The Ghost of Marlow House (Haunting Danielle Book 1) (9 page)

“Wait a minute…you said your last name
was Boatman, the same as your aunt’s. Does that mean Boatman was your maiden
name, or did you marry your cousin?”

“While marrying one’s cousin might have
been accepted in your time, it tends to be frowned upon these days. Boatman is
my maiden name—I took it back after Lucas died.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I had my reasons.”

Walt didn’t ask what those reasons were.
Instead he announced abruptly, “You really should get to sleep. You’ll need
your rest if you’re going to prove I didn’t kill myself.” A faint sweet scent
of cigar smoke lingered in the air after he disappeared.

I guess I’ll have to start dressing in
the bathroom from now on
, Danielle told herself.  Rolling
over on her side, she clutched a pillow in her arms and closed her eyes. Within
fifteen minutes she was asleep, snoring softly.

Walt Marlow appeared next to the bed.
Looking down, he watched as Danielle slept. “Danielle Boatman, I don’t believe
I’ve ever met a woman quite like you,” he whispered.

“Do you mind if I give Ian a tour of the
house today?” Lily asked Danielle, during breakfast the next morning. The two
sat across from each other at the kitchen table, each eating a bowl of cereal.
Danielle had already dressed for the day, and was wearing a long pale-blue
peasant skirt and a white lacy blouse. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a
loose fishtail braid.

Lily had tamed her unruly rusty curls,
bringing them together in a high pony tail. They spilled around her face in
disarray. Over the red t-shirt and Hello Kitty pajama bottoms she’d slept in
the night before, she wore a white terry cloth robe.

“I don’t see a problem, especially
considering that he helped so much yesterday. He’s into old houses?” Danielle
stood up and walked to the coffee maker, which had just finished brewing. She
poured two cups of coffee, adding a splash of milk to each one. Walking back to
the table, she handed one cup to Lily and sat back down.

“His father was a contractor. He enjoys
restoration projects.”

“But he’s an English teacher, right?”
Danielle sipped her coffee and looked up at Lily.

“Yes, but he doesn’t like talking about
teaching. He says when he takes the summer off he doesn’t like to think about
work.” Lily set her coffee cup down and started eating her cereal again.

“Really?”
Maybe that dog knew what
she was talking about.
“Just be careful, Lily.”

“What do you mean?” Lily looked up and
frowned.

“You really don’t know the guy. We just
met him. Just be careful, that’s all.”

“Is there something about Ian you don’t
like?” Lily set her spoon down and looked across the table at Danielle.

“I don’t even know him. How can I
dislike him?”

“I just get the feeling something about
him rubs you the wrong way. And I really don’t understand why. He’s been sweet,
helpful, the perfect gentleman.”

“I don’t know.”  Danielle shrugged.
“Maybe it’s the thing with Lucas.”

“Oh...” Lily’s gazed dropped to the
table. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“I’m trying my best not to think about
it. After all, that’s why I’m here, right?”  Danielle forced a smile.

“Which reminds me...” Lily sounded
cheerful again. “I had another dream last night. About Walt Marlow, and Lucas
was in it, sort of.”

“Walt Marlow?”

“You know, the guy in the portrait.
Remember? His grandfather built this house.”

“I remember, but what do you mean you
had another dream?”

“I told you I had a dream about him the
night we stayed at the motel. I can’t remember what it was—it was sorta crazy
and mixed up. But last night I had another dream about him. He woke me up and
asked me to tell him about Lucas.”

“What do you mean he woke you up?”

“In my dream. It’s not like he really
woke me up!” Lily laughed.

“How do you know you were asleep?”

“What kind of question is that? I think
my first clue was that the guy from the portrait was sitting on my bed with me.
Of course, at the time I didn’t know I was dreaming.”

Danielle tensed. She relaxed slightly
when Lily added, “My second clue was that my bed was sitting on the beach—under
the stars. It was really quite lovely. I think we should try sleeping on the
beach some night.”

“You say he asked you about Lucas?”

“I remember one thing that was kind of
funny. He told me Ian was not a teacher—that the dog told him. Isn’t that
hilarious? How does my brain come up with this stuff?”

“Yes…indeed…” Danielle’s head began to
spin. “What did you tell him about Lucas?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” Lily shrugged.
“I think I told him about Lucas’ death, what happened. Oh, but I remember one
funny thing, he told me not to tell you we spoke.  So please don’t tell him I
told you!” Lily giggled.

“Anything else?”

“Wow, my mom used to say other people’s
dreams are boring. I guess she was wrong.”

“I…I just find it interesting you’re
dreaming about Walt Marlow.”

“I suppose it is to be expected. Staying
in his house…that portrait. But I will have to admit, I was a little jealous in
the dream.”

“Jealous, why?” Danielle asked.

“That this good looking guy is sitting on
my bed with me and all he does is ask me questions about you. I mean
really
.
It was my dream.” Lily grinned mischievously.

“Well…maybe the point of the dream was
your subconscious telling you to be careful with Ian.”  Danielle seriously
doubted that was the case—Walt had in some way invaded her friend’s dreams.

“Perhaps,” Lily shrugged. She stood up
and grabbed the empty cereal bowls and dirty silverware off the table and
walked to the kitchen sink. “But maybe I want a dangerous summer romance.”

Danielle chuckled and stood up. Picking
the milk carton off the counter, she put it in the ice chest.

Danielle looked in the cooler.
“
I
guess I better pick up some ice.”

“So what’s the deal with the
appliances?” Lily asked as she washed the dishes in the sink.

“The electrician and contractor are
supposed to be here later this afternoon. I’d really like to get the new appliances
installed by the end of the week. This camping out sort of sucks.”

“Are you going somewhere this morning?
We talked about working in the yard, but it doesn’t look like you’re dressed
for that.”

“No. I’ve a couple errands I want to run,
to tie up some loose ends for the business,” Danielle lied.

“Want me to go with you?”

“No, it’ll be pretty boring.”

“You want me to get started with the
yard?”

“No. The landscaper is stopping by later,
and we might as well see what he’ll charge to get the yard in order. That way
we can spend our energy getting the inside ready.”

“You want me to go ahead with that
furniture inventory we talked about?” Lily asked.

“That would be great.”

“Would you mind if Ian helped me?”

“Ian? You think he’d want to?”

“Like I said, he wanted a tour of the
house—I’ve a feeling he might enjoy checking out the antique furnishings here.”

“Fine, if he wants to help.” Danielle
paused a moment then added, “Tell him Sadie is welcome, if he wants to bring
her.”

“Sadie? His dog?”

“No reason to leave her home all alone.”

“I guess he could tie her up in the back
yard.”

“No, let her come inside. She doesn’t
have to stay in the yard. “

“Okay, I’ll tell him Sadie is welcome.
Thanks.”

Ten minutes later Danielle was upstairs
in her bedroom. She had just tossed her purse onto the bed and sat down on the
edge of the mattress to slip on her shoes when she heard Walt’s voice.

“I must say you look very nice today,
Danielle, all dolled up. You should dress like a woman more often, it suits
you.”

Danielle looked up.  Walt leaned
casually against the fireplace, smoking a thin cigar. She wondered briefly why
he always wore the same suit. Perhaps when one died they were only allowed one
ensemble. The spirits she’d seen in the past—those she’d seen on more than one
occasion—never changed outfits. She then wondered—who chose the clothes? Did Walt
subconsciously make the selection or was there some fashion angel whose job it
was to dress up the newly departed prior to haunting?

“Those things will kill you, you know,”
Danielle said dryly. When Walt frowned, she gave a little nod and said, “The
cigar.”

“Too late.” Walt shrugged.

“Do you have to smoke in my room?”

“I told you it was also
my
room.”

Walt watched as Danielle slipped on her
second shoe and then asked, “Where are you going?”

“Back to the museum, to have a look at
the rest of those newspapers. Hopefully I’ll find out what happened to Angela.
Maybe get more details on your…your death.”

“I wish I could go along. Is your friend
going with you?”

“No. Lily’s staying here and doing a
furniture inventory.”

“Furniture inventory?”

“She’s going to make an itemized list of
all the furnishings in the house—noting the condition of each piece, so we can
get a better idea of what needs to be repaired or replaced. Ian may be here
helping her. I know she plans to give him a tour of the house.”

“Ian—the man from across the street? The
man who isn’t a teacher?”

“If you want to be useful, keep an eye
on him. Not sure how I feel about the two being alone.”

“And exactly what am I supposed to do if
your friend needs protecting?”

“Use your ghostly powers.”  Danielle
picked her purse off the bed and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

“My ghostly powers? If you recall, when
I tried to touch your hand, mine simply moved through yours. The same when I
tried to pet Sadie.”

“You also opened the parlor door for
me.”  Danielle stood by her bedroom door facing Walt.

“True, but you said that was my energy,
that my body was simply an illusion.”

“
Exactly
, Walt. Your energy
opened that door.”

Walt frowned and looked at his hands.
The cigar he had been smoking vanished. Lifting his hands to his face he
studied them for a moment.

“By the way,” Danielle opened her
bedroom door. “I told Lily to have Ian bring Sadie over. If nothing else, you
can pump the dog for information.”

“Are you mocking me?” Walt glared at
Danielle through narrowed eyes.

“Only a little. But, I did tell her he
could bring Sadie over.”

Before entering the museum, Danielle
looked through her wallet for the membership card Millie Samson had issued her
the day before. When she walked into the museum, it wasn’t Millie who greeted
her, but another docent. She showed him the card, and then made her way to the
back of the museum to the old newspapers. Unlike yesterday, there were a number
of visitors already at the museum, wandering through the various exhibits.

Danielle was the only one to take a
place at the newspaper table. Since the books were numbered chronologically, it
took her just a few minutes to locate the next book she needed.   Opening to
the first page, she found another article on the suicide.

The second article was primarily a recap
of the first one, with one exception. It included an interview with Walt’s
brother-in-law, Roger Calvert. The interview took place in Frederickport.

This is going to break my dear sister’s
heart
, Roger said in the interview. When asked why his
brother-in-law would take his own life, Roger responded,
I suppose none of
us really knows what goes on in another man’s heart; however, according to
authorities, he had been drinking the night he took his life. I can only guess
at the demons that plagued him.”

According to the article, Angela Marlow
was still not aware of her husband’s death.
How is that possible?
Danielle wondered.
It isn’t like they didn’t have telephones back then. If
Angela was still in Portland with her brother, how was it that he was in
Frederickport giving an interview?

When flipping through the newspaper
Danielle came across an editorial discussing the evils of alcohol, supporting
prohibition and citing Walt Marlow’s recent suicide as proof that alcohol
brings nothing but grief and destruction.

 The next newspaper held a clue to
Danielle’s question. According to the third article, Roger had arrived in Frederickport
ten hours after George Hemming’s gruesome discovery. Why he was there the
article didn’t say; it only said that his sister was still in Portland and
couldn’t be reached.

“Why would Roger come to Frederickport
if his sister was supposedly visiting him in Portland?” Danielle whispered
aloud. Anxiously she turned to the next newspaper, hoping to find the answer.
To her disappointment the next paper skipped years ahead.

“Someone must have gotten these out of
order,” Danielle mumbled, thumbing through the papers. There was nothing more
of 1925—or 1926—1927—1928 or 1929. She grabbed another book, hurriedly turning
the pages.

“Can I help you with something?” a male voice
asked. Danielle looked up into the blue gray eyes of the elderly docent who’d
greeted her at the front door when she had first arrived at the museum that
morning.

“I can’t find the rest of 1925—nothing
until 1930.”

“I’m afraid that’s all we have. There
was a fire back in…”

“Yes, I heard that. But I was told you
had copies of the old papers.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have a complete
collection—only what’s been donated. Every once in a while someone will come
across a missing edition and bring it in. But, I’m afraid everything we have is
in those books.”

“Darn. Now I know what it feels like
when you get to the end of a mystery novel and the last pages have been ripped
out. Except in this case, the book is out of print.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I can help you. I’m
pretty familiar with Frederickport history.” He took a seat at the table. “I’m
Ben Smith, by the way.” Danielle estimated he was in his eighties—very spry
eighties.

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Danielle
Boatman. I just moved into Marlow House.”

“I heard someone moved in there. I was
so sorry to hear Brianna O’Malley had passed away. You must be her niece?”

“Actually, she was married to my
great-uncle. You knew her?”

“I can’t say I really knew her. But I
remember meeting her. She left quite an impression on me.”

“Can you tell me about it?” She hadn’t
expected to meet anyone in Frederickport who knew her aunt. According to Mr.
Renton, Brianna never visited Frederickport.

“It was right before the war. I must
have been about thirteen.” Ben smiled at the memory. “She was twenty-one at the
time, I remember because that’s why she was here. She’d just come into her
inheritance, and came to meet with my father.”

“I don’t understand. Your father?”

“He was her court appointed attorney.”

“Wait a minute…her court appointed
attorney? You say she came into her inheritance. Had her mother just died?”

“Her mother? No, Brianna was about five
or six when her mother died.  Didn’t you know?”

“No. I really don’t know anything about Brianna’s
history. Mr. Renton didn’t seem to know much about it.”

“Renton, yes, I know him.” Ben didn’t
sound impressed.

“If Kathrine O’Malley died when my aunt
was five or six, that means she died not long after inheriting Marlow House.”

“That’s true.”

“I still don’t understand why Walt
Marlow’s widow didn’t inherit the house.”

“Because she preceded him.”

“She died before him?”

“From what I understand, yes. I never
knew the details. All that happened before I was born. To be honest, the only
reason I know as much as I do about your aunt is because I was so smitten with
her.”

“Smitten?” Danielle smiled.

“I was a young boy, thirteen, just
starting to notice girls. Miss O’Malley came to stay with our family for the
week, and I fell hopelessly in love. Followed that poor girl around like a
lovesick puppy dog and was broken hearted when she left. After she was gone I
pestered my father about her. He really wouldn’t say much, but my older sister,
who worked in my father’s office, told me what she knew.”

“What was that?”

“Several months after Katherine O’Malley
inherited Marlow House she married. Before she left for her honeymoon she shot
her new husband, and fell down a set of stairs to her death. Leaving Brianna
orphaned. A very wealthy orphan.”

“Oh my god, she killed her husband?
Why?”

“I have no idea. The only thing I know
was the husband was Walt Marlow’s brother-in-law.”

“She married Roger Calvert?”

“You know his name?” Ben raised his
brows.

“He was interviewed in one of the
articles I read in the old newspapers. Nothing was mentioned of his sister’s
death—but you say she died before her husband?”

“Apparently so; that’s why Katherine
O’Malley inherited the estate.”

“Where was my aunt when her mother shot
Roger Calvert?”

“Oh, she was there, from what I’ve been
told.”

“She witnessed the murder and her
mother’s death?”

“Yes. But she’d never talk about it. I
remember my sister saying Brianna probably blocked all memory of her mother’s
death from her mind since it was so traumatic.”

“What happened to my aunt after her
mother was killed?”

“She didn’t have any family—and neither
did her stepfather—the one her mother killed. The court appointed my father to
act as a guardian. I don’t recall the legal term. My father was an honest man,
and I think the judge knew he could trust him to do the right thing. The estate
was worth millions—a lot of money back then. From what I understand Brianna
gave away much of it over the years—various charities.”

“But she kept the house,” Danielle
murmured.

“Yes. I always wondered why. She never
lived in it. From what I understand, her mother refused to step foot in the
house after Marlow killed himself.”

“Why was that?”

“Superstition, from what I’ve been
told.”

“Who raised my aunt?”

“She was sent to a very respected
boarding school. Received a fine education. When she came of age, she became a
very wealthy woman.”

“I had no idea that she was wealthy. I
didn’t even know this house existed until she died and I was told she left it
to me. Do you know how Kathrine O’Malley and Roger Calvert got together?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you have any idea how Angela Marlow
died?”

“Walt Marlow’s wife?” Ben asked.

“Yes. And Roger Calvert’s twin sister.”

“No. I just know she died before her
husband, which is why Kathrine O’Malley inherited the estate. Is that why you
want those old newspapers?”

“Yes.” Danielle considered her options
for a moment. “Do you know of anyone else I could talk to? I assume the
historical society would know about this.”

“I’m afraid the historical society is
only about five years old. We opened the museum just three years ago.”

“Really? I’m surprised it’s that new.”

“People talked about it for years before
someone actually did something,” Ben explained. “I can’t think of anyone in the
historical society who might be able to help you—most of them are younger than
me. But you might want to talk to Marie Hemming.”

“Hemming? Wasn’t the man who found Walt
Marlow’s body named Hemming?”

“Yes, Marie’s father.  I wanted to do an
oral history with Marie, have her interviewed for the museum, but she refused.
Maybe she would talk to you, since you’re living in the house.”

“She never married?” Danielle asked.

“She’s a widow. Actually her name is
Marie Nichols now. Old habits, you know.” Ben shrugged.

“How old is Marie?”

“I think she just turned ninety. Still
sharp. Good memory. She was just a baby when Marlow killed himself. But she was
pretty close to her father. I imagine she knows more than anyone about what
happened back then.”

 “It’s worth a shot. I really appreciate
all your help.” Danielle reached across the table and closed the books she’d
been looking at before Ben joined her.

“I think I have Marie’s phone number in
the office. She’s a member of the historical society.”

“Then I’m surprised she won’t agree to
an interview.” Danielle stood up.

“Marie can be a little peculiar
sometimes.”