The Ghost from the Sea (11 page)

“No, you aren't crazy.” Daniele's voice was almost a whisper.

“So you did see him! I didn't imagine it all!”

“I know you plan to write a book about what happened, but I'll be honest, I don't feel comfortable being included in your book. I don't want to go public with what I personally experienced.”

“Why, Danielle? If you aren't willing to verify it happened, no one will believe me!”

“Because I know what it feels like when people start looking at you like you're crazy. I remember how it felt when my parents sent me to a psychiatrist because they couldn't believe I was really seeing ghosts. I've learned, Heather, some gifts are best kept to yourself—or shared with a select group of people.”

“So Harvey wasn't really your first ghost?”

Danielle shook her head. “No Heather, he wasn't.”

R
owland and Stella
stood behind the yellow tape and watched the police officers haul equipment from the police van parked on the side of the street to the wreckage. Stella had been shooting questions at the officers, but so far, the only response she had received was a request to stand back from the yellow tape.

“They're busy, Stella. Stop bothering them,” Rowland reprimanded her in a hushed voice.

“I want to know what they're doing. Why are they putting all that equipment in the boat?” She craned her neck out in hopes of getting a better look.

Rowland pointed toward the wreckage. “See over there, that's a generator.”

“What do they need a generator for? Are they going to start the boat?”

Rowland laughed. “Hardly.”

“Don't laugh at me!” Stella snapped, flashing her husband an ugly look.

Rowland's smile quickly faded. “I'm just saying they're probably using the generator to run those lights they just took onto the ship.”

“What do they need lights for?”

“I imagine it's dark inside.”

“
W
ho's
the couple gawking and asking questions?” Brian asked when he joined Joe in a cabin on the lower deck. Other members of their team were busy setting up lights, to help them do a more thorough, final inspection of the ship's interior.

“From what I gather, they're staying at Marlow House.”

“Tourists.” Brian let out a grunt. “I'll just be glad when we're done with this one. We should have brought the generator and lights down yesterday. It's creepy in here.”

The ship's interior looked less haunting fully illuminated. Instead of flashlight beams exposing isolated sections of corroded walls and furnishing, the interior's ambiance seemed more exposed and abandoned under the floodlights' harsh glare.

After re-exploring the cabin where they had discovered the box of jewelry, Brian and Joe waited for the floodlights to be set up in the adjacent cabin. When they were ready, Brian walked inside and stood by what appeared to be a trunk, shoved and forgotten in the corner, covered with barnacles. Reaching out, he lightly touched the trunk's exterior and said, “This ship had to have been underwater at one time, and judging by how these feel, it wasn't that long ago.”

“When I came in here the last time, I thought that was part of the wall,” Joe stood next to Brian.

“Everything looks different under the floodlights.” Brian reached down and attempted to open the trunk, but it appeared to be rusted shut. “I really don't want to have to drag this thing out of here.”

“Just a second,” Joe said. He left the cabin for a minute and returned with a crowbar. Brian stood by and watched as Joe pried open the trunk's lid. Once loose, Brian and Joe lifted it up revealing its gruesome contents.

“I guess we missed this one,” Brian said dully as he stared at the skeleton shoved into the trunk. Unlike most of the skulls they had found onboard, this man's skull remained attached to the rest of his skeleton, while remnants of his suit hung limply from the bones: bones folded like a pretzel into the barnacle encrusted trunk.

Brian leaned closer and examined the remains. “By what's left of his clothes, I'd say it was a man.”

“I wonder why they put him in here.” Joe reached out and touched the skull, gently turning it from side to side. “I don't see a bullet. Do you think he was shoved in here alive?”

Brian shook his head. “If he was, I don't see any signs that he tried to get out.”

After Joe pulled back his hand, Brian reached out and gently moved what was left of the shirt's fabric, to one side, exposing the skeleton's rib cage. “No, he was killed here.”

“What is it?” Joe leaned in, his head just inches from Brian's as the two officers hovered over the open trunk.

Brian pointed to the small metal object resting on the bottom of the trunk, below the rib cage. “I'd say that's a bullet. My guess, they shot him in the chest, not in the head like the others.”

“I wonder why they bothered putting him in the trunk.” Joe stood up straighter, no longer leaning over the remains.

“I don't know.” Brian muttered, reaching for the skeleton's right hand. “But this might be able to help us identify him.”

“A ring?” Joe asked.

With his gloved hand, Brian slipped the gold ring off the bony finger, examining it. “Not just any ring. It's a Masonic ring.” Tilting it from side to side, he looked closer, searching for an inscription.

“Anything?” Joe asked.

“Looks like initials. But I can't tell. I'll need a magnifying glass.”

“Old man,” Joe teased, taking the ring from Brian. “Let me see.” He studied it for a moment, holding it near one of the floodlights. Finally, he said, “J. W.”

“J. W.? By the way he's dressed, I don't think he's part of the crew. And I don't remember any of the passengers with those initials.”

Joe handed the ring back to Brian and then pulled his cellphone from his pocket. After searching through the notes he had stored, he came to what he was looking for. Shaking his head, he looked up at Brian and said, “No. I don't have a passenger with those initials.”

“What about the last name?” Brian asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it's not his ring. Maybe it was his father's. Same last initial, different first initial.”

Joe took a second look, shook his head, and tucked the phone back in his pocket. “No. None of the passengers' last names started with a W.”

I
t was
dark by the time Stella and Rowland returned to Marlow House. They had driven their car up the block to see the wreckage, instead of walking. Rowland was willing to walk, in spite of his artificial knee; it was Stella who had insisted they drive the short distance.

Instead of returning immediately to Marlow House after their visit to the Eva Aphrodite, they headed to town in search of a restaurant for dinner. Rowland enjoyed the Friday night special of fish and chips, Stella not so much. She claimed hers was greasy and returned it to the kitchen—after eating two-thirds of the meal.

At Marlow House, they found Lily and Danielle in the living room sitting side by side on the sofa. The Sterlings hadn't yet met Lily. Stella's gaze went immediately to Lily's right arm and the dragon tattoo.

“What would ever possess you to get something like that?” Stella gasped.

“Stella, please,” Rowland said under his breath.

“Why can't I ask? If a young girl puts something like that on her body, for all to see, then she must want people to look at her. So why is it wrong for me to ask a simple question? I'm sure I'm not the first person to ask her about it.”

Lily glanced down at her right arm, and then back to Stella. “Well, it all started with tequila.”

Stella arched her brows. “Tequila?”

Lily nodded solemnly. “And an ill advised trip to Mexico.”

“You got a tattoo in Mexico?” Stella gasped.

Lily shrugged. “I can't really be sure. When I woke up I was in San Diego.”

“You got a tattoo when you were drunk?”

“Isn't that when most people get tattoos?” Lily asked innocently.

“If so, our generation has a serious drinking problem,” Danielle muttered under her breath as she rolled her eyes over Lily's impromptu explanation.

Abruptly changing the subject, Rowland said, “It was most interesting down at the beach this afternoon. I was surprised at how large the boat is. Or would it be called a ship?”

“It was a yacht. I suppose some might call it a ship, others a boat,” Danielle said.

“They took a dead body off the ship,” Stella told them.

“Dead body?” Lily and Danielle asked at the same time.

“We assume that's what was in the trunk,” Rowland corrected.

Danielle frowned. “Did they say there was a body inside?”

Stella shook her head. “No. they didn't say anything. In fact, your police aren't very friendly here. They wouldn't answer any of my questions, they kept telling us to stay behind the tape. But I overheard a couple of them talking before they brought the trunk out, and they said something about finding a body.”

Rowland shook his head. “I didn't hear them say that. But Stella insists—”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Stella snapped.

“No dear. I'm just saying I didn't hear them.”

“Well, I did!” she said stubbornly.

“Did you notice if they had lights set up on the boat?” Danielle asked.

“That's what it looked like,” Rowland said.

“The chief did mention something to me about bringing lights down and doing a more thorough search of the boat. It's possible they found more skulls.”

“Skulls?” Rowland asked.

“So far, all they've really found are human skulls onboard—and a few random bones. That boat went missing almost a hundred years ago,” Lily explained. “After so long, even bones will deteriorate. If you overheard them say they found a body, I wonder if that meant an actual body, which would indicate he or she was put on that boat recently—or that it was just skeletal remains, like the rest.”

“I'm sure they said they found a body,” Stella insisted.

When Stella and Rowland left for their room fifteen minutes later, Danielle looked at Lily and asked, “Tequila? Seriously?”

“I certainly wasn't going to waste my time telling her the real story. Annoying woman.”

“One thing about running a bed and breakfast, you get all kinds.”

“I feel a little sorry for her husband,” Lily said.

“I know what you mean.”

“So tell me about the author. Ian went all fan-boy when I told him who'd be staying here.”

Danielle chuckled. “Fan-boy? For some reason, I don't see Ian going fan-boy over anyone.”

Lily grinned. “I guess she's one of his favorite authors.”

“That's saying something, considering Ian's no slouch in the author department.”

“I know, but I guess even famous authors can crush over other authors.”

“I suppose it's a good thing she's old enough to be his mother,” Danielle teased.

“I think your butt's ringing,” Lily chirped.

“Funny.” Danielle stood up and pulled her ringing phone from her back pocket. She glanced at it before answering. “It's Chris.”

Lily stood up. “Then I'll let you love birds have some privacy.”

B
efore coming
to work that morning, Joanne had stopped by Old Salts Bakery to pick up Danielle's favorite cinnamon rolls. Sitting quietly at the head of the dining room table, Danielle reminded herself she needed to give Joanne a raise for picking up the pastries. Not because she wanted to eat them, but because they seemed to be the only thing that could shut up Stella Sterling, who was now stuffing her third roll into an already full mouth.

Sipping her coffee, Danielle looked down the table. To her right, Lily sat next to Hillary Hemingway, the mystery writer who was renting the Red Room for the next month. During check in, Danielle had asked her new guest if she was related to
that
Hemingway. Hillary only laughed and said, “
I wish
.”

The Sterlings sat on the opposite side of the table. It was obvious to Danielle that Mrs. Sterling was determined to get her money's worth—hence the breakfast binging. Danielle found it hard to believe scrawny Stella Sterling ate copious amounts of food on a regular basis.

“What's everyone have planned for today?” Lily asked.

“I'd like to do some fishing,” Rowland announced.

“I didn't come here to fish,” Stella snapped. “You can fish anytime.”

With a frown, Rowland looked at his wife. “I can?”

“I'd like to visit the local museum sometime while I'm here,” Hillary said, looking from Lily to Danielle. “Stepping into the past feeds my muse.”

Stella frowned across the table at Hillary, but continued chewing instead of responding.

“It's a nice little museum,” Danielle said. “You can go through it in less than an hour, so it won't really take up much of your day. I think it's worth seeing and it might inspire some story ideas.”

“Aren't you going to the museum today?” Lily asked Danielle.

“Yeah, I am. I have to meet with the board of directors.” Danielle took a bite of her cinnamon roll.

“Danielle's donating an emerald from the Missing Thorndike to the museum,” Lily announced.

“Missing Thorndike?” Stella frowned. “Isn't that the necklace I read about? The one you found in the attic?”

“Yes. Technically speaking, the emerald is not from the Missing Thorndike. That necklace is sitting in the bank safety deposit box, with all its emeralds and diamonds. The setting originally had another set of stones—that were stolen years ago—and then replaced with what it has now. The emerald I'm donating to the museum is one of the stones that was stolen years ago.”

“How did you get it?” Stella asked.

Hillary leaned forward, looking intently at Danielle. “Yes, sounds fascinating.”

“A descendant of one of the jewel thieves found one of the emeralds in her grandfather's belongings—along with information proving his father had been involved with the crime. She felt it was her responsibility to return the emerald to its rightful owner, so she gave it to me.”

“I don't understand; why are you the rightful owner? Just because you found the necklace here? Didn't Walt Marlow steal the necklace you found? That's what I read,” Stella asked.

“It's kind of an involved story.” Danielle glanced down the table at Lily, who gave her a guilty shrug. Lily knew what Danielle was thinking at this point.
Did you have to bring up the emerald?

“I'm listening,” Stella said impatiently.

Danielle let out a deep breath and then forced a smile. “The necklace was originally owned by silent screen star Eva Thorndike. It was a family heirloom. She died at a young age, from a heart condition. Before she died, she realized her ex-husband had removed the real diamonds and emeralds from the setting, and replaced them with fakes. She didn't want her parents to know, so she asked Walt Marlow—who was a close friend and by her side when she died—to steal them. Which he did. He hid the necklace in the attic at Marlow House.”

“Oh my, that is so romantic,” Hillary said wistfully.

Scrunching up her face, Stella looked across the table to Hillary. “How do you see that as romantic?”

“So the necklace you found had fake gems?” Rowland asked.

Danielle shook her head. “No. What Walt and Eva didn't know, her parents had discovered what their ex-son-in-law had done, so they had new diamonds and emeralds put into the setting. I believe they figured out Walt was the one who took the necklace, and why. They didn't say anything to him, but they left the necklace to him in their will. I suspect it was done to protect Walt, in case he was ever found with the necklace after they were gone. As it turned out, Walt died first and they never changed their will.”

“You inherited his estate, which included the necklace?” Hillary asked.

Danielle nodded. “Pretty much. Walt Marlow left everything to his housekeeper, whose daughter married my grandfather's brother. My great-aunt left everything to me. As for the emerald, I don't believe I'm necessarily its rightful owner; yet I believe the Thorndikes would approve of the emerald going to the local museum. They have Eva's portrait there. You'll see it if you visit today.”

D
anielle sat
at the large table in the back office of the museum. Sitting at the table with her were four Frederickport Historical Society board members: Millie Samson, Ben Smith, bank manager Steve Klein—and someone she hadn't met before, Jolene Carmichael.

Steve introduced Danielle to Jolene when she first entered the back office. Jolene, a slender woman in her late sixties, with dyed platinum blond hair, sat quietly on the other side of the table, studying Danielle. Instead of standing and offering her hand when Steve made the introductions, Jolene remained seated, giving Danielle a stoic nod in greeting.

“Jolene just moved back to town,” Millie said excitedly after Danielle had taken her seat. “We were so thrilled she agreed to fill the vacancy in the board. She'll bring so much to the historical society.”

Danielle smiled across the table at Jolene, who looked as if she had just stepped out of the beauty shop, with her meticulously coiffed short hair. Manicured nails sporting blood red polish absently tapped the tabletop. It wasn't the tapping sound that caught Danielle's attention, it was the sparkling flicker bouncing off Jolene's many diamond rings. The woman had a ring on every finger—even her thumbs, and Danielle was fairly certain it wasn't costume jewelry. Looking up from the fidgety fingers, Danielle noted Jolene's designer silk blouse and diamond earrings. When Danielle's gaze settled on Jolene's face, she was a bit taken aback by the cool, less than friendly expression.

“So, you lived in Frederickport before?” Danielle asked with forced cheerfulness.

“Jolene comes from one of the original Frederickport pioneer families,” Steve explained.

“Yes. Her family moved here even before Marie's,” Millie added.

Jolene reached over to Millie and patted her hand. “True, but Marie is much older than me, so I suppose technically she's been here longer.” Jolene smiled, her first smile since her introduction to Danielle.

“You grew up here?” Danielle asked.

“Oh yes. Met my husband here. This is where we raised our family. But after he died, I decided to move closer to our daughter. She lives in New York. She's an attorney, just like her father. But I felt it was time to come home. I missed Frederickport.”

“And we're so glad to have you! Seems like most of our members are recent transplants—like Danielle here. It's good to have representation from the founding families,” Millie said.

“Carmichael, why does that name sound familiar?” Danielle asked, looking across the table to Jolene.

“Because my husband, Doug, was Clarence Renton's business partner.”

Momentarily speechless, Danielle stared at Jolene. Finally, she asked, “The man in the fishing photographs, in Clarence Renton's office?”

Jolene nodded. “Yes, Clarence and Doug loved to fish. They used to joke about giving up their law practice and working on a fishing charter boat.”

“I forgot how much those two enjoyed fishing,” Steve said.

“It was such a shame, Clarence murdered like that. People thinking he had actually killed himself.” Jolene shook her head. “Just horrible. I'm so glad the truth finally came out. It wasn't right for people to think Clarence would do something like that.”

Danielle could feel the eyes of the other three board members suddenly on her, waiting for her response. She looked across the table to Jolene who seemed oblivious to how her words might sound, considering Danielle and Clarence's history.

Unable to keep silent, Danielle spoke up. “I agree, I'm glad the truth came out, and we know who killed Clarence Renton. But let's not forget the man murdered my cousin.”

Jolene shook her head, “I'm sorry about your poor cousin. But Clarence was a good man. He was my husband's best friend. I knew him for years. Whatever happened with your cousin must have been an accident. After all, didn't I hear your cousin was on the run after stealing the Missing Thorndike, when Clarence happened across her?”

“It was hardly an accident. Clarence Renton also tried to kill me.”

Jolene arched her brows. “Kill you? When? I heard you hit the poor man over the head, sent him to the hospital. Didn't they even arrest you?”

“Yes, I hit him. After he tried to kill me. And remember, he was embezzling from my aunt's estate for years.”

Jolene let out a bored sigh. “I really don't think it's fair to talk about dear Clarence this way. The poor man is dead now, murdered. He isn't here to defend himself.”

Danielle could feel her blood pressure rising. She glanced around the table, noting the dumbfounded expressions on the other board members' faces. It was as if they weren't sure what to say, so they kept quiet.

Finally, Ben spoke up. “I think we'll all agree Clarence made some bad choices, and while we understand he was your old friend, Jolene, you can't expect Danielle to share those feelings.”

“That's easy for you to say. You never liked Clarence,” Jolene snapped.

Ben let out a weary sigh. “Clarence and I had our disagreements over the years. But he's gone now, and I think we should focus on why we came here today. The emerald that Danielle is graciously donating to the museum.”

“Yes, the emerald,” Steve agreed.

Danielle glanced around the table. Steve, Millie, and Ben were now smiling, as if relieved the awkward moment had gone by.

“I have something I'd like to discuss before we move onto the emerald,” Danielle announced.

“What's that?” Steve asked.

“It's my understanding the historical society's position on Walt Marlow's death is that it might have been a suicide, when I've clearly proven otherwise,” Danielle reminded.

“You don't know that for certain,” Jolene said. “Until my husband died, I had lived in Frederickport for my entire life. I grew up hearing the story of Walt Marlow's death. How he hung himself in the attic after his wife ran off.”

“The story wasn't true,” Danielle insisted.

“Does it really matter?” Jolene asked.

“It obviously mattered to you that the world knows Clarence didn't kill himself,” Danielle countered.

Jolene gasped. “You certainly aren't comparing Clarence's recent death to someone who died almost a hundred years ago!”

Danielle seethed. “At least Walt Marlow never killed anyone!”

“Apparently you don't know as much about the
great
Walt Marlow as the rest of us,” Jolene hissed. “He killed my grandfather's brother and wife! Not to mention all those other poor people!”

“What are you talking about?” Danielle asked.

“Jolene's great-uncle, Howard Templeton, and his wife Thelma were passengers aboard the Eva Aphrodite when it went missing. The museum acquired a diary belonging to a close friend of Thelma's, and from what I've read, it's entirely possible Walt Marlow was responsible for the ship going down,” Ben explained.

“I don't imagine you know,” Jolene said primly, “since it's not common knowledge, but those people on the boat—they were murdered. Shot in the head, every one of them.”