The Ghost and Little Marie
Page 1
The Ghost and Little Marie
Bobbi Holmes
Copyright
The Ghost and Little Marie
(Haunting Danielle, Book 15)
A Novel
By Bobbi Holmes
Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey
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Copyright © 2017 Bobbi Holmes
Robeth Publishing, LLC
All Rights Reserved.
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This novel is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to places or actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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www.robeth.net
To Grandpa Pete. Because I borrowed your buggy whip story. I figured you were born about the same time as Walt, and it would have been something he would have done as a kid.
* * *
And to Steve Biehn, for answering all those pesky trust questions in spite of the snarky comment I left in your high school yearbook!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Haunting Danielle Newsletter
Haunting Danielle Series
Bobbi Holmes
Unlocked Hearts Series
The Coulson Series
Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes
One
Shadowy light from the rear corridor made its way into the darkened room through the partially open doorway. There was no illumination coming from the adjacent bathroom in spite of the fact its door was open. The bathroom night-light had burned out several days earlier, and no one thought to replace it. After all, it wasn’t as if she could get up in the middle of the night without assistance and use the bathroom.
While she preferred to sleep in total darkness, Marie Nichols found comfort in the hallway light. These days she preferred to sleep with one eye open, and it helped if she could actually see something. It would have been different had she been able to lock her door. A locked door meant a secure space. Yet patient rooms were never locked in this place. As far as she was concerned, any of the patients—or residents, as the staff called them—could enter her room at any time—even when she was sound asleep. Since coming to Seaside Village two weeks earlier, Marie hadn’t had a decent night’s rest.
Aside from her lack of sleep, Marie hadn’t gotten used to the smell of her temporary home, a mixture of urine and disinfectants. She found her keen sense of smell a curse. If they would only open the windows once in a while and let in the fresh air. But for some reason the staff insisted on keeping the place tightly locked up—preventing fresh ocean air from entering and residents from escaping. She doubted it was possible to open the windows even if it was allowed.
Worse than the smell was her bed—smaller and firmer than her mattress at home. Yet it wasn’t the size or hardness that troubled her, it was the fact she had to sleep on her back. After a person had been used to sleeping on her side for over ninety years, curled up in a fetal position, sleeping flat on one’s back made it difficult to fall asleep. Unfortunately, she had no choice.
Now she wore a metal pin in her hip, making it uncomfortable to lay on her injured side. Unfortunately, it made it equally uncomfortable to lay on the opposite side. Marie cursed herself for her moment of carelessness. In a hurry to answer the phone, she had failed to pay attention to what she was doing and ended up falling, resulting in a broken hip.
Marie found Adam’s first phone call—which had been the catalyst for the broken hip—a bit ironic. Her grandson Adam had been calling to check on her. Since she had failed to answer his initial phone call—and then the second and third call—he had come right over and had found her—which meant she wasn’t left to suffer endless hours on her kitchen floor and had received emergency medical care within a few hours.
However, had Adam not called her that morning, she wouldn’t have been rushing to answer the phone—therefore she would never have fallen or broken her hip. While she didn’t discuss the irony with Adam, she did with her dear friend Danielle Boatman. Danielle would find dark humor in the situation, while poor Adam would just feel guilty.
Making Adam feel guilty was the last thing Marie wanted to do, especially after the past week. It had given her a new appreciation of her eldest grandson and his attentiveness towards her. Her son and his horrid wife—Adam’s parents—along with Adam’s brother, Jason, and Jason’s fiancée, had descended on Frederickport earlier that week, under the guise of looking after Marie and spending Thanksgiving with her. However, unlike Adam, who continued to assure Marie she would be going home as soon as her physical therapist deemed her capable, she had caught her son and daughter-in-law taking a tour of the rooms for the permanent residents. At the time, Marie had a good idea they weren’t looking at the rooms for themselves. It turned out she was right.
Glancing to the nightstand, she looked at the illuminated numbers on the alarm clock. It was a few minutes past three in the morning. She momentarily considered taking the pain pill she had tucked in the pocket of her dressing gown. But then she decided against it. While the ache in her hip was bothering her more than usual and keeping her awake, Marie was reluctant to rely on pain pills.
If they had their way, they would keep us all drugged up, Marie thought. She smiled, proud of herself for being so crafty, the way in which she hid the pill under her tongue and pretended to swallow it. It was something she had started to do the third night at the rehab center, when she realized her pain was not severe enough to warrant taking drugs. However, the medical staff had disagreed with her and had insisted she continue taking the pills at regular intervals.
Each time the nurse would leave the room, Marie would remove the pill from her mouth and slip it in the pocket of her dressing gown. The next time Marie visited the toilet, she would flush the unwanted pain pill.
Pondering her unfortunate stay at Seaside Village was not helping her sleep. Restless, Marie tried to get comfortable. Sitting up briefly, she removed one of the pillows from under her head and tossed it to the foot of her bed. Settling back on the remaining pillow, she pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chin. Her hands, now under the bedding, she folded together and rested on her belly.
Just as she glanced to the partially open doorway, she heard it—steps coming down the hallway, in her direction. The sound of footsteps stopped. Marie stared at the doorway. She watched as a dark figure pushed open the door to enter her room. Without her glasses on, she was unable to see who it was, but she assumed it was the night nurse making her rounds. Not wanting the nurse to know she was awake—thus risking the chance of another pill being forced on her—this time a sleeping pill—Marie closed her eyes and feigned sleep.
She lay there a few moments,
her eyes firmly closed, listening. There were no more sounds of footsteps. She wondered briefly if the nurse had quietly moved down the hallway. Just before she was about to open her eyes, she heard it again—more footsteps. They weren’t walking down the hallway; they were coming toward the bed.
Still playing possum, Marie could feel the nurse hovering over her. With her eyes firmly closed, she remained motionless. After a few moments of complete silence, Marie wondered if the nurse had left her room. Fluttering open her eyes ever so slightly, Marie found herself looking up at a pillow hovering over her face. Before she could utter a sound, the pillow abruptly covered her eyes, nose and mouth—cutting off the oxygen—followed by a person’s body weighing down her covers, holding her in place.
With Marie’s hands both trapped under the blanket—crushed by the person applying the pillow—Marie could not reach out and push at the attacker. In a panic, she struggled under the pillow’s suffocating confinement.
Just when Marie was certain she was going to die, the pillow was removed from her face. She then heard the person run from the room. Taking a deep breath, the suffocating oppression gone, Marie opened her eyes and looked to the partially open doorway. Once again, she was alone in the room.
Without thought, Marie jumped up from the bed and quickly made her way to the door leading to the hallway. She didn’t consider using the walker, which stood near her bedside. For the last week her physical therapist had insisted she use it, telling her she needed to get used to the fact she would never again walk without one. Yet, at the moment, the walker was the last thing on Marie’s mind.
She looked down the dimly lit hallway. In view was a nurses’ station. As usual, it was vacant. The nursing home—or rehab center, as Adam insisted on calling it—had two nurses’ stations. The one that was always staffed was located in the front of the large building. It was in that section of the nursing home where the permanent occupants resided. A good majority of those were patients suffering from Alzheimer’s or were elderly patients who were no longer able to live alone and needed full-time care. It irked her to think her own son expected her to move into that part of the nursing home instead of moving back to her own lovely house.
The back section of the center, where Marie was staying, housed those who were temporary residents, there for rehab until they could once again go home. Most of the patient rooms in her section were currently vacant. It was one reason she found sleeping at the center so creepy.
“Adam says I’ll be going home quickly if I do what the doctors tell me. But if I stay here another night, I won’t be going home at all!” Marie muttered as she hurried down the hallway, toward the rear lobby. It was in this section of the lobby where she usually sat when her family members or friends came for a visit.
Just as she reached the end of the hallway, she heard a woman call out, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Marie turned toward the voice. She found a nightgown-clad elderly woman standing at the open doorway leading to one of the patient rooms. The room had been vacant earlier that day, so Marie assumed it had to be a new patient.
“Did you see someone running down the hall?” Marie asked.
“Yes. They went out the back door.” The woman pointed in that direction.
Marie peeked around the corner and spied the doorway. She didn’t see anyone. Whoever it was must have already left the building. The back door was always locked, and the only way to get in—or out—was to use the keypad. Of course, the staff normally would not share the code with the patients, for fear they would escape. However, Adam knew the code, and he had shared it with her.
“They must have a good reason for not wanting the patients to have the code,” Adam had said.
“Naturally they don’t want their Alzheimer’s patients to escape,” Marie had snapped. “But I doubt those people would remember the number anyway. But what if there’s a fire, Adam? You want me to get trapped in this god-awful place?” The mention of a fire had been enough for Adam to give Marie the code.
Marie was still thinking of Adam and the key code when she remembered the woman watching her. She turned back to the new patient, but she was no longer there. Marie assumed she had gone back to bed.
Instead of returning to her room, Marie decided to get out of this place before the homicidal maniac returned. Calling Adam and asking him to pick her up was not an option. He would just think she had been having a bad dream and tell her to go back to sleep. And she definitely could not call her son or daughter-in-law. They would probably accuse her of being delusional and use that as an excuse to force her to stay longer.
Glancing one more time back to the room of the woman who had talked to her a moment ago, and then down the main hallway leading to the occupied nurses’ station, Marie was confident the woman really had gone back to bed and not down to find a nurse to wrangle Marie back to her own room.
Making an effort to move quietly and stay out of sight, Marie made her way to the back door. A few minutes later she was standing outside under the moonlight, in the center of the rear parking lot. Only three cars were parked behind the building, and there were no other people in sight. Whoever had tried to smother her had obviously driven off already. That was assuming, Marie reminded herself, that the woman was correct when she told her someone had exited out the back door.
Marie glanced back to the building and frowned. For some reason, she couldn’t remember punching in the password to open the back door—or even opening the back door, for that matter. But I must have, Marie told herself, or I wouldn’t be outside now. With a shrug, she continued on her way.
It wasn’t until Marie started down the sidewalk, away from the rehab center and toward the police station, did she question her own judgment in leaving through the same door her attacker had gone through just minutes earlier. What if he had been still lurking in the parking lot?
Marie considered the possibility for a brief moment and then shrugged. For some reason, she wasn’t afraid anymore. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to report the incident to the police, nor did it mean she intended to go back to that place.
She was halfway down the street when she realized how remarkably well she felt. Pausing for a moment, Marie stretched. “Stupid therapist,” she grumbled. “I don’t need to use that damn walker, and I certainly don’t need any more physical therapy. I’m walking wonderfully! In fact, much better than before, I don’t even need a cane! Those people are just trying to bilk Medicare for more money!”
With a lighter step, ninety-one-year-old Marie Nichols cheerfully skipped down the sidewalk—under the moonlight—making her way to the Frederickport Police Department.
Two
Tapping on the kitchen window caught Danielle’s attention. About to turn on the coffee pot, she paused and glanced toward the sound. The curtain was drawn, but she knew it was still dark outside. Danielle looked up to the wall clock. It was not quite six a.m. She heard another tap, followed by a voice.
“Dani, are you in there?” It was Lily’s voice.
Danielle turned on the coffee pot and then walked to the kitchen door and opened it. Standing on the doorstep was Lily, wearing a long green robe, fuzzy slippers, and holding an empty coffee cup.
“I saw the kitchen light was on, and I’m out of coffee,” Lily said as she walked into the house, holding up her mug for Danielle to see.
“You’re up kind of early, aren’t you?” Danielle asked as she returned to the kitchen counter.
Lily shut the door behind her and walked over to the coffee pot, waiting for it to finish brewing. “Sadie woke me about a half an hour ago, she needed to go out. Ian sleeps like the dead. I have no idea what poor Sadie did when she had to go out before I moved over there.” Lily shook her head and chuckled.
“Ian still sleeping?” Danielle reached up to the overhead cabinet and grabbed herself a mug.
“Yes. After I took Sadie out, I tried to go back to sleep. But by that time, Ian was snoring like my gran
dpa. I figured I better get up, or I’d end up shoving a pillow on his face.”
Danielle chuckled. “So, the honeymoon’s over?”
“Nah, I didn’t smother him, did I? I got up because I love him. Unfortunately, when I went to the kitchen, I discovered we were out of coffee. Dang, I really miss having someone like Joanne to keep the pantry stocked.”
“Yes, I lead the life of luxury and privilege,” Danielle said with dramatic flair as she filled Lily’s cup with coffee.
Lily giggled and took her full cup to the table and sat down. A moment later, Danielle joined her.
“So why are you up so early, anyhow?” Lily glanced around the room. “Is Walt here?”
Danielle shook her head. “I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“So why are you up so early?” Lily repeated.
Danielle drank some coffee and then said, “I promised Marie I would pick up some cinnamon rolls at Old Salts this morning and bring them to her.”
“How is she doing? Ian and I were talking about going over there this afternoon.” Lily sipped her coffee.
“She’s anxious to get out of there. I can’t say I blame her. I was hoping the cinnamon rolls would cheer her up.”