Walt had changed from the beach apparel he had been sporting in Danielle’s dream back to his normal attire—a three-piece suit, circa 1925—and his feet were no longer bare. He stood in the middle of the entry hall and watched as the responders processed the crime scene. They were preparing to move the body.
Earlier, they had discovered what they believed was the murder weapon, a fishing knife. Upstairs, officers combed through every room, but so far, they hadn’t found anything else related to the crime. Walt had already completed his own search. He looked for the second body, but so far, he hadn’t found it. Perhaps it was outside.
He suspected the younger man, who had been watching Danielle sleep, was somehow connected to Morris’ death. Had the killer murdered them both? Or perhaps the younger man was the killer, but had met some fatal accident when fleeing the crime scene, which would explain his appearance earlier.
Peter Morris’ spirit had fled the premises, but Walt knew there was no guarantee the ghost wouldn’t return. Spirits often felt connected to the site of their death, especially when it was a violent one. Walt himself had stuck around Marlow House after his murder, and Darlene seemed connected to Pilgrim’s Point, where she had been killed. Walt found the thought of sharing Marlow House with a spirit of Morris’ ilk highly repugnant.
He preferred to believe Morris had moved on, and if he hadn’t, then Chris or Danielle would simply need to convince him to leave permanently. However, at the moment, Walt was more concerned about the spirit of the younger man. Who was he? And where was his body?
Upstairs, Max was in the attic with Bella. While Max wasn’t thrilled about having the younger female cat trail after him, he was getting used to it. Walt had given him a firm lecture, preaching the necessity of exerting patience with the smaller feline, who was practically a kitten in comparison. He reminded Max it was only a temporary situation. As soon as Heather was able to return to her own house down the street, the unwanted cat would go with her. Bella no longer hissed at Max. Instead, she found it far more amusing to pounce on his tail when he wasn’t looking.
Walt was about to go upstairs and check on Max and Bella when he heard an officer call out from the parlor doorway, “You can’t come in here.”
Walt turned to the front door. It was open, with crime tape blocking the entry.
Ian stood on the front porch looking in. “What in the hell is going on? Where’s Lily? Danielle?”
Ian sounded frantic. Sadie was nowhere in sight. Walt assumed Ian had left the golden retriever at home across the street, and had rushed over when he’d woken up and seen the police cars parked out front. Walt smiled. He really does love Lily.
“Oh, Mr. Bartley, it’s you. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you,” the officer said. “But I’m afraid you can’t come in; this is a crime scene.”
“My god, Lily? Danielle?” Ian looked prepared to leap over the tape.
“Ms. Miller and Ms. Boatman are fine. They went down to the station with Mr. Johnson and the others, to give their statements.”
“What happened?”
“I’m sorry; I really can’t discuss it at this time. Like I said, this is an active crime scene, so you need to leave.”
Ian didn’t argue with the officer. Instead, he turned and rushed away from Marlow House. Walt walked to the open doorway and watched Ian’s hasty departure. He suspected Ian was going home to get his car so he could drive to the police station to find Lily.
Walt was about to turn from the doorway when he saw him: Peter Morris. Unlike the body in the parlor, Morris’ ghostly form looked a good ten years older, with gray-white hair. Yet Walt did not doubt for a moment that it was indeed Morris’ ghost outside.
Walt was tempted to call out to Morris, to find out who had murdered him and ask about the identity of the younger man. Yet he was reluctant to invite the spirit back into the house, for fear that he would not leave.
Voices from behind Walt caught his attention. He turned around. They were bringing Morris’ body out. Moving to one side, out of their way, he watched as they carried the corpse from Marlow House to a waiting van parked outside.
Peter Morris trailed behind his body and climbed into the van. A few minutes later, the vehicle drove away, carrying both the body and spirit of Peter Morris.
Walt turned from the open doorway and made his way down the entry hall and up the stairs. By the time he reached the last stair leading to the second floor landing, the officers were coming downstairs, moving right through him. Startled by their hasty departure, he paused a moment and looked down at his body, as one officer after another rushed through him as if he were an open doorway. Disgusted with the invasion of his space, he was tempted to give one of them a shove, but resisted. He didn’t think Danielle would appreciate some officer falling to his death on her staircase. Plus, the last thing he needed was another spirit haunting Marlow House.
The officers were all downstairs now. He wondered when they would finally leave and when Danielle and the rest would be allowed to return. It was then that he heard a new voice downstairs, one he recognized: Chief MacDonald. He suspected the police chief had stopped by on his way to work to check out the crime scene.
Walt continued on his way to the attic. But first, he decided to look through the rooms on the second floor to see what damage—if any—had been done during the police search of the property.
The first room he stepped into was Danielle’s. It was no surprise that the bed remained unmade. A few of the drawers were partially opened and the closet door was ajar, yet other than that he didn’t see any damage.
He was about to move back into the hallway when a male voice asked, “Why were the police here? Where did Danielle go?”
Turning to the voice, Walt looked into the dark eyes of the man he had seen earlier, watching Danielle sleep. “You’ve returned.”
“I didn’t really go anywhere. Just outside. I’m surprised you can see me,” the man said.
“Why is that?” Walt asked.
“Since I’ve arrived, no one has been able to see or hear me. Except for you,” the man said. “And Peter Morris.”
“Who are you?” Walt asked. “What do you have to do with Peter Morris?”
“Why does it matter? He’s dead. Are you dead too?”
“Did you kill Peter Morris?” Walt asked.
“Is it possible for a ghost to kill a living person? I hadn’t considered that possibility,” the man muttered, more to himself than Walt.
“I’m talking about when you were alive, of course,” Walt said impatiently. “Where is your body?”
“I suppose I could ask the same of you. Where is your body? Did you kill Peter Morris?”
Walt sighed impatiently. “This is my house. You’re the one who needs to answer the questions.”
“If you’re dead, how can you own this house? How is that even possible? I understood Danielle owns this house.”
“You just stay away from Danielle, and answer my questions.”
The man laughed. “Now, that is definitely something I will not do.”
Before Walt could respond, the man vanished.