“What do you plan to do with those paintings now?” Wilson asked Walt.
“I’m not really sure. When Mr. Bandoni called to see how I was, I told him he could have the paintings. After all, he painted them.”
“You were planning to give them to Bandoni?” Wilson asked.
Walt smiled at Wilson. “As I have told you both, I really don’t remember anything prior to my accident. But what I do know, I no longer have a home, nowhere to display the paintings, and quite frankly, I don’t really want them. Not sure why I ever did. I have asked Danielle if she would like them, since she sold hers to the museum. Which I can’t say I blame her, considering what they’re worth.”
“But now Bandoni is dead; then I suppose you’ll just have to keep them,” Wilson sneered.
Walt’s smile brightened. “Unless you want them, Special Agent Wilson. Would you like a couple of life-size portraits?”
“We would like your permission to inspect them,” Thomas said.
“Inspect them?” Walt asked.
Thomas glanced at his watch. “There’s an art expert who should be arriving any minute now. We believe the portraits you have may in fact be the originals, not the reproductions painted by Bandoni.”
“How in the world can that be?” Danielle asked. “The chief himself helped load the reproductions in the crate, and I saw it locked and later put into the van before the accident.”
“I’m not sure how he did it, exactly. But it’s what we suspect,” Wilson said.
“Then by all means, have your art expert look at my paintings,” Walt said.
“You have no objections?” Wilson asked.
Walt shrugged. “Not sure why I would.”
The agents asked Walt a few more questions, but each time he reminded them of his loss of memory. Danielle then asked if they would like something to drink while they waited for the art expert to arrive.
Walt sat alone with the agents while Danielle went to prepare a tray of iced tea.
“What do you think of this house?” Walt asked impulsively.
Thomas and Wilson exchanged glances and shrugged. “It’s a house,” Wilson muttered.
“When I was in the hospital, my roommate asked me about my stay here—of course, I didn’t remember anything. He told me I shouldn’t return, insisted the place was haunted.”
“Well…have you seen any ghosts?” Thomas asked.
Walt shrugged. “Only two or three.”
“Funny,” Wilson grumbled.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Agent Wilson?” Walt asked.
“I don’t want to talk about ghosts,” Wilson snapped.
“Really? I find the subject fascinating.” Walt beamed. “Have you ever been at Marlow House before today?”
Thomas glanced at Wilson and then back to Walt. “Yes, a few times.”
“Ever smell that cigar? Joanne the housekeeper told me about it. Says it comes and goes. I haven’t noticed it yet. Well, at least, not since the accident.” Walt laughed.
“What are you talking about?” Danielle asked as she walked into the room carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea and a plate of cookies.
“Your guest was wondering if your house is haunted,” Wilson grumbled.
Danielle glanced at Walt and arched her brows in a silent question. He returned with a shrug and guilty smile.
“I know some people say this place is haunted. But if it is, I promise we only have friendly ghosts.” Danielle set the tray on the table after Walt put both of his feet on the floor.
She picked up two glasses of tea from the tray and started handing them to the agents when Walt said, “Friendly and mischievous.” He stared across the room at the bookshelf, remembering when Marlow House had been visited by a more than mischievous ghost who had sent books flying across the room. He had been quite angry at the time, annoyed at the harsh treatment of his precious books. But he couldn’t help but think about how he himself had once harnessed his energy as a spirit. Focusing his attention on the books, he imagined what it might have once felt like as a spirit to send the books flying.
In the next moment—to the utter surprise of everyone in the room, including Walt—a first edition Mark Twain came flying off the shelf. The glass Wilson had just accepted from Danielle slipped from his fingers, fell to the hardwood floor, and shattered into countless pieces.
“What in the world just happened a few minutes ago?” Danielle asked Walt after the art expert had arrived and was now in the hallway removing the paintings from the crate while she and Walt remained in the library alone.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Walt stammered.
“I didn’t see any ghosts around,” Danielle said.
“I don’t think there was.” Walt cringed. “I think I did that.”
“How could you do that? You aren’t a ghost anymore!”
“All I know, I was focusing on the bookshelf, imagining how I would have done it when I was still a spirit—and then—well, then the book flew off the shelf.”
“I’m not sure what surprises me more, the fact the book flew off the shelf, or that you would throw a first edition Mark Twain on the floor!”
“It’s not like I actually thought it would work,” Walt snapped.
“I would have staked my career on those paintings being the originals,” Wilson grumbled when he and Thomas climbed back into their vehicle several hours later. Once in the car, Wilson angrily slammed the door shut and put on his seatbelt.
“Are we just going to ignore that other thing?” Thomas asked as he fastened his seatbelt.
“I’ve thought a lot about Marlow House since the last time we were here,” Wilson said. “She has that house rigged. I know it. That’s the only logical explanation. It’s nothing more than a promotional stunt. A lot of people want to stay in a haunted house, and we both know she once owned a marketing firm. She knows what she’s doing. I just don’t appreciate being the butt of her joke.”
“I have to say, you looked as if you had seen a ghost in there when that book went flying.” Thomas chuckled.
“You were a few shades lighter yourself.” Wilson shoved the key into the ignition.
Ignoring Wilson’s comment, Thomas shifted the conversation back to their reason for coming to Marlow House. “We don’t really have anything on Marlow. He obviously didn’t switch the portraits, so he wasn’t trying to steal the originals.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Bandoni,” Wilson said as he turned on the engine.
Thirty-Three
Three police officers stood on the shore and watched as the tow truck pulled the gray sedan from the beach to the nearby road, seawater spilling from its hull. The dead body had already been removed from the vehicle and loaded into the medical van, while other police and fire vehicles parked nearby on the beach. Curious onlookers stood off in the distance, speculating on how the car had gotten into the ocean.
A police officer sprinted from one of the police cars parked by the van to the three officers watching from the shoreline. When he reached them, slightly out of breath, he said, directing his words to his supervisor, “You’re right. That ID matches up with one of the guys they’ve been looking for in Frederickport.”
“We’d better give MacDonald a call,” the supervisor said.
Police Chief MacDonald called his babysitter up to let her know he would be running late and could she please give his sons dinner. It was already prepared and in the slow cooker. Since his kidnapping, he had begun relying less and less on his sister to help with the boys. They seemed happier when able to stay home after school with a babysitter instead of going to their aunt and uncle’s house until their father came home.
He tried not to stay after hours at work, yet today it was unavoidable. He needed to tell Laverne about her brother, and he didn’t feel right leaving that task to one of his people.
Instead of talking to Laverne in the interrogation room, the chief had someone bring her to his office.
“What�
�s this about?” she asked when the female officer showed her in.
Instead of answering the question, he pointed to one of the chairs facing his desk and asked her to sit down. When she reluctantly complied, he looked up at the officer and said, “Please leave us alone, and close the door. But wait in the hall in case we need you.”
Without a word, she nodded at the chief and then did as he instructed.
“What’s going on?” Laverne asked when she and the chief were alone.
“I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, Laverne. But I’m afraid there has been an accident. It’s your brother.”
“Chet? Is he okay?”
“I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
Laverne let out a gasp, her eyes wide as she stared at the chief, her hands now over her mouth. She shook her head in denial. “No, that can’t be. I just talked to him today.”
The chief frowned. “That’s impossible.”
Vigorously shaking her head, she said, “No. He can’t be dead.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s Chet. They matched his fingerprints. Why did you say you talked to him today?”
Laverne looked down guiltily and wiped away the tears now sliding down her face. “Because I talked to him on the phone.”
“Laverne, you couldn’t have talked to your brother today. According to the coroner, he’s been dead for over twenty-four hours.”
Laverne’s head snapped up, her gaze meeting the chief’s. “That’s impossible. I called Chet’s cellphone after I left here the first time. He answered. We talked.”
“I don’t know who answered your brother’s phone. But it wasn’t Chet.”
Speechless, Laverne stared at the chief.
“Laverne, did it sound like your brother?”
Staring blankly, Laverne blinked several times. “Well, it was kind of hard to hear him. He said he had to whisper. He sounded afraid, like he was hiding.”
“Afraid of what? Who was he hiding from?”
Laverne shrugged. “He didn’t say.” She blinked again and asked, “Are you sure it was Chet they found?”
The chief nodded.
“Where…how?”
“They found his car in the ocean, about twenty feet from shore; it was stuck on some rocks. He was inside. The coroner hasn’t yet determined the cause of death, but by the condition of the body, he believes he has been dead for at least twenty-four hours—if not more.”
Looking downward, Laverne closed her eyes and tried processing what she had just learned. Finally, she looked up at the chief and said, “He told me he killed Mac. That’s why I confessed. But if it wasn’t Chet I talked to, then Chet didn’t kill him.”
“Why would you confess to a murder that you believed your brother committed?” he asked.
Once again, her tears began to fall. “Because I was supposed to protect Chet. He’s my little brother. It’s my fault that Chet has had such a rough time of it.”
“Why is it your fault?” he asked.
“It’s my fault he’s dead. I shouldn’t have thrown him out.” Burying her face in her hands, she began to sob.
“What are you going to do?” Brian asked the chief. They stood in the hallway while the female officer sat in the chief’s office with Laverne, trying to comfort her.
“I never thought Laverne killed Bandoni,” the chief said. “I was hoping after a few nights here, she would come to her senses and tell us what was really going on.”
“Are you going to let her go?” Brian asked.
“I don’t see how I can keep her locked up. Without her confession, we could never make the charges stick, not to mention her confession was full of holes. But someone obviously wanted her to believe her brother was the shooter.”
“Maybe he was,” Brian suggested.
The chief, who had been watching the door to his office, turned to Brian. “Why do you say that?”
“Just because Chet was already dead when someone took that phone call doesn’t mean he was dead when Bandoni was murdered. And Chet’s car matches the description of the vehicle Heather and Lily saw in front of Marlow House.”
“True.” The chief let out a sigh.
“Laverne might have wanted to protect her brother, but she thought that caller was him. Which leads me to believe she felt Chet had a motive for the murder and was capable of pulling the trigger.”
“Chet was staying with the cousins, and now they’ve all disappeared. Did one of them pretend to be Chet?” the chief speculated. “And why? What do they know?”
“If one of the cousins knew Chet killed him, why call his sister and tell her? Why not call us?”
“For one thing, she called Chet’s phone. They didn’t call her,” the chief reminded him. “I’d like to know a little more about the relationship between Macbeth and his cousins.”
Leslie had already gone home for the day, and Adam Nichols had stayed late because a renter was stopping by for a key. There had been a time when more than just Leslie had worked with him at the property rental office. Yet over the last two years, they had begun leaving. It was nothing personal. One had decided to relocate to another state, another had a career change, and another had married and then, shortly thereafter, gotten pregnant and decided to stay home. Instead of replacing those who had left, Adam had decided to streamline his business. Of course, if Leslie decided to bail, he would need to start recruiting.
The renter had already come and gone. Instead of locking up and going home, Adam sat at his desk, staring at his computer monitor. It wasn’t that he particularly missed visiting those websites that made other people blush. But recently, just about every time he tried surfing one of the websites, his electricity went out. And it didn’t just happen on his office computer, it happened on his computer at home. While it didn’t happen every time, it happened enough to freak him out.
Adam wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, but it wasn’t exactly something he felt comfortable discussing with anyone. Bill Jones had tried to figure out what was happening at the office yet couldn’t find the source of the problem. Of course, Adam never mentioned to Bill that the only time this happened was when he went to one of those websites.
Instead of giving it another try, Adam turned off his computer and stood up from his desk. When he walked out of his office a few moments later, he found Police Chief MacDonald walking in the front door.
“Surprised to find you still here,” the chief greeted Adam.
“Evening, Chief. I was just getting ready to go home. What can I do for you?”
“Do you have a little time? I’d like to talk to you. Maybe we can run over to Lucy’s Diner and grab some dinner?”
Less than fifteen minutes later, Adam sat with the chief at Lucy’s Diner.
Menu in hand, Adam shook his head and said, “Chet’s dead? Wow. He was just in my office the other day, looking for a place to stay.”
“His sister’s taking it kind of rough. When I took her home, I got one of her neighbors to sit with her.”
Adam tossed the menu on the table and let out a deep sigh. “Those two always had an odd relationship. I always thought of Laverne as more a mother figure than a sister to Chet. She practically raised him, even when their parents were alive.”
“Why was that?” the chief asked.
“I don’t remember what was wrong with them exactly. I just know they were both pretty sick. Each had some sort of debilitating disease, MS or ALS, something like that.”
“They had the same disease?” the chief asked.
Adam shook his head. “No. They each had a different disease. I remember my mother once making a crack about the Morrisons and their lousy luck. I mean, it’s tragic enough when a disease like that hits a family, but when both parents are each hit with a different one, what are the odds of that? When I was in high school and would go over to Chet’s house, his parents were always in bed.”
“Did they have any outside help?”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’m pre
tty sure Laverne did most of the cooking and cleaning. She was the one who would get on Chet’s butt if he didn’t finish his homework.”
“Must have been rough on her.”
“Was Chet’s death an accident, or is this another murder?” Adam asked.
Before the chief could respond, the server came and took their orders. After she left, Adam asked the question again.
“At the moment it looks as if he drove off the highway into the ocean. There were empty beer cans in the backseat. But we’ll know more when we get the autopsy back.”
“Where exactly did they find his car?” Adam asked.
After the chief told him, Adam sat back in the chair, a quizzical expression furrowing his brow.
“What is it?” MacDonald asked.
“When we were in high school, the Bandoni brothers and Chet liked to play chicken in that area. I went once, but I swore, never again.”
“Chicken?”
Adam nodded. “They’d drive down to the beach, line their cars up like a drag race, and then head to the ocean. The one who drove the farthest without stopping was the winner.”
“Sounds kind of stupid…and dangerous.”
“Ya think?” Adam snorted. “When I was there, the youngest cousin—can’t remember his name—won the game and about lost his car. It took all of us to get it out of the water. I don’t even want to think about what that seawater did to the undercarriage of those vehicles. But then, Chet and those boys weren’t the brightest bulbs.”
“The Bandoni brothers, what was their relationship to their cousin Mac?”
Adam considered the question a moment and then shrugged. “I only saw Mac a couple of times. That was when Laverne was dating him. To be honest, I think that was the only boy she ever dated back then. Never had time for a social life. Pretty sure she met him through Chet and his friendship with the cousins.”
“Do you know what the relationship between the brothers and Mac was?”
“What comes to mind, hero worship.”
The Ghost of Second Chances Page 21