The Ghost from the Sea

by Anna J. McIntyre

  Jack let out a snort. “Hardly. Always thought Sally was a fun girl but I’d never trust her around my wallet. No, that money’s probably still across the street at George’s. Unless someone else has found it since that time, which is entirely possible considering how long it’s been.”

  “You’ve already said you’ve moved it. The question is, where to?”

  “I remember I was going to bring it here, but then I wanted to go to Sally’s—which was obviously a stupid idea. I moved it. Somewhere safe. Hidden.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Walt chuckled. “Well, we can’t use the money now anyway.”

  “I would like to know who was behind it all. Who knows, maybe when I move on, I’ll find out.”

  “Does this mean you’re ready to move on?” Walt asked.

  “I think so.” Jack looked at Walt. “What about you? You could go with me. See what’s on the other side. A new adventure.”

  Walt smiled. “I don’t think so. You go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

  Jack studied Walt for a moment. “It’s that little doll isn’t it?”

  Walt frowned and looked away. “What are you talking about?”

  Jack laughed. “I see how you look at her. I remember how you used to look at Eva. Not so different.”

  Walt stood. “Oh shut up.” He walked to the window.

  “Hell, not different at all,” Jack scoffed.

  Walt turned from the window and looked at Jack. “What do you mean?”

  “You never had a chance with Eva. She always saw you as a brother; that was never going to change. And with Danielle. Well, isn’t it obvious? I don’t see you as having much of a chance with her either, but for an entirely different reason.”

  “That was a delicious breakfast,” Hillary said as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin.

  Danielle stood up and began to gather the dirty dishes off the dining room table. “Yes it was. Thank you Ian and Lily.”

  Ian stood up and started helping Danielle clear the table. “Considering all the meals I’ve mooched, I figure I owed you.”

  “Ian makes a mean waffle,” Lily said as she popped her last bite of bacon into her mouth. She then stood up and snatched the pile of dirty dishes from Ian. “You should go get that file for Dani to see.”

  “What file?” Danielle asked.

  “Ian’s been doing his own research on the Eva Aphrodite,” Lily explained.

  Curious, Danielle looked to Ian, her hands now full with dirty dishes.

  “On the passengers and crew,” Ian explained. “We know they were murdered. What we don’t know is, was someone on that ship the real target—were the others collateral damage? Or was it a home invasion at sea?”

  “I love a good mystery!” Hillary said. “What have you discovered?”

  Ian flashed Hillary a smile and then looked at Danielle. “Okay, I’ll run across the street and get the file with my research so far. It’s a good excuse to get out of doing the dishes, anyway!” he added with a laugh as he dashed from the room.

  Kurt crouched in the far corner of the closet, holding his breath, praying the tenant didn’t come into the bedroom or open the closet door. He had been so careful at first, looking out the front window every few minutes, preparing to escape out the back door the moment he saw the man with the dog returning from across the street. But then he got distracted in one of the bedrooms, and just as he stepped into the hallway to check the window again, he heard someone open the front door. He managed to duck in the bedroom just as the man came inside. Kurt had one thing to be grateful for: the man hadn’t brought the dog back with him. If he had, Kurt was fairly certain he’d be in deep trouble by now.

  Ian could not remember where he had left the research folder. He swore it was on the kitchen table, but when it wasn’t there, he went to look in the living room. Just before he reached the living room, the doorbell rang.

  When he answered it, he found a nicely dressed, older woman standing on his front porch.

  “Yes, how can I help you?” Ian asked.

  “Hello, you must be Ian Bartley,” she said, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m Jolene Carmichael from the Frederickport Historical Society.”

  Ian accepted her hand, yet paused a moment when he remembered why he recognized the name. She was the one Danielle had mentioned—the widow of Clarence Renton’s business partner—the one who had been snarky to Danielle.

  After the brief handshake, he asked, “How can I help you?”

  “The historical society has been considering a historical home tour. This house is one of the oldest in Frederickport and—”

  “I’m just renting the house,” he interrupted. “You’d need to speak to its owner, Marie Nichols.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course, we will. I was just wondering if it might be possible—if it’s not too much trouble, if I could look around inside?”

  Ian frowned. “I’m not sure why.”

  “The interior of the house may not even be suitable for a historical home tour—considering any modern renovations it’s had over the years.”

  “I don’t think it’s been changed much.”

  “Oh, wonderful! If I could just look around—see if it is what we’re looking for, then we can contact Marie Nichols, see if she’d be willing to cooperate.”

  “You do know, I’m renting the house. I don’t intend to move out any time soon.”

  “Oh, this would not infringe on any of your renter’s rights, I promise you! No no. And who knows, if you just let me look around, it’s entirely possible I’ll discover this won’t work for what we have in mind.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “Were you on your way out?” she sounded hopeful.

  “I was going back across the street. I just came over here to pick something up.”

  “It should only take—oh maybe twenty minutes—you could go ahead and go, I’ll be happy to lock up for you. I hate to be an imposition.”

  Ian arched his brows at the request. Knowing who she was, he wasn’t worried about letting her poke through the house, but he certainly wasn’t going to leave her alone while he went back across the street. “I tell you what. You go ahead and have a look around. I need to get some things together anyway.” He opened the door wider and stepped to the side, letting her come in. He watched curiously, as she scurried off and started her inspection.

  Just as Ian reached the living room, the doorbell rang again. Before answering the door, he glanced around the room, searching for the file. It was nowhere in sight. Returning to the front door, he opened it. Standing on the front porch was Bill Jones, toolbox in hand.

  “Hi Bill. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to check your GFI switches.”

  Ian frowned. “GFI?”

  “You see, before you moved in, I replaced a bunch of GFI switches in this house. Well, it seems there was just a recall and I need to make sure none of the ones I put in here are part of the recall. I don’t want your house to burn down.”

  Ian opened the door wider and stepped aside. “No, we don’t want that.”

  Bill smiled and walked into the house, toolbox in hand. “If you were heading out somewhere, I can lock up for you. This will probably take a while.”

  “Yeah, well…maybe,” Ian mumbled as he closed the front door. “I’m looking for something and then I’ll be heading back across the street, and—”

  Bill walked off in the direction of Ian’s bedroom, not waiting for Ian to finish his sentence. Ian was about to tell Bill not to be surprised when he ran into Jolene, who was wandering somewhere in his house. Instead, he shrugged and started back to the living room. He hadn’t seen the file in there the first time he had looked, but he remembered another place he wanted to check.

  A few moments later, Ian stood at the living room bookshelf, scanning the shelves looking for the end of a file he may have inadvertently stuck in between a couple of books,
something he sometimes did. The doorbell rang again.

  “What the hell is this, Grand Central Station?” Ian asked. Just as he stepped away from the bookshelf to answer the door, he noticed the end of a folder sticking out from between two books.

  “There you are!” Ian laughed as he snatched the folder from its place on the shelf. He quickly flipped through it to see if it was what he was looking for. Just when he was confident it was the correct folder, the doorbell rang again.

  “I’m coming already!” Ian grumbled. Setting the file down on the coffee table, he hurried toward the front door. When he opened it, Adam Nichols was standing on the front porch.

  “Adam? What are you doing here?”

  Adam nodded toward Bill’s truck. “I noticed Bill’s truck out front, is there a problem?”

  “That’s what he’s checking.”

  “What do you mean?” Adam frowned.

  “The GFI switches.”

  “What GFI switches?” Adam asked.

  “The recall.” When Adam still did not seem to comprehend, Ian said, “He probably didn’t bother telling you about it.” Ian opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come on in, he can explain it to you.”

  Just as Adam stepped into the house, a blood-curdling scream came from the spare bedroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A few minutes earlier:

  “Who keeps ringing that doorbell?” Jolene wondered. Whoever it was, she hoped he or she would keep Bartley busy while she went through the house. While she knew finding the hidden treasure—if it was still here—was a longshot, she wanted to have a look around; perhaps she could convince the historical society to sponsor periodic home tours, which of course she would volunteer to oversee. With the tenant out of the house for a few hours before and during the tour, she would have an opportunity to inspect the rooms, searching for likely hiding places. She remembered Danielle Boatman had found the Missing Thorndike tucked behind some boards in the attic across the street.

  Going to the closet, Jolene opened its door slowly, cringing when it started to squeak. She didn’t want Ian Bartley to hear her opening the closet doors and wonder what she was doing. After she opened the closet door wide enough to slip into, she opened her purse and pulled out her iPhone to use as a flashlight.

  Kurt held his breath, his heart beating rapidly, when the closet door slowly opened. The last thing he expected to see was an elderly woman sticking her head into the dark and narrow space. A curtain of overcoats, hung on the center of the overhead rod, helped conceal him from the intruder on the opposite end of the closet. From the darkness, he watched as she groped at the panels of the weathered wooden floor.

  He had surmised this room was used as a guest room, since the only thing in the closet were the jackets blocking him from the woman—and the boxes he noticed shoved on the overhead shelf. From what he knew about the house, it was rented by a bachelor—who he assumed was the man he had seen leave earlier with a dog, before returning alone.

  The doorbell had rung several times since he had taken refuge in the closet, and he assumed this woman was one of the people who had just arrived. He wondered if she had been a recent guest and had returned to look for something she may have lost in the closet. An earring perhaps? The last time he spent a weekend away with a girlfriend she complained about losing an earring in the motel. The women he knew seemed to always be losing earrings.

  When she turned on the flashlight app of her iPhone, he held his breath, praying she wouldn’t point that thing in his direction. He was tempted to grab the end of the nearest overcoat and pull it to one side to better conceal himself, yet was afraid the movement might catch her attention.

  He watched as she knelt by the opening, iPhone in one hand while the other hand fidgeted with a loose board.

  She’s not looking for a lost earring, she’s about to pull that floorboard up, he thought. Mesmerized, he watched as she eagerly tugged at the weathered panel, dislodging it. He could swear he heard her make a gleeful cackling sound. Almost in a frenzy, she yanked up one board after another, and then reached down into the opening and pulled up a box, which she quickly opened.

  He could not contain his gasp when her greedy fingers dipped into the pile of gold coins, lifting them out of the box while they spilled from her fingers. The moment she heard his gasp, she let the rest of the coins drop as she quickly snatched up the iPhone and directed its beam toward him.

  Jolene screamed.

  Without pause, Ian bolted from the doorway, heading for the sound of the scream. Adam followed close on Ian’s heels. He was so intent on following his tenant, he failed to see Bill dart into the hallway from the master bedroom. Bill had also heard the scream. Bill and Adam collided. Ignoring the two men behind him, Ian swung the door open to the guest bedroom.

  “What are you doing here?” Adam hissed under his breath to Bill.

  Before Bill could reply, Ian’s loud, “What the hell?” turned Bill’s attention—and Adam’s—to what Ian was now staring at.

  Wild eyed and frantic, Jolene crouched on the floor in front of the partially opened closet. She clutched to her bosom an armful of gold coins, as she looked from the man still hidden in the closet, back to the three men peering in at her from the now open doorway.

  Ian walked into the bedroom, with Adam and Bill following behind him.

  “They are mine!” Jolene shouted. “Mine, mine, mine!”

  Adam pushed around Ian and approached Jolene, staring into the closet. He could see the hiding place revealed by the now removed floor panels.

  “Marlow’s missing gold,” Bill said. “Damn, I knew I should have checked that closet first.”

  Adam pointed to the box. “Those aren’t yours! Those were hidden in my grandmother’s house! They belong to her!”

  “I’ll be damned,” Ian said as he approached Jolene and the gold. “Those were here all this time?”

  Hugging the gold to her chest, Jolene glared at Adam. Shaking her head furiously she shouted, “Stay away! I claim these under Oregon’s treasure trove laws!”

  “What are you talking about?” Adam said, as he reached down and attempted to snatch the coins from her grasp. She swatted him away and shouted an obscenity.

  According to Heather Donovan, someone had broken into Ian Bartley’s house. What Brian didn’t understand was, why had she waited so long to call the police? It had been over an hour since she had seen the man slip into Ian’s back door. Apparently, she had been jogging at the time. Her reason for not calling sooner was that she thought the man was probably a friend of Ian’s but after thinking about it for a while, decided she should probably call the police.

  When Brian arrived at the scene, there were three vehicles parked in front of Ian’s house. He recognized the truck; it belonged to Bill Jones, the handyman who worked for Adam Nichols. If Brian wasn’t mistaken, the car parked behind the truck belonged to Adam. He didn’t recognize the third vehicle. Ian’s car was parked in the driveway.

  Brian didn’t notice the open front door until he was halfway up the walk. By that time, he could hear the shouting coming from inside the house. By the colorful expletives and number of different voices he heard, it sounded like a riot. Pausing a moment, he called for backup before going inside. He didn’t know what he was facing.

  By the sound of it, Brian imagined he was walking into a dangerously volatile situation, possibly with weapons drawn and blood spilled. What he found was something entirely different, more like a scene from a slapstick comedy.

  Adam Nichols was playing slapsy with Jolene Carmichael, who kept yelling, “mine, mine” while she hugged what appeared to be a pile of gold coins, many of which had already fallen from her grasp and landed on the floor around her.

  Bill Jones was attempting to snatch some of the coins from the floor, while Adam kicked his hand away while shouting at Jolene to let go of his gold. Meanwhile, Ian stood calmly on the sidelines, iPhone in hand, while he recorded the mayhem.

&nb
sp; Brian’s authoritative shout for everyone to quiet, immediately silenced the group, which turned to him—including Ian, who now aimed the iPhone’s lens at the officer and continued to record. When Brian realized Ian was recording him, he gestured for him to stop. Reluctantly, Ian complied, turning off the video app and tucking his phone into his back pocket.

  The quiet didn’t last long. Soon everyone was talking again, this time directing his or her words to Brian. In their competition to be heard, their volume increased and soon they were shouting more at each other than trying to explain to the police officer what was going on.

  Once again, Brian shouted to be quiet. He looked at Ian, the calmest of the group, and told him to explain what was going on.

  “To be honest, I’m not really sure,” Ian admitted.

  Jolene started to say something but Brian immediately hushed her and turned his attention back to Ian.

  “First, Jolene Carmichael here…” Ian gestured toward the woman who was now stumbling to her feet, while snatching the fallen coins from the floor and returning them to the booty in her arms. “Stopped by, asking to look around the house. She said the historical society was considering putting this house on some historical home tour.”

  “What home tour? No one’s ever mentioned that to me,” Adam piped up. Brian immediately hushed him and looked back to Ian again.

  “I was in the middle of looking for some papers so I told her to go ahead, have a look around. And then Bill stopped by, saying something about GFI switches needing to be looked at.”

  “GFI my ass,” Adam snapped, glaring at Bill. Bill snapped back and soon the two were arguing. Once again, Brian hushed them, and turned his attention back to Ian.

  “I told Bill to go ahead, do what he needed to do, and I went back to looking for my papers. That’s when Adam stopped by, and asked why Bill was here. The next thing I know, someone is screaming bloody murder, and I run in here, find Mrs. Carmichael in my closet. It’s pretty obvious to me her story about the home tour was just a ruse to get in and look for the treasure they’ve been talking about, and apparently she found it.”