Haunting Danielle 25 The Ghost of a Memory

by Bobbi Holmes

  “Officer Henderson, is something wrong?” She glanced over to the Marlows’. Whenever something was wrong in the neighborhood, it typically originated at her neighbor’s house.

  “Did you see anyone around Marlow House in the last hour?” Brian asked.

  Pearl stepped out onto the front porch with Brian and closed the door behind her. Standing on her tiptoes, she looked over to her neighbor’s again and asked, “What did they do now?”

  “Someone broke into Marlow House.”

  She looked back to Brian, her eyes wide. “Really? What did they take?”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “You know, if they wouldn’t be so free with opening their home for just anyone to poke around, these things would not happen. I bet it was someone who was there yesterday, casing the place,” Pearl said.

  “Did you see anyone?” he repeated.

  Pearl considered the question for a moment and said, “I saw Walt Marlow. He left and then returned about thirty minutes ago. I think he was gone about twenty minutes. And there was that motorcycle that flew by here about ten minutes before he got back. You really need to do something about that. Someone will get hurt the way they race around here.”

  “Did the motorcycle stop at the Marlows’?”

  Pearl frowned at Brian. “No. Why would you think that? I just said it flew down the street.”

  Brian glanced at the open notepad in his hands, took a deep breath, looked back at Pearl, and asked, “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Yes. I was just about to tell you. Two on bicycles. I saw them leaving out the back door at the same time that motorcycle raced by.”

  “Can you identify them?” he asked.

  “They were wearing dark clothes, and each wore one of those hoodie jackets. But I wasn’t able to see their faces, and I’m not sure if they were men or women. Before I got a good look, that motorcycle raced by, and when I looked back, I saw them riding off on two bicycles.”

  “Did she see anything?” Joe asked when Brian got into the squad car five minutes later. He had stayed in the vehicle to take a phone call while Brian had talked to Pearl.

  “She saw two people leave the house right before Walt got back from the store. She couldn’t identify them other than they wore dark clothes and hoodies. They left out the kitchen door. Sounds like they took off down the alley on two ten-speeds, the way she described them. She told me people wouldn’t be breaking into their house if they didn’t keep opening it to the public so anyone could case the place.”

  “I have to agree with Pearl,” Joe said.

  Twenty-Seven

  The pair raced into the driveway, almost plowing him down with the bicycles. He jumped out of their way and let out a curse as they slammed the brakes to a sudden stop, the tires making a squealing sound and leaving behind two black streaks on the driveway. They hastily tossed the bikes into the bushes, concealing them from view.

  “What happened to you two? And where did you get those bikes?” He looked them up and down with a disapproving frown.

  The taller one glanced over his shoulder to the street and said, “We can’t talk out here.”

  “You don’t expect to come into my house like that?”

  “We got into the safe at Marlow House,” the shorter one said in a quiet voice.

  The man studied the pair through narrowed eyes. “Okay, but wash up first. I’ll meet you in the dining room. And take your shoes off before you go in the house.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the pair joined him in the dining room. He sat at the table, waiting.

  “Where did you get those bikes?” he asked.

  “Stole them,” the taller one said with a grin.

  “I hope no one saw you,” he snapped.

  “No one saw us take them. And you didn’t want us to take our car—or yours. We weren’t going to risk parking by their house again.”

  “And you got in the safe?” he asked.

  “We did,” the taller one said with a grin.

  “How did you do that?”

  The taller one pulled a gun from his pocket and set it on the table. The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun. “Tell me you didn’t shoot someone? Rather defeats the purpose.”

  “We didn’t have to. Danielle Marlow was most cooperative,” the shorter one said.

  “And the diary?” the man asked.

  “It was just as we thought, it was in the safe, but it wasn’t a diary,” the taller one said.

  “What do you mean?”

  The shorter one set a bundle of envelopes on the table.

  The man hadn’t noticed them before. He frowned at the crumpled stack and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Letters. Letters written by the original Walt Marlow.”

  “What happened to them?” he asked.

  “That’s another story…”

  On Friday morning, Chris sat with Walt and Danielle in Police Chief MacDonald’s office. Chris had stayed up late Thursday night, going through the videos captured by the security cameras during the open house charity event.

  “When putting together the video to take to the Kings, I just looked for clips of them. Once I’d found them, I moved on to the footage from another room. Last night I looked through all the security footage taken in the room with the safe.”

  “Did you find anyone else who looked at the safe behind the painting?” MacDonald asked.

  “I did,” Chris said.

  “Who was it?” MacDonald asked.

  “Practically everyone,” Chris answered.

  The chief frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “It seems the safe is no longer a secret—like the hidden staircase,” Danielle said.

  The chief looked questioningly to Danielle but did not comment.

  “My guess,” Chris began, “someone noticed that safe early on and must have told someone and the word spread. When people came up for the later tours, they were looking to see the safe, like they wanted to see the hidden staircase and the entrance to the tunnels.”

  “People lingered in that room, but I didn’t realize they were looking for the safe,” Walt said.

  “I thought Marie was helping to keep an eye on people when they were alone in a room?” the chief asked.

  “She didn’t stay in one place, and we figured our burglars would focus more on our bedroom, where Walt has his desk, or the library or parlor. Places where they might think we’d keep the diary. To be honest, I didn’t give the safe much thought. We rarely open it. And frankly, when that person had a gun on me, I was praying I would remember the safe’s combination,” Danielle confessed.

  “Whoever it is, they will be back,” Walt said. “Once they read those letters and realize there’s nothing in them.”

  “I did make a point about how you used those letters when writing your book, and how Walt hadn’t kept a diary,” Danielle said.

  Walt looked at his wife and said, “I don’t remember what was in the letters, but considering when I wrote them, I don’t imagine they’ll find anything that was in Moon Runners. They’ll be back. Maybe they’ll believe there’s no diary, but I imagine after they read the letters, they’ll assume there are more letters—some that I didn’t return to the safe.”

  Danielle groaned. “I didn’t consider that. But I did think about something else.”

  “What’s that?” Walt asked.

  “I was hoping they would take the letters and just go away. But what happens if they’re caught with them?” she asked.

  “Isn’t that what we want?” MacDonald asked.

  “When that gun was pointed at me and I remembered what was in the safe, I thought maybe those letters might be an unexpected blessing. But then, after they took them, I thought, what if they’re caught and the wrong person sees them and recognizes how similar the handwriting is to Walt’s.”

  Walt studied his wife a moment, smiled, and then said, “You’re overthinking everything. I could always say I copied the original letters for some
reason or wrote them in the first place.”

  Danielle frowned at Walt. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “You would have,” Walt said.

  “But we didn’t tell Brian and Joe the burglars took copies,” Danielle argued.

  “Let’s worry about that later,” the chief said. “Brian talked with your neighbor, Pearl. She saw two people leaving out your back door and out through the alley. They got on a pair of bicycles, a red one and a blue one.”

  “While I find it disturbing Pearl’s looking in our side yard—she must stand upstairs and peep, probably with binoculars—it might help catch these guys,” Danielle suggested.

  “I don’t think it will help,” the chief said, “Her description of the pair wasn’t much different from yours. Except they had hoodies instead of ski masks, and she didn’t see their faces.”

  “But the bikes. That could be a good lead,” Danielle said.

  “We got a call last night about two bikes being stolen—a red one and a blue one,” the chief said.

  “Then you need to catch them with the stolen bikes before they dump them,” Danielle insisted.

  “Too late. We found them this morning, abandoned in some bushes,” the chief told her.

  “Any chance someone’s security camera caught someone dumping them?”

  The chief shook his head. “We’ve already checked. Nothing.”

  Danielle sat in the passenger seat of the Packard with Walt in front of the police station. Chris had just driven away in his car, heading home. She looked at Walt and asked, “If you were so concerned about a diary someone had written decades earlier, where would you look?”

  “With their family, I suppose. Why?”

  “Where else?” Danielle said. “If you’re a historian and coming to Frederickport to write about this area or a person from this area, where would you go?”

  “Are you suggesting the people who broke in are historians?” he teased.

  Danielle rolled her eyes and said, “Please, just humor me.”

  He considered the question a moment and said, “The local library, the museum, if they have a genealogy society…”

  “And if there was already a display at the local museum, wouldn’t you go there first?”

  “What are you getting at?” Walt asked.

  “I was just thinking. These people—whoever they are—why would they assume the information you drew from was a diary or letters you had in your possession? Wouldn’t it make more sense that they would first assume you found this information when you were doing research? And if you can’t find it online, then at the local museum—especially since that person whose diary you want is featured at the museum with his family. Hell, his portrait is even there.”

  “His portrait? You are talking about me, you know,” he said with a grin.

  “Come on, Walt, you know what I mean,” she said impatiently.

  Walt reached out and gently brushed his fingertips along the side of her face. “Settle down, love. I’m teasing. We need to keep our sense of humor.”

  “It didn’t feel hilarious yesterday, with a gun pointed at me,” she grumbled.

  Walt leaned over and kissed her nose. “I’m sorry. I hate to see you so upset. But I’m taking this seriously. Go on.”

  Danielle let out a sigh and said, “I know you are. My point being—and I suppose I should have gotten to it instead of wanting you to figure out what I’m thinking.”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” he said with a chuckle.

  “If I’m looking for a diary written almost a hundred years ago, one of the first places I would look would be the museum. As far as they know, you arrived in town a couple of years ago, and I’ve only lived in Marlow House for a little over four years. Why assume Walt Marlow’s diary would be in our possession, or any letters?”

  “You think they asked at the museum?”

  “Yes! Exactly. I think we should go to the museum, see if anyone has been down there in the last few months, asking about any diary or letters they have from Walt Marlow. It’s common knowledge there’s an entire storage room filled with documents and memorabilia from the area not on display,” Danielle said.

  Docent Millie Samson greeted Walt and Danielle when they walked into the museum late Friday morning. The elderly woman told them both how much she had enjoyed her time at Marlow House on Wednesday.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Danielle said. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”

  “Why, certainly,” Millie said. She stood with them in the museum’s entry hall.

  “A while back someone asked me if we had any letters or a diary that Walt Marlow left behind.” She glanced briefly at her husband and then to Millie and smiled. “The original Walt Marlow, of course. They said they had checked the museum first, but you didn’t have any. I’m trying to remember who that was, but I’m drawing a blank. Do you remember anyone asking?”

  “Actually, I do. Several people. A couple of young women came in here about a month ago.” Millie glanced around and whispered, “They were black.”

  “Anyone else?” Danielle asked.

  “There was Ruby,” Millie said.

  “Ruby Crabtree, from the Seahorse Motel?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes. I think it was for some historical display.” Millie lowered her voice again and said, “I think you gave her that idea when you had the B and B. Your website and brochures you’d hand out on local history, I think she’s trying to do something like that for the motel.”

  “Anyone else?” Danielle asked.

  “None of those rings a bell yet?” Millie asked.

  Danielle shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s all who asked me. But someone might have asked one of the other docents.”

  Danielle glanced briefly to Walt, who flashed her a sympathetic smile.

  “Oh, wait, there was someone else. The Barr girls,” Millie said.

  “Barr girls?” Danielle asked.

  “I believe we discussed them the last time you were in the museum. They were in town recently to put their father in a nursing home and, while in town, stopped by the museum.”

  “And they asked about a Marlow diary?” Danielle asked.

  Twenty-Eight

  Walt and Danielle followed Millie Samson into the museum gift store as they talked to her. She made her way behind the counter so she could finish affixing price tags to a stack of new souvenir coloring books while she answered their question.

  “It wasn’t as if they came in the museum and asked if we had Walt Marlow’s diary,” Millie explained, now standing behind the counter, facing Walt and Danielle. “They had just finished reading Moon Runners, and they wondered if Walt based his story on true events. So they came here, asking what reference material Walt used when writing his book. I’m the one who suggested it was possible Walt used some information Danielle had gathered on local history. Considering the discoveries over at Marlow House since you arrived—the Missing Thorndike, the staircase and tunnel, it would be entirely possible you came across some old Marlow diary or ledger.”

  “Was there anything in particular about my book they were curious about?” Walt asked.

  Millie considered the question and said, “Yes, there was.” Millie looked at Danielle and asked, “You don’t know Earl, do you?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No, why?”

  “He was always a private man,” Millie explained. “Kept to himself. When his daughters were here, asking about any of the reference material we had on hand, they told me Earl never talked about his family or past. As you know, Earl has Alzheimer’s; that’s why they put him in that place. It’s not uncommon for someone who has Alzheimer’s forgetting people around them yet remembering things from the distant past. Apparently, Earl began talking about his childhood and how his grandfather had been a bootlegger. It made the girls curious about local moonshining in the area, especially after reading Walt’s book.”

  “I wo
nder if they were close to their Stewart cousins,” Danielle asked, speaking more to herself than expecting an answer from Millie.

  “Why do you wonder that?” Millie asked.

  Danielle shrugged. “Colorful stories of grandparents typically get passed around in families. If Earl’s daughters never heard those stories, either Beau or his parents didn’t retell them either, or the cousins weren’t close. Even though my cousin Cheryl and I had our issues, as kids growing up, we talked about our families.”

  “I have no idea what stories Beau Stewart knows,” Millie said. “But they weren’t close. In fact, according to Earl’s oldest, they had only met him once over the years, never his children or wife, although he kept in regular contact with Earl. She said her father didn’t hide the fact he wasn’t fond of his cousin and didn’t want them associating with him or his family. Which is why the girls were so resistant to Earl selling the property to him and insisted they list it. They figured, if Earl had been in his right mind, he would never have sold the land to Beau.”

  “I wonder why he had such an issue with his cousin?” Walt asked.

  “Frankly, I think it was Earl. I told you he is an odd man, and not very nice to his wife. I give those daughters of his credit for trying to do the right thing, especially since it’s clear they have issues with him. In my opinion, any concern they’re showing Earl comes from a sense of obligation, not love. I also think it’s such a shame Earl discouraged them from getting to know their cousins.”

  “Do you know them?” Danielle asked.

  “I can’t say we’re friends or that I really know them, at least not well. But I met them at your house on Wednesday. Had a lovely conversation with Beau and his wife. Such friendly people. So different from Earl. I also talked a bit with their son and daughter. Polite and intelligent young people. A wonderful addition to our community.”

  “I understand Frederickport will just be their vacation home,” Danielle said.

  Millie nodded. “Yes, they mentioned that. But, who knows, they could end up moving here full time. He promised to come in and join the historical society. Did you know fixing up the old Barr place is a family project?”