The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (13 page)

L
ily couldn't stop laughing
. She found the entire situation hilarious. Danielle was not as amused. During her flight, Lily had dropped the garbage bag she had been holding, scattering its contents on the sidewalk before Danielle landed on her backside in the sludge. Joe offered her a hand to get up, but when Danielle realized her right hand was now covered in three-day-old bacon grease, she declined his offer and managed to stumble to her feet without his assistance.

By the time Ian made it across the street, Danielle had wiped her hands off on the sides of her jeans and gathered up what she could find of the yellow sheets of legal-size paper—each covered with Hillary's scribbly handwriting. The headlights from Joe's car continued to light the area, making it easier for Danielle to see what she was doing.

“You obviously lost something,” Ian said when he saw the mess.

Danielle protectively held the stack of papers to her chest, unwilling to let either Joe or Ian catch a glimpse of what she held. “I accidentally threw out some important paperwork,” she lied.

Feeling sorry for Danielle, Lily quickly scooped up the trash, shoving it back into the now empty can. Soon Ian and Joe were helping until all the trash was back in the container.

“Are you done dumpster diving?” Joe asked with a chuckle. They glanced to the second can.

“I think so,” Danielle said, still clutching the papers to her chest. “I found the sack they were in, so I don't imagine there's any more of the papers I was looking for in the other can.”

“Why did you run off?” Joe asked Lily.

“I'm not sure.” Lily laughed. “Dani screamed, and then something ran through my legs. Scared the crap outa me. I think it was a raccoon or something.”

“I think it was Max,” Danielle said as she spied her black cat sitting by the fence, watching.

“
I
'm dying
to see if you got what we need,” Lily told Danielle as they approached the back door.

The light in the kitchen flashed on. Danielle froze. They could see Hillary inside through the window.

“I can't let her see these,” Danielle said as she hastily tucked the bundle under her shirt.

“You look like you were just in a mud wrestling match—and lost.”

“Thanks, Lily. This was your idea, may I remind you.”

“And maybe it worked.”

“I need to take a shower first. I feel gross.”

“I tell you what, when we go in there, just run to the bathroom; I'll tell Hillary you accidentally threw out some paperwork—which is the same story you told Ian and Joe—and that we had to look in the trash, and you got crud on you, and you had to take a shower because you feel so gross. Pretend like you're holding something.”

“All true—except for the paperwork part. And I am holding something; it's just under my shirt.”

A few minutes later, Danielle managed to race by Hillary, shouting something about feeling gross and needing to jump in the shower.

Lily stayed behind in the kitchen to wash her hands and tell Hillary what they had been doing outside, skipping over the part about them snooping for any notes she might have thrown out.

Just as Danielle reached the stairway, she met Walt, who was coming down from the attic. “I think we found Hillary's notes you read. I'll explain later! I need a shower!” Not waiting for Walt's response, Danielle continued on her way.

Walt was about to call out a question when he noticed Max trailing behind Danielle. He looked down at the cat and asked, “What's going on, Max?”

D
anielle took a quick shower
, and by the time Lily made it back upstairs, she found Danielle's bedroom door closed. Walking to the door, she knocked softly. A moment later it opened.

“Where's Hillary?” Danielle whispered, peeking out into the hallway.

“She's watching television in the living room. I think Walt's watching with her.”

“Why do you say that?” Danielle opened the door wider, let Lily in, and then shut and locked it after her.

“I could smell his cigar,” Lily explained.

“I've been straightening out the pages over here.” Danielle pointed to the dresser, where a stack of crinkled legal-sized paper sat.

“You don't think we should have gone through the other can?” Lily asked.

“I don't think Joanne would have dumped the trash from Hillary's room in more than one bag. I suppose we could always look at the other one if we don't find anything.”

“I don't want to go back out there,” Lily groaned.

Danielle laughed. “
You
don't?”

Danielle divided the stack and gave Lily half. They both started reading.

“I feel like such a sneak,” Lily said as she finished her first page and went on to the second.

“I know what you mean, I—” Danielle didn't finish what she was saying, but instead grabbed hold of Lily's arm and said, “This is it!” She showed the page to Lily.

A woman meets a man under the pier. They argue. She is blackmailing him. While she yells at him, he finds an empty wine bottle in the sand. He picks it up and hits her over the head. It kills her. He removes all her rings. She has a ring on every finger, even her thumbs. Diamonds and gold. He covers her body with sand and leaves her there. He doesn't want the rings. He throws the dead woman's jewelry off the pier. When he puts his hand back into his pocket, he finds one of her rings he missed. He throws it in the ocean with the others and hears a splash.

Slowly, Lily and Danielle lifted their heads and looked into each other's eyes.

“Holy crap!” they gasped.

G
etting
his sons to school on time Friday morning prevented Edward MacDonald from having his first cup of morning coffee at home. He was just sitting down at his desk to enjoy his first cup of the day when he was informed Carla, the waitress from Pier Café, needed to speak to him—and only to him. It was urgent.

“How can I help you, Carla?” MacDonald asked after she was shown to his office and sitting in a chair facing him.

Dressed in her waitress uniform from Pier Café, she wore her hair pulled back in a haphazard bun. It looked as if she had fixed her hair on the run, and now strands were escaping, making her look sloppy rather than untidy chic. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. MacDonald had never seen Carla look so haggard.

“I think my life might be in danger,” she said nervously.

Setting his mug on the desk, MacDonald asked, “How so?”

“I think Steve might have killed Jolene Carmichael, and I could be next.”

“Steve?” MacDonald frowned.

“Steve Klein, the bank manager,” Carla explained.

“Why would Steve kill Jolene—why would he want to kill you?”

Fidgeting with the purse on her lap, she looked from it to MacDonald. “He obviously wants to kill me because I know he killed Jolene. Well…I don't know exactly. But I think it's possible.”

“Let's back it up a little, Carla. Why do you think Steve killed Jolene?”

“He was there that night at the restaurant. He left right after Jolene.” Carla reached back and tucked some of her escaping hair back into her bun.

“A number of people were there that night and left after Jolene,” MacDonald countered.

“Yeah, but I'm pretty sure Mrs. Carmichael was blackmailing Steve.”

“Blackmailing him? Where did you get that idea?” MacDonald picked up his cup and sipped his coffee.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Carla chewed her lower lip nervously and then opened her eyes and looked at the chief. “Steve and I have been having an affair.”

Slowly, MacDonald set his cup back on his desktop while his eyes fixed on Carla.

“I know it makes me look awful,” she groaned. “And I hate coming here and having to admit it all. He is a married man, after all. But gee, there are no decent single men in town.” Realizing what she had just said, Carla stammered a moment and then added, “I didn't mean you, Chief. You're a real decent guy…but you aren't single anyhow, not really. You have a girlfriend. The thing is…I really don't want to be next. I don't want to end up dead because I made a stupid relationship choice. Hell, if that was some rule, I'd be dead by now.”

When Carla finally stopped talking, MacDonald asked, “Are you saying Jolene knew about the affair, and she was blackmailing Steve over it?”

Carla nodded. “I don't know how she found out. I thought we were being careful. But I know she's been trying to get a loan from the bank, and Steve turned her down. We…umm…one time he came over to my place, it was after talking to her, and he was so annoyed. I guess he needed to vent. Told me Jolene Carmichael was broke. Lost everything because of that deal with Clarence Renton getting sued and stuff. He said no way his bank would loan her the money. That he wasn't about to jeopardize his career for her.”

“How do you know she was blackmailing him?”

Still fidgeting with her purse, she shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “The night she was killed, Steve came into the diner and told me we needed to stop seeing each other, that Jolene knew about our affair. I didn't think he meant we needed to end it for good, just cool it for a while.”

“Did he tell you he was being blackmailed?”

Carla shook her head. “Not exactly. But last night he came over to my place, and when he left, he told me his wife was coming home and that we couldn't see each other. I figured with Jolene dead, we didn't have to cool it anymore.” Carla's eyes widened, and she looked into the chief's face. Hastily she added, “Not that I was glad she was dead or anything, or that I even suspected Steve might be responsible—not then.”

“What made you start wondering if Steve killed Jolene?”

“Last night…umm…I…well, I sorta hacked into Steve's email account.” She stopped fidgeting with her purse and opened it. After pulling out a folded piece of paper, she stood up and handed it to MacDonald. “I printed the email out so you can read it.”

Carla sat back down in her chair while MacDonald read Steve's email from Jolene. When he finished, he set the sheet of paper on his desk and looked up.

“What's Steve done to make you think your life could be in jeopardy?”

“If he killed Jolene to keep her quiet about our affair, then isn't it obvious?”

C
arla had been gone
about thirty minutes when Danielle arrived at the chief's office.

MacDonald greeted her with, “Danielle, with your money, is it really necessary to rummage through the neighbor's garbage?” He laughed.

“It was my trash, and how do you know…oh, Joe…right.” Danielle shook her head and opened her purse.

“I guess Ian thought someone was breaking into your side gate and called us.” MacDonald chuckled. “What were you doing going through your trash in the dark, anyhow? Joe said something about you tossing out some paperwork.”

Removing the folded piece of yellow paper from her purse, she handed it to the chief. “I was looking for this.”

Taking the paper from Danielle, he asked, “What's this?”

“It's what Walt read in Hillary's room; what I told you about.”

MacDonald unfolded the paper and began to read while Danielle continued to stand at the side of his desk.

“I didn't want to go through Hillary's things in her room,” Danielle explained when he finished reading. “But Lily reminded me anything in the trash would be fair game. If I found something she put in the trash—in my trash can—she really couldn't claim it was obtained illegally. You could use it, couldn't you?”

MacDonald set the paper on the desk and looked up at Danielle. “I appreciate your help—and it's exactly what you claimed Walt read, but—”

“After I went digging through my garbage in the middle of the night and humiliated myself, there is a but?” Danielle flopped down in the chair and tossed her purse to the floor by her feet.

He picked up the paper and looked at it again. “You're exaggerating a little there. According to Joe, it was a little after nine o'clock.”

Danielle glared at MacDonald.

Waving the paper at her, he said, “There's no date on this, and even if there was, we couldn't prove anything. As far as we know, Hillary wrote this after she read the newspaper about fishing Jolene's rings off the pier.”

“But we know she didn't. Walt read it that night. I believe him,” she insisted.

“I understand. I'm just saying, when I question Hillary, I imagine that's just what she'll tell me.”

Sitting up straight in the chair, Danielle leaned forward. “So you're going to talk to her?”

“At first, when you told me about what Walt read, I wondered if he had read it wrong. A lot of times, someone will read something and interject a meaning or even a word that's really not there. This is pretty much exactly what Walt claimed to have read. And if he did read this the night of the murder, before you found those rings, I have to wonder how in the hell did Hillary Hemmingway know all this.”

“I don't believe she had anything to do with the murder. It just doesn't feel right. But…”

MacDonald tossed the yellow piece of paper back onto the desk. “At this point, I suspect she witnessed the murder—and followed the killer back onto the pier and watched him toss the rings into the water.”

“So you think the killer's a man?”

MacDonald pointed to the yellow sheet of paper. “According to this it is. I also have a suspect—he has a motive, and he was there.”

“Who?”

When he didn't respond, Danielle said, “Come on, Chief. I thought we were sort of informal partners. I get you information from the spirit world, and you keep me in the loop.”

“You're just being nosey,” MacDonald said with a chuckle.

“I climbed in the trash can for you. Ruined a perfectly good pair of jeans with bacon grease.”

MacDonald smiled. “Okay, but this goes no farther than this office.”

“Can I tell Walt?”

“Can I stop you?”

Danielle smiled. “Probably not.”

“Don't say anything to Lily—and I mean it.”

When she didn't respond, he asked, “Do you want to hear this or not?”

Danielle sighed. “Okay. I promise. I won't say anything to Lily. Who is your suspect?”

“Steve Klein.”

“Steve? The bank manager?”

MacDonald nodded.

“Are you serious? What reason would Steve have to kill her? I know they were on the board at the museum together, but they seemed to get along okay.”

“Apparently, Steve and Carla have been having an affair.”

“Not Carla the waitress at Pier Café?”

He nodded again.

Danielle couldn't help it—she laughed.

“What's so funny?” MacDonald asked.

“Seriously? Dippy Carla and buttoned-up Steve from the bank? He's old enough to be her father. Or at least her much older brother.”

MacDonald shrugged. “No accounting for taste. I couldn't see those two together, didn't see that one coming.”

“She told you?” Before he could respond, she said, “But Steve's married! He has a couple of kids!”

“Which is the reason for killing Jolene. Apparently Jolene found out about the affair and decided to blackmail Steve. She's been trying to get a loan from the bank, but Steve turned her down.”

“Wow…so you think he really killed her? Was Carla an accomplice?”

MacDonald went on to tell Danielle about his morning's interview with Carla. When he was done, he picked up the paper and looked at it. “Maybe I can use this to get Hillary to talk. If she witnessed the murder—watched the killer throw the rings off the pier—then she should be able to identify the killer.”

“Before you talk to her, I have a favor to ask you.”

“What's that?”

“I don't want Hillary to think I went digging around in my trash looking for her notes. If she thinks I wanted her notes, she'd have to assume I'd been poking around in her room and snooping.”

“How do you want me to explain this?”

“I told Joe I had accidentally tossed some paperwork. I'd like to stick with that story. Say I found my papers in the trash—and some other papers were stuck to them, and I didn't realize it until later when I went back to my room. Tell her when I was sorting through the papers, I read hers—realized it sounded like Jolene's murder and felt I had to turn them over to you.”

MacDonald considered her request for a moment. “Okay. But you know, this will probably still cause a problem with her. Don't be surprise if she checks out after she finds out you turned her incriminating notes over to me.”

Danielle shrugged. “If she does, she does.”