The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (6 page)

Lily was still sleeping when Danielle
slipped out of the house the next morning. Before leaving she penned Lily a
note telling her she was running a few errands and would hopefully return by
noon. Since Danielle had woken to a gray sky, she dressed in denims, tennis
shoes and a blue swoop neck sweater before weaving her hair into a side fishtail
braid.

Her first stop was the local newspaper
office, which opened at eight. She arrived five minutes after they unlocked
their doors.

“I was wondering if you have a morgue.”
Danielle asked the middle aged woman standing behind the counter.

“You mean for past issues?” the woman
asked.

“Yes.”

“Most of that you can find online. I’m
afraid we don’t keep any past issues here, but you can go to our website.”

“Oh darn…I don’t have Internet yet.”

“They have some computers at the local
library you can use. And if you have a laptop, I’m sure you can grab some
free-Wi-Fi. Most of the restaurants have it.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll have to do that.
Do you have a business card with your web address?”

“Sure.” The woman reached across the
counter and picked up a business card from a rack and handed it to Danielle.
“What years are you looking for?”

“1920s.”

“Oh,” the woman said with a frown. “I’m
afraid you won’t find anything online that far back. The original office burned
down in the forties, and they lost everything. So far, the only issues they’ve
uploaded on the site are from the last ten years or so. But you could try the
local museum.”

“The museum?” Danielle asked. “I didn’t
know Frederickport had a museum.”

“Yes, it’s not too far from here. Opens
at nine, I think. They have a pretty good collection of past issues—including ones
from the 1920s—papers that have been donated over the years from subscribers.
That would probably be your best bet.”

“By any chance to you have a local phone
book?” Danielle asked.

“Sure.” The woman reached under the
counter and handed her a phonebook. “You’re welcome to keep it.”

“You don’t need it back?”  Danielle
flipped through its pages.

“I have an entire stack down here. We
give them out all the time.”

After thanking the woman and getting
directions to the museum, Danielle headed back to her car. A few minutes later
she pulled into the museum parking lot. According to the sign on the front of
the building the museum wouldn’t open until nine—just as the woman in the
newspaper office had predicted.

Sitting in her car, Danielle glanced at the
dashboard clock. She had at least thirty minutes to kill before the museum
opened its doors. Pulling out her cellphone and opening the phone book she
looked for a local electrician to check out Marlow House’s wiring. After that,
she would look for a landscaper to get the yard cleaned up. When the museum
finally opened its doors at nine, Danielle felt a sense of accomplishment.
She’d scheduled an appointment with an electrician and a landscaper.

“Welcome to Frederickport Museum. I’m
Millie Samson. I’m a docent with the museum,” an elderly woman greeted.

“Hello, nice to meet you.” Danielle
glanced around. To her right was a small gift shop. Ahead was a roped off area
leading to the main section of the museum. According to the sign there was an
admission fee. Danielle dug into her purse.

“Are you visiting Frederickport?” Millie
asked, patiently waiting for Danielle to get her money.

“Actually, I just moved here.” Danielle
smiled.

“Really?”

“I’ve moved into Marlow House. Do you
know where that is?” Danielle pulled her wallet from her purse.

“Marlow House? Why certainly! Oh my,
that’s one of the oldest houses in Frederickport. It really should be a
historical landmark.”

Danielle handed Millie a five dollar
bill. Instead of taking it, Millie said, “You know, you might want to join the
museum. If you do that, you can visit any time without paying an admission
fee—and you get a discount at the museum gift shop, along with a monthly
newsletter.”

“How much is that?”

“A family membership is just twenty-five
dollars a year.”

“Well sure, sounds good.” Danielle
followed Millie to a counter at the gift shop to fill out a membership form.

“Is there anything particular you’d like
to see today or just here for a general visit?” Millie asked after Danielle
completed the application form and paid for an annual membership.

“I wanted to look at some of the back
issues of the
Frederickport Press
. The woman at the newspaper office
told me you have a collection here.”

“I love looking at those old newspapers.
I’ll show you where they are.”

Danielle followed Millie into the main
section of the museum,
while glancing around at the exhibits. A
woman’s portrait captured her attention. Pausing a moment, Danielle looked up
at the painting. The subject of the portrait held an uncanny resemblance to the
fictitious Gibson Girl, created by illustrator Charles Dana Gibson in the late
1800s.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” Millie
stood by Danielle, looking up at the portrait.

“Is she supposed to be the Gibson Girl?”
Danielle asked.

Millie laughed. “You aren’t the only one
who’s mentioned the resemblance. No, she was a very real woman. I believe she
was born about the same time the Gibson Girl was popular. The resemblance is
purely coincidence.”

“Who was she?”

The portrait’s style bore a remarkable
resemblance to the two hanging in Marlow House’s library. Like Angela’s
portrait, this woman was elegantly dressed, yet her attire seemed more in
fashion with what women wore in the early 1900s as opposed to the 1920s, when
hemlines and hairdos shortened.

“Eva Thorndike. She was a movie star back
before talkies.”

“Silent films?” Danielle studied the
portrait.

“Yes.”

“Why is her portrait here? Was she from
Frederickport?”

“Her family had a cottage here—their
summer home.”

“Did she keep acting after talkies came
out? I’ve heard many actresses weren’t able to make the transition,” Danielle
said.

“Unfortunately she died before talkies
came out, not long after that portrait was made.”

“God, she must have been young. How did
she die?”

“It was her heart—a congenital problem.
She suffered with it most of her life, and according to the stories, that was
one reason her father didn’t object to her acting—because she loved it so much.
Apparently she was quite indulged. Or so the stories go.”

“Did her family have money?”

“Yes. They were wealthy. She was their
only daughter.”

“Do you think that necklace she’s
wearing is real? Looks like diamonds and emeralds.”

“Ahhh…the Missing Thorndike. Yes, very
real.”

“Missing Thorndike?” Danielle glanced
over at Millie.

“That’s what they called it. Quite
valuable. Disappeared around the time of her death.”

“Well she really was lovely…” Danielle
turned from the portrait.

“Looking for anything specific?” Millie
asked as she led Danielle further into the museum.

“I’m looking for information on one of
the owners of Marlow House—Walt Marlow.”

Millie stopped abruptly and turned to
face Danielle. “Oh, the one who committed suicide.”

“Suicide?”
No that can’t be. Walt doesn’t
seem like someone who would kill himself.

“Oh yes, quite the scandal at the time,
from what I’ve been told. You know, his grandfather founded Frederickport. He
was a shipbuilder. We have an entire section on him. But the grandson—oh he was
a rascal, they say.”

“Before moving here, I tried to find out
as much about Frederickport as I could, but never came across your website. And
it wasn’t mentioned on the Chamber of Commerce site, which by the way had very
little historical information.”

“Oh, the museum doesn’t have a website.
At least not any more.”

“Really? That surprises me.”

“Long story. A bit of a falling out
between the volunteer who put together a website and the director at the time.
That was over a year ago. I believe the museum’s board is working on something,
but for now, you won’t find us online.”

Millie led Danielle to a table at the
rear of the museum. On it were stacks of oversized books, each containing past
issues of the
Frederickport Press
.

  “I can’t believe Walt Marlow killed
himself,” Danielle said as she sat at the table.

“Why is that?” Millie sorted through the
books looking for the one holding articles on Walt’s death.

“I don’t know…just what I’ve heard about
him, I guess.”

“I’ve read all the articles we have on
the suicide. He and his wife had recently returned from their honeymoon, which
was one reason people were so shocked at the time. Angela Marlow was a
beautiful woman and from all accounts he was madly in love with her. But they
found him hanging in the attic.”

“The attic?”

“Yes, the attic at Marlow House.
Whenever I think of it, I can’t help but feel sorry for George Hemming.”

“George Hemming?”
Why does that name
sound familiar?

“Yes, the man who lived in the house
directly across the street from Marlow House.”

She must mean the house Ian is renting—I
don’t think the other houses along that side of the street are that old
.
George Hemming—yes—now I remember--the one Walt said visited him after
Angela left for Portland.

“The Hemmings family has been in Frederickport
since its founding. George’s daughter, Marie still lives in town. And his
great-grandson. According to the newspaper articles, George got up one morning,
looked out his window, and saw Walt Marlow hanging there in the attic window. 
Chilling. Something like that would give me a heart attack.”

“And Walt Marlow’s wife?” Danielle
asked. “Was she at home at the time?”

“Oh no, she was in Portland visiting her
brother when it happened.”

A bell rang, signifying someone had
walked into the museum.

“Excuse me dear, I think this is the
book you want.”  Millie slid one of the large books across the table to
Danielle, and then dashed to the front of the museum to welcome the new visitor.

Not knowing what month the suicide
occurred, Danielle started at the front of the thick book and began thumbing
through its pages. She was tempted to ask Millie what month to look for, but
she could hear more people coming into the museum.

Letting out a deep sigh, Danielle
thumbed through the book, looking for some mention of Walt Marlow’s death. It
wasn’t until she reached the last newspaper in the book did she find the first
article reporting the suicide.

The newspaper article supported Millie’s
story. George Hemming had woken up to the gruesome sight of his neighbor
hanging in the attic window across the street. According to the article, Walt Marlow’s
widow had not yet been notified, as she was reportedly visiting her brother in
Portland and they hadn’t been able to contact her. Authorities were quick to suggest
the death a suicide, noting there was no sign of a break in or struggle.

Danielle closed the book and was about
to reach for another, looking for later articles on the story, when her cellphone
rang.

“Hi, Lily,” Danielle answered her phone.

“Danielle where are you?” Lily sounded
frantic.

“Running errands. What’s wrong?”

“A water pipe broke in the kitchen and
water is going everywhere!”

“You need to turn off the water to the
house.” Danielle stood up and grabbed her purse, hurriedly heading to the front
door of the museum while still talking to Lily on the phone.

When Danielle returned to Marlow House
she found Lily in the kitchen with Ian, mopping up water.

“Ian helped me turn off the water. I
couldn’t find the shut off,” Lily told Danielle.

“Thanks Ian.” Danielle surveyed the
damage. “Sorry you had to deal with this, Lily. Where did you get the mops and
buckets?”

“They were at the house I’m renting,” Ian
explained.

“I called the plumber. He’s on his way
over,” Danielle said.

“I guess I’ll have to skip breakfast,” Lily
said. “Kinda hard to make without any water.”

“If the plumber ends up having to tear
up the walls I imagine it’ll be a while before we can use the kitchen again.
Why don’t you two go grab something to eat while I wait on the plumber? I’ll
treat,” Danielle suggested.

“You don’t have to treat,” Ian said. “I
will be happy to take Lily to breakfast. I haven’t had anything to eat yet. Why
don’t you join us?”