The Ghost and the Silver Scream Page 2

  “I don’t know why I bothered getting that darn bed and breakfast closed down,” Pearl said angrily as she tossed the newspaper in her wastebasket by the dresser. “They keep finding loopholes and continue to bring more unwanted traffic to the neighborhood.”

  She looked back to the window, thinking about those suitcases she had seen Chris load into his car.

  Officers Brian Henderson and Joe Morelli sat in the police car, preparing to go out on patrol. Brian was about to slip the key in the ignition when Joe said, “There’s the Marlow Packard.”

  Brian looked up and spied the vintage black Packard pulling into the police department parking lot. He sat there and watched as Walt and Danielle got out of the car a few minutes later. From what he could tell, they had not noticed him and Joe sitting in their vehicle.

  “Why does he dress like that?” Joe asked in disgust.

  Brian chuckled and glanced to Joe and then back to Walt and Danielle, who were now walking to the front door of the station. “I assume you’re talking about Walt Marlow?”

  “For one thing, that hat. What is that about? Who wears hats like that anymore?”

  Brian shrugged. “You have to admit it looks good on him.”

  “What kind of hat is that, anyway?” Joe asked.

  “I think it’s called a fedora.”

  “And doesn’t he ever wear jeans like a normal person?” Joe asked.

  “Jeans would look silly with a fedora,” Brian said. “Although, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen him wear jeans before.”

  “Maybe. But most of the time he’s wearing a suit. Who wears a suit all the time if they don’t have to?”

  “He’s not always wearing a suit.”

  “Practically,” Joe grumbled.

  “Why does it bug you so much? You don’t still have a thing for Danielle, do you?”

  “No!” Joe snapped.

  “Then what is it?” Brian asked.

  After a moment of silence, Joe said, “It’s Kelly.”

  “Kelly?”

  “Yeah, the last time we went shopping in Portland, she dragged me into a shop selling men’s suits. I told her I didn’t need a new suit, and then she suggested I start dressing a little less casual when I’m off work.”

  Brian started to laugh.

  “Oh, shut up,” Joe snapped.

  When Brian finally stopped laughing, he said, “You have to admit he always looks so natural—comfortable—dressed like that.”

  “Looks like a gangster from the twenties.”

  “Kind of reminds me of my grandfather,” Brian muttered, shoving the key into the ignition.

  “Your grandfather? Your grandfather was a gangster?”

  “No. My grandfather was a sharp dresser. He was probably born around the same time as the original Walt Marlow.”

  “You’re calling Walt Marlow a sharp dresser?” Joe asked, sounding incredulous.

  “You’ve got to give the guy credit; he’s playing up this author role to a T. Remember when we first met him, before his accident? He certainly didn’t dress this way back then.”

  “So that’s what you think this is, him dressing for a part?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe, it also goes with the Packard,” Brian said as he turned on the ignition. “Or maybe Clint has been possessed by the spirit of the original Walt Marlow.”

  Walt and Danielle sat in Police Chief MacDonald’s office with the door closed. They occupied the two chairs facing the chief, who sat behind his desk.

  “A murder?” MacDonald repeated.

  “He said there might be a murder—or several,” Danielle told him.

  “Let me get this straight…” the chief began, his hands now folded on the desk before him as he straightened in his chair. “A ghost—of someone you have never seen before—barged into your kitchen this morning and told you someone—or several people might be murdered, yet he didn’t know who they might be, and that he himself had been murdered, but he didn’t want to tell you who the killer was—or who he is—because he didn’t want to get the killer in trouble?”

  Danielle nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  The chief groaned.

  “Chris is convinced this has something to do with the people who’ll be staying with us,” Danielle explained.

  “The movie people,” the chief muttered.

  “According to the ghost, this all started with my book. But none of it makes any sense,” Walt said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” the chief agreed. “And I’m not sure what you expect me to do with any of this.”

  “We wanted to give you a heads-up,” Danielle told him.

  “I think you just want to torment me,” the chief grumbled.

  “I’m sorry, Ed,” Walt said. “Danielle felt she needed to say something to you, but I told her there wasn’t anything you could do.”

  “I figured we owe it to you to keep you in the loop,” Danielle argued.

  “And this is pretty darn loopy,” the chief replied.

  Danielle slumped back in the chair. “I wish there was something we could do, in case he’s right.”

  “You could always ask them not to stay with you. But I doubt that’s the answer,” the chief said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Danielle agreed. “Walt and I already discussed it. I don’t think we have enough to warrant canceling their trip—after all, this is only Chris’s theory. And how credible is the ghost?”

  “And we also realize that if someone is intent on killing someone, they don’t need to be at Marlow House to do it. If we come up with an excuse, saying they can’t stay with us, it doesn’t mean we prevent a murder,” Walt added.

  “Tell me again, who all are coming?” the chief asked.

  “The producer and her husband, along with the director and his wife,” Walt began.

  “The producer is a woman?” the chief asked.

  “And why shouldn’t she be a woman?” Danielle asked.

  The chief shrugged. “No reason.”

  “Seraphina Bouchard,” Walt continued.

  “Ahh yes, you mentioned that before.” The chief grinned. “She has an amazing voice.”

  “I know. Walt’s agent was thrilled they got her to play the jazz singer. This will be her second movie,” Danielle said.

  “Who else?” the chief asked.

  “Beatrice Adair. She’s backing the film,” Walt explained.

  “Birdie Adair?” the chief asked. “No kidding.”

  “You’ve heard of her?” Danielle asked.

  “Who hasn’t?” the chief said.

  “I know nothing about her other than she has money and is backing the film.” Danielle looked at Walt and asked, “Do you know anything about her?”

  Walt shrugged. “Not really.”

  “All I know is that her parents were wealthy—not as rich as Chris’s. But old money,” the chief explained. “But like Chris she was an only child, inherited everything. From what I recall, she was married twice, had only one daughter, but they’re all gone now. Her daughter died years ago when she was fairly young, drugs. Her last husband died a couple of months ago.”

  “Her husband died? Can you tell us what he looked like?” Danielle asked.

  “I doubt he’s your ghost. For one thing, he was well into his seventies. He’d had a heart condition for years. Didn’t you say your ghost was in his twenties?”

  Danielle let out a sigh. “It was worth a shot.”

  Three

  Heather’s calico, Bella, would be celebrating her fourth birthday in a couple of months. Compared to Max, she was a petite feline, about half his size. Despite her small stature, she didn’t feel inferior or inadequate. While Max thought himself a panther, Bella was a courageous lioness. At the moment she stealthily stalked her prey.

  Crouched behind the sofa, she peered out into the dimly lit space. The sofa concealing her from her victim was the only piece of furniture in the room. She assumed Hunny had arrived when she had been napping in one of the rooms down t
he hall. But now the dog was sleeping, curled up on the floor next to the front of the sofa, unaware of the imminent danger.

  Bella could hear the music playing from another room in the house, yet her focus was on the hapless canine. Stretching one front paw out from behind her hiding place, careful not to wake Hunny, Bella took her first step…and then a second.

  Chris and Heather made their way down the long corridor to one of the rooms that hadn’t been converted to office space. Chris reached the open doorway leading to his would-be bedroom and stopped abruptly, grabbing Heather’s wrist, bringing her to a silent stop with him. Startled at the gesture, Heather looked at Chris, who nodded into the room.

  Together the pair stood silently just outside the open doorway, looking in at Bella, who was creeping around the sofa while Hunny slept. They watched as the cat effortlessly jumped onto the sofa and made her way closer to where the dog slept nearby on the floor.

  Chris watched as Bella positioned herself on the edge of the sofa cushion, preparing to pounce down on the unassuming sleeping dog. While he found it amusing, Heather did not.

  “Bella!” Heather called out as the cat prepared to leap on her prey.

  Startled by her human’s unexpected shout, Bella’s leap did not go as she had imagined. Her four paws went out wildly in all directions, making her look as if she were trying to hold onto some imaginary platform. Below, the dog jumped up and managed to avoid her assault.

  When the cat landed on the floor, she darted from the room while the pit bull started barking.

  Chris walked into the bedroom, gave his thigh a pat, and the dog immediately quieted and went to his side, happily licking Chris’s hand.

  “That cat is going to get herself killed,” Heather said as she walked into the room.

  “Hunny won’t hurt her,” Chris said, giving his dog another pat.

  “I can’t say I’d blame her if she did. Bella is always tormenting her.”

  Chris walked to the sofa and plopped down, resting his right arm along the back cushions, while Hunny curled up by his feet. He glanced around the room. “You think I should leave this couch in here?”

  “You might as well,” Heather said with a shrug. She glanced at her watch and then looked at Chris. “They should be here in about fifteen minutes with the bed. What wall do you want it on?”

  Chris pointed to the far wall.

  “You know, you and Hunny could have stayed with us,” Heather said.

  “I appreciate the offer. But I figure Hunny and Bella spend enough time together during the day. They need a break in the evenings.”

  Heather joined Chris on the sofa. “You’re probably right. But I did think it would be fun to see Pearl’s expression, just as she thought Hunny was leaving Marlow House, only to discover she was staying with her other neighbor.”

  Leaning back in the sofa, Chris propped one ankle over an opposing knee. “I don’t know about that. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with Hunny anymore. I actually caught her talking baby talk to her through the fence.”

  “Pfft…she was probably trying to coax her over so she could do something evil. You keep Hunny away from that crazy neighbor of ours.”

  “By the way, we saw a ghost this morning.”

  “Umm, the way you say that, I have to assume it was not Marie or Eva,” Heather said.

  “No. It wasn’t.” Chris went on to tell Heather about the strange encounter with the mystery ghost.

  “Well, that is just creepy,” Heather said when Chris finished the telling. “And you have no idea who he was?”

  “No. But if you happen to run into a strange ghost in the neighborhood, see what you can find out.”

  “Wonderful,” Heather grumbled.

  Glittering snow began falling from the ceiling, halting their conversation. It vanished as it hit the floor.

  Heather, Chris and Hunny nonchalantly glanced upwards. If any of the three found snow falling from the ceiling an unusual occurrence, they didn’t show it.

  With a sigh Heather said, “I guess it’s better than glitter.”

  “And you always say you hate it when they pop in unannounced. I’d say this could be considered an announcement.” Chris watched the snow swirl in front of them, taking on the form of a woman’s silhouette.

  Heather shrugged, her eyes focused on the emerging apparition. “True. Marie does it all the time. I swear, one of these days she is going to give me a heart attack the way she just appears unannounced. Disappearing snow is a nice touch.”

  In the next breath the spirit of Eva Thorndike materialized. Onetime silent screen star and childhood friend of Walt Marlow during his first life, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Charles Dana Gibson’s drawing the Gibson Girl.

  “I came to see Chris’s new home!” Eva announced.

  “You have been here before—a million times,” Heather said dryly.

  “True, but it was never Chris’s home before.” Eva glanced around. She looked back to the sofa and frowned. “Surely you don’t plan to sleep on that thing, do you?”

  “I ordered a bed for him,” Heather told her. She glanced at her watch and then looked back to Eva. “It should be here soon.”

  Eva waved her hands dramatically, and all evidence of snow vanished. A chair appeared, and she sat down.

  “Are Walt and Danielle ready for their guests? I’m so excited!” Eva squealed. “Being among my people again!”

  “Technically speaking, only one is an actor,” Chris told her. “I think.”

  Eva shrugged. “They’re all in the business. If I had lived long enough to be in talkies, I would have been famous.”

  “You were famous,” Chris reminded her.

  “Who remembers silent film stars these days?” Eva asked.

  “I’m sure you would have been amazing in talkies,” Heather said.

  Eva flashed Heather a smile. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

  “I’m rather looking forward to meeting Seraphina Bouchard,” Chris said. “I’m a huge fan of hers. She’s got one hell of a voice.”

  “She’s the one playing the jazz singer?” Eva asked.

  “Yes,” Chris told her.

  “Didn’t Walt say the jazz singer in the book was based on a real person?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, on Desiree Davis,” Eva said.

  “Did Desiree Davis really have a sister who was a silent screen star who passed for white?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, that part of the story was fairly accurate. In fact, I knew the sister.”

  “Did you know she was black back then?” Chris asked.

  “Yes, a few of us did. But I never said anything. She was beautiful and a talented actress, and there weren’t leading-lady roles for black actresses back then. I didn’t blame her; of course, Desiree didn’t see it that way. She felt her sister was betraying her people.”

  “Wasn’t she part white?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, their father was white. But Desiree took after her mother’s side of the family, while Charlene took after her father’s side,” Eva explained.

  “That’s so lame,” Heather grumbled. “They were of both races. Why are you black because one parent is black? What about the other parent?”

  “It didn’t work that way back then,” Chris told her. “If someone had just a drop of black blood, they were considered black. I find it sometimes amusing when a white friend gets annoyed at someone who identifies as black when they’re part white, taking insult. When the fact is, that whole—you are black if any of your ancestors were black—is a notion our slaveowner ancestors came up with.”

  “And it is lame,” Heather reiterated.

  “True,” Chris agreed.

  “I’ve watched much change since I passed to this side,” Eva said. “The fact Seraphina Bouchard can stay with the others at Marlow House without raising a brow is a notable stride forward.”

  “I suppose.” Heather sighed.

  “When Marie and I stopped in the library th
e other day, they had an article about Seraphina Bouchard, and they mentioned Moon Runners. I would have loved to have taken the article for Walt, but Marie refused to help me.”

  “What did you find out about her?” Chris asked.

  “She’s single, which might interest you.” Eva flashed Chris a smile.

  “I thought she was dating someone. I remember reading about it,” Heather said.

  “She was in a long-term relationship, but according to the article, they broke up last month, after she found him cheating on her with her assistant.”

  “Why is it always the assistant?” Heather asked. “As I recall, he wasn’t in the business. Some trust fund guy.”

  “That’s what the article said. But I don’t think it’s going to work out for the assistant,” Eva said.

  “Why do you say that?” Chris asked.

  “Two weeks ago he was killed. Drowned in his own spa. According to the article, drugs and alcohol were involved.”

  Chris sat up abruptly. “Do you know if he was white?”

  “Yes, why? Are you interested in Seraphina and are afraid she won’t date someone white?” Eva asked.

  “No. I was wondering if we found our ghost,” Chris said.

  “Ghost? What ghost?” Eva asked.

  Four

  Across the street from Marlow House resided Danielle’s best friend, Lily Bartley, who lived with her husband, Ian, and their six-month-old son, Connor. Lily sat in her living room reading a book while Connor played quietly nearby on a blanket on the floor with their golden retriever, Sadie. Connor busily explored a small rubber ball, passing it from hand to hand while periodically mouthing it. Sadie waited patiently for him to drop the ball so she could retrieve it should it roll away.

  Sprawled lazily on the sofa, Lily peeked over the book and checked on the baby and dog. She smiled at the pair and refused to think of the dog germs when the baby gummed the ball Sadie just had in her mouth. Lily smiled again when she heard Connor giggle with delight as Sadie pushed her nose along the baby’s cheek.