The Ghost from the Sea

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “You’re probably right,” Marie agreed. “Ever since Clarence went to prison, there’s been talk around town, speculating on how long he’d been bilking his clients. More than a few wondered about Doug’s involvement in all those shenanigans. And now with Jolene back in town, and Clarence getting killed, there’s plenty of whispering going on, if you know what I mean. I imagine Jolene knows, and she’s just defensive. Has to blame someone, and unfortunately, you’re her target.”

  “Not just me. She blames Walt Marlow for her great-uncle’s death.”

  “Did she even know him?” Adam asked.

  “No, dear. But she was close to her grandfather.” Marie looked from Adam to Danielle. “I suppose she blames Walt because it was his boat?”

  Danielle shook her head. “No. Something more ominous. She insists Walt was having an affair with her great-uncle’s wife, and that Walt ordered the murder of all those people to cover up the affair, or some such convoluted reason. I don’t know exactly. But I’m going back to the museum later and reading the diary of the woman who wrote about it, to see if I can figure it all out.”

  Marie shook her head. “Ridiculous story. And I’ll tell Jolene that to her face.”

  “And here I thought those were more innocent times,” Adam mused from the recliner.

  “Her great-aunt was Thelma Templeton, wasn’t it?” Marie asked. “The one she claims was having an affair with Walt?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure love to get wrapped up in these old soap operas,” Adam said with a chuckle. “Who really cares after all these years?”

  “You seem to, dear,” Marie reminded. “When gold’s involved.”

  Adam conceded with a shrug and continued to listen.

  “I remember my mother talking about Thelma Templeton, one of the women who went missing on the Eva Aphrodite. Of course, back then we all thought they died in the storm. After Paul’s radio show today, I suppose everyone in town knows that wasn’t true. According to mother, Thelma got romantically involved with an actor.”

  “An actor?”

  “Quite scandalous.” Marie smiled. “Mother told me the story. She and Father happened to run into the Templetons at the theater in Portland. Mother stepped away from Father for some reason, turned down the wrong corridor, and witnessed Thelma in a rather passionate kiss. The man wasn’t Mr. Templeton, and later, Mother recognized him in the cast.”

  “This really is a soap opera,” Adam mumbled.

  “Rather bold of her,” Danielle said. “Fooling around when her husband was nearby.”

  “That’s what my mother thought too. She told Father about it, but he insisted it must have been a woman who just looked like Thelma Templeton.”

  “What did your mother say?” Danielle asked.

  “I don’t believe she argued the point with him. Yet she told me—of course, years later when I was an adult—that it was either Thelma, or Thelma’s twin wearing the same dress as her sister. Of course, Thelma didn’t have a sister. I believe the first time Mother told me that story was when we went to that same theater in Portland.”

  They chatted for another twenty minutes, and when Danielle glanced at her phone, she saw she had missed several calls from the chief. She had forgotten to turn the cellphone’s ringer back on. He had also sent her a text message, asking her to call or stop in the station if she was downtown. Curious, Danielle ended her visit with Marie and Adam and headed to the police station.

  “I thought you were ignoring me,” the chief said when Danielle entered his office late Monday afternoon. Sitting at his desk, he leaned back in the office chair.

  “I’ve had a busy day,” Danielle said as she flopped down in a chair facing him. “And it’s not over yet.”

  “I wanted to talk to you privately about Jolene Carmichael.”

  “Jolene?” Danielle groaned.

  “She really does not like you.”

  “Umm, yeah, I sort of noticed that.”

  The chief then went on to tell Danielle about his visit with Jolene. In turn, she told him about her afternoon, excluding the encounter with Eva Thorndike. Telling the chief she had seen Eva before telling Walt did not seem right.

  Finally, Danielle asked, “Well, are you going to give them to her?”

  “The jewelry?”

  “Those pieces do match what her aunt was wearing in those photographs. Of course, who’s had them all these years and why they returned the pieces to the boat—assuming that’s where they came from—is the million-dollar question.”

  The chief stood up and walked around the desk. Sitting along the edge of the desk front, he faced Danielle, his arms folded across his chest. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. When you told me a diver—according to your ghost friend—left that box on the boat, I decided to call someone I know in Seaside.”

  “You do know, I hate it when you say ghost friend. His name is Jack.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is his name Jack?”

  The chief rolled his eyes. “Why does it bug you when I say ghost friend?”

  Danielle shrugged. “I don’t know. Just feels like you’re mocking me, I guess.”

  “Sorry. I’m not mocking you. I promise. But this still all feels very strange to me.”

  “Fair enough. So what about this friend of yours?”

  “You and I know that boat’s been under the water all this time—it wasn’t a ghost ship like some people claim. The guy I called, in Seaside, he’s a diver I know. I told him we were trying to figure out where the Eva Aphrodite had been all this time, if it was possible she was under the water for all these years, and then maybe some earthquake unsettled her. No one’s ever claimed to have come across the wreckage before.”

  “What were you really asking him?”

  “I wondered if some of the local divers had come across the wreckage and we just didn’t know about it.”

  “And?”

  “He told me an interesting story. About a month ago, he was contacted by a woman who was looking for someone to do salvage work. The conversation didn’t go far, because she asked if he would be willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Non-disclosure agreement?”

  “Yes. She claimed to know the location of a sunken ship, and before she hired him—or disclosed the location of the ship—he would need to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Sounds like maybe she thought there was treasure on board, and didn’t want someone else getting to it before her,” Danielle suggestion.

  “He started asking her some questions, and she got a little weird, and then she just hung up.”

  Danielle frowned. “Weird?”

  “Didn’t want to answer any of his questions.”

  “Did she call him on his cell phone? Did he try calling her back?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes. And this is where it gets interesting. He got the museum.”

  “The museum?”

  “The line the woman called him on—it was from the Frederickport Museum.”

  “Who was it?”

  The chief shook his head. “I don’t know. The museum message machine picked up when he called. He has no idea who the woman was. And he never followed up on it. All he knows is, whoever made that phone call, made it from the museum.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It wasn’t dark yet. There was still a good hour and a half left of daylight. But Danielle knew the sun would be down when she closed up the museum, so she parked as close to the entrance as possible. While Frederickport was generally a safe little town, if you didn’t consider the dead bodies Danielle had tripped over during the last eight months—like her cousin Cheryl, Bart Haston, or Peter Morris—she still didn’t like wandering around downtown alone after nightfall.

  Letting herself into the museum with the key Ben had given her, she quickly relocked the door behind her and punched the security code into the alarm system. The lights were turned off, but there was enough sunlight streaming
in the front window to illuminate the museum entrance without turning on the overhead lighting. Setting the keys and her purse on the front counter leading into the gift shop, Danielle looked down the darkened hallway leading to the exhibit area of the museum.

  Nightlights, plugged into random electrical sockets throughout the building, broke up the darkness, providing a soft glow. Walking down the dimly lit hallway en route to the exhibits, a scene from Ben Stiller’s Night at the Museum flashed through her mind. For most people, that movie was nothing more than a fanciful comedy. Museum exhibits don’t come to life. She knew differently. Taking a deep breath, Danielle decided to see what Eva Thorndike had to say before she tackled the diary.

  Since Eva had died a few years before the yacht went missing, Danielle doubted Eva’s spirit would have any pertinent information regarding the true fate of the passengers and crew, especially if she had spent almost a century hanging out with her portrait. Yet, according to Eva’s words earlier, she had something to say about Walt.

  Stepping into the exhibit area, Danielle glanced around. To her right was the natural history exhibit, the once-live wildlife creatures frozen in time by the taxidermist. On the other side of the room was the Marlow Shipping Line exhibit with its intricate models, identical replicas of the ships once built by Frederick Marlow’s company. Beyond that was an exhibit on the local fishing industry, while other exhibits highlighted points of local and state history.

  Taking another deep breath, Danielle steeled her nerves and focused on the center of the room, the location of the Thorndike exhibit. A nightlight’s glow bounced off a glass case, landing on the portrait’s face, eerily illuminating its eyes.

  Stepping up to the portrait, Danielle paused when she was about three feet away. Staring at the illuminated eyes she said, “Hello Eva, I’m back.”

  Nothing.

  Another deep breath and sigh. “It’s me. Danielle Boatman. You said you knew I was coming. How did you know?”

  Nothing.

  “I’m alone. We can talk now, if you show yourself.”

  Still nothing.

  Danielle stood in front of the portrait for another ten minutes, yet there wasn’t a glimmer or sign to indicate the presence of Eva’s spirit in the room. Tired of waiting, Danielle stepped away from the portrait and made her way to the office at the back of the building.

  It hadn’t been necessary to turn on any lights as she walked through the museum. The nightlights provided sufficient illumination. But once in the office, she flipped the switch for the overhead fixture, flooding the room with flickering florescent light.

  She found the diary in Ben’s side desk drawer, just where he told her it would be. Sitting down at the desk, she opened the weathered leather bound book and began thumbing through its pages.

  Ethel Pearson’s elegant cursive penmanship flowed from page to page. The style of writing appeared fairly consistent throughout the diary, yet there were periodic changes of letter size and ink density. Danielle was grateful to find the handwriting legible. She had read vintage handwritten documents in the past, often finding them nearly impossible to decipher. Not so with Ethel Pearson’s diary.

  Settling back comfortably in the swivel chair, Danielle skimmed the pages, moving over such tedious entries as Ethel’s detailed account of her visit to the dressmaker. When Danielle came to the next entry mentioning the same dressmaker, she almost skipped forward without reading the pages, when a reference to Thelma jumped out at her. Pausing, Danielle read the page and then realized she had missed something. Curious, she turned back one page and read the entire day’s entry.

  I stopped at the dressmaker today for my final fitting. Thelma Templeton went with me to pick up a gown she had altered. Thelma has lost so much weight; I have been so worried about her. But I had no idea how bad it truly was. She insisted on trying on the dress alone, and wouldn’t allow anyone to help her. I have never known her to be so shy. Thinking her silly, I entered the dressing room intending to help her. She was furious with me. And then I saw the reason for her inhibition. The length of her back was blackened with bruises. I wanted to weep. She swore me to silence. When I asked if Howard had done this, she only laughed.

  Danielle flipped through more pages, until she came to another entry discussing Thelma.

  Thelma has admitted she has taken a lover and he was responsible for the bruises. She told me I didn’t understand, that he simply loves her so much and often gets frustrated that she can’t leave her husband.

  Danielle looked up from the diary, taking a moment to reflect. Why a woman would choose to stay with a man who abused her, she didn’t understand. Shaking her head, she began to read again. The next entry of interest mentioned Walt.

  I was mortified this evening at the Templeton’s when I was caught lingering outside the door of Howard’s study. It really wasn’t my fault. The heated exchange between Howard and Ralph over a business endeavor Ralph wishes to enter into with Walt Marlow was simply too delicious to ignore. I’m hoping Thelma can tell me more when we are able to talk.

  Danielle paused a moment. Howard, that must be Thelma’s husband. Jolene’s grandfather—Howard’s brother—was named Ralph. Is this the same Ralph? Danielle continued reading.

  Thelma has finally confessed the name of her lover. It is Walt Marlow. I was surprised she finally revealed his name; I have asked her so many times only to be met with resolute silence. She told me after I asked her about the argument in the study. She explained Howard suspects the affair, which is why he opposes his brother’s business proposition with Walt Marlow.

  Danielle looked up from the page for a moment. “Why did Thelma lie?” Danielle asked aloud. After rereading the passage, she mumbled, “I guess that answers my other question, it was the same Ralph.” With a sigh, she continued reading.

  Another cuckhold husband might be tempted to divorce his wife and endure the scandal, or have her put away discretely; but I don’t see that happening with Thelma, considering her inheritance. Howard will endure what he must to keep his golden goose.

  “Oh really?” Danielle smirked. “So Thelma had her own money?”

  Danielle continued to skim through the diary, paying special attention to any passages mentioning Thelma. She began to wonder why Ben entertained the idea that Walt was behind the murders. It wasn’t until she came to an entry posted just two weeks prior to the Eva Aphrodite’s fateful voyage that she had her answer.

  Thelma cancelled our luncheon date, claiming to be ill. I knew Howard is still away on business and won’t be home until the weekend, so I decided to check in on her. I was shocked at what I found! She was all alone, not even her personal maid was there. She had sent them all away. I suspect so they wouldn’t see her drunk.

  Yes, drunk. I have never seen her like this. I am glad I stopped by because frankly, I believe the poor girl intended to do herself more harm than what just comes from the bottom of a bottle.

  She ranted, “He left me! Me, who is he to leave me?” I asked her if she meant Howard, wondering if perhaps he could no longer endure the knowledge his wife was having an affair. She laughed, told me, that to her grief, Howard would never leave her. I then asked her if she meant Walt Marlow. She just looked at me for a moment and began to sob. She is heartbroken.

  When she finally stopped sobbing, she confessed she had threatened him. At first, I assumed she meant physically harm him, but then she told me she intended to ruin him. Foolishly, she also expressed this intent to Walt Marlow, who countered with his own threat, yet his was more deadly. He threatened to kill her. And yet, she still loves him.

  Danielle shook her head and said aloud, “Thelma obviously told Ethel her lover threatened her life, and Ethel assumes that’s Walt.”

  An entry the following week again mentioned Thelma.

  I can’t stand by and do nothing. I must help my friend, even if she doesn’t want it. She may never forgive me, but I have no choice. I went to Howard Templeton’s office this morning. I explained W
alt Marlow had seduced Thelma, that it wasn’t her fault. She is just a vulnerable woman. I explained Marlow does not want the affair revealed, I assume because he does not want to jeopardize whatever business arrangement he is attempting to put together with Howard’s brother. Marlow obviously understands Ralph will walk away if he discovers Walt is having an affair with his sister-in-law.

  I was so nervous, but I managed to have my say. When I was done, Howard sat there stoically, saying nothing. I began to regret going to him, but then he stood up, took my hands in his and told me he appreciated me coming to him, that I was a true friend to Thelma. He promised he would take care of everything and he would keep Thelma safe. That dear man really does love his wife.

  Danielle looked up from the pages and considered Ethel’s words. “That might explain Howard’s parting comments about Walt before he moved on. He obviously believed Walt was his wife’s lover—and that he had threatened to kill her.”

  “Walt would never hurt anyone,” a female voice said from the hallway.

  Danielle looked toward the voice. It was Eva Thorndike, her transparent vision almost glowing as she stood in the office doorway.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Closing the diary, Danielle set it on Ben’s desk and stood up, facing the apparition. “I didn’t think you were here.”

  Eva smiled. “I wasn’t. But I am now.” Her vision floated into the room, ethereal and glowing, nothing like Walt’s presence, or even Jack’s. Should Danielle happen upon either Jack or Walt, and not already know they were spirits, she would initially believe them to be flesh and blood men. Not so with Eva. This Eva Thorndike was the epitome of the haunting spirit—the classical feminine specter cast in countless ghost stories.

  “Why haven’t I ever seen you at the museum before—before this afternoon?”

  “I rarely come here. Although I do occasionally. After all, they do have my portrait.”

  “I just assumed you’d were in some way attached to your portrait.”