The Ghost Who Dream Hopped

by Anna J. McIntyre

  With one foot, Danielle pushed the chair Marie sat in away from the table.

  Marie continued to chatter on, telling Walt and Danielle where she had been, what she had been doing with Eva, and asked questions they were unable to answer because of Joanne’s presence.

  Ten minutes after Marie’s arrival, Joanne said, “I think I’m going to call it a day. I have a list of a few things we need. If you want, I can pick them up from the store before I come in tomorrow.”

  “She’s going home already?” Marie asked, glancing at the wall clock. “It’s not even one o’clock.”

  “No, that’s okay, Joanne. I have to run out to the bank anyway. I’ll stop by the store,” Danielle said. “And thanks for everything.”

  After Joanne left a few minutes later, Walt looked at Marie and said, “Do you realize how distracting it is when you keep talking and there really is no way either of us can answer you, not with Joanne here. And you keep asking us questions.”

  Danielle started laughing. Confused, Walt looked at her.

  “Seriously, Walt? You used to do the same exact thing. Drove me crazy!”

  Walt frowned. “I did?”

  “That was rather rude, Walt,” Marie said primly. “After all, you really should be more respectful of your elders! Like Danielle said, I was ninety-one when I died!”

  Walt arched his brow at Marie. “I remember when you were born, Little Marie. I remember when you were in nappies.”

  Marie let out a snort and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Oh, stop, you two.” Danielle turned to Marie. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve a lot to tell you and some things I need to ask.”

  Unfolding her arms, Marie settled back in her chair and smiled at Danielle. “What is it, dear?”

  The first thing Danielle told Marie was about the dream hop and what she had learned about Beverly’s part in Steve’s death.

  “Oh my. Beverly killed Steve?” Marie muttered.

  “I suppose the one good thing—if we can call anything about this good—is that she didn’t actually intend to kill him. The chief thinks proving a case against her is going to be a challenge, considering it’s been so long since Steve’s death, and the only new evidence is from a ghost. But he’d like to look closer at Beverly—see if there’s some pattern of behavior here or if it was totally out of character for her.”

  “I certainly can’t imagine Beverly doing something like that. But…it does remind me of something that happened with Roxane when she was in high school,” Marie said.

  “Roxane, you mean Beverly’s daughter?” Danielle asked.

  Marie nodded. “Yes. Those two were spoiled—Roxane and her brother, Steven Jr. The mother indulged them horribly. I think Steve tried to step in and apply some discipline, but all it did was cause trouble.”

  “So what happened with Roxane?” Danielle asked.

  “The community theater group was putting on their annual performance, and Martha Porterfield—well, she was Martha Pruitt back then—”

  “You mean Joyce’s daughter?” Danielle asked.

  Marie nodded. “Yes. Martha got the lead role, and Roxane was her understudy. Oh my, was Roxane green! She had her heart set on that role. The morning of opening night, Martha got deathly sick. Of course, then she couldn’t go on stage that night. And so Roxane went on for her.”

  “Sick from what?”

  “Ahh, that was what the scandal was about,” Marie said with a nod.

  “Are you suggesting someone poisoned her like Steve?” Walt asked.

  “A rumor went around that Martha got sick after she drank something from her thermos. She’d told a friend that it had tasted funny, and within an hour she was throwing up,” Marie explained. “Some people started speculating that maybe Roxane had put something into her drink to make her sick.”

  “Did they test what was in the thermos?” Danielle asked.

  Marie shook her head. “No. Martha had rinsed it before she started throwing up. And she was better the next day. I don’t think Joyce even took her to the doctor. Of course, Beverly, being the mother bear she was, made a few phone calls telling people to stop spreading such ugly rumors about her daughter, or she’d see them in court. And as it turned out, Martha stood up for Roxane. Said she had never had access to the thermos; in fact, Roxane had been in Portland that morning. Of course, she had to rush back to be in the play.”

  “So was Martha well enough to be in the second performance?” Danielle asked.

  “She had to be,” Marie said with a laugh. “Roxane bombed so horribly that she refused to go on stage again. That girl had a serious case of stage fright. Simply froze, could barely say her lines.”

  “I suppose if Roxane had been responsible for making Martha sick, that would be karma,” Danielle said.

  “But I don’t think Roxane had anything to do with it. She might have been a spoiled brat, but from what I’ve heard, she really didn’t have the opportunity to put anything into Martha’s drink,” Marie said.

  “What about her mother?” Walt asked.

  Marie and Danielle looked to Walt. “You mean maybe Beverly tampered with Martha’s drink?” Danielle asked.

  “Hmmm…no one ever suggested that. But now that I think about it, Beverly wasn’t in Portland with her daughter. I suppose it might have been possible. After all, it happened at rehearsal that morning, and from what I remember, Beverly helped with the costumes.”

  “If Beverly tampered with Martha’s drink, like she did with Steve’s food, then I suppose it was karma when her daughter did so poorly in front of the entire town,” Danielle said.

  Danielle then told Marie about the recent attack on Beverly and her stay in the hospital. After they discussed Beverly for a few more minutes, the conversation turned to Ben Smith and how Walt thought his father’s Packard was the same one he had owned at the time of his death.

  “Interesting,” Marie murmured after hearing Danielle and Walt tell of their morning at the museum.

  “Do you remember what happened to Walt’s car?” Danielle asked.

  “I don’t remember it being a Packard. To be honest, I don’t recall ever knowing what kind of car he had. But I do remember my father saying something about Walt’s car being stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Walt asked.

  “Yes. After you were killed and your delightful brother-in-law, Roger, was contesting the will, your car went missing. Some accused Roger of taking it, but he was never found with the car. And then, of course, Roger ended up marrying Katherine and was killed.”

  “Something I never understood, considering he had contested her inheritance,” Danielle muttered.

  “After Roger died and the car still didn’t surface, my father said they figured it had simply been stolen a few days after Walt’s death. I suppose it’s not that uncommon for thieves to ransack the home of someone who has died, especially when that home was vacant.”

  “That Packard can’t be the one Walt owned,” Danielle said.

  Walt looked at her. “It was.”

  “Why do you say that, Danielle?” Marie asked.

  “If everyone was looking for Walt’s stolen car, how was Ben’s father going to explain having it?” Danielle asked.

  Marie considered the question for a moment and then said, “For one thing, I don’t imagine anyone knew he had it.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Danielle said.

  “Certainly it does, dear. And now it makes sense to me too.” Marie chuckled.

  “Can you explain it to us?” Walt asked.

  “I never really knew Ben’s father. As for Ben’s Packard, I heard about that long after my father and his had passed away. The story being Ben’s father had an old Packard, but kept it in a barn on his property. You have to remember, by that time there was really no one left who knew anything about Walt’s missing car. Ben’s father never drove it, just kept it locked up in his barn. Ben inherited his father’s property, and I suppose that included whatever was o
n it. Ben would drag the old car out once in a while, show it off around town, and then put it back in his garage.”

  “Maybe you didn’t know Ben’s father, but I did,” Walt said. “He didn’t have much of a law practice when I was alive. Rented a little office over the drugstore, where he also lived. He was pretty good friends with Roger. I never trusted him. The man was a weasel.”

  Marie chuckled. “I always knew he wasn’t the paragon his son touted. Just another example of why I pulled away from that museum bunch.”

  “What do you mean?” Danielle asked. Marie had expressed her disdain for the museum before, yet Danielle never quite understood why Marie seemed to dislike the group. It was especially peculiar to Danielle since she knew Marie was a member of the organization—an inactive member, but still a member.

  “When the Historical Society was first established, both Adam and I were founding members. We signed up together under a family membership. He’s never been active, and I intended to be in the beginning.”

  “But you didn’t stay active?” Danielle asked.

  “No. I wasn’t happy with the direction the society was going. I would have simply quit, but Adam paid the membership each year, so I became an inactive member. Never seemed worth the effort to formally quit all together.”

  “What bothered you about the Historical Society?” Walt asked.

  “The way they wanted to whitewash everything.”

  “What do you mean?” Danielle asked.

  “I just felt history needs to be accurately told. How do we ever learn if we don’t recognize our mistakes? Frederickport is a wonderful little town, but like every town we have our dirty secrets. The Historical Society didn’t want to gloss over them, they wanted to pretend they never happened.”

  Fourteen

  Danielle rummaged through her purse, making sure they had everything they needed. In doing so she found Clint’s cellphone she had put there earlier. “I’m surprised Clint didn’t have a password set on his phone.”

  Walt stood nearby on his crutches, waiting for Danielle to get what she needed. They were heading first to the local bank so Walt could set up a checking account, and then to the grocery store to pick up a few items. It would be the first time Walt would see anything resembling a supermarket. At first Danielle was going to suggest he wait in the car while she ran in to pick up a few necessary items, but then she remembered the store offered scooters for customers.

  “I still don’t understand why phones need passwords,” Walt said. “We never had passwords on our telephones.”

  “You also didn’t carry your phone in your pocket.”

  “Not sure why that would matter.”

  “For one thing, if you lose your cellphone, you don’t really want someone else to use it. And for another, just think of all the information we found on Clint’s phone. You wouldn’t want some stranger—or even someone you know—to get all that information.”

  “I didn’t consider that. Hmmm…then I wonder why my cousin didn’t use a password.”

  Danielle shrugged. “Some people don’t. They don’t want to be bothered.”

  “I’m not really sure you should call that thing a phone, considering all it does.” Walt hobbled to the door, following Danielle. “And cell phone makes absolutely no sense. When I think of cell, I think of something I studied in my biology class.”

  “Instead of cellphone, what would you call it?” Danielle asked as she held the back door open for Walt.

  “What it is. A pocket computer,” Walt said as he made his way outside.

  Twenty minutes later Walt and Danielle sat at Susan Mitchell’s desk at the local bank.

  “How can I help you today?” Susan asked.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of my recent accident—and my loss of memory?” Walt asked.

  “Yes. And I’m so sorry to hear about your fiancée,” Susan said.

  “Thank you. Unfortunately, I have no memory of Stephanie,” Walt lied. “I’ve decided it would be best if I continue renting a room at Marlow House. It’s the last place I stayed before the accident, and I’m hoping staying there will help me get my memory back.”

  Susan nodded emphatically. “Certainly, I understand.”

  “What I’d like to do today is open an account. If I am going to stay here a while, I need a local bank account.”

  “A checking account?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Danielle leaned forward and said, “Here’s the thing, Susan. Walt’s waiting for a refund from the airlines, which he intended to use to open the account, but they say it may take a few more weeks, so I offered to loan him the money until the funds come through. I’d like you to transfer five thousand dollars out of my account into his.”

  Susan glanced warily from Danielle to Walt. She then said, “Umm…okay. I’ll be right back.”

  When Susan left them, Walt looked at Danielle and whispered, “She’s probably wondering why I don’t just open the account with money I have from whatever bank account I had in California.”

  As far as Walt and Danielle knew, Clint only had one bank account. But what money it had was now gone. Danielle had used it to help pay off some of Clint’s credit card debt. Luckily for them, Clint had been rather careless managing his online accounts. Not only had he failed to password his phone, he’d kept the passwords to various accounts he used on his phone, which made it relatively easy for Danielle to make online payments on Clint’s behalf.

  Susan returned with the necessary paperwork and walked Walt through the process, including helping him select his new checks. Finally, she asked, “I assume you’ll want a debit card?”

  Walt looked up from one of the forms he was reading and asked, “Debit card?”

  “Yes, he does,” Danielle answered for him.

  As Walt finished reviewing the forms, Susan stepped away from the desk a moment and returned with a new debit card. She handed it to Walt.

  He accepted it with a frown. “A credit card?” Walt had seen credit cards, yet he and Danielle had never discussed debit cards.

  “You can apply for one if you want, but this is your debit card.” Susan then slid a small electronic device across the desk to Walt and said, “Go ahead and insert the card and select your PIN number.”

  Still holding the card in his hand, he stared blankly at Susan. “PIN number?”

  “Remember, he does have amnesia,” Danielle said quickly before giving Walt a brief explanation of a debit card and PIN.

  When she was done, Walt asked, “What number should I use?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to tell anyone your PIN,” Susan said quickly.

  “Danielle isn’t just anyone,” Walt insisted.

  “Just pick four numbers, Walt. Something you can easily remember. Like the year you were born.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Susan admonished. “If he lost his wallet, that would be the first number they’d try.”

  Walt flashed Danielle a grin and then keyed in the year he was born—1899.

  After they finished opening Walt’s new checking account and were preparing to leave, Susan looked at Danielle and asked, “Did you hear about Beverly Klein?”

  “Yes. I heard they’re keeping her overnight for observation. But they think she’s going to be fine.”

  “I just can’t believe something like that happened in Frederickport! And to someone like Beverly Klein. Everyone loves Beverly!”

  Another bank employee, Nikki Wilkerson, was just walking by Susan’s desk and overheard the last portion of the conversation. She gave a little snort and kept walking. Susan missed her coworker’s reaction, yet Danielle didn’t.

  Danielle was helping Walt into her car when she noticed Nikki leaving the bank. Danielle knew the woman; she had attended Marlow House’s grand opening.

  “I’ll be right back,” Danielle whispered to Walt as he got into the passenger seat. She closed the door and dashed to the woman, who was preparing to get into a Jeep.

 
“Hello!” Danielle said when she reached her.

  Nikki looked up. “Oh, hello, Danielle.”

  “I heard you in there—after Susan said what a nice person Beverly was.”

  Nikki blushed. “I shouldn’t have done that. Do you think Susan heard?”

  Danielle shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Nikki cringed. “I just couldn’t help myself. It sort of popped out.”

  “Is there something about Beverly…”

  The woman groaned. “I really shouldn’t have done that. Is Beverly a good friend of yours?”

  “More an acquaintance,” Danielle explained. “But someone did attack her—”

  “Goodness! You don’t think I—”

  “Oh no!” Danielle reached out and patted Nikki’s hand reassuringly. “I’m just saying that if everyone thinks like Susan, that everyone loves Beverly, then it’s going to be harder for the police to find out who attacked her. But maybe, if there is—oh, I don’t know—maybe a side to Beverly not everyone knows—it might help the police figure out who is responsible.”

  “You mean, like someone who had a grudge?” Nikki asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Nikki considered Danielle’s words a minute and then shook her head. “I don’t really want to be saying anything that might get one of Beverly’s victims in trouble. That’s just not fair. And I don’t think any of them would ever break into her house and attack her. No way.”

  Danielle frowned. “Victims?”

  The woman glanced nervously from her car to the bank. It was obvious to Danielle she wanted to leave. “I’m just saying Beverly Klein is not as nice as Susan thinks. The thing with Susan, she just never crossed Beverly.”

  “I was under the impression the bank employees all liked her.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes. “She was our boss’s wife. Only a fool would go around and repeat stories about her. But after Steve was gone, there were some people who started opening up—you know, comparing stories. But I don’t want to see them dragged into this.”

  “I also have a friend who is dating Beverly,” Danielle said quickly.