The Ghost and the Muse (Haunting Danielle Book 10)

by Bobbi Holmes

  “It’s not really necessary to talk to Hillary. If you and Heather can help the artist draw a good likeness, it’s possible we can figure out his true identity.”

  “You’re right. Hillary didn’t even know her muse was really a dead guy.”

  Chris flashed Danielle a grin. “I wouldn’t let Walt catch you referring to a ghost as a dead guy.”

  “True, but Walt isn’t too thrilled with the term ghost either.”

  “Speaking of Walt, he’s standing at the parlor window, watching us.” Chris pointed to the house.

  Danielle glanced behind her. Sure enough, Walt was standing at the window, and he didn’t look happy. She waved at him. Instead of a wave in return, Walt gestured for her to come into the house.

  “I guess he needs something.” Danielle frowned. Instead of hurrying to see what Walt needed, she turned back to Chris and said, “Thanks for going with me to the post office and for lunch.”

  “No problem. I enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, and I like your new car too.” Danielle stepped back on the sidewalk. She gave Chris a little wave and watched him drive down the street to his house.

  By the time Danielle got to her front door, Walt was pacing in the entry hall, waiting for her.

  “What’s up?” Danielle asked as she walked inside, closing the door behind her.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Didn’t Lily tell you? We went to see if we could find Hillary. I thought maybe she was with her body; she wasn’t.”

  “I know that,” he said impatiently.

  Danielle set her purse on the entry table. “If you know that, why did you ask where I’ve been?”

  “I meant I already knew Hillary isn’t with her body.”

  “How did you know that?” Danielle frowned.

  Walt gestured up to the ceiling. “Because she’s here, in her room.”

  “Hillary is here?” Danielle glanced up to the ceiling. “When did she get back?”

  “Not long after you talked to Lily. Who is over at Ian’s, by the way. I’ve been dreading her coming back and having to explain to Hillary why Lily’s ignoring her.”

  “You’re saying Hillary doesn’t know she’s dead?”

  Walt nodded. “That seems to be where she’s at. She’s been looking for you and for her things. She’s especially panicked because she can’t find her manuscript.”

  “I hate having to tell someone they’re dead.” Danielle started for the stairs.

  “I know what you mean. Nothing like ruining someone’s day by informing them they’re dead.”

  “I assume she saw you?” Danielle asked as she started up the stairs.

  “Of course, she’s dead. Spirits on this plane see other spirits. We aren’t invisible, you know.”

  “Who does she think you are?”

  “A new guest. Although, she kept looking at me as if there was something vaguely familiar.”

  “The portrait?”

  “Probably.”

  Danielle found Hillary in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, the pile of soiled linens still heaped in the center of the mattress. The moment Hillary noticed Danielle, she jumped up.

  “Where are my things? My typewriter, my manuscript?”

  “They’re safe, don’t worry. But we need to talk.”

  Hillary’s gaze darted about the room. “Why aren’t they here?”

  “Don’t you remember? You were checking out on Friday. Everything has been packed up and safely stored.”

  “Who packed for me?” Hillary frowned. “I don’t remember packing.”

  “I had to do it for you. You weren’t here. I waited, but it’s Monday—three days after checkout. I did it this morning.”

  “It’s Monday?” Hillary looked confused.

  “Hillary, do you remember going to bed on Thursday night? You told me you wanted to check out the next day, after breakfast.”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “Do you remember getting up and seeing me that night?”

  Hillary sat back down on the edge of the mattress and considered the question. “Why, yes. I remember now. I wanted to take a walk on the beach—a final walk. You were in the parlor with that handsome young man—your new guest. He was here when I got back.”

  “What else do you remember about that night?”

  “I remember heading for the beach—oh, and I ran into your neighbor Heather. She can be rather abrupt, by the way. Oh, I saw Steve Klein! I almost forgot. How could I forget?”

  Danielle turned the desk chair to face Hillary and sat down. “What do you mean you saw Steve Klein?”

  “You know, the bank manager.”

  “I know who that is. But what do you mean you saw him?”

  “That silly man fell off the pier!” Hillary laughed. “Can you imagine that? I was standing on the beach, enjoying the evening, and all of a sudden I notice something in the water—it was Steve Klein, fully clothed, swimming to shore. When he got out of the water, he had a nasty gash on his head. He told me he hit his head on the side of the pier during the fall.”

  “Did he say how he fell?” Danielle asked.

  “He said something about having an allergic reaction. He has a severe shellfish allergy and went into anaphylactic shock after eating something, and then his EpiPen wasn’t where he kept it in his tackle box. The next thing he knows he’s falling off the pier.”

  “Did he say what he ate?”

  “He just assumed there was raw shellfish on the pier, which he happened to touch, and somehow ingested when he was eating. I told him it’s awful foolish to be ocean fishing if he’s that allergic.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Not that I can recall. He headed back to the pier to get his car and fishing gear.”

  “Do you remember what happened after that?”

  “Well…I remember him walking down the beach toward the pier and then…” Hillary let out a gasp and stood up abruptly. “I saw him. The man from my dreams!”

  “Your muse?”

  “Well, who I thought was my muse all these years.” Hillary started pacing the room. “We need to call the police!”

  Danielle studied Hillary. “Why do we need to call the police?”

  Hillary stopped pacing and stared at Danielle. “Isn’t it obvious? That man, that killer, he’s here in Frederickport.” Hillary gasped again, remembering another detail. “And he knows who I am!”

  “Hillary, why don’t we go downstairs? We can talk in the library.”

  “Why should we go to the library? We need to call the police! That man is dangerous! And he knows I know he’s a killer!”

  Danielle stood up. “How does he know that?”

  Hillary frowned. “Umm…I suppose I sort of told him.”

  “And he didn’t get angry with you? He didn’t try to hurt you?”

  “No. I wonder why?”

  “Come on, Hillary, let’s go downstairs.”

  “I don’t see why we need to go downstairs,” Hillary said as she followed Danielle out of the room.

  Because the portrait of Walt’s in the library.

  As Danielle headed downstairs, she pulled her phone from her back pocket and dialed Lily.

  “Are you back? Did you find her?” Lily asked when she answered the phone.

  “I’m just calling to tell you to stay over there. I don’t want Ian over here until I give you the okay.”

  “What’s up?” Lily asked.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Danielle looked at Hillary, who continued to follow her. “Hillary and I are having a little discussion, and I’d rather avoid any interruption.”

  “Hillary? She’s there?”

  “Yep.”

  Eleven

  Once they were in the library, Danielle asked Hillary to take a seat on the sofa.

  “I really think we should be calling the police,” Hillary told her.

  “We will…but I have a few things I need to tell you first.”

 
Hillary let out a sigh and leaned back against a cushion. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Some people believe that after a person dies, their spirit can visit you in your dreams.”

  “Oh, I believe that,” Hillary said with a nod.

  “You do?” Danielle asked in surprise.

  “Why certainly. After my first husband died, I used to dream about him all the time. I think he really came to me. I don’t believe it was just a dream.”

  “I call it a dream hop.”

  “A dream hop?” Hillary asked.

  “Yes, when a spirit enters your dream. Do you believe in…ghosts?”

  “Ghosts?” Hillary frowned.

  “Ghosts. You know, a spirit of someone who has died.”

  Hillary shrugged. “I suppose I believe in the possibility. I know when my second husband died, I could swear I saw him in our kitchen on the day of his funeral.”

  “I believe all people have a little bit of psychic ability—where you’re sensitive to paranormal activity. You probably did see your husband.”

  Hillary smiled. “I like to think so.”

  “The thing is—I am very sensitive. The first spirit I ever saw was my grandmother when I was a little girl.”

  Hillary didn’t say anything.

  “You know who else is sensitive to paranormal activity?”

  Hillary shook her head.

  “My neighbor Heather. She swears she saw Jolene Carmichael’s ghost not long after she was murdered.”

  Hillary leaned forward and whispered, “I think Heather is a little odd.”

  “You know who else can see ghosts?”

  “Who?”

  “Other ghosts. Take Lily, for example, she can’t normally see ghosts. Oh, like you, she has had a rare occasion of seeing one—but generally speaking, she can’t. However, when Lily dies, if she were to run into another spirit, she could see him.”

  “I suppose it’s nice to know when I’m a ghost someday I’ll be able to see other ghosts.”

  Danielle pointed to Walt Marlow’s portrait. “Hillary, I want you to look at Walt Marlow’s portrait and tell me if you notice anything.”

  Growing impatient, Hillary shook her head and said, “I don’t know what you expect me to see.” She stared at the painting.

  Several moments later, Walt appeared in the room. “Danielle, can’t you just get to the point? Must you drag this thing on so?”

  Hillary slowly stood up, her gaze moving from Walt to his portrait and back to him. “You’re Walt Marlow!”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Hillary Hemingway. I like your new book.”

  “It’s not even published yet, how do you know you like it?”

  Walt smiled and leaned against the edge of the library desk. With a wave of his hand a thin lit cigar appeared. He took a puff and then said, “I confess, I’ve been reading over your shoulder for the last month. I especially appreciated that twist at the end. I never saw that one coming.”

  Hillary plopped back down on the sofa and looked at Danielle. “What does this mean?”

  “Remember the night you first saw Walt in the parlor with me, before you went for your walk and ran into Heather?”

  Hillary nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Do you remember first going to bed?”

  Hillary considered the question a moment and then nodded.

  “Can you remember anything about what happened between the time you went to bed and then got up again to go for a walk?” Danielle asked.

  Furrowing her brow, Hillary carefully considered the question. “I had a sharp pain in my chest. It was excruciating—I thought I was going to die. But then the pain, it just stopped. It went away.”

  “It’s because you did,” Walt said.

  Hillary turned to Walt. “I did what?”

  “You died.” Walt took a puff off the cigar.

  “No…that’s impossible…” Hillary muttered as she shook her head and gazed across the room, lost in her thoughts. Finally, she looked to Danielle and said, “I suppose that explains what I’m wearing.”

  Not sure what she meant, Danielle noted Hillary was wearing the same blue sweat suit she’d been wearing the night she had left the house after dying.

  “What do you mean?” Danielle asked.

  “I just remembered…” Hillary sounded surprisingly calm. “The pain stopped, and then there I was, standing in my room, and I just knew I wanted to go down to the beach—one last time. But then I looked at myself—I was in bed sleeping, wearing my nightgown. Then I looked down and realized I was also standing next to the bed, wearing the same nightgown. I thought that would not do. I could not go traipsing around on the beach in my nighty, and the next thing I knew, I was wearing this outfit.”

  “And you didn’t find that a little odd…there being basically two of you?” Danielle asked. “Or that your clothes magically changed?”

  Hillary shrugged. “I’m not really sure what I thought about there being two of me, but I must say being able to change clothes that fast was rather handy.” Hillary smiled.

  “Then you understand…you have died?”

  Hillary sighed and leaned back on the sofa. “I suppose that makes sense. I knew it was going to happen one day. But never imagined that when it did I could still communicate with living people.” Hillary paused a moment and looked at Danielle. “You are alive, aren’t you?”

  Danielle smiled. “Yes. Like I said, I have a gift…I can communicate with spirits.”

  “Like my gift when I was alive? Being clairvoyant?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No, Hillary. You weren’t clairvoyant. I just said that to help you make sense of everything.”

  Hillary sat up straighter. “What are you talking about? Of course I was clairvoyant! Oh my, I saw who I thought was my muse—and he saw me—which means he’s like you, he can see spirits too!”

  Again Danielle shook her head. “No, Hillary. The man you call your muse, he’s a spirit like you and Walt. He visited you in your dreams—remember, we talked about dream hops? Whoever he is, he’s been dead for over a decade.”

  “He’s Antoine Paul,” Hillary announced.

  Danielle frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “His name. It’s Antoine Paul.”

  “You never told me you knew his name.”

  “I didn’t. But when I ran into him on the beach, I asked him his name and he told me.”

  “Did he tell you anything else?”

  Hillary shook her head. “No, not really.” Hillary then began to laugh.

  “What’s funny?” Danielle asked.

  “Now what he said makes perfect sense. When I asked him if he was going to kill me…foolish me, I was already dead.”

  “You seem to be adjusting to the news of your recent demise,” Walt noted.

  Hillary shrugged. “I suppose there really isn’t much I can do about it now, is there? And like I said, I knew it was eventually going to happen. I’m just glad I finished my book…” She paused and looked at Danielle. “So what did you do with my things?”

  “Melony got us in touch with your attorney in Vancouver. He gave us instructions where to send everything. I sent your manuscript to your agent.”

  Hillary let out a sigh. “I just hope she doesn’t mess up on the rewrites. I would have liked to have done that myself, but I suppose it is what it is. What did you do with my body?”

  “It’s at the funeral home right now…preparing to be cremated.”

  “Cremated!” Hillary shrieked.

  Surprised at the outburst, Danielle asked, “Didn’t you want to be cremated?”

  Hillary considered her question for a moment and then shivered. “It’s not that I wanted to be cremated per se—I did make arrangements for cremation for when that time came—but now that that time has come, it doesn’t sound so terrific. I am quite terrified of fire, you know.”

  Walt chuckled. “Hillary, stay away from the funeral home, and you won’t feel a thing.”

  Hillary shi
vered again. After a moment of silence, she suddenly remembered something. “Does this mean Steve Klein is like you and Heather and can communicate with spirits?”

  “No, it means Steve’s dead,” Walt said.

  “He is?”

  “Yes. He fell off the pier. His body washed up on Saturday. Heather found it,” Danielle explained.

  Hillary frowned. “That Heather certainly gets around. So did she see his spirit too, talk to him?”

  Danielle shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “Interesting, everything makes sense now,” Hillary noted. “I didn’t realize how jumbled things have seemed since I took off for that walk. But now it’s crystal clear. What now? I assume Walt here is haunting this house.”

  Danielle glanced over to Walt and smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Was Antoine Paul haunting me?”

  “I suppose he was, in a sense,” Danielle said.

  “And Steve Klein, is he haunting the pier? The beach?”

  Danielle smiled. “I haven’t seen him down there. But when someone dies, their spirit doesn’t generally stick around and haunt. They move on.”

  “Move on?” Hillary frowned.

  “I like to think of it as the next leg in our journey.”

  “Are you talking about Heaven? Is there a Heaven?”

  Danielle shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s Heaven exactly. But from what I understand, when you get there, you’ll be reunited with your loved ones. Those who died before you.”

  Hillary cringed. “You mean like my husbands?”

  Danielle nodded.

  “Both of them?”

  “I suppose.”

  Hillary shook her head, folded her arms across her chest, and stubbornly declared, “Then I’m not going.”

  “What? You don’t want to see them?” Danielle asked in surprise.

  “If you had two dead husbands, would you want to see them? Both of them?”

  “Umm…well, I don’t know. I never really thought about it.”

  Hillary shook her head again. “I can’t even imagine what those two have been doing all these years. Comparing notes? And when I get there, who will I be married to? Will I be a bigamist?”

  “I don’t really think it works that way.” Danielle smiled.

  “I certainly am not going to chance it. I’m staying here.”