“I assume you mean with you and your uncles?”
“And with Heather too,” he told her. “I asked her if she would go with me. I’d rather have you all there as a buffer. At least until I get a feel for what they really want.”
Danielle began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your uncles are going to assume Heather is your date. No offense to Heather, but I think your uncles might take an exception to someone who dresses like Heather dating their only nephew.”
Chris grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I figure too.”
Danielle laughed again. “Seriously? You’re trolling them?”
Chris shrugged. “Not trolling them exactly.”
Zara wondered how long she was going to have to wait. It had been relatively easy sneaking into the downstairs bedroom undetected. When Danielle had brought the Glandons to the room to leave their suitcases, she had hidden in the closet, where she had remained. She needed to see the brothers together—and alone. The last thing she wanted was for Danielle Boatman to catch her hiding in one of the closets in another guest’s room.
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard something—it sounded like squeaky door hinges. Peeking through the narrow opening of the closet door, she watched as the bedroom door opened. She was prepared to step out of the closet, assuming it was Loyd or Simon, when she froze. It was Chris Glandon.
“This was my room,” she heard Chris say. Following him into the bedroom were Loyd and Simon—Danielle Boatman was nowhere in sight.
“I suppose it was an improvement after living on that sailboat,” Loyd suggested.
“Now, Loyd, the boy likes a good adventure. What young man doesn’t?” Simon chastised. “You have to admit, when you were his age, the prospect of living on a sailboat would have been tempting.”
“I prefer someplace that isn’t always rocking,” Loyd grumbled. Reluctantly he glanced around and shrugged. “It’s a nice room.”
“I’ll take Simon upstairs and show him his room and then—” Chris began, only to be cut off by Simon.
“Shouldn’t Miss Boatman do that?”
Chris smiled. “I don’t think Danielle will have a problem with me showing you to your room.”
“What exactly is the relationship between you and that young woman?” Loyd asked.
“Danielle? She’s a good friend.”
Simon reached out and gently touched Chris’s arm. “If Loyd seems a little abrupt, don’t take it personally.”
Loyd sat down on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to make excuses for me.”
“The thing is,” Simon continued, ignoring his brother, “we’re just worried about you. That disastrous court case was our misguided attempt to protect you. We want to make it up to you; we want you in our lives again. But that doesn’t mean we can suddenly stop worrying about you.”
“Worry about me how?” Chris asked.
“We’ve done a little digging on Danielle Boatman,” Simon explained.
“Are you saying you had her investigated?”
“You can’t blame us. You come here for a holiday and you end up staying, locating your foundation here. Do you know that woman has profited off some questionable inheritances?”
Chris arched his brow. “Umm…when you say that woman, you mean Danielle?”
“We met Mr. Marlow; the man is renting a room here. He’s a rightful Marlow and somehow the Boatman woman managed to get her hands on his family’s money,” Loyd said.
“And then she inherited her cousin’s entire estate—a cousin she was estranged from—in spite of the fact this cousin had other relatives, relatives she got along with, she left all her money to Danielle Boatman. Don’t you find that odd?” Simon asked.
Chris shrugged. “Not particularly. What do you think is going to happen?”
“We’re worried that Miss Boatman is going to find some way to convince you to get married, and then become a very young widow—for the second time,” Simon said.
“They call them black widows,” Loyd said.
Eighteen
After sending the text message telling Heather he was outside, Chris sat in his car and thought that if his mother were here, she would be lecturing him about how a gentleman always walks to the door to get his date. A real gentleman doesn’t wait in his car for her to come to him. Of course, this was not a date, and if his mother were here, he wouldn’t be. Or more accurately, if his mother were still alive, he wouldn’t be picking up Heather so he could meet his uncles for dinner.
A few minutes later Chris watched as Heather’s front door opened and she stepped outside. Bella, her calico cat, dashed out between her legs, attempting an escape, but Heather leaned down and scooped her up, tossing the cat back in the house before closing and locking the door.
He watched as Heather came down the walkway in his direction. Normally, he found her fondness for goth fashion last century, yet this evening he thought it might serve as a nice distraction, taking his uncles’ focus off him and putting it on what they might see as a curiosity—Heather. He didn’t feel guilty using Heather in this manner, considering he had already discussed it with her. Chris had to give her credit, she had out-Gothed herself, with a floor-length transparent lacy jacket over what appeared to be a leather bustier, miniskirt and knee socks—all in black. She wore her straight dark hair down tonight, and her eye makeup heavier than usual, with black lipstick and matching nail polish. The army boots were a nice finishing touch.
When she reached the passenger side of Chris’s car, he leaned over across the seat and pushed opened the door for her. As she climbed in, he said, “You look nice tonight.”
“You’re full of crap,” she said dryly as she got into the seat, shut the car door and buckled up.
“If you don’t believe you look nice, then why not wear something else?” he asked.
She looked at him. “I never said I don’t like the way I look; I just know you don’t like it. Even though you’re the one who encouraged me to go full Goth tonight. Although, I don’t think of it as Goth. I’m not Goth.”
“Whatever you want to call it, you do it with flare.”
Heather grinned. “Okay, that’s a compliment I’ll accept—because I believe it was delivered in sincerity.”
Chris chuckled and turned on the engine.
“Are you picking up your uncles?”
“No. They wanted to drive themselves. They’re following Walt and Danielle to the restaurant.”
“Did you see them yet?” She scooted around in the seat, readjusting her seatbelt so she could look at Chris.
“I stopped over there right after they arrived. Stayed for about twenty minutes.”
“And?” she asked.
“And what?”
“How did it go? Do you think they’re sincere or after something?”
“Apparently they had Danielle investigated.”
Heather frowned. “Why?”
Chris shrugged. “I guess they thought we were an item.”
“You almost were. What was their verdict?”
“They were afraid Danielle was a black widow.”
Heather scrunched up her face. “She what?”
Chris then recounted the conversation he’d had with his uncles involving Danielle.
After he finished the telling, Heather sat quietly for a moment, considering the uncles’ reaction. Finally, she said, “Well, maybe it proves they really care.”
“What makes you think that?”
“If they’re worried about someone like Danielle bumping you off for your money, maybe they really do care.”
“I still don’t follow you.”
“My mom always freaked over some of my friends, worried they were bad influences. The truth was, I was probably the bad influence. But my point being—”
“Yeah, what is your point?”
“That after Mom was gone, I realized she imagined all those worries because she loved me. Of course, I could be t
otally wrong, and maybe your uncles are the jerks you always thought they were. If that’s the case, just be glad they aren’t biological uncles. Trust me, knowing the blood of someone who could practically be considered a serial killer, like my great-grandfather, is running through my veins—well, that sucks. Big time.”
“I don’t think his blood is actually running through your veins,” he gently teased.
“Maybe not his blood, but his crappy DNA.”
“Maybe not even his DNA.”
“If you’re suggesting I might be adopted, no. I’m not that lucky,” Heather scoffed.
“I wasn’t talking about adoption. Danielle told me something interesting about DNA results she learned when researching on that genealogy website. Each of your parents gives you fifty percent of your DNA. But that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily an equal portion of whatever they had. For example, maybe your mom is half Irish and half Italian. The fifty percent she gives you might be all Irish—or all Italian. So the other half doesn’t even show up in a test. It’s entirely possible the DNA your mom passed on to you came from just one of her parents—the parent not related to the killer. And it’s also possible your mother didn’t have any of his DNA either, maybe her father passed her just the DNA from his mother, not his father.”
“Or it’s possible the fifty percent my grandfather gave her was from his whacked father—and the fifty percent she gave me was from her father. So that would make me fifty percent serial killer.”
Chris let out a sigh and said, “Sometimes you’re not the most positive person.”
Loyd sat in the passenger seat of the rental car, his body hunched over as he gripped the top of his cane, its bottom end resting by his feet on the floor mat. In the driver’s seat was his brother Simon, who drove the vehicle, following Walt and Danielle to the restaurant.
“I don’t understand, if Chris isn’t in a relationship with the woman, why is she the executor of his will?”
“Maybe the private investigator got it wrong?” Simon suggested.
With a grunt Loyd said, “Considering his fee, his information had better be accurate.”
“I’m not sure our plan is going to work now. There’s clearly something going on between her and that Marlow character.”
“I could have told you that when I caught the guy patting her butt when they were coming down the stairs and didn’t know I could see them.”
“It just doesn’t feel right. Too much could go wrong now…” Simon muttered.
“I’m in this to win.” Loyd lifted his cane briefly before smacking it back down on the floor mat. “We’ve come too far to turn back now. I don’t believe Zara is the last cockroach to come scurrying out of Chris’s woodpile. Everyone is taking those gall darn DNA tests these days. It’s only a matter of time before Chris does—if he hasn’t already. We need to get this fixed before we have to stomp another interloper.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, each thinking of why they had come to Frederickport and their impressions of Marlow House. Finally, Simon said, “That Packard of his is in pristine condition.”
“Thing must have cost him a fortune,” Loyd grumbled.
The uncles and Walt and Danielle arrived at Pearl Cove first. The hostess sat them at the large booth overlooking the ocean, which Chris had called to reserve earlier that day. The four had just ordered their cocktails and hadn’t yet looked at their menus when Chris and Heather showed up.
Loyd’s eyes widened when he spied Heather walking toward the table with Chris. “Who is that with our nephew?” he asked Walt.
Walt glanced over at Heather and smiled. “Her name is Heather Donovan. She lives a couple of doors down from us and works for Chris at his foundation office.”
Before Loyd could ask more questions, Chris and Heather arrived at the table. Walt and Simon stood up to greet them, yet Loyd remained seated and hammered the bottom end of the cane against the floor a couple of times. Danielle wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of greeting, if it was his way of expressing his inability to stand with Walt and Simon, or just an annoying habit.
After Chris introduced Heather to his uncles, the server arrived with some cocktails. The moment he left the table, Loyd reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a cigar, and bit off one end.
“Where’s the ashtray?” Loyd asked, looking around the table, the unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth.
“You can’t smoke that in here, Uncle Loyd,” Chris told him.
Scowling at his nephew, he said, “I always have a cigar when I have a cocktail.”
“Maybe you do, but you can’t have one in here,” Chris said.
Simon reached over and touched his brother’s sleeve. “It’s the law, Loyd. You can’t smoke in a restaurant anymore. You know that.”
Begrudgingly Loyd shoved the cigar back in his pocket and mumbled how it was a stupid law. He then looked at Walt and asked, “You look like a man who might appreciate a good cigar.”
Walt smiled. “I used to.”
Loyd patted the pocket holding the cigars. “When we get back to Marlow House, you can have one with me.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t smoke anymore,” Walt told him.
“Nonsense, one cigar won’t hurt you.”
“Anyway, Marlow House is nonsmoking,” Walt added.
Loyd frowned and looked over to Danielle, waiting for her to contradict Walt.
“Uncle Loyd, if you want to smoke a cigar, you’ll have to do it outside,” Chris said.
Loyd frowned. “In this weather? I’ll freeze to death!”
Looking to change the subject, Simon asked Heather, “How long have you worked for my nephew?”
“Umm…” Heather glanced at Chris for a moment and then back to Simon. “I guess about a year and a half.”
“I’m curious about your background. Have you worked with other nonprofit organizations before? Perhaps you have some corporate experience?”
Heather took a sip of her water and studied Simon. “Are you asking why Chris hired me?”
“I suppose I am.” Simon picked up his martini and took a drink, his eyes never leaving Heather as he waited for her answer.
Heather grinned at Simon and said, “I suppose he hired me because I ran into his car.”
“You what?” Loyd barked. “What do you mean you ran into his car?”
“It wasn’t just any car.” Heather took another sip of her water and added, “It was his brand-new car. And wham! I plowed straight into it, right in front of Marlow House. I think he felt sorry for me.”
Chris nodded. “I did feel sorry for you. You’re not pretty when you cry.”
Heather turned to Chris and said, “Oh, shut up.”
“Do you always tell your employer to shut up?” Loyd asked.
Heather looked at Loyd and shrugged. “Only when I think he needs to shut up.”
Chris laughed at Loyd’s sour expression. “You have to understand, Uncle Loyd, Heather and I were friends before I hired her. So we don’t have a particularly formal relationship.”
Heather’s eyes widened in surprise. “Seriously, you considered me a friend even before I slammed into your car?”
Chris shrugged. “Sure.”
Heather looked at the uncles and said, “You know, that really means a lot to me. After all, I did accuse him of murder once. That’s when I was living at Marlow House.”
Walt and Danielle sat silently and listened to the peculiar banter between Heather and the uncles. Since no one was paying attention to them, Walt slipped his hand under the table and onto Danielle’s knee. She glanced over to him and smiled; he smiled back, his hand gently massaging her knee, the fabric of her leggings separating his touch from her skin.
He leaned over and whispered, “One reason I prefer dresses.” Only Danielle heard. She responded with a giggle.
Chris heard the giggle and became momentarily distracted as Heather went on to explain to the uncles why she had been living at Mar
low House. While the ridiculous chatter between his uncles and Heather filled his head, he tuned them out for a moment, focusing instead on Walt and Danielle. The pair seemed oblivious to what was going on around them, only paying attention to each other. Chris couldn’t help but notice the way they looked at each other, neither aware he was watching. It was in that moment he felt an intense pang of regret for what he had once imagined he could have with Danielle. Yet, looking at Walt and Danielle now, he knew—as he had always known—he would never be able to compete with Walt, even if Walt had remained in the spirit world.
Nineteen
Loyd was already dressed when his brother knocked on his door Wednesday morning. Loyd threw the door open and motioned him in.
“Don’t you want to go have breakfast?” Simon asked.
“I want to talk to you first.” Leaving the door open, Loyd turned his back to his brother and walked to one of the chairs by the bed.
With a sigh, Simon walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
“Did you sleep okay?” Simon asked.
“I slept fine.” Loyd pointed to the empty chair. “Sit down. I want to talk to you about something.”
Simon sat down and waited.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that Heather woman.”
“You don’t think Chris is really seeing her, do you?” Simon asked.
“It would be good for us if he was.”
Simon furrowed his brow and stared at his brother. “Exactly what are you thinking?”
After Loyd explained what he had in mind, he added, “It might actually be the better option. And I don’t think our original plan is going to work.”
Simon glanced at his watch. “I think we’d better discuss this later. Chris mentioned he was coming over to have breakfast with us, and he should be here any minute.”
“I suppose we can talk about this when we go out this afternoon.”
Simon frowned. “Where are we going?”
“To get our nephew a Christmas present. If we want to pull this off, I think it might be a good idea if we have something under the tree for the boy. But first, I’d like Chris to show us his house and then the foundation office.”
The Ghost of Christmas Secrets Page 12