take the bones away and bring the dogs to heel, but Sadie and Hunny, engrossed in their game of keep-away, ignored their humans.

  Walt stood nearby, trying to get the dogs’ attention with his telepathy, yet their current game was too distracting. Narrowing his eyes and annoyed at being ignored by Sadie and Hunny, he focused his attention on the bones the dogs held. The next moment the bones flew from the dogs’ mouths, landing several feet away.

  Startled by the abrupt loss, Sadie and Hunny looked toward the humans. Their eyes met Walt’s. If the dogs had been balloons, one would suspect someone had just deflated them. Abandoning their newly discovered treasure, they lowered their heads and silently walked to their humans. Hunny sat next to Chris, while Sadie sat next to Ian.

  Normally Joe, Kelly, Adam and Melony—the friends unaware of Walt’s gifts—would have wondered what the hell had just happened, but the attention of all four fixed on the human skull sitting atop a pile of bones. They’d failed to witness the bones being jerked from the dogs’ mouths.

  Hesitantly, they approached the gruesome discovery.

  “Are those real?” Heather asked as she got closer.

  Joe leaned down and examined the bones. “Looks real.”

  Silently, without saying a word, Joe picked up the skull and looked at it a moment and then set it on the beach. As if they had all come to some silent agreement, they each began picking up the random bones the dogs had scattered and placed them by the skull—puzzle like—recreating what had once been a human skeleton.

  When finished, they stood in a circle around the eerie sight. There was no doubt what they were all looking at, the skeletal remains of a human.

  “I need to call this in,” Joe said.

  “Sadie and Hunny seem to have a knack for uncovering human bones,” Officer Brian Henderson said as he stood some distance away from the skeletal remains while the coroner examined them.

  “At least I didn’t trip over the damn thing,” Heather said. “And I jogged up here this morning.”

  “It’s not a thing,” Kelly reprimanded her. “That was some poor person.” She looked to Joe and asked, “Do you have any idea who it is?”

  Joe shrugged. “How would I know? He wasn’t carrying an ID.”

  With a frown, Kelly swatted Joe’s forearm. “Brat.”

  “By the condition of the bag, I don’t think they were in the ocean for a long time. Couple of days at best,” Brian said.

  “This is just creepy,” Lily said. She handed a sleeping Connor to Ian, who stood by her side with Sadie. “How long does it take for a body to decompose and leave skeletal remains?”

  “In the right conditions, it can take under a month,” Brian said.

  Six

  Alone, he walked toward the entrance of Pier Café on Saturday morning. They had agreed to meet at the restaurant to go over the plans. Before entering the building, he spied the newspaper stand by the door. He hadn’t intended to buy a paper until he saw the headline: Skeletal Remains Wash Up on Frederickport Beach. Hastily he pulled money from his pocket, purchased a newspaper, and entered the restaurant.

  The others hadn’t arrived yet, but the waitress with the rainbow-colored hair told him to sit wherever he wanted. He took a seat at the far end of the café, trying to keep a distance from the other diners, wanting as much privacy as possible when they arrived.

  He sat down at the table and opened the newspaper when the rainbow-haired waitress asked if he wanted coffee. After he told her yes, she flipped one of the empty coffee cups sitting on the table right side up and filled it while saying, “That’s really something about those bones washing up on shore. It wasn’t far from here.”

  The man looked at her over his newspaper. The name tag on her blouse said Carla. Chatty Carla, he told himself.

  “They were in a gunnysack,” Carla continued. “But Hunny and Sadie tore it up. They’re dogs. Heather told me about it. She was here this morning having breakfast. That’s Heather Donovan, she lives down the street. To be honest, I’m surprised she wasn’t the one who found it, not the dogs. She has a reputation for finding dead bodies when she jogs. I’m surprised that girl hasn’t bought a treadmill and given up running on the beach. If it was me, I would’ve given it up after tripping over the first body. Don’t you agree?”

  He stared at Carla a moment before asking, “Did you say they were in a gunnysack?”

  “Yes. And according to the police, they hadn’t been in the ocean for long, just a couple of days. I wondered how long it would take for a dead body to decompose like that. And according to Heather, she stopped in here earlier after her morning jog—like I said, that girl is still jogging on the beach, which I certainly don’t understand. But according to Brian, that’s Brian Henderson, he’s on the local police force, a body can decompose down to a skeleton in less than a month. So obviously someone murdered that poor guy in the last month and dumped his skeleton in the ocean. Do you think they put him in acid or something?”

  The man blinked at Carla, yet he did not answer her question.

  A bell from the kitchen rang, breaking Carla’s stride. She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen and then looked back to him and flashed a smile. “I have an order up. But I’ll be right back to take yours.” She turned and hurried off.

  Shaking his head while mumbling to himself, he looked at the newspaper and began reading the news article about the discovery of skeletal remains. He had just finished the article when a younger man joined him.

  “Where’s your sister?” the older man asked.

  The recent arrival sat down hastily and said, “It’s just me. Something came up.”

  “Something like bones washing up on shore?” he asked, slamming the article he had been reading on the table, headline side up.

  The younger man looked down at the paper and cringed.

  “What in the hell were you thinking?” the older man demanded.

  “You told us to dump them in the ocean. I didn’t think it would wash up on shore. At least not in Frederickport.”

  “And they wouldn’t have washed up if you took them out of the gunnysack before you dumped them,” the older man snapped.

  “That’s not true. Stuff washes up on shore all the time. We figured if they were all put in a bag, it would weight it down and sink to the bottom of the ocean,” the younger man argued.

  “They didn’t.”

  “What’s the big deal? No way anyone will figure out where they came from.”

  Before he responded, Carla returned to the table and took their order. When she left the table, the older man said, “I’m not worried about them tracing the bones, I’m worried about them tracing that damn gunnysack.”

  “Even if they do, they can’t prove anything.”

  “I want nothing that can link us to this. Have you forgotten what this is all about? That’s why we’re here. And you throw those damn bones in the oc
ean without taking them out of the bag.”

  “We had to do it at the end of the pier, and there were people around. I couldn’t let anyone see me taking them out of the bag and dumping them.”

  The older man grew silent and stared at his companion. After a moment he said, “Are you telling me someone may have seen you throw that bag off the pier?”

  “No! Not at all. We were careful. I hid it under my jacket, and when we got to the end of the pier, we looked around, made sure no one was watching, and then dropped it in the water. It took a moment to sink. But no one was around to see it. I promise.”

  As the two men sat alone at a table at Pier Café, discussing the skeletal remains, Danielle accompanied Walt to the Frederickport Library. They had invited him to speak to one of the local book clubs that met each Saturday. Driving the Packard, Walt pulled into the parking lot of the library and turned off the ignition. He turned to Danielle, who sat in the passenger seat.

  “I’m surprised they want me to speak to their group. Looks like the Moon Runners movie is officially dead,” Walt said.

  “Your book made the New York Times bestseller list. Movie or not, you’re a local celebrity.”

  “I don’t particularly enjoy giving interviews. People start asking me questions—like do I still have amnesia, or what can I remember.”

  Danielle silently studied Walt for a moment, cocking her head slightly. Finally, she asked, “If you could make things different, what would you change?”

  Walt considered the question and smiled. “I suppose nothing, because then I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now. There is no way to rewrite history that might bring us together. Perhaps having you born years earlier, meeting you instead of Angela. But then you wouldn’t be you, would you? We’re shaped by our circumstances, our environment, family and friends. There was no other way to shift the world around to bring us together than the way it happened.”

  “Oh my, you are being philosophical today.”

  Walt chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Danielle leaned across the seat, gave Walt a kiss, and said, “Come on, let’s get going. Your fans await.”

  Kiara sat with her cousin Raven in the magazine section of the library. They had arrived early, and the meeting room where the book club was holding the talk had not yet been unlocked. Raven sat next to her on the sofa, flipping through a magazine she had picked up from a table.

  “Are you sure they’ll let us in there? We aren’t members of the book club,” Kiara whispered to Raven.

  Raven glanced up from the magazine. “Yes. I told you. The flyer said it was open to the public. The book club is sponsoring the talk.”

  “I wish Laken had come,” Kiara said.

  “We can handle this,” Raven insisted.

  Kiara let out a deep breath. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

  Raven dropped the magazine to her lap and elbowed her cousin.

  “Would you stop doing that!” Kiara said.

  “Oh…sorry, but look who walked in.” Raven nodded to the front of the library. Walt and Danielle Marlow had just entered, and they were talking to a woman.

  Kiara looked over to the Marlows. “It’s bizarre how much he looks like the other Walt Marlow.”

  “I’m hoping after today you and Laken see I’m right and we can just go up to Marlow and ask him.”

  “But like Laken said, why hasn’t he already?”

  “Why would he? It was so long ago. It’s nothing to him,” Raven reminded her.

  “Unless the first Marlow was more involved, like Laken thinks. And if that’s the case, Walt Marlow wouldn’t want his family’s reputation tarnished. He’s some big-shot author now.”

  Located off the major section of the library, the meeting room slowly filled with people. Members of the book club had arranged rows of folding chairs for those attending today’s presentation. Walt stood silently behind the podium at the head of the room. Danielle took a seat in the back row, enabling her to better see those entering the room. Walt flashed her a smile before looking back to the open doorway, watching book club members and their guests trickle in.

  Among the early arrivals were two young women; Walt guessed they were a few years younger than Danielle. One looked directly at him. Walt couldn’t help but stare. She looked eerily familiar, as if he knew her. But that was not possible. Since moving to this side, there were only a handful of black people he had encountered, and she was not one of them. She whispered something to her companion, who looked his way. The pair took a seat in the front row.

  Walt glanced away from the familiar-looking woman and told himself he must have seen someone who looked like her on television. He watched as the chairs filled. The meeting started at the scheduled time, beginning with the president of the book club introducing Walt to the group. Walt discussed the writing of Moon Runners, its publishing path, and the movie deal that had fallen apart. When he finished his presentation, he took questions.

  After Walt answered about six questions, the familiar-looking woman raised her hand. Walt called on her.

  “What was your inspiration for Moon Runners?” she asked.

  “I’m interested in local history, and I always found that era intriguing, so I started researching that time period, and the story idea came to me.”

  “Are you saying you based the story on actual events?” she asked.

  “Only in the sense the backdrop to the story was prohibition and bootlegging, which occurred during that era, and inspired my storyline.”

  Her friend raised her hand, and he called on her. “Earlier when someone asked if you ever got your memory back from your accident, you said you hadn’t. So, when you say you were always interested in that era, I have to assume you meant since you settled in Frederickport two years ago. Was this interest triggered by something you happened upon when you moved here. Perchance a diary of the original Walt Marlow or his letters?” she asked.

  Walt stared at her a moment before saying, “As far as I’m aware, Walt Marlow didn’t leave a diary behind. I’ve never seen any of his letters, and I’m unaware of any the local museum might have.”

  “So the story was completely from your imagination?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Walt said.

  “He’s lying,” Kiara told her cousin when they left the library later that morning.

  “Maybe Laken is right,” Raven said.

  Seven

  “You lied to those women,” Danielle teased after she settled in the passenger seat of the Packard and watched Walt take his place on the driver’s side. He closed the car door. Removing his fedora hat, Walt tossed it in the back seat and looked her way. “I couldn’t very well tell them an actual life event inspired the plot. It would be different if there was some record of what happened back then—but there isn’t. I looked.”

  “Not that. I meant when you said there were no letters. I have the letters Marie gave me that you wrote to her father, remember?”

  “I forgot about those. But they included nothing that would have inspired Moon Runners.”

  “Aside from lying to those women, I thought you did an outstanding job,” Danielle said cheerfully.

  “The one who asked me what inspired Moon Runners, I could swear I know her. I understand that’s impossible, but there is something so eerily familiar about her.”

  “It’s probably because you saw her the other night,” Danielle suggested.

  “I did?” Walt asked.

  “At Pearl Cove. She walked by our table, looked right at us.”

  “I don’t remember seeing her,” Walt said.

  “From what I recall, you were arguing with Chris about something at the time. But you must have seen her. You just said she looked familiar.”

  Walt frowned. “She does. But I don’t recall seeing her at Pearl Cove. Have you seen her before Pearl Cove?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. At least, not that I can remember.”

  “Perhaps
she’s on television,” Walt suggested.

  “Or you knew her from another life?”

  Walt chuckled. “Entirely possible.”

  “Aside from getting frustrated trying to place her—personally, I hate when that happens—did you have a good time?”

  “Yes. It was a friendly group. And I’ll admit I enjoyed that more than sitting down with a professional interviewer. It’s interesting to hear what my readers are thinking.”

  “They were sure eager to hear more about your next book. But you didn’t give them much.”

  “I don’t like discussing a work in progress with strangers,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “I wonder, if I’m interviewed in ten years, will someone still be asking me if my memory came back?” Walt asked.

  “Amnesia has always been one of those…sexy ailments.”

  “Sexy?” Walt frowned.

  “I guess sexy is probably the wrong word. But it was a favorite in the soap opera world. Mom used to watch them. There always seemed to be someone who had amnesia, a handy plot device, and later, when I was older, I realized I had never known anyone who ever had amnesia. I still don’t.”

  Walt glanced at his watch. “We’d better get going. Edward will be waiting for us.”

  When Walt and Danielle walked into Lucy’s Diner fifteen minutes later, they found Police Chief Edward MacDonald already sitting at a booth, with a glass of iced tea sitting on the table before him and a menu in his hands. When he noticed them, he closed the menu, set it on the table, and stood up, extending a handshake to Walt and a quick hug to Danielle.

  “Looks like Hawaii agreed with you,” the chief said after they all took a seat in the booth.

  “It was wonderful, but good to get home,” Danielle said.

  “Even after learning someone broke into your house and what the dogs found in front of Lily and Ian’s last night?” the chief asked.