by Bobbi Holmes
“Do you have any idea what his plans were for dinner?”
“Just the tamales. He had two of them. Told me that was going to be his dinner. He also had a thermos of coffee, but he forgot that. Left it sitting on the counter.”
“Do you know where he got the tamales?”
“His friend Baron Huxley gave them to him the day before.” Beverly wrinkled her nose. “Personally, I can’t stand tamales. It’s the texture. But Steve even liked them cold. He liked to take them with him when he went fishing.”
“Do you know where this Baron Huxley gets his tamales?”
“I believe he has a friend whose wife makes them. When he comes to town, he usually brings Steve a few. They say she makes the best tamales, but I wouldn’t know about that.”
Beverly watched as Brian jotted more notes down in his pad.
“Do you know anyone else who knew about your husband’s food allergy?”
“It certainly wasn’t a secret. Most of our friends knew.”
“Would this friend who gave Steve the tamales have known?”
“Certainly. Baron and Steve go way back; they used to work together. When you go out to eat with someone enough times, something like a food allergy is bound to come up, especially when someone suggests going to a seafood restaurant.”
Brian nodded and jotted something else down.
“I really don’t think my husband had any sort of allergic reaction that night.”
Brian looked up. “Why is that?”
“Steve was careful. Even if he didn’t have an EpiPen in the tackle box, he keeps one in his car. I don’t know why my husband fell off the pier that night. Maybe he had a heart attack. You wouldn’t know what the autopsy report says, do you?
Chris Johnson tossed the steak on the grill and took a swig of his beer. It was chilly out, but not too cold to grill. As far as he was concerned, it was never too cold to barbeque a steak. He stood alone on his back patio, admiring the ocean view beyond his property. He hadn’t stopped congratulating himself on purchasing his beach home.
Just as he was about to take another sip of beer, motion from the right caught his attention. He looked up. There, standing just beyond his patio, on the beach, was a man dressed in a black suit, wearing a red bow tie. Chris instantly knew who the man was. It was Antoine Paul, the ghost who had been visiting Hillary’s dreams for over a decade. The man who she believed was her muse.
Chris said nothing, but simply stared at the intruder.
Antoine Paul studied Chris a moment. Finally, he said, “You can see me, can’t you?”
Instead of answering the question, Chris looked away and took another sip of beer and turned to his grill, flipping his steak.
“I thought for sure you could see me,” Antoine muttered. “The way you were looking at me.” Instead of leaving, he walked onto the porch and took a seat in an empty chair. He continued to study Chris.
Chris turned his back to Antoine and stared back to the ocean, his gaze seemingly looking through the spot where Antoine had been standing just moments before.
“I should have known you couldn’t see me,” Antoine said as he leaned back in the chair, still staring at Chris. “What are the chances? You’re obviously not dead. I’ve never seen a ghost cook a steak before, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”
Chris returned to the grill and looked down at the steak.
“That ghost girl Danielle Boatman can see me. I’m sure of it. But I’m not going to even try approaching her in Marlow House. It was risky enough going to her in a dream when the guy was hanging around. I don’t need that kind of distraction. If I’m going to use her, I’ll have to do it when she’s away from Marlow House—and away from Walt Marlow.”
Chris walked to the table and picked up a plate. He returned to the grill with it and placed the now cooked steak in the center of the plate.
“I think that other one can see me. But she seems more unreliable than Hillary. Hillary was a waste of time.” Antoine stood up.
Chris walked toward his back door. From the corner of his eye he could see Antoine walking back toward the beach. When Chris opened the door, he turned one more time to face the ocean. He could see Antoine in the distance, walking away from his house.
Hurrying inside and closing the door behind him, Chris tossed his plate with the steak onto the counter and hastily picked up his cellphone and dialed Danielle.
“Hillary’s muse was just here,” Chris told her. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Seventeen
Cupping a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, Danielle leaned back on the library sofa, her feet propped up on the coffee table as she watched Chris and Walt. They paced the room together, each walking in the opposite direction, and then would do an about-face, turning to go the other way, where they would pass each other and then repeat. She thought it amusing how they avoided running into each other. It would be possible for Chris to walk through Walt without missing a beat, yet she didn’t think either one would appreciate that.
She noticed Chris’s sandy-colored hair could use a trim; it about touched his shirt’s collar. Dressed casually, he wore khaki pants, a blue-striped collared T-shirt, and flip-flops. Walt was dressed more formally, wearing a three-piece suit, minus the jacket, with his sleeves pushed up. She had to admit, there was something sexy about a man wearing a suit and vest. Of course, Chris, even dressed casually, looked like he had just stepped off the pages of one of those trendy fashion magazines. Danielle sighed, appreciating the view. Dang, I have it rough. She sipped her coffee.
Chris had arrived fifteen minutes earlier. After they had talked on the phone last night, they agreed he should come over in the morning and the three—Walt, Danielle, and Chris—would discuss the situation regarding Antoine Paul. Lily had declined joining in on the discussion, she felt it would be a waste of time, considering she wouldn’t be able to hear Walt’s side of the conversation. Instead, she went across the street to have breakfast at Ian’s house.
“He said he didn’t want to deal with me?” Walt asked, still pacing.
“I have no idea how he even knows about you,” Chris said.
“Remember, Walt was in the dream hop with me when Paul jumped in,” Danielle reminded them. “And would you two please sit down. I’m starting to get dizzy.”
Chris headed for the empty space next to Danielle, but Walt instantly appeared there before Chris took the second step. Flashing Walt a glare, Chris reluctantly took the chair facing the sofa. Smiling, Walt waved his hand for a cigar.
“I still don’t know how Paul knew Walt was a ghost,” Chris said.
“Spirit,” Walt corrected.
“Same thing,” Chris reminded him.
Ignoring their banter, Danielle said, “I think there’s some sort of spirit information pipeline. Something beyond two spirits bumping into each other and exchanging info. Look at Angela, she knew about Walt being here. How did she know that if no other spirits had been through Marlow House to encounter Walt back then?”
“I do feel cut off,” Walt grumbled.
“You know how to fix that,” Chris said with a smile. “You could step outside.”
“Yes. And be forced to move on.” Walt frowned. “You’d like that.”
Chris studied Walt a moment and then sighed. “Nahhh, who would I have to argue with?”
“Chris, do you really think this Antoine Paul is some sort of danger?” Danielle asked.
“He did warn you to stay out of his business,” Walt reminded her.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dangerous,” Danielle pointed out.
“He’s up to something,” Chris said. “And I really don’t like the fact he’s managed to be on the scene of all those murders. I still think he did something to nudge the killers to act, like assisting Pete in finding that bottle at just the right moment.”
Danielle glanced from Walt to Chris. “I don’t like how he’s hanging around Heather. You know
, she really seemed depressed the other day. Although having the chief take her seriously and getting an artist to do a drawing of Paul did seem to cheer her up. Yet the problem with Heather, she swings from one extreme to the next.”
“Like be your pal one minute and then be the first one to point a finger in your direction when someone happens to find a dead body in the parlor?” Chris grumbled.
Danielle chuckled. “Well, you can’t really blame her for that. Even a stable person would come unhinged after finding something like Peter Morris’s body brutally murdered under the same roof they’re staying at. But the thing with Heather, even when she’s not standing in the middle of a murder scene, she can be nice one minute and snotty the next.”
“I’m more concerned about you,” Walt said. “From what Chris overheard, it sounds like this guy’s looking for some way to attach himself to you when you’re away from Marlow House.”
Danielle glanced to Walt. “What I’m curious about, if Antoine Paul did barge into Marlow House, what could you really do? It’s not like you can hit him with something. It would just go right through him. Do you have some powers you can use on another spirit?”
Walt considered the questions a moment and then shook his head. “Not that I know about. But I’ve never really been in the situation of having to deal with another spirit in that way. That character Stoddard never stepped inside this house, so I didn’t have the opportunity to find out.”
“I wonder if Hillary has really moved on,” Danielle muttered. “If she was still around, would he focus back on her, or is he looking for a flesh and blood person?”
“From what I gathered from Paul’s ramblings, he’s no longer interested in using Hillary. He called her unreliable. I don’t know if that’s because she’s a spirit now or if he feels she was unreliable when she was still alive.”
“When he said something about the other one, you really think that was Heather?” Walt asked.
“That would be my bet. We know Heather saw him a few times and he even followed her back to her house. If it is Heather, he’s not interested in her.”
“If that’s true, then maybe I don’t need to be that concerned with Heather if he’s going to leave her alone,” Danielle suggested.
“We just have to be worried about you,” Walt reminded her.
Danielle smiled at Walt. “He’s a ghost, Walt, and in my opinion, the only way a ghost can be truly dangerous is if I was unaware of what he was. I still don’t believe a spirit who wanders like he does is capable of harnessing a significant amount of energy to do serious damage, at least not to someone who is aware.”
“But we still need to find some way to get him to move on,” Chris reminded them.
“I agree. And the only way we can really do that is if we figure out what he’s about.” Danielle set her mug on the end table and picked up her cellphone.
“Who are you calling?” Walt asked.
“The chief. I want to see if anything’s come up on Antoine Paul.”
“So you found Antoine Paul?” Chris asked as he and Danielle entered the police chief’s office. He shook MacDonald’s hand in greeting.
When Chris and Danielle sat down, MacDonald took a seat behind his desk. “The Antoine Paul I found, he’s a dead ringer for the man Elizabeth drew.”
Danielle clutched her purse; it rested on her lap. “So it is the same guy. How did he die? How long after he murdered Melissa?”
The chief shook his head. “I don’t know. At the moment, our Antoine Paul is a missing person.”
“No one knows he’s dead? When did he go missing?” Chris asked.
“His sister reported him missing about a month after Melissa Huxley’s murder.”
“Did you find any connection between Melissa and Paul?”
The chief shook his head again. “No. And frankly, I really don’t have the time to look into a decade-old murder that happened outside my jurisdiction. I’m afraid what I give you today is about all the help you can expect from me. I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”
“Steve’s death?” Danielle asked.
“And I can’t even use you two.” The chief leaned back in the chair and sighed.
“What do you mean?” Chris asked.
“Danielle here already told me what Hillary passed on from Steve’s ghost.” The chief paused a moment and chuckled over the absurdity of the conversation.
Danielle looked to Chris. “As far as Steve knows, he went into anaphylactic shock and fell off the pier. If there was foul play, he didn’t seem to be aware of it.”
“We know the anaphylactic shock wasn’t caused from a transfer of shellfish from the pier to his food,” the chief said.
“How can you be so sure?” Chris asked.
The chief leaned forward and snatched up his pen, absently tapping it against the desktop. “We just do.”
Danielle dropped her purse from her lap to the floor by her feet. “Are you suggesting someone did something to cause him to go into anaphylactic shock?”
“I can’t say right now.”
She considered the situation for a moment. “If that’s true, I doubt they were trying to kill him.”
Chris let out a sardonic laugh. “What, a friendly little prank?”
Danielle shrugged. “No, I’m just saying however it happened, it must have been an accident. If someone did something to make him go into anaphylactic shock, I can’t see how it was part of a murder plot. After all, they had no way of knowing he’d fall off the pier or that there wouldn’t be someone nearby who could help him.”
“I suppose it depends how severe someone’s allergy is,” the chief reminded them. And if the EpiPen isn’t where it’s supposed to be.
They were all silent for a few moments considering the possible scenarios. Finally, Danielle said, “Steve’s wife dropped by yesterday.”
The chief cocked his brow. “I wasn’t aware you were friends.”
“Casual acquaintances, but I like her. She dropped by to return my dish from the casserole Lily and I took her on Sunday. Although, I think she just wanted to talk to someone. I felt so sorry for her. Oh, and I learned Steve’s friend Baron Huxley is the widower of Melissa Huxley.”
“It is a small world,” the chief mused.
“I felt so sorry for her. I really hope she doesn’t find out about her husband’s infidelity. She seems so lost as it is, that would just destroy her.”
“You don’t think she knew he was fooling around? I’ve always heard a wife often knows,” the chief suggested.
“I had absolutely no idea Lucas had been cheating on me. That totally threw me.”
“Would it be so bad if she learned the truth of her husband?” Chris asked.
Danielle turned to Chris. “I don’t know what purpose that would serve. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. And she and Steve have two kids together. Do they really need to know their father cheated on their mother? I lost my parents when I was about their age. It’s rough. They really don’t need to deal with anything more.”
The chief let out a sigh. “I’d love to be able to accommodate you, Danielle, and keep Steve’s sordid secret, but I’m afraid it’s going to come out.”
“Why does it have to?”
Chris glanced from Danielle to the chief. “This is a murder investigation now, isn’t it?”
“Even if it is, I can’t believe Beverly had anything to do with Steve’s death. She seems sincerely crushed.”
“Come on, Danielle, you’re seeing yourself in her. You aren’t being objective,” Chris said.
Danielle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Danielle, maybe you’re right,” the chief said. “Maybe she doesn’t know anything about her husband’s affair and had nothing to do with his murder. But if someone killed Steve, we have to look at motives. Top of our list, we have a wife who was being cheated on and an ex-lover who was recently dumped.”
“Damn.” Danielle slumped back in her chair. “If it was Carla, then the tr
uth will come out at trial.” Danielle looked up at the chief. “But I can’t even imagine Carla doing something like that.”
“I’m not saying it was Carla or Beverly, I’m just saying they’re the two likely suspects.”
“Is it possible to keep Steve’s affair quiet for now? If Steve really was murdered, then maybe you’ll find someone else who had more of a motive to want him dead. If so, then why heap unneeded pain on the family?” Danielle asked.
“We’re going to be discreet, Danielle. But we have to do our jobs.”
Danielle sighed. “I suppose.”
Eighteen
After Chris and Danielle left the police station, they stopped at Lucy’s Diner for lunch. Sitting across from Chris, Danielle opened the file MacDonald had given her. It contained the information the chief had gathered on Hillary’s muse.
“It seems our Antoine Paul was a freelance writer,” Danielle said as she skimmed through MacDonald’s notes. “According to this, his sister hasn’t heard from her brother since right before Valentine’s Day. She reported him missing mid-March.”
“Melissa Huxley was killed right before Valentine’s Day, wasn’t she?” Chris asked.
Danielle nodded. “I wonder when he was killed—and how. Did something happen right after the murder, like when Chuck Christiansen murdered Bart Haston and ended up driving off Pilgrim’s Point.”
“And his body has never been found?”
“Apparently not.” Danielle continued to read through the papers.
“We’d have a better chance of nailing down the time of his death if we could find anyone who saw him from the time of Melissa’s murder until he was reported missing. Just because his sister hadn’t heard from him, it doesn’t mean he vanished at the same time as Melissa’s murder.”
“True. But since the guy worked from home, it’s not like he went to an office each day. So there’s really no one to say he hadn’t shown up for work. From what the chief wrote down, I guess the police talked to some of his neighbors, but no one could recall seeing him for a couple months.”