The Ghost of Valentine Past (20 page)

“I assumed he would have contacted us right after learning of the murder. After all, we were all working together to bring Morris down, and Morris was killed at the same place we're staying.”

“
W
hy did
you decide to stay at Marlow House?” the chief asked Arlene just as Walt returned to the library.

“Logan suggested Marlow House. He told us Danielle Boatman disliked Peter Morris, that she saw him for what he really was. And that she was friends with you. He assured me Danielle was someone we could trust and would help us. Once we had the evidence we needed, we planned to go to Danielle and then to you.”

“Why not give the evidence directly to the police?”

“Logan explained he'd tried to do that before—with another one of his clients whose son got involved with the group at the Astoria branch. But the authorities in Astoria just blew them off. Logan thought we'd have more of a chance being taken seriously if someone you trusted brought you the evidence.”

“It sounds like you and Logan Mitcham got pretty close,” the chief noted.

Arlene stood up. “I've told you everything. I'd like to go now.”

“No, you haven't told me everything. You didn't tell me about seeing Mitcham at Marlow House, just after he murdered Peter Morris. You didn't tell me how he kissed you and told you to go back upstairs.”

W
alt hadn't expected
MacDonald to just blurt out what Danielle had told him. After all, if Arlene called his bluff, he had no way to substantiate his claim. By her startled gasp and the way she fell back into the chair and broke into sobs, Walt was fairly certain Arlene wasn't in any shape to call anyone's bluff. The young woman was crumbling right before his eyes.

“I didn't know he killed Peter Morris,” Arlene sobbed. “I didn't even know Morris was dead until we heard Heather scream, and we came downstairs.”

MacDonald let Arlene cry and made no effort to calm her. He watched as she finally got a grip on her emotions and stifled her sobs. Using the back of her hand to wipe away tears, she looked up at MacDonald. “I swear; I had no idea he'd killed Morris.”

“Are you saying when you all found Morris the next morning you didn't know what had happened?”

“I couldn't believe Logan would do something like that. I figured there had to be some explanation. I wanted to talk to him, but he wouldn't answer my phone calls.”

“How long were you and Logan lovers?” MacDonald asked.

She shook her head. “We weren't. I mean, that one time…but it was just once. I told him we had to keep it professional, and I thought he understood.”

“When was this?”

“About two weeks ago.” Arlene stood up and walked to the desk. She removed several tissues from their box and then returned to her seat.

“So what happened that night?”

“I came downstairs to get something to drink, when I heard noise coming from the entry. I thought, maybe it was one of the cats. But it was Logan. To say I was surprised to see him was an understatement. He kissed me, told me he was taking care of things for me, and then he told me to go back upstairs.”

“You didn't think it was a little odd, him showing up at Marlow House in the middle of the night? From all appearances—as if he'd broken in?”

“I was so startled to see him; I just did what he told me to. And when I was going upstairs the only thing I could think of was that he was there for me—checking on me. He knew I was there with David, that we were staying in the same room. Heck, he'd practically arranged it. He knew there was nothing between David and me—I just assumed—well, he had feelings for me. That our one night meant more than I realized. I was a little afraid at the thought, that he would just show up like that, yet a part of me—there was something romantic about it.”

“What did you think when you saw Morris' body?”

“I…I…I don't know. At first, I thought it had to be some sick coincidence, that Logan being here had nothing to do with Morris' death. And then...then I started wondering if he'd killed Morris for me.” Arlene broke into sobs.

When she calmed down again, MacDonald asked, “What does David know about any of this?”

“David has no idea Logan and I ever…I mean…I never told anyone.”

“Does David know about you seeing Mitcham here?”

“No. The next day, after we left the police station, I just wanted to go home. I needed to think and figure this all out. He has no idea Logan may have killed Morris.”

MacDonald arched his brows. “May have? Do you seriously have any doubt who killed Peter Morris?”

“I keep thinking there must be some explanation for Logan being here. Maybe he was trailing Morris. Maybe he saw who murdered him. Maybe he's in danger now too.”

“
I
need some makeup
,” Danielle muttered. Standing before the bathroom mirror, her reflection stared back at her. Methodically, her fingers unwove the braid. Dark circles visibly shadowed the area below her eyes.

Lily was staying across the street at Ian's. Kelly had been too frightened to return to Portland, not while her neighbor was still at large. The three intended to stay in for a homemade dinner and movie, certainly not the romantic evening Ian originally planned for Valentine's Day. They had invited Danielle to join them, but she had declined.

If it hadn't been for Walt, Danielle would never have known what Arlene and David had said during their recent interviews. She understood why MacDonald didn't go into detail with what they had learned; it wasn't possible with Joe and Brian listening in. The two would never understand why MacDonald was so candid with a civilian.

What she did know—thanks to Walt—was that Arlene and David had agreed to go with the police and help them locate Logan Mitcham. This meant they would be flanked by undercover police when showing up for their 7:00 p.m. appointment at the pier. Danielle wondered if the private detective would actually show up.

While Arlene and David were being interviewed, Danielle received a text message from Heather. She wouldn't be coming home for the night and wanted to make sure Danielle fed Bella.

It was the first night without Chris in the house—which seemed odd. He had moved into Marlow House about eight weeks earlier and had immediately fit in—even with Walt. Perhaps Walt complained about Chris, but Danielle was fairly certain Walt was going to miss the good-natured man, who, like herself, could see and hear spirits.

“I always loved when you'd unbraid your hair. I wish you'd wear it down more,” Lucas told her.

Startled, Danielle turned around and came face to face with her husband's spirit. She had no idea how long he had been standing behind her watching. Why would she? A spirit's image has no reflection.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A while. You look tired. I don't think running a bed and breakfast is a good idea. It's dangerous. I'm sorry I left you. We had such a good life together.”

“Lucas, you left me long before that car accident.”

“We need to talk about that,” Lucas said. “But it's Valentine's Day. Can't we have at least one night together where we just shut the world out? Where we go back in time, like it used to be—just you and me.”

“We can't go back in time.”

“We could pretend. Just for one night. And it is Valentine's Day—our day.”

Instead of a response, Danielle's gaze moved over Lucas. He looked exactly as she remembered—with his perfectly coiffed dark hair, reminding her a little of the guy on the evening news—his tanned skin, as if he'd spent the day at the beach or in a tanning booth—chiseled features and tailored fitting clothes.

It seemed as if he had been away for more than 14 months. In some ways, it felt like 14 years. She then realized, even if it had been 14 years, he would still look the same—exactly the same. How peculiar that would be, she thought, if the man she once married remained at Marlow House, and as each year went by, her face, her body, aged, as people do—while Lucas' image remained trapped in time, the oldest version of himself in life. For some reason, that thought horrified her.

And then she thought of Walt. The same could be said of Walt.
How will I feel when I'm fifty and Walt still looks as if he is in his twenties?

“Danielle, are you all right?” Lucas asked. He reached out to touch her hand, but his moved through hers as if it was air.

Before she could answer his question, her cellphone began to ring. When she picked up the phone from the counter to see who was calling, Lucas vanished.

T
he phone call
was from Chris. He was downstairs debating if he should ring the bell or not.

“I think you still have your house key,” Danielle said when she led Chris into the living room. He carried a sack, and by the smell, Danielle suspected he had brought Chinese food.

“I'd never just use it without your permission.”

“Then why didn't you give it back?” Walt asked when he appeared the next moment.

“Evening Walt,” Chris greeted cheerfully. Looking at Danielle he said, “I called Lily, and she told me her and Ian's plans had changed; they stayed in with Kelly. When I asked her what you were doing, she said you had stayed home alone and didn't think you'd planned anything for dinner. Thought I'd save you from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” He handed Danielle the sack of food.

“I never eat peanut butter and jelly. Only peanut butter and mayonnaise.”

Chris cringed. “You really did need to be saved!”

Danielle chuckled. “Thanks Chris, that's really sweet of you.”

“Yes, he's a peach,” Walt grumbled, taking a place by the fire. He watched Danielle unpack the food on the coffee table.

When a lit cigar appeared in Walt's hand a moment later, Danielle looked up at him and asked, “Walt, would you mind smoking after dinner?” She wrinkled her nose. “Smoking and food really don't go together.”

“I wouldn't know about that,” Walt grumbled, his cigar vanished. “It's been a few years since I enjoyed a good meal.”

“Where is everyone?” Chris asked as he took a seat.

“Heather sent me a text message saying she wouldn't be back until tomorrow night. No idea where she went. She didn't say.”

“I imagine you'll be glad when she moves back home,” Chris said.

“Why?” Walt asked. “Even when they move out they just come back.”

Danielle flashed Walt a smile and took a seat by Chris. “Be nice Walt. It's Valentine's Day. Let's all try to get along.”

“Where's…” Chris glanced around. “Your husband?”

“Oh please, do not call that man her husband,” Walt scoffed.

“I'm not sure I'd call him a man,” Chris quipped.

Narrowing his eyes, Walt glared at Chris. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, technically speaking…”

“Oh stop you two! I've had a really crappy week. Can we all please stop with the digs?”

“I'm sorry,” Walt and Chris mumbled at the same time.

“As for Lucas…” Danielle looked at Chris. “I was talking to him when you called. He seems to just pop in for a few minutes and then goes—where he goes exactly I've no idea.”

“I noticed David Hilton's car wasn't out front. I assume he and Arlene went out to dinner.”

“Oh…David and Arlene…” Danielle then went on to tell Chris all that had happened since she had last seen him that afternoon.

“
Y
ou know
, technically speaking, Chris got his way,” Walt told Danielle later that evening, after Chris had gone home. He stood with her in the kitchen while she shoved the trash from their takeout dinner into the garbage can.

“Got his way how?”

“I know he asked you out for Valentine's Day.”

“How did you know that?”

Walt shrugged.

“I wouldn't really call takeout Chinese in my living room with Chris a Valentine's Date. After all, you were with us.”

Walt smiled. “Yes. I know.”

“Who are you talking to?” David asked from the kitchen doorway. Danielle looked up from the trashcan and saw David and Arlene standing in the hallway looking into the kitchen. She hadn't seen them come in.