Ghost in Trouble (5 page)

Cobb flipped shut his notebook. His face creased in thought as he looked toward the steps leading down to the garden. “The balcony seems to be a site for accidents.” His gaze swung to Kay. “Were you here the night of June sixth?”

Kay's face was somber. “No. I was at home.”

“Where is home, Mrs. Clark?”

“Dallas.”

“What brought you to The Castle?”

He could not have been as eager as I to hear her answer. If only I'd been more attentive when Wiggins had briefed me.

Her lips moved in a faint smile. “Business.”

He waited.

She met his gaze in silence.

How maddening.

“Very well.” His words were clipped. “Get in touch if you remember anything helpful.” He turned to walk away.

I seethed. Kay was not only foolish, but an ungrateful wretch. Refusing to tell the police that someone had toppled the vase placed her, in my view, in further danger. I'd saved her once. Who knew if I could manage to save her again?

If I'd been visibly present, I knew my eyes would be glinting and my lips pressed tight. But I wasn't visibly present. So…I took two quick steps and plunged my hand into the capacious pocket where she'd dropped the note found on her pillow.

Kay made a gurgling sound in her throat. She seized my wrist.

Chief Cobb turned to look. His eyes widened.

As we struggled, she listed to her right. To an observer, Kay's posture was odd.

“Let go,” she hissed.

“Mrs. Clark?” The chief took a step toward her.

She yanked herself upright, but maintained her tight grip on my wrist. “Sorry.” She was breathing fast. She made an effort to move forward, but I braced my feet against the balcony floor. She continued to appear strained. “I'm a bit unsteady. Shock.”

Chief Cobb took a step forward. “Can I help you?”

“No.” The word was forced between breaths. Kay twisted free and used both hands to shove me.

I lost my balance, but I had the note.

She flung herself in pursuit of the folded sheet and grabbed
the note. As she whirled toward the railing, she tore the paper into tiny pieces and threw the particles out into the night. Her chest heaving, she faced the chief. “Sometimes I have trouble breathing. Asthma, you know. That accounts for my unsteadiness and…and the choking sounds. If you'll excuse me, I'll go to my room.”

Chief Cobb's massive face was a study in disbelief.

No doubt he was trying to reconcile what he had seen with what she had said. The note had been small. The movement of her hands could have been a flutter of distress. The pieces of paper were now well disposed of.

“If you're certain you are all right…” Cobb spoke slowly, his gaze bewildered.

“I'm fine. Thank you.” She strode past him.

Reluctantly, I gave her an unseen thumbs-up. She was a worthy oppo—oh. I must not align myself against her. Unless forced to do so by circumstances beyond my control.

Chief Cobb and I gazed after her as she walked swiftly toward the steps leading down to the garden. Whatever he thought, he surely realized that there was more to this evening than met the eye.

As for me, I was willing to cede the first round, but I wasn't through. Kay wanted a verdict of accident. I had no idea why she had made that decision. I was determined to engage the police. An active investigation of attempted murder would protect Kay. Keeping her safe was my priority. For me, that goal had neared the status of a search for a unicorn. However, I would not be thwarted by obdurate, stubborn, impossible Kay Clark.

My eyes narrowed in consideration. No tools had been found on the balcony. Tools were kept in a workshop. One quick thought and I again found myself in total darkness. I slipped my hand over the wall and turned on the lights. Any handyman would have been thrilled with the collection of tools in The Castle workshop.
Tools were arranged in niches or holders on one wall. I spotted a collection of chisels and hammers and three crowbars of varying size. The tools appeared clean and shiny, but I would expect no less in a well-kept tool room. There was nothing to suggest any of these tools had been used to loosen the vase, but nothing to show they had not. I chose a claw hammer that had a nice heft and a moderate-size chisel. In my nonvisible state, I didn't have to be concerned with fingerprints.

However, burdened with tools, I had to transport them through actual space. I could no longer envision a destination and immediately arrive. Turning off the light, I opened the workshop door and stepped outside. I was near the garages. The Castle blazed with lights. Flashlight beams danced in the garden.

The tools should appear to be well hidden, yet I wanted to place them where they'd be easily found. Moreover, I hoped to put the tools inside the house. I hadn't forgotten the sound of that closing door. I wanted the police to look very hard at the occupants of The Castle.

I moved from shadow to shadow, edging ever nearer the garden.

The stark glare of a flashlight swept over me. I wasn't there, but the crowbar glittered silver.

I dropped to the ground.

“Hey, Joe. Something moved over there near the mimosa.”

Heavy footsteps moved cautiously nearer. “Police. Hands up. Police.”

Three flashlights cut bright swaths near me. The searchers held the flashlights to one side to avoid providing a silhouette.

Keeping the tools barely above the ground, I retreated, escaping those seeking beams by inches. My heart was thudding by the time I reached a huge oak with a massive trunk. I rose. The tools hidden by foliage, I watched the police officers below. As
the search of the lower terrace continued, I zipped, still hidden by trees, to the front of the house.

In my absence, the fire truck and ambulance had departed. The chief's car and several cruisers remained in the drive. The brightly lit porch was empty. Happily, the front porch wasn't visible from the terrace. I found the front door closed and locked. I placed the tools on the welcome mat and moved through the wooden panel. Once inside, I turned the lock, opened the door, retrieved the tools, closed and locked the door.

A low-wattage yellow bulb burned in a wall sconce. Otherwise, the hallway was dim. The stairs stretched up into darkness. I wondered how well the occupants were resting after the late-night interruption.

In a mirror on a sidewall, the crowbar, chisel, and hammer appeared to dangle in space.

The door at the end of the long, marbled hallway began to open.

Hurriedly, I looked around. A massive oak cabinet sat beneath the mirror. I opened the second drawer, the one at eye level. If the drawer had been locked, the situation would have been perilous. Fortunately—good work by Wiggins?—the drawer easily slid out. I stashed the tools inside.

Kay stepped into the hallway, carrying a tray with a carafe and a plate covered by a napkin. A late-night snack? Perhaps she would share.

At the foot of the stairs, she flipped several switches and started up.

I opened the drawer a few inches and pulled out the shiny tip of the crowbar. Anyone going out the front door in the morning would be sure to notice.

Now for a chat with my recalcitrant charge.

K
ay's bedroom was enchanting. I wondered if all the guest rooms at The Castle were this grand. The terra-cotta walls matched the tiled floor. A collection of Roseville pottery filled a bamboo cabinet. Photographs decorated the walls, Oklahoma scenes all: a gusher, Wiley Post and Will Rogers standing by the
Winnie Mae,
Maria Tallchief in
The Fire-bird,
the Cherokee alphabet, the château-style Henry Overholser Mansion in Oklahoma City, a Black Angus bull, an eagle wheeling in the sky.

Kay Clark sat at a fruitwood desk, a tray to one side. Her eyes narrowed, she studied an open file, pen in hand.

I was abruptly starving. However, I always try to be mannerly. “The roast-beef sandwich looks wonderful. May I have a half?”

Kay's head jerked up. She gazed all around the room, her dark eyes wide with shock.

“Oh, come on, Kay. We're in this together.” I tapped the desk next to the tray. “Surely you don't mind sharing.”

She stiffened. Without a word, she pushed the tray nearer the edge of the desk.

I took her action as an affirmative. I picked up a half. Only a half, mind you.

“Mmm. This is almost Heavenly.” I made the modification in the interests of accuracy. Though not divine, Oklahoma beef is by far the best in the world. “I especially like the mustard.”

“Colman's,” she muttered, her dark eyes huge as she watched the sandwich disappear.

“May I have some Fritos?”

“Whatever.” She averted her eyes as I scooped up a handful.

“Thank you. Now.” I daintily used a paper napkin to brush my fingers, dropped it into the wastebasket by the desk.

Abruptly, Kay pushed back her chair, which thudded to the floor as she stood. She turned away and paced toward the windows.

I reached down, righted the chair. “Kay, please. Look, if it makes you feel better, here I am.” I swirled into being. I saw my reflection in a mirror framed by ceramic parrots studded with turquoise. Perhaps the scarlet tunic and gold trousers were a bit much. The tunic swirled into ivory and the trousers into turquoise.

Kay placed her fingers over her eyes, then slowly dropped her hands. “My psychologist probably won't even charge for my next session, not after I tell her about you. Go away.”

I folded my arms. “Not until you're safe.”

Her face creased in thought. She strolled back to the desk, settled in the chair. She picked up the other half of the sandwich, took a bite. “I don't remember eating the rest of it.” Her tone was uneasy.

“I ate it.” I'm afraid I was impatient.

“Sure. Next thing you know, I'll be tap-dancing with a frog.”
She looked warily about. “If I see a frog, I'll know I'm nuts.” Not spotting any stray amphibians, she finished the sandwich, slumped back against the seat. “But I keep seeing you.” The pronoun wasn't said with affection. Her gaze slid toward me, swerved away. “I guess I
am
nuts. Maybe I should go to bed. But I have to think.” She drew a notebook near, began to write.

I moved the tray out of the way, perched on the edge of the desk. “What happened to Jack?”

Her head snapped up. “I'm not only nuts, I've got amnesia. That weird figment of my imagination, Bailey Ruth Raeburn”—her tone was brittle with indignation—“doesn't even know what's happened!” She shook her head forcefully. “Okay, my subconscious is telling me something. Maybe I need to look again at what I know about Jack's fall. Maybe my subconscious is onto something. Maybe I missed something.” She flipped to a fresh page, muttered aloud as she wrote.

I disappeared.

Kay took no notice. I suppose if she didn't believe what she was seeing, she wasn't surprised when she didn't see it.

I read her notations with interest.

1. Jack's body was found at the base of the balcony steps on Sunday morning, June 7. Although there was multiple trauma, the medical examiner said death resulted from a broken neck.
   
2. Time of death was estimated at some time after nine
   P.M
   . the previous evening. At the end of a dinner party, he had announced his intention of taking a stroll on the balcony to smoke a cigar. Since his arrival from Kenya three weeks earlier for his father's funeral, it had been his custom to end each evening on the balcony with a cigar and a glass of brandy.
   
3. A postmortem offered no explanation of the fall. The physician noted that he was in his early sixties and in excellent health, but sudden dizziness could not be ruled out.
   
4. A police investigation concluded the death was an accident. The balcony was dimly lighted and possibly he had misjudged a step and fallen.
   

I tapped on her shoulder. “Why not an accident?”

Kay quivered, but refused to glance behind her. She wrote in her distinctive script:

• 5. Why not an accident?
  

• A. Jack was an accomplished athlete in excellent condition. Why would he fall down steps?
  
• B. He had jogged Saturday afternoon, returned to The Castle shortly before six
  P.M
  ., showered, dressed.
  
• C. Dinner was at seven. In addition to family members and Ronald and Laverne Phillips, dinner guests included Alison Gregory and Gwen and Clint Dunham.
  
• D. Jack drank one glass of wine at dinner and carried a glass of brandy to the balcony. He was sober when he died. This was confirmed by the autopsy.
  
• E. Jack had excellent night vision. The possibility of an accident or sudden illness is remote.
  

• 6. Why murder?
  

• A. Jack had returned to The Castle for his father's funeral. It was his first visit from Kenya since the death of his brother, James, five years earlier.
  
• B. During the earlier visit, he stayed for only a few days. This time he had spent several weeks in Adelaide. His e-mails indicated concern about what he had discovered since his return.
  

Kay's face suddenly crumpled. She wiped away tears and took a deep breath. She pulled out the desk drawer and picked up an ebony case. Game animals in mother-of-pearl designs made the lid exquisite. Kay opened the box and picked up several sheets of paper.

I read over her shoulder. The e-mails were addressed to her. I noted the dates and subject lines. “Why did he print out his e-mails to you?”

She shook her head. “I think I am completely losing it. Why doesn't one part of my mind know what I know in the rest of my mind? He didn't. FYI, I brought these e-mails with me, but I'm keeping them in a box with Jack's papers that I found in the room when I arrived.”

I scanned the sheets.

“What do the e-mails mean?”

Kay didn't look toward the sound of my voice. After all, if she was talking to herself, what would be the need? She stared at her list.

• 7. In the space of three weeks, Jack learned something that meant he had to die. His acquaintances in Adelaide were limited to those living at The Castle and a handful of other people.
  

• A. Evelyn, his older sister. She never married and has always lived at The Castle. Evelyn is legally blind. Perhaps because of her poor eyesight, she tries to dominate every gathering, every situation. I sense that she resented Jack's years in Africa and her role as caregiver to their father.
  
• B. Diane Hume, his brother's widow. In her late forties, Diane is nervous, anxious, and easily upset. James lacked his sister's strong personality and his brother's daring nature. Shy and reclusive, he taught biology at Goddard College and spent most of his time painting birds. His hero was George Sutton, the University of Oklahoma naturalist famous for his bird paintings.
  
• C. Jimmy Hume. He reminds me of Jack when he was young. Jimmy finished high school a year early and attends OU. He's a geology major and will likely go to work for Hume Oil when he graduates. He rock-climbs, surfs, spelunks, and never met a dare he wouldn't take. He visited Jack several times in Africa. He's crazy about Shannon Taylor.
  
• D. Shannon Taylor. The daughter of The Castle housekeeper, Margo Taylor, Shannon will be a freshman at Oklahoma State this fall. She helps out at The Castle in the summer. Evelyn's companion is the wife of a Goddard professor and they usually spend the summer in France. While the companion is gone, Shannon drives Evelyn. Shannon and Jimmy have been dating on and off since middle school, but when Jack arrived at The Castle, Shannon was dazzled by him.
  

A smile transformed Kay's face. Despite the traces of tears, she looked rueful and amused and understanding, a woman with a long view and a generous heart. “I could have told Shannon.” In the margin of her notepad, she sketched a heart with an arrow. Across the heart, she wrote:
Women
. She tagged the arrow:
Jack
. Kay leaned back in the chair still smiling. “He couldn't help it. The man was magic.”

Kay pulled a laptop toward her, flipped up the lid. In only a moment, a striking picture filled the screen. The background was mesmerizing, falls tumbling behind him in a feathery spray of white, but despite the magnificence of thundering water, the man in the foreground dominated the photograph, thick silver hair, broad forehead, strong nose, high cheekbones, chiseled chin, full, sensuous lips. He was in safari garb, topee hat, khaki shirt and
shorts, boots. A patch covered his right eye. An angry red scar curled down one cheek. Whether it was his expression of barely leashed intensity or the way he stood, or something more, the image radiated vigor and recklessness and the make-me-any-bid challenge of a gambler. Beneath the vitality, there was also an underlying gravity, suggesting he had been tested in many arenas and was sadder and wiser for his experiences.

I'm not sure I would have recognized him. After his wife and daughter's death, Jack had left Adelaide as a very young man with coal black hair and smooth features. He'd returned as an older man whose scarred face and confident bearing reflected adventures in a dangerous environment.

“While he's asking me to leave my world behind and move to Africa, he's breaking a college girl's heart. Like he wrote, there's no good way to say thanks, but no thanks.” Kay's smile fled. She picked up her pen, added to the note on Shannon.

• 8. Was Shannon distraught enough over Jack to have wanted him dead?
  

• E. Margo Taylor. The housekeeper's face looks hard as granite at any mention of Jack. Was she angered by her daughter's pursuit of him? Or did she think he was taking advantage of Shannon?
  
• F. Laverne and Ronald Phillips. Laverne claims to be clairvoyant. Diane consulted her several years ago in Dallas. Laverne insists she is in contact with James Hume. Diane begged her to come to Adelaide and live at The Castle. Every Wednesday night, they hold a séance. It's all nonsense, of course, but Diane believes every word. Neither Laverne nor Ronald is likable. Laverne tries to be a grande dame, but she's all theater and no substance.
  Ronald is like a fancy lapdog, always deferring to her, talking about her “gift.”