Ghost Ups Her Game

by Carolyn Hart

  Sam was genial. ‘Sit down, Robert. When the ladies join us, we’ll talk.’

  His face glum, Robert walked to a table in one corner, pulled out a straight chair, turned it to face us. When seated, he was as stiff as Wiggins’s starched white shirt.

  I tried to put Robert at ease. ‘Such a lovely day to spend in the park.’

  ‘Hot.’ His posture was on a par with a fence post.

  ‘July,’ Sam observed.

  I turned to Sam. ‘I noticed Judy Weitz is a bit more fashionable.’

  Sam looked utterly blank.

  I looked from Sam to Robert and decided neither was open to casual conversation. Happily, footsteps sounded in the hall. Gage clung to her mother’s hand as they entered the room. Fresh from a shower, Iris was crisp in a navy striped cotton T and white slacks and sandals.

  Robert stood up, remained standing until Iris and Gage settled on the couch. He sat again, still glum. Clearly he sensed impending activities were unlikely to enhance the professional standing of a fledgling lawyer. His eyes moved to Gage. He took a quick breath. Professional standing went overboard.

  I rose and walked to the fireplace, faced an attentive audience. ‘Chief Cobb and I are here to ask the three of you to join us in gathering facts that will exonerate Iris. We intend to trap Evelyn Kirk’s murderer, who is also responsible for the deaths of Matt Lambert and Nicole Potter.’ I described digitalis in lemonade, Matt seeing a reflection in the mirror, Matt’s talk with Evelyn’s doctor, Matt’s decision to trade a donation to Goddard for his silence.

  Gage shot Sam a hot look. ‘I knew he was leaning on someone.’

  Sam was equable. ‘You were right.’

  Nicole’s glimpse of a murderer and her attempt at blackmail, the meeting in the carousel, the arrival of Michaela Shayne of Shayne and Gillespie Private Investigations in Kansas City, PI Shayne’s taunting digitalis.

  Evelyn leaned forward, her gaze intent. Gage’s mouth formed a perfect O. Robert appeared to be sorting topic headings in his mind.

  I looked at Sam.

  He nodded approval.

  I was bolstered by his presence, a big man, a good man, a man who would always try to do the right thing. I hoped he saw the admiration in my gaze.

  A slight flush tinged his cheeks. ‘Throw it out.’

  ‘When I said digitalis, Melissa Kirk looked at me with no change in expression. Alice Harrison took a step back, convinced I was unhinged. Camille Dubois was puzzled, trying to make sense of an unfamiliar word. George Kirk looked at me with a murderer’s eyes.’

  Sam immediately frowned, shook his head. ‘Evelyn Kirk intended to divorce him. Remember Tahiti? Why wouldn’t she slam the door in his face? She wasn’t having anything to do with him.’

  I was quick to reply. ‘Remember that Matt Lambert was in the room though George was unaware of his presence. She was a proud woman. She may have been surprised to see George, but she wouldn’t have given any indication of anger. Perhaps she merely nodded, took the tray, closed the door. She probably thought George brought the tray to try and gain a moment to speak to her. Perhaps she said something like, “I’ll talk to you later.” However it happened, it was George that Matt saw in the mirror because George understood immediately when I said, “Digitalis.” Only the doctor and the murderer and I knew that Evelyn died from an overdose of digitalis.’

  Sam slowly nodded.

  Robert cleared his throat. ‘Inadmissible.’

  I sent him a sweet smile. Robert was Robert, literal, factual, legalistic.

  I spoke firmly, ‘George ground digitalis pills into a powder. George let the dog out to distract the housekeeper. George spilled powder into the lemonade, carried the tray upstairs. George opened the door, handed the tray to his wife. George eased down the stairs at Rose Bower, met Matt Lambert, pulled a weighted sock, likely tucked inside his jacket, and swung with the strength of a superb tennis player. When Nicole called him, George Kirk used a charming and reassuring tone to persuade her to come to the carousel.’ I looked at Sam. ‘When Michaela Shayne calls George, you will know he is guilty.’

  Iris turned to Sam. ‘Why haven’t you arrested him?’

  Robert repeated, ‘Inadmissible.’

  It was Sam’s turn to clear his throat. ‘If I had the power, detectives would be swarming everywhere to find proof. Look for his fingerprints downstairs at Rose Bower, anywhere, a wall, a door panel, somewhere in the room, out on the terrace. Detectives would canvass White Deer Park with his mugshot. Somebody will have seen him in the park just like,’ he nodded at Gage and Robert, ‘you found people who saw your mother walk to the carousel and immediately leave. But the mayor’s running for re-election, she’s doubling down on the budget, and she’s put me on administrative leave because I ordered the exhumation of Evelyn Kirk’s body. A big expense. I can’t order officers to investigate. At this moment George Kirk is probably hustling the French artist and enjoying a bourbon and soda.’

  ‘But George,’ my tone was silky, ‘has a worried mind. He’s expecting a call from Private Investigator Michaela Shayne. He knows my voice. He knows that I know. He’s figuring out how to dispose of another blackmailer. If he meets Shayne, she can be wired to record their conversation. If Sam was in charge, he would put a red wig on a police officer and George would be trapped.’

  Robert was skeptical. ‘Kirk knows she doesn’t have hard evidence. Why not blow off her demand? If she persists, he could call the cops, say he’s being harassed by a woman making up false claims about his wife’s death.’ Robert spoke in the reasoned tone of a lawyer listing facts.

  I looked at him with a new respect. He might be literal, but he was smart. Maybe literal wasn’t a bad approach. ‘He can’t afford to have Shayne go to the police. He thinks Madeleine Timmons hired Shayne. She could insist on exhumation. George wants Shayne to inform her client that there is no truth to the ugly rumors.’ I glanced at Sam. ‘George won’t ignore my call. If there is an autopsy and death is determined to be the result of an overdose of digitalis, a police investigation will follow. He won’t ignore the phone call from Michaela Shayne. But here’s the problem. Sam can make a citizen’s arrest, but we need a woman in a red wig to meet Kirk and record the conversation.’ I looked at Iris.

  Gage immediately stretched out an arm in front of Iris, the cub protecting her mother. ‘I’ll do it. You’re a lot younger than Mom and I have a red wig in the closet from the Follies we put on at school for a charity skit. I can look like you and I’ll drop my voice—’

  Robert was on his feet. ‘Absolutely not. I forbid it. Not you. Not your mom.’ He swung toward me, shoulders hunched. ‘So why don’t you finish what you started? You’re Michaela Shayne, you talk to him, record what he says.’

  There was the challenge. Sam needed a witness who could later testify in court about recording a conversation with a murderer. I could hear the question from the defense attorney, ‘Let’s see now, Bailey Ruth Raeburn under the alias Michaela Shayne. Let’s establish your identity for the record. Where do you live?’ Heaven was heavenly but not an address likely to be acceptable to the court.

  ‘That won’t do.’ Iris’s glance at me indicated she understood my plight. ‘Of course you can’t meet with George. Because of your disability.’

  I suppose we all looked surprised.

  Gage’s face was instantly sympathetic.

  Robert looked glum again, remembering the voices at the murder scene in Rose Bower and my sometimes-here sometimes-not assistance with the seed pod and our meetings in the park. ‘Oh, yeah. I guess not.’

  ‘Thanks for your understanding.’ I managed a sweet, sad smile. ‘Of course, you know I never like to discuss my situation.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Iris agreed instantly. ‘There’s no more to be said.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Robert eyed me like a pile of fish entrails somebody left on the dock.

  Gage was much too well-mannered to inquire for particulars about my disability.

  ‘Definite
ly I will meet him. This is for my benefit. It’s my responsibility.’ Iris was emphatic. ‘What do we need to do?’

  ‘Not.’ Robert took a deep breath. He strode the few feet across the room to look down at Sam. ‘Kirk’s not stupid. He had to deal with Lambert and the student. They saw him. All Shayne has is a reaction to a word. Shayne can make all the claims she wants about looking in the eyes of a murderer, but that’s not evidence.’

  I spoke out. ‘He doesn’t want an autopsy. He can’t afford to have an investigation into her death. It would be sure to include the possibility of murder, and who do they look at first? The husband. Especially a husband who’s been ordered to leave the house.’

  Robert was judicious. ‘The autopsy results won’t convict him. We need evidence. I will get evidence.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Sam said mildly, ‘What do you have in mind?’

  Robert spoke in short, direct sentences. He no longer looked glum. Nothing he suggested would get him disbarred.

  Sam gave an approving nod. ‘That works. Good idea, man. I have some stuff out in my car. Be right back.’ He strode to the front door, banged the screen behind him.

  Iris looked worried. ‘Robert, I can’t let you take this kind of risk.’

  Robert reminded me of an RAF fighter pilot climbing into a Spitfire, moving with speed but no panic. Robert had the same aura of quiet confidence. I almost mentioned the Save Iris Volunteer Force to tell him he was in charge of the mission, but I decided the moment wasn’t right. Sam came back from his car with a blue canvas sports bag. He carried the bag to Iris’s small dining-room table, pulled the zipper. He lifted up an index card. ‘Here’s Kirk’s cell-phone number.’ He reached in, retrieved a nondescript cell phone. ‘The number won’t mean anything to Kirk but he’ll answer because the caller might be the private eye. Good phone for this purpose. Records. Has a speaker phone. An upscale burner. The mayor would fuss at the expense.’ Next came a slim rectangular black plastic box. ‘Recorder. Picks up a sneeze at fifty yards.’ He looked at Robert. ‘Wear a loose shirt over your undershirt. Recorder comes with Velcro.’

  Robert looked blank.

  Iris understood modern mores, intervened. ‘Most young men don’t wear undershirts. Robert can wear a T under his shirt.’

  Gage came to her feet, hurried to the table. She looked at Sam, not Robert. ‘Robert can’t go by himself. That man’s dangerous. I’ll go with him.’

  Iris walked to the table. ‘Robert, you’re wonderful,’ and she meant every word, ‘but it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘No danger.’ Robert spoke loudly, a courtroom voice. Bobby Mac’s cousin Cimarron, yes, Cimarron after the river and they called him Ron, was a trial lawyer. Ron could be heard to the farthest rafter. ‘I’ve worked everything out.’ There was total confidence in his tone. He picked up the cell phone and index card. As he tapped numbers, he said firmly, ‘Absolute quiet. I’ve put it on speaker so you can hear.’ The cell rang, once, twice.

  ‘Hello.’ George Kirk sounded gruff, wary.

  ‘Vince Gillespie here. I’m calling for Michaela Shayne. Shayne and Gillespie Private Investigations, Kansas City. I’m fully informed about her dealings with you. We have some business to discuss, Mr Kirk.’ Robert spoke pleasantly, a businessman setting up a meeting, one hopefully that would prove satisfactory to all concerned.

  George’s silence was absolute. He expected a call from the woman who threatened him. Now he confronted the totally unexpected – not one threat, but two.

  Robert was brisk. ‘You understand we need to work out a business plan. I’ll bring a prepared contract for you to sign. A monthly retainer to Shayne and Gillespie. Twenty thousand a month for services rendered. You will receive bills that list all charges. All perfectly aboveboard. A business arrangement. Very beneficial to you. There will be a separate document, you understand we need some protection, for your signature. That document contains details about the digitalis in your wife’s lemonade, the weighted socks you used to kill Matt Lambert at Rose Bower and the student seated in the carousel in White Deer Park. We can discuss this at some length in the morning in City Park. I’ll be waiting on the pier in the pond at nine a.m.’ Robert clicked off the speaker, ended the call.

  ‘I don’t want you on that pier with him.’ Gage clapped her hands together in a tight grip.

  Robert slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘We have him cornered. He has to come. He has to agree to a payoff. Maybe he’ll claim he can’t do twenty K a month. I’ll demand financial records.’

  Gage’s lips trembled. ‘He’ll bring one of those awful socks.’

  Robert gave her a squeeze. ‘He won’t try anything with me. Remember, it’s Shayne and Gillespie. If Michaela Shayne’ – he shot me a look of active dislike – ‘met him, of course he’d plan to kill her. But he can’t swing at me because Michaela knows everything. He has to face the fact that he’s trapped. Since Michaela knows I’m meeting him, I’m perfectly safe.’

  Iris brushed back a strand of dark hair, her gaze intense. ‘We have to be certain you’re safe. We’ll all come to the park. There are always people near the pond and on the pier. If there are people around – and we will be – that’s a protection.’

  Robert folded his arms, looked mulish. ‘No way. You and Gage stay here.’ He jerked his head at Sam. ‘He can be there. We’ll come here as soon as we get him in jail.’

  Iris reached out, patted his cheek. ‘I love manly men. But we are womanly women. We’ll be there.’

  I recalled the good and the bad I’d observed at City Park over the years. Happy couples hand in hand. Sad solitary walkers. Dogs and their devoted owners. An occasional homeless person with empty eyes and a trash bag to carry stuff. Children running barefoot in summer, pulling sleds in winter. This morning the pond shimmered beneath the early sun. A graveled path circled the small pond. Occasional benches offered a good view of the water and the fishing pier.

  It was only eight thirty but Sam and Iris and Gage were already in their designated places.

  Evergreens crowded close to the path, but there was space enough for Iris to sit on a campstool in front of an easel and daub at a watercolor. A large floppy sun hat shaded her face. Ties on either side obscured her profile. Not that George Kirk likely knew her. She was an anonymous woman painting early on Sunday morning.

  Gage merged into a shadow of an evergreen, almost invisible in a gray T-shirt and yoga pants. She stood stiff and straight, watching the pier, alert to every movement. A car passing the park backfired and the sharp crack brought her hand to her mouth. Gage’s face was suddenly still and I had a sense of what she would look like when she was old.

  A small maintenance shed was situated about twenty feet from the pier. The corrugated metal roof and sides gleamed in the sunlight. If anyone looked closely, the padlock on the metal hasp hung loose. The shed door was slightly open, a very narrow crack. I hoped Sam Cobb had brought a folding chair. He would be rather cramped in that shed but he had a good view of the pier.

  I dropped down beside the easel.

  Iris spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Watching you move through air disorients me. I’ve had about as much stress as I can manage. Please walk on the ground when you go away.’ She moved her head, scanning in all directions. ‘Is anyone coming?’

  ‘A woman and a Great Dane.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ It was the first time I’d heard Iris sound querulous.

  ‘I don’t see … oh.’

  ‘What?’ she demanded.

  City Park boasts a wide sidewalk that runs from the pond through a grove of trees to the gazebo in the center of the park and picks up on the other side of the gazebo.

  I pointed.

  A large man ambled from behind a row of willows. Muscular, athletic, he moved easily. He stopped to survey the pond. And, of course, the pier. The pier was unoccupied. An oversized straw hat rode low on his head, hiding any glimpse of hair. Aviator sunglasses, also oversized, masked his eyes. A blue wo
rk shirt not tucked in, cargo pants with many pockets, running shoes.

  Likely he wore the cargo pants with the capacious pockets when he went to the carousel to meet Nicole and he carried a weighted sock in one of those large pockets.

  Iris’s fingers gripped my arm. ‘That’s him, isn’t it? Look how he’s dressed. A description wouldn’t sound anything like George Kirk except for his size. I’m going to the pier. He won’t dare hurt Robert if someone’s there.’

  I twisted free, grabbed her arm. ‘You say you admire manly men. Let Robert be a man. He’s constructed a brilliant trap for a very dangerous person. Don’t mess everything up.’

  Her violet eyes were enormous, beseeching. ‘It’s hideous to stand here and wait for Robert to confront a killer.’ She was breathing quickly. ‘Look, I know Robert’s sure of himself. Who isn’t sure at his age? But he doesn’t have a weapon.’ She pulled free, reached down for a large canvas tote, scrabbled within it. Her hand came out clutching a blue metal canister on a key ring. ‘We should have insisted that he have a gun, something to protect himself. Take this to him. It’s pepper spray. Insist he have it ready in his pocket.’

  I took the canister. ‘All right.’ I didn’t blame Iris for being afraid. George Kirk wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Not now.

  I eased the canister to the ground, pushed it with my toe until I was deep in the shadows of a stand of bamboo. I Appeared Sunday morning cheerful in an embroidered sheath dress, tiny violets stitched near the notched neckline of the white top. Daffodils cavorted on the pale blue skirt. Yellow slippers. I picked up the small canister, cupped it in my palm.

  I walked toward the evergreens. When I stepped into the shadows, Gage gestured at a bench near the pier. ‘Is that him?’

  I nodded.

  ‘He’s big.’ Her voice trembled. ‘He’s so big.’

  George Kirk was big and obviously strong.

  ‘He’s bigger than Robert.’ She tried to suppress a sob.