Haunting Danielle 27 The Ghost and the Mountain Man

by Bobbi Holmes

  “How can you say that?” Kelly asked, her voice getting higher in pitch. “The woman is clearly unstable and prone to violent outbursts. What happens when Connor does something that makes her mad, like spills a glass of milk or refuses to take a nap?”

  “Heather is wonderful with Connor,” Lily insisted.

  “You have no idea what she does when you aren’t here,” Kelly said.

  “I appreciate your concern, Kelly. But Connor is my son, and I think I know what is best for him.”

  “He’s my nephew,” Kelly snapped.

  Lily arched her brows. “And?”

  “He’s Ian’s son too.”

  “Obviously.” Lily glanced toward the hallway, wondering when her husband would come and save her from this conversation with his sister.

  “I would think Ian would have some say in who watches his son,” Kelly said.

  “Of course he does. But he agrees with me,” Lily said.

  “I can’t imagine that. Heather attacked Ginny Thomas and could have killed her.”

  “I heard she didn’t have a scratch on her,” Lily said.

  “That’s only because Heather has lousy aim,” Kelly said.

  “I don’t know about that. Have you ever seen her throw a ball or a Frisbee?” Lily asked.

  “This isn’t funny,” Kelly snapped.

  “Actually, I was serious. And Heather isn’t dangerous.”

  “Lily, must you be so stubborn?” Kelly asked. “I’m only thinking of what’s best for my nephew.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Ian asked when he stepped into the kitchen.

  “Where’s Connor?” Lily asked.

  “He’s playing with some toys in his bedroom. What’s going on in here? I could hear you two from Connor’s room,” Ian said.

  Kelly turned to her brother. “It’s your wife. She’s not being reasonable.”

  Frowning—and looking ill at ease—Ian glanced from his sister to his wife.

  “She doesn’t want us to let Heather watch Connor anymore,” Lily told him.

  “Why?” Ian asked.

  “What do you mean, why?” Kelly asked her brother. “I told you what Heather did.”

  “None of us were there. It’s hearsay,” Ian said.

  “Are you suggesting Ginny is lying?” Kelly asked.

  “No. I’m just saying that sometimes we don’t know the whole story,” Ian said calmly.

  “If it were my son, I wouldn’t need to know more,” Kelly snapped.

  “But he isn’t your son,” Lily reminded her.

  Frustrated, Kelly looked from Lily to her brother and asked, “What is Mom going to say?”

  “Mom?” Ian frowned.

  “Yes. When I tell her what Heather did, and then let her know she’s someone you leave alone with her grandson,” Kelly asked.

  “Do not tell Mom,” Ian warned.

  “Why?” Kelly snapped, no longer sitting at the breakfast bar, but standing, her fists resting on her hips.

  Unbeknownst to the three people arguing in the kitchen, the spirit of Marie Nichols entered the outside wall into the nursery and was just greeting Connor when she heard raised voices coming from the open door.

  “I’ll be right back, Connor,” Marie told the boy as she moved from the nursery to the kitchen. She found Kelly arguing with Ian and Lily about Heather babysitting Connor.

  “Oh my, if Heather can’t babysit, then I doubt Lily and Ian will feel comfortable letting me watch him,” Marie muttered to herself, knowing they couldn’t risk someone like Kelly stopping by and finding Connor seemingly alone. “Why doesn’t Kelly want Heather to watch him?”

  Over the next few minutes Marie learned the answer to the question when Kelly repeated the conversation she had already had with her brother regarding the events at the museum between Ginny and Heather.

  “Heather attacked someone? No. That can’t be true,” Marie said aloud. Yet there were no mediums in the room to hear.

  She listened a few more minutes and then realized, by Ian’s and Lily’s expressions, there was more to this story. Another ghost? she wondered. Marie knew Eva had seen Bud, but there had been no mention he could harness energy.

  “There are some things you just don’t understand,” Ian told his sister.

  Deciding to illustrate Ian’s point, Marie focused her energy on a bowl sitting on the counter. Lily stood with her back to the bowl, while it was out of Ian’s line of sight. Only Kelly could see it. The next moment it rose into the air, hovering for a moment.

  Kelly didn’t notice it at first, but when she did, she stopped talking and simply stared. When Lily turned to see what her sister-in-law was looking at, the bowl had already floated back down to the counter.

  Kelly licked her lips nervously and swallowed. “Okay,” she said, “I won’t say anything to Mom. You’re right. There are some things I don’t understand. I have to go now.” Without a word, she made a hasty exit out the front door.

  “Wow. What just happened?” Lily asked when she heard the front door close.

  “My work here is done,” Marie chirped. Instead of returning to Connor, she headed for the Glandon Foundation. She wanted to ask Heather what had happened at the museum.

  Ian groaned. “I wish I could explain things to my sister. I feel like a jerk,” he said after Marie had gone.

  “Yeah, I know.” Lily walked over to Ian and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug.

  “She only cares about Connor,” Ian whispered as he rested his chin atop Lily’s head.

  “I understand. And maybe I was too harsh with her. But still…”

  Thirty-One

  On Friday evening Danielle sat at her laptop in the parlor, taking another shot at research. Just as Walt walked into the room carrying two glasses, one filled with wine and the other with brandy, Danielle looked up and said, “I think I found him.”

  “Found who?” Walt asked, setting the glass of wine on the desk next to the laptop.

  “Ted Newsome,” Danielle said as she picked up the wine and took a sip.

  “Where?” Walt asked, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

  Danielle turned to face Walt, a glass of wine in hand. “It’s an obituary in a Portland newspaper. For a Ted Newsome, age forty-seven. If it’s him, he died the same year as you did.” She took another sip of wine.

  “It could be someone with the same name,” Walt suggested.

  “I don’t think so, since it said he was born in Frederickport. According to the obituary, he didn’t have any children. And it didn’t mention any surviving nieces and nephews, which makes sense since your Teddy was an only child. Plus, it talks about his two wives who preceded him—who happen to have the same names as Uncle Teddy’s two wives. I don’t think he remarried. And I don’t think they arrested him for pushing his second wife down the stairs.”

  “How did he die?” Walt asked.

  Danielle shrugged. “It didn’t say.”

  “Did it say what he was doing in Portland?” Walt sipped his brandy.

  Danielle turned back to the computer and brought up the article. She quickly skimmed the obituary. “It said he was a driver for Kitterman’s Laundry.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Walt said.

  “Why?”

  “George Hemming’s cousin owned Kitterman’s Laundry. I never met them, but they used to go to Portland and stay with them. George’s cousin was actually Kitterman’s wife. And George’s wife and she were pretty close. That’s who introduced George to Marie’s mother.”

  “And Ted worked for them?” Danielle asked. “Wow, small world.”

  “Knock, knock,” Marie’s voice said just before she appeared in the parlor.

  “We were just talking about you, sort of,” Danielle said.

  “I was with Heather earlier, and she told me what happened at the museum, and she said you might want to talk to me,” Marie said.

  “Yeah, that too. But we were actually talking about your Kitterman
cousins,” Danielle said.

  “Goodness, I haven’t thought about them in years. How did their name come up?” Marie asked, taking a seat on the chair next to Walt.

  “It seems the Ted Newsome Walt knew worked for Kitterman’s Laundry, according to a Portland newspaper. He died the same year as Walt.”

  “Do you know what he did for the laundry?” Marie asked.

  “Driver, why?” Danielle asked.

  “When I was a teenager, I remember one visit to the Kittermans. They had a daughter my age, Charlotte. Oh, we had so much fun. Anyway, during that visit, when our parents started talking about how 1925 had been a horrible year for all of them. For my parents, it was my father finding Walt hanging in the attic,” Marie explained.

  Walt cringed. “Please, I’d rather not think about that.”

  “Sorry, Walt,” Marie said with a shrug and then continued. “And for the Kittermans, someone murdered their driver that year. Murdered while on the job. Horrible thing. They caught who did it, and there was a trial. It was probably this Ted if he died in 1925. They only had one driver at the time.”

  “The obituary said nothing about him being murdered,” Danielle said.

  “I remember something else Charlotte’s mother told us. She once heard him bragging to one of the girls in the laundry about how he was coming into money. Some sort of inheritance. Charlotte’s mother always wondered if there really had been an inheritance, and who got it after he was killed.”

  “Who would Teddy inherit money from?” Walt wondered.

  Danielle shrugged. “Not his father?”

  “From what my grandmother told me, he didn’t have any family. His parents died before mine,” Walt said.

  They considered the question for a moment, and then Danielle suggested, “August Becker?”

  “August Becker?” Walt asked.

  “Yeah, wasn’t he Teddy’s uncle, and according to Ginny, he had a lot of money,” Danielle said.

  “Not a blood uncle,” Walt reminded her. “His wife was Teddy’s aunt. He had blood nieces and nephews to leave his money to.”

  “True, but he didn’t get along with his family,” Danielle reminded him.

  “Who’s August Becker?” Marie asked. “The name sounds a little familiar.”

  “His house used to be where Beach Taco is now,” Danielle said. “He died in 1929.”

  “I suppose there is some poetic justice there,” Walt said.

  “What do you mean?” Danielle asked.

  “If his second wife was telling us the truth, and he was responsible for my parents’ death, it sounded like his life didn’t quite work out for him. If he really believed August would leave him a substantial inheritance, he had the misfortune to die before cashing in on it.”

  “Plus, remember what Ginny told us,” Danielle said.

  “What?” Walt and Marie asked at the same time.

  “Remember, according to her grandmother, August was perpetually on his deathbed. Doctors were always at his house. Sounded like he had people believing he had one foot in the grave,” Danielle reminded.

  “Then I suppose August didn’t let Teddy know he had his feet firmly planted on this side, or I imagine he would have given him a shove like he did his second wife—and my parents and Maddie,” Walt said.

  “If someone hadn’t murdered Teddy, and if he was waiting for an inheritance from August, according to Ginny, August lost his fortune just before he died, from the stock market crash. So it looks like it was never in the cards for Teddy to inherit,” Danielle said.

  “Does any of this help you find what you’re looking for?” Marie asked.

  “Not really. But I should have the answers to those questions when we see Bud again,” Walt explained.

  “Yes, Heather told me about that. She also told me what happened at the museum with Caitlin,” Marie said.

  “We were hoping you or Eva might try helping Caitlin adjust to her reality. Help her move on. She sounds too volatile for Heather, or even for Walt and me,” Danielle said.

  “I’m going to find Eva and see if she’ll go over there with me tonight. I think it might be best if she comes too. She’s better at this sort of thing,” Marie said.

  Heather walked slowly down the grocery store aisle, paying scant attention to her surroundings as she looked down at her cellphone in her hands, her thumbs typing out a text message. She smiled when she hit send and then looked up, preparing to shove her phone in her purse, when she came to an abrupt stop. Walking in her direction was Kelly Bartley, who by her expression, had just noticed Heather.

  Irrationally believing Kelly might see her text message and learn she had just been texting with Brian, Heather shoved her phone in her purse.

  “Hello, Kelly,” Heather said hesitantly.

  “Hi,” Kelly said curtly, preparing to step around Heather and continue on her way.

  Heather stopped walking and looked at Kelly. “Can we talk, please?” Heather blurted.

  Reluctantly Kelly stopped and turned to Heather. “About what?”

  “You need to understand, I would never hurt Connor. You are his aunt, and you love him. I get that. I would feel the same way if I thought some wacko was watching my nephew. Well… if I had a nephew. But since I don’t, I would feel that way if they were watching Connor.”

  Kelly’s eyes widened. “Did Lily tell you?”

  “Lily? Um, no.”

  “Ian told you?” Kelly gasped.

  Heather cringed. Actually, Marie had told her. “No, they didn’t tell me. But, well, you know how things get around.”

  “Oh, I know. Lily told Danielle, and Danielle told you,” Kelly grumbled.

  “It doesn’t really matter. I just wanted you to know Connor is safe with me. I would never hurt him.”

  Kelly stared at Heather, withholding comment.

  “And I would never hurt your friend Ginny,” Heather added.

  “You threw things at her,” Kelly accused.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Are you saying Ginny is lying about it?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m saying Ginny is confused about what happened. But ask her this. Ask her if she actually saw me throw anything.”

  “I don’t understand.” Kelly frowned.

  “It’s a fairly simple question. Ask her if she actually saw me pick up anything and throw it at her.”

  “She saw things flying at her, but I assume she was trying to get away from you, so I don’t imagine she stood around and watched you pick stuff up.”

  “And nothing hit her?” Heather asked.

  “I guess it was lucky for Ginny that you don’t have good aim.”

  Heather arched her brows. “I don’t have good aim?”

  Before Kelly answered, Heather snatched a small bag of rice from a shelf and called out to a teenage boy who was just coming down the aisle.

  “Hey, kid, heads up!” Heather called out.

  For a moment Kelly thought Heather was going to hit her with the bag of rice, but then it sailed down the aisle, over Kelly’s head, landing in the teenage boy’s hands.

  “Wow,” the boy muttered, looking down at the bag of rice in his hands. “Good throw!”

  “Excuse me, I need to get my rice,” Heather said and then added under her breath, “Poor aim, my butt.”

  Thirty-Two

  Backing out of her driveway, Ginny Thomas glanced up at her house and didn’t notice the two women standing on her rooftop under the quarter moon, watching her. One, an elderly-looking woman wearing a floral print dress and straw hat, the other a beautiful younger woman dressed in a long gown with her hair pulled into an elegant chignon. They had arrived just moments earlier and had intended to enter the house immediately but stopped when they heard the garage door opening. They waited for her to drive away.

  It had been Eva who suggested they wait a few minutes to see if Ginny was leaving. If so, Eva reminded Marie the situation would be better handled without a non-medium lingering by, should Caitlin
decide to throw things again.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Marie agreed. “Caitlin was such a troubled girl when alive. It doesn’t appear she’s improved in death. She sounds worse. I don’t recall her having violent outbursts when alive.”

  “She’s obviously confused. But we can help her,” Eva said.

  They watched Ginny drive her car down the street and out of sight.

  “Shall we go in now?” Eva asked.

  A few minutes later, the two spirits stood in Ginny’s living room.

  “Caitlin!” Eva called out. “We’ve come to talk to you—to help you. Please show yourself!”

  Silence.

  When Caitlin did not respond, Eva and Marie moved through the house, looking for the troubled spirit. They searched every room, every closet, the basement and attic, and even went through the walls, but she was not at the house.

  Overhead, the moon cast golden light along the water’s surface. Together Caitlin and Cory sat on the end of the pier, their bare feet dangling over its side, while watching the seawater bounce and splash in a steady rhythm against the wooden pillars below.

  Caitlin’s long blond hair fell straight past her shoulders, wispy and as lifeless as herself. The plain shift she wore was the same one she’d been wearing when Cory had found her unconscious in her bedroom just minutes before her spirit had stepped from her mortal body.

  Cory’s disheveled yet clean dull brown hair spiked in random directions, the result of going to bed right after stepping from the shower. He wore just boxers, no shirt, but he wasn’t cold.

  Music played in the background, not blaring like he and Caitlin had liked to play their music, but faint and distant, as if coming from another world in a far-off place.

  Cory had just finished telling Caitlin what Carla had told them at Pier Café.

  “They found Uncle Bud’s treasure,” Caitlin said.

  “It sounds like it,” Cory agreed.

  “And they haven’t brought any down from the mountains yet?” Caitlin asked.

  “No, at least not by what Carla overheard. She said they’re going back for some on Sunday.”