Ghost in Trouble (10 page)

I sincerely hoped not. “Not usually. He permits his agents great independence. Normally I wouldn't dream of appearing.” Are you listening, Wiggins? “But it's such a lovely morning.” Besides, I might know I was wearing a stylish outfit, but I liked to see it as well. I dropped my gaze to my sandals. The shade of green was glorious, almost translucent, like sunlight spearing through green glass.

I gave Kay a reassuring smile. “You'd like Wiggins.”

“I'm sure I would. The more the merrier.”

“Sarcasm isn't becoming.”

She cuffed the side of her head. “Now I'm scolding me. All right, redheaded brain wave. What's your plan?”

“You need to talk to Gwen Dunham.”

“Oh.” Her huff was derisive. “Dumb idea, brain wave. You're caught up in Shannon's romantic nonsense. Even Jack couldn't sweep a woman into a passionate love affair in the space of three weeks and reach the point of dramatic scenes. Besides, scenes weren't his style. He was too cool for that.” There were memories in her eyes, not all of them good.

“Shannon saw them quarreling.”

Kay shrugged. “Shannon probably saw what she wanted to see. I'll talk to Gwen Dunham, but she's not high on my list. As far as I've been able to figure out, she scarcely knew Jack. Actually”—she looked grim—“Shannon ranks close to the top. Nobody loves—or hates—like a twentysomething. How hurt was she by Jack's turndown? And how angry? I want to talk to her mother, see what I can find out. After that, I'll—”

Footsteps sounded on the gazebo steps.

Both Kay and I swung to look.

I'd been engrossed in our conversation. Wiggins would not see that fact as an excuse. He would point out that my stubborn habit of appearing had now come home to roost.

Diane Hume reached the top step. Sprigs of blond hair poked from beneath a huge straw hat. The cuffs of her long-sleeved smock were tucked into gardening gloves. She carried a straw basket brimming with cut flowers. “Kay”—Diane's voice was high and breathless—“that police chief is here. He's talking to Evelyn. He wants to see you. Oh.” She gave me a shy smile. “Hello.”

Kay looked slowly from me, back to Diane. “You see her?” The words were unsteady.

Diane looked surprised. “Did I come at a bad time? I didn't mean to interrupt. I didn't know you were having a private meeting. What do you want me to tell that policeman?”

I felt I had no choice. It was time to seize the moment. Was I being led? Possibly I'd underestimated Wiggins's openness to innovation. Perhaps he was coming around to my view. Sometimes an emissary had to be onstage. In two quick strides, I reached Diane. I offered my hand. Oh. I took an instant to redo the polish. Pink is much more summery than red. “Hi, I'm Francie de Sales, and I just arrived.”

I hoped the patron saint of writers approved of my nom de plume.

Kay made an inarticulate noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “Francie…”

I gave her a sharp nod. I had no intention of being identified publicly as Bailey Ruth Raeburn. There's a memorial column for me and Bobby Mac in the cemetery by St. Mildred's with
Serendipity
chiseled on the hull of the dearest carving of a cabin cruiser and the inscription:
Forever Fishing
. I doubted anyone from The Castle hung out at the cemetery, but a ghost can't be too careful. I hoped Wiggins admired my quick thinking.

Kay stared with huge and rounded eyes.

What an unfortunate moment for her to grapple with the reality of me.

Diane scrambled to pull off a glove. She looked at me with the kindly friendliness of a puppy. “I'm Diane Hume.”

I smiled as we shook hands. “Kay's told me about you and how welcoming you are. She is so appreciative. You'll have to forgive her. Such a shock. A huge tarantula jumped toward her just a moment ago. She's always had a thing about tarantulas.”

Diane darted frightened looks around the gazebo.

“An Oklahoma Brown Tarantula.
Aphonopelma hentzi
. Don't be concerned. A very docile spider. Huge. With those dear furry legs. I dropped him over the edge of the gazebo. I have a great admiration for spiders. Don't you?”

Diane gazed at me in awe. “Not really.” Clearly she wanted to be agreeable, but there were limits.

Kay stared at me, too. Awe did not describe her expression. Horror perhaps came nearest.

“Anyway, it's lovely to be here.” I leaned forward, spoke confidentially. “I'm Kay's assistant. She asked me to join her. I do fact-checking, that sort of thing.” I had no idea if writers had assistants,
but if I didn't know, I doubted Diane knew. “Kay's main effort will be in Africa, of course. She's eager to be on her way there, so she's asked me to help round up the information in Adelaide. I can be a help.” I waved my hand. “Running around, talking to people.” I turned to Kay. “Such a shock. That tarantula. After you speak with the police chief, perhaps you might want to go to your room and rest. I can take care of the interview with Gwen Dunham.”

“I'm fine.” But she made no move to go.

Diane looked earnest. “Francie, would you like to stay with us? It might be more convenient for you and Kay.”

I beamed. “That would be wonderful.” I wished Kay would stop looking like she was marooned on a ledge twenty stories above the street. “Thank you.”

Diane turned to Kay. “I suppose you thought it was too late to invite Francie to stay last night. Laverne was sure she saw you speaking to someone in the garden.”

Kay's tone was dazed. “Last night. Yes. It was late.”

Diane's face squeezed into a commiserating frown. “I can't believe how that vase fell. Wasn't it awful that you and Francie were standing in the one place where it would land. Why, Laverne said it was almost as if it were meant.” Diane looked at me. “You'll meet Laverne. She's the most wonderful woman. She has insights from beyond this world.”

Kay gave a ragged laugh. “I don't think Laverne has a monopoly on otherworldly insights.”

“We're concerned with the here and now.” My voice was sharp. “Right here and right now.”

“Oh, yes, ma'am, Bai—”

“Diane.” I spoke with the vigor of a tour guide and in a sense possibly that was my role. “Kay tells me you have an exquisite sense of atmosphere. You are the perfect person to give us a per
spective of your brother-in-law's last few days on earth. You and I can visit while Kay goes up to the house to talk to the police.”

Kay shot me a strained glance and walked down the steps in a daze.

I hoped she didn't appear stiff and tense when she met with Chief Cobb.

When I turned back to Diane, she was edging toward the steps. “I'm right in the middle of weeding. There are red spiders in my marigolds.”

I moved right alongside her. “Spider mites. That can be such a problem. Lady bugs are the answer. Put out some sugar water for them. I will only take a minute of your time.”

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, pleated the garden gloves. “I don't know how to say this, but I don't want to talk about Jack. I mean, Kay is very nice. I didn't expect her to be so nice and I know this book matters to her, but I'll tell you the truth.”

I remembered Wiggins's appraisal of Diane.
She has a sweet nature.
There was a childlike openness about her.

“I don't think Jack was a very nice man. He wanted me to send Laverne and Ronald away.” Her voice trembled. “Laverne is my rock. Why, she's told me all about James and how he is and that he loves me but he wants me not to hurry to come. He says there's no time in heaven—”

I was glad to know Laverne had one point right.

“—so he wants me to be here to help Laverne and Ronald because they can see through to what's real and true and I should contribute what I can to their foundation. Jack was just downright ugly. He said he was going to find out where the money went and put them in jail, but I talked to Paul, and what I have is mine and I can do anything with it that I want and Jimmy's share belongs to him, so there wasn't anything Jack could do. But he made me so upset and Laverne and Ronald said they'd have to leave if he kept
accusing them of bad things. I couldn't bear it if Laverne went away.” Tears spilled down her face. “I'd rather die.” She whirled away and ran blindly toward the house.

I looked after her. Would she rather die? Or would she rather kill?

I waited until Diane was out of sight to disappear.

 

On the balcony, Chief
Cobb and Evelyn watched in silence as Kay climbed the steps.

Kay managed a smile. “Good morning.” There was the faintest hint of inquiry in her voice.

Chief Cobb's heavy face looked determined. “I appreciate your joining us, Mrs. Clark.”

Kay nodded, but said nothing.

Cobb's brown eyes glinted with irritation and, possibly, a hint of respect. “As I explained to Miss Hume, a study of photographs by our expert suggests that a tool was used to loosen the vase. He believes it would have required a crowbar to leverage the vase from the pedestal.”

“That is shocking information.” Evelyn's tone was grim.

Kay appeared unruffled. “Really.” Her voice lifted in a tone of amazement. “Why, who would have thought such a thing could happen? It sounds like vandalism.”

I was afraid she was overdoing her ingenuous response a trifle.

Evelyn bent her head, apparently listening intently. Her expression was alert.

Cobb cleared his throat. “Mrs. Clark, you were in the garden when the vase fell. Apparently, you narrowly escaped being crushed. Do you think it is likely the vase's fall at that precise moment was a coincidence?”

Kay gave a cool smile and turned her hands palms up. “I wouldn't know what else to think.”

“Really.” He drew out the word in a sardonic mimicry. “Mrs. Clark, why were you in the garden?”

She hesitated for an instant, then said smoothly. “I was meeting with my assistant, Francie de Sales. She'd just arrived in town.” Kay glanced at Evelyn. “Diane has very nicely invited Francie to stay at The Castle.”

“Oh?” Evelyn turned her milky gaze toward Kay.

Kay was suddenly voluble. “Francie and I met in the gazebo this morning. Diane stopped to visit and she saw at once that Francie and I could be in closer contact if Francie stayed here. I truly appreciate her generosity and yours.” She smiled at Chief Cobb. “Francie will be in and out.”

Uh-oh. I knew Chief Cobb well enough to be certain he would ask to talk to Francie. Kay had no way of knowing that the chief and I had met before, though he hadn't known me as Francie de Sales. I thought fondly of my previous appearances as Officer M. Loy and family friend Jerrie Emiliani.

“Is Miss de Sales available? I'd like to speak with her.”

Kay looked uncertain. As well she might. “I'm not sure when she'll be back. She went to get her luggage.”

On the spur of the moment, that wasn't a bad ploy.

Cobb nodded. “Ask her to call me, please.”

Whew.

“I will.”

“Now, about your conference with her in the garden last night: Who knew about that meeting?”

“No one.” She sounded utterly confident. And believable.

Wiggins knew, of course. Oh well, she was speaking the truth as she understood it.

Cobb folded his arms. “I understand you are in Adelaide to write a book about Jack Hume. Has it occurred to you, Mrs. Clark, that someone might not want you to write that book?”

Her gaze was unfaltering, her voice convincing. “Chief Cobb, I'm quite sure no one pushed a vase from that pedestal because of the book.”

Again, she spoke the truth. A murderer pushed the vase to hide a crime.

“And”—she spoke brightly—“speaking of the book, it's time I continued my research.” She turned and started down the steps.

Chief Cobb stared after her, eyes narrowed, face hard.

“I suppose this concludes your questions.” Evelyn spoke pleasantly, but firmly. “I consider the matter closed now. We won't make a complaint. Further investigation isn't necessary. The destruction of the vase may have been vandalism. But”—her tone was silky—“experts are often wrong. Thank you for your good efforts, Captain.” Evelyn, too, turned away and moved down the steps.

K
ay slid behind the wheel of a canary yellow Corvette convertible with the top down; her eyes flicked uneasily here and there.

I settled comfortably in the soft leather seat. “Are you looking for me?” It's nice to be missed.

She stiffened. “You.”

“Me.”

She glared at the passenger seat. “I don't know which is worse, seeing you or not seeing you.”

The chief's car pulled around Kay's. He gave her a half-angry, half-worried glare. I warned, “Let's wait until the chief's car is out of sight.”

Kay was surly. “I'm surprised you didn't appear on the scene and tell him everything.”

I didn't intend to share with Kay my determination to avoid
the chief. He had seen enough of me on previous visits to suggest an otherworldly link. Wiggins had been upset. Wiggins would be proud of me if I avoided the chief.

“Don't sound bitter, Kay. I'm going along with your plan.”

“I can't stand hearing a voice out of nowhere.” Her tone was hot. “If you're here, be here.”

Always happy to oblige, I swirled into being. In my new role as Kay's assistant, I sought to appear more businesslike, a crisp white blouse with a flared collar, cream linen trousers, white leather flats. I pulled down the visor and glanced into the mirror. Ah, just the right amount of green eye shadow. Not, of course, that I am prideful about having green eyes. Green is as green does, but green does better with a little accent.

Kay reached out, tapped my sleeve with her forefinger. “Okay. I'm convinced. Diane saw you. But you come and go.” She spoke in a whisper. “I have my own personal ghost. Ghosts…” She had a faraway look. Abruptly, she sat up straight and turned to me. “All right. Level with me. Who killed Jack?”

It was the last question I'd expected. “How should I know?”

She was impatient. “Don't play games. You hang around. You see things. You know things. Who pushed him?”

“I wish I knew. For one thing, I wasn't here yet. Besides—”

“Stop right there. You claim you're here from Heaven, right?”

I nodded.

“They know everything in Heaven. All I need is the name. Then you can pop back there and I'll take care of everything.” She waved a hand as if Heaven were somewhere near.

I couldn't fault her assumption, but she didn't understand the rules. I had a quick memory of Precept Seven:
Information about Heaven is not yours to impart. Simply smile and say, “Time will tell.”
Surely this was an exception. “Kay, only God knows. And, as I
understand it (I will admit my comprehension was perhaps not at the highest level), when people on earth aren't following God's will, their thoughts are hidden. All that is known is their outward attitudes and the results of their actions.”

“I get it. Whoever pushed Jack is keeping quiet and the only thing I can do is nose around.” She frowned. “So what good are you?”

“I'm here to keep you safe.” I gave her a reassuring smile.

“Why?”

I looked at her, my eyes widening. “I have no idea.” Why, indeed?

“There are people in trouble all over the place. Why do I have a special angel—”

I was firm. “Not an angel. Ghost.
G-H-O-S-T
.”

“Angel, ghost, agent, emissary, whatever. Why me?”

“Maybe because you're so difficult.” I'm afraid I sounded testy. “Heavens, I don't know. Maybe years from now, somewhere down the road, there's something important you're going to do or say. Maybe there's a great big celestial lottery and your number came up.” I rather liked that idea. God clearly was a gambler. He'd certainly taken a flier on creating Earth.

“If it weren't for the honor, I'd be just as happy if you returned to…”—she took a deep breath and forced out—“Heaven.”

“When my task is done.” I'd never analyzed how or why the recipients of aid were selected by Wiggins. Did files simply appear in Wiggins's office? The ways of Heaven are, of course, Heavenly. I urged Kay, “Remember ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.'” My years as an English teacher sometimes prompted a literary reference.

Kay looked at me blankly.

“‘Theirs not to reason why, theirs to do and die.'”

“You are so last century.”

Kay had a talent for offending me. I snapped, “You may not be this century for very long if I fail. Now let's go.”

“Go where?”

I was beginning to feel like an old Abbott and Costello routine, but I wouldn't share the thought with Kay. “Wherever you were going.” I waved my hand.

She ran her fingers through her dark hair in a gesture of exasperation. Her unevenly cut hair appeared even more casual and youthful.

I brushed back a curl. “I really like your haircut. Would you mind if I tried that style?”

“Bailey—”

“Francie.”

She tried for a smile, but it took great effort. “Let's try not to talk for a while. I feel like I'm in the middle of an old Abbott and Costello movie and I should say, ‘What style?'”

I felt much more warmly toward her. “I won't say a word.” At least until I had something cogent to offer. “Where are we going?” Surely a simple question was permitted.

“Paul Fisher's office. Jack said ugly things were bubbling beneath the surface at The Castle. Paul might know.” She pushed the brake and reached out to punch a button. The motor purred to life.

“Oh. That's clever. No key.”

She opened her mouth, closed it.

“I know. So last century.”

“You said it, not me.” There was a burble of laughter in her voice.

She started to shift, then looked in the rearview mirror.

A bright red Lexus curved into the drive and jolted to a stop near the front steps. A strikingly attractive blonde climbed out.
In her mid-to-late thirties, sleek Jean Harlow–bright hair (I liked the last century) gleamed in the sunlight. She was one of those perfectly put together women who always drew every eye, especially those of men. She ignored the front steps and walked swiftly around the corner of the house.

Kay jerked a thumb in that direction. “Hey, you can make up for your generally irritating ways. Do your disappearing act. Follow her. That's Alison Gregory. She was here last night and Jack had one of her cards. She's made a fortune selling this, that, and the other to Evelyn. Find out what's going on.”

 

The enormous cottonwood still
shaded the stone table on the terrace. A vagrant breeze rustled the shimmering leaves. From her chair, Evelyn Hume looked toward the sound of Alison Gregory's shoes on the terrace.

Alison was midway to the table when she stopped to look up at the empty pedestal. Her gaze traveled down to the three-sided enclave of evergreens. From her vantage point, the great mass of debris was hidden by the evergreens, but clumps of dirt and pieces of vase were visible. She whirled and stalked toward Evelyn. “I came the minute I got your message. That vase can't have fallen. I'm telling you”—she spaced the words for emphasis—“the vase absolutely could not have fallen. The balance was perfect. I placed a slight glaze around the base to prevent erosion, but the stability of the vase was maintained by its weight and design. There is no way that vase could have fallen.” She stood beside the table, face flushed, hands outflung.

Evelyn was crisp. “No one is blaming you. I want your expert judgment. Please go up on the balcony and examine the pedestal.”

“I don't need to go up on the balcony. The only way that vase could come down is by someone using a tool.” She mimed grip
ping, jamming, and pushing down. “It's criminal. That vase was Chinese porcelain. What barbarian did this?”

“Sit down, Alison.” Evelyn's hand wave was peremptory. “The police claim a vandal was at work. Unfortunately, Kay Clark was in the garden, apparently standing in the cul-de-sac, and she barely managed to avoid being crushed. She was there very late at night, conferring with her assistant, who had just arrived in Adelaide.” There was a singular lack of conviction in Evelyn's voice.

Alison's face reflected a cascade of responses: surprise, wariness, suspicion. “It's odd the vase came down when someone was standing in the cul-de-sac.” There was the faintest hint of a question in her voice.

Evelyn spaced the words for emphasis. “That's why it's important to be clear that the vase's fall was an accident. I'm sure when you oversaw the installation of the vases, you directed that every precaution be taken to assure their stability. Now, if you find evidence of, say, erosion, despite the application of a sealant, we can inform the authorities and insist that the matter be dropped.”

Alison's head turned to look up at the pedestal. Her white-gold hair glistened. I judged she likely spent quite a bit of money on her hairdresser.

“I'm confident you can find an excellent replacement.” Evelyn's voice was smooth. “Perhaps an antique porcelain. We might replace all of the vases. That would be an interesting project.”

And such a lucrative one.

Evelyn added casually, “I've always depended upon your good taste. You've done an excellent job of reframing some of the finest paintings. I think several others might be enhanced by a change. Perhaps we might consider some Baroque frames in the upper gallery.”

I could almost see dollar signs dancing in Alison's blue eyes. She spoke quickly. “I'm always happy to help improve the set
ting for pieces in your collection. I'll take a look at the vase. I should have examined everything before I spoke. I was remembering how carefully the vase was installed. But time does pass and weather can affect stone.” Alison walked swiftly toward the steps to the balcony.

A hint of movement behind the cottonwood caught my eye.

In the shadow of the huge trunk, Ronald Phillips watched Alison climb the steps. His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. He soundlessly clapped as if in admiration of a performance, then turned and stepped lightly, making no sound, to a line of evergreens. He was natty in a green polo and white linen slacks.

I followed him to the front of the house. He hummed as he walked up the front steps. I thought I recognized the tune. Oh. Of course. “Happy Days Are Here Again.” How last century.

Inside, he bounded up the stairs and walked swiftly to his and Laverne's room. His thin lips curved in a satisfied smile.

I flowed into the combination bed and sitting room. Laverne huddled in one corner of a lime-colored sofa with a faintly pebbled fabric. She clutched a bright orange cushion and stared unseeingly toward chrome bookcases filled with books too evenly aligned, books meant for decoration, not enjoyment. As the door clicked, she drew in her breath and turned to look.

Ronald flung himself into a chair opposite the sofa and gave a bark of laughter.

She stiffened, her eyes wide with apprehension.

He gave her a contemptuous glance. “Pull yourself together.”

She lifted long, thin fingers to clutch a gold chain. “I talked to Diane a little while ago.”

His good humor fled. “What have you done?”

“I told her we needed to go home to Dallas, that Jenny was sick—”

He was up and out of the chair, gripping her arm and pulling
her to her feet. They stood close enough for a lovers' embrace, but there was no love, only fear and anger.

I sensed this was a long-standing pattern. There was no physical abuse, but emotional control.

“Tell Diane”—the softness of his voice was chilling—“the Great Spirit has assured you that Jenny is going to be fine and your duty is to remain here, that you sense turmoil and danger which can only be warded off by summoning the Great Spirit. You have been bombarded by fragments of thought, but one thing is clear. The Great Spirit must be invoked tonight for protection. Otherwise, Death”—he smiled with relish—“will walk these halls again.”

“I get such dreadful headaches.” Her voice was faint. “I can't do the séances anymore.”

“You will perform tonight. If you do a good job, we'll go and visit Jenny.” The tightness of his grip eased. He patted her shoulder. “I've got a few more things to check out. Isn't this Diane's afternoon with James?”

Laverne looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Don't make me mad.”

Her hands clenched. She nodded.

“When does she go?”

“At four.”

He looked pleased. “Plan on meeting her. You can tell her James has been talking to you. I'll have everything worked out by then. The Great Spirit's going to put on a good show tonight.”

His smile was wolfish as he turned toward the door.

 

Kay had turned off
the car motor. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

I dropped into the passenger seat. “I haven't been gone that
long. Have you ever heard about the stressful effects of a type A personality?”

Her eyes narrowed as she punched the button. “When I want mental-health advice, I'll ask my shrink. What took you so long?”

“Ronald Phillips eavesdropped on Evelyn and Alison.” I described the scene in Laverne and Ronald's bedroom.

She gave a low whistle of surprise. “Laverne moves majestically around The Castle and he follows like a well-bred lapdog.”

“Fake.” I was crisp. “He's the puppeteer.”

“What do you think he's up to?” Her tone was considering.

“He said, ‘The Great Spirit's going to put on a good show tonight.'” I had a feeling of foreboding.

Kay gave a hoot of laughter. “They'll make Diane pay double. Sounds like fun.”

“Kay!” My tone rebuked her.

She shot a wickedly amused glance toward the passenger seat. “I forgot, you don't take kindly to the afterworld. Isn't that a bit of a double standard, lady?”

“Absolutely not.” My reply was hot. “I am an official emissary of the Department of Good Intentions, sent to achieve goodness. Psychics and fortune-tellers purvey nonsense to the credulous for their own profit.”