“The lightbulb is probably out,” Joe suggested.
“So no ghosts or boogie men down here?” Brian asked with a laugh.
“No. But it smells pretty raunchy. What is that smell?”
Brian took a whiff and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like piss to me.”
“Probably rats,” Joe suggested.
“Let’s get out of here before I ruin my appetite. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
Chapter Four
Danielle sat on the front stoop of her new neighbor’s house, holding the squirming kitten in her arms. She was reluctant to let Bella go, afraid she might take off and get lost again. She had to believe Walt knew what he was talking about, and Bella—assuming that really was the kitten’s name—belonged to the new neighbor.
She had rung the doorbell several times and could hear music playing from inside the house. But so far, no one was answering the door, and she had already been waiting for more than twenty minutes.
A few minutes later, she looked down at the kitten, who was no longer squirming but now curled up on her lap purring. “This is silly; they are never going to answer the door. Should we just go back to my house and try later? Whoever is in there obviously can’t hear over that music.”
Just as Danielle scooped up the kitten and got to her feet, the front door flew open and a young woman stepped onto the porch, shouting, “Bella!”
By the woman’s startled expression, it was obvious she hadn’t expected to find a stranger at her door. For several moments, the two women just stared at each other. Danielle guessed her new neighbor was younger than she was, in her mid-twenties or younger. She wore her blue-black hair pulled into pigtails; they fell at least six inches past her shoulders. Her severe bangs, cut in a straight line across her forehead, covered her eyebrows and gave her an almost childlike look. She stood several inches taller than Danielle and wore a black, floor length dress. Its jersey fabric hugged her petite frame. Danielle thought the girl looked like a combination of Goth and hippy, if there was such a thing.
Bella broke the silence when she meowed. The woman’s gaze darted to the noisy kitten, now squirming in Danielle’s arms. “You have my Bella!”
Before Danielle could respond, the woman lunged forward and snatched her pet. The startled kitten extended her claws as she was pulled from Danielle’s arms, leaving behind several scratch marks.
Danielle glanced down at her right wrist and watch the fresh marks turn from pink to angry red. Looking back up into her neighbor’s gray-blue eyes, she said in a dull voice, “I found her in my yard, thought she might be yours. You didn’t answer your door. I rang the bell.”
Embarrassment replaced outrage. The woman glanced down at the now injured wrist. “You live around here?”
No, I like to wander in random neighborhoods and steal people’s cats.
“Yes, down the street.” Danielle rubbed her wrist; it was beginning to sting.
“Oh dear…” the woman stared at the red marks. “I’m sorry. She scratched you.”
A more accurate description, you scratched me with your cat.
“Yes, two doors down, at Marlow House,” Danielle said instead.
“Don’t tell me, you own Marlow House?” the woman practically squeaked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid this move has been a little overwhelming. And when I couldn’t find Bella this morning, I…well…I’m sorry I overreacted and you got scratched.”
“Well, just glad I could bring her home. Have a nice day.” Danielle started to turn from the woman.
“Wait, please,” the woman called out.
Danielle stopped and turned to face her new neighbor.
“I haven’t thanked you for bringing Bella home. And we really need to do something about that nasty scratch. Come inside.”
“It’s okay,” Danielle said as she rubbed her wrist again. “I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
“No please, come inside. I have just what you need to take care of that so it doesn’t get infected. Unfortunately, cat claws can be dirty nasty things when it comes to infections.”
When Danielle didn’t answer immediately the woman added, “I’d love to give you a cup of coffee and cinnamon roll for bringing Bella back. They’re fresh from the local bakery.” The woman smiled sweetly while Bella tried to escape her arms.
“Cinnamon rolls?” Danielle perked up. “From the local bakery? With the pecans on top?”
“Yes and decadent butter cream frosting.” The woman smiled.
“Well…I suppose I need to be neighborly.” Danielle grinned, unable to turn down a cinnamon roll from the local bakery. They were even better than homemade.
“My name is Heather Donovan,” the woman said as she held out one hand to Danielle, while holding a squirming kitten in the other hand.
“Nice to meet you Heather, my name is Danielle Boatman.”
“Oh I know!” Heather gushed. “I mean, I know that must be who you are if you own Marlow House.”
“You’ve heard about me?” Danielle said with unease. I wonder what she’s heard—that I’ve been arrested several times for murder?
“Oh yes! I read all about you finding the Missing Thorndike! How exciting! I’d love to find something like that in the walls of my house!”
“Yes, it was exciting, but it’s currently sitting in the bank vault. The buyer I had for it changed his mind. Unfortunately, when you find something like that, Uncle Sam expects a percentage. That means coming up with the taxes before you find a buyer. And it’s not really something I can wear out.” Danielle failed to mention that with her recent inheritance from her cousin, Cheryl, taxes on the valuable heirloom necklace were no longer a concern for her. It was one reason she hadn’t been actively seeking a new buyer.
“I suppose.” Heather sighed. “I guess it’s true what they say, you really can’t get something for nothing.”
“Pretty much.” Danielle shrugged and followed her into the house. Once inside, Heather tossed the kitten to the floor and shut the front door. Bella scampered off, disappearing down the hallway. The music was even louder inside.
“Excuse me, let me turn that off,” Heather shouted over the music and then rushed off in the direction Bella had gone, leaving Danielle alone.
Standing in the entry, Danielle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It smelled like…What is that scent? Apple, no, lemon…rose?
“Geranium rose,” Heather said when she walked back into the entry hall a moment later. She had turned the music off.
Danielle opened her eyes and looked at her host. “What?”
“You were trying to place that scent, right? It’s geranium rose.”
“Is it a candle?” Danielle asked.
“No, essential oil. I have it in my diffuser. It’s used to bless homes, and this being my new home and all. Plus, it breaks hexes, and one can never be too careful.”
“Hexes?” Danielle tried not to giggle.
“Yes. Geranium rose is also good if you have diarrhea,” Heather said seriously.
“Diarrhea?” This time Danielle was unable to stifle her giggles.
“Diarrhea is nothing to laugh at and neither is a hex. Trust me, that’s nothing to fool with.” Heather turned from Danielle and said, “Let’s go into the kitchen. I have my oils in there.”
“Oils?” Danielle followed Heather.
“For your scratch, of course.”
When Danielle walked into the kitchen, she glanced around. Heather was in the process of unpacking. Moving boxes littered the floor and counter space. A heap of carelessly stacked empty boxes sat in the corner.
Like all the homes in Danielle’s neighborhood, Heather’s was at least sixty years old. Considering its pink and gray kitchen counter tile and speckled floor tile, Danielle suspected this section of the house had never been remodeled.
“Do you live here alone?” Danielle glanced around the room.
“Yes. Well no, not if you con
sider Bella.” Heather opened one of the overhead cabinets, revealing rows and rows of neatly ordered tiny glass bottles. Danielle recognized them—essential oils. She had several friends back in California who used essential oils, and one who sold them, but she had never really used them before.
Danielle watched as Heather sorted through the vials, until she found what she was looking for. “Here it is!” She picked up the bottle and turned to Danielle.
“What it it?” Danielle watched Heather unscrew the bottle’s black lid.
“It’s my own blend…mostly melaleuca.” Heather paused a moment and glanced down at Danielle’s wrist. She pointed to the sink and said, “You should probably wash that first.”
“Yeah, you're right.” Danielle felt a little foolish for not doing that immediately.
A few minutes later, Danielle stood quietly in the kitchen while Heather carefully applied her oil blend to the scratch.
“So the stuff really works?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. Healers have been using oils for centuries. It’s all very natural.”
Danielle looked at her wrist. What the heck, might as well give it a try.
After Heather finished applying the oil, she returned the small glass vial to the cabinet and then turned back to Danielle. “You ready for that coffee and cinnamon roll now?” she asked cheerfully.
Ten minutes later, Danielle and Heather sat at the kitchen table, each with a cup of coffee and cinnamon roll.
“Where did you move from?” Danielle asked after taking a sip of coffee.
“Southern California. I’ve always loved the Oregon coast. So different from Southern California beaches. I’ve wanted to move up here for a few years but never was able to until now.” Heather tore off a piece of cinnamon roll and popped it in her mouth.
“I love it up here—but I’ll be honest, until my great-aunt left me the property I never considered moving to Oregon, much less running a bed and breakfast.”
“I’ve read all about your story, how you inherited Marlow House, found the Missing Thorndike. In some ways, your story was the catalyst to get me to move—that and my own inheritance.”
Danielle arched her brows. “How so?”
“My mother recently passed away, left me a little money. The only reason I ever stayed in Riverside—that’s where I grew up—was so I could be close to her. It was pretty rough on her when my father died, she needed me.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
Heather shrugged. “Thanks. Me too. But it was for the best I suppose, she was pretty sick. Anyway, with my inheritance it made easier for me to try something new—leave my familiar surroundings. I happened to read about your story when I was trying to decide what to do next, and it seemed to be a sign.”
“A sign?” Danielle frowned.
“Yes. You were in Frederickport. A sign.”
Danielle didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. Instead of asking her to explain, she asked, “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“No. It’s just me now.”
“So what do you plan to do here? Do you have a job yet?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Writer?” Danielle asked curiously.
“Yes. I’ll be working from home. Perfect really.”
Another writer in the neighborhood! We have Ian Bartley, aka Jon Altar, and now Heather…I wonder if she has a pen name too.
“So what have you written?” Danielle asked.
“Written? Oh, I haven’t written anything yet.”
In response, Danielle silently sipped her coffee.
“But I know what I’m going to write about.”
“What’s that?” Danielle asked.
“About real haunted houses,” Heather explained. “That’s why I moved to Frederickport.”
Chapter Five
Wearing gray polyester slacks, a blue silk shirt, and an orange tie, Adam Nichols kicked off his leather loafers, leaving them under his desk. He leaned back in his office chair and surfed through a few of his favorite raunchy websites. Smiling at the images, he shifted in his chair and glanced up to the open door. While it was none of his employees’ business what websites he visited, he didn’t intend to give them gossip fodder.
He glanced back to the screen and about jumped out of his seat a moment later when he heard his receptionist, Leslie, call out from the doorway, “Sargent Morelli is here to see you.”
Hastily clicking on the X in the upper left hand corner of his monitor screen, Adam closed the webpage he was viewing and sat up straighter in his chair while his feet searched for the missing shoes under his desk. Joe Morelli, dressed in his police uniform, stood behind Leslie outside the doorway in the hall.
“Hi Joe,” Adam said, waving him in. Leslie moved to one side, giving Joe room to enter Adam’s office.
“Sorry to interrupt you like this,” Joe said as he walked through the doorway, flashing Leslie a smile as he made his way around her. Once he entered the office, Leslie closed the door, leaving him alone with Adam.
“No problem, I was just going through my email. What can I do for you?” Adam leaned forward, his shoes now back on his feet. He rested his elbows on the desk.
Joe fidgeted with the baseball cap in his hand, its Frederickport Police Department insignia barely visible to Adam. “I wanted to talk to you about the Presley house.”
Adam pointed to one of the two empty chairs facing his desk. “Please, sit down.”
Joe took a seat. “I thought you should know, someone broke into the house. They left the front door open, but it doesn’t look like they did any damage.”
“The Presley house is no longer my problem. I don’t manage the property anymore.” Adam leaned back in his leather office chair.
“You don’t? Do you know who does?”
“I doubt anyone. I managed the property for about seven years, but about six months ago, the owners decided to stop paying me, and when they wouldn’t return my calls, I stopped taking care of the property. As far as I know, they haven’t hired any of the other firms in town.”
“Do you have a contact number for the owners?”
“I did. But the last time I called it, it was disconnected. Crazy really. Renting out the house might have solved their problem.”
“Problem?” Joe frowned.
“I assume the reason they stopped paying me is because they ran into money problems. Which of course might have been solved had they listened to me.”
“How is that?” Joe asked.
“They never had much luck renting out the house due to those crazy stories about a Halloween ghost. When I took over the property, I convinced them to set it up as a vacation rental. Got the house about ready—you know, with furniture, linens—when at the last minute they decided not to rent it. It’s been sitting there deteriorating ever since. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re about to lose the house for back taxes.”
“That’s odd. If they can’t pay their taxes or property management, why are they paying to have electricity to the property?” Joe asked. “No one’s ever there.”
“They aren’t. That’s one reason I knew they were in trouble. They always kept the utilities hooked up to the house. But about seven months ago, when Bill went to check on the property, he noticed the electricity was off. I called the electric company, and they told me the power had been turned off for nonpayment.”
“I assume the property owners paid their own utility bills; they didn’t go through you?”
“They always handled that. After they decided not to put it in the rental program, they pretty much hired us just to keep an eye on the place, make repairs when needed, especially considering all the haunted house nonsense that would go on each year. Of course, I can’t really complain about that. When I was a teenager, I remember breaking into the house.”
“I guess the statue of limitations has expired on that, and I can’t arrest you for breaking and entering,” Joe teased.
“I certa
inly hope so.” Adam grinned. “Anyway, this was about the time I was trying to contact them for their late payments to us. I wrote them off about a month later.”
“Their finances must have turned around.”
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
“They have the power back on.”
Adam shook his head. “You have to be mistaken.”
“No, it’s back on. I was there this morning, turned on a light in one of the bedrooms. It worked.”
“That’s impossible, because the electric company pulled the meter,” Adam insisted.
“They must have put it back in. Which of course means the electric company must have the property owners’ current contact information, so I suppose I should be talking to them instead of you.”
“Bill was in the neighborhood just last week, and I asked him to stop by the house to see if they ever put the meter back in. They hadn’t.”
Joe stood up and shrugged. “They must have just done it.”
“I guess…” Adam muttered.
“I’d still like any information you have on the property owners,” Joe said.
“Sure, no problem.” Adam stood up and walked to his file cabinet. After thumbing through one drawer, he found what he was looking for. He pulled a slip of paper from a file, made a photocopy of the document, and then handed the copy to Joe.
Joe took the piece of paper and looked at it briefly, before folding it in two and slipping it in his shirt pocket. “Well, thanks for the information.”
After Joe left the office, Adam sat back down at his desk and picked up his phone. He called Bill Jones, his handyman.
“I have a favor to ask you,” Adam said when he got Bill on the phone.
“What do you need?” Bill asked.
“Run by the Presley house, see if they ever put the meter back in and if the electricity is back on.”
“I don’t have a key to get into the house to see if the power’s on.”
“Okay. Just see if they put the meter back in. That should be enough.”
“Why? Are we taking on that property again? I think there’s only one window left to be boarded up.”
Ghost of Halloween Past Page 3