The Ghost and the Wedding Crasher, page 1
part #1 of Haunting Danielle Series
The Ghost and the Wedding Crasher
(Haunting Danielle, Book 32)
A Novel
By Bobbi Holmes
Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey
* * *
Copyright © 2023 Bobbi Holmes
Robeth Publishing, LLC
All Rights Reserved.
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This novel is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to places or actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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https://robeth.net
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
The Ghost and the Twins
Haunting Danielle Newsletter
Haunting Danielle Series
Bobbi Holmes
Unlocked Hearts Series
The Coulson Series
Havasu Palms
Dedicated to Don, for never questioning this journey I chose to take and for encouraging me along the way. I love you.
One
Late Thursday afternoon, on the last day of January, Melinda Belworth stared out the picture window next to her desk and watched the snow fall. She glanced back at her computer monitor, her fingertips resting lightly on the keyboard, preparing to resume her typing when her landline rang. Moving her right hand from the keyboard to her telephone, she answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Linda. I was hoping you’d answer,” came the male voice.
Abruptly, Melinda sat up straighter, her right hand clutching the headset while her left hand moved from the keyboard. “Charlie?” He was the only one who ever called her Linda.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Charlie, I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve tried calling you a couple of times over the last few months, and it always went to voicemail.”
A long sigh came from Charlie’s end of the call. “You haven’t heard?”
Melinda sat up even straighter. “Heard what?”
“It’s a long story. I’m in Vancouver.”
Hesitantly, she asked, “Washington or Canada?”
“Canada.”
Melinda squealed. “You’re here! Where are you? The same place?”
“No. I’m staying somewhere else. Please listen. I need your help.”
Melinda frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Babe, listen. First, I need you to understand I’m innocent. Don’t believe what they tell you.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean innocent? You’re scaring me.”
“I was arrested in Frederickport, framed for something I didn’t do.”
“Oh, my god!”
“Listen. Promise me you won’t google it. I don’t need you worrying about me. And I know you. This will get you all worked up. I need to borrow some money so I can lie low for a while and figure this thing out. I need time to prove my innocence. When I see you, I’ll explain everything. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Where are you?”
Charlie gave her the name of a motel on the other side of town.
“How did you get up here? Don’t tell me you broke out of jail.”
“Like I said, I’ll explain everything when I see you.” Charlie then told her how much money he needed.
Melinda glanced at the wall clock. “I’ll have to go to the bank, but there is no way I’ll get over there before it closes.”
“That’s okay, you can bring it to me in the morning, after the bank opens.”
“I want to see you. I could come over there now,” Melinda offered.
“No. It’s too late in the day, and I don’t want you driving in this weather. Not at night. Anyway, I’m exhausted, and I just want to crash. We’ll see each other in the morning, and I’ll explain everything. Will you do what I ask?”
“Of course.”
“And you promise, no googling? Let me explain everything myself.”
“Whatever you say.”
Charlie gave Melinda his room number, and they exchanged a few more words before ending the call.
Melinda hung up the phone and sat quietly at her desk, running the conversation through her head. Uncle Clement didn’t like Charlie Cramer. She didn’t understand why, and all he would ever say was, “There is something about that boy.”
He was hardly a boy, Melinda thought, and he had a great job, one that took him traveling all over the world. She wished his travels brought Charlie more frequently to Vancouver, where she lived with her uncle Clement.
Melinda looked back at her computer and remembered what Charlie had asked of her: don’t google. She continued to stare at the computer and then let out a sigh.
“Sorry, you really didn’t expect me to wait until the morning to find out what sort of trouble you got yourself into.” She reached for her mouse.
Clement Belworth sat comfortably in his wingback leather chair, its placement close to the stone fireplace, affording him the extra warmth of its raging fire while he read his novel. Those who might describe Clement would typically use adjectives like dignified and respectable, wealthy, or confirmed bachelor. He had recently celebrated his eightieth birthday.
As he turned a page, the door opened, and Melinda burst into his study. Clement had been her guardian since his brother and sister-in-law died in a car accident. Melinda had been six when her parents died. It had been twenty years since she had moved into his home.
“What’s wrong?” Clement asked after noticing her troubled expression. He closed his book and set it on the end table.
“I think I’m in trouble,” Melinda blurted.
“What’s wrong?”
Hesitantly, Melinda approached her uncle. “Remember Charlie Cramer?” She took a seat on the empty chair next to her uncle.
Clement groaned. “The man is too old for you. And he’s a traveling salesman.”
“And he’s a murderer,” Melinda blurted.
Clement stared blankly at Melinda. “What?”
In rushed words, she told Clement about Charlie’s phone call and then said, “I googled it.”
“Of course you did. Who did he murder?”
“According to the articles I found, Charlie was arrested for two murders. The first was his old business partner. The murder happened ten years ago in Portland. And then a couple of months ago, he murdered the business partner’s sister. The murder victims were twins. And when the police arrested Charlie right after the second murder, he was getting ready to murder someone else! He’s a freaking serial killer!”
Clement’s eyes widened at his niece’s tone. “I take it you don’t believe he’s innocent?”
“No. I read the articles. No wonder he didn’t want me to google it. He is guilty, Uncle Clement. And I promised to take him money tomorrow! He was probably going to kill me next!”
“You obviously won’t take him that money.”
“Of course not. But what do I do? If I don’t show up, he’ll be mad. He knows where I live! He might come here and kill us both!”
Clement reached over and took his niece’s hand. “Calm down. He won’t come here. Not if he’s in jail.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The only thing we can do.” Clement gave his niece’s hand a little squeeze.
Miles away, in Frederickport, Oregon, Laura Miller stood alone in the rain. She cursed herself for not buying an umbrella before traveling to Oregon. She didn’t understand what the deal was with these Oregonians who prided themselves on braving the elements without an umbrella. Did they like to get wet? It wasn’t as if Danielle or her sister had grown up in Oregon. But they sure acted like it now. Neither one owned an umbrella. Fortunately, she wore a hooded rain jacket.
It hadn’t been raining when Laura left Marlow House. The rain had started not long after turning down the cul-de-sac. Her plan had been to walk to the end of the cul-de-sac and then head back to Marlow House before nightfall and in time for dinner. Ahead was a house with a large, covered porch. She had driven down this street with Kelly several days earlier when looking for a house—this one specifically.
From what Adam Nichols had told Kelly, the house had been owned by an elderly man who passed away several years earlier and left the property to his nephew, who lived in London. Adam Nichols had initially contacted the new owner about selling the property. But the nephew wasn’t interested. He also wasn’t interested in putting the house in the rental program. But since that time, the h
Instead of walking home in the rain, Laura decided to keep herself dry on the guy’s porch. After all, he was in London. He would never know. And then she could call her sister, and Lily could pick her up.
Laura rushed up the walkway and started up the porch steps just as the front door swung open. She stared into the startled face of a bearded man wearing wire-rimmed glasses.
“Lily Bartley?” the man blurted, his eyes fixed on Laura.
Laura grinned up at the man and removed the hood from her head, revealing blond curls instead of red hair like her sister’s. “Lily’s my sister. My name is Laura. I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was here, and I wanted to get out of the rain for a minute. I’m sorry.” Laura backed up. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought the house was vacant. You know my sister?”
“You look just like your sister. At least, if I can believe the photos I’ve seen of her and her husband, Jon Altar. This is my house, by the way. I got into town last night. Sidney Corvin.” The man took a step toward Laura and held out his right hand. “And you’re welcome to take refuge on my porch.”
Visibly relaxing, Laura smiled, walked toward him, and accepted his brief handshake. Now out of the rain, she asked, “So you don’t know my sister?”
The man shook his head. “No. But I’m good with faces, and I remembered hers from an article I read on Jon Altar. And I know he lives in Frederickport. You said your name is Laura. I take it you live in Frederickport too?”
“I’m just visiting. Technically, I’m homeless.”
The man arched his brows. “Homeless?”
Laura shrugged. “The company I worked for was bought up by a conglomerate. Their first order of business was to downsize.”
“You lost your job and your home?”
Laura gave another shrug. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I was ready to quit anyway, and I must admit they gave us a great severance package. So, I decided the universe was trying to tell me it was time to make some changes.”
“And you decided to become homeless?” he teased.
Laura laughed. “Something like that. I sold my condo and broke the news to my parents that I was going to do what I’ve always wanted to do. Travel.”
“How did your parents take that news?”
Laura grinned. “Mom took it better than Dad. Mom was a hippy in her younger years, so I think the idea of me seeing the world appealed to her.”
He flashed her a grin. “Your first stop was to see your sister?”
“Something like that. I was planning to come up here anyway, even if I hadn’t lost my job. One of my friends is getting married in March. And I’m going to be her maid of honor. Frederickport is my first stop. I plan to stay through the wedding, and then, well, I haven’t exactly figured out where I’m going next.”
“I take it you’re staying with your sister?”
Laura shook her head. “No. I’m staying across the street at Marlow House. Do you know it?”
He smiled at Laura and nodded.
Laura looked up at the sky. “Hey, it stopped raining. I can walk back to Marlow House.”
“I have a favor to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“I would really appreciate it if you said nothing to anyone about seeing me here.”
Laura frowned at his request.
“Oh, it’s nothing nefarious. I just like my privacy. And ever since I inherited this place, a local Realtor, Adam Nichols, has been hounding me to list it.”
Laura grinned. “I know Adam. Umm, is it true you live in London?”
He nodded. “Yes. And while I’m here, I would rather appreciate my privacy. There are some things belonging to my uncle I need to go through. That’s who left me the house. And I’d rather do that without real estate agents knocking on my door. I imagine Nichols won’t be the only Frederickport Realtor showing up on my doorstep if they know I’m in town.”
Laura nodded. “Your secret is safe with me. I understand wanting privacy.” She then let out a sigh.
“Why the heavy sigh?”
“Since you live in London, I was sort of hoping you might give me some pointers on where to stay. But I’ll respect your privacy and won’t come knocking on your door.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, he broke into a smile and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I would love to help you. I think I might enjoy the company. But only if you come alone and promise not to tell anyone I’m here.”
Laura smiled up at him. “Deal.”
Returning her smile, he said, “When you come back, please call me what my friends call me, Frank.”
She arched her brows. “Frank?”
“Do I look like a Sidney?” he asked.
She smiled. “Not really.”
“They named me after my uncle. While I’m honored he left me his estate, I never felt like a Sidney.”
“Is Frank your middle name?” she asked.
Frank shook his head. “No. It’s a long story.”
Two
Earlier that day, Officer Brian Henderson pulled the police car in front of Charlie Cramer’s house in Frederickport, Oregon, and parked. Joe Morelli sat in the passenger seat and looked out the side window at the house. Cramer had inherited the property from his mother. He had not lived in the house full-time since leaving home after graduating from high school, yet he stayed there on his infrequent visits to Frederickport, providing it wasn’t being rented.
Before his arrest in November, he’d discussed selling the property with Realtor Adam Nichols, yet he’d put the sale on hold after his arrest. That surprised Charlie’s onetime friend, Joe Morelli, who assumed Charlie needed the money from the sale more than ever now to help pay for his legal defense. Although, if they did not capture him, there would be no need for a legal defense.
Brian turned off the ignition and sat in the vehicle. He stared up at the Cramer house. Since Charlie had broken out of jail while held over for his trial, they had been monitoring the property, should he try hiding out in his childhood home.
“I seriously doubt he would come back here. I bet he’s miles away by now.” Joe unfastened his seatbelt while Brian did the same.
Although neither officer expected to find Cramer hiding out at the house—after all, they had checked the property regularly, and they assumed the neighbors had noticed, and so might a fugitive staking out a potential hideout. They entered with caution.
After their last visit, Brian had asked, “What will happen to this place if they never find Cramer? Eventually, the money he deposited with Adam will run out. Then what?”
Joe had said, “Kelly and I discussed that the other night. One thing that could happen, his victims might sue his estate, and if he isn’t here to fight it, he could lose the property by default.” One of those victims was Brian’s girlfriend, Heather Donovan.
Before entering the house, the officers checked the perimeter of the property, and nothing appeared out of order or disturbed. The house wasn’t entirely dark when they entered. Plenty of sunshine streamed through the curtained windows, and like they had done on previous visits, they did not turn on any lights. Upon entering each room, they opened closets and checked areas where someone might hide.
Joe entered the master bedroom first and headed straight for the closet. When he opened the closet doors, he froze. “Brian!”
