The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (24 page)

M
acDonald wasn't wearing
his police uniform. He had already gone home for the evening, changed into denims and a T-shirt, and was fixing dinner for his boys when the call had come in from Melony, telling him she needed to see him. It was urgent. Fortunately, the teenager who lived next door to him and who often babysat his sons was able to come over and stay with his boys so he could leave.

“I'm really sorry to have to drag you over here,” Melony told him for the third time. She sat alone with McDonald in the parlor of Marlow House. Not completely alone. Walt lounged by the bookshelf, lit cigar in hand, eavesdropping on the conversation. While Melony didn't know they had company, MacDonald did.

Sitting on the sofa, holding the burnt-edged paper Melony had found on the beach, MacDonald glanced up at her as she restlessly paced the room. “Where exactly did you find this?”

“On the beach not far from Chris's house. Like I told you, a gust of wind came up and that flew into me.”

“More like a spiritual gust,” Walt mumbled as he puffed the cigar. “How much you want to bet your mother caused that burst of wind.”

“What makes you so sure this is hers?” MacDonald asked.

Melony stopped pacing and took the paper from MacDonald. “For one thing, Mother had distinct handwriting. And for another”—she pointed to a phone number jotted down along the singed edge of the paper “—that's my cell number.”

MacDonald took the paper back from Melony and looked at it while she took a seat on a nearby chair. “Perhaps your mother had the book with her when she was killed, and whoever killed her took it with him and then decided to burn it. There's nothing incriminating on this page, but who knows what was on the other pages in that book.”

“I thought about that. But honestly, Eddy, I don't really see Mother carrying that book around with her, especially when she's walking down under the pier at night. It's not like that book would have fit in her purse, and I don't see her bringing it with her to make an appointment with her killer.”

MacDonald shrugged. “So how do you explain this?”

Melony let out a sigh. “I suppose she could have had it in her car, and he found it there. Maybe he was afraid something was in it that might incriminate him, and he took it.”

“Now that I think about it, I can't see the killer stopping along the beach to burn this. Typically, killers don't want to draw attention to themselves, and a fire would,” MacDonald noted.

“You're right. And I don't see the killer coming back to burn it. That makes less sense.”

“There is another explanation,” MacDonald suggested.

“What's that?”

“Yes, I'd like to hear that,” Walt said.

“If your mother went to the pier to meet her killer, he might have been concerned she had something with her that might incriminate him. Maybe he checked out her car, found the book, and after looking through it, dumped it along the beach. It's possible someone found it, figured it was trash and used it for kindling.”

Melony stared at the rumpled page. “I wish we could find the rest of it.”

“Even if we did, I doubt it would help us now. If the killer did take this out of her car, he probably destroyed any incriminating pages from the book.”

Melony stood up and started pacing again. “Then perhaps we need to discuss something else.”

MacDonald watched Melony pace. “What's that?”

She stopped and turned to him. “Hillary Hemmingway.”

“I'm not sure what else there is to discuss.” After Melony's confrontation with Hillary in the kitchen earlier that day, Melony had called MacDonald before going to the pier with Adam, and had told him about her professional history with Hillary—and how Hillary had confessed to her regarding the notes that Danielle had passed on to him.

What MacDonald didn't tell Melony was that Danielle had also called him, telling him what she suspected about Hillary's muse. It wasn't something he could share with his old friend.

“I think she's crazy,” Melony insisted. “Don't you find it bizarre she's here at the same time my mother is murdered?”

“And her motive?”

“An insane person doesn't need a motive. If Hillary had anything to do with my mother's murder, I'm the one responsible for bringing her here. I was hoping you might think of some reason to take Hillary into custody.”

“Melony, you're an attorney. You know better than that. I've no legitimate reason to bring her in. I have nothing to charge her with.”

With a frustrated sigh, she dropped back in her chair and looked to the floor.

Standing up, MacDonald walked to her side and took her hand. “I can't tell you everything I know, Melony, but I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say.”

She looked up into his face.

“I want you to know this. If I thought for a moment Hillary was a danger to anyone, I would do something. I can't tell you what I know, but I can promise you that you're safe at Marlow House. Hillary's not a danger.”

MacDonald looked from Melony to where the scent of cigar smoked drifted from and smiled.

“Yes, yes,” Walt said impatiently, knowing MacDonald couldn't hear him. “I'm keeping an eye on things. If we're all wrong about Hillary, I'll step in.”

M
ax slunk
through the darkened hallway. They had all shut their doors. He stopped at Danielle's room, faced the closed door, sat down, and began beating his paws boxer-like against the barrier. After a few minutes of persistent battering, light replaced darkness beneath the door.

“Get in here, Max,” Danielle said in a hushed whisper as she opened the door a few inches. “You're going to wake the house!”

Walt was just coming down the stairs from the attic when he noticed Max slip into Danielle's bedroom, and the door quietly shut. In the next moment, the light coming from under her door went out. Walt continued on his way and stopped in front of Hillary's bedroom. Effortlessly, he moved through the wall into the room.

Moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed where Hillary slept. A gasping sound broke the silence. Walt moved quickly to the bedside and looked down at the woman. Clad in a flannel nightgown, Hillary lay sprawled on her back, her arms outstretched and her mouth wide open. A snort replaced the gasp—followed by another gasp—a snort…

Rolling his eyes, Walt shook his head and let out a sigh. Focusing his attention on Hillary, he harnessed his energy and watched as she rolled to her side. The snoring stopped. He stayed by her bed a few minutes longer and then moved through the wall back to the hallway.

His next stop was Lily's room. He found her sleeping, curled up under a quilt. Red hair spilled over her pillow as she hugged a second pillow. Smiling down at her, his right hand brushed over her cheek. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly in a sleeping smile.

From Lily's room Walt moved to where Melony was staying. To his surprise, she wasn't sleeping, in spite of the fact the lights were out. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Melony sat on the side of her bed, lacing up her shoes. With a frown, Walt glanced around the room. He had seen her an hour earlier going from the bathroom to her bedroom. Then, she had been wearing pajamas.
Why did she get dressed?
he wondered.

When she finished lacing up her shoes, Walt watched as Melony grabbed her jacket and then eased open the bedroom door, careful not to make a sound. She peeked into the hallway and then slipped from the room.

Walt followed Melony down the stairs to the first floor, wondering where she was going. If she hadn't changed out of her pajamas and put on shoes, he would have assumed she was just going downstairs to get something to eat.

Once downstairs, Melony went into the library and turned on the light. Walt silently watched as she went through the room, opening and closing drawers.

“What are you looking for?” he asked aloud. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. Melony turned off the overhead light and moved back into the darkened hallway. Walt followed her to the kitchen. She turned on the lights and began searching through the drawers and cupboards.

Whatever she was looking for, Walt assumed she found it when she let out an “Aha!” In her hand, she now held a flashlight. He watched as she clicked it on and off; he assumed to test to see if it was in working order.

Melony turned off the kitchen lights and moved back into the hallway with the flashlight. He followed Melony down the hallway to the front door. She slipped outside and gently closed the door behind her.

Walt looked out the side window by the front door and watched as Melony disappeared into the night. “Where is she going?”

H
ugging the jacket around her
, Melony walked briskly down the sidewalk. Overhead, the moon lit her way. When she was across the street from Chris's house, she hurriedly moved to his side of the street and continued on down the road to Pete Rogers's house. Like Chris's house, Pete's was dark.

Moving quickly, Melony cut between Pete's house and his neighbor to the north, heading toward the beach. Just as she reached the sand, she glanced around nervously and turned on the flashlight. Keeping it close to her thigh, she walked behind Pete's house, looking for the location of his bonfire the previous night.

After finding it, Melony moved the beam of her flashlight over the fire pit. Kneeling down, she took a closer look. There wedged between the rocks, under a fresh pile of firewood, tucked among the ashes, were slivers of scorched paper. Reaching out, Melony pinched the exposed edges and gently tugged them from their nest to have a closer look.

Directing the flashlight's beam on the bits of paper she now held, Melony let out a startled gasp. Dropping the cindered bits onto the sand, she went down on her hands and knees and scrambled to move the newly placed wood, seeking whatever remnants of paper might still be trapped.

Abruptly light replaced dark. Still on her hands and knees, Melony looked up into the bright light of a flashlight.

“Melony?” the voice behind the flashlight called out.

Blinking her eyes, Melony slowly stood, facing Pete Rogers. In one hand she held a flashlight while her other hand fisted tightly, holding the bits of paper she had grabbed on to before being bathed in light.

“Pete…oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you,” she stammered.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, now lowering his flashlight to his hip so it was no longer shining on her.

“I…I lost something last night. I…I thought maybe I dropped it over here when I came over to say hi.”

Pete flashed the light back along the area she had just been rummaging through. “In the bonfire?”

“It was a necklace,” she said quickly. “A gold necklace. I was looking around the area and thought I saw something shiny in the wood.”

Pete studied her a moment and then smiled. “You know, I found a necklace out here this morning. I wondered who it belonged to.”

“You did?” she squeaked.

“Yeah. Come on in the house, and I'll show it to you. I set it on the counter in the kitchen. It has to be yours. Can't believe two people lost a necklace along here.”

“Umm…okay.” Melony reluctantly followed Pete and then paused at the back door. “Maybe I better stay out here. I got a little dirty looking for it. You could bring it out for me?”

Standing just inside his house, Pete looked out at Melony, saying nothing. Finally, he smiled again and said, “I'll be right back.”

Glancing around anxiously, one hand still fisted tightly, Melony considered running back to Marlow House.
You're being silly
, she told herself.
Pete had no reason to kill Mother. He was probably burning tax papers like Adam said. It's my imagination the paper in his fire pit looks a little like the paper I found.