by Bobbi Holmes
Brian, twice divorced, had a knack of picking the wrong woman. While he considered himself an excellent judge of character, the results hadn’t proved out, especially when one looked at several women he had dated. He had disliked and distrusted Danielle after she first moved to town, yet the pair had since become unlikely friends.
MacDonald pointed to the chairs facing him and said, “Why don’t you sit down so we can talk?”
They each took a seat, and Brian asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Could you work tomorrow? I know you both have the day off.”
Joe groaned, but Brian said, “No problem.”
“If you really need us, okay, but can you tell Kelly I can’t go with her to the Fourth party at Marlow House?” Joe asked.
“Don’t worry, Joe. You won’t miss it. I need you and Brian to go undercover at Marlow House,” the chief explained.
“Undercover?” Brian asked with a frown. He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the opposing knee.
“Whoever I send, I don’t want their presence drawing attention. I’d rather people assume you’re off duty, and many people in town know you’re friends of Walt and Danielle.”
“Danielle is a friend, not sure about Walt,” Joe grumbled.
Brian chuckled at Joe’s comment. He looked at the chief and asked, “Why do you want someone over there?”
“While Danielle and Walt were in Hawaii, someone broke into their house,” the chief began.
“I heard nothing about that,” Joe said.
“I’d prefer we keep this between the three of us,” the chief said.
“Are you saying Danielle didn’t file a report on the break-in?” Brian asked.
“She didn’t, and Joanne isn’t aware of the break-in,” the chief explained.
“Then how do you know someone broke in?” Joe asked.
“After Walt and Danielle got back, they noticed someone had gone through Walt’s desk.”
“What about Joanne?” Brian asked. “Wasn’t she in the house while they were gone?”
“Danielle is adamant Joanne would not go through Walt’s desk. Plus, they could tell someone had been in the secret staircase,” the chief explained.
“So what does all this have to do with the Fourth party?” Brian asked.
“Um…well…I have information that someone believes Walt Marlow’s diary inspired Moon Runners…the original Walt Marlow. They’re trying to get their hands on it and intend to do anything to destroy it, even burn down Marlow House.”
“Where did you get this information?” Joe asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” the chief said.
Joe and Brian exchanged glances. Brian looked back to the chief and asked, “Have you gone through the diary to determine what they want to keep quiet?”
“There is no diary,” the chief said.
“I thought you said they’re looking for the diary?” Brian asked.
“They’re looking for something that does not exist,” the chief said.
“Why do they think there’s one?” Joe asked.
“Because of what Walt wrote in his book. And please, this can’t leave my office,” the chief insisted.
“What do you want us to do?” Brian asked.
“I need you both to pay attention tomorrow. Look for anyone who wanders off. Watch for any suspicious behavior. I don’t want you to prevent anyone from looking around; I’d just like to find out who’s looking.”
When Joe and Brian stepped out of the chief’s office twenty minutes later and closed the door behind them, they stood in the hallway, glancing warily back to the office.
“Once again, an anonymous source,” Joe said. “I don’t get this.”
“You have to admit, the chief’s anonymous sources normally pay off.”
“None of this makes any sense,” Joe said.
“When does anything that has to do with Marlow House make sense?” Brian asked.
Joe and Brian left the police station about ten minutes before Walt and Danielle arrived. Danielle had called ahead, to tell the chief they planned to stop by, so he was expecting them. When they arrived at the chief’s office, he was no longer going through his mail and was now busy reviewing reports. After they greeted him and walked into his office, the chief updated them on what he had asked of Joe and Brian.
“So did it work? What we decided you’d say to them?” Danielle asked. She and Walt sat in the chairs facing the chief’s desk.
“I suppose. Yet I have the feeling they’re wondering where I keep getting this anonymous information. But they both agree to be there and keep an eye open.”
“Like I mentioned on the phone, Walt and I are on the way to Portland to pick up a couple of cameras. The reason I wanted to stop by has nothing to do with whoever is looking for the nonexistent diary,” Danielle said.
“Then why?” the chief asked.
“It’s about those bones the dogs found. I think I know who they belong to,” Danielle said.
“Who?”
“Someone named Wilbur Jenkins.” Danielle told the chief what she had learned about Wilbur and then said, “I looked up that bookstore. It’s down the street from where we have to go. We’ll stop by, see if we can find out anything about this Wilbur.”
“Until we get the test results back, we really don’t know when our John Doe—or Wilbur—died. Even then, what we learn may be of little help. It’s possible the murder occurred a hundred years ago, because of the bullet type. But antique guns have killed people before,” the chief said.
“You said before you were running a DNA test,” Danielle said.
“Yes. It’s one test we’re waiting on” The chief turned to his computer. “Let me check something. What did you say his name is?”
“He gave Marie his full name. Wilbur James Jenkins,” Danielle said.
The chief nodded while staring at the monitor, his fingers typing on the keyboard. Danielle stood up to get a closer look at what he was doing. She and Walt quietly watched. Finally, the chief stopped typing and looked up to her and shook his head. “Nothing. No missing report on a Wilbur James Jenkins in the last ten years.”
“Regardless of that bullet, I find it hard to believe those remains are of someone who died almost a hundred years ago,” Walt said. He remained sitting.
Danielle sat back down and glanced to Walt. “Why?”
Walt looked at the chief. “Didn’t you say that gunnysack was relatively new? That it hadn’t been in the ocean for a long time?”
“What about the gunnysack?” Danielle added, looking to the chief. “You mentioned before you were tracking down who bought them.”
“Yes, the bag was relatively new. And Brian is still trying to track down who purchased them. So far, we’ve located three buyers, and they still have them,” the chief said.
“If the person attached to those bones—Wilbur or someone else—died a hundred years ago, why would anyone throw them in the ocean? That’s something a killer does trying to hide evidence, not someone who just stumbled on the remains. And if he died that long ago, his killer is dead by now,” Walt said.
“Which is one reason I don’t believe they’re that old,” the chief confessed. “Initially I did, but I think I was trying to be optimistic. I’d rather deal with a hundred-year-old murder than a current one.”
“If those bones don’t belong to Wilbur, they belong to someone he’s attached to. And if they aren’t his, my bet, they belong to someone killed at the same time as he was,” Danielle said. “Wilbur first showed up at Ian and Lily’s a couple of hours before the dogs found the bones. He talked as if he was carrying them with him. But that can’t be the case, because from everything I saw, he hasn’t learned to harness his energy. I don’t believe he carried that bag; he was following it.”
“Which makes me think they probably are his,” Walt said. “Someone killed Wilbur. Long enough ago that his body decomposed, leaving behind his skeleton.”
&nbs
p; “Which would be over a month,” the chief said.
“And our killer gets rid of the evidence now that the body has decomposed. It’s easier to transport a bag of bones rather than a corpse,” Walt said.
“The thought gives me the creeps,” Danielle said.
“We also know Wilbur was not cognizant of his death—according to Marie. But he felt connected to those bones, and when the killer moved them, he followed,” Walt said.
“Makes sense,” the chief agreed.
“If those remains belong to Wilbur, and it sure looks like it, we also have the killer’s name. At least who I think might be the killer. Someone named Beau. Wilbur told me he thought Beau killed him.”
“But he wasn’t sure?” the chief asked.
“Walt’s proof a ghost doesn’t always know how he died, or who killed him,” Danielle reminded. “But if you find Wilbur and then find a Beau he knows, you may have your killer.”
The chief let out a sigh and leaned back at his desk. “Since you’re going to Portland anyway, find out what you can. But be careful. No one has reported Wilbur missing. And whoever dropped that burlap bag in the ocean probably knows the police have it. They might be getting a little nervous about now. I’m serious; be careful what you ask. And if you run into a Beau at that bookstore, smile and leave and let me take care of it.”
Danielle stood up. “Don’t worry, Chief. Walt and I have enough problems. We don’t need to give someone else a reason to bump us off. All we’ll do is go in the bookstore and see if Wilbur’s sister still works there. If she does, well, then you’ll want to talk to her. I imagine you’ll want to get some DNA to match, and from how Wilbur talked, it didn’t sound like his sister killed him.”
Eighteen
Danielle gave Walt credit; he had no problem driving in traffic despite the fact when he had learned to drive, few roads had pavement or many cars on them. Leaning back in the passenger seat, she watched him effortlessly maneuver holiday traffic. It had been over two years since his transformation, yet some mornings she still woke up terrified it had all been a dream and she would discover the man she loved still haunted Marlow House.
He had quickly adapted to the technology of her era. Of course, she had introduced him to email back when he was still in the spirit realm. While grateful he hadn’t continued smoking his cigars when he stepped over to her side, she had to admit she missed the sweet scent of his favorite brand. He didn’t seem to miss smoking—he was far too busy eating, especially her double fudge chocolate cake and Old Salts cinnamon rolls. She quietly smiled to herself over Walt’s enthusiasm for the flavors and textures of the food he had been denied for almost a hundred years. Plus, he was always making her feel like the most talented baker in the world. If one listened to Walt, Danielle should be a star of a Food Network show.
He still abhorred tattoos, especially on women. She would occasionally overhear him mumbling under his breath about circus people when someone covered with tats passed him. It annoyed him when men wore baseball caps backwards, and while he owned some denim pants, he rarely wore them.
Danielle glanced in the back seat and spied Walt’s fedora. She had never seen him wear a hat when he had been a ghost, something she once mentioned to him. He had reminded her it was rude for a man to wear a hat inside, and when he had been a ghost, she had only seen him inside the house.
She looked back to Walt, who hummed along to jazz music playing on the radio. That was another thing that hadn’t changed. Walt preferred music from his era. While she had never been an enormous jazz fan, she had come to appreciate it after listening with Walt. She figured he had adapted to so many things from her era, that if she loved him, she should appreciate what he enjoyed from his era. And she did love him.
When they arrived in Portland, they stopped first at the electronic store. After exchanging the cameras and checking with Chris to see if he needed them to pick up anything else, they headed to the bookstore.
The bookstore was larger than Danielle had expected. It wasn’t as large as a Powell’s; although what bookstore was? Nor was it as large as a Barnes and Noble; it was bigger than many of the family owned independent bookstores she had visited over the years. Despite its size, there didn’t seem to be many customers. Danielle wondered if the day before July Fourth was typically a slow day for book sales.
Instead of heading for the shelves of books, Walt and Danielle lingered along the walls by the front entrance, looking for the history display Heather had mentioned.
They had only been looking for a minute when a voice asked, “Can I help you find something?”
Danielle and Walt turn toward the voice and found a pleasant-looking forty-something woman looking at them. She wore a store name tag that said Betty.
Before they could respond, she gasped, “Are you Walt Marlow?”
Surprised at her greeting, Walt smiled softly and said, “Yes, I am.”
“Oh my goodness,” the woman gushed. “I’m an enormous fan. I was disappointed when I read they weren’t making the movie. I understand why. That’s horrible what happened, but please tell me someone else will make the movie?”
“At the moment, there are no plans,” Walt said.
Betty glanced over to Danielle, who stood silently listening. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re Danielle Marlow, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture.”
“Yes, I am,” Danielle said with a smile.
“I’m Betty White. I work here and—”
“Betty White?” Danielle blurted out before thinking, unable to suppress a giggle.
Betty grinned. “Yeah, I told my husband I should take back my maiden name.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Danielle said. “We have a friend named Joe Morelli.”
“I love Stephanie Plum!” Betty said.
“Our friend Joe Morelli is also a cop,” Danielle explained.
Betty laughed. “Sharing a name with a famous person—real or imaginary—leads to some interesting conversations. And I really am an enormous fan of your husband.” She looked at Walt and said, “If you would ever be interested in doing a book signing here, I would love to arrange it.”
“Thank you,” Walt said. “I’ll seriously consider your offer.”
“So what did you come in for today?” she asked. “What can I help you find?”
“We’re in the neighborhood, picking up something at a store down the street, and we noticed your sign. Walt and I love bookstores.” It was partially true. Walt and Danielle did love bookstores.
“How long has this store been here?” Walt asked.
“In two years, we’ll be celebrating our hundredth anniversary,” Betty said proudly.
“How long have you worked here?” Danielle asked.
“Since I was twelve.” Betty grinned. “My mother owns the store, but I’ve been managing it since I got out of college. Her grandmother started it. There are some pictures of the early days over there.” Betty pointed to the wall behind them.
Walt and Danielle walked to the wall with Betty. Danielle was fairly certain this was what Heather had talked about when she mentioned a collage of photographs showcasing the bookstore in its early days.
There were about a dozen framed photographs and news clippings hanging on the wall. In the center was the largest, a black-and-white with four people standing in front of the store, grinning proudly into the camera. By the vehicles in the photograph, Danielle guessed someone had taken the picture during Walt’s first lifetime.
She looked closer and recognized one person in the photograph. It was Wilbur.
Danielle pointed to the framed photograph and asked, “Who are the people in the picture?”
Betty looked. She pointed to the first person on the right. “That was my mother’s grandmother, Kimberly Kate Jones.”
“Um…was Jones her married name?” Danielle asked.
“Why, yes, it was. She wasn’t married yet in that picture. So technically, in that photograph she was Kimberly Kate
Jenkins,” Betty said.
“And next to her?” Danielle asked.
“That’s her brother, Wilbur Jenkins. And next to him are two of her first employees in the store. But I don’t remember their names.”
“I notice the store is named for her. Was her brother part owner?” Danielle asked, trying to figure out a way to find out what had happened to Wilbur without it sounding like an odd question.
“Oh, no.” Betty looked at Walt and said, “If you’re ever looking for a story idea for one of your books, Wilbur and Kate’s father would make a good subject.”
“How so?” Danielle asked.
“Jerome Jenkins, that was my great-grandmother’s father, made a fortune during the California gold rush,” Betty began. “He settled in Oregon and bought up a ton of property. He married several times. One ran off with his partner; another died. His last wife was the mother to Kimberly and Wilbur. They were his only children. He was in his seventies when he married his last wife. She was in her thirties. But the old coot outlived her. He was in his nineties when he died.”
“I guess his two kids inherited all his money?” Danielle asked.
Betty let out a sigh. “Yes, but as you can see, I’m still working in the bookstore, so the fortune didn’t make it this far.”
“What happened?” Walt asked.
“As the story goes, Kimberly started the bookstore using her allowance. She was trying to show her father she was responsible, whereas her brother, Wilbur, he was a party boy, not especially ambitious, and loved having a good time.”
“So who did he leave his money to?” Danielle asked.
“Old Jerome didn’t believe a woman could handle her own finances. A significant portion of this estate included the land he owned, which he left to his son, but he put any cash he had in stocks, and left that and the family home to the daughter. But she couldn’t do what she wanted with it, not without her brother’s approval.”
“This was the brother who just wanted to have a good time?” Danielle asked.
Betty nodded. “Exactly. After the father died, Wilbur wanted cash instead of land, so he sold off all his father’s property, liquidated everything and then took off, doing what he always wanted to do, travel. With him gone, it tied his sister to the terms of their father’s will, and when the stock market crash of 1929 came, she lost everything except for this store.”