The Ghost and the Doppelganger

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Still staring at the space, she shrugged. “I didn’t realize how attached I was to the paintings. I’ll confess, I’ll miss yours more than Angela’s.” She turned to Walt and gave him a half smile.

  “Why would you miss mine? After all, you see me all the time.”

  Danielle studied Walt a moment. Today he wore his blue three-piece pin-striped suit. He even had the jacket on. She suspected her birthday was the occasion for his more formal appearance. She took note of his incredible blue eyes and found it utterly bizarre that Clint had the very same eyes.

  “Danielle, you didn’t answer my question.”

  Jolted from her momentary lapse into daydreaming, Danielle smiled sheepishly and turned from Walt. She took a seat on the sofa, pulling her bare feet up on the cushions and tucking them under her. “You’re here now. But you won’t always be. And when you’re gone, well, I won’t even have your portrait.”

  Walt sat down in a chair across from Danielle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Cocking her head slightly to one side, she studied Walt. “So you’re going to stick around until I move to your side?”

  “I certainly am not going to stick around if you aren’t here. But now that I think about it, when you get married and start a family, I don’t imagine your husband will appreciate me hanging around. I know I wouldn’t if I was him.”

  Danielle laughed. “There you are, trying to marry me off again.”

  “Let’s not talk about this. It’s your birthday. What do you want to do?”

  “You’re right. It’s my birthday. What do I want to do? I want to talk about this.”

  Walt let out a sigh and waved his right hand. A lit cigar appeared between two of his fingers. He took a drag and then blew out a series of smoke rings.

  “Have you ever seen The Ghost and Mrs. Muir on television?” Danielle asked. “The movie, not the old television series.”

  “I avoid anything with ghost in the title. Why?” He took another puff and blew out more smoke rings.

  “It’s an old classic, really. I rather liked shows like that when I was a kid. Topper, Casper—anything with a friendly gh—spirit.” Danielle grinned. “I found them rather comforting considering my…umm…gift. Of course, not all spirits are as charming or harmless in real life—or death.”

  “Why did you ask me about The Ghost and Mrs. Muir movie?”

  “In the movie, Mrs. Muir is a widow—but unlike me, she has children—and moves into an old house. Also on the coast, but I believe it was the east coast. The ghost of a handsome sea captain is in residence. And they…” Danielle paused a moment and then frowned. “Never mind. It was just an old movie. Not sure why I mentioned it.”

  “Could it be because Mrs. Muir and the sea captain fell in love?” Clint Marlow asked from the doorway.

  Danielle turned abruptly toward the newcomer. “How long have you been standing there? And why aren’t you at the hospital?”

  Clint walked into the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He wandered over to the empty chair next to Walt and sat down. Walt watched his cousin, yet said nothing.

  “It seems you two are in the same situation as Stephanie and me.” His hands no longer in his pockets, Clint leaned back in the chair, crossed one leg over the opposing knee, and folded his hand over one trousered thigh.

  “What are you talking about?” Danielle asked.

  “It’s pretty obvious.” Clint glanced from Walt to Danielle and smiled. “You two are in love. But one of you is alive—the other is a ghost.”

  “I find the term ghost rather grating,” Walt noted.

  “Grating or not, it’s what you are, cousin.” Clint chuckled and added, “I noticed neither of you disagreed with my assertion about you two being in love.”

  “Why are you here?” Walt asked.

  “Being that I’m in limbo and not prepared to rejoin the living, I thought I’d come back and ask Danielle a few questions.”

  “Questions about what?” Danielle asked.

  “I was curious; when did you realize the portraits were valuable? Was it when Walt caught Mac changing them? Mac is Jim’s real name.”

  “Actually, Mac’s real name is Macbeth,” Danielle corrected.

  Clint chuckled. “So you know about that too?”

  “It was Ian, actually. He recognized him the first night you were here,” Danielle explained. “That got us to look a little closer at the paintings, and after Angela told us the artist’s real name, we were able to find out who he was.”

  Clint frowned. “Angela? Walt’s wife? The one in the portrait.” He sat there a moment, processing the information. When it finally clicked what Danielle was talking about, he shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “Good lord, I never had a chance of stealing those paintings, did I?”

  “Not really. So tell me, is this something you do a lot?” Danielle asked.

  “What? Art theft?” Clint asked.

  Danielle nodded.

  “Hardly. My father used to say, if you’re going to be a thief, it better be worth it. For the record, I don’t imagine my father stole a thing in his life. His point, I believe, was that if you’re ready to risk everything, then the payoff better be more than a few thousand bucks.”

  “Does this mean there is a monetary minimum on your heists?” Walt asked.

  “I’ve never stolen anything before.”

  “So why this time?” Danielle asked.

  With a sigh, Clint slumped back in the chair. He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs. “I’d come to hate my job. There is a reason they say buyers are liars. And sellers aren’t much better. Don’t even get me started on other real estate agents, incompetent imbeciles!”

  “So you hated your job. Why not just find another career?” Danielle asked.

  “Like what? I never went to college. I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen.”

  “What made you decide to become an art thief?” Walt asked.

  Clint looked at Walt a moment and then smiled. “Don’t act so superior. Maybe this is in my genes. I’ve read about how you stole that necklace from your friend. At least I don’t steal from friends.”

  “Should I be insulted?” Danielle grumbled under her breath and then added, “Walt didn’t steal the Missing Thorndike for himself.”

  Clint shrugged. “Frankly I don’t care why he stole it. I just find it amusing he’s so judgmental over all this, considering what he did.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what Walt may have done. We were talking about you. Why did you decide to become an art thief?” Danielle asked.

  Clint studied Danielle a moment before answering. Finally, he shrugged and said, “The only thing going right in my life was Stephanie. But I hated my job, and my broker was a jerk. I caught him stealing a couple of my clients. Take my advice, never work for a competing broker.”

  “Why the Bonnets?” Danielle asked.

  Clint drew in a breath and then let it out before continuing. “When that other real estate agent sent me a link to your page, I didn’t pay much attention at first. Like I said in one of my emails, I really didn’t care about family history. Stephanie and I had decided not to have kids. Neither of us wanted them. So what would I care about a bunch of dead people I just happened to share DNA with?”

  “Indeed,” Walt muttered, taking another puff off his cigar.

  “I told Stephanie about the website, and she asked to see it. She’s the one who opened the webpage showing pictures of your portraits. I hadn’t opened that page when I first went to your site. She was immediately fascinated by Walt’s portrait and the likeness to me. Out of curiosity, she enlarged the image, trying to find the name of the artist. Stephanie was an art major in college, so she was always interested in that sort of stuff.”

  “Did she recognize the artist immediately?” Danielle asked.

  Clint shook his head. “No. Neither of us could figure out the artist’s name by the signature on the painting. We just figured that w
hoever it was, was basically a talented nobody, considering you didn’t mention anything about him on your site.”

  “And then you went to the Bonnet art show?” Danielle asked.

  Clint frowned. “How did you know?”

  “During Ian’s research, he discovered there had been a Bonnet art show in your area right before you sent me that first email. We assumed that’s how you figured out the paintings’ worth.”

  “Steph and I went to that show, and she almost flipped out. She recognized his style immediately, but the signature—that clinched it. That’s when we decided to email you and offer to buy them.”

  “You mean steal them,” Walt said.

  “No. Maybe take advantage of the fact you had no clue what you had. But all perfectly legal. After Stephanie read my emails to you, she was kind of annoyed with me. Said I would get more bees with honey. Claimed I was too abrupt in my emails.” He shrugged. “After you refused to sell them, we came up with a plan to steal them.”

  “How did you find Macbeth?” Danielle asked.

  “During college, Steph had worked for a museum and had read about Macbeth Bandoni. It wasn’t too hard to find him online. He agreed to do the paintings and find a buyer, and we agreed to take him on as our partner.”

  “He was here yesterday, trying to find the paintings,” Danielle told him.

  Clint chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Did you tell him you switched the paintings back?”

  “No. For one thing, the Bonnets were sitting in this room at the time, and Macbeth had three burly men by his side.”

  “Ahh, you mean his cousins?” Clint asked.

  Danielle frowned. “They really are his cousins?”

  Clint nodded. “Yes. That’s how Stephanie tracked Bandoni down. She found an article about his cousins. They live in Astoria. We thought that was a sign. I mean, imagine that? Bandoni’s cousins live just a stone’s throw from Marlow House.”

  Clint had been mildly curious as to what Danielle had known about his plot to steal her portraits. Now that he had the answers, he had no reason to hang around Marlow House. He didn’t find her any more interesting than when they had first met. As for his distant cousin Walt, he found it rather creepy being in the same room with him. It wasn’t just because he was a ghost, it was that Walt had his face. Clint didn’t understand how identical twins dealt with that. He cringed at the thought.

  Just as he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Marlow House, a bright light appeared before him. He froze, wondering for a moment if perhaps his body had died back at the hospital and this was the portal to take him to his Stephanie.

  Yet, instead of a doorway into forever, the light swirled about, sending glitter like rain bursting in all directions. Just as the light faded, a beautiful woman appeared before him, her pale blue chiffon dress fluttering in the breeze.

  “Are you an angel?” he gasped in surprise.

  She looked him up and down and said, “I’m no more an angel than you are Walt Marlow.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Who are you?” Clint asked. They continued to stand on the sidewalk in front of Marlow House.

  She smiled and waved her right hand to one side, sending more glitter into the air before it vanished. “My name is Eva Thorndike.”

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “I suppose I am a ghost.” She twirled around merrily, her hands waving gently in the air, while releasing more glitter. She reminded him of a fairy godmother from a Disney movie. Not the plump one from Cinderella, a more glamourous one. When he shared that observation with her, she stopped twirling and then laughed.

  “In some ways I am a fairy godmother. You might say I’m yours, in a manner of speaking.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve come to help you, Clint Marlow.”

  “How do you know who I am?” he asked. “And a moment ago you mentioned my cousin, Walt Marlow.”

  “I’m a close friend of your cousin. Walt and I grew up together.”

  “Eva Thorndike!” he gasped when recognition dawned. “You’re that actress, the one Walt stole the necklace from.”

  Eva gave a little curtsy and then said, “At your service. And, in fairness to dear Walt, he only took my necklace because I asked him to. Unlike you, who were prepared to take something without the owner’s permission.” She gave a little tsk-tsk sound and shook her head.

  “You know about that?” he asked.

  “Of course. Everyone knows. At least, everyone who matters.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. And why did you say you were my fairy godmother?”

  “I said in a manner of speaking. I’m not really your fairy godmother.” Eva glanced around and then pointed toward the other side of the street. “Come, we need to talk somewhere else. I really don’t need Walt to look out the window and wonder what I’m up to. At least, not yet.”

  Too curious to refuse, Clint followed Eva across the street and through the opening between Ian’s yard and his neighbor’s until they were on the beach behind Ian and Lily’s house.

  “Clint Marlow, I must say you failed the test,” Eva announced.

  “What test?” He frowned.

  “It’s a matter of character,” she told him. “Yours is seriously lacking.”

  “Is this about me trying to steal the portraits?” he asked.

  Eva shook her head. “That’s only part of it. You aren’t a bad person, yet you do seem to be utterly incapable of embracing this gift called life. You’re not really fighting for yours, are you?”

  “What’s the point? The only person I ever loved is gone. I just want to go with her.”

  They were interrupted by a dog barking. Eva looked toward Ian and Lily’s house and watched as a golden retriever came racing in her direction. She smiled and leaned down to greet the dog.

  “Ah, Sadie, it is so nice to see you,” Eva cooed.

  Clint looked back to the house and saw Lily, hands on hips, her red hair pulled up casually in a high ponytail, watching the golden retriever, who was excitedly greeting Eva. By Lily’s expression and Clint’s knowledge on how this all seemed to work, he was certain Lily could not see Eva or himself. He wondered what Lily must be thinking, considering her dog’s behavior.

  After Sadie greeted Eva, she looked at Clint and cocked her head from side to side. She then started barking—not a friendly bark.

  “You’re right, Sadie. It isn’t Walt,” Eva told her.

  “Sadie! Come!” Lily called from the house.

  “Go, girl,” Eva told the dog, pointing toward Lily.

  With a final bark, Sadie turned around and raced back to the house. A moment later she went inside with Lily.

  “The dog could see us,” Clint muttered.

  “Yes, most dogs and cats can. Some other animals too, yet I’ve found not all of them are able to.” Eva shrugged.

  “Why do you want to talk to me?” Clint asked.

  “Come. Let’s walk. I love walking along the ocean.”

  Clint fell in step with Eva as the two strolled leisurely down the beach, the skirt of Eva’s long dress fluttering in the breeze. Clint glanced down and noticed she was barefoot. He was certain she had been wearing shoes when she had first appeared in front of Marlow House.

  “You need to make a decision, Clint Marlow. Your body is waiting for you.”

  “I don’t want to go on. I want to be with Stephanie. There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

  “I heard you considered going back in your body—and then killing yourself.”

  “Did Danielle tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Then how did you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I just do.”

  He shrugged. “Well, it seemed like the easiest solution at the time. But Danielle said it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Danielle’s right. The Universe takes unkindly to those who squander precious gifts like life.”

  “Un
iverse?” he asked with a frown. “Isn’t there a god?”

  She glanced to him. “Why do you suggest there’s no God?”

  “You said universe, so I just thought…” He shrugged.

  “It’s all semantics anyway,” Eva said. “You’ll eventually understand more about God and the Universe when you’re ready.”

  “Maybe I’m ready now. I want to move on.”

  “When you say you want to move on in the same sentence as suicide, that is beyond troubling. While the Universe might be more understanding and forgiving of those suffering a debilitating disease, great emotional pain, or mental illness—your motivation seems more self-centered—self-serving.”

  “So what do I do? Go back and live my life and be miserable?”

  Eva shrugged. “If you wish to be miserable, you will be. Or you can wander around half-dead, half-alive until your body finally gives up. Yet, that in itself is almost as bad as suicide, considering it produces the same outcome—a waste of a life.”

  “So there really is no other choice?” He stopped walking and gazed out to the sea. If tears were possible, he would cry.

  Eva stood several feet from Clint, studying him. Finally, she said, “There is one option open to you.”

  Clint looked to her. “There is?”

  “If you found a spirit—someone who was cheated out of life and is as stubborn as you, in that the spirit has refused to continue on in his journey, just as you have refused to return to your life—give your body to him. Once he accepts the gift, you will be free to move on—and free of any penance you might have suffered for your actions prior to death.”

  “Someone else can take my body? That is actually possible?”

  Eva nodded. “Yes, it is. But it is a tricky thing. There have been rare cases of wandering spirits hijacking the comatose body of a confused spirit. While they might believe at that moment they have found a way to cheat death, they eventually learn after the body dies—and all bodies eventually die—that there is a hefty penance to pay. For claiming an unwilling body is tantamount to murder. However, if the original inhabitant of the body—a spirit so opposed to life—turns it over to another spirit—one who was previously cheated out of life—the Universe considers that a matter of setting things right.”