The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (23 page)

M
elony arrived
at Marlow house a few minutes after Danielle. After parking Jolene's car along the front of the house, she walked down the drive toward Danielle, who was busy taking groceries out of the back of her car.

“Hey, need some help?” Melony called out.

“Thanks, but I think I got this.” Picking up the last of the groceries, Danielle juggled the bags while she slammed the back hatch shut.

Melony held open the kitchen door for Danielle. Once inside the house, Danielle set the sacks on the counter and turned to Melony. “Did you have a productive morning?”

“I went over to my mother's house. I got Adam to go with me. I didn't feel like going over there alone.”

“That was nice of him. Have you decided what you're going to do with her house?”

“I'm having Adam run a comparative market analysis on it. Mother took out some loans on the property, and I suspect it's upside down. We'll have to see. I might have to walk away from it.”

Danielle shook her head sympathetically. “Sorry.”

Melony shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Is there a lot of stuff to go through? I had to do that after my parents were killed—and then with my cousin, Cheryl. One of my least favorite things to have to do.” As Danielle talked, she continued to put away her groceries.

“She really didn't have much here. Got rid of most of her things when she moved back to Frederickport from New York. There was one thing I looked for; I thought it might help Eddy.”

Folding a now empty grocery bag, Danielle turned to Melony. “What was that?”

“Mother always used a day planner. Figured if we could look through her schedule, we might have a better idea what was going on these last few weeks. You know, track her steps—see what kind of appointments she set. And knowing Mother, if she argued with anyone, she'd jot down something about it.”

“It wasn't in her house?”

Melony took a seat at the table. “No. Wasn't in her car either.”

“Maybe it was in her purse? Did you check with the chief? I know they have her purse.”

“I already asked. When Eddy described the purse they found with her, I realized the type of day planner she typically used wouldn't have fit in it.”

Danielle paused a moment and pointed to the covered cake plate on the kitchen table. “There's some chocolate chip cookies under there, help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Melony smiled. She lifted the lid off the plate and grabbed two cookies. “So how did you spend your morning?” She paused a moment and then added, “I guess that's a silly question. Grocery shopping.”

“Actually, I spent most of the morning visiting with Adam's grandmother.” Danielle paused a moment and folded the sacks she had emptied. “And then I stopped at the store.”

“Adam mentioned you two were friends.”

Returning to her groceries, Danielle said, “Yes, Marie was a friend of my aunt—great-aunt, really—the one who left me Marlow House.”

“Oh, that's right…Clarence was her attorney…”

They were both silent for a few moments, and finally Melony said, “I'm really sorry about your cousin, by the way. I knew Clarence was a crook; I just never realized he'd be capable of murdering someone.”

Danielle paused and looked at Melony. “You know, your mother blamed me for her financial problems.”

Melony sighed. “That doesn't surprise me. Mother was never big on personal responsibility—at least not for herself.”

“I imagine it was a shock for her to discover her husband's business partner—the man she believed was his best friend—would do something like this. Which ended up wiping her out. I suppose I can understand why she resented me.”

“Danielle, that would only be true if my parents had no idea what Clarence was up to.”

Danielle stared at Melony. “Are you saying your mother knew?”

“I'm not saying she knew about Clarence killing your cousin—but everything else—embezzling from clients, I'd be surprised if she didn't know.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because, I'm sad to say, my father was cut from the same cloth as Clarence Renton. They were best friends for a reason.”

Before Danielle had time to respond, Hillary barreled into the kitchen. “Oh, you're back, Danielle!” Hillary greeted her cheerfully, and then she spied Melony sitting at the table. Her smile vanished.

“Hello, Hillary,” Melony said stiffly.

“Melony,” Hillary returned, equally stiff.

Danielle glanced from Melony to Hillary and back to Melony.

“Melony, I'm sorry about your mother. And if it would make you more comfortable, I will find someplace else to stay,” Hillary told her.

“I don't imagine Eddy would be thrilled if you left town right now, considering everything,” Melony returned.

“You know I had nothing to do with your mother's death.”

“I don't know anything anymore, Hillary.” Melony stood up. “If you will excuse me, I think I'll go upstairs and lie down.”

After Melony left the room, Hillary took a seat at the kitchen table. With a sigh, she lifted the cake plate lid and snatched a cookie. Returning the lid atop the plate, she leaned back in the chair and took a bite.

“Hillary,” Danielle began as she took a seat at the table. “What's the deal with you and Melony? When she first arrived, you told me she was your attorney. Yet you two act like you can't stand each other.”

“Lawyers don't always like their clients,” Hillary said as she took another bite of her cookie.

Danielle glanced at the empty doorway and then back to Hillary. “No, I guess not.”

“Plus, she thinks I'm crazy.” Hillary shoved the rest of the cookie in her mouth, quickly eating it.

“Why does she think you're crazy?”

Hillary cocked her head to one side and looked at Danielle inquisitively. “I would have thought by now you would wonder why Melony represented me. I was quite open with you. I told you she was my attorney.”

“You mean because she's a criminal attorney?”

Hillary smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you didn't know what kind of law she practiced.”

“I didn't at first.”

“She's an excellent criminal attorney. Although, I'm surprised she's still practicing. She hates her job.”

“She told you that?”

“I can tell. She expertly defends her clients—gets them off—yet deep down, she believes they're guilty. Which makes her feel guilty for putting a criminal back into society. Although in my case, she believes I'm insane and would like to see me locked away.”

Danielle had to ask, “What were you charged with?”

“Murder.” Hillary then lifted the cake plate lid again and grabbed another cookie.

“Are you saying you were really guilty?” Danielle asked in a quiet voice.

Biting down on the cookie, Hillary smiled at Danielle. Shaking her head, she chewed and then swallowed the bite and said, “I didn't kill that woman. I didn't kill any of them. There really was no evidence, and Melony, being a master at what she does, kept it all out of the press. Although, I imagine it would have done wonders for my book sales, although I don't really need it. I do well enough without having to kill people to get in the press.” She took another bite of the cookie.

“So you're saying Melony cleared you of all charges?”

“Yes, in a way.” Hillary licked the cookie crumbs off her lips.

“And you didn't kill anyone?”

Hillary shook her head. “No, I promise you. I never killed anyone. Never.”

“But Melony thinks you may have?”

Wrinkling her nose for a moment, Hillary considered the question and then shook her head. “I think she wonders if I was an accomplice, but there was no real evidence. Then she decided I was crazy.”

“Crazy?” Danielle asked in a whisper.

Hillary looked into Danielle's eyes. “I think she may be right. I might be crazy.”

“Did you have anything to do with my mother's murder?” Melony asked from the kitchen doorway.

Hillary looked to Melony. “I thought you went up to take a nap?”

“I heard everything you told Danielle,” Melony said.

“It's true,” Walt announced when he appeared the next moment. “I've been watching Melony while she's been lurking in the hall, eavesdropping.”

Danielle glanced from Walt to Melony.

“Why would Hillary kill your mother?” Danielle asked.

“Because she's—”

“Crazy,” Hillary finished for Melony. “She thinks I'm crazy. Didn't I just mention that?”

“And you just admitted you might be!” Melony snapped.

Danielle pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. She was getting a headache. Glancing from Hillary to Melony, she asked, “Does this have anything to do with the fact all Hillary's murder mysteries are based on unsolved crimes?”

“They aren't!” Hillary insisted.

“And that Hillary's notes for this new book match Jolene's crime scene?” Danielle finished, ignoring Hillary's interruption.

Melony stepped into the kitchen, but stopped by the sink and did not approach the table. “Yes. When the crime scene from one of her books included facts only known to the police, they began to look into Hillary and discovered it wasn't the first time she'd been so eerily close to the truth—or in such close proximity to a crime scene. Of course, she insisted it was all a coincidence, and since each crime occurred six months before the book's release, I argued she could have easily read about the crimes in the paper—and used them for her inspiration. As for the facts she included that were not public knowledge, I argued it was no more than a coincidence; after all, she is a mystery writer, with an active imagination.”

“But that wasn't the truth,” Hillary told her. “I didn't read about those murders in the paper.”

“Which is why it's probably a good thing I didn't let you say anything. Fortunately for you, they didn't file any charges and we kept it out of the press.”

“But you think I'm crazy. And now you ask if I murdered your mother!”

Danielle studied Hillary for a moment. Finally she asked, “Hillary, if you didn't get your ideas from the newspaper, where did you get them?”

Melony rolled her eyes and let out a harsh laugh before saying, “From her muse!” Melony turned and marched from the room. By the sound of her pounding up the stairs, there was no doubt she had gone to her room this time.

“It's true,” Hillary insisted. She closed her eyes briefly and then looked up at Danielle. “Maybe Melony is right. Maybe I am crazy. But it's my muse who tells me these things.”

Walt took a seat at the table. “I have to hear this. Danielle, ask her to explain her muse.”

W
alt
, Danielle, and Hillary sat at the kitchen table. Yet Hillary didn't know of Walt's presence, in spite of the hint of cigar smoke drifting in the air.

“About eleven years ago, I was at a crossroads in my career. I wrote romance back then, and I was simply burned out. To be honest, I didn't feel like writing romance anymore. Maybe it was my age. And then one night, I had a dream. A man came to me, told me he knew I was having a hard time figuring out what to write, and asked me to come with him.”

“Were you dreaming about someone you knew in real life?” Danielle asked.

Hillary shook her head. “No. I had never seen him before. And frankly, there was something frightening about him. But I went with him anyway.”

“Where did he take you?”

“He took me to an alley where a woman was being murdered. I was terrified—woke up screaming. I couldn't get that murder scene out of my head, so I started writing about it. And before I knew it, an entire story came to me. It was my first murder mystery, and it made
The New York Times
Best Sellers list,” Hillary said proudly.

“Then what happened?”

“He came to me again, showed me another murder. And again I wrote about it.”

“He's your muse?” Danielle asked.

Hillary nodded. “I explained it all to Melony when she asked me how the stories came to me.”

“And she thinks you're crazy?”

Hillary sighed. “I think she might be right.”

B
y late afternoon
, Hillary was back in her room, typing away on her book, and Melony was on her way to Adam's office to discuss the comparative market analysis he had prepared on her mother's house. Danielle wasn't sure where Lily was, yet assumed she was with Ian, since her car was parked in front of Marlow House, while Ian's car was not in his driveway. She thought it possible it was in his garage, yet his living room blinds were drawn, and he usually left them open when he was at home.

Danielle found Walt in the library, reading a book, with Max curled up on the sofa by his side, sleeping soundly.

“Is it a good book?” Danielle asked as she walked into the room and took a seat across from him.

Looking up at Danielle, he smiled and set the book on his lap. “To be honest, I haven't been able to get into it. Other things on my mind.”

“Such as?”

Walt closed his book. “What Hillary told you in the kitchen about the muse.”

“I've been thinking of that too.”

“From what Hillary said, she seemed to recall each dream vividly,” Walt reminded her.

“Yes.” Danielle leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs.

“Come on, Danielle, you haven't been wondering what I have?”

Danielle frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“To use your coined expression—a dream hop.”

Danielle stared at Walt, her expression blank. “Are you suggesting her muse is actually a spirit who's showing her these murders?”

Walt shrugged. “It's the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

Danielle cringed. “That's kind of creepy.”

“Yes. Especially considering these murders have all gone unsolved. I would have to assume the spirit witnessed them when they happened. I don't believe it would be possible to recreate a scene like that without being there.”

“No, you're right. I remember when you took me to the speakeasy in a dream hop, you could only show me what happened when you had actually been in the room.”

“It might be argued the spirit didn't actually witness the murders—perhaps he likes to hang around with homicide cops and was there when they discussed the details of the crime. But that would not explain—”

“Jolene's murder,” Danielle finished for him.

“Exactly. From what I can piece together, Hillary went to bed and fell asleep when I was still downstairs the night of the murder. By the time I went upstairs, she had woken up from the dream and started writing about it.”

“Jolene's body wasn't found until hours later.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, considering Walt's theory.

“You know what this means,” Danielle asked.

“What's that?”

“Whatever spirit's been visiting Hillary knows who murdered Jolene—and probably the rest of them.”

“I imagine he does. But so?” Walt asked.

“If I could talk to the spirit—”

Walt stood abruptly. The book that had been on his lap now rested on the couch cushion he had seemingly been sitting on a moment before. “Absolutely not!”

“But, Walt, this guy knows who killed Jolene!”

Walt angrily glared at Danielle. “What kind of spirit perversely shares gruesome murder scenes—like a twisted voyeur—yet does nothing to expose the guilty party? How many other murders could have been prevented had he behaved differently?”

Danielle studied Walt for a moment. “He's a ghost, Walt. You more than anyone should understand how someone from your realm typically views death different from someone who is still alive. Spirits I've encountered—including you—often see death as less permanent—less tragic.”

“I agree, a person's death no longer affects me in the same way it once did—but you, Danielle, are still alive, and you should not expose yourself to that type of energy.”

“I suppose it's a moot point anyway. Not sure how I could hook up with Hillary's muse. I don't think his spirit has been lurking around the neighborhood—there haven't been any signs of another spirit aside from Jolene, who both Chris and I saw.”

“Where is Chris, anyway? I thought you two would be together today.”

Narrowing her eyes, Danielle studied Walt. “Why is that?”

Walt shrugged. “I don't know. Figured now that he's back, you two would be spending all your time together. Did you have a nice night last night?”

Danielle didn't answer immediately. Finally, she said, “It was a nice evening. I didn't tell you…we saw Jolene.”

“Jolene? I wonder why she's hanging around Chris's house. She's still not saying who killed her?”

Danielle sat up in her chair. “No. The moment she appeared, she started yelling at her daughter—and at Adam. But then Sadie jumped up and started barking at her, and she disappeared.”

“She yelled at Adam? Why?”

Danielle went on to tell Walt what Marie had told her about Melony and Adam's past relationship.

“Interesting…” Walt murmured when she was done.

“As for where Chris is today, he's over at the Gusarov Estate, making a list of what he needs to do to turn that place into his nonprofit headquarters.”

D
anielle sat
on the front porch swing, watching the sunset, when her phone rang. It was Chris.

“How did it go today?” Danielle asked as the toe of her right shoe gently pushed against the ground, keeping the swing in motion.

“I forgot how big that place is. Not sure what I was thinking when I bought it.”

“Buyer's remorse?”

“Nahh, not really. How was your day?”

Danielle went on to tell Chris about her visit with Marie, what Hillary had told her about her muse, and Walt's dream hop theory.

“A dream hop? Possible,” Chris murmured.

“Walt also told me if anyone tries to communicate with the muse ghost to get information on any of the murders—he says it should be you.”

Chris chuckled. “Of course he did. But not sure how either one of us can do that. A spirit doesn't need to be in close proximity to enter your dream. He could be haunting somewhere in the UK or already crossed over to the other side.”

“That's true about a general dream hop. But not in this case. If he'd crossed over, I don't think he would've been able to witness Jolene's murder. And if he did witness her murder, we know his spirit's been in the neighborhood.”

Chris let out a sigh. “I suppose you're right. Plus, if those murders she's dreamed about really happened when she was near the crime scenes, as you suggested, then it seems this ghost is sticking pretty close to Hillary.”

“Wherever he's been haunting, I certainly haven't seen a hint of him, and neither has Walt or Max.”

“Danielle, see if you can get Hillary to describe her muse.”

“You're suggesting we might have walked right by him and never realized it was a spirit?”

“Exactly.”

M
elony and Adam
stood under the pier. The evening's sunset painted the blue sky in swirls of orange and red. But their attention was not on the picturesque sunset hanging over the ocean, but on the damp sand beneath the pier. The tide had since washed away any evidence of a crime scene.

“I thought I would feel something, anything,” Melony told Adam.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Melony shrugged. “I don't know. It just feels like we're standing under the pier. I don't feel any chill going down my spine. No sense of dread.” She looked at Adam. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“It just looks like it always does down here.” Adam glanced around.

“I wonder why Mother came down here in the first place. I just don't picture her taking late night walks on the beach alone. I have to assume she came down here willingly and met with her killer. If someone had forced her down here, wouldn't someone on the pier have heard something?” She looked up at the bottom of the pier. “After all, there were a couple of guys fishing up there that night.”

Adam glanced around again and then looked at Melony. “You want to get going?”

“Would you mind if we walked down the beach a bit? It looks like a beautiful sunset.”

Adam shrugged. “Sure.” Together, he and Melony started walking north along the shoreline.

“So do you want to list it? There's some equity in the house,” Adam asked a few minutes later. They walked barefoot on the sand, each carrying their shoes.

“You know, I sort of expected to have all those old negative feelings about the house, but it doesn't feel the same.”

“Probably because none of the furniture is there from when you lived in it.”

“It kind of feels like a blank canvas. It's a beautiful house…and I've missed the Oregon coast.”

“A beautiful house with a hefty mortgage—in spite of the equity,” he reminded her. “If you're looking for a vacation home here, you'd be better off selling your mother's house and paying cash for something smaller with the equity.”

Melony laughed. “You really are a real estate salesman, aren't you?”

“Hey, I'm not making that suggestion just because it would mean a commission for me—assuming you use me as your agent—on both properties. But now that you mention it, it would be a nice perk.”

“Actually, I'm considering something other than a vacation property.”

Adam glanced over to Melony as they continued to stroll down the beach. “What do you mean?”

“I wouldn't mind moving back here. I'm a little weary of living in the city,” she confessed.

“What about your job? Aren't you some hotshot criminal attorney?”

“I'm a little weary of that too—at least some of the cases I take. And from what I understand, since Renton's incarceration, Frederickport could use another attorney.” Their conversation drifted from her job to Adams and what they had each been doing over the years.

Just as they reached the stretch of beach in front of Chris's house, the wind began to gust up. Brushing her blond hair behind her ears, Melony squinted as the sand swirled around them.

“We should go back,” Adam shouted over the wind. “Or we can just cut over to Marlow House, and I'll walk down and pick up the car.” They had left Adam's car at the pier parking lot.

“No, I'll go with you,” Melony shouted back as she turned toward the direction of the pier. A sheet of paper, blown by the wind, landed on her bare feet, and in the next moment the air grew still.

Startled by the abrupt absence of wind, Adam glanced around. “Where did that come from?”

“It was like a little twister,” Melony said as she reached down to pick up the sheet of paper from her feet. Not wanting to litter and toss the paper aside, Melony looked at it briefly, intending to crumple it and shove it in a pocket to be tossed in the trash when they returned to the pier. Instead, she stared blankly at the page, saying nothing.

Adam noticed the black edges of the paper. It looked as if it had been scorched in a fire. “What is it, a treasure map?” he teased.

Gripping the paper in her hand, Melony looked to Adam, her expression dazed. “This is my mother's, Adam. It's from her day planner.”