Chapter Twenty

“Logan Mitcham, that’s the name of the private detective Will Wayne hired to look into Isabella’s death,” Danielle said when she finally made the connection. “Is this neighbor of yours a PI?”

Kelly shrugged. “I have no idea. Joe didn’t say what Mitch does for a living. And I was so frazzled; I didn’t even think to ask. Although, now that I think about it, he asked me what Mitch does for a living. But since he said something about checking Mitch’s office, I figured he already knew; he was just trying to see what I’d say.”

“You think it’s the same Mitcham?” Chris asked.

Kelly frowned. “Wait a minute, why would Will Wayne hire a detective to look into his daughter’s death? She died of a brain aneurism. Ian and I haven’t come across anything that would indicate foul play. The medical records were pretty clear. Can someone induce an aneurism, like a heart attack?”

“This all stems from some phone call Will received. He asked me not to say anything to the police until he found out more, but considering what’s going on, I think I should talk to the chief.” Danielle stood up. “Do you think your Logan Mitcham could be a PI?”

“He is hardly my Logan Mitcham. Heck, I didn’t even know him by that name. And frankly, I would prefer to distance myself from him, especially if he killed Peter Morris.” Kelly then looked at her brother in a panic. “They haven’t found him yet. I can’t go home until they do. What if he thinks I saw something? That I’m a witness?”

“You can stay with me, Kelly,” Ian told her.

“We could go in the parlor,” Danielle told the chief as she led him into the library thirty minutes later. “But I really don’t feel comfortable going back in there.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” the chief said as he took a seat. He watched Danielle shut the library door.

“You look tired,” she noted.

“You too.” He smiled wearily. “It’s been a long day.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Logan Mitcham.” Danielle sat down.

“Ahh, I see Kelly has talked to you already.”

“She stopped here after she left the police station.”

“Is she still here? I didn’t look in the living room when I came in. Can’t imagine she’d be in the parlor.”

“No. She went across the street with Lily and Ian. By her appearance, Joe was pretty rough on her.”

“Joe was doing his job, and she was being less than forthcoming.”

“I want to know, is Logan Mitcham a private investigator?”

The chief smiled. “So, Kelly was lying about that too.”

“Lying about what?” Danielle frowned.

“When Joe asked her what he did for a living, she said she didn’t know. We figured if nothing else, she and Ian had hired Mitcham in the past.”

“No, Kelly doesn’t know what he does for a living. And Ian had never heard of him before. He’d never even noticed the guy when he stopped by his sister’s.”

“Then how do you know he’s a PI?”

“Because Will Wayne told me he hired a PI to investigate Isabella’s death. And the detective he hired was some guy by the name Logan Mitcham. I wanted to know if it was the same man.”

“Why would Will hire a PI? Isabella died of natural causes.”

Danielle told MacDonald about running into Will Wayne when visiting Portland in January, how Wayne had told her about the phone calls, and the suspicion surrounding his daughter’s death.

“I really wish Will had come to me. That call was a hoax. Not sure why someone would do that, but I’ve no doubt the only thing criminal surrounding Isabella’s death were her uncle’s actions after she was already dead. But this does add new names to my suspect list.”

“Certainly you don’t think Will had anything to do with the murder. He hired Mitcham to investigate Morris, not kill him.”

“I’ll need to talk to Will, see what he knows.”

“What does Mitcham say? According to Kelly, he wasn’t at his condo or office. Have you located him?”

“Not yet. Brian drove to Portland this afternoon, when he got there, Mitcham wasn’t at his condo or office. No one had seen him since yesterday morning. But we have someone watching the place and his office.”

“When I talked to you earlier, you told me Brian had gone home—to sleep. That he’d had a long day.”

MacDonald shrugged. “He did have a long day. I just figured it was easier to tell you he went home, instead of trying to explain why he took off to Portland in the middle of an investigation. You have to understand, there will always be some things I simply cannot tell you. Nothing personal, Danielle.”

“Hmm…well, I’ll remember that when I know something.”

MacDonald laughed. “You mean, like knowing Will hired a detective to investigate Morris and believed Isabella was murdered? Which, if true, could mean there was corruption in the coroner’s office?”

Danielle sighed. “Okay. You got me there. But I didn’t really think the PI would find anything, and I certainly never imagined the PI’s fingerprint would show up at a crime scene—on my property!”

“I just hope we find him soon and that he has some answers for us.”

“Me too. Kelly’s afraid to go home. She’s paranoid about living next to a possible murderer, especially considering she was over here last night, peeking in the windows.”

“So, she told you everything?”

Danielle nodded. “Yep. She was pretty freaked.”

“Any chance that you, Chris, or Walt might have run into Morris’ spirit since the last time we talked? It would make it a lot easier on me if he’d simply name his killer.”

“Sorry. The last time Walt saw Morris’ spirit was when they were taking his body away. He went with it. So, I suspect if he hasn’t moved on, he might be hanging around the morgue.”

“Any chance you might be willing to go to the morgue with me?”

“No. Nada. Ain’t happening. Nope.”

“Well,” MacDonald stood up. “If you change your mind…oh, how about that second spirit? You still say it’s your late husband?”

“It is. But I haven’t really talked to him either. He just sort of shows up and then vanishes.”

“Considering that, I suppose I understand your reluctance about going down to the morgue with me. You have your hands full.”

Danielle stood up. “Oh…I just remembered. But considering you have the finger print, this isn’t that big of a deal.”

“You remembered what?”

“According to Max—”

MacDonald arched his brows. “Max your cat?”

“Yes, sweet black furry little guy, white tipped ears, likes to chew on your fingers.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the little demon.”

“Ahh, that’s not nice. Plus, he has information for you.”

“I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever get used to the idea of getting tips from ghosts—but a cat? That one always makes me stop and wonder if I am losing my mind.”

“Well, you’re not. And if it makes you feel any better, it’s not like Max talked to you—or even me, for that matter. It’s just that thing between spirits and animals.”

“Okay, what information does—Max—have?”

“Last night, after Heather came upstairs to go to bed, Max saw Arlene slip out of her bedroom. This was after Heather went into her bedroom and closed her door. Arlene went downstairs.”

“Where was Chris?”

“I’m pretty sure he was in the kitchen about that time looking for me, because a few minutes later Chris came upstairs. According to Max, he walked to my bedroom door, but then looked as if he had second thoughts, so he went back down stairs.”

“Wouldn’t Chris have seen Arlene downstairs?”

“I didn’t ask Chris or Arlene about it. But I don’t think he saw her, or else he would’ve said something.”

“When did Arlene come back upstairs?” the chief asked.

“I don’t know. Max went up to the attic after Chris headed back downstairs.”

“I wonder why Arlene didn’t say anything about going downstairs?” the chief murmured.

“I wondered that myself. But this was late—after midnight. It’s always possible Arlene was half asleep when she got up, was thirsty, and maybe doesn’t even remember going downstairs.”

“And avoided running into Chris?”

“It’s possible. But I guess you can ask her about it. But like I said, now that you have that fingerprint, I don’t really think it’s anything significant. And plus, how do you ask her? I mean, you really can’t say, according to the cat…”

When Lily returned from Ian’s house later that evening, Marlow House was locked up and the only illumination came from nightlights plugged into random sockets throughout the house. Tiptoeing past the parlor, she noticed the door was shut. Just looking at it gave her chills. Chris’ door was also shut. She knew he had decided to spend one final night at Marlow House and start moving into his new place in the morning.

Upstairs, all the doors were closed and there was no light coming from under any of the doors—except for Danielle’s. Danielle was still up. Instead of knocking on Danielle’s door and risking waking up Heather and the others, Lily used her cellphone to send Danielle a text message. A moment later, Danielle’s bedroom door opened and Lily went inside.

“I thought for sure you’d be sound asleep by now,” Lily whispered. She sat with Danielle on the edge of the mattress. After coming home from the police station earlier, Danielle had finally made her bed. She hadn’t yet turned down the sheets and blankets for the night.

“I was hoping you’d come in here before you went to bed. We haven’t had a chance to be alone since all of this happened.”

“I can’t believe they kept us apart all morning, wouldn’t even let us talk to each other,” Lily said.

“I guess they couldn’t risk us comparing notes. After all, maybe the five of us killed Morris.”

“Like one of those old mysteries, where all the suspects are guilty?”

“Pretty much.” Danielle glanced around the room.

“You looking for Walt? Is he here?”

“No…I’m looking for Lucas.”

“Lucas? What are you talking about?”

“I saw Lucas today. Walt saw him first. The second spirt I told you about. It wasn’t someone connected to Peter’s murder like we assumed. Just some bizarre coincidence.”

“I don’t understand. Lucas has been dead for over a year.”

Danielle explained to Lily what she knew about Lucas’ spirit, beginning when Walt first encountered him before Morris’ body was found.

When Danielle finished, Lily said, “Oh my god, of all times for your deceased husband to show up…on Valentine’s Day!”

“Technically speaking, he showed up on Friday the thirteenth,” Danielle reminded.

Lily started to giggle.

“What is so funny?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Ironic in a twisted sick sort of way. Lucas showing up, sort of a Friday 13^th Valentine’s Day surprise.”

“You have a strange sense of humor,” Danielle said with a sigh.