The Ghost and the Doppelganger

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “Yes. I wouldn’t ask you to help carry the Bonnets out of my house.”

  “I guess we were worried about nothing. Clint isn’t a thief?”

  “He’s not stealing anything today,” Danielle told him.

  “Have Walt move it.”

  “Ha-ha, funny. I would if I could.”

  “Okay, I’ll be over there in fifteen minutes. You better have cinnamon rolls.”

  Danielle wasn’t the only one looking forward to Clint’s departure. Marie couldn’t wait for the group to check out so she could be relieved of guard duty. Glancing up to the ceiling, she wondered what was taking Walt so long. The next moment, he entered the library.

  “Danielle’s up. She’s getting dressed and will be downstairs in a minute,” Walt explained.

  “I was thinking about that, Walt.”

  He summoned a lit cigar. Just as it appeared in his hand, he looked at Marie and frowned. “Thinking about what?”

  “About the propriety of you going into Danielle’s bedroom. I really should have been the one to wake her up. It’s not proper, you going into her room like that.”

  “Need I remind you, I’m dead.” Walt took a puff off his cigar.

  “But you’re still a man,” she said primly.

  Walt exhaled and smiled. “Thank you for that, Marie.”

  Before they could continue to discuss the appropriateness of Walt going into Danielle’s bedroom, Clint and Macbeth walked into the library.

  “I’m just going to be glad when this is finished,” Macbeth told Clint in a low voice.

  Marie and Walt sat quietly, watching and listening, and prepared to move should one of the men head for their places on the sofa.

  “No kidding.” Clint walked over to the crate and pushed his hand against it, as if testing its weight. “I wish we had someone else to help load it back in the van. It’s going to be heavier than hell with those canvases.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “Just remember to call me, and let me know it’s all a go,” Clint reminded him.

  “I got it. I leave first, make sure everything is set, and then give you a call and tell you to come on in.”

  “I hope we don’t have to wait long. Stephanie and I have a flight to catch this evening.”

  “I want this done just as much as you do. By the way, I had the craziest dream last night.” The two men stood by the crate. “I dreamt I heard something and got up. When I walked in here, the crate was open and the painting of Walt Marlow was floating across the room.”

  Clint chuckled. “Where was it going?”

  “Back in its frame, I think. Damn. It felt so real.”

  “A painting floating across the room felt so real?” Clint laughed.

  “No. The dream. It didn’t feel like a regular dream.”

  “Some people say this house is haunted,” Clint told him. “I read about it online.”

  Macbeth glanced around the library. There was no artwork floating about, and he and Clint appeared to be alone in the room. “Who do they say haunts the house?”

  “Walt Marlow. The guy you saw floating around the room.” Clint laughed again.

  “It was a dream, not a ghost.”

  “So what happened? Did the portrait start talking to you or anything?”

  “No. I woke up. It was the middle of the night.”

  Clint shrugged. “I guess I can understand. We’ll both relax when this is over. Although I can’t say I’ve had any nightmares over it.”

  Macbeth wandered over to the framed portraits and began studying them. After a moment he said, “Damn, I’m good.”

  Moving to Macbeth’s side, Clint whispered, “Not so loud. Someone might hear you.”

  “Oh, stop being so jumpy. No one is going to hear me.”

  “Hey, you’re the one having the dreams, not me.”

  “I’m just rather impressed with myself. There’s no way anyone will ever suspect those aren’t the originals.”

  Clint looked at the paintings and then nodded. “Yeah, they really are good.”

  “Oh dear,” Marie muttered.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Walt stood up.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” Marie asked.

  “You’re worried they might realize someone switched the portraits back.”

  “Yes.” Marie nodded. Walt disappeared.

  Danielle was just walking down the stairs when Walt appeared by her side.

  “You need to get in the library and distract Clint and Macbeth. And get them to move the crate, now!”

  Holding onto the handrail with one hand, Danielle continued down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re in the library looking at your paintings, and Macbeth is starting to notice how brilliantly close his paintings are to the originals—too close.”

  “Oh dear.” Danielle picked up her step.

  “Where’s Ian?” Walt asked.

  “He’s on his way over. I saw him crossing the street from my bedroom window.”

  When Danielle entered the library, she found Clint and Macbeth studying the paintings while Marie stood by nervously, wringing her hands.

  “I called Ian, and he said he would be right over to help you move the crate,” Danielle announced. She joined the men at the portrait. “So you’re saying goodbye to my paintings?”

  “Umm…yes…” Macbeth frowned, looking from the painting to Danielle.

  Just as he looked to Danielle, she stepped closer to Walt’s portrait and cocked her head slightly. “Well…that’s odd…”

  Both men exchanged quick glances while Danielle continued to stare at the painting, tilting her head from side to side. “It looks…well, different…”

  “Different?” Macbeth stammered.

  “Yes. Something about the eyes. I love Walt’s eyes. It’s the twinkle…the twinkle seems different…”

  The doorbell rang. While still focusing on the painting, Danielle murmured, “That’s probably Ian now.”

  Clint grabbed Danielle by her arm and turned her from the painting. “We really don’t want to take all your friend’s time. I think we should move the crate now.”

  Marie stood with Walt by the door leading to the parlor, watching Ian, Macbeth, Danielle, and Clint carry the crate down the hallway while Stephanie stood by the open front door.

  “Clever of Danielle, how she got those men out of the library,” Marie said with a chuckle.

  “One of the things I love about her, she thinks quick on her feet.”

  Marie turned to Walt and smiled. “You love her?”

  Still watching Danielle and the others, Walt shrugged. “You do too.”

  “I imagine not the same way as you do.”

  “I imagine not,” he whispered.

  Marie looked back to the crate. “Danielle and Ian don’t seem to be having trouble carrying their end like those other two. You don’t suppose the weight shifted in the crate somehow?”

  Walt took a leisurely drag off his cigar and shook his head. After he exhaled, he said, “No. I’m helping Ian and Danielle carry their end of the crate.”

  Marie turned back to Walt and arched her brows. “From here?”

  Walt shrugged. “Why does that surprise you? You saw me switch the paintings last night.”

  Marie let out a sigh. “Yes, you’re right. Oh, how I would love to be able to do that!”

  Danielle found it amusing how Stephanie had closed the library door after they had carried the crate into the hallway. It was fairly obvious none of them wanted her to go back into the library and start checking out Walt’s twinkling eyes—at least not until they were long gone.

  After the crate was loaded in the van, Macbeth went back into the house for his two suitcases. Ten minutes later he was gone. Fifteen minutes later, Stephanie and Clint were saying their goodbyes while Stephanie got into the driver’s seat of the van, and Clint got into the passenger seat.

  Danielle waved as the van pulled out into t
he street. Together Ian and Danielle stood on the sidewalk in front of Marlow House.

  “So they really didn’t know your portraits are worth a fortune?” Ian asked as the van drove away.

  “Oh yes, they did.” Danielle glanced towards Ian’s house and spied Lily jogging toward them.

  “So they weren’t thieves after all?”

  “Yes. They were. They think they have the Bonnet paintings.”

  Twenty

  Why did we have to leave before breakfast?” Stephanie steered the van down the road. “One nice thing I can say about our stay at Marlow House, Danielle serves a delicious breakfast. Would it have hurt to have eaten before we left?”

  “I’m sorry, babe, but yeah. It might have. Danielle was looking a little too closely at my cousin’s portrait, and I was afraid she was going to ask me to open the crate so she could compare the paintings. If it had been loaded on the bottom of the crate, I could have used that as an excuse not to open it. Letting her compare those paintings is the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “You know, she’s going to eventually find out they’re worth a fortune, and what will she do when she realizes hers are fakes?”

  “Now you ask that?” Clint laughed.

  Hands clutching the steering wheel, Stephanie shrugged. “I’ve always been worried about that. And now that we’ve gotten this far, well, it all seems a little more real to me.”

  “Don’t worry. Danielle and the police chief saw us load the reproductions and lock the crate.”

  “Can’t she say we switched them when she was sleeping?”

  “I suppose it would be possible. But those paintings have been in that house for almost a century, and anyone could have gotten to them, including that attorney who worked for her aunt. The one who murdered Danielle’s cousin and embezzled from the estate,” Clint reminded her.

  “Yeah, but that means he would’ve had to have hired an artist to reproduce them. When did he do that? Joanne told me she used to work for the aunt and cleaned Marlow House every week. Wouldn’t she have seen something?”

  “Damnit, Stephanie, stop! By the time Danielle ever figures out the truth about the paintings—which she may never do—we will be long gone with new identities in Europe.”

  Stephanie let out a sigh, her eyes still on the road. “I’m sorry. I’m just hungry. I always get anxious when I’m hungry.”

  “Then let’s stop somewhere and grab a bite to eat. We have plenty of time.”

  “But you said you don’t want to leave the paintings in the van.”

  “We don’t have to. I noticed a drive-through not far from here. Take the next left.”

  Stephanie let out another sigh and smiled. “Thanks. I love you, Clint.”

  “I love you too, babe. It will be okay, I promise you. We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?”

  Darlene Gusarov perched on the cliff at Pilgrim’s Point, contemplating her life and subsequent death. On days like this, when she felt particularly melancholy, she preferred her white chiffon, ankle-length dress. Even when the air was still, she could create the illusion of a breeze gently rustling her skirt and tossing her blond curls.

  Resting her chin on a balled fist, her elbow perched on one bent knee, she gazed out to the ocean and watched as the breakers crashed onto the shore below—one after another. There was no one on that stretch of the beach, there rarely was.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she gazed upward. Rain clouds filled the blue sky, gradually turning it gray.

  “What is it you want from me?” Darlene asked aloud.

  There was no answer.

  “How long am I to serve this penance here? Yes, I was wrong. I am prepared to move forward—prepared to take the rest of my punishment. But please, I beg you. Let me leave this place!”

  There still was no answer.

  “I know none of the lives I’ve saved while here will replace the one I took.” She paused a moment and then said, “Okay, technically I took more than one life. But please, I can’t bear this. Unable to venture more than a few hundred yards in any direction. No one to talk to. Unless, of course, I count one of the spirits who occasionally pass by. But then, they just remind me of my limitations.”

  It wasn’t an answer, more a question she heard.

  “Danielle Boatman? Yes, she can see and hear me, but it’s not like she stops by to chat—”

  Dropping both hands to her lap, Darlene sat up straight and frowned, still looking upward. “Oh yes. Of course. She’s hardly someone who would want to be my friend. I—I wasn’t talking about making friends, I—”

  Still frowning, Darlene cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure what you mean? That doesn’t make sense…are you sure?”

  “Talking to yourself again?” Eva asked when she suddenly appeared by Darlene’s side.

  Startled, Darlene jumped down from where she perched, now facing Eva.

  “What are you doing here, Eva? Come to taunt me?”

  In response, Eva waved her right hand, sending a flurry of glitter bursting out and over the cliff, disappearing before it reached the beach below. “No. I’ve come to help you.”

  “Help me? Why would you want to help me?” Darlene frowned.

  “I loved my career on the stage, but it was cut short, no fault of my own. You, on the other hand, had immense talent, yet gave it all up for a man—a man you hardly loved. For what? Financial security? And what did it get you?” Eva glanced around, taking in the prison that was Darlene’s.

  “You think I had immense talent?” Darlene whispered in awe.

  Eva smiled. “In life taking a turn down the wrong road can change everything. Just one little turn. And everything changes.”

  Darlene stared at Eva for several moments. Finally, she asked, “You know I wasn’t talking to myself just a minute ago, don’t you?”

  Eva nodded. “Yes. I’m here to help you understand. It is not about you changing the future; it’s about someone else choosing where to turn. There is no predestined future, but gentle nudges along the way to get you on the right path. And sometimes, under extreme circumstances, the Universe tries to right wrongs. Yet even in that, there is no guarantee.”

  “Free will?” Darlene whispered.

  Eva nodded.

  “Then what will happen to me if I do this?”

  “Have faith, Darlene.” Eva vanished.

  “That wasn’t as good as the breakfast at Marlow House,” Stephanie grumbled as she turned back onto the highway.

  After ordering breakfast sandwiches and coffee from a drive-through restaurant, they had eaten the meal in the van while sitting in the restaurant’s parking lot. Clint had tossed all the trash in the garbage can before they started back on their way.

  “I’m sorry, babe. But just think, tomorrow we’ll be in Paris, and I bet the food there will make Boatman’s look like that drive-through’s.”

  Stephanie grinned. “You’re right. Sorry I’m such a whiner today. I don’t know what my problem is.”

  “I imagine this whole thing has been stressful for you. But we’re almost there, babe.”

  Clutching the steering wheel and peering down the highway, Stephanie nodded. “I know.”

  “You sure you want to drive?” he asked.

  “You know how windy roads make me car sick if I don’t drive.”

  “I know.” Clint sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat, resting his head on the headrest. He gazed out the windshield, reading the highway signs as they passed by. They hadn’t traveled up this stretch of the highway when coming to Frederickport. But they weren’t returning to California, and they needed to meet with the buyers before heading to the airport in Portland.

  “Pilgrim’s Point, one mile,” he muttered.

  “What?” Stephanie glanced briefly to Clint.

  “I was just reading the signs.”

  “What’s Pilgrim’s Point?” Stephanie asked.

  “It’s up ahead.”

  “Funny name. I wonder wh
y it’s called that.”

  Clint shrugged. “No idea. But it sounds familiar. I think I read about it online.”

  “This is really a beautiful stretch of the highway,” Stephanie noted, glancing over to catch a glimpse of the ocean.

  “Just keep your eyes on the road,” he reminded her.

  “I am,” Stephanie said impatiently.

  Several moments later, just as they turned the bend at Pilgrim’s Point, a blond woman appeared in the middle of the highway, her white chiffon dress fluttering around her bare ankles.

  “Watch out!” Clint shouted.

  Stephanie screamed, her eyes locking with the blonde’s, who made no attempt to dodge the fast-approaching van. Panicked, Stephanie jerked the steering wheel toward the ocean side of the highway, sending the vehicle careening toward the cliff.

  With Clint now screaming while attempting to take the steering wheel from Stephanie, the van continued on its lethal course despite Stephanie’s attempts to apply the brake. A moment later they were literally flying, airborne over the edge of Pilgrim’s Point while the pair continued to scream in unison.

  After catapulting off the cliff, the van sailed for just a few moments before it made a nosedive and then clipped a protruding boulder along the mountainside, sending the van in a flip, turning it upside down, which was how it landed when it finally reached the beach below.

  The screaming stopped. All was quiet in the van, as if it and the passengers were holding a collective breath.

  “Stephanie?” Clint finally whispered.

  “Oh crap,” Stephanie groaned.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “For a minute there, I thought I broke something. But I think I’m okay.” Stephanie looked out the windshield. “We’re upside down.”

  “Let’s get out of here. But be careful. There’s glass all over,” Clint cautioned.

  When they climbed out of the vehicle, they found themselves standing on a desolate beach, their van’s tires facing the sky, one rear wheel spinning.

  “I about killed us,” Stephanie groaned.

  “It wasn’t your fault. It was that crazy woman.”