The Ghost and Little Marie

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “You have a point. But before we can investigate this as a murder, we really need to have an autopsy.”

  “It’s not as simple as just ordering an autopsy,” the chief said after he hung up the telephone twenty minutes later.

  “I thought that’s who you were calling?” Danielle asked.

  “No, you heard me on the phone. I asked if there was anything suspicious that might warrant an autopsy.”

  “Can’t you say you got a tip from a witness who saw someone leaving her room late at night? Or just that they know she was murdered? We’ve stretched the truth before.”

  “You mean lie, Danielle.”

  “I suppose you could call it a lie. I call it a little white lie.”

  “White lies don’t hurt people.”

  “How could this white lie hurt someone?”

  “Because if Marie is right and someone murdered her, and if the killer hears someone called in claiming to have seen him or her—that could put others at the home in danger.”

  Danielle groaned and slumped back in her chair. “I see what you mean. They might kill off someone who they think is the witness.”

  “I can’t be responsible for putting others in danger.”

  “What are we going to do?” Danielle asked. “We can’t let the killer get away.”

  “We’re going to have to get someone in her family to request an autopsy.”

  “What if one of her family members is the killer?” Danielle asked. “They sure aren’t going to want an autopsy.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t believe the killer was a family member,” he reminded her.

  “I don’t believe Adam would hurt Marie. As for the rest of the family? Maybe Marie doesn’t want to consider the possibility, but her son is already talking about going against her wishes and having her cremated.”

  “Cremated?” the chief asked.

  “Marie had already made her final arrangements before she ever broke her hip. She’s supposed to be buried next to her husband. But her son wants to have her cremated.”

  “That’s interesting,” the chief murmured.

  “In all fairness, he didn’t come up with the idea. It was actually the brother’s fiancée. She mentioned cremation, something about it being better for the environment, and then Adam’s father and mother thought it was a great idea.”

  “What did Adam think?” the chief asked.

  “He got angry. Told them they were going to honor Marie’s wishes. That she wasn’t going to be cremated.”

  “I’m certain Adam is the one with Marie’s power of attorney. He’s been looking after her for years. He’s the one who has the power to order an autopsy—and he may be the only family member willing to demand one.”

  Danielle cringed. “I don’t know. Not sure Adam will be willing to have them cut on his grandmother—not if he believes she died of natural causes. People are funny about that.”

  “Then you better come up with some good story to convince Adam to get an autopsy.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “I can’t be making up lies, and we all know you’ve become pretty good at twisting the truth to get what you want.”

  “Now you sound like Walt,” Danielle grumbled.

  “How’s that?”

  Danielle slumped down in the chair. “He’s always telling me I’ve become adept at lying on the spur of the moment. But that really isn’t fair. I’m usually making up stories to cover for something he did!”

  “It’s a good thing you’re good at it.” The chief smiled. “Plus, it’s better if you talk to Adam than me. Not only are you a better liar, you were close to Marie.”

  “You call me a liar like it’s a good thing.”

  “Sometimes it is.”

  With a sigh, Danielle pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and dialed Adam. When he answered, she said, “Adam, this is Danielle. I need to talk to you, alone. Can you meet me at Pier Café? Thirty minutes? Okay, see you there.”

  “Now what?” the chief asked after Danielle ended her phone call.

  “Now I have thirty minutes to come up with a lie that will convince Adam it’s a good idea to request an autopsy.”

  Fifteen

  Danielle arrived at Pier Café before Adam. However, she wasn’t alone for long. Just as she picked up the menu to browse through the dessert section, Eva appeared in the seat across from her in the booth. Eva wasn’t alone. To her right was an attractive thirtysomething spirit wearing a brightly colored flowered housedress. Danielle wondered who it was, and where was Marie?

  “I told Marie that was you coming in here,” Eva said brightly. “We were on the way back to Marlow House when I saw you going on the pier.”

  “Did Marie go back to the house?” Danielle asked, flashing the woman next to Eva a smile and waiting for an introduction.

  “You don’t recognize me!” The woman laughed.

  Danielle narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, studying the woman. “Marie? Is that you?”

  “Of course, who did you think it was?” Marie laughed again.

  Confused, Danielle shook her head and looked from a much younger Marie to Eva. “Wow, you look great. Did you find the witness?”

  Marie shook her head. “No. We started in the room where I initially saw her. She wasn’t there. We looked through every room in that place, but we couldn’t find her.”

  “It’s possible she’s moved on,” Eva suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Danielle studied Marie a moment and then asked, “So what is this all about?”

  Eva grinned and then said, “On our way to the nursing home, I started teaching Marie about costume changes. After all, one can’t walk through eternity barefoot and in a nightgown. Once she mastered that, it was easy for her to bring forward a younger version of herself.”

  “While I can appreciate the desire to…well, turn back the clock…and you do look beautiful…but I have to say, it feels a little odd. You don’t seem like my Marie.”

  Marie flashed Danielle a smile and in the next moment transformed into the image of a much older woman—the ninety-one-year-old version—one wearing a floral housedress instead of a nightgown.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I mean, I understand…you don’t have to change back for me,” Danielle told her.

  Marie shrugged. “Truth is, dear, it’s not like I can see my younger version. I asked Eva if we could stop somewhere so I could look in a mirror and see myself, but she told me I wouldn’t have a reflection. So if you feel more comfortable seeing me as you knew me, then there’s no reason I can’t go back to how you remember me. I’m just happy not to be traipsing around town in my nightgown.”

  “Later, I can show Marie how she can automatically alter her appearance according to who she’s talking to,” Eva said. “Considering how well she’s done, it will be easier for her.”

  “I don’t understand?” Danielle said.

  “As a spirit, I no longer have possession of my body; however, I have the ability to create an illusion of it—in all its varying stages. If a spirit was only able to reflect his or her body as it appeared at death, well, that would be unpleasant for many of us. Quite frankly, if I could only conjure up the illusion of my body at the time of my death, well, that would be an unsightly thing.” Eva shuddered.

  “I understand all that,” Danielle said. “But what did you mean, automatically alter her appearance depending on who she’s talking to?”

  “It is possible, for example, for Heather to see Marie as a much younger woman while you see her as an older woman—at the same time. You can both be talking to her, yet you each see something different. Marie can learn to control that,” Eva explained.

  “Fascinating,” Danielle murmured. “I knew about a spirit being able to present as an older or younger version, Walt has tried that. But I didn’t realize it was possible to make people see different things at the same time.”

  “As an actor, I see it as nothing more than a costume change.”

  �
��Does that mean it’s possible for a spirit to change his or her appearance entirely—I mean, not just an older or younger version of herself? But to take on someone else’s appearance?” Danielle asked.

  Eva leaned forward, closer to Danielle, while Marie attentively listened to what she had to say.

  “I certainly can’t,” Eva whispered. “In fact, I’ve never encountered a spirit who could. Although, there are rumblings in my realm of the possibility—yet it’s considered taboo.”

  “Taboo?” Danielle frowned.

  “Evil,” Eva whispered.

  Their conversation was interrupted when a voice asked, “Is everything okay, Danielle?”

  Danielle looked up. It was Carla the waitress, holding a pot of coffee, a worried expression on her face. Danielle then remembered—she had been sitting at the booth alone, talking to herself. Or at least that was how it appeared.

  “Umm…yes…” Danielle blushed. “I…I’m just upset…and sometimes when something’s on my mind, I think out loud.” Danielle thought thinking out loud didn’t sound as crazy as talking to herself.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Carla said sympathetically, taking a seat on Eva’s lap. She set the pot of coffee on the table as she studied Danielle.

  Eva jumped from the seat with a curse and then said, “Let’s go back to Marlow House, Marie. Danielle clearly won’t be able to talk to us now.” The next moment both Marie and Eva vanished.

  “You’re upset about Marie Nichols, aren’t you?” Carla asked.

  “How did you know?”

  The waitress shrugged. “Brian and Joe were in here earlier and mentioned she died. I know you were close to her.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Without asking if Danielle wanted coffee, Carla reached over and turned the empty cup that was upside down on a saucer right side up and filled it with coffee. She pushed it toward Danielle, and then filled the other empty cup on the table. Carla set the pot back onto the table and then picked up her cup and took a sip.

  Setting the cup back on the table, Carla said, “Although, I can’t say I’m surprised. The moment I heard poor Mrs. Nichols got put in that place, I said, mark my words, she’s not long for this world.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “Whenever someone goes into one of those places, seems like it’s checkout time, if you know what I mean. Except for Sam.”

  “Samuel Hayman?” Danielle asked.

  Carla shook her head. “No. The Sam who works over at the Seahorse Motel. He had a knee replacement last year and had to stay at Seaside Village during his rehab. Bitched like hell when he got out, about how painful it all was. But at least he came home, unlike poor Mrs. Nichols.”

  “I’ve heard knee replacements can be pretty painful.”

  “Hey, Carla, can I get some coffee over here?” a customer across the café shouted.

  With a sigh, Carla stood up and grabbed the coffee pot. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”

  “No hurry. I’m waiting for Adam.”

  A few minutes later, Adam Nichols entered the café. He stood in the entrance a moment and glanced around. When he spied Danielle sitting in a booth, he headed in her direction.

  “Is someone else joining us?” Adam asked as he took a seat and noticed the half-filled cup of coffee on his side of the booth, bright red lipstick along its rim.

  “No.” Danielle shoved the cup to the edge of the table. “Carla sat down with me a minute ago and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Adam slumped back in the booth. “But my father decided to start an argument with me right before I was about to leave Grandma’s house.”

  “I’m sorry,” Danielle murmured.

  “He wants to have her cremated.”

  “Cremated? But that’s not what she wanted.”

  “I know, and that’s what I told him…again.”

  “Why do you think he wants to have her cremated? Marie already made the arrangements. Everything is already paid for.” Does he want to destroy the evidence? Danielle wondered. Is it possible her son is the killer?

  “It’s nothing more than a power trip on Dad’s part. Very typical of him. Whatever plans any of us makes, he always—and I mean always—has to make some change. He wants to be in control.”

  “Does this mean he’ll get his way?”

  Adam shook his head. “Not this time. I’m the only one who has the power to make any kind of changes like that. Grandma gave me power of attorney years ago, and on the contract she has with the funeral home, I’m the only one who can make changes. Grandma knew her son.”

  Danielle reached across the table and patted his hand. “Marie knew she could trust you to do what was best.”

  Before Adam could respond, Carla walked up to the booth, no longer carrying the pot of coffee. “I’m so sorry to hear about your grandma, Adam.”

  Adam smiled at Carla. “Thanks.”

  “She was such a dear sweet lady. I’ll really miss her,” Carla gushed. “What can I get you two?”

  “I’d just like some apple pie, with ice cream,” Danielle said. “And more coffee.”

  “Me too,” Adam said.

  With a nod, Carla grabbed the cup she had been using and scurried off to fill the order.

  Adam chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” Danielle asked.

  “Carla. Dear sweet lady?” Adam laughed.

  “Yeah, that is kind of funny. From what I recall, Marie had no patience with Carla and was pretty short with her.”

  “Find it hard to believe Carla sincerely looked at Grandma that way. Hell, I loved my grandma, but I don’t think I would describe her as a dear sweet lady.”

  A few minutes later their conversation was interrupted again when Carla brought them each a slice of pie and ice cream, a cup of coffee for Adam, and a refill for Danielle.

  When the two were alone again, Adam asked, “So why did you want to see me?”

  “I know this is going to sound strange, but…you need to request an autopsy.”

  Pausing mid-bite, Adam frowned at Danielle. He set his forkful of pie and ice cream back on his plate. “Autopsy? Why?”

  “I believe Marie may have been murdered.”

  “Murdered? What are you talking about, Danielle? Grandma died in her sleep.”

  Danielle shook her head. “Maybe she did…but maybe she didn’t. I didn’t say anything earlier, when we were at the home, but I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I finally decided I can’t keep quiet. It’s not fair to Marie. It’s not what she would want.”

  “Danielle, you’re not making sense. What purpose would an autopsy serve? Even if they overlooked some infection, she was ninety-one. I doubt the outcome would be much different if they caught something earlier. And I know she wasn’t sick. She was feeling great.”

  “Exactly, she was feeling great.”

  Adam frowned. “Then why the autopsy? She obviously died of old age. It was her time.”

  “I’m not suggesting an autopsy because I suspect malpractice. I’m suggesting an autopsy because I believe she may have been murdered.”

  “Murdered? Who would want to murder my grandmother? That’s crazy.”

  Danielle took a deep breath, trying to keep straight the lie she was about to tell. “Remember I told you I spoke to Marie on the phone last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Last night, Marie told me she thought someone was trying to kill her. She didn’t tell me who or why. She said she couldn’t talk to me about it on the phone, afraid someone might overhear. That’s the real reason I brought her cinnamon rolls this morning. She was going to tell me what was going on.”

  Adam sat in silence for a few moments, digesting what Danielle had just told him. He then reached across the table and took hold of one of Danielle’s hands, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “I know what she was talking about. Grandma hated staying in that place. From the first night she slept there, she complained
about the lack of locks on the doors—and how anyone could walk into her room and do whatever. She’d read articles about abuse in nursing homes.”

  “Umm…I know she didn’t like staying there, but she was talking about something more specific.”

  Adam shook his head and released Danielle’s hand. Picking up his coffee, he took a sip and then set the cup back on the table. “I don’t think so. Each day she stayed, it got worse. But then she found out my parents had toured the facility, checking out the rooms for the full-time residents. She knew Dad intended to push to have her stay there. She was panicking. That’s what the conversation was about. No one was actually trying to kill Grandma.”

  “Please, Adam, can’t you just request an autopsy? Just to be sure.”

  “I know you loved my grandmother. But the fact is, I know she abhorred the thought of an autopsy—people cutting on her body. No. I can’t allow that. Grandma died in her sleep.”

  Sixteen

  Warren Nichols was over arguing with his eldest child. As far as Warren was concerned, he was the head of the family, not Adam. Marie had been his mother, and as her son, it was his right to make the final decisions regarding her funeral and her estate. Annoyed at his mother for leaving half of that estate to his sons—it should have all gone to him and only passed to his sons after his death—he recognized his fifty percent, along with Jason’s twenty-five percent, gave him a clear majority over Adam.

  His first stop would be the bank. As a signer on his mother’s bank account, he didn’t believe there would be any problem withdrawing the necessary funds today. He suspected he would need his mother’s death certificate to close the account. But he didn’t need to close the account, he just needed to withdraw five thousand dollars before his world fell apart. He knew his mother had more than that in the account; he had seen her bank statement in her file drawer.

  At the bank he waited patiently in line for his turn to see a teller. When it was his turn, he removed his wallet from his pocket.

  “I need to withdraw five thousand dollars from my account.” He handed the teller a slip of paper with his mother’s checking account number on it, along with his driver’s license, which he had just pulled out of the wallet.