by Bobbi Holmes
“I guess he had to meet the electrician. He told me to tell you he’d probably be over there the rest of the day.”
“Lily left with Ian. I heard them saying something about going to Portland,” Walt told Danielle when she walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later. He sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.
“I just talked to her.” Danielle glanced around. “So where’s Antoine?”
Walt set the paper on the table and looked up at Danielle. “I must say I’m relieved you didn’t go out with that Huxley fellow. I assume you’re planning to tell the chief?”
Danielle joined Walt at the table and sat down. “Yes, but without any evidence—aside from what we saw in a dream hop—I don’t see how the chief can do much.”
“Maybe that’s why those G-men are looking for him. Maybe they know something about Melissa’s murder.”
“According to those G-men, Huxley is missing. So maybe you’re right.” Danielle sipped her coffee. “Although, I’ve a feeling it has more to do with Steve’s death.”
“You think Huxley killed Klein?”
Danielle shrugged and took another sip of her coffee. “If he was capable of killing his wife—or ordering her killed, I imagine he’d be perfectly capable of killing Steve. I don’t know what his motive was, but considering what we saw last night, he’s now on the top of my list.”
“Last night was rather chilling. And I’m dead!”
“No kidding.” Danielle shivered. “I hope Antoine didn’t move on yet.”
“I thought you wanted him gone?”
“I need to talk to him. See if he can remember anything about Huxley that might help expose him for the monster he really is.”
Walt picked the newspaper back up off the table and turned its page. Skimming it, he said, “He told me he needed to think. He went down to the beach to take a walk.” Walt turned the page and grumbled, “It hardly seems fair.”
Danielle frowned. “What do you mean?”
Lowering the paper, Walt looked over it at Danielle. “That he can come and go at will. I wouldn’t mind taking a walk along the beach.”
Danielle stood up and smiled at Walt. “I tell you what, on our next dream hop, let’s do that.”
“What do you think about fishing?” he asked.
“Fishing? What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t mind doing a little fishing off the pier.”
“Okay.” Danielle set her coffee cup in the sink and headed for the back door. She paused a moment and looked back at Walt. “But you have to clean whatever we catch.”
Walt started to respond, but frowned instead, watching Danielle leave the house. Now alone in the kitchen, Walt shook his head and looked back at the paper. “Clean the fish? From a dream hop?” Walt snickered under his breath and turned the page.
Thirty-Seven
Wave after wave crashed, sending seawater rushing upwards onto the shore before retreating back again, only to be pounced by another breaker—and then another. Antoine sat alone on the beach, his arms wrapped around his bent legs while his chin rested atop his knees. Staring out to the endless horizon, he wondered what he might have done differently—how he might have saved Melissa and himself those many years ago.
“There you are,” came a voice from behind him. He recognized it immediately. It was Danielle.
“I’m trying to figure out what I should do now.”
Before sitting down beside him, Danielle took the cellphone from her back pocket and held it by her ear.
“Who are you calling?” he asked as Danielle sat next to him.
“If someone comes by, I don’t want them to think I’m talking to myself.” She flashed him a smile, still holding the phone by her ear.
Antoine said something, his voice almost a whisper. The sound of the breakers combined with the gusty wind made it difficult for Danielle to hear what he was saying. She shook her head and told him in a loud clear voice, “You need to speak up, I can’t hear you.”
In a louder voice he said, “You’ll never know how much I regret my part in Melissa’s death…the danger I put her in. I’m as responsible for killing her as her husband is.”
Baron Huxley hadn’t returned home since he had started watching the Seahorse Motel. So obsessed with finding Antoine Paul, he had spent two nights sleeping in his car, watching Paul’s sister, and one night in some bushes across from Marlow House.
He was convinced Antoine Paul was in Frederickport and his sister was waiting for him to show up. But then Danielle Boatman had showed up instead. He watched as Shirley followed Danielle to her car to say goodbye. The two women hugged, and then Danielle drove off.
He waited around until the next morning, but Antoine Paul still had not shown up. After Shirley Paul checked out that morning, Huxley began wondering if he had been watching the wrong woman.
Baron’s men in Vancouver, reported back to him later that day. Shirley Paul had arrived home, and there was no sign of her brother. By that time, Baron was already keeping an eye on Danielle.
According to Huxley’s men, they had disposed of Paul’s body by dropping it off a cliff into the ocean. Even if he had been alive, they insisted, there was no way Paul could have survived the fall. Obviously, his men had been wrong. He must have washed up on shore—still clinging to life—hiding out all these years—a smart thing to do considering Huxley would do what was necessary to finish the job.
Keeping a safe distance from Danielle, Baron followed her to the beach. He watched as she sat down on the sand alone, looking out to sea. His plan was to engage her in conversation and perhaps try to figure out her connection to Antoine Paul.
He was about ten feet from Danielle when he noticed she was talking on the phone. Pausing a moment, he considered retreating and then changed his mind. With measured steps he slowly approached Danielle, stopping when he heard her say, “It’s not your fault, Antoine.”
Baron froze.
“Maybe you were wrong to have an affair with a married woman, but you certainly didn’t deserve to die—and neither did Melissa. Maybe Baron didn’t strangle Melissa himself, but he ordered her hit.”
Baron stayed frozen for only a moment. As his attention focused on Danielle’s back, he moved his hand into the right pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small revolver. Pointing it at Danielle’s head, he pulled back the hammer; it made a clicking noise.
The sound of the gun’s hammer being engaged was not muted by the ocean or breeze. Startled, Danielle jerked around and found herself looking into the end of a revolver.
“Tell him you have to go now, and hang up. Or you know what I’ll do,” Baron said in a low voice.
Before Baron had issued the order, Antoine was already on his feet, his hands futilely swinging at the revolver, trying to knock it out of Baron’s grasp. Unfortunately, Antoine’s hands moved through Baron without so much as a nudge felt.
“I have to go now,” Danielle said into the cellphone, her eyes never leaving Baron’s. She went through the motions of turning off the phone, briefly wondering if Baron might notice her phone hadn’t been on.
“Where is he?” Baron asked after grabbing the phone from Danielle’s hand and shoving it in his pocket.
“Who?” Danielle managed to squeak.
“I know who you were talking to, Antoine Paul. Where is he?”
“He thinks I’m still alive?”
Trying to focus on the danger at hand, Danielle ignored Antoine, who began to rant, threatening Huxley—impotent threats considering the fact not only Baron couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t feel the blows Antoine was now pounding on his chest. Or more accurately—into his chest. Each time Antoine threw a punch at his killer, his fists moved effortlessly through the man’s body.
Possible escape scenarios flashed through Danielle’s mind. If she still had her cellphone, she might be tempted to knee Baron in the groin. Unfortunately, even if she did have her phone, she was still sitting on the sand, and even if she wasn’t,
he would probably manage to pull the trigger and blow her brains out before she got two feet away. The only other option she could think of—Walt.
“I can take you to him,” Danielle offered.
“That was quick,” Baron smirked. “And just where do you intend to take me to, the police station?”
Danielle shook her head, her eyes nervously watching the revolver still aimed at her head. “He’s hiding at Marlow House. Antoine Paul, he’s there.”
“And why would you give him up so easily?”
“I guess…because you have a gun pointed at my head?”
If someone happened to notice Danielle walking along the beach with the attractive older man, they would assume they were a couple, the way the man protectively wrapped his left arm around her shoulder. What they probably wouldn’t notice was his right hand tucked into his jacket pocket, clutching the revolver now pointed at Danielle’s midsection.
“You’re taking him back to Marlow House?” Antoine asked excitedly as he walked alongside the pair.
“He better be there,” Baron hissed.
Danielle refrained from conversing with Baron. Her primary objective was to get back to Marlow House without being shot. When they reached the front door, Baron gave her a little jerk backwards, stopping her from reaching for the front door.
“You need to let me unlock it,” Danielle told him, her voice wavering. “The key is in my pocket.”
“Who’s all in the house?” he asked in a gruff voice, his left hand now clutching her forearm.
“Just Antoine. Lily went to Portland with her boyfriend.”
“Good.” He gave her a little shove toward the door. “Now open it.”
With a shaky hand, Danielle removed the house key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She paused a moment and glanced around. She didn’t see Antoine and assumed he had already gone inside.
“You’ve got to get out here and do something!” Antoine shouted when he found Walt in the library, lounging on the sofa.
Looking up from the book he was reading, Walt’s expression was more bored than concerned. “What are you rambling on about? Do something about what?”
“He has Danielle!”
Dropping the book—it fell through him and onto the sofa—Walt stood. “Who has Danielle?”
“Baron Huxley. They’re entering the house now—he has a gun!”
The next moment Danielle and Baron stepped into the front entry just as Walt appeared. When she saw Walt, Danielle physically relaxed. In the next moment, Baron gave Danielle a shove farther into the house as he slammed the front door shut and locked it behind him.
“What in the world is going on?” Walt demanded.
Removing his hand from his pocket, Baron aimed the gun at Danielle. “Where is he?”
Before she had time to answer, the gun flew from Baron’s hand. Just as it took flight, Baron managed to pull the trigger, sending a bullet to a copper umbrella stand.
After hitting the umbrella stand, the bullet ricocheted across the entry—zigzagging along its course, briefly touching down along a bronze statue, sending the statue to the floor before moving to the next solid object and then the next until finally embedding itself into the wood banister, splitting the wood. The gun itself landed on the overhead light fixture, where it teetered precariously.
Danielle barely had time to take in the damage caused by the rogue bullet when Baron flew across the room, slamming face-first into a wall.
“Don’t kill him, Walt!” she shouted.
Walt stood over the crumpled man, who moaned pitifully. “He’s still alive. Don’t worry, Danielle; I’ve no intention of killing him.” Walt glanced over to Antoine, who silently watched. “We don’t need another annoying ghost hanging around Marlow House.”
Sprawled across the wood floor, Baron managed to flutter open his eyes. He wasn’t sure where he was—everything was blurry. He lay there a moment, blinking his eyes, when the room came into focus, but now it was spinning—round and round. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath and could feel the rapid rate of his heartbeat. Then he heard it, a woman’s voice. It was Danielle Boatman. She was talking to someone. But who? He could only hear her voice.
Telling himself to focus, Baron opened his eyes again. The room was no longer spinning. Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his side, placed the palm of his right hand against the hardwood floor, and gave it a little shove. He sat up, still dizzy, and looked around. He was still in the front entry of Marlow House—alone with Danielle Boatman. She stood about six feet away, her arms folded across her chest as she watched him, a smug smile plastered on her face.
Licking his lips and feeling suddenly parched, he sat up straighter and glanced around the room before looking back at Danielle.
“Where’s my gun?” he asked.
Danielle pointed to the overhead light fixture. He saw it—his gun perched overhead, on the verge of falling down and landing on his head—or in his hand, if he was lucky enough.
“What happened?” he asked, making no move to stand.
“You killed your wife. You killed Steve too, didn’t you? Did you kill your wife because she was cheating on you or for another reason? Did she know too much about your dirty deals?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill either one.” Baron tried standing up, but Walt gave his shoulder a shove, sending him back down onto the floor.
Danielle shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, they’re both dead and you’re responsible. Oh…and I forgot, Antoine Paul. You killed him too.”
“What are you talking about?” Baron looked around the room frantically, as if he expected someone—probably Antoine Paul—to come jumping out of the woodwork. “Where is he? Where is Antoine Paul?”
“Don’t you know? Walt, please get me my cellphone. It’s in his coat pocket.”
“Walt?” Again Baron looked around frantically, but when Danielle’s cellphone floated out of his coat pocket and drifted across the room to Danielle, Baron let out a yelp and scooted back until his back hit the wall.
“Make sure he doesn’t move, okay, Walt?”
“He’s not going anywhere.” Walt smiled down at the trembling man.
Thirty-Eight
“Seems a lot of people are looking for you, Mr. Huxley. The FBI, the police,” Danielle said when she got off the phone.
“You can’t keep me here.” Baron started to stand up, but Walt pushed him down again.
“Yes, I can.” Danielle smiled.
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Looking around frantically, Baron scooted backwards until he hit the wall again. I’m imagining things, he told himself. I must have fallen, hit my head. That’s why the room was spinning a few minutes ago. I must be hallucinating.
“The police are going to be here in a minute. I guess you haven’t been home for a few days. That must be why you look—well, kind of like a hot mess.”
“I know what happened to me—I remember!” Antoine blurted out. He had been standing silently by the parlor door, staring at his killer, when it came to him.
“What happened, Antoine?” Danielle asked.
“Antoine?” Again, Baron looked around. But there was no one else there—just Danielle Boatman.
“They threw me off a cliff. Figured it would take me out to sea. But it didn’t. My body washed up into a cave. I know where that cave is.”
Danielle looked from Antoine to Baron and cocked her head. “So your men tossed poor Antoine off a cliff into the ocean. You know, he didn’t wash out to sea. He ended up in a cave.”
“Where is he?”
“I just want to know why you didn’t just divorce your wife. Why kill her and her lover?”
Baron laughed. “You think I had them killed because she was cheating on me? You actually think I cared about her that much? Stupid woman, getting close to someone like Paul. He could have ruined me.”
“Ahhh, so it was the story he was working on.” Danielle
smiled.
Slumping back against the wall, Baron glared at Danielle. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“No. But you ordered the hit.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Walt saw the police car pull up in front of the house. When he remembered Huxley had locked the front door, he promptly unlocked it.
When Joe and Brian entered Marlow House, their guns drawn, they found Baron Huxley sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. On his forehead was a rapidly developing goose egg. Without pause, Joe rushed to Baron and took out his handcuffs. When he instructed Baron to put his hands behind his back, the man started to comply and then paused and winced.
“I don’t think I can. Something’s broken,” Baron moaned.
Joe started moving Baron’s hands behind his back, but the man cried out in pain, begging him to stop, insisting his arm was broken.
Joe looked to Danielle. With a shrug she said, “He did hit that wall pretty hard, so I guess it’s possible.”
“How did he hit the wall?” Brian asked.
“He sort of stumbled and fell into it,” Danielle lied.
Gingerly, Joe handcuffed Baron’s wrists in front of his body. The man winced, but he didn’t cry out again.
“Where’s the gun?” Brian asked. “The chief said something about a gun. He had you at gunpoint?”
Danielle pointed to the overhead light fixture.
Looking up, Brian frowned at the precariously perched weapon. “Interesting how guns around here always seem to end up on a high shelf…on the roof…in a light fixture…”
Danielle smiled sweetly.
“Is it loaded?”
“I know it had at least one bullet. You’ll find that in my banister. I have to assume there are more.”
“I don’t like how it’s sitting up there. If it fell down—”
Before Brian could finish his sentence, the gun slipped from the fixture. What he couldn’t see was Walt, who reached out and snatched the gun in midair, assisting in its descent so as not to release a second bullet.