Merry, Merry Ghost (19 page)

Gina’s brows drew down in a questioning frown. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would this woman still have the car?”

Jake was aggrieved. “Susan certainly was welcome to drive my car, though I don’t believe the driver the first time was Susan. She was too sick. Besides, Susan wouldn’t let some stranger take my car without even a word to me.”

Price gave her a level look. “We have a great deal to find out, including where Mrs. Flynn was going when she was first stopped and the identity of the red-haired woman who apparently was alone in the car on Persimmon Hill. We’ll hope to make progress tomorrow. If it is agreeable”—he spoke with a calm assumption of acceptance—“Chief Cobb will meet with you here at two o’clock this afternoon. Are there any others who were in contact with Mrs. Flynn yesterday?”

After a moment’s silence, Peg said abruptly, “We had a family dinner last night. My cousin Tucker Satterlee was here and Susan’s husband’s cousin Harrison Hammond and his wife Charlotte.” She looked bleak. “And a friend of mine, Dave Lewis. He’s staying at his brother’s house. Everett Lewis on Peace Pipe Lane.”

Price quickly obtained addresses and phone numbers. “We’ll be in touch with them and”—he glanced at Jake

—“with your permission we will include them in the meeting with Chief Price.”

“None of them were here after midnight”—Jake looked puzzled—“but ask them if you want to.”

Gina looked thoughtful. “Detective Price, you said Jake’s car is being fingerprinted and searched. Was that ordered before you came here and discovered Susan’s body?”

“Yes.”

“Is that routine procedure for an abandoned car?”

Price’s cool blue eyes accorded her a quick respect. “Only because of attendant circumstances.”

“Attendant circumstances?” she pressed.

“During Officer Cain’s search for the driver, loud voices were heard, a shouted conversation between a man and a woman. At one point the woman cried, ‘Murder.’ Officer Cain mounted a search, but he was only one man. There are woods and ravines along the road. When reinforcements arrived, the decision was made to speak with Mrs. Flynn since she was earlier seen with the redheaded woman.” He gave a short nod. “Chief Cobb will bring you up to date on the investigation when he meets with you.” He turned to go.

Johnny moved forward. “Sir, Miss Satterlee earlier asked to make a telephone call. Is it all right for her to do so now?”

Price turned toward Gina. “Miss Satterlee, thank you for helping us follow procedure. Certainly at this time you are free to make any calls you wish.” He looked at Johnny. “I’d like a word with you, Officer.” Price jerked his head toward the hall.

The two men stepped into the foyer, moved out of vision of the living room. A low murmur sounded.

I moved to the foyer and hovered above Detective Sergeant Price and Johnny Cain.

Price spoke softly to Johnny. “Keep talking. Repeat the story about stopping the car.” Price edged nearer the doorway, head cocked, listening.

I, too, was curious about Gina’s call. I returned to the living room.

“Throw me your cell, Jake.” Gina held out her hand.

Jake fished in her purse. “Should you call Tucker this late?” She tossed the phone.

Gina caught the small pink plastic oblong. She didn’t answer. She flipped up the lid, punched a number.

“I suppose I’d better call Harrison when you finish.” Jake sounded desperately weary.

I perched on the broad arm of the sofa quite close to Gina, close enough to see the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the stiffness of her face, the tight set of her shoulders. She took a deep breath. “Tucker…”

I popped to Burnt Creek.

CHAP
TER TEN

A
dim glow marked a second-story window in the frame Victorian ranch house.

Tucker Satterlee, groggy with sleep, held a portable phone as he swung over the edge of the bed. His dark curls were tangled. He blinked sleepily. The low-wattage light from the lamp on the bedside table was flattering to the slender young woman clutching a sheet to her bare shoulders. “Who’s calling? What’s happened?” Her voice was shrill.

Tucker waved her to be quiet. He reached for a wool robe, stood and pulled it on. “Susan?…Yeah. Oh, hey.”

He looked somber. “I’m sorry…” His face changed, brown eyes narrowing, bony features taut. “Smothered?

That’s crazy…”

The woman gave a tiny gasp.

A wary look crossed his face. He spoke slowly. “I picked up Lorraine around ten. We went over to Firelake Casino to play the slots and have a couple of drinks. Then we came out here.” A muscle twitched in one jaw.

“Lorraine can vouch for me if somebody saw Susan at midnight. But I can’t believe she was out chasing around Pontotoc County with some unknown redhead. Why do you want to know where I was?” His tone was sardonic. “Oh, sure. You called to ask where I was when somebody smothered Susan. Always nice when your sister asks you for an alibi. Anyway, you can cross me off any list of suspects.” His eyes narrowed.

“Who the hell are the suspects?…Yeah. I guess so. All right. Two o’clock. Yeah. I’ll be there.” He clicked off the phone, turned to Lorraine, his face grim. “A bad deal. Susan’s dead. They found her tonight lying on the floor of her bedroom, a pillow over her face. The cops say it’s murder.” His face was abruptly hard. “I don’t know what will happen now.”

Nor did I. I was only sure—and pleased—that a stealthy killer’s plans had been disrupted and there would be more shocks to come.

Downstairs in the kitchen
, I closed the swinging door before I turned on a light. Although the appliances had been updated, the big room was unmistakably early nineteenth-century with cupboards and a white wooden breakfast table and wood floors that dipped a little in one corner. I moved fast, keeping an ear cocked for footsteps. I found a directory in the drawer near the old-fashioned wall-mounted phone and flipped to the H’s. I ran my finger down the listings to Harrison Hammond, 903 Osage.

I felt intrusive poking
into bedrooms, but I would go wherever necessary to find out how the news of Susan’s death affected the heirs.

Harrison sat on the edge of the bed, holding a telephone receiver. “I’m shocked, Jake. Do you want me to come there?…No, I guess there isn’t anything I can do at this hour of the morning…All right. We’ll be there at two.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Charlotte, who sat bolt upright, a pillow clutched in her hands.

His face was drawn. “You heard. Susan’s dead. They think it’s murder.”

Charlotte stared at him, her eyes wide. “That’s dreadful.”

Harrison sat unmoving, his hands folded into tight fists.

Charlotte reached out, touched his pajama sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer as he lowered himself onto his pillow.

Charlotte’s face filled with foreboding. “It’s dreadful that Susan was murdered tonight of all nights.”

Hammond looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte fingered the ruching at the throat of her green silk nightgown. “Susan announced plans to change her will. That same night she is murdered. What if the police”—her voice was scarcely audible—“find out you owe a lot of money?”

He rubbed at one temple. “It won’t matter.” His voice sounded hollow. “I was with you tonight.”

She looked at him. Without her glasses her eyes looked fuzzy, but the intensity of her gaze was unmistakable.

“I only went to the office for a little while.” He avoided looking at her. “I can’t believe any of this. Susan dead. My God, I’m sorry.”

Charlotte’s voice shook. “She’s dead. And she didn’t change her will.”

Harrison started to speak, stopped. He reached for the switch on the bedside lamp.

They lay on the bed, close yet separated by an incalculable distance.

In the faint glow through the windows from a streetlamp, the bedroom was a hodgepodge of shadows.

“I didn’t hear you come in tonight.” Her voice was a whisper.

He came up on one elbow. “Listen to me, Charlotte. I went to my office because I was trying to figure out a way to keep out of bankruptcy. I was there all evening. I never left until I came home at midnight.”

Keith was curled on
one side, his fingers crooked around one of Big Bob’s paws. Across the room, Peg’s breathing was deep and even. I foresaw no danger for Keith now. No one knew the old will was to be set aside so Keith was safe. As soon as the holographic will was proved, Keith would also be safe because his death would accomplish nothing.

Reassured, I moved to the kitchen. I carefully shut the door into the hallway before turning on the light, although sheer exhaustion made it unlikely that anyone would wander downstairs now.

The refrigerator was well stocked. I cut several slices of rare roast beef. Oklahoma was beef country and there was none better in all the world, though of course, Kansas and Texas made similar claims. Sooners smiled kindly, having no doubt as to which state actually had the best beef. I spread two thick slices of fresh white country bread with Hellmann’s mayonnaise, added bread-and-butter pickles and a curl of horseradish. I found potato chips in a cabinet, poured a glass of whole milk, and settled at the kitchen table.

With a thump, Duchess landed on the table, gleaming eyes fixed on my sandwich, nose sniffing.

I cut a thin slice of beef, placed it in Duchess’s bowl.

The discovery of Susan, apparently dead from suffocation, was shocking to everyone connected to her. To her murderer, who alone at this point knew how her death had been achieved, that discovery was not only shocking but inexplicable.

I munched the sandwich and tried to put myself in the skin of Susan’s killer.

The murderer must be wondering and worrying. Who wanted Susan’s death to be investigated as murder?

Why? Was the real murderer’s role known? How could that be? How could Susan have taken Jake’s car?

Who was the redheaded woman? What were the police going to do?

The murderer had to be anxious, fearful, shocked, and, beneath the face presented to the world, suffused with rage.

As I took the last bite of sandwich, I was sure of that fury. To commit a perfect crime and see that undone had to have a cataclysmic effect on the killer. Yet, though I’d watched each of them carefully—befuddled Jake, grieving Peg, observant Gina, sleep-dazed Tucker, stricken Harrison, worried Charlotte—I had no inkling who was guilty.

Breakfast Sunday morning was
subdued. Jake sat hunched over her coffee. She waved away food. Gina toyed with a sweet roll, crumbling it into pieces. Peg dished up Keith’s breakfast, put it at his place. “Gina, will you help Keith? I’d better call Dave.” She didn’t sound eager.

Gina tried for a smile. “Hey, Keith, let me cut your waffle. Do you want syrup or jelly?”

Keith leaned to one side, offered a piece of waffle to Duchess.

Jake managed a smile. “That cat likes caviar, but not waffles.”

Peg hurried from the kitchen. She was already dressed in a pullover sweater and jeans. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket. She carefully shut the living room door after her and stood by the cold fire. She pushed a button.

I arrived at a rambling ranch house on Peace Pipe Lane, the home of Everett Lewis, and found Dave in tartan plaid boxers, shaving. He heard the phone, grabbed a towel, and wiped his hands. His face still lathered, he walked into the bedroom to scoop up a cell phone from the nightstand. “Hey, Peg.” He listened and looked astonished. “Smothered?”

His shock was evident. Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing whether the shock came from the event or from the news that a death that should have been accepted as accidental was now deemed a homicide.

“That’s crazy. Did somebody break in?” His eyes narrowed as he listened. “Oh…Well, that’s tough. I know you were really close to her…This afternoon?…Right. I’ll be there. And hey, Peg, God knows this is pretty grim, but she wouldn’t have lived long anyway. Everybody knows that, and the truth of the matter is that the timing is good for us…Don’t take my head off. I’m just facing facts. She’d always promised the money to all of you and now it looks like it will all work out, and hey, we can take good care of the kid.” His tone was magnanimous.

Obviously the prospect of marrying a woman with a substantial inheritance was pleasing to him.

“Do you want me to come over now?…Oh. Okay then. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I wasn’t surprised to
find Police Chief Sam Cobb in his office on Sunday. His suit coat hung from the back of his office chair so I judged he’d been to church. He was as big as I remembered, a stocky man, grizzled dark hair receding from a domed forehead. His face was heavy, his jaw blunt. He’d known unhappy times.

Even though only a short span of earthly time had passed, he looked older than when we’d last met, if one could describe our fleeting encounters as meeting. It had been my pleasure on my previous visit to Adelaide to assist the police in the guise of Officer M. Loy.

His oak desk was as battered and stained as I remembered. His computer screen was on. He turned from the computer to pick up a legal pad. He began to write:

Susan Pritchard Flynn stopped for speeding by Officer Johnny Cain at 12:14 A.M. Sunday in a blue Ford
belonging to her sister-in-law Jacqueline Flynn. Car taken without permission. Mrs. Flynn accompanied by
unidentified young woman described as very attractive redhead
.

The chief paused, a frown tugging at his iron gray brows. I hoped he wasn’t recalling the occasional presence of redheaded Officer Loy.

With a brief headshake, he resumed writing:

At shortly before 1 A.M., Officer Cain observed the Ford driven recklessly down Persimmon Hill. Officer
Cain gave chase. The car stopped at the base of the hill. Officer briefly glimpsed driver, the redheaded
woman previously seen with Mrs. Flynn. Mrs. Flynn was not in the car. Driver was not apprehended. Officer
Cain overheard a man and woman quarreling but never saw them. A woman cried, “Murder.” Woman may
or may not have been driver
.