by Bobbi Holmes
“She met with Marie…No, I lied…What else could I do?” Ian said into the phone. “I don’t think she said anything. But if she did, Lily will tell me...That is none of your business…I won’t…I doubt she could connect me with my alter ego…Internet search? The woman is ninety…I think you’re worried about nothing…No, they’re clueless…It’s possible…They haven’t…Lily, why?...That is none of your business…I won’t…By the way there’s a great portrait of Marlow and his wife in the library…No the library in Marlow House…Yes, it has a library. More of a large study with book shelves…Not yet, but I plan to take my camera over there…she said it was okay…no, not Boatman, Lily…I don’t think so…Yes we’ll use it…...Alright, talk to you later.”
Ian disconnected from the call and slipped the phone in his jacket’s pocket. He gave a little whistle to Sadie and started jogging back toward the boardwalk. Sadie ran along by his side.
When he reached the sidewalk he slipped his shoes back on, then reached down and hooked the leash on Sadie’s collar before heading back to the rental house. He paid little attention to the two men he passed on the sidewalk—the two men Lily had talked to at Pier Café when he had taken her out to breakfast.
The two men made an unlikely pair. Adam wore dress slacks, a neatly pressed button down shirt and brown loafers, while his companion wore faded denims, a wrinkled t-shirt and dirty jogging shoes.
“Wasn’t that Ian?” Bill Jones asked Adam when Ian was out of earshot.
“At least that’s what he calls himself,” Adam laughed.
“I keep forgetting,” Bill said as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and gave it a tap on the back of his hand, sending several cigarettes protruding from the package.
“Do you have to smoke?” Adam asked.
“Hey, we’re outside,” Bill grumbled, using his yellowed teeth to drag one cigarette from the package before lighting it.
“Stinks like shit,” Adam spat. “No wonder you don’t get women.”
“I get plenty.” Bill took a drag. “So how are you doing with Boatman?”
“I was about to tell you, I met her today.”
“You went over there? Did you run into her friend? What did she say?” Bill studied Adam as the two slowly walked down the boardwalk along the beach.
“She came to me.” Adam laughed.
“Came to you? What the hell does that mean?”
“When I went to pick up Grandma today, to take her to the doctor, Boatman was there. Having tea.”
“Why would she do that?” Bill frowned.
“I asked Grandma when I took her to the doctor’s. She said Boatman wanted to learn more about the house’s history. I guess Ben Smith from the museum told Boatman about her.”
“Well shit, is this going to mess up things?”
“I don’t think so. Grandma doesn’t really know anything. I mean she does, but she doesn’t know she does.”
“Did she tell her about Ian?” Bill asked.
“If she did it would cook his goose, wouldn’t it?” Adam laughed. “But nah, I don’t think so.”
“Is this going to help us get into the house?”
“It gave me a couple of ideas. But yeah, I think so.”
Later that evening Adam stopped back at his grandmother’s house.
“Adam, I didn’t expect to see you again,” Marie said when he walked into her kitchen. He found her sitting at the table eating a bowl of ice cream. Already dressed for bed, she wore a pink robe over her nightgown and toilet paper wrapped around her hair to protect her pin curls.
“Would you like some—chocolate?” she asked.
“No thanks, Grandma. Just thought I’d stop in and see how you were feeling…after your doctor’s appointment.” He stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked around, as if trying to figure out what he wanted to say.
“Well dear, you saw me after my appointment. But it is still nice to see you again. I feel fine. Sweet of you to ask.” She put a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.
“I think I’ll have that ice cream after all.” Adam opened an overhead kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bowl. Marie watched from the table as her grandson fixed himself a bowl of ice cream before joining her at the table.
“So that’s the lady who’s living at Marlow House now?” Adam asked.
“Danielle Boatman, yes. Brianna’s niece—great-niece. She seems like a sweet girl.” Marie picked up a napkin off the table and patted her mouth before taking another bite of ice cream.
“I understand she’s turning the place into a B and B.” Adam glanced up and watched for Marie’s reaction.
“Where did you hear that?” Marie asked with a frown.
“Carla at Pier Café.” Adam stood up and went to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses.
“Carla is a little gossip,” Marie said.
“Maybe so. But she’s more reliable than the Frederickport Press.” Adam filled each glass with water then returned to the table. He set one in front of Marie.
“Thank you.” Marie took a sip of the water. Adam sat back at the table and started eating his ice cream.
“Are you going to see her again?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose if she has more questions, she’ll want to talk to me again. So she might stop by. But it’s too far for me to walk over there.”
“You said she wanted to know about Walt Marlow?” Adam took a sip of his water.
“Well, the man did kill himself in her house.”
“I thought you said your father thought it was murder?”
“Well either way, having a murder or suicide in a house might make one a little uneasy.”
“You mean to live in the house?”
“Yes.”
“Did Miss Boatman seem uneasy…living in a house where something like that happened?”
“No…not really. More curious. I guess I can understand. She seemed mostly curious about how Brianna came to own the house. She didn’t know Angela Marlow had died before her husband.”
“All old news.” Adam shrugged.
“I suppose.” Marie finished the last of her ice cream and pushed the bowl to one side.
“Grandma, didn’t you once show me some old photographs of Brianna O’Malley?”
“Yes, I have some wonderful pictures of her.”
“Did you show them to Ms. Boatman?”
“No, it didn’t even occur to me. Do you think she would be interested?”
“I’m sure she would. I bet she’d like to frame some of them, to hang in the house. After all, her aunt left her Marlow House. I imagine that sort of thing would go well in a B and B. Visitors to old historical sites always seem to eat up that sort of thing.”
“Oh Adam, you’re right! What a wonderful idea, and what a nice way for Brianna to be remembered.”
“You know Grandma, you’ve been saying how you want to go through all your old photographs, give them away to family members who’ll appreciate them. I think you should give all the photos of Brianna to Danielle Boatman.”
“Do you really think so? You wouldn’t mind if I gave them away?”
“Of course not, Grandma. They don’t mean anything to me. I think it would be nice.” Adam leaned across the table and patted Marie’s hand. “I tell you what, why don’t I stop over in the morning, and help you get that box down from the closet. We can go through it, and I’ll take the pictures over to her.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? I can always call her up and see if she’s even interested in them. If she is, she can get the box down and look through the pictures. She gave me her phone number when she left.”
“No Grandma, I’ve a feeling she’s pretty busy these days, trying to get the house ready to open up for business. If I take those pictures over there, it’ll give her time to do something with them if she wants to.”
“Adam, you’re such a thoughtful grandson.” Marie beamed.
Thirty minutes later Adam Nichols sat in his ca
r in front of his grandmother’s house. Before starting up the engine, he pulled out his cellphone and rang up Bill Jones.
“Yeah?” Bill answered the phone.
“You want to see the inside of Marlow House tomorrow?”
“What’s the plan?”
“Grandma’s giving me some photos for Boatman. I’m taking them over to Marlow House tomorrow.”
“I’ll go. But not sure what good it’ll do looking through the house with her there,” Bill grumbled.
“The very least, it’ll give us a lay of the land.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and won’t have to go back,” Bill suggested.
“Yeah right, like that will happen. But you know what I’m really pissed about?”
“What?” Bill asked.
“That I’ve been living in this damn town for my entire life, and for all that time that house has been vacant. I’ve never once been in it. All those missed opportunities. It would have been so damn easy back then.”
“We didn’t know back then,” Bill reminded him
“I know. But it still pisses me off.”
“So when do we go over there?”
“I have to come over to Grandma’s in the morning first to get the pictures.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“No. I’ll give you a call and pick you up after I leave Grandma’s.”
Chapter Sixteen
After getting out of the shower and drying off, Danielle slipped on a t-shirt and pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she quickly wove her clean damp hair into a French braid before brushing her teeth. Back in her bedroom she climbed into bed and pulled the top sheet and blankets over her as she sat up and leaned against the headboard.
It had been a fairly productive day, she thought. Lily did a good job with the inventory. Danielle had called around to get bids from local upholsterers to refurbish the damaged sofas and chairs. Both the contractor and electrician showed up as promised, and each gave her good news. Tomorrow afternoon the cable people were arriving to hook up her phone, cable and Internet and in the morning she was shopping for new appliances. She wouldn’t miss living out of an ice chest. She still needed to call the storage company and arrange to have the rest of her belongings delivered—things she hadn’t gotten rid of after selling her house, and what she couldn’t fit in her car.
She hadn’t seen Walt since he’d left her in the parlor, after Ian and Lily came down from the attic. She wondered what he did all day—where did he go? Just as she pondered that question Walt appeared, standing at the side of her bed.
“Move over,” he told her.
“Excuse me?”
“If you want me to lie on top of you, fine.” Walt started to climb onto the bed, his body disappearing through hers.
Letting out a little groan, Danielle quickly scooted over to the other side of the bed. A moment later she and Walt lay side by side on the mattress—Danielle under the blankets and sheet—Walt atop them. As usual, he wore his suit and dress shoes. Together they leaned back against the headboard, Walt puffing on his thin cigar.
“You know, when I get a boyfriend we’ll have to stop this,” Danielle quipped.
“You mean husband.”
“No. I mean boyfriend.”
“You certainly would not share your bedroom with a man who wasn’t your husband?”
“I’m sharing my room with you, aren’t I?” Danielle chuckled.
“That is hardly the same thing.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll be too busy for a boyfriend anyway.”
“Panties in a wad? I really don’t understand how you women talk these days. I knew giving women the right to vote was going to cause problems.”
“Oh, poor Walt,” Danielle teased.
“I read your friend’s magazines. I’m not sure I like how much the world has changed.”
“Maybe that’s a sign for you to move on to the next level.”
“You’re always trying to get rid of me. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Danielle insisted. “I just don’t think our spirits are supposed to be trapped—earthbound. I believe there’s something more after this—something better.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Walt grumbled.
“No. But you’re stuck here—by choice, I suspect.”
“I’ve things to do first—things to find out before I can leave.”
“Can I ask you one favor?” she asked sweetly.
“What’s that?” Walt turned to look at her. From the cigar in his hand a trail of smoke curled into the air.
“If you insist on having these chats in my bed, in my bedroom…”
“Our bedroom.”
“Okay, our bedroom. Can you please refrain from smoking? I find it very unpleasant while I’m in bed, preparing to go to sleep.”
Silently Walt stared at Danielle for a moment. Finally he waved his hand; the cigar and smoke disappeared. Only a hit of the cigar’s scent lingered in the air.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now I’ve something else I’ve been wanting to ask you about all day,” Danielle began.
“What’s that?” Walt fidgeted with his fingers as if he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands without a cigar to hold.
“When I talked to Marie today—she mentioned something interesting about you.”
“Yes?” Walt raised his brow and stopped his fidgeting. He folded his hands together and rested them on his lap.
“Were you a jewel thief?”
“She told you that?” His expression was unreadable.
“She also said you were involved in moonshining.”
“My, little Marie has grown up to be quite the gossip.”
“Like I said, Little Marie is ninety,” Danielle quipped. “Not sure if discussing events that occurred almost a hundred years ago—when all parties are deceased—can really be classified as gossip.”
“What else did she say about me?”
“That even though you inherited your grandfather’s fortune you liked to live on the edge.”
“I suppose that was true. Following all the rules can be rather boring and predicable. Are you a rule follower, Danielle Boatman?”
“Me? I suppose so.”
“I might have disagreed with your assessment of yourself had I not first read those magazines in the parlor.”
“What do you mean?” she asked with a frown.
“In my time, a woman who planned to open a boarding house—one who shamelessly discussed bringing men into her bed without the benefit of marriage—one would assume she was a…well a woman of ill repute. Definitely not a rule follower. However, since reading those magazines it appears that sort of behavior tends to be the norm these days.”
“Are you comparing me to a madam?” Danielle asked with an arched brow.
“I’m just saying…” Before he could finish his sentence, Danielle grabbed a pillow and started smacking his side of the bed. Surprised by her outburst, Walt glanced down and watched the pillow repeatedly move through his body. After her unsuccessful attempt to hit him, Danielle half heartedly cursed and threw the pillow across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor.
Walt looked over at Danielle who now sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, her arms folded across her chest as she chuckled under her breath and muttered, “Damn ghosts.”
“What was that all about?” Walt asked, still a bit dazed.
Danielle looked over at Walt and shook her head. “If you are going to make yourself at home in my bed at least try not to be insulting.”
Together they lay on the bed saying nothing for several minutes. Finally Danielle spoke.
“So is it true. You were a jewel thief?” She glanced over at him.
“It was only once. And I had my reasons.”
“What were they?” she asked
&
nbsp; “They’re mine,” he told her.
“The jewels were yours?”
“No, the reasons. The reasons are mine.”
“Okay…..What happened to them? According to Marie they were never recovered.”
Walt shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“I suppose not. But it is interesting. I’d love to hear the story some time.”
“I don’t think so. Some things are better left in the past,” Walt said wearily.
“Okay…I won’t pry.” Danielle promised. She pulled her knees to her chest. They were still covered by the blanket. Wrapping her arms around her bent limbs, she rested her chin on her knees and peeked over at Walt.
“I wonder how Marie knew. Her father must have told her. I wonder why,” Walt murmured.
“She told me her father liked to talk about you.”
“George was a good man. I’m surprised he told his daughter those stories.”
“I think he missed you. From what Marie said he lived vicariously through you.”
“Vicariously through me?” Walt laughed harshly. “I didn’t even make it to my thirtieth birthday. It sounds as if George lived a good long life.”
“Sometimes it’s not the length of a life, but what you do with it. It sounds like you lived an interesting one.”
“Stop trying to patronize me, Danielle.” The next moment he was no longer lying next to her, but pacing the room, a lit cigar in his hand. Startled by his outburst she sat up straighter.
“I wasn’t patronizing you,” Danielle said.
Bringing the cigar to his lips he glared over at her. Realizing what he was holding, he let out a little curse and the cigar vanished.
“What did I ever accomplish in my life?” he asked. “By the time my grandfather was my age—the age I was when I died—he was a successful shipbuilder, employed hundreds of people, built this town. What did I do with my life?”
“Who knows what you might of accomplished had you lived.”
“I didn’t even leave a son to carry on my grandfather’s name. Do you want to know why I’m certain I didn’t take my own life?”
“Why?”
“Because I was too damn selfish. There is no way in hell I would have killed myself.”