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    The Ghost Who Dream Hopped
    The Ghost Who Dream Hopped
    The Ghost Who Dream Hopped
    Ebook358 pages5 hours

    The Ghost Who Dream Hopped

    By Anna J McIntyre and Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

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    About this ebook

    Officer Brian Henderson knows there is something just not right about Walt Marlow, and he’s determined to find out what it is.

    Meanwhile, Beverly’s dead husband visits Danielle in a dream hop, telling her about his wife’s part in his death.

    Can Danielle convince Brian to stop worrying about Walt and be a little more concerned about his new girlfriend, Beverly?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnna J McIntyre
    Release dateAug 31, 2018
    ISBN9780463080238
    Author

    Anna J McIntyre

    Anna J. McIntyre is the nom de plume for USA Today bestselling author, Bobbi Holmes.McIntyre's Coulson Family Saga includes five books in the series. The saga begins in 1900 and brings the reader to current times, with romance, mystery and family secrets. It is now available in audiobook by Dreamscape Media.McIntyre's Unlocked Hearts series is about falling in love. Expect light romance with happy endings, between sweet and spicy.The Coulson Family Saga and Unlocked Hearts are currently exclusive at Amazon, but will be returning to Smashwords mid-May 2021.Bobbi Holmes is author of the popular paranormal cozy mystery series, Haunting Danielle. She lives in Oregon with her husband of 45+ years and two miniature Aussies.

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      Book preview

      The Ghost Who Dream Hopped - Anna J McIntyre

      One

      Danielle Boatman curled up under the blankets and closed her eyes. The last five weeks had been emotionally draining. It had begun with Clint Marlow’s unpleasant stay at Marlow House and then the car accident, which had claimed the life of Clint’s fiancée and had left him in a coma.

      From there things veered into the twilight zone. Now when she woke up each morning, the first thing she asked herself—was it all real? A week after the fateful accident it was Walt whom she had brought home from the hospital. Walt in his cousin Clint’s body. She was still surprised when she realized it hadn’t been a dream.

      Danielle had foolishly imagined they would have a week or so to ease into their new reality without bed-and-breakfast guests underfoot. What she hadn’t counted on was what had happened after Walt came home. In the span of one week Marlow House had been broken into three times. There had been two murders—one that took place under her roof—and she and Walt almost got locked into a crate and set on fire.

      But now all the guilty parties were behind bars—or under surveillance, and they had a couple of days left before the next round of bed-and-breakfast guests arrived. She was determined to get a good night’s sleep so she and Walt could enjoy a few quiet days together.

      Restless, Danielle sat up briefly and rearranged her pillow, giving it several quick punches to reform its shape. Just before setting her head back on the pillow, she hugged a second one and turned to her right side. Pulling up her knees, she curled into a fetal position.

      The room was not totally dark. Light from the near full moon slipped in through the partially open blinds. Max slept on the foot of the bed. Danielle could hear him snoring. Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh and tried to clear her mind. All she wanted to do was sleep. It took only minutes before she accomplished her goal.

      Danielle had been asleep for not more than ten minutes when her eyes flew open. She was no longer in the comfort of her bed but sitting outside on the edge of her roof, looking over her side yard while the full moon lit the night sky.

      This can’t be happening, Danielle groaned.

      It’s a dream. You’re perfectly safe.

      She turned toward the voice and found a man sitting next to her on the edge of the roof. She recognized him immediately. It had been about a year since she had last seen him, and he hadn’t changed. Of course, the last time she had seen him had been shortly after his death, and spirits only aged if they wanted to. Considering Steve Klein’s hair was not gray—as was his natural color—it was obvious he dyed his hair in the afterlife, as he had when he had been alive. Although technically speaking, Danielle didn’t think he actually dyed his hair—more that he willed it a darker shade.

      At death he had been in his early fifties and the manager of the local bank. He had left behind his widow, Beverly, and two grown children. He had also left behind his most recent mistress, Carla, the waitress who worked at Pier Café. While it wasn’t exactly common knowledge that Steve was a serial cheater, Danielle knew.

      She reminded herself that Steve had always been nice to her. And thankfully, he had never hit on her, for which she was grateful. But she was trying to figure out why he had come to her in a dream hop. She had no doubt this was a dream hop.

      Steve, what are you doing here?

      He smiled at her. Hello, Danielle. Surprised to see me?

      You could say that. Why are you here?

      Steve laughed. You know what this is, don’t you?

      Yes. A dream hop. But why?

      Dream hop? He smiled again. I like that. Did you come up with that term?

      Yes. Ghostly antics don’t come with a guidebook. I have to call them something.

      I’m no longer a ghost. I moved on a long time ago, Steve explained. But I heard through the grapevine that the ghost who was living at Marlow House took up residence in his cousin’s body. How is that working out?

      How did you know that? Danielle asked.

      Steve shrugged. Once you get settled on the other side, it’s amazing what you find out. But I can’t get into that. Against the rules, you know. So how’s it working for him?

      Did you just pop in to find out about Walt?

      Steve leaned back lazily, his elbows resting against the shingles. Don’t you think it would be rather rude to jump into someone’s dream after not seeing her for a year and just come out and ask her for a favor? I just thought I’d ask a few polite questions about Walt Marlow—break the ice, so to speak—before I tell you why I’m here.

      Narrowing her eyes, Danielle studied Steve for a moment. Finally, she said, Walt’s doing fine. Thank you for asking. Now what is it you want from me?

      I need you to help me convince Beverly to admit what she did. I understand I brought this on myself. I wasn’t the best of husbands. But she needs to take responsibility for her actions.

      What in the world are you talking about?

      Steve sat up and turned to Danielle. I forgot, you don’t know.

      I don’t know what?

      Beverly. She was the one responsible for putting crabmeat in my tamales. My wife killed me.

      Danielle’s eyes widened. No, Baron Huxley put the crabmeat into your tamales!

      Steve shook his head. No, he didn’t. Baron did a lot of unscrupulous things in his life—which he is still paying for—but killing me wasn’t one of them.

      Are you sure?

      Positive. To Bev’s credit, she never intended to kill me. She just wanted to punish me for my…well…I wasn’t the most loyal of husbands.

      No. You weren’t.

      And haven’t I paid for it? Just look at me. Steve’s hands gestured toward his chest. I’m dead. Cut down in my prime. Fell off a pier. Most undignified. All because of some crabmeat and an unfortunate tumble into the ocean.

      How do you know it was Beverly?

      I just know. Trust me on this.

      Why now? You’ve been dead for a year.

      I didn’t figure it out until recently. When I finally confirmed it, I knew what I had to do. It’s for Bev’s own good.

      What do you want me to do?

      I want you to help me convince her to go to the police. Confess her crime. It wasn’t premeditated murder or anything, so she’ll probably just spend a little time behind bars.

      Danielle frowned. Seriously? You expect me to do that?

      Of course. Steve flashed Danielle a smile.

      Why me?

      For one thing, you’re the only one I know who I could visit like this and wouldn’t just assume this was an ordinary dream.

      Why don’t you visit Beverly in a dream and convince her to turn herself in, Danielle suggested.

      I intend to do that. But I still need you.

      I don’t understand why. Danielle didn’t think it was possible to push Steve off the roof, but if it was, she was sorely tempted to give him a shove. He was messing up her plans for a restful night’s sleep.

      If I visit Beverly alone, she’ll just wake up the next morning believing she had a dream about me. A guilt dream. Doesn’t mean she’ll actually do anything about it.

      So how do I figure in?

      After you wake up in the morning, you can call Beverly. Tell her you need to talk to her. And when you do, you can tell her what you know about the dream—about what she did. After you explain, she’ll understand it wasn’t an ordinary dream, that I really did visit her, and she’ll realize she has to turn herself in to the police.

      Before Danielle could respond, the moon flickered and another person appeared on the other side of Steve. It was more a silhouette, and Danielle couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. She leaned forward to get a better look, peering across Steve’s body—or the illusion of his body. As she eyed the shadowy figure, the moon shifted slightly, casting light over the new arrival. It reminded Danielle of how a spotlight in a theater transforms a faceless actor into a pivotal character onstage, putting the performer front and center. The new arrival was Beverly. She wore a nightgown, and she was obviously confused.

      Where am I? Beverly muttered. She glanced around and let out a curse when she realized she was sitting on a rooftop. Momentarily panicked, she tried scooting backward, away from the edge, her feet bare, and her nightgown hiking up along the calves of her legs.

      Relax, Beverly, it’s a dream, Danielle told her. You’re safe.

      Beverly turned toward Danielle’s voice but found herself looking into the face of her dead husband.

      Steve? she gasped. Her gaze moved over Steve’s shoulder. She spied Danielle sitting on the other side of him on the rooftop. Danielle leaned forward and gave her a nervous wave.

      Hello, Bev. Happy to see me? Steve asked with a grin.

      Beverly glared at Steve. Not particularly.

      Danielle grimaced at Beverly’s reply.

      It’s been a year, Bev. Don’t you miss me? he asked gently.

      Why are you here? Beverly asked.

      I know what you did. So does Danielle. You put crabmeat in my tamales and then removed my epinephrine auto-injector from my tackle box.

      You didn’t answer my question, Beverly reminded him.

      I’m here to explain that you need to turn yourself in to the police.

      Danielle tried pinching herself. She wanted to wake up. She didn’t want to be here.

      Why would I do that? Beverly frowned.

      Because you did something wrong. You need to take responsibility.

      When the pinch didn’t work, Danielle leaned toward the edge of the rooftop and wondered what would happen if she jumped. Would that wake her up?

      Like you took responsibility each time you cheated on me?

      I was wrong; I know that now, Steve said, his voice annoyingly calm. This is for your own good.

      To Danielle’s ears it sounded as if he were attempting to reason with a child. She wondered if he had always spoken to Beverly like that. If he had, she wondered why Beverly hadn’t slipped him crabmeat sooner.

      Steve turned to Danielle and said, Tell her, Danielle. Explain to her why she needs to go to the police.

      Danielle shrugged uncomfortably. I hate to get between a husband and wife. This really is between the two of you to work out.

      Beverly leaned forward and looked across Steve to Danielle. Thank you. I’m glad you see it that way.

      Danielle flashed Beverly a weak smile and then contemplated screaming. She had learned how to make herself scream when sleeping. It was one way to jerk herself from a dream hop. But then she remembered Max sleeping on the foot of her bed. Would the scream scare the cat and send him charging downstairs to wake Walt?

      Bev, please, listen to me. You need to do this. It’s for your own good, Steve insisted.

      I don’t have to do anything you say. You’re dead. Beverly grinned at him.

      Certainly you regret what you did? Steve asked.

      Beverly shrugged. Not particularly. It all worked out rather well.

      Listen to me, Steve said impatiently.

      Before Steve could say another word, Beverly reached out and gave him a quick shove. He let out a scream as he tumbled off the roof, disappearing before he hit the ground.

      Both Danielle and Beverly leaned forward and looked down. Danielle’s eyes widened in surprise while Beverly grinned happily at how easily she had dispensed of her husband—for the second time.

      I didn’t know that was possible, Danielle muttered under her breath.

      You didn’t know what was possible? Beverly asked.

      To push him off the roof like that.

      I don’t see why not. Beverly turned her full attention to Danielle and gave her a smile—a smile that didn’t make Danielle particularly comfortable. She looked warily at Beverly.

      I suppose I have to do something about you, Beverly said with a sigh.

      Umm…what do you mean?

      I certainly can’t have you blabbing now that you know my secret.

      Before she could ask Beverly what she meant, the woman reached out and gave her a push, sending her tumbling off the rooftop.

      Danielle woke up on the floor next to her bed, tangled in her blankets. She looked up and spied Max peering down at her from the edge of the mattress. When their eyes met, he let out a meow. With a groan she stumbled to her feet while picking up her blankets off the floor.

      I wish I could say it was just a nightmare, Max.

      Two

      Danielle tossed and turned for a couple of hours before she could get back to sleep after Beverly had so rudely shoved her off the roof. When she woke up on Wednesday morning, she found herself alone in her bedroom. Max was no longer there.

      Glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand, she groaned when she saw it was a few minutes past eight. Grumbling, she stumbled from the bed and stretched, annoyed that she didn’t feel rested. She was tempted to crawl back in bed, but she doubted she could fall asleep again.

      Before heading downstairs, she made her bed and slipped on a pair of skinny jeans and a pullover blouse. The blouse fell to her mid-thigh. Its silky fabric boasted a wild blue and green paisley design, and while it was comfortable fabric for the cooler coastal climate, she wasn’t sure it would be suitable when the temperature or humidity rose. She also washed her face, combed her hair, and put on a touch of makeup.

      The housekeeper, Joanne, wasn’t planning to come in until tomorrow—and the next bed-and-breakfast guests weren’t set to arrive until Friday—so Danielle knew she was alone in the house with Walt and Max. At least, she assumed Max was still in the house. It was entirely possible he had slipped out the pet door in the kitchen to wander the yard and neighborhood.

      In the kitchen the inviting aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted her along with the smiling face of Walt Marlow, who sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while drinking a cup of coffee and nibbling on a cinnamon roll from Old Salts Bakery.

      He wore a pair of plaid pajama bottoms she had bought him, and a white T-shirt. The pajama bottoms were loose enough that he could slip them on over his cast. She thought he looked rather adorable sitting there at the kitchen table dressed far more casually than she had been used to seeing him. Although, she imagined he would not appreciate the adjective adorable applied to him.

      Walt lifted his mug and gestured to the coffeemaker sitting on the counter. Good morning, Danielle. I made coffee.

      I see. Danielle flashed him a smile before filling her favorite mug. She found it endearing that Walt had set it by the coffeemaker for her. Is that a cinnamon roll you’re eating?

      There’s one left. I saved it for you. He nodded to the counter by the sink. Looking in that direction, Danielle spied a cinnamon roll sitting on a plate, covered with plastic wrap.

      Coffee cup in hand Danielle said, I really shouldn’t eat something sweet first thing in the morning. She snatched up the plate with her free hand and headed to the table.

      Walt chuckled. He folded the newspaper and tossed it to the empty chair next to him. Max tells me you fell out of bed last night.

      Danielle took a chair across the table from Walt and sat down. He sure is a gabby cat. She removed the plastic wrap from the plate and wadded it up before tossing it aside.

      What happened?

      About to pick up the cinnamon roll from the plate, Danielle paused and looked across the table. We have a problem.

      Walt arched his brows. We do? He picked up his cup and took a sip, his eyes still on Danielle.

      I had a dream hop last night. Danielle picked up the cinnamon roll and tore off a piece.

      Setting his cup back on the table, Walt frowned. Dream hop? With whom?

      Steve Klein. Danielle popped a piece of cinnamon roll in her mouth and began to chew.

      You mean the banker? The one who fell off the pier?

      Danielle nodded and then licked the sugary frosting off her fingertips. His wife was there too.

      I thought she was alive?

      Oh, she is alive. It was one of those hops where the spirit brings two people in the dream with him. Danielle picked up the creamer, poured some into her mug, and then took a sip of her coffee.

      I can understand him wanting to visit his wife in a dream, but why have you there? A little crowded.

      It wasn’t exactly a social call. Danielle went on to tell Walt about the dream.

      And you’re sure it was a dream hop? Not a regular dream? Walt asked when she was finished.

      Would I be able to recount the dream to you in such detail?

      Walt considered Danielle’s words a moment. And you say she killed him?

      According to Steve, the death part was accidental. Although, it was no accident that she slipped him the shellfish, nor that she took his EpiPen out of his tackle box. She was definitely punishing him for his affair with Carla. And probably those other affairs too.

      So what are you going to do?

      I’m certainly not going to try talking her into turning herself in. The woman shoved me off the freaking roof!

      Walt chuckled. It was a dream, Danielle. She didn’t actually push you off the roof.

      You know as well as I do she was reacting as she would in real life.

      Not necessarily. In dreams—even in dream hops—I think we probably do what we would like to do, but that doesn’t mean when we’re awake we’d actually carry through with the act.

      Danielle tore off another hunk of cinnamon roll and nodded. True. But I don’t want to take any chances.

      Walt picked up his coffee cup. You’re probably right. It could be dangerous confronting someone like that. And you don’t have any proof.

      Just about to take another bite of the roll, Danielle paused. What bums me out, I really liked Beverly.

      And now?

      She killed her husband. I know she didn’t mean to—but she showed absolutely no remorse or regret for the outcome.

      So you aren’t going to do anything? Walt asked.

      Just one thing. I’m going to tell the chief.

      Officer Brian Henderson stood in the hallway just outside Police Chief MacDonald’s office. He had been telling himself for the last few days that he needed to show the chief what he had found—yet he wasn’t exactly sure what he had discovered. All he knew at this point, he needed to share the information with someone, and the chief was the most logical choice.

      Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the open door and peeked in the office. The chief sat at his desk, his attention focused on some paperwork. Knocking along the door frame, Brian called out, Chief, do you have a minute?

      MacDonald looked up from his desk and smiled at Brian. Sure, come on in.

      Brian nodded, stepped into the office, and closed the door behind him.

      The chief arched his brows and leaned back in his chair, studying the officer. Ah, this is a closed-door conversation?

      I’d rather no one else hear, Brian explained as he took a chair in front of the desk.

      MacDonald nodded, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the desk, waiting for Brian to explain.

      Remember how Clint Marlow’s fingerprints—the ones we took at Marlow House—didn’t match the ones he had on file with the California real estate department? Brian began.

      You mean Walt Marlow. That’s what he wants to be called now, and it is his real name. And like I told you, it’s probably just some screw up with the California real estate department, not really our problem. Maybe if Marlow was planning to get back in real estate, I’d let him know about the snafu so he could get it figured out. But I’m fairly certain his career in real estate is behind him. The chief smiled, pleased at himself for offering what he thought was a logical explanation for what he knew was even more bizarre than Brian could imagine.

      This is more. Brian pulled a vintage dog-eared fingerprint card from his shirt pocket. He stood up briefly, handed the card to the chief, and then sat back down again.

      After accepting the card, the chief frowned as he studied it for a moment. He looked up at Brian and asked, What’s this?

      It’s an old fingerprint card I found in one of the closed-case files we have stored in the evidence room.

      The chief looked at the card again. It says Walt Marlow on here.

      Exactly. The original Walt Marlow. The one who died in the attic at Marlow House.

      The corners of MacDonald’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he tossed the card on his desk. He looked up at Brian and asked, So old Walt has an arrest record?

      The charges were dropped. They were for moonshining.

      I bet they were dropped, the chief said under his breath with a chuckle. He picked up the card again and looked at it.

      They match Clint Marlow’s fingerprints—or as he now wants to be called, Walt Marlow’s.

      The chief frowned and looked from the card to Brian. I don’t understand. What are you saying?

      Those fingerprints we took at Marlow House. They don’t match the prints the California real estate department has on file, but they do match the old fingerprints we have on file of Walt Marlow—the Walt Marlow who died almost a century ago.

      That’s impossible. The chief knew it was not impossible. But he certainly couldn’t tell Brian that.

      A few minutes after Brian left, the chief picked up his phone, preparing to call Danielle, when she walked into his office with Walt. More accurately, Danielle walked, Walt did more of a hop, crutches in hand.

      I was just going to call you, the chief told them as he stood briefly, motioning for Danielle to close the door behind them.

      I considered calling myself, Danielle explained after she closed the door and took the chair next to Walt. But I figured we were going out anyway. I’m taking Walt out to lunch—first time at a restaurant since, well, you know. And then we’re stopping at the museum. He’s curious to check it out.

      We have a situation, the chief said.

      Tell me about it, Danielle muttered.

      Walt reached out and patted Danielle’s hand. I have a feeling the chief’s situation is something different from what you want to tell him.

      Umm, what is it, Chief? Danielle asked.

      With a heavy sigh, MacDonald recounted what Brian had told him.

      Danielle interrupted the chief mid-explanation and looked at Walt. Your body really is changing back. I don’t understand. How is that even possible?

      His expression sober, Walt looked at the chief and asked, What did you tell Brian?

      The first thing that popped into my head. I said it was impossible and then said it had to be a prank of some kind.

      Prank? And he bought that?

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