“Yes, we do,” Lily said cheerfully. “And we’d better get going so we aren’t late. But first, one last peek at Connor…”
AFTER IAN, Lily, Walt and Danielle left for Astoria, Heather stretched out on the sofa and picked up the book Lily had been reading earlier and began thumbing through it, while Marie went to check on the baby. Marie returned to the living room a few minutes later and found Heather laughing, book in hand.
“What’s so funny?” Marie asked.
“This book has the best opening line.” Heather snickered.
“What book is that?”
Heather turned the cover over so she could read it. “The Ghost at His Back, by Cameron Lowe.”
Marie perked up. “Ghosts? It’s a book about ghosts?”
“Yep.” Heather turned the book around and reopened it to the first page. She snickered again and said, “Great opening line.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Marie urged.
“‘Ghosts are assholes’,” Heather read.
“Heather Donovan, that is a rude thing to say!” Marie snapped.
“Hey, you asked me what the opening line was. It’s Cameron Lowe’s words, not mine,” Heather reminded her.
“It’s just awful!” Marie said in outrage as her energy tore the book from Heather’s hand and sent it flying across the room.
Heather’s eyes widened. She remained on the sofa, looking from her now empty hands to the book that had landed on the floor at the base of the bookcase. “Kinda proved Lowe’s point,” Heather muttered under her breath.
“I wish I could do that. You’re a ghost, aren’t you?” A male voice broke the momentary silence.
Both Marie and Heather turned and found a young man—the ghost they had both seen earlier that day.
“Don’t leave,” Heather blurted, sitting up quickly on the sofa.
“At the restaurant you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough,” he said in a pout.
“I’m sorry. I was having a bad day. Let’s start fresh.” Heather forced a smile. “My name is Heather, and this is my friend Marie, who, like you, is a ghost. And you are?”
“Nice to meet you. I’m…” He paused and then shook his head. “No. You’re trying to trick me.”
“At least answer some other questions,” Heather urged.
“What?” he asked with a frown.
“This morning you told my friends you wanted to prevent a murder—that someone—but you aren’t sure who—might be killed by the same person who killed you,” Heather said.
“They told you all that?” he asked.
“Yes. We need to know, these potential victims, are you talking about the people who are coming to stay at Marlow House this week, the ones making Moon Runners into a movie?”
“Moon Runners,” he grumbled. “If it wasn’t for that book, I’d still be alive.”
“Please answer my question,” Heather pleaded.
“Yes. That’s who I was talking about,” he said after a moment of silence.
“I want to know, how was Moon Runners responsible for your death?” Marie asked.
“I can’t say, because you might figure out who my killer was, and I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” he insisted.
“Goodness gracious, why in the world would you want to protect your killer?” Marie snapped. “I was murdered, and I certainly had no desire to protect my killer, I will tell you that!”
The ghost stared at Marie for a moment and then said, “Wow, your killer must have been a real creep, to kill an old lady like you.”
Marie let out a gasp and then said, “I suppose sometimes it is true!”
“What’s true?” The man frowned.
Heather chuckled. “You’re talking about that opening line in the book you just hurled across the room.”
Marie looked sheepishly at the book. “Yes, and I suppose that was not a nice thing to do—I could have damaged it.” The next moment said book floated up from the floor and drifted over to Heather, landing on the coffee table, still intact.
Looking from the book to the unidentified ghost, Heather asked, “What makes you think those people might be in danger? Did your killer threaten one of them?”
The ghost pondered the question a moment and then shook his head. “No. But considering what happened to me and the fact they’re all going to be here—together—for an entire week. Something could happen. And I don’t want to be responsible.”
“Is the killer one of the guests staying at Marlow House?” Heather asked.
He began shaking his head. “I have said too much.” The next moment he disappeared.
SNUGGLED on the sofa under a lap quilt, her feet tucked under her and The Ghost at His Back in her hands, Heather was so engrossed in the story she failed to hear someone unlock the front door and enter the house. Sadie heard the intruder but greeted them with a quiet tail wag. Walt had lectured Sadie on proper barking while a baby was in the house—especially a sleeping baby. Unless there was a threat of danger, resist the urge to bark, he had told her.
Heather about leapt from the sofa when a voice said, “Hi, Heather.” Standing at the entrance to the living room was Kelly Bartley and her boyfriend, police officer Joe Morelli.
“We just got back from the show, and I thought I would stop by and check on Connor,” Kelly said sweetly.
Still on the sofa, Heather said, “I could swear I locked the front door.”
Kelly held up the spare key in her hand. “I have a key. And I didn’t want to knock, afraid it would get Sadie to barking and wake up the baby if he was sleeping. So I just used my key.” She smiled sweetly.
“I guess the baby is sleeping?” Joe said.
“Umm…yeah…” Heather muttered. Actually, Connor had been sleeping but had woken up crying a few minutes earlier. Marie was in the nursery changing his diaper and feeding him a bottle.
“I’ll just peek in…” Kelly began, only to be stopped by Heather’s frantic, “No!”
Kelly stopped in her tracks and looked at Heather inquisitively.
“Umm…” Heather blushed. “I just mean, he’s sleeping. I just got him down. I don’t want to wake him.”
“I’m just going to take a quick peek—I’ll be quiet, promise.” Not waiting for Heather’s approval, Kelly turned and made her way to the nursery.
MARIE KISSED Connor’s nose as she refastened his sleeper. He had been fed, burped, diaper changed, and it was time to put him back in his crib for a lullaby. Tucking her hands gently under his arms, she lifted him up and carried him to the crib. The use of her hands was only for show. She didn’t want Connor to imagine himself flying around the room and come to believe that normal. From Connor’s perspective, Marie’s hands lifted him up from the changing table and carried him to the crib—as opposed to Marie’s spiritual energy moving him through the air like Peter Pan flying on fairy dust.
She reached the crib and lifted him up and over it, letting him hover there a moment to give him a kiss, when a chilling scream broke the silence.