The Ghost Who Wanted Revenge (Haunting Danielle Book 4) (15 page)

“
L
ook who just walked in
,” Cleve Monchique told Peter Morris. The two men sat at a back booth of the Pearl Bay Restaurant.

Sipping his merlot, Peter glanced in the direction of Cleve’s gaze. It was Darlene Gusarov. She was alone. “Do you think we should go over and introduce ourselves?”

Cleve laughed at the suggestion. “That would be interesting.”

D
arlene admired her recent manicure
.
Black nail polish has a certain dramatic flair—especially for a widow.
Smiling, she sipped the apple martini and glanced at her watch. Chuck would probably be angry that she had already started drinking, especially if he found out this was her second cocktail.

When he had called her an hour earlier, asking her to meet at the restaurant so they could discuss business, he sounded serious. While he would want her sober for such a discussion, she preferred conversing with Chuck while slightly buzzed.

“Drinking alone?” a male voice asked. Darlene looked up to find Brian Henderson standing over her. Instead of his uniform, he wore dark slacks and a gray dark shirt. She wondered if he was at the restaurant with a date.

“No, I’m waiting for someone.” Darlene ran a finger over the rim of her martini glass.

Brian looked down at her black nail polish. “I never figured you’d go for the Goth look.”

“It’s not Goth. I’m in mourning.” Darlene picked up her drink and took a sip.

“I can see that,” he said dryly. Without asking, Brian sat down at Darlene’s booth.

“What are you doing?” Darlene glanced around.

“I’m sitting down, talking to an old friend. After all, you’re the one who started this.”

“I didn’t start anything. But you have to leave. Chuck Christiansen is meeting me here.”

“Christiansen?” Brian raised a brow.

“It isn’t like that. Get your mind out of the gutter. He does run my business. We have important things to discuss. You have to leave. Now.”

“I never pictured you as a corporate head. More like someone who needed a man to take care of her. Or is that it? Is Christiansen taking Stoddard’s place?”

“Don’t be crude. Chuck is my employee. Nothing more. He works for me. I call the shots.”

“Is that why you’re so anxious for me to leave? Why do you keep looking around as if Christiansen might appear at any moment? So afraid to have your employee see you with me?”

Darlene leaned toward Brian and hissed under her breath, “That isn’t it and you know it! People can’t see us together!”

“Why not? What does it matter now?”

“It’s complicated, Brian.”

“It may be complicated, but it was just the other day you begged for my help.”

“I didn’t beg.” Darlene glared at Brian.

“What would you call it? You even tried resurrecting those old feelings.”

“I was distraught, vulnerable. I thought that woman had murdered my husband, but I guess I was wrong.”

“And you needed me to make sure she was punished for the crime?”

“You are a police officer. It’s your job.”

“I should have known that’s all it really was. Hell, I did know.” Brian sat there a moment, staring at Darlene.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Darlene shifted nervously in the booth’s seat.

“I’m just always amazed how a woman can be one thing one moment, and then transform into something entirely different the next. I suppose it’s just in a woman’s DNA to be manipulative.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I need you to leave.” Darlene gulped the rest of her martini.

Brian leaned across the table and snatched Darlene’s right hand, holding it tightly. He glared at her.

“You’re hurting me!” Darlene hissed under her breath. She looked around to see if anyone was watching.

“Did you kill Stoddard?” Brian refused to release her hand.

“Of course not!” With a quick jerk, she pulled her hand from his grip. Pouting, she began to rub her free hand. Darlene glared at Brian.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking these last few days. I didn’t want to believe you could do something like that. That I could be such a damn fool…again.” Brian leaned back in the booth and studied Darlene.

“You know me, Brian. You know me better than anyone. You can’t believe I’d do something like that.”

“Do I know you? Did I ever? Why did you really want me to make sure Boatman got what was coming to her? So you could get away with murder?”

“How can you even think I would do something like that?”

“For one thing, you basically kidnapped Lily Miller.”

“It wasn’t me! It was Stoddard! I had no idea it was Lily Miller and not Isabella. You know I was never close to Todd’s niece. I didn’t see her at the hospital, and when they brought her to the estate, she was partially bandaged. She was in a coma, and Stoddard hired round the clock nurses to care for her. I had no reason to visit her.”

Brian shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”

“How can you say that? Even Joe Morelli thought Lily was Isabella. Why would you expect me to tell the difference if he couldn’t?”

“You were living in the same house with her. I find it hard to believe Stoddard didn’t confide in you.”

“Todd kept his own secrets. He was trying to protect me. There was no reason for me to know what he was up to. He didn’t want me to worry. Before he died, Todd made a sworn statement declaring I had no prior knowledge of the crime.”

“Yes, I know. I was there when he came in to make the statement. I agree; he was trying to protect you. I’m just not certain he was telling the truth.”

“And if he wasn’t telling the truth, what would any of that have to do with my innocence or guilt regarding Todd’s murder?

“It just makes me wonder what you’re willing to do to get what you want. And it isn’t just about Stoddard; did you hire Smith to kill Joe and Boatman? Joe’s one of my best friends.”

“How would I even know how to find a hitman?”

“You’ve always been a resourceful woman.”

“Why would I kill Todd after all this time? Why? I chose him over you. Is that why you’re so angry now, why you’re making these ugly accusations, because I chose to stay with my husband?”

“The other day you insisted I was the one you really wanted. Of course, at the time you wanted something from me. Yet now, well, now you don’t even want to be seen with me.”

“It isn’t that Brian, can’t you see? I could lose everything.”

“Yes, I suppose you would lose everything if you went to prison for Stoddard’s murder.”

“That’s not what I mean!”

“What did you mean?”

Darlene glanced around nervously. “Us. People can’t know about us,” Darlene whispered.

“There is no us, Darlene.”

“There used to be. I don’t want people to start asking questions about us.”

“What do you care? It’s not like Stoddard will divorce you. You’ve got everything you ever wanted.”

“I just don’t want anyone to ever know I was unfaithful to Todd.”

“I never thought you murdered your husband for me. You worried others will think that?”

“Brian, have you told anyone about us?”

“Like I said, there is no us.”

“You know what I mean. When we were together, did you ever tell anyone about us? Joe perhaps?”

“I don’t tell people my personal business, not even my partner.”

“So you never told anyone, not even afterwards?”

“No, never. But why does it matter now? Hell, now we can shout it to the world if we want.” Brian started to stand, pretending he was going to shout to the world of their affair. Darlene let out a horrified gasp.

C
arla stood
at the hostess station trying to memorize the menu. She had taken a night job as hostess, hoping it would turn into a waitress position. Servers at the seaside dinner house had to be bringing in bigger tips than she was earning at Pier Café.

So far, she hadn’t memorized any of the menu items. Since coming on shift, she had been distracted, watching the interaction between Darlene Gusarov and Officer Henderson. Carla knew Brian; he was a regular at the café. She had waited on Darlene a number of times, but the woman wasn’t particularly friendly.

Carla remembered Brian was the officer who had been with Darlene when she found her husband, shot and dying. Brian had been the one to hear Stoddard accuse Danielle Boatman of his murder. However, if the last newspaper article she read was correct, Danielle was innocent.

Two men walked into the restaurant, interrupting Carla’s train of thought. She recognized one of the men; he occasionally came into Pier Café. She had never seen the second man. From their manner of dress, she assumed they were at the restaurant for a business dinner. While Pearl Bay was upscale compared to Pier Café, the male clientele rarely wore suits.

“Good evening,” Carla greeted, picking up two menus. “Do you have a reservation?”

“We’re meeting someone. She might already be here, Darlene Gusarov,” the man she recognized said.

“Oh yes, she and Brian Henderson are already here.”

“Brian Henderson?” the man frowned. “Officer Henderson?”

“I thought we were meeting Mrs. Gusarov alone?” the second man said, looking at his companion.

Carla dropped her voice to a whisper. “Brian was at the bar when Mrs. Gusarov came in. When he went over there, I just assumed that’s who she was waiting for, because he sat right down.”

“We’re running a little late. I suppose we should be grateful she had someone to keep her company,” the man she recognized said.

“Well, frankly, I think she’ll probably be relieved when you get to the table, so she’ll have an excuse to get rid of him.”

“Really? Why do you say that?” the second man asked, glancing over at the man Carla recognized.

“They seem to be having some sort of argument. She didn’t look happy, and he seemed angry. He even grabbed her.”

“Grabbed her?” the men said in unison.

“Well, just her wrist, but it did seem to upset her. Of course, he let it go. Brian is a police officer. Maybe it had something to do with her husband’s murder investigation.” Carla’s mind spun. She could imagine a dozen titillating scenarios for the display at Darlene’s table.

“How so?” one of the men asked.

“Considering how Officer Henderson was the one to find her husband, after the man had been shot, and how Mr. Gusarov practically died in their arms. I know there’s that ongoing investigation, what with Danielle Boatman being arrested for Mr. Gusarov’s murder, and then released. And then that man getting arrested for trying to kill Danielle Boatman and Joe Morelli and someone trying to frame Danielle for the murder.” Carla stopped talking and tried to catch her breath. Her heart pounded. “Maybe they are discussing the murder!”

“
P
lease Brian
, leave. Chuck is here,” Darlene pleaded.

Brian glanced up to the front of the restaurant. “Who’s that with him?”

“Just someone else who works for DCL. Please Brian.”

Without saying another word, Brian stood up and walked from the table.

“
W
hat’s wrong with Carla
?” Bill Jones asked Adam as they sat at the Pier Café lunch counter eating breakfast.

Adam glanced over to Carla, who stood in the waitress station, her palms resting on the counter and her head bent down. If Adam didn’t know better, he’d swear she was sleeping standing up.

“I heard she took a night job at Pearl Cove. By the looks of it, I’d say she worked last night.” Adam took a sip of coffee and resumed eating his breakfast.

“So what’s going on with the Boatman woman? She’s been in the paper all week. First she gets arrested, then they drop the charges, and now I hear someone tried to kill her,” Bill asked.

“Yeah, her and Morelli.”

“I heard that. So what’s the deal?”

“Looks like someone’s trying to frame her for Stoddard’s murder.”

“She does know how to get herself in trouble.” Bill chuckled.

“You should have seen Darleen tear into her at Stoddard’s funeral.”

“I’m surprised you went,” Bill said. “Gusarov was a jerk.”

“Grandma wanted to go. Danielle went with us.”

“You two getting kind of chummy,” Bill snickered.

“She’s alright.” Adam shrugged.

“Yeah, alright to look at, if you can get past the ditzy.”

“Whatever.” Adam took a bite of toast.

“When you say someone’s trying to frame her, what do you mean?” Bill asked.

“The murder weapon was planted in her car. And around the time Stoddard was killed, the trash truck was on the street, and the guys on the truck claim they saw a car like hers in the neighborhood and a woman matching Danielle’s description leaving Stoddard’s house. But Morelli claims it couldn’t have been her. He saw her over on Sea Cliff Drive at the time of the murder.”

“So they think they were lying?”

“Nah. The cops think whoever killed Stoddard had someone dress up to look like Danielle and then drive through the neighborhood around the time of the murder.”

“Doesn’t she drive something like a Focus? I know at least half a dozen people in town with the same car and color.”

“No. She recently got a new car. A red Flex.”

“Hmmm…can’t recall seeing any of those in town. Of course, when I leave here I’ll probably see a dozen today,” Bill said.

“Yeah, that’s usually how it works.” Adam downed the rest of his coffee. “According to the article in the paper, there’s only one red Ford Flex registered to an owner in Frederickport: Danielle Boatman.” Adam popped his last bite of food in his mouth and then pushed his now empty plate to the other side of the counter.

“I’m trying to remember what a Flex looks like.”

“I don’t know—a short Suburban maybe? Although, Danielle’s sort of reminds me of a Woody with its grooved side panels and the white top.”

“Thought you said her car was red.”

“It is, with a white top.”

Bill looked up at Joe. “I’ve seen a car like that in town. But I can’t remember where.”

“It was probably Danielle’s.”

“No,” Bill shook his head. “It wasn’t. So I take it they haven’t figured out who was in that car, if it wasn’t Boatman.”

“As far as I know. No.”

“This is really going to bug me.” Bill tossed his napkin on his plate.

“Why?”

“Trying to remember where I saw that car. It was just the other day. Damn…”

“They say the memory is one of the first things to go,” Adam snickered.

“Oh shut up.” Bill stood up to get his wallet.

“I’ll get it.”

“You sure?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, anyway I can write it off on my taxes.”

Bill was gone when Carla returned to the counter to pick up the empty plates and drop off the ticket.

“You paying for Bill’s?” Carla asked between yawns.

“Nah, he said since you took so long to get back here, you could pick up his tab.”

“What?” Panicked, Carla looked to the door. For a moment, Adam thought she was going to run after the handyman.

Adam started to laugh. “I’m just kidding. Simmer down. What’s with you today?”

Carla let out a sigh and leaned against the counter. “I’m just tired. I got home so late last night and had to be up before five this morning. These hours are going to kill me.”

“Is the other job worth it?” Adam asked.

“Hard to tell. They just have me hostessing right now.” Carla then grinned and said, “But I must say, my first night was very interesting.”

“How so?” Adam asked.

“Darlene Gusarov came in for dinner last night,” Carla explained.

“Darlene is a regular merry widow,” Adam mumbled.

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw her the other night at The Gray Whale, throwing back one too many and having a pretty good time.”

Carla shook her head. “Well, this wasn’t like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was alone at the table, waiting for the rest of her party, when Brian Henderson joined her. They got into a fight. It got nasty. At one point, he even grabbed her. I thought they were going to start throwing punches.”

“Brian Henderson? As in Brian Henderson the cop?”

“None other.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know, but it seemed pretty intense—and personal.”

“Hmmm….”

“I heard Darlene tore into Danielle at her husband’s funeral. Really made a scene. But I don’t know if it’s true,” Carla whispered.

“It is. I was there. Danielle went to the funeral with Grandma and me. Darlene lit into her.” Adam paused for a moment, as if remembering something.

“What?”

Adam shrugged. “When Darlene was pitching her fit, Brian Henderson intervened. Took her off somewhere to calm down.”

“Did he have to force her?”

“Force her?” Adam wasn’t sure what Carla meant.

“To go with him—when she was yelling at Danielle.”

“No. In fact she seemed pretty comfortable with him.”

“Well, they weren’t comfortable with each other last night.”

“So what happened?” Adam asked.

“Brian was still with her when the rest of her party arrived. They were just walking to her table when he took off. Didn’t say anything to them or me, just stormed out of the restaurant.”

“Stormed out?”

“Like he was pissed.”

“Was he in uniform?” Adam asked.

“No. Before she came in, he was sitting at the bar having something to drink.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Carla shrugged.

“So you don’t have any idea what they were arguing about?”

“No. But like I said, it looked intense and personal. I tell you what, I certainly wouldn’t want to get Brian Henderson pissed off. He gets a little scary.”

B
ill Jones sat
in his truck smoking a cigarette while flipping through the work orders on his clipboard. Adam kept him busy maintaining the rental houses in Frederickport Vacation Properties, yet that didn’t stop Bill from taking on side jobs. Sorting through the work orders, he removed the ones that had been completed and tossed them on the passenger seat.

He added one of the completed work orders to the pile when a memory sparked. Frowning, he picked it back up, studying the paper a moment. It was for a vacation rental house on the south side of town.

The job was a simple one: replace a fluorescent lighting tube in the garage. But he was running late that day, and he didn’t have time to stop at the hardware store, located on the north side of town, to purchase a lighting tube. He decided to borrow one from a rental house a few blocks away on Sea Cliff Drive. The second property was empty, and he had a key. He knew there were a couple spare fluorescent lighting tubes in the garage—he had put them there. He could borrow one; they were the same size, and then later, when he was at the hardware store, he could purchase a replacement. He didn’t call the owner of the Sea Cliff Drive property to ask permission; he didn’t see the point. After all, no one would miss the lighting tube.

Tossing the work order and the clipboard on the passenger seat, Bill threw his cigarette out the window and started up his truck. Curiosity sent him back to the vacant rental property.

A few minutes later Bill turned down Sea Cliff Drive. There weren’t any vehicles on the street and no sign of life. Most of the houses in this neighborhood were rentals and typically vacant this time of year, save for an occasional weekend visitor and the cat lady who lived on the corner.

He pulled in front of the house where he had borrowed the fluorescent lighting tube. Parking the truck, he looked around and turned off the engine. Technically speaking, he wasn’t supposed to go into any of the houses he occasionally worked on without a work order. Some of the property owners, like this one, had given him a house key, making it more convenient to go in when needed.

Rummaging through his glove compartment, he looked for the right key. Once he found it, he got out of the truck and sprinted up to the house. Standing at the front door, he glanced around, looking for any nosey neighbors. It took him just a moment to get into the house and make his way to the door leading to the garage. Once in the garage, he turned on the light. There it was: a red Ford Flex.

“Damn,” Bill said aloud, walking toward the vehicle. When he had been here the other day, he was in and out, and paid little attention to the red car. Yet, he had seen it. The owner of the house had half a dozen vehicles, if not more. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to be parked in the garage during the off-season, when the house wasn’t being rented.

Bill remembered what Adam had told him—no one in Frederickport, other than Danielle Boatman, owned a red Ford Flex. But the owner of this house lived in Frederickport. So who was the car’s registered owner? Was this the car the trash men had claimed to see on the day Stoddard was murdered?

Curious to check out the vehicle’s registration, Bill walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Leaning into the car, preparing to open the glove compartment, he froze. There on the passenger seat was what looked like a long brown braid. He almost picked it up, yet thought better of it. There was something on the seat next to it—a red purse, a knit cap and gloves. Looking closer, yet not touching, he could see there was also something sitting on the middle console. A ski mask?

Backing away from the car, he closed the passenger door.

“Crap,” he muttered, heading to the door leading to the house. As he exited the garage, he turned off the light and hastily made his way to the front door. With his heart pumping, he locked up the house and returned to his vehicle.

Once in the truck, he grabbed his cellphone off the dashboard. He was already driving down the street when he reached the person he was calling.

“It’s Bill Jones. I think I found something you might be interested in.”