The Ghost Who Stayed Home

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “I promise.” Chris grinned.

  After the doctor left the room, Lily asked with a yawn, “What now?”

  “I’ll call the same charter service we used to get you guys home the other day. That way we can avoid the drive back to Vegas, and we don’t have to fly into Portland. Plus, it will be easier for Chris.”

  “What about the rental car?” Lily asked.

  “I’m sure they have a franchise here we can leave it at. We’ll probably have to pay a little extra. But that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah, spending more of my money. Typical woman,” Chris teased.

  Danielle met Chris’s comment with a grin.

  “I’m exhausted,” Lily groaned.

  “I tell you what, why don’t I drop you off at the motel room, and you can take a nap,” Danielle suggested.

  “If you want to stay here to visit with Chris, I can drive myself and come back later and pick you up,” Lily suggested.

  Danielle shook her head. “No. There’s somewhere I want to go before we leave tomorrow.”

  “Where?” Chris asked.

  “I want to go down to the London Bridge, see if I can find Percival. He left pretty suddenly when we were rescued, and I never was able to ask him all the questions I wanted to.”

  DANIELLE STOOD in front of the formal entrance to the English Village—a lacy wrought-iron fence with an arched gateway, its doors propped open and welcoming. Just inside the entrance was the fountain, water spilling down from its centerpiece. Beyond the fountain was the historic London Bridge, which arched over the manmade channel separating the mainland from what was now an island, yet had once been a peninsula known as Pittsburgh Point.

  After leaving Chris alone at the hospital and dropping Lily off at the motel, Danielle had come down to the bridge site and parked the rental car in the lot just outside the English Village. After entering the gateway, she passed by the fountain and made her way toward the bridge. To her right she noticed a tourist information center housed in what appeared to be some old pub of sorts. But she was not interested in learning more about the local attractions, nor was she interested in visiting any of the gift shops or restaurants up ahead. Danielle had just one thing on her mind, find Percival if possible.

  Just minutes after arriving at the English Village, Danielle stood on the concrete walkway under one arch of the London Bridge. To her right, the arches continued over the channel and to the island side. To her left, she spied a narrow granite staircase tucked along the right side of the bridge, leading to the roadway above.

  There were a few people milling around, but it wasn’t overly crowded. Along the concrete edge bordering the channel, pigeons foraged for food left behind by careless tourists. Instead of walking toward the water, Danielle made her way to the narrow granite staircase. If fog should suddenly appear—an unlikely possibility in the Arizona Desert—she could imagine herself transported back in time to London of the 1800s.

  “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” said a voice in a heavy English accent just as Danielle reached the foot of the staircase.

  She twirled around and came face-to-face with Percival. “I came looking for you.”

  He smiled. “I assume you and all your friends are now safe?”

  Danielle took her flip phone out of her pocket and opened it up. She placed it by her ear. “I hope you don’t mind. But I find people don’t seem to pay much attention to me when I have this while I’m talking to a ghost.”

  He frowned. “What is that, by the way? I’m always seeing people walking around with one of those things by their ears. Does it help one hear better?”

  “Umm…not exactly.” Danielle sat down on one of the steps. She scooted over to make room for Percival.

  He accepted her silent invitation and sat down. “Your friend who was unconscious, has he come to?”

  “Yes, this morning. We’re going home tomorrow. Back to Oregon.”

  “And have they captured the scoundrels?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No.”

  “I’m sorry they got away, but I’m delighted you and your friends are safe. It is so inconvenient to be snuffed out prematurely. I know. I wish I would run into someone else like you—someone who lives here—so I could have a person to talk to.”

  Danielle glanced up to the bridge on her right and then looked back to Percival. “I would expect there might be other ghosts—spirits—attached to the London Bridge. Especially considering its history. Someone else you might talk to.”

  “Oh, there are! And frankly, I’m a bit surprised they aren’t crowding around, trying to get your attention.”

  “Then you aren’t really alone. I mean you have other people to communicate with.”

  “You mean dead people?” He smirked.

  “Well, yeah. But you’re dead too.”

  “Yes, but have you any idea how tedious it can be talking to the same ghosts for almost two hundred years? It’s not like they have anything new to say, and most of them are obsessed with the fact they’re dead. As if they can’t get used to the notion. But for heaven’s sake, some of the blokes have been dead for far longer than I have. It’s time they faced that fact and moved on.”

  “You know, you could always just move on to the next level,” she suggested.

  He frowned. “Next level?”

  “This isn’t all there is. There’s more after we leave here.”

  “Such as?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I know there is. However, before you go, I want to ask you some questions.”

  “Ask away. But you needn’t worry about me taking off just now. While I’m not able to communicate with any of the very alive young women who frequent this area, it doesn’t mean I can’t look.” He chuckled.

  “Look?”

  He chuckled again. “It’s quite astounding, really. Pretty young women wearing practically nothing at all, prancing about as if it is the most natural thing in the world. And it must be, considering the fact it seems I am the only one who ever really notices.”

  Now it was Danielle’s turn to chuckle. “I get it now. You’re talking about girls wearing bikinis—even skimpy thongs.”

  “Amazing,” he muttered and then asked with a bright smile, “So, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

  “The last time we talked, you left before I could ask you any questions. Most of our questions before were about where we were—but now—now I need to know what you know about our kidnappers.”

  “Ahh…why certainly. What would you like to know?”

  “How many kidnappers did you see?”

  “Three,” he told her.

  “Hmmm, according to Carol Ann, she’s pretty sure there were four.”

  “Who is Carol Ann?” he asked.

  “One of my friends who was kidnapped along with me.”

  “I only saw three of them. But I wasn’t there the entire time. It’s possible one of the kidnappers wasn’t there when I visited.”

  “Did you ever hear their names?” she asked. “Aside from the one you mentioned before, Clay.”

  “Yes. I got the impression the leader was this fellow who went by Sky.”

  “Sky?” Danielle frowned. “Sky what?”

  “Just Sky. Then, of course, there was Clay. But you already know about him.”

  “Any last name?”

  He shook his head. “I only heard him called Clay. And then there was the woman. The men called her Andy.”

  “Andy?”

  “Just Andy. I thought she might have been captured when the bobbies showed up.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “She wasn’t in the car.”

  “What car?” Danielle asked.

  “The car that ran over me when I arrived that day. Maybe I didn’t see it coming, but I saw it when it went over me, and the only people in the buggy were Sky and Clay.”

  “So she must have left before they did? But where did she go?”

  “I have no i
dea. Not long after they chose to run me over, the bobbies started showing up, and that’s when I went to find you. Sorry, I didn’t really stick around after that.”

  “Can you tell me what they look like?”

  Percival described Clay and Sky. Danielle had no doubt the pilot that had flown them to Seligman was the one who went by Sky. She didn’t believe she had ever met either man prior to the kidnapping. As for Andy, Percival basically described her as a woman about Danielle’s age, who was of average height and build, with blond hair. She knew dozens of women—probably more—who fit that description.

  “Can you remember any of the conversations you might have overheard?”

  Percival considered the question a moment. “I know they were anxious for your friend to wake up. They wanted something from him. Sky was quite annoyed at Clay because it was his fault your friend fell. At one point, Clay wanted to get money from you instead of your friend. But Sky didn’t want to do that because it wasn’t enough.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t take what they could get and just left us.”

  “They said something about this being a onetime deal. And once they did it, they couldn’t do it again.”

  “It’s true Chris has much deeper pockets. Considering what they expected to get from him, I guess I’m not surprised the one called Sky wasn’t willing to settle for what they could get from me.”

  “Andy, she just wanted to call it quits.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She was quite upset about your friend. She wanted to get him to a hospital, but they wouldn’t listen to her.”

  “What do you think the relationship between the three was?” Danielle asked.

  “Relationship?”

  “Do you think this Andy was married to one of them? Maybe a girlfriend? Related someway?”

  “I got the impression they were all just friends. Maybe not friends exactly…”

  “Partners in crime?” Danielle suggested.

  “Something like that. But I don’t believe Andy was in a relationship with either of them. There was never anything…”

  “Intimate?”

  Percival nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Did they ever mention where any of them lived?”

  Percival shook his head. “No.”

  “Did they talk about how they chose Chris as their target? Did they mention if any of them had any kind of relationship with any of us?”

  “What kind of relationship?”

  “I’m just wondering how they found out about Chris. He’s very rich.”

  Percival chuckled. “I already gathered that. They mentioned the amount they were attempting to extort from him.”

  “But the thing is, Chris never uses his real name. Only a small group of people back home know his true identity—and what he’s really worth. Since he moved to Frederickport this past December—that’s where I live—most people thought he was this guy who was between jobs. Everyone thinks he just recently landed a new job—working for a foundation that he actually founded. So I’m trying to figure out who knew he has access to that much money.”

  “Obviously someone did. If I were you, I’d take a closer look at your little group of friends. One of them might be a kidnapper.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Adam Nichols was just about to take a second bite from the cinnamon roll when he heard a soft knock at his office doorway. Looking up from where he sat hunched over his desk, he found his assistant leaning into the room.

  “Beverly Klein is here. She wants to know if you have a minute to see her,” she asked.

  Grabbing one of the two napkins lying on his desk, he used it to wrap the partially eaten roll and hastily shoved it into a top desk drawer. He picked up the remaining napkin and wiped off his mouth. “Sure, show her in.”

  By the time Beverly walked into the office a moment later, Adam had already crumpled and tossed the used napkin into the trash can and had removed all evidence of the cinnamon roll he had been eating—all but the white chunk of glaze still on the corner of this mouth, which he had missed with the napkin.

  “Beverly, what a nice surprise,” Adam said as he stood up from his desk.

  Beverly, crisply dressed in a designer pantsuit, with her strawberry blond hair perfectly coifed, strolled confidently into the office and flashed Adam a smile. Adam, who had just stepped out from behind the desk, offered her a hand, which she accepted in greeting.

  “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Beverly said as her green eyes flashed from Adam’s face to the trash can by the desk’s side. She took a step back and sat down in a chair Adam pointed to.

  “I was just organizing my day.” Adam smiled and sat back down behind his desk.

  “Old Salts?” Beverly asked with a grin, dropping the purse she had been carrying to the floor by her feet.

  Adam frowned. “Old Salts?”

  Beverly pointed to the trash can. It contained a crumpled sack from the local bakery. She then pointed to her own mouth. “And you have a little…umm…on the corner of your mouth.”

  By reflex Adam’s tongue swiped at the frosting residue. He then touched the area with a finger to make sure it was all gone. With a shrug he said, “They have the best cinnamon rolls.”

  Beverly smiled. “They do.”

  Confident he was no longer wearing bits of his morning snack, Adam settled back in his chair. “So what is it I can help you with?”

  “I would appreciate it if you keep this between you and me,” Beverly began.

  “Certainly.”

  “I have been considering moving from Frederickport. But I don’t really want to sell the house. I was thinking one option might be to put it into your vacation rental program.”

  “It would certainly appeal to my high-end renters. From what I remember, you have a beautiful home.”

  “I figured that way I could leave without worrying about moving furniture and packing everything. I understand vacation properties need to be completely furnished.”

  “So you don’t intend to take any of your furniture with you?”

  Beverly shifted in the chair to get more comfortable. “No. I’m considering doing some traveling. I don’t know where I’ll land. Maybe even back here. But in the meantime, I could rent out the house, and if it’s in a vacation rental program, if I do want to come back for a visit—or my kids want to come—we’ll have someplace to stay. Of course, I understand we’d have to coordinate that with you—if you handled the property.”

  “Certainly. Most of my owners of the properties block out times for their personal use.”

  “So what’s involved?” Beverly asked.

  Adam went on to explain his vacation rental program, including the cost to the owners and the services he provided. When he was finished outlining the program, Beverly asked, “Then could you come over to my house and let me know what I’d need to do to bring it to optimum rental potential?”

  “Of course. I could stop over this afternoon if that would work for you.”

  “Wonderful.” Beverly started to stand up, but then paused and sat back down. “Have you heard anything about how Danielle Boatman and Chris Johnson are doing? I understand they stayed in Arizona. Do you know if he’s still in a coma?”

  Adam grinned. “I am happy to report Chris came out of the coma yesterday. They’re flying back this afternoon.”

  Settling back in the chair, Beverly crossed her legs. “I’m glad to hear that. Although, I’m surprised they’re releasing him from the hospital so soon.”

  “I was too. But according to Danielle, the doctors say there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him, and they can’t really force him to stay. Chris is pretty insistent about leaving and coming home.”

  “Is that a good idea, him going home alone after just coming out of a coma?”

  “I spoke to Danielle last night. She promised the doctor Chris would stay with her at Marlow House for about a week and follow up with his doctor. If his doctor ag
rees there’s no reason for Chris not to go back to normal, he’ll move back home.”

  “So they should all be settling into Marlow House by this evening?” Beverly asked.

  “It looks that way.”

  MASON MURDOCK HAD JUST GOTTEN off the phone when Andrea Banner walked into his office.

  Mason stood abruptly. “Andrea…”

  “Hello, Mason. Do you have a minute?” she asked hesitantly.

  Mason’s gaze swept over Andrea, noticing the jeans hugging her trim hips and how her snugly fitting cotton T-shirt wasn’t quite long enough to cover her flat midsection or hide the glittering belly-button ring nor the elaborate tattoo peeking out from the shirt’s hem. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Mason shook his head, insisting she wasn’t, and offered her a chair, which she accepted.

  “I heard about the hijacking. I’m so glad you’re alright,” she said after sitting down.

  “Thank you. I wish I could say the same about my plane. I’ve been on the phone all morning with my insurance company.”

  “Your plane? I thought they found it.”

  “They did. But those maniacs landed it on an old dirt airstrip—one that wasn’t even maintained. They did some damage.” He then waved his hand dismissively. “But forget about that. I’ll work it out. I’m just glad all my passengers are alright.”

  “I heard one of them was in a coma,” Andrea said.

  “My client. But I got a call this morning; he’s out of the coma and coming home today.” Mason smiled.

  “Really? So he’s okay?”

  “He’s out of the hospital, at least. But he’s not going home right away. He’ll be staying at Marlow House; that way he won’t be alone while he recuperates. So tell me why are you here?”

  “I don’t know if they told you. But the FBI questioned me. They seem to think I was in some way involved. But I want you to know I had nothing to do with this. I wouldn’t even know how to pull something like this off!”

  “I don’t believe you had anything to do with the hijacking, and I told the authorities that,” Mason insisted.

  “But did the authorities tell you about my uncle?” she asked hesitantly.