Ghost in Trouble (20 page)

Jimmy took a step toward her. “Don't cry, honey.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her face stiff. “I heard you say you were going to hurt him. Did you?” She plunged past him.

Margo hurried after her running daughter.

Jimmy looked shocked. He called after her. “Shannon, come back.”

Running steps were his answer.

His mouth twisted in despair. He walked heavily toward the hallway.

His mother reached out a hand. “Jimmy…”

He didn't look back.

Diane was alone in the library. She stumbled to the chair that had belonged to James Hume, sank into it. She picked up his glasses, cradled them in one hand. Tears streamed down her face. “James, I'm frightened.”

 

Upstairs, Ronald stood at
the wet bar in their suite. He poured Scotch into a tumbler, added soda.

Laverne slumped back in an easy chair. She looked ill, her eyes staring and glazed, her face raddled. “That was terrible.”

He lifted the glass in a toast, took a deep drink. “To the contrary, you were never better. That's the best James you've ever done.”

She lifted a shaking hand. “Didn't you feel it?”

He was impatient. “You know it's bogus.”

Her lips worked, and the words were almost indistinct. “I used to feel things. I could help people. I knew things no one else knew, but you pushed me and made me tell people things for money. Now there's nothing there. I said what you told me to say, but there was something terrible in that room. Didn't you feel the hatred?”

He smiled. “Hatred? Who cares? They're scared.” His voice was soft. “I watched them. If you think we got money before, wait and see what I do now.”

A sudden flush stained her cheeks. “I hate you.”

“Poor Laverne.” There was cold dislike in his eyes. “Don't pretend you don't like money. I know better. If you want money for Jenny, you'd better keep your mouth on straight.”

She stared at him and spoke as if she hadn't heard his words. “Tonight you had me say that Jack Hume was murdered. Is that true?”

He looked amused. “Of course. Why do you think someone tried to kill Kay Clark last night?”

Laverne moved uneasily in her chair. “Someone pushed that vase?”

“Someone pushed that vase and I know who.” He sipped at his drink.

“What are you going to do?”

He gave a little shrug. “Nothing for now. I'll let the pot simmer tonight. Tomorrow I'll make some calls, offer some constructive advice, and pick up some consulting fees.”

“Ronald, I feel danger. Something dark and terrible—”

“‘I feel danger.'” He mocked her. “Save your performance for the fools, Laverne.”

“You don't understand.” Her voice rose. “I know—”

“I like that vibrato. It gives Diane chills. It doesn't do a thing for me. Look”—and he was suddenly good-humored—“you've had a long day. You'll feel better tomorrow. You may have to do some hand-holding with Diane.” He walked to wet bar, splashed water in a glass, carried it to Laverne. “I'll get you a pill. All you need is a good night's sleep.”

She sank back against the chair, waited until he returned, handing her two capsules. She swallowed them submissively. “Yes. I'll go to bed.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She rose and moved heavily into the bath. When she returned in a pale ivory nightgown, she was already drowsy.

I wondered if she often took powerful, quick-acting narcotics.

He placed his drink on a coffee table and strolled to a closet. He returned in a moment in a T-shirt and boxers and settled on the sofa. He picked up the glass and smiled, a man enjoying a nightcap, obviously pleased with a productive day.

 

I popped to Kay's
room.

No Kay.

I took a deep, steadying breath. She'd promised to stay put. Of course, she very likely had expected me to make a prompt report on the séance. With her door open, she'd have been sure to hear people walking to their rooms.

I wasn't as fearful now for her safety. I expected the murderer was totally occupied assessing what danger might emerge from the séance. Evelyn Hume's cold conclusion that nothing could be proved might reassure the murderer. Everything depended upon how much Ronald knew and what he intended to do with the knowledge.

But I didn't like the idea of Kay roaming around The Castle.

I pressed my fingertips to my temples. Hadn't I seen Myrna Loy do that in a film? Lo and behold, an answer came. When I didn't return, Kay must have gone to the library seeking me. I dropped through the ceiling into the library. Such a fun way to maneuver.

Kay sat next to Diane.

Diane was a wreck, her makeup streaked by tears, her nose red from rubbing with a handkerchief, her untidy hair more frazzled than usual. She looked earnestly at Kay. “…you're very kind to offer to help me make sense of everything.”

Kay spoke soothingly. “Start at the beginning, from the moment you reached the library…”

I hovered next to Kay, whispered in her ear: “I'll be in your room in half an hour.”

She froze for only an instant, gave a tiny nod.

“After everybody finally came…”

 

In a marble-walled bathroom,
Gwen Dunham sat at a vanity counter. She poured facial cleanser onto a washcloth. Her movements were automatic. Not even the harsh light from theater-dressing-room-style lights diminished the perfection of her features. Whether young or old, she would always be beautiful. She wiped away makeup. Her deep-set violet eyes stared unseeingly into the mirror. Whatever she saw, it was not her image.

A step sounded. Clint stood in the doorway. He was still dressed. He looked toward his wife, his face anguished. “We have to talk.”

She stiffened. “Not tonight, Clint. Tomorrow.” She rose and turned on a spigot, held the cloth beneath the rushing water. Squeezing out the excess, she lifted the wet cloth to her face, covering her eyes and nose and mouth.

Her husband waited a moment, but she made no move, said nothing. Slowly, he turned away.

Her shoulders quivered. She pressed the cloth harder, muffling sobs.

In the bedroom, he gathered up a pillow and a light blanket. He turned and moved out of the bedroom. The sound of the closing door brought Gwen into the room. She saw the pulled-down spread and missing pillow. She turned and leaned against the frame of the door, defeat and misery in every line of her body.

In the den, Clint tossed the pillow onto a leather sofa. He made no move to undress. Instead, he slumped into a chair, massaged knuckles against one temple. His face was hard with anger.

 

Kay worked at Jack's
desk. She wrote quickly, her face absorbed and intent.

I had much to report, but I was desperately thirsty. I opened the small freezer compartment, scooped ice into a tumbler.

Kay's head jerked up. She stared toward the wet bar. “Will you please announce when you're here? An ice scoop dangling in the air bothers me. There's something awfully weird about it.”

“Certainly,” I murmured agreeably. “Here I am. Almost.” I enjoyed my reflection in the mirror behind the wet bar, the colors wheeling and whirling and solidifying, and there I was. I gave a satisfied nod. The carnelian necklace was very attractive. “I aim to please.” I filled the tumbler to the brink with water and drank it half down.

She raised an inquiring dark eyebrow. “Thirsty work?”

“Very.” I took another drink and described the séance. “Diane was anxious for the séance to begin but obviously afraid of what she might learn. Jimmy…”

Kay wrote furiously to keep up. When I concluded, she flipped back a few pages of her legal pad. “Your account is a good deal more coherent than Diane's.” She paused. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “You're welcome. As it played out, no one there, except for Diane, was under any illusion about trafficking with the beyond.”

Kay tapped the desktop with her pen. “Why didn't he simply put the squeeze on someone? Why the drama?”

I drifted to the sofa and dropped gratefully onto the soft cushions. “I think he took pleasure in publicly gigging people. Plus, the séance was a clever way to make everyone present exceptionally uncomfortable and nervous about what she might say next. The obvious threat is that the séance was only a prelude. As he told Laverne, he's going to let everyone worry and then he'll make his move.”

Kay looked eager. “Bailey Ruth, we're getting close. You can monitor everything he does for the next few days. As soon as he sets up a meeting with the killer, we can alert the police chief. You can be there in your cop uniform and video the whole thing.”

 

In the white bedroom,
I admired again the effect of the pearl necklace hanging from red coral. It was a subtle, but commanding use of color. Although it would have been lovely if the circumstances had been happier, I had enjoyed my stay at The Castle. I agreed with Kay that we were nearing the end of her quest. I would follow Ronald to a fateful meeting. If all went well, Jack Hume's murderer would be revealed and arrested. Soon I would hear the whistle of the Rescue Express and once again leave my beloved Adelaide.

I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to ten. I felt everything was under control. Until morning, I was free. It would take only a moment for me to see those I loved. Emissaries were under strict orders never to contact family or friends, but a quick peek did no harm. As Wiggins stressed, the living must not be preoccupied with the dead. Moreover, I always felt close to Dil and Rob because whenever they thought of me, I was there for an instant.

 

My daughter, Dil, her
red hair frosted with silver, dished up ice cream at her kitchen counter. Ice cream had always been the bedtime snack at the Raeburn house. Bobby Mac liked chocolate with slivers of almond and chocolate syrup. I poured chocolate over a generous serving of vanilla and crumbles of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Dil was a purist, plain vanilla. Our son, Rob, added slices of banana and peanuts to a dip of strawberry. Each to his own taste.

Dil hummed as she added spoons and carried two bowls to the den.

Her husband looked up with a smile. He had a nice, crooked smile that indicated good humor and a wry insight.

Dil settled across from him on a comfortable chintz sofa.
“Hugh, the funniest thing. In the kitchen I started thinking about Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. My mom…”

I blew her a kiss.

 

I found Rob and
Lelia in their den. Rob groaned, clapped his hands to his head. “He threw the ball away. He threw it away.”

On the television screen, a first baseman scrambled after a ball that had zoomed over his head. A base runner in visitors' gray rounded second and flew toward third.

Rob groaned again. “If they lose this game, they'll be four behind in the wild card.”

His wife, Lelia, made soothing noises, but didn't look up from her book.

I craned to see. Oh, a novel by Dorothea Benton Frank. Lelia had excellent taste. I would add the author to my reading list.

Rob looked despondent. “They were ahead at the end of May. I should have known they couldn't hold it. Oh, well. That's baseball. When I was a kid, my mom loved that Yogi Berra quote: ‘This is like déjà vu all over again.'”

Lelia looked up. “Funny you should mention your mom. Today I saw someone who looked so much like a picture of your mom when she was young. A redhead in a yellow convertible.”

If I'd ever felt like the stereotype of a ghost with hair standing on end, this was the moment. I held my breath.

“This redhead was really young and pretty. It made me smile to see her.” Lelia's tone made clear that she had no inkling the woman she'd seen was me. I relaxed. After all, I certainly hadn't been twenty-seven when the
Serendipity
went down in the Gulf.

Rob grinned. “A redhead in a yellow convertible is Mom's kind of woman.” He glanced toward a studio portrait of Bobby Mac and me. The affection in his eyes brought tears to mine.

 

Cars were picking up
kids from the rectory of St. Mildred's. Dear redheaded Bayroo, my grandniece, stood on the back steps, waving good night to friends. Her dad, Father Bill, dropped paper plates into a trash sack. Her mom, Kathleen, swiped the top of the picnic table. “Mom, that was the best watermelon yet this summer.”

 

At the Pritchard house,
a little boy slept with one arm around the neck of a plush bear. Downstairs a young couple on a rose-colored sofa held hands. Peg looked at Johnny. “Saturday.”

“You'll be the most beautiful bride in the world.”

She moved nearer, lifted her face to his.

 

I felt joyful as
I returned to The Castle. My children were fine and those whose lives I'd touched in previous visits were well and happy.

The front hallway light was on but the house was utterly silent. The Castle walls were old and thick.

In the white bedroom, I appeared and chose a pale blue nightie. I glanced approvingly in the mirror. The bedroom was an excellent background for coppery red hair and the nightgown. I propped two puffy pillows behind me, sank into softness. The pillows were almost as comfortable as floating on a cloud. You object to the concept of support from a cloud? Clouds, you point out, are simply particles of mist. But in Heaven…Oh, of course. Yours to wonder about, mine not to tell.

I turned off the bedside lamp. Hopefully, tomorrow Ronald would lead me to a killer.

E
velyn and Jimmy were in the dining room when Kay and I arrived. She looked up as we entered, her strong face pleasant. “Good morning.” Her deep voice sounded good-humored. Jimmy pushed back his chair. “Good morning.” He was polite, but formal.

Kay was quick. “Please don't get up. We'll take care of ourselves.”

He returned to his breakfast, and we moved toward the sideboard. I chose bacon, scrambled eggs with sausage and jalapeño, a waffle, fruit, and orange juice. I glanced in the mirror and admired my outfit. I had still opted for restraint in fashion, but my pale lime blouse had adorable embroidered parasols on it. A matching trim adorned my beige linen slacks. This morning I opted for beige woven leather moccasins. I felt ready for a busy and productive day. After breakfast, it would be time to disappear and take up sentinel duty with Ronald Phillips.

We carried our plates to the table and sat near Evelyn. Jimmy was reading what appeared to be a geology text.

Evelyn held up several sections of newspaper. “Would you care for the newspaper?”

Kay and I declined.

Evelyn lifted a section and became immersed.

Mindful of our ostensible roles, I murmured to Kay, “Do you want me to visit the historical society this morning?”

Clattering steps sounded in the stone hallway.

Diane hurried into the dining room. Her hair poked up in sprigs. She wore no makeup. Her housecoat was open to reveal pink-striped pajamas. “Did someone let Walter out last night? I thought he was inside, but maybe he went out. I whistled and called and he's not in the house. I went to the back porch and called for him and he didn't come. Has anyone seen him?”

I glanced at Kay.

She murmured, “The dog.”

Jimmy looked up. “He's probably chasing a rabbit, Mom.”

She looked doubtful. “Jimmy, please go out and look. Walter's always on the back steps in the morning if he's been out at night.” Her voice wobbled.

Jimmy put down his coffee cup. “I'll find him. He's too cantankerous for anything to have happened to him.”

Diane nodded jerkily. “I'll get dressed and come help.”

Kay gave me a quick nod. “Francie and I will help, too.”

 

I disappeared when out
of sight from the terrace. I floated above The Castle grounds. The heat was already building. Though it was early, I judged the temperature to be in the high eighties, which augured one-hundred-plus degrees by midafternoon. Heavenly residents find whatever climate they enjoy, from deserts
to polar ice caps. Bobby Mac and I lazed away cheerful days in sparkling bays reminiscent of the Caribbean, but, at this moment, I took delight in the Oklahoma summer. I skimmed above the trees and kept a sharp eye for the old dog.

In the distance, I heard Jimmy whistling and calling: “Hey, Walter. Where are you, you decrepit old reprobate. Found a lady somewhere? Come home, buddy.”

Suddenly I heard a faint yipping.

I swooped down as Jimmy came around the corner of The Castle. He was grinning as he walked to the workshop. He opened the door and Walter burst out, barking in a frenzy. The cocker wobbled around Jimmy, nipped toward his hand, then turned and pelted unevenly toward the house.

The old dog strove mightily but he was slow, hampered by an arthritic back leg. Laughing, Jimmy caught up with him. Jimmy reached down, grabbed him up. “How'd you get in the workshop? Dumb old dog. Mom's frantic. Come on, stop wriggling, I'm taking you in.”

Before Jimmy came around the corner of the house, I dropped down by the back door and appeared.

Kay jogged up, her eyes darting nervously around. “What if somebody saw you do that?”

I wasn't worried. “So they didn't see me for a minute. Now I'm here.”

Kay held the door for Jimmy.

Walter squirmed, trying to get down. He snuffled and quivered, his rheumy eyes bleary.

Jimmy carried him through the kitchen and into the main hallway. “Hey, Mom. Walter got trapped in the workshop.”

Diane hurried to the top of the stairs. “I was just going to come down and help. I'm so glad you found him.”

Jimmy carried the dog upstairs and placed him on the floor. “Here he is. No worse for the wear.”

Walter trotted toward Diane.

Beaming, she picked him up and buried her face in golden fur, murmuring.

Suddenly the dog stiffened. He yipped, his tone high and shrill.

“Walter…”

The cocker wriggled free and dropped to the floor.

Diane called him, “Come here, you bad dog.” But she wasn't scolding him. Her tone was loving and indulgent. “Come back here, Walter. Tell Mother where you've been.” Her voice faded as they moved away from the top of the stairs.

Jimmy grinned at us. “She'd be a lot more upset if something happened to Walter than to me.” But there was affection and good humor in his voice. “As dog rescuers, we deserve fresh coffee.” He turned to go back to the dining room.

“Walter!” Diane's cry was sharp. “Come back. Their door's ajar. Don't push! Walter, stop that.” There was a strangled sound and then a high scream.

Jimmy swerved around Kay and me. He reached the stairs, took the steps two at a time.

Kay and I raced after him.

Diane stood at the far end of the hall near a partially open door. She was trembling. “There's blood…there's blood everywhere.”

The door to Laverne and Ronald Phillips's room was partially open. Blood had pooled in a dark splotch just over the threshold into the hallway.

I glanced back. Only Kay was behind me. I disappeared.

Inside the bedroom, I felt as if I'd slammed into a wall. I wouldn't follow Ronald Phillips today. His body kept the door from fully opening. He lay on his back, skin flaccid and grayish.
Dark splotches stained his once-white T-shirt. His temple was disfigured as well. I suspected a gun had been held only inches away and the trigger pulled.

I hovered above the bed.

Laverne lay on her back. Blood had seeped into the pillows and the bedclothes. She appeared to have been shot in her sleep. Had she awakened, groggy from pills, at the rapid staccato of gunfire? I suspected the attack had been sudden, Ronald shot down, then swift movement to the bed and the gun trained on her.

“They're dead.” Diane's cry rose from the hallway. “They're dead!” She clung to her son's arm.

Jimmy stared into the bedroom, his young face pale with shock. “Walter.” His voice was shaky. He reached out, snagged the cocker's collar, pulled him into the hall. Smears of blood stained the floor. He lifted the struggling cocker, held him against his chest, then slid an arm around his mother's shoulders as she began to sob.

I returned to the hall. I glanced toward the stairs and saw no one. I was behind Diane and Jimmy and Kay. I appeared.

Kay took two swift steps, gazed into the room. She drew in a sharp breath. “They've been killed.” Her voice was grim. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her slacks and punched 911.

Jimmy turned his mother away from the room. He still held the struggling Walter. “We'll wait for the police downstairs. Come on, Mom.” He gave Kay a commanding glance. “Close the door.”

Kay moved quickly, pulled the door shut.

Evelyn waited at the foot of the stairs, worry and fear clear in the drawn lines of her face. Margo and Shannon stood a few feet behind her.

Diane sobbed. “Someone's killed Laverne and Ronald. There's blood all over their room.”

Jimmy nodded at his aunt. “Laverne and Ronald are dead. It has to be murder. The police are coming.”

On the main floor, with an apologetic glance, I slipped into the guest lavatory. I regretted that I'd succumbed to the lure of fashion this morning. I couldn't at this point change to a frumpier costume, but I added oversize harlequin-frame sunglasses and a green kerchief to cover my hair, then returned.

“The police are coming.” Kay spoke quietly. “Possibly we should wait in the drawing room.”

Evelyn led the way. She walked to a Queen Anne chair, sank onto it. Diane huddled on a sofa, shaking, words tumbling. Jimmy paced by the fireplace. Margo and Shannon sat side by side on a bench, their expressions shocked and frightened.

Margo asked abruptly, “Are you sure—”

Jimmy interrupted. “They're dead and covered with blood.”

Shannon gave a cry.

He started to walk toward her, then shook his head, resumed his quick steps up and down, up and down in front of the fireplace.

The police arrived within five minutes, sirens blaring. Chief Cobb paused in the archway. “Is everyone in the household here?” His gray suit already looked rumpled.

Evelyn wasn't as majestic as usual. She took a deep breath and nodded, big-boned face bleak.

“Remain here.” It was an order, not a request. “Officer Cain will be in charge. Officer, take everyone's name.” The chief swung away, moving fast for a big man.

I well remembered young and handsome Johnny Cain. His coal black hair was newly cut, his deep blue eyes alert and intelligent. I hoped he wouldn't recall the redhead he'd glimpsed at Lulu's when I was in Adelaide for the Christmas holiday. Of course, on that particular day, I'd worn a particularly flattering jade green blouse and slacks, which emphasized the sheen of my hair. Possibly today was the first time in either my earthly or Heavenly existence that I perceived a negative aspect of red hair.
Truly, once glimpsed, the coppery gleam of my hair is difficult to forget.

Morning sunlight slanted across the Aubusson carpet, its colors faded a dusty rose and pale gold from years of exposure. Each person sat in an island of silence. Johnny Cain moved from one to another. When he reached me, his expression was curious. I could have told him it was déjà vu all over again. Instead, I gave my name in a sibilant mutter and hunched my head to one side as if I had a stiff neck.

When his task was done, he waited near the archway.

Everyone sequestered in the drawing room appeared shocked and subdued. Evelyn clasped the silver head of an ebony cane, her expression somber. Diane slumped against the side of the sofa, occasionally pressing a sodden handkerchief to her reddened eyes. Jimmy paced, frowning as he flexed his hands, opening and closing his fingers into fists. Shannon held tight to one of her mother's hands. Margo kept her gaze trained on the archway, watching as officers and technicians came and went in the hallway. Shannon's face creased in thought. Occasionally, she stared at Jimmy with haunted eyes.

More quick steps in the hallway. A wiry, trim figure in a sport shirt and Levi's trotted past the archway. I recognized the medical examiner. His official pronouncement of death was necessary before the bodies could be moved and the business of collecting evidence begun.

I moved restively in a not very comfortable early Victorian chair. Perhaps Wiggins had been right to discourage appearances. If I weren't a guest at The Castle, I could be upstairs right this moment. Instead, I was trapped in the drawing room.

Occasionally Johnny Cain slid a puzzled glance toward me.

I sat in a shadowy corner with one hand to my face, as if propping up a cheekbone. Upstairs so much was happening…I gave
a little mental shrug. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I stood, still with a hand to my face. I veered fairly near Johnny and muttered, “Going to the lavatory. Back in a minute.”

He said, “Miss de Sales…”

“Got to hurry.” Dignity was a small sacrifice for duty.

He followed me through the archway.

I flapped a hand as I opened the lavatory door only a few feet away and stepped inside.

I punched the lock, gave myself a thumbs-up in the ornate ormolu mirror, and disappeared.

In the hallway, Johnny stood where he could keep an eye on the lavatory door as well as the drawing room. In two quick strides, he checked the doors on either side. One opened to a closet, a second to a storage room. Now he could feel comfortable that the restroom had no other exit and I was inside until I came out. I was glad to see he'd lost his tense expression.

In an instant I was upstairs. I hovered above the chief, Detective Sergeant Hal Price, and the quick-talking medical examiner. I spared one admiring glance for Hal Price, the cotton-top detective with craggy good looks, slate blue eyes, and a muscular build. I was always true to Bobby Mac, but I would be disingenuous to pretend my pulse didn't quicken when I saw Hal Price. I knew the attraction was mutual. Perhaps someday I could find the right redhead for him.

“…looks like contact wounds, both to the chest and temple.” The M.E. pointed at Ronald's body. The doctor stepped to the bedside and looked down, his thin face intent. “Same MO here. That's kind of a puzzle. The guy at the door had to be shot first. There's no suggestion of trauma or struggle by him to prevent the attack. Why did she remain still? Natural thing would be to fling back the covers and fight or run. Instead, she's lying here, and bang, she's dead. Probably a narcotic. I'll run the tests, let you know.”

The last words came as he stepped casually over Ronald's feet and edged out of the partially open door.

Several uniformed officers were working around the perimeter of the room, measuring and photographing. One officer on his knees near Ronald's pooled blood looked up. “Hey, Chief. The blood's pretty much dry except in the center. Paw prints go right through it. But there's a smear here”—one finger pointed at a brownish curl—“that looks like the edge of a shoe.”

Chief Cobb stepped nearer. “That's critical. Get a good photo, then try for an impression. Whether we get it or not, the murderer may have stepped in blood. If we get a suspect, we can get a warrant to check shoes. There may be microscopic traces that will send somebody to jail.”

Cobb was thoughtful. “Here's how I figure it. Late last night there was a knock at the door. Phillips gets up. Probably he's foggy with sleep. He opens the door, the gun's jammed against his chest, and bingo. As he falls, the murderer steps inside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, and kicks the door shut. A couple of strides to the bed.” The chief matched action to his words. “Gun to her throat, pull the trigger. Back to the guy on the floor, maybe he's moaning. Maybe he's still alive. Gun to the temple and that's the end of the story.”