Ghost Ups Her Game

by Carolyn Hart

  Iris gestured toward the singer. ‘He has a point.’ There was the barest wobble in her voice.

  I was glad I’d come. I didn’t want to raise her hopes too high, but I could give her a boost. ‘Gage and Robert spent the day at the park. They found three witnesses who will testify you arrived at the carousel and immediately departed. The police chief has been informed.’

  Her face was alight. ‘Oh that’s wonderful. Maybe I’ll get out of here tomorrow.’

  I gave her a thumbs up. I didn’t want to tell her she was only on first base and it would take a double to get her home. Let her think freedom was almost hers. It was much more comforting than another verse of ‘The Sloop John B’.

  ‘It’s cold enough to hang meat in here.’

  The hamburger gripped in Sam’s right hand stopped midway to his mouth. ‘I turned the thermostat down to sixty-five in honor of Her Honor. You can punch it up.’

  I was at the wall in an instant and nudged the control. A cashmere cardigan offered instant warmth. I settled in the chair opposite Sam’s desk, my eyes riveted on the hamburger. It was almost seven o’clock, way past my suppertime. ‘I don’t suppose you have an extra?’

  ‘It unsettles me to talk to an empty chair.’

  The room had warmed a bit. I discarded the cardigan and Appeared in a brightly tropical shift but I decided on three-quarter length sleeves and ballet flats. Very comfortable.

  His big heavy face managed a tired smile. ‘Thanks. So fill me in on the Kirk house.’

  I was relieved that his tone was weary but companionable. ‘Will do. But,’ my voice was longing, ‘do you have an extra?’

  ‘Extra what?’

  ‘Hamburger.’

  A sigh. ‘Claire’s in Tishomingo visiting her sister. Yeah, I got two cheeseburgers, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, onions, mustard, mayo. They came with onion rings on top. Tonight’s special. So I didn’t order fries. Anyway, when I talk to Claire tonight I’ll admit to the cheeseburger, but stress no fries. She’d be happier if I ordered grilled chicken but a man has his limits. I’ve had a long day and I have this funny feeling it’s going to get longer.’ As he spoke, he spread out the morning newspaper on the desk near me.

  I picked up the fried onion ring and munched, a big onion ring with crispy cornmeal crust. ‘Lulu’s?’

  ‘Yeah. They know I’m on a diet. Libby slipped in some celery sticks. Wait ’til I tell Claire I had celery sticks instead of fries. Maybe I’ll get strawberry shortcake for my treat next week. Dessert every Thursday. Don’t know why she picked Thursdays. Yeah, I guess I do. The mayor has all the department heads in on Thursday mornings, trying to chisel another thou off everyone’s budget.’ He finished his cheeseburger, looked morose. ‘Speaking of money, the overtime is piling up. I called Judy Weitz in to deal with the info Gallagher’s daughter and boyfriend brought in. They did some smart work. I asked them how they came up with the idea. She couldn’t say enough nice things about Bailey Ruth Raeburn, an old friend of her mom’s at Fort Sill.’

  I smiled.

  Sam was dry. ‘The guy not so much. I said I always liked redheads. He looked like he wanted to burrow under a blanket. So you and the girl are chums. About halfway through their spiel – and she did most of the talking – I kept thinking I’d heard her voice before in addition to the other time I talked to her. After they left, I ran the Crime Stoppers tape again. So do you want to tell me how you got Gage Gallagher into the Kirk house at two in the morning to make that call?’

  ‘These things happen,’ I said airily.

  ‘When you’re around.’ He tried but didn’t quite manage to suppress a grin. ‘I fell for it. But it turns out you steered me right. I talked to the doc. Huffed. Puffed. Then crumpled like a crushed beer can. Yes, he knew she died from medicine ground up and dropped in her afternoon lemonade. I got the papers ready to file for an exhumation. The autopsy will prove how she died. The text of the note in Lambert’s wallet definitely indicates she didn’t take the stuff herself. No way it could be accidental. Not with the amount in the glass. So it’s murder. I started looking because of that call to Crime Stoppers, even though I had a feeling it was somehow rigged.’ A head shake. ‘My instinct was right. Nobody living there called with a first-person view of that glass of lemonade. You based the call on Lambert’s note. But the doctor’s actions prove what Lambert wrote. As for the doctor, he meant well. It’s funny how people do things with the best of intentions and the results bleed through a lot of lives. If only one fact or another changed, Matt Lambert and Nicole Potter might still be alive. Instead a murderer succeeded, never had a worry until Lambert called on a burner phone, demanding a big donation. I gather you’ve talked to them all now, the ones who were at the banquet Thursday night.’

  ‘I have talked to them.’

  ‘How easily could the killer make that donation happen?’

  I was thoughtful. ‘George Kirk inherited enough to make a donation. His sister? No money, but if she suggested a gift in Evelyn’s memory, George likely would have agreed. The artist? George is nuts about her. If he thought a donation would please Camille, he would provide whatever she asked. The cousin? She handled money. She has a history of taking money if she needed it. The person Lambert called could have paid off. But it didn’t cost a penny to kill him.’

  ‘When you announced you intended to find out everything about the banquet guests at the Kirk table, I told you they were off limits to Officer Loy.’

  ‘Right.’

  He was intrigued. ‘How did you manage to question them?’

  I was touched that he took it for granted I’d not Appeared as Officer Loy. ‘I found out as much as I could about each of them before I contacted them. I pretended to be a college chum of Madeleine’s and talked to several people who knew a lot about Evelyn and those around her. When I thought I had a handle on them, I showed up at the front door as a private investigator sent by Madeleine Timmons.’

  He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘That could be dicey. What if one of them called or texted Madeleine?’

  ‘No one was that close to her. I was authoritative. Michaela Shayne of Shayne and Gillespie Private Investigations, Kansas City.’

  He gave a low rumble of laughter. ‘My grandad had a used bookstore. Lots of paperbacks. I grew up reading tattered old copies of the Brett Halliday books, Michael Shayne, redheaded PI. OK, Mike, what did you find out?’

  I tried to give him a sense of each person.

  He listened intently. When I was silent, he was brisk. ‘George married an older woman for her money, was the handsome lover, but one day a bewitching young woman arrives. He was probably used to money by then, liked living well. But he wanted the artist. The sister is bitter, mad at the world, aching to make other people miserable. Maybe she’s attracted to that husband of Evelyn’s friend. Maybe she just hated seeing someone else be happy. But she probably liked the money there, too. The artist?’ Sam looked cynical. ‘Lots of innocence on parade but she’s still in the house. The bookkeeper? If Evelyn tossed her out, she probably would never get another job that paid as well. If she called the police, she could face time in prison.’ He looked discouraged. ‘Good work, Mike. But we aren’t a step closer to knowing which one of them killed Evelyn, slipped down the stairs at Rose Bower to break Lambert’s neck, and walked to the carousel to kill the student.’

  My voice was grave. ‘I know.’

  Sam stared at me. ‘What have I missed?’

  ‘After PI Shayne interviewed each one, she walked to the door. With no hint of what was to come, PI Shayne stared into the watching eyes, a long, hard stare. PI Shayne spoke a single word. Loudly. Sharply.’

  I pushed back my chair, rose, walked to the blackboard. I printed in block letters:

  DIGITALIS.

  Sam crumpled the greasy paper wrapper from the cheeseburger. ‘Oh come on, Bailey Ruth. A three-time murderer gasps and clutches his/her bosom and all is revealed.’ His voice was heavy with irony.

  I continued unabas
hed. ‘One looked at me with no change in expression. One took a step back, convinced I was unhinged. One was puzzled, trying to make sense of an unfamiliar word. But Sam, one knew exactly what I meant. And why. My concluding comment to the killer? I spoke quite pleasantly, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll be in touch.”’

  Sam was dour. ‘Judges want facts. A judge won’t be impressed by a description of this face or that face. Furthermore, there’s a small but important matter of appearing in the witness stand. The defense gets a list of witnesses. So are we supposed to create an identity for you? You can’t testify even if it ever got that far. This face and that face isn’t proof. We need proof. And we need a witness who can testify.’

  Poor Sam. He was probably still hungry since I’d taken half his planned meal. And the mayor was driving him crazy. And I would admit a spectral detective lacks authority. I was sanguine. ‘Of course we’ll get proof. The murderer expects PI Shayne to get in touch. How about a red wig for Judy Weitz? We’ll set up a meeting at night so the difference between us’ – probably a good forty pounds – ‘won’t be evident. We can use a phone with an unknown number—’

  ‘You think the murderer expects a call.’

  ‘The murderer expects a call.’ I remembered the eyes looking at me, the eyes that said I would be dead if we were in another place, if there were any way to safely be done with me, but there could not be murder in a house filled with people who saw Michaela Shayne arrive, could describe her.

  Sam gave me a level look. ‘We’ll find out. Call. Set up a meeting. Detective Weitz. Red wig and all.’ A slight smile. ‘Better set it at night.’ A sigh. ‘More overtime. I’ll have to deploy officers an hour or two in advance, cameras ready. Have to get some people close enough to the meeting to keep the murderer from whacking Weitz. Say we set the time at midnight. It will have to be tomorrow night.’ Another weary sigh. ‘Sunday night. Yeah. Everybody likes to work on Sunday nights. It will really lift morale—’

  ‘Sam.’ My tone was chiding.

  He managed a grin. ‘All right. Actually they’re like racehorses. Sound the bugle and off they go, doesn’t matter, rain or shine, night or day. Wish we could set something up on Monday morning. That would avoid overtime. Do you have any idea how much overtime will be involved? I’ll have to call people in tomorrow, spend most of the day making the arrangements for tomorrow night. All overtime.’ He swiveled to the computer, tapped his mouse.

  I relaxed. Sam might grouse about overtime to keep the mayor from tearing holes in his budget, but Sam didn’t like killers. I remained quiet, let him work on a plan of attack.

  I thought about the call I would soon make. I might suggest hiring Shayne and Gillespie on a retainer. A monthly retainer. Maybe ten thousand—

  Sam’s office door burst open, banged against the wall. Heavy steps sounded.

  I disappeared, jerked around to look.

  Mayor Neva Lumpkin strode across the floor, hand outstretched, index finger pointing at Sam. ‘Do you know how much it costs to dig up a body, do an autopsy?’

  Sam was on his feet. There was a curl of mustard on his chin.

  I grabbed a napkin, eased around the desk with my hand out of sight, put the napkin in his hand, and lifted his hand to his chin.

  He got the idea, scrubbed.

  In her fury, the mayor stumbled into the straight chair I’d just vacated, knocking it sideways. She was too angry to notice. She plumped broad hands on his desk. Her fingers glittered with rings, three on her right hand, a ruby, a sapphire, and carnelian, engagement and wedding bands on the left with diamonds fat as early morning dewdrops. ‘Did you ask how much an autopsy was going to cost?’

  Sam’s face hardened. ‘As the duly appointed chief of police, it is my duty to investigate suspected homicides.’

  ‘Eight thousand dollars.’ Her voice quivered. ‘My budget. My campaign. You are trying to sabotage me. Well, it won’t work. I have ordered the application to the court be withdrawn.’

  His voice was clipped. ‘Who carried out that order?’

  She pushed up from the desk, drew herself to her full height. ‘It is fortunate that I keep a close eye on the activities of this department.’ Her voice grew stronger. ‘I keep a close eye on the activities of every department.’ Perhaps she realized this was not a dais. Her voice dropped. ‘Detective Harris will assume temporary command of the department as of this moment. You will officially go on administrative leave immediately.’

  She turned, stomped across the room. The door slammed behind her.

  Sam still stood. ‘Howie strikes again. I heard some footsteps when I picked up the printout for the exhumation request. He must have lurked. Howie’s good at lurking. Too bad he doesn’t show the same curiosity when he’s on a case. There’s some button or other you can push to print a copy of the most recent print job.’

  Detective Howie Harris was small, plump, and tried to spread thinning locks over a balding pate.

  ‘Can’t you go ahead and figure out a plan and arrange everything?’

  ‘Tempting,’ Sam said. ‘But Howie would find out and I’d get fired for insubordination. I could handle that. But I can’t order detectives and officers to work when I don’t have the authority. Would they turn out for me sub rosa? Sure. But that would get them fired, too. Neva would make a clean sweep. She’d fire Hal and quite a few others. She’d be like Midas running gold through her fingers with the money she’d save on salaries. Plus you can bet Chief Harris would toe the line on overtime. If somebody’s life was at stake, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But right now PI Michaela Shayne is the only person in danger and we both know she’s safe.’

  I felt stricken, remembering the wobble in Iris’s voice. ‘Howie Harris will charge Iris Gallagher with murder Monday.’

  Sam said nothing, but his silence meant he well understood.

  As Mama always told us kids, ‘If you get boxed in, be an Oklahoma buffalo. Lower your head and charge.’

  Sam and I together might not be a herd of buffalo, but we could raise some dust. ‘The mayor nixed Chief Cobb. We can’t call on anyone in the department. But long ago in the Old West, sometimes you had to handle your own problems. You and I together, Sam, we can do it.’

  ‘We? I don’t see you.’

  I Appeared.

  ‘Thanks. I don’t feel quite so nuts when I can see you. As for your idea … The Old West.’ Sam’s dark eyes gleamed. ‘A sheriff could deputize civilians, create a posse if he had to.’ A frown. ‘But there’s no one we can call on to help us.’

  My voice was loud, firm, emphatic. ‘Of course there is. The SIVF.’

  Sam peered at me. There was a curious uncertainty in his gaze. Was he wondering if I’d come untethered from reality?

  I talked fast, and the faster I talked, the more excited I became. ‘We can. I swear we can.’

  Sam sank down in his chair. Perhaps he looked a bit dazed. ‘The Save Iris Volunteer Force. Only you could come up with an idea like that. But you know, just maybe …’ He turned to the monitor. ‘It’s certainly reasonable for a man going on administrative leave to deal with any outstanding matters that require disposition. Such as …’ He typed rapidly, waited a moment, nodded at a reply, gave me a thumbs up.

  He looked ten years younger than when I first arrived this evening. Cats love catnip. A policeman revels in outwitting criminals. And I supposed Sam was taking some delight in outwitting a woman obsessed by overtime.

  We waited in silence, I suppose both of us considering how a posse of five could corner a killer. I had some ideas.

  Sam had a faraway look in his eyes. He pulled the bag of M&Ms from the left lower drawer, politely offered me a handful, poured a mound into his palm. We munched in companionable silence.

  Matters move quickly when the head man issues an order. In less than five minutes, there was a knock at his door. The door opened. A uniformed attendant with faded blonde hair and thin hands held the panel. Her nails were a mournful purple. ‘In he
re, please, ma’am. And here’s your stuff.’ She held out a plastic bag. ‘Please confirm you have received all of your valuables.’ The blonde pulled a sheet of paper from a pocket. ‘Sign here.’ She tapped the bottom of the page.

  Iris Gallagher, her thin face drawn and uncertain, looked from the plastic bag to Sam Cobb to me. Despite her wrinkled lacy white top and turquoise slacks, she was still lovely and there was the beginning of hope in her face. ‘They said I’m free to go?’ Her voice wasn’t quite level.

  ‘Come in.’ I hurried across the room, put a hand on her arm.

  The attendant still held the sheet. ‘Ma’am.’

  Iris fumbled in the plastic bag, pulled out a watch with a silver band, a golden wedding band, a cell phone, a purse. She took the pen from the attendant, signed the sheet, slipped on the watch, tucked the purse under her elbow, held tight to the cell phone.

  ‘Ma’am, please confirm there is thirty-six dollars in bills and four dollars and twelve cents in change.’

  Iris nodded agreement, made no effort to open the purse. ‘Confirmed.’

  The attendant checked a box. ‘If you’ll initial here.’

  In an instant Iris handed her the initialed sheet and the attendant turned away. Iris listened to the clip of receding footsteps, turned to look at Sam. ‘Am I free?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Charge dropped. You are released.’

  Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I can go home.’

  ‘Sam will drive us there.’ I was across the room, holding to her arm. ‘Sam and I need help from you and Gage and Robert. You can call Gage and Robert on the way.’

  Sam jerked a thumb toward the hallway. ‘I don’t blame her for taking a shower. I feel that way about cells, too, but we keep a clean jail. No mice. No roaches.’ Sam appeared relaxed in a large easy chair, but it was the relaxation before effort, a man poised to sprint from the starting block at the sound of the gun.

  The front door opened. Gage and Robert spilled into the small living room, still in their casual dress from the day in the park, both decidedly pink from the sun. Gage ran past us. ‘Mom, Mom?’ Robert stood somewhat uncomfortably in the center of the rose-and-silver Persian rug. His wary glance slid from me to the chief.