Ghostly Whispers

CHAPTER 1

Christie Madison glanced surreptitiously at her handsome husband, and once again thought how lucky she was. Sitting in a lounge chair beside the tall, blond, blue-eyed man she’d married only three months before, she sighed contentedly. They were both stretched out in front of the lit fireplace, reading; that is, they were supposed to be reading. But Christie found it difficult to concentrate and her mind kept wandering back to the night they’d met.

It had been almost six months ago when Brent had introduced himself at the Carrington Yacht Club. He’d walked right up to her and said, Aren’t you Christie Rhineman?

She’d been immediately attracted to him. Who wouldn’t have been? His voice was perfectly modulated and he was immaculately dressed in a dark blue double-breasted blazer, with white trousers. His white shirt was casually opened at the neck and she thought he looked like an ad in an expensive men’s magazine.

She finally found her voice. Yes, I’m Christie Rhineman.

You probably don’t remember me, Christie, but we danced at a college Christmas dance—oh, maybe five years ago. You did go to Smith, didn’t you?

Christie’s mind back tracked to her college days but she couldn’t place him and wondered why. Maybe five years ago he’d been pimply-faced and awkward, or something other than the imposing articulate man standing in front of her. Yet she found it difficult to believe that he could have ever been unattractive. No, I’m sorry. I don’t seem to remember you.

The man held out his hand, grinning. I’m Brent Madison and I certainly do remember you. You’re as lovely as ever, Christie. I hope you’ll save a dance for me tonight, unless you’re with someone who would object.

Actually, I’m with my best friend and her husband, and I’d be happy to dance with you, Brent, Christie answered, shaking his hand while noting that her heart was beating more rapidly than usual.

So they had danced and he had asked her out, and she had accepted.

But her best friend, Julia Martin, had not been at all impressed with Brent. He’s too smooth, Christie, she’d commented. You have to be more careful than most women because you’re so rich. Promise me that you’ll find out as much as you can about him before you get involved.

Oh, for goodness sakes, Julia, she’d answered with exasperation. You’ve got to stop being so suspicious about everyone I meet.

Julia shook her head. How quickly you forget, my friend. There have been several other handsome smooth-talking men who—

I know, I know, Christie interrupted. But it’s too early to start worrying. We’re just going out to dinner and I may not even like him.

Julia folded her arms. Uh...huh. I see that look in your eyes. Just promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt again.

I promise, and thanks for your concern, Julia. But you can’t expect me to avoid living life to the fullest because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt. I’ve been protected too much for too long.

Julia’s husband, Bob, nodded. You’re right, Christie, but so is Julia. You do have to be more careful than most women. I’m sure you’re aware of the many cases where husbands have poisoned their rich wives or did them in, in other diabolical ways, then tried to make it look like suicide or an accident.

Christie let out a long sigh. I can’t believe you two! A man asks me for a date, and you already have us married and have him plotting to murder me. Don’t you agree that this entire conversation sounds a little ridiculous?

Julia and Bob had laughed then agreed that they’d gone a bit overboard.

But in spite of her friends’ warnings, Christie had fallen madly in love with Brent Madison. She found out on the first date that he was a successful broker and investor, and had been living in Carrington for only a few months. I’ll never ask you to invest anything with me, he’d told her on their first date. I’m interested in you and not your money. I have my own money.

He had wined and dined her for two months before she had slept with him. And when it finally happened, she’d never known such bliss.

They were at her chateau in France, having lunch on the terrace, when he had asked her to marry him. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Christie, he’d said. Will you marry me?

She had answered with an affirmative nod and a passionate kiss. Later, they had found their way to her bedroom and had stayed for the rest of the afternoon. A gentle, yet passionate man in bed, he placed her fulfillment before his.

That evening he said he would be willing to sign a pre-marital agreement. He didn’t want her to think he was marrying her for her money. She declined the offer for she had trusted him with all of her heart, though her best friends and her board of trustees had indicated that they didn’t. But it was her life, and she had never felt so confident about anyone.

Aunt Cordelia wasn’t happy about the marriage either. Christie’s father’s older sister had moved into the Rhineman mansion after Christie’s mother, Rosalind, had run off with another man. Christie had been only twelve. Realizing that Aunt Cordelia had devoted herself to raising her, she’d come to love her spinster aunt almost as much as she had loved her mother. But no one could have ever replaced her mother. Remembering her father’s funeral last fall, Christie blinked back a tear. He’d died of a stroke at age fifty. Too many cigarettes, too many long hours at the office, and too little time to relax and enjoy life, the doctor had stated. Christie had wondered if her mother hadn’t been very lonely, and that was the reason she had left them. A sympathy card had arrived from California, after the funeral, addressed to Christie and signed, ‘Can you ever forgive me? I love you my precious. Your mother.’ Every May, Christie received a birthday card with the same words. She wondered if she’d ever see her mother again. She still loved and missed her so much.

But Aunt Cordelia had taken an instant dislike to Brent. And why? Brent had always shown her the same consideration and kindness that he’d demonstrated to everyone. Her aunt couldn’t give her a single reason for disliking him. Thank goodness the dear finally stopped trying to convince her not to marry Brent and had helped her plan her small intimate wedding. After the wedding, Aunt Cordelia had packed her things and moved back into her own luxurious condo by the time she and Brent had returned from their honeymoon in Spain.

So here they were. She was determined to show everyone how wrong they’d been about her loving and devoted husband who went off to work every day like any other average man. He didn’t have to work. He could have involved himself in her many charities and volunteer work, but he’d insisted on doing what he’d called ‘an honest day’s work’. The only thing she really objected to, that involved his investment company, were the long weekend trips that he sometimes took. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ he’d said, winking.

Lost totally in her thoughts, Christie jumped when she felt a light touch on her arm. When she glanced up, she saw her handsome husband grinning down at her.

I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been reading the same page for maybe ten minutes or so. It must be a really boring book.

Christie chuckled. Guess I got carried away by my thoughts which started out by me thinking of how very lucky I am to have found you.

Brent bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. I never knew what true happiness was, until I met you, darling. Now, let’s put our books away and go to bed. I’m a working man, you know, and there are a few things I’d like to do before I go to sleep.

Christie grinned sheepishly. Oh? What few things are you talking about?

He pulled her up from her chair, and while kissing her, he cupped her breasts. I’ll give you another example after you’re in bed, my lovely.

I can hardly wait, Christie whispered, pressing herself against him.

Brent stroked her long blond hair. We could just lie here in front of the fire, but I wouldn’t want to shock any of the servants in case they might wander in.

Christie felt a delicious shiver. Then I suggest that we rush upstairs and jump into the bed. She felt Brent’s quick release and giggled when she saw him running from the room.

I bet I’m undressed before you are, he yelled over his shoulder.

Caught up in the game, she pulled her sweater over her head as she hurried from the room. I wouldn’t bet on it, she called out, hoping that none of the servants were anywhere near.

When Christie entered the huge bedroom, decorated in pale blue and white, she almost doubled over with laughter. You’re naked as a Jay bird, she said, pointing at her husband lying in bed with his arms folded behind his head. Looks like I’ve lost the bet. But you know, I don’t even care. She closed the door firmly and removed the rest of her clothes quickly. In less than a minute she was on top of her husband and felt him thrusting himself into her. She gripped his hips with her thighs and matched his slow rhythm, and when she felt him opening his mouth for her breast, she writhed with tension until she felt the spasms that caused her entire body to vibrate. When she felt his sexual release, she commanded softly. Stop, before I melt. She slowly rolled off of him, and snuggled. This part is almost as good as the sex, she said sighing.

I think so, too. Being married to a rich, beautiful woman who loves sex is almost too fantastic to be true.

Christie thought if she were a cat, she’d surely be purring. I am rich and I do love sex with you, but I’m not beautiful. My nose is too long.

Brent squeezed her arm. That’s not true. You have a lovely classical Greek nose and I know several beautiful movie starlets who have noses just like yours. And when you pull your long blond hair into a chignon, you look like a Renaissance painting. That’s what I thought when I first saw you at that dance at Smith’s College.

Thanks. As long as you like my nose, that’s all that matters. And now it’s my turn to compliment you. You’re a superb lover. Are you sure you haven’t been trained as a sex therapist?

There was a small pause before Brent answered. Whatever made you ask that?

Christie was surprised when she felt his body tense. Hey, I was only kidding. I meant that as a compliment. You know I think you’re a super lover.

Thanks. And I really don’t know why I reacted that way. Maybe I’m a good lover because I’m so much in love with you.

For whatever reason, I’m a grateful lady

Okay girl. Time to stop the superlatives and get to sleep. I do have to get to work in the morning. But I forgot to ask what your plans are for tomorrow.

I have a board meeting with the trustees at ten, lunch with Aunt Cordelia at one, and a meeting with the Abused Children’s Foundation at three thirty. I thought that since it’s Friday, we might have dinner at the yacht club and do a little dancing; that is, if it’s okay with you.

Yes, my little busy bee, it’s very okay with me. Hey, I’m a poet! But one last thing before we go to sleep. Why don’t you consider hiring yourself a social secretary. If she doesn’t do anything but answer the phone for your various appointments, it would take a load off your pretty little shoulders. How about it?

Hey, that’s really not a bad idea.

Then all you need to do is to place an ad or call an agency. I’ll even do it for you.

All right. I wouldn’t mind that at bit. Thanks.

Don’t mention it. In fact, don’t mention anything else because we’ve got to go to sleep. Good night, my love.

Christie kissed him gently on the lips. Good night.

Just before Christie drifted into sleep, she briefly wondered why Brent seemed so intent on her hiring a social secretary that he even offered to take care of it himself. Probably just being his sweet considerate self, she decided.

CHAPTER 2

Christie and her Aunt Cordelia faced each other across the table at Captain John’s. Said to be the best place to eat on the Maine coast, the rustic seafood restaurant was always full to overflowing. Aunt Cordelia always made a reservation just to be sure they’d have a good table. Even if she hadn’t called in advance, her wealth and prestige would have insured her the best seat in the house.

The bleached wood restaurant sat on stilts and perched over a long winding river. In summer, the hungry customers could watch fish and lobster boats chugging up and down the waterway. But this winter day, the river was partially frozen and the boats were docked, yet inside, a fire burned brightly in the stone fireplace making the room warm and cozy.

Christie was wearing an emerald wool pantsuit with her hair pulled into a chignon. She put her wine glass down, and studied the large menu. What are you having today, Aunt Cordelia?

My usual, I guess. I never seem to tire of lobster. How about you?

I think I’ll have the lobster bisque and then a decadent dessert. She looked fondly at her aunt who looked lovely in a red woolen coat dress. You should wear red more often; it’s most becoming with your silver hair.

Thank you, dear. I chose red because I wanted to bolster up my spirits.

What’s wrong with your spirits? You’re not sick, I hope.

No, dear. I’m not sick. It’s something that concerns you.

Christie’s stomach did a flip-flop. Something that concerns me? What...what is it?

Aunt Cordelia’s face clouded over. I know this is going to upset you terribly, but I just couldn’t stand it any longer. She picked up her glass of wine and took a big gulp.

For God’s sake, Aunt Cordelia, out with it.

Okay, here goes. I finally gave in to my instincts and had Brent investigated.

Christie felt hot around her face and neck. I can’t believe it! I know you don’t like Brent, though I can’t for the life of me understand why, but I thought you had learned to at least accept him.

Aunt Cordelia patted Christie’s hand. I did try, dear; honestly, I did try. But that little voice inside me just kept prodding and prodding until I finally had to do something about it. And I’m glad I did.

Christie let out a long sigh. All right. Just what did you find out.

There was a lot in the report and I brought it for you to read at your convenience, but the two big revelations were that Brent had once been a sex therapist and he’d been married before. His wife, a wealthy woman twenty-five years his senior, committed suicide six months after they were married.

Christie’s throat constricted and she felt a throbbing in her temples. She could vaguely hear someone’s words trying to break through, and then she heard the words clearly. You have to be much more careful than most women. There have been cases where husbands have poisoned their rich wives, or murdered them in some other way, then tried to make it look like suicide just to get their money. Then she remember the night her friend, Bob, had said those words. It was the night she’d met Brent at the yacht club. No wonder Brent had tensed, last night, when she’d laughingly accused him of being a sex therapist. Christie lifted her wine glass and drained it. After placing the empty glass on the table, she looked her aunt straight in the eye. Did the police do an autopsy on Brent’s wife?

Aunt Cordelia nodded. Yes, they did. They found that she’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills. According to the report, Brent had met Mary Ann Michaels in Taylorsville while he worked one summer in a sanatorium for wealthy mentally ill patients. He was a psychology major and working on his masters. After he’d received his degree, and the woman Mary Ann Michaels had been released from the sanatorium, he made contact with her and they were married within the year.

Christie massaged her temples. I hope you don’t think he was responsible for her death.

He obviously didn’t kill her but maybe something happened, in their brief marriage, that pushed her over the edge, Christie’s aunt replied, her face bleak. According to the report, the night she committed suicide, Brent wasn’t at home. My concern was that he’d never told you about that marriage. Did he ever mention that he had a masters in psychology and he’d practiced as a sex therapist?

Christie’s voice held a note of resignation. No. He only told me that he’d worked as a broker and an investment counselor; then when he moved here, he started his own investment firm.

Aunt Cordelia drummed her fingers on the table. He inherited a lot of money, Christie. That’s what he most likely used to start his own firm here.

Christie half smiled. If he’s wealthy in his own right, then you should be relieved. At least he didn’t need to marry me for money. Right?

That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose, yet I doubt very much that his former wife was nearly as wealthy as you. Maybe Brent is going to make a habit out of marrying wealthy women and then do something to cause them to commit suicide.

Just what do you think he could do to cause me to commit suicide? I’m not like his first wife. I’ve never been in a mental institution.

Aunt Cordelia stared out of the window for a few seconds then said, No, you haven’t and I pray that you’ll never need to go to one. But he wasn’t honest with you and I still suspect him of being a ‘gold digger’. And how about his family? It seems strange that none of his family attended your wedding.

Christie picked up the carafe with a shaking hand and poured wine into her empty glass. She momentarily ignored the question of Brent’s family. Would you like another glass of wine, Aunt Cordelia?

Yes, I think I would.

Christie filled her aunt’s glass, then took a large sip from her own. Brent told me that he was estranged from his family. His parents were both functioning alcoholics and he was pretty much ignored while he was growing up. He was a straight A student and received a full scholarship to the University of Maine. He got a part-time job and never went back home. His parents did show up for his graduation, but they were drunk. He said after that embarrassment he completely broke off all ties with them. But I assumed he was a business major, since he was in the investment business. I’m sure he would have told me about the psychology degree and his work as a sex therapist, had I asked what his major was.

Aunt Cordelia nodded. Perhaps. Though he didn’t exactly lie to you, he also didn’t reveal all of the truth—especially that he’d been married before to an older wealthy woman who’d taken her own life.

Christie’s shoulders slumped slightly but she forced a smile. Maybe he was afraid that if I knew about his marriage, I wouldn’t have wanted to marry him. and if he’d told me about his psychology degree and working in a mental institution, as a sex therapist, that somehow all of it would come out about his wife. I know he loves me. There’s no way he could be dishonest about that.

Aunt Cordelia twirled her wine glass. I hope with all of my heart that you’re right, dear. But you should talk all of this over with him, even if it means he’ll never speak to me again.

Christie patted her aunt’s hand. I’m sure he’ll speak to you; the question is, can you be civil to him?

Oh yes, I’ll be civil but that’s about as far as I can go—at least for the present. He has to prove himself to me first, and that may take a few years.

Fair enough. Okay, now let’s order before they have to pour us out of this booth.

Aunt Cordelia laughed for the first time. I know what you mean. I don’t usually drink this much wine at lunch, but today was an exception.

Christi nodded in agreement and motioned to the waiter. Yes, Aunt Cordelia, I’d say that today was, indeed, an exception.

The band was going full force and Christie and Brent were dancing at the yacht club. Christie looked lovely in a pink cashmere sweater and skirt, and her bouncing ponytail kept rhythm with the snappy music. She’d decided that she wouldn’t discuss anything with her husband about his past, until they were home, but she’d found it difficult to make small talk. Earlier, when they’d spotted Julia and Bob, she’d had a really hard time, talking to her friends because her mind kept going back to the conversation she’d had with Aunt Cordelia. She knew that if they ever found out about that suicide business, they’d probably try to talk her into a quick divorce.

Hey, pretty girl. What’s been on your mind tonight? Brent asked. You’ve been withdrawn and quiet—not at all like your usual bubbly self.

Christie pulled back and gazed into her husband’s shining blue eyes. If he was some kind of devious character, surely, she’d know it. As you know, I had lunch with Aunt Cordelia today and I hadn’t planned to mention it until we got home, but...but—

Brent cocked his head. I bet she was bad-mouthing me, huh?

Guess that’s an understatement.

Oh? That bad?

Christie nodded. Yes, it was pretty bad. Guess I’m not very good at pretending. I’d hoped that I could act normal and wait until later to let you know that Aunt Cordelia hired a detective and had you investigated. She gave me the report at lunch today.

Brent stopped dancing and guided her away from the dance floor. When they got to their table, he asked with a combination of annoyance and contempt. Report? What kind of report?

Christie realized that she’d never seen him angry before. His eyes were blazing and he looked like someone she didn’t know. For a few seconds, she felt a little afraid and didn’t know how to answer. She picked up her purse. Let’s go, Brent. This is not the place to discuss it. Christie led him to the coat rack, and when he helped her with her coat, she felt so hot she almost took it off. She watched mutely as he pulled his coat off the hanger, and wondered what was coming next.

They walked to the car in an emotionally charged silence.

Brent took off so fast the tires screeched, and Christie wished she’d never mentioned the report until they’d returned home. But it was too late. Perhaps when he cooled down, he’d understand she’d had nothing to do with it. She stared at the man who was not acting at all like her husband, and prayed he wouldn’t kill them both from reckless driving. Please slow down, Brent, she begged. I can understand your hurt and anger, but killing us both won’t solve our problems.

I doubt seriously that you could understand my hurt and anger, Christie, Brent answered curtly, but did ease his foot up from the accelerator. I can’t believe she’d investigate me, yet I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. So why didn’t she do it before we were married? It seems a bit late, don’t you think?

I guess so. She said she fought against investigating you because she knew it would really upset me. And it did; believe me it did! But she said a little voice inside her kept urging her to look into your past.

Brent’s face wore a sneer. A little voice, huh? Do you know what they call it when people hear little voices?

Christie saw red. After all, he was the one who had not been honest with her and he was acting like she was the one at fault. You’re the psychologist, so you tell me.

Christie heard the brakes squealing and felt the car swerving off the road. Her heart pounded and she held onto the arm rest for dear life. Brent must be out of his mind to pull off the road so fast. She was terrified of this man who had suddenly become a stranger.

Brent turned off the ignition, but kept on the lights. He turned to Christie and with a concise demanding voice, spit out the words. Now, let’s hear all of the report. Every word of it. Don’t leave out anything.

Christie sucked in her breath and tried to talk calmly in spite of her run-away heart. Brent, I don’t feel safe parked like this. We’re not too far from home. Please let’s go. We can relax in front of the fire and try to discuss this like two adults.

Brent’s voice rose a step higher. Are you accusing me of not acting like an adult?

Don’t put words in my mouth, Brent. I think we both should try to calm down before we discuss this any further. Besides, I haven’t even read the report. I only know what Aunt Cordelia told me at lunch that you, at one time, were a practicing psychologist and sex therapist, and you’d married a wealthy older woman who later committed suicide.

Brent turned away and started the engine. You’re right, Christie. We do need to calm down. He pulled out into traffic, slowly. The barrier of silence lasted until he’d turned into the driveway and they’d entered the mansion.

After Christie had filled two glasses with brandy, she pointed to the chairs that they had occupied only last night. Last night I thought I was the luckiest girl alive, she mused. What a difference a day makes.

Brent stared into the fire. His voice was low and void of expression Just where is that report, Christie?

I put it into the safe. I didn’t want anyone else to come across it. She took a large swallow of brandy. It burned her throat.

Brent’s voice sounded contrite. No, I don’t suppose you would want anyone to know about the report. I don’t blame you and I understand why you’re upset.

Christie turned and stared at the man who was sounding more like the man she thought she’d married. Maybe they really could work through this like adults. "I’m glad to hear you say that. I can understand why you

were upset, too. But I can’t understand why you were so angry with me. It was sort of like killing the messenger who brought the bad news."

Yeah, that’s true. I apologize for taking it out on you. I’ll try not to let my temper get the best of me again. Am I forgiven for my terrible behavior?

Christie had studied Brent’s face, that seemed full of remorse, while listening to his quelling statements. At that point he could have confessed to being the Boston strangler and she would have forgiven him without qualms. Of course I forgive you, Brent.

A tiny smile crept across his handsome face. Thank you, darling. Once again he stared into the crackling fire. "I’ll try to explain why I didn’t reveal all of the facts of my life. I did get my masters in psychology after I’d worked one summer at the sanatorium. I was not a qualified sex therapist, but that summer they were in need of someone to fill that slot. Because I had taken a few courses in sex therapy, like everyone else who majors in psychology, they asked me to counsel in that area. I needed a job and I realized that it would also be good