by Bobbi Holmes
Walt looked at the cellphone Danielle had just set on the table. He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“That’s one thing I can’t get used to,” Walt said.
“What’s that?”
“People today always have their phones with them. When we had our first telephone installed, I never imagined they would not only be cordless one day, but something we carried around with us. People today are tethered to their phones with an invisible cord. I can understand cellphones when we’re away from the house. But we have a landline. Why do you bother carrying that thing around with you when we’re home?”
“No one calls me on the landline.”
They’d finished their lunch by the time the chief arrived. Danielle had removed their plates, refilled their glasses with tea, and prepared a third glass for the chief. She had also filled a plate with brownies, which she had brought outside with her. The plate of brownies and extra glass of tea was already on the patio table when the chief sat down.
“Any news on who broke in here?” Walt asked the chief.
“Sorry, we don’t have any leads. Whoever took the bikes wiped them down before they dumped them. There were no prints. We found a few people who saw the pair riding the bikes between Marlow House and where they ended up. But the riders wore hoodies and sunglasses, and none of the witnesses could say for sure if they were male, female, or even white. But that’s not why I’m here. We got the DNA results back on the remains found on the beach.”
“Were there any matches?” Danielle asked excitedly.
“Yes, but not one I expected,” the chief said.
“Well?” Danielle asked.
“Whoever it was, they were related to Earl Barr,” the chief said.
“Beau Stewart’s cousin?” Walt asked.
“Yes,” the chief said.
“What side of the family? Are the remains also related to Beau Stewart?” Danielle asked.
The chief shrugged. “I don’t know, since we didn’t find any DNA matches on any of the genealogy sites. It was a match to DNA from Barr, and it’s possible it could have come from the other side of his family.”
“How did you have Earl’s DNA?” Danielle asked.
“A few years back, one of his neighbors went to his house and claimed someone attacked him from behind. They had been feuding for some time. The neighbor got knocked out, and when he woke up, he was alone, and certain Earl had attacked him. He called the police, pressed charges on Earl, who claimed he hadn’t been home at the time. Earl offered to take a DNA test, said whoever beat up his neighbor probably left behind some DNA.”
“I assume they didn’t find Earl’s DNA on the neighbor?”
“They didn’t. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily prove Earl didn’t attack him. But they dropped the charges, not just because of the DNA tests, but someone came forward and claimed to have seen Earl around the time it took place.”
“And you never found out who attacked the neighbor?” Danielle asked.
“No. But to be honest, I wouldn’t have put it past the neighbor to have made the story up. He had a reputation in town. Fortunately, he moved a while back.”
“Now what?” Walt asked. “Whoever he was, someone murdered him.”
“I was hoping to get Beau Stewart to give a DNA test, to narrow the search,” the chief said.
“And it’s entirely possible that even if Stewart is related to the victim, it won’t show in the DNA results, since a parent doesn’t pass down a hundred percent of their DNA,” Danielle noted.
“True. But at the moment it doesn’t matter anyway. I stopped by their rental house, and no one was there. According to a neighbor, the entire family is in Portland for the weekend,” the chief said.
“What about those burlap bags?” Danielle asked. “Someone dumped those bones in the ocean, and you said yourself, if you find out who bought one of those bags, you should be able to figure out who dumped them.”
“All that bag can tell us, whoever put those bones in it did it recently. It’s not something someone found sitting in an old barn, maybe even discarded without the person knowing what was inside. No. Whoever put those remains in that bag did it fairly recently. Unfortunately, we learned Toynette from the nursery bought dozens of them and gave them away in an ad promotion. She didn’t keep track of who took them.”
The three sat quietly at the table, each silently processing what they had just discussed. Finally, Danielle said, “That link between Wilbur and the Porters just got stronger. We suspect Wilbur was the Jenkins who sold Beau Porter all that land—which Beau Stewart now owns. And for some reason, Wilbur’s ghost is following around the remains of someone related to Beau’s cousin and probably to Beau too. But does any of this have anything to do with our problem?”
Walt looked at the chief and said, “Raven King stopped by earlier.” Walt then told the chief about the recording they had listened to, and what Raven had said.
“You have no idea who may have murdered this Charlene?” the chief asked.
“I didn’t even realize she had been murdered. Not sure I’m even convinced she was. And I’ll say, I find myself somewhat offended that Desiree would entertain the thought I would ever hurt her sister. I thought we were friends,” Walt said.
“Don’t take it too personally. I keep thinking of Roots,” Danielle said.
Walt looked at Danielle and frowned. “Roots?”
“It was a TV mini-series from the seventies based on Alex Haley’s book Roots. My parents rented it back when people rented movies on tape, before Netflix. They called it an American family saga, a black American family. It told the story of Alex Haley’s ancestor, brought to this country as a slave, and about his descendants. According to my dad, when it first aired on television, it was a huge hit. One scene I remember makes me think of Desiree and her line of thinking.”
Danielle paused a moment. Walt gave her a nod and said, “Go on.”
“One of the black characters grew up with the master’s daughter. As children they were playmates, best friends. But as they got older and became adults, the true dynamics of their relationship became painfully clear. The white woman held the power of life and death over her childhood playmate. Friendship had been nothing more than a convenient illusion. In the scene I remember, when the white woman wasn’t looking, the black woman spit in her drink.”
“And you’re suggesting Desiree may have seen me in the same light as the slave saw the master who she had once believed was her friend?” Walt asked.
Danielle nodded. “Pretty much.”
On Friday evening, the Beach Drive friends gathered for a dinner of Chinese takeout, Ian and Lily’s treat. Also in attendance were the spirits of Eva Thorndike and Marie Nichols. They gathered in the living room to share recent updates.
Marie held baby Connor in her arms, walking him around the room. From Ian and Lily’s perspective, their son flew effortlessly around the room like a baby Superman minus the cape.
“About Wilbur…” Ian looked at Danielle. “You were right, he was the same Jenkins who sold that land to Beau Porter. I did a little digging today. I also found where a W. Jenkins booked travel to Australia during that time—and it appears he was on that ship.”
“If old Wilbur really went to Australia,” Heather said, “I suppose it’s possible he died over there and his confused spirit tried to find his way home, so he crossed the ocean again and ended up in front of Lily and Ian’s house.”
“And the bag of remains he wanted to find?” Danielle asked.
Heather shrugged. “Maybe the murdered guy was an old friend of his, and he recognized him when he got back to Oregon and wanted to hang out.”
Danielle rolled her eyes but did not respond.
“I hate to say this,” Eva said. “I considered both Desiree and Charlene my friends, but their great-grandchildren may be the ones who broke in here and held Danielle at gunpoint. They’re the only ones who have repeatedly asked abou
t a diary.”
Walt let out a sigh. “While I can’t understand why they would want to destroy the diary, I’m afraid Eva has a point.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t so much about destroying the diary they wanted to do, but kill you,” Chris suggested.
“Why kill me?” Walt asked with a frown.
“If they honestly believe you—or who they believe is your distant cousin—was responsible for the deaths of Charlene and Rosie, they could see it as avenging their deaths. Getting back at the last living known relative of Walt Marlow. The one who not only shares his name, but his looks, and someone who in their mind is profiting by those deaths by writing Moon Runners.”
“That’s a chilling thought,” Danielle said.
“Then there is only one thing we can do,” Marie announced, still holding Connor.
“What’s that?” Danielle asked.
“If the Kings broke in here—twice—then I have to assume they’ll be discussing all this amongst themselves. I need to spend time with them, see what they’re saying. And if it is them, we can find out what they plan to do next,” Marie said.
“Excellent idea,” Eva agreed. “You go now. I’ll stay here and monitor things while Walt and Danielle are sleeping, in case it’s not the Kings. And in the morning, I’ll go down to the cemetery, see if anyone has heard anything.”
Thirty-One
A wet, cold nose rubbed against her right cheek. Stray cat hair tickled her nostrils, making them twitch. Something warm and soft nudged her forehead, and then she heard the purring. Sleepily opening her eyes, Danielle looked into Max’s face, inches from hers.
“Good morning to you too,” she said sleepily, gently reaching up to both pet the cat and push him away so she could sit up. When she did, she glanced over and noticed Walt’s side of the bed was empty.
Max jumped off the mattress and sauntered from the room in true panther fashion. Now sitting up in bed, alone in the room, Danielle reached for the nightstand and picked up her cellphone. She looked at the time. It was almost nine thirty. She had slept in.
When Danielle walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Walt handed her a cup of coffee.
“Did you send Max upstairs to wake me?” she asked, taking the coffee and sitting down at the kitchen table.
“Guilty. I went to wake you myself about an hour ago,” Walt said as he joined Danielle at the table. “But you were sleeping so soundly, I felt you needed your rest. But I didn’t think you’d want to sleep until noon, so I eventually sent up Max.”
“I can’t believe I slept so long.” Glancing around, she asked, “Is Eva still here?”
“No, she left over an hour ago. She’s checking on Marie and then going to the cemetery to see if anyone knows anything.”
Danielle sipped her coffee and said, “We should conduct our own ghost interview.”
Walt arched his brow. “What do you have in mind?”
“It may have absolutely nothing to do with the people looking for a diary, but I keep thinking about Wilbur and his preoccupation with those skeletal remains. Ian verified the connection between Wilbur and Beauregard Porter. So it goes to reason, that if those remains are related to Earl, it’s probably from the Porter side of the family.”
“According to my grandfather, Beauregard Porter lost all his family during the war, which was one reason he settled here. If true, unless an unknown cousin of his showed up later, then those remains would have to be a descendant of his,” Walt said.
“And he only had two sons?” Danielle asked.
“Only two that survived to adulthood. Beau Junior and Ambrose. Beau left Frederickport before my death. As for Ambrose, I don’t know what happened to him. I never came across anything when researching for Moon Runners. And then there is Baxter Porter.”
“That was Ambrose’s son?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. Which, if my calculations are correct, would be Earl Barr and Beau Stewart’s grandfather,” Walt said.
“And since neither one has the Porter surname, I have to assume Baxter had two daughters,” Danielle said. “From what we learned, it appears they divided the Porter estate between Earl and Stewart, which leads me to think Baxter had no other children.”
“Or just no surviving children,” Walt suggested. “It’s possible Baxter had a murdered son, one who died in adulthood leaving no heirs, and that’s the owner of those remains.”
“I think we should go out to the Barr place,” Danielle said.
“Why would we do that?”
“According to Carla, that place is haunted. If those remains belong to a Porter, and someone murdered him, that’s probably who’s doing the haunting.”
“Those remains are the chief’s problem, not ours,” Walt reminded her.
“True. But according to him, the Stewarts left for the weekend. And we know, according to Millie, they haven’t hired workmen, so there shouldn’t be anyone out there. What would it hurt to have a look around? And maybe we can at least solve one mystery. And you might know the ghost, and he could help solve our problem.”
“Are you certain there would be no harm?” Walt asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember what the chief said about Barr’s neighbor?” Walt reminded her. “Have you considered the attacker came from the spirit realm? Even Eva says she avoids that place.”
Danielle considered Walt’s suggestion for a moment before saying, “Eva never said she avoided the Porter property for fear of spirits hurting her. Remember, the universe won’t allow a spirit to hurt an innocent. Plus, the chief said the neighbor could have made the entire thing up.”
“Which could also mean the neighbor wasn’t an innocent, and perhaps whoever haunts the place attacked him,” Walt said.
“True.”
“And if Ambrose was the one who got himself murdered and his spirit haunts his old home, I don’t think he’ll be much help. We didn’t exactly get along.”
“Yes, but spirits who haunt one place are typically confused and lost. And once they understand what’s happening, they can be grateful and helpful. It’s worth a shot.”
“Fine, but I should go alone. You stay here,” Walt said.
Danielle frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I can’t protect you from a spirit,” Walt said seriously.
“Are you suggesting I’m not an innocent?”
They took Danielle’s car instead of the Packard, and Danielle drove. Once Earl Barr’s property, and several generations earlier Beau Porter’s, the two acres on the edge of town were surrounded primarily by pastureland.
Instead of traveling the main road leading to the front entrance of the property, Danielle took the back way. No homes lined the rarely traveled dirt road. Driving down the lane, they spied elk grazing and off in the far distance an occasional house.
Danielle parked along what had once been the west property line near the rear section of the Porter property. They got out of the car and looked around. Other than the elk, they spied no signs of life. Overhead, the morning breeze rustled leaves from the trees lining the desolate section of road. Walt recognized the rear of the Porter property immediately, including one outbuilding some three hundred feet from the road.
“I can’t believe that’s still standing,” Walt said as he and Danielle approached the weathered structure a few minutes later. Its siding resembled a patchwork quilt of recycled materials—warped paneling, sheets of tin, and sheetrock. A rickety wooden fence wrapped around three of the building’s four sides.
“Is that a storage shed?” Danielle asked.
“It’s where Porter used to keep his hogs,” he told her.
“Lovely,” she said dryly.
Just as they walked around the outbuilding, bringing into view its north-facing wall and the portion of fencing surrounding it, Danielle reached out and grabbed Walt’s wrist, bringing him to a stop.
“We’re not alone,” Danielle whispered.
A woman, clad in
a long blue gingham dress, sat on a portion of the outbuilding’s fence, her back to Danielle and Walt, and her long yellow hair draped past her shoulders, fluttering in the breeze. Danielle assumed this was one of the Stewarts’ neighbors, and she would rather the woman not tell the Stewarts they had been snooping around.
Walt backed up with Danielle when the woman turned and looked at him. It was then Danielle noticed the red handkerchief wrapped around the woman’s neck. The woman cocked her head, staring intently at Walt. Without saying a word, she jumped down off the fence and slowly approached him, paying no attention to Danielle.
As the woman grew near, Danielle realized this was not a woman, more a girl, a teenager. When the stranger was about ten feet from Walt and Danielle, she broke into a smile and said, “Walt Marlow, that really is you, isn’t it?”
“Dolly?” Walt choked out.
With a frown, Danielle looked from the teenager to Walt. “You know each other?”
“Um…yes…this is Dolly Porter, Ambrose’s wife. Dolly, this is my wife, Danielle.”
Danielle’s eyes widened. No, it was not a woman, nor was it a teenager. Dolly was obviously a ghost.
Dolly glanced behind her nervously. She looked back to the pair.
“You never liked Ambrose, did you?” Dolly asked in a whisper.
“We didn’t really get along,” Walt confessed.
“Then help me, please!” Dolly begged.
“Help you how?” Walt asked.
“I need to get away from here before they come looking for me!” Dolly reached nervously for the scarf. Looking behind her for a moment and then back to Walt, the scarf disappeared, revealing angry red marks wrapped around Dolly’s neck.
Walt started to say something, but Dolly looked behind her again, as if panicked, let out a scream, and vanished.
“Oh my,” Danielle said, glancing around for any sign of the apparition. “I have a horrible feeling. I don’t think poor Dolly ran away.”
“One of them killed her,” Walt said. “I wonder which one it was, Ambrose or his father. I wouldn’t put it past either of them.”