The Ghost Who Lied (Haunting Danielle Book 13)

by Bobbi Holmes

  Danielle shrugged. “They still can’t find him. At least they hadn’t yesterday.”

  “I assume they went to his house?”

  “Yes. And according to the neighbors, none of them remembers seeing him since Saturday morning before the party.”

  “Hmm…doesn’t make Larry look good.” Lily glanced from her cup to Danielle and asked, “Did you tell the chief about me and Ian?”

  “Yeah. I hope you aren’t upset. But I figured he needed to have a heads-up in case Ian goes to him. I hope you don’t mind. I also talked to Chris.”

  “What about Heather?”

  “Chris said he would talk to her this morning at work. But they agreed they would not butt in—that they wouldn’t say anything to Ian unless you wanted them to. But if he comes to them, they will tell him the truth.”

  “Thanks.” Lily smiled sadly. “But I don’t think he is going to go to any of you.”

  “Well, I did try calling him yesterday, and he wouldn’t answer his phone.”

  Lily let out a weary sigh. “Because I was unable to offer an explanation he found plausible, he seems to have jumped to the conclusion that we’re all keeping some big secret from him. And actually, we have been.”

  “I just think he’s not able to wrap his head around all this. Maybe he’ll come around,” Danielle suggested. “Just give him time.”

  “I guess this makes him sort of like Joe. Unable to have faith in someone he supposedly cares about.”

  “I don’t know, Lily. I think maybe it all happened so fast, Ian is just trying to put the pieces together in a way he understands. Are you going to try talking to him today?”

  “No. After all those tears yesterday, I woke up kind of pissed.”

  Danielle arched her brow. “Pissed?”

  “Yeah. The way he freaking ordered me out of his house. And the way he put his hand up, you know, talk to the hand. I mean, really, screw that.” Lily stood up. “I still love Ian, but I’m not going to run after him and beg him to listen to me. And frankly, if I talked to him right now, I would probably punch him in the nose.”

  Danielle chuckled. “Now you sound like Walt.”

  “How so?” Lily carried her now empty mug to the counter and set it in the sink.

  “Last night he said he wanted to punch Ian in the nose.”

  “I get first dibs,” Lily grumbled. She turned to Danielle and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Before you deck anyone, you need to keep your strength up. How about I make you some breakfast? Or we could go out to eat?”

  Lily shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not really hungry. And to be honest, I sorta want to be alone today and think. I’m not in the best of moods.”

  “I understand.” Danielle glanced at the clock. “This morning, I’m going to run down to the bank and put the Missing Thorndike back in the safe deposit box, and I need to deposit that money from Saturday so I can send the check to the school district.”

  “Is the bank open today? I would expect it to be closed, because of the holiday,” Lily asked.

  “It’s open today. I already checked.”

  “I imagine the bank is going to be surprised you’ve decided to put the Missing Thorndike back in their vault.”

  “I suppose. I feel a little guilty they got so much bad press, and it really wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t even Kissinger’s fault—even though I’m pretty sure he was behind the attempt to steal the necklace.”

  “One thing I learned from that leprechaun wannabe, some ghosts can be a major pain in the butt,” Lily snapped.

  “I suppose we can be happy Agatha’s spirit didn’t stick around. From what I know of her, she wasn’t that pleasant in life.”

  “I have to admit my patience is a bit thin right now. I know it’s not Walt’s fault Ian left me because he can’t believe in ghosts. But I swear, if another ghost crosses my path, I’m likely to snap,” Lily grumbled.

  AFTER DANIELLE LEFT for the bank, Lily went up to the attic and peeked in on Walt. She knew he was sitting on the sofa—it was evident by the open book seemingly floating over it. He was obviously reading. She had no idea he had dream hopped with Ian the previous night. But she did know Walt had been concerned for her, and she wanted to let him know she appreciated his concern.

  From the attic, Lily went down to the library to find her own book to read. When she walked into the room, she found Max dozing on the small sofa.

  “Hey, Max,” Lily said softly as she stopped by the sofa for a moment and ran her hand over his fur.

  Lifting his head, Max opened his eyes and looked at Lily. He started to purr. Leaning down, she planted a kiss on his forehead. “You’re a good cat, Max. I don’t care what Sadie says.” The moment she said Sadie, Lily felt her stomach drop. Sadie—Ian—she was going to miss them both.

  Refusing to cry, Lily turned her attention to the bookshelf. As she did, she heard Max let out an unholy screech. Turning quickly to the sofa, Lily found Max standing, his back arched and his fur on end.

  “What is it, Max?” Lily asked, glancing to where he seemed to be looking.

  The cat jumped down from the sofa and crept toward the far wall, all the while emitting low gurgling sounds. When he was about three feet from the wall, he began to hiss, his right paw relentlessly batting the air before him.

  With a frown, Lily stepped closer. “Max, what’s wrong? Max, nothing’s there…”

  Lily froze. Instead of continuing her sentence, she focused on the space between Max and the wall. With narrowed eyes, Lily angrily planted her balled fists on her hips.

  “It’s you, Agatha Pine? Isn’t it? You’ve come back.”

  Max stopped hissing. Instead, he sat down, his eyes still focused on the space in front of him while he made a low, growling sound, his tail twitching.

  “I’m sorry you’re dead. But we really don’t need any more ghosts hanging around Marlow House. So please, follow the light, or whatever it is you ghosts are supposed to do, and freaking move on!”

  FIFTEEN

  The teller told Joyce to wait at Susan Mitchell’s desk. She was the one who could help her. Joyce didn’t want to set her new handbag on the floor of the bank. When she tried hanging it over the back of the chair, it kept falling off. It ended up on her lap. Fidgeting with its straps, she anxiously waited for Susan, her heart pounding and feet nervously tapping against the carpeted floor in anticipation.

  “Morning, Joyce,” Susan greeted when she reached her desk. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said as she took a seat behind her desk.

  “Mother lived a long life. I’m grateful for that.” Joyce smiled weakly.

  “What can I help you with today?”

  “I understand I’m the beneficiary on my mother’s bank account here,” Joyce explained.

  “Weren’t you a signer on your mother’s account?” Susan asked.

  Joyce shook her head. “No. Mother liked to handle her own banking, and we always kept our bank accounts separate. But she told me I was listed as the beneficiary.”

  “It’s just that many of our customers with elderly parents, especially if they live with them, normally are signers on the parent’s account.”

  Joyce smiled. “Yes, I tried to get Mother to do that. But she was pretty stubborn.”

  “Your mother did have a mind of her own,” Susan agreed, turning her attention to her computer. After clicking away on her keyboard and moving her mouse, she stared at the monitor. Finally, she said, “Yes, you’re right. Your mother made you her beneficiary on the account.”

  Joyce broke into a wide grin. “So what now? Do you transfer it into my own account, or do I just use Mother’s?”

  Looking from the monitor to Joyce, Susan said, “I’m afraid, first you’ll need a death certificate.”

  “A death certificate? Why?” Joyce frowned.

  “That’s just the rule.”

  “But you were there on Saturday. You know my mother is
dead,” Joyce reminded her.

  “I’m sorry, Joyce, if it were just up to me, I’d let you have it now. But I really can’t. I know the funeral home will help you order the death certificates. Normally you’ll need a few to settle her estate.”

  Joyce let out a sigh. “I suppose I should have expected that.” She glanced briefly at her purse and then looked back to Susan. “But can I ask you one favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can you at least tell me how much Mother has in the account? I have some things to settle for her estate, and I’d just like to see where she stands.”

  “Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Susan looked back to the computer. After a few keystrokes she said, “She has a little over nine hundred.”

  “Nine hundred thousand? It should be more,” Joyce said with a frown.

  Susan looked nervously from the computer to Joyce. “Umm…no…nine hundred dollars.”

  “What? Only nine hundred dollars? What happened to my mother’s money?” Joyce fairly shrieked, drawing attention from several customers standing in line in front of the teller windows.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, but according to this, your mother has never had more than a thousand dollars in her account.” Susan turned her attention back to the computer and moved quickly through Agatha’s online account.

  Joyce shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

  Susan looked back to Joyce, her expression sympathetic. “The only deposits she ever had were from Social Security.” Susan paused a moment and then cringed before saying, “And I hate to say this, but I imagine most of the money that is currently in her account will probably be coming back out.”

  Joyce frowned. “I don’t understand?”

  “Her deposit from Social Security went into her account this morning. Until that deposit, she had less than fifty dollars in her account. Since it’s the beginning of the month, they’ll probably take the money back.”

  “Are you saying that on the day my mother died, she had less than fifty dollars in her account?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then she must have another account here. Maybe a savings account?”

  Susan shook her head. “I’m afraid not. This is the only bank account she has here. But I do remember her telling me, on more than one occasion, that she only used this account for her Social Security payments and that she kept her savings in another bank.”

  “I should have realized Mother—being Mother—wouldn’t have kept her money here. That would make it too easy for her to actually spend it. This morning I made an appointment with her attorney in Portland. He has her will there. I imagine he also has the information on her other bank accounts.”

  WHEN DANIELLE PULLED up in front of the bank, she spied Joyce Pruitt coming out its front door. By the time Danielle parked and got out of the car, Joyce was no longer in sight.

  “I can’t believe you want to put the Missing Thorndike back in the safe deposit box,” Susan told Danielle ten minutes later as she led her back to the vault room.

  “I have a gut feeling whatever might have been a problem with the safe deposit boxes has since been resolved,” Danielle said, thinking of the spirit who had moved the gold from her safe deposit box and who had since moved on.

  “You mean Kissinger?” Susan said under her breath.

  “Not saying a word,” Danielle said with a grin. Considering she believed he had instigated the attempted robbery at Marlow House, she didn’t feel guilty implicating him in the theft from her safe deposit box.

  “I shouldn’t be talking about it either.” Susan stood in front of the safe deposit boxes while Danielle handed her a key. “But if people knew you had enough faith in the bank that you put the Missing Thorndike back in your safe deposit box, it would sure make my job easier.”

  “You have my permission to spread the word,” Danielle told her.

  “Gee, thanks, Danielle. I really appreciate it. I also wanted to say I think it was generous of you not to press charges against Joyce, and how you urged the bank not to pursue any charges. Like you said, most people couldn’t resist that sort of temptation, and she eventually did the right thing.”

  “That’s what I believe. By the way, I noticed Joyce coming out of the building when I pulled up.” Danielle waited for Susan to open her box. “I still can’t believe her mother fell down those stairs.”

  “That was horrible, but I can’t imagine what Agatha was doing climbing those stairs in the first place.” Susan handed Danielle the box.

  “I don’t need any privacy for this. Let me just put the necklace back inside the box, and you can lock it up.”

  Susan nodded and watched as Danielle pulled a pouch from her purse. She removed the necklace for a moment and showed it to Susan before returning it to the pouch and placing it in the safe deposit box.

  “Gosh, that thing is gorgeous. Do you think it really is cursed?”

  Danielle shrugged. “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  DENNIS PORTERFIELD TOOK a seat facing the chief’s desk.

  “I appreciate you coming in this morning,” the chief said as he closed the office door.

  Dennis let out a heavy sigh. “I still can’t believe all this happened.”

  Taking a seat behind the desk, the chief asked, “Has anyone in the family heard from Larry yet?”

  “No. We stopped by his house on our way home on Saturday. He wasn’t there. Martha has been trying to call him. But he hasn’t answered the phone.”

  “I sent some officers over to his place, and his neighbors haven’t seen him. Do you have any theories about what happened between him and his grandmother?”

  “Joyce thinks Larry and Gran must have gotten into an argument after they got upstairs. Who knows, maybe once he helped her up the staircase he decided it’d be too difficult to haul the wheelchair up like she wanted. Gran could be pretty demanding. I could see them getting into an argument over that and then him just leaving her there, figuring someone else could deal with her.”

  “But if he helped her upstairs, and they argued over bringing the wheelchair up, I would have expected him to leave her standing there. She obviously made it over to the attic staircase.”

  Dennis shrugged. “Then someone must have helped her walk across the second floor. She couldn’t do it by herself. Maybe Larry did, and they argued about something else when they started to go up to the attic, and he left her then.”

  “Does Larry have a habit of just taking off and not saying anything?”

  “Actually, he does. Hate to say this, but all of Martha’s brothers are a little flaky. But Larry is the one who keeps to himself the most. I think he had a hard time growing up in that house, more so than the rest of them. He has some resentment there—which is understandable, considering everything. His way of dealing is to shut people out. That’s what he does. I think that’s why his marriage fell apart.”

  “When I asked Joyce for Larry’s ex-wife’s phone number, she didn’t have it. Do you?”

  Dennis shook his head. “No. I just know she moved back to Vancouver.”

  “If Larry got into an argument with his grandmother before taking her up those stairs, could she have gotten up to the second floor by herself?”

  “I suppose it’s possible. If she held onto the rail and took one step at a time. She could do it.”

  “But once upstairs, on the second floor, would she have been able to walk to the attic staircase by herself?”

  Dennis shook his head. “No. That would be impossible. Gran needed to hold onto something in order to move around. She stopped using a cane this last year because she said it wouldn’t hold her up. To get around, she needed her wheelchair or something sturdy to hold onto. Whenever Joyce went somewhere, she either had one of us come over and stay with Gran or made sure she was in her wheelchair.”

  “Shane was in the attic when Agatha fell down the stairs. He insists he didn’t know his grandmother was on the second floor until he s
tarted down the attic stairs and found her on the floor.”

  “That’s what he told us too.”

  “Do you believe him?” the chief asked.

  “The family all went over to Joyce’s yesterday. All but Larry. Shane went on and on about how shocked he was to find Gran on the floor. As you know, Shane’s history is a little sketchy. He’s had his brushes with the law. But one thing about him, he’s a horrible liar.”

  “Are you saying you believe him?”

  “The way he kept going on and on, about how shocked he was to find her—he was so hyped up about it—it just didn’t seem fake to me. Not knowing Shane like I do. Frankly, I’d be shocked if I found out he lied. Because that would mean he’s become a good liar. Which, for someone as sketchy as Shane, is not a good thing.”

  “HOW DID IT GO?” Brian Henderson asked the chief after Dennis left the station.

  “We need to find Larry. And I’d like to look a little closer at Shane.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Brian leaned against the open doorway and watched as the chief gathered up papers from his desk, stacking them in a neat pile.

  “Shane. That kid got into his share of trouble. I remember hauling him in for selling pot. And then there was that breaking and entering charge, and about a year ago the check fraud.”

  “The check fraud was his mother’s account, and she got those charges dropped. Insisted it was all a mistake.”

  “Yeah, right,” Brian said dryly. “So what’s the deal? You think it really was something other than an accident?”

  “After talking to Dennis and the coroner, I’m not convinced it was an innocent accident. It’s very possible Agatha Pine was murdered.”

  SIXTEEN

  “You’re Walt Marlow,” the raspy female voice accused.

  Walt glanced up from the book he was reading. Standing in the doorway was Agatha Pine. Not Agatha in the flesh, but she looked just as she did when he had last seen her alive. Yet, unlike the living version, this Agatha didn’t need a wheelchair to get around.