Scooting to the side of the bed, he awkwardly moved his left foot off the mattress, followed by the right foot. He stepped on his crutches. When going to bed, he had set the crutches against the nightstand, but they had since fallen to the floor.
The footsteps continued to come in his direction.
Leaning down, he tried to grab a crutch but in doing so almost slipped off the mattress. He caught himself and remained seated on the side of the bed. His bedroom door flew open.
There, standing in his open doorway, was Macbeth Bandoni.
Without thought, Walt blurted, “Mac—” He caught himself and didn’t finish saying the man’s name, but it was too late. Walt cursed himself.
Macbeth chuckled. “I see you got your memory back,” Macbeth said as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. The moonlight lit up the room, making it unnecessary to turn on the overhead light.
“What are you doing here?” Walt asked.
“I thought it was time we conclude our little business deal. And I see you have a new scam going on.” Macbeth chuckled again. “I have to give you credit. I never saw that one coming.”
Walt eyed Macbeth nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you today and your little fantasy you’ve got going on with Danielle Boatman. I knew she had something for that guy in the portrait, but how you managed to con her into believing you’re that guy now. Wow. I have to give it to you. How you pulled that off—I can’t even imagine.”
Macbeth walked over to the bed and picked up the crutches off the floor, moving them to the other side of the room. He then sat down on a chair facing Walt.
Walt took a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You see, I have amnesia. I can’t remember anything from before my accident.”
“Right, amnesia.” Macbeth laughed. “I forgot. I think you forgot too, since you just called me by my name.”
“What do you want?” Walt asked.
“To begin with, I want the portraits. The fakes are still waiting to be authenticated, and once they find out we switched the paintings, I have to disappear. You, on the other hand, might be okay, as long as you can continue to push this amnesia scam while seducing the not too bright but very rich Danielle Boatman. As for me, I want the paintings before I disappear.”
“I don’t even know where the portraits are,” Walt said.
“The police have them. They belong to you. So you need to have them delivered here and then give them to me. You do that, and I’ll leave you to your new scam.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop already, Clint. I saw you kissing her. I have to say, you had me fooled. I really did believe you were crazy for Stephanie, but you managed to get over her quick enough. Not sure how long you’ll be able to pull off this charade, and considering how chummy Boatman is with the local cops, I think you might want to get what you can from her and then disappear, like I intend to do. Just some friendly advice.”
Macbeth stood up. “You call the police station tomorrow and tell them you want your things delivered here, including the paintings. I’ll contact you, and we can make arrangements to pick them up. We need to get this done this week before the fakes are discovered. And if you don’t do this, I’ll make sure everyone in Danielle Boatman’s life knows about the con you’re trying to pull on her.”
Seventeen
Walt heard the front door close at the same time Max strolled into his bedroom. Still sitting on the edge of the mattress, he stared down at the cat.
“Now you show up. Is he gone?” Walt asked.
Max walked to the bed, his eyes fixed on Walt.
“He is? That doesn’t surprise me. After what he said, I assumed it was him.”
Max was about to jump on the bed when Walt said, “I need to make sure he’s gone before we wake Danielle.”
Max turned and ran from the room. A few minutes later, Walt could hear the faint sound of the pet door swinging in the kitchen door.
Bracing his hands against the edge of the mattress, Walt stood on his right foot, keeping his left leg with the cast slightly bent. Standing on one foot, he hopped to the dresser and grabbed his phone. He then hopped to the chair Macbeth had been sitting on minutes earlier and sat down. He called Danielle.
“Walt?” she answered in a groggy voice a few moments later. “Is something wrong?”
“I want you to lock your bedroom door, now. And then I’ll tell you the rest,” Walt ordered.
“Walt? What’s wrong?”
“Danielle, please. Do what I ask, now!”
A moment later Danielle said, “Okay, it’s locked. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Macbeth was here a minute ago. I heard him leave out the front door. But Max is checking to see if he’s still hanging around the house.”
“Macbeth? How did he get in? I’m sure I locked the door, and I changed that lock, he doesn’t have a key.”
“He got in some way. Picked the lock perhaps?” Walt suggested.
“Well, that doesn’t make me feel very safe,” Danielle grumbled. “I should probably call the police.”
“Danielle, if he’s gone, we need to talk to the chief about this, but I don’t think we need to drag him out of bed right now. He’s got his boys to consider, and trust me, we don’t want to share with Joe or Brian what Macbeth told me tonight.”
“What did he tell you?”
Max followed Macbeth to his car at the pier and watched him get in and drive away. The cat then returned to Marlow House and conveyed the information to Walt. Confident Macbeth would not be returning that night, Walt told Danielle it was safe to come downstairs. Before she did, she slipped on her floor-length robe over her pajama bottoms and T-shirt. Since she already had socks on her feet, she didn’t bother looking for her slippers, but she did manage to run a brush through her hair before leaving her bedroom.
Almost forty minutes after Macbeth had left Marlow House, Walt and Danielle sat in the library on the sofa, with Max curled up on Danielle’s lap. She stroked the cat’s head as he purred and drooled, his overbite reminding her of a vampire bat. Intermittently she would stop stroking his head and gently rub his white-tipped black ears.
“So Macbeth was the one Max saw sitting outside the kitchen door?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. And I’m the sap that called him by name.” Walt groaned.
“It happens, Walt. He caught you off guard. I say you keep pushing the amnesia story. Most of our friends knew Jim Hill’s name was Macbeth. I could have told you, and you can say you guessed who he was by how I described him. And if Macbeth starts repeating what he overheard—which will mean he’ll have to admit to eavesdropping at our back door—I’ll deny any of it happened.”
“You are rather good at lying.” Walt chuckled.
Danielle shrugged. “And who would believe I’d let you—Clint Marlow—kiss me.”
“As I recall,” Walt said, his blue eyes twinkling, “you initiated that kiss in the kitchen.”
When Macbeth returned to Astoria, he found Chet’s car parked in front of his cousins’ house and Chet sleeping on the living room sofa. Careful not to wake Chet, he made his way to Franco’s bedroom. Without knocking, he opened the door and went inside, gently closing the door behind him. He could hear Franco snoring.
Sitting on the side of his cousin’s bed, he shook him awake.
“What the—” Franco sputtered as he found himself startled awake.
“Keep quiet,” Macbeth admonished. “I don’t want to wake anyone else.”
“Wonderful, you just want to wake me,” Franco grumbled while sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Did you get it?” Macbeth asked.
“Seriously? That’s why you woke me up?” Squinting his eyes, he glanced over to the alarm clock on his nightstand.
“I need to know. Did he give it to you?”
“No. Not yet. He sai
d he would get it for me in the morning.”
“I want it now,” Macbeth said. “But I don’t want him to know you took it.”
“I don’t get it?” Franco frowned.
“I saw Clint tonight. He no more has amnesia than I do. He’s pulling another scam on Danielle Boatman.”
“What kind of scam?”
“This time he’s going for all her money.”
Franco scratched his head. “How so?”
“I saw them kissing.”
“Kissing? I thought Chet said she had a thing for him.”
“Chet has always been full of crap,” Macbeth said with a snort. “But that will work in our favor.”
“How so?”
“Because when I kill Clint Marlow, I intend to frame Chet.”
“You’re going to kill Clint? Why?”
“It’s none of your freaking business. You just get me that gun, and when you do, don’t get any of your prints on it. When I use it to kill Clint, I want to make sure the only prints on the gun are Chet’s. If we wait for Chet to hand it over, he’s liable to wipe it down first. At least, if he has any brains, he will.”
“What about the paintings?” Franco asked.
“I screwed up when I went to the police the first time. With Clint still alive, there was no way they were going to hand the paintings over to me. I should have known better.”
“So what do you plan to do now?”
“I made sure Clint is going to have the paintings delivered to Marlow House. After he’s murdered, and everyone is at his funeral, we can break into the house and get the paintings.”
“Funeral? Why would he have the funeral here?”
“Seriously? Clint doesn’t have any money, no ties anywhere. Anywhere but here. He’s conned Danielle Boatman, and you bet she’ll have him buried here with the rest of the Marlows.”
“But when they find the portraits gone, won’t they realize you killed Clint?”
“Why? They’ll have the murder weapon, the fingerprints, the motive. He had a thing for Boatman. And when I disappear with the paintings, I’d rather they not connect the murder to the missing art.”
“But Chet will tell them about you—about us.”
“Not if he’s dead, he won’t.” Macbeth laughed.
“What about us?”
“You’ll get what I originally promised.”
“But now that you don’t have to split with Clint, you can afford to increase our share.”
Macbeth laughed. “Yeah, right. That isn’t happening. Anyway, you boys would end up throwing all that money around, and before you know it, they would start thinking you had something to do with the heist. It’s better for you this way. You’ll have a little extra spending money without having to disappear. You’ll thank me for this. Just go get that gun.”
Chet sat at the kitchen table devouring toast, cereal, and coffee that he had pilfered from the Bandoni brothers’ pantry.
“Morning, Chet,” Franco greeted him when he walked into the kitchen. Glancing over to the open box of cereal and carton of milk Chet had left sitting out on the counter, he added, “I see you found something to eat.”
Chet let out a grunt in response and continued eating, milk dripping from his chin.
Macbeth stepped into the kitchen and said, “Franco, I need to talk to you.” He then stepped back into the other room.
The moment Franco left the kitchen and joined his cousin, Macbeth asked, “Did you get it?”
“I started to look last night. But Chet must have heard you come in, and it woke him up. He almost caught me looking through his car.”
Macbeth cursed.
“Don’t worry, Angelo is out there right now looking while Chet is filling his gut. He’ll get it.”
“You did tell him not to get his fingerprints on it?” Macbeth asked.
“Yes. He’s not stupid.”
“You got that money?” Chet asked when he burst into the room a moment later, interrupting Macbeth and Franco’s hushed conversation.
“Yeah, but you don’t need to get it now.” Franco’s eyes darted toward the front door.
“No reason to wait.” Chet turned abruptly and headed for the door, Franco and Macbeth behind him.
When they got outside, they found Angelo standing in the street by Chet’s car. Angelo quickly grabbed the trash can that had been placed by the curb the night before and started dragging it up to the house.
“I just threw my stuff in the car. It’ll take a minute to find it,” Chet said before sprinting down the driveway.
“Do you think Angelo found it?” Macbeth whispered to Franco.
“If he did, my bet, he put it in the trash can.”
“Just hope he wrapped it in something. Carefully,” Macbeth grumbled.
Together Macbeth and Franco walked down the driveway and stood by Chet’s car, watching him search through his belongings. After a moment, Franco glanced up to the house and spied his youngest brother disappearing into the garage with the trash can.
Fifteen minutes later Chet cursed. “Laverne, you didn’t!”
“What are you talking about?” Macbeth asked.
“It’s not here. Laverne must have taken it!” Chet cursed again. “But I’ll get it back. I’ll make her give it to me.”
“I don’t want the gun now. Not if Laverne knows about it,” Macbeth insisted.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her I’m selling it to you,” Chet promised.
Macbeth stubbornly shook his head. “No. I don’t want it now.”
“But we agreed on the price!” Chet fairly whined.
“Don’t worry, Chet,” Franco said in a soothing voice. “We’ll figure out something else. We still need you for what we have planned. It will be more than enough money. And you can crash here for as long as you want.”
Chet looked from Franco to Macbeth. “You haven’t told me what else you need me to do.”
“Don’t worry about it now. Mac never likes to tell us more than we need to know about a job. It’s safer for everyone that way.”
“But aren’t you going to need the gun?” Chet asked.
“I know somewhere else we can get one,” Franco said. “And Mac is right. We don’t want to use a gun that might be traced back to one of us in case it’s found. Let your sister keep it. We’ll get another one.”
“It can’t be traced back to any of us. I stole that gun.”
“Where?” Macbeth asked.
Chet frowned. “Why do you care?”
“Did you steal it when you were in Missouri?” Macbeth asked.
“So?”
“If they trace the gun to one stolen from Missouri and you’ve got that Missouri license plate on your car, not to mention you have a record, you know the cops are going to ask your sister if she has ever seen you with a gun. It could lead them back to you and to us,” Macbeth said.
“Oh…” Chet grumbled. “I see what you mean.”
Eighteen
The patio thermometer registered in the fifties on Friday morning, an average for April in Frederickport. The morning chill didn’t deter Danielle and Walt from sitting on the back patio and enjoying their coffee. It had been unseasonably warm the past week, with record highs in the seventies. But Danielle knew that was not going to last. She might have opted to take coffee inside this morning, where it was warmer and less damp, but Walt seemed to crave the outdoors. When she had mentioned the temperature earlier, his comment had been something along the lines of “Nothing a jacket won’t cure.” Fortunately, a jacket had been one of the clothing items Danielle had picked up for Walt while he was still in the hospital.
“You said Joanne won’t be back until next week?” Walt asked as he sipped his coffee. His first cup of coffee since taking over Clint’s body had been in the hospital. It had been sorely disappointing, nothing like how he had remembered. He might have skipped the morning ritual if he hadn’t tried Danielle’s coffee the day before. Hers was not bitter and stale like what h
e had tasted in the hospital. As a spirit, he had enjoyed the rich aroma of Danielle’s coffee—but he found drinking it even better, something he had been unable to do without a body. When on the other side, he had been able to enjoy scents without the benefit of an olfactory nerve, while the sense of taste eluded him.
“She’s visiting some friends in Vancouver. I was afraid she was going to cancel.” Instead of wearing a jacket, Danielle sat on the patio chair curled up in an oversized fleece blanket.
“Why?” Walt wrapped his hands around his cup, warming his fingers.
Danielle flashed Walt a lopsided grin. “Why, you, of course. She didn’t think it was a great idea leaving me alone with you.”
“I thought she was giving me a second chance?”
Danielle shrugged. “She is. But still…anyway I reminded her you had a cast on your leg, so I didn’t think you were much of a threat.”
Walt frowned. “I know my cousin was a schmuck, but I don’t believe Clint would have been a threat to you—at least not in the way Joanne seems to imagine.”
Danielle grinned. “According to Joanne, you look at me funny now.”
Walt arched his brows. “Funny?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you guys trying to freeze out here?” Lily called out as she and Ian entered the side yard with Sadie. The golden retriever rushed ahead of them, running for Walt.
“Morning, Lily, Ian,” Danielle greeted them when they got closer. “After almost a hundred years stuck inside, Walt likes sitting out here.”
“He likes freezing his butt off?” Ian asked with a shiver.
“It makes me feel alive,” Walt said as he scratched Sadie’s right ear. The dog stood before him, her chin resting on his right knee, and her tail wagging.
“If you aren’t careful, you’re going to catch pneumonia, which might mess up that alive thing,” Lily said.
Before Walt could respond, he felt raindrops.
“This is much better,” Lily said twenty minutes later. She sat in the living room at Marlow House with Danielle and Walt. Ian stacked kindling and logs in the fireplace. Sadie settled by Walt’s feet, while Max—who had been in the living room when Ian and Lily had first arrived—remained on the windowsill looking outside, his black tail swishing back and forth.
The Ghost of Second Chances Page 11