by Carolyn Hart
“Helpful?” The mayor glared, all pretense of civility gone. “How can it be helpful when a police officer disregards her superior’s instructions?”
And, of course, made the mayor look ineffectual.
“Too bad she didn’t follow him this time. It might have saved his life. But I’ll talk to her, see if she picked up anything useful. Now . . .”
He stood.
“Saved . . .” The mayor’s mouth gaped, revealing two gold crowns.
“You miss the morning news?” His tone was bland.
Bobby Mac and I always started the morning with Channel 4 news and The Oklahoman, the Oklahoma City paper that was distributed statewide. The Clarion, Adelaide’s only newspaper, was published in the afternoon.
The mayor lifted her rounded chin. “I avoid television in the mornings. I focus on the positive. The world pummels us with negative images, turning our citizens fearful and defensive. As a concerned citizen and a devoted public servant”—she raised a clenched fist—“I demand to know why—”
“Yeah. Like you said in your last campaign, Neva. How did you put it? Embrace the positive, shed the draining chains of negativity. I’d sure agree that skipping the morning news gives you a head start. But you missed out today. Somebody shot Daryl Murdoch last night. His body was found in St. Mildred’s cemetery.”
“His body?” The mayor’s mouth gaped like a hungry fish.
I edged an adorable thumb-size porcelain dog toward the edge of the chief ’s desk, my eyes fastened on that tempting mound of bleached hair.
A massive hand clamped on my wrist.
I shrieked.
“Shhh.” A warning growl.
The mayor’s chair tumbled backward. She stood and stared at the small porcelain figure that was still cupped in my palm, clearly hovering an inch above the chief’s desk.
The chief bounded to his feet, but he was looking at the mayor, not at his desk.
I opened my fingers and the little dog slid to the desktop.
Trembling, Mayor Lumpkin swung about and bolted heavily from the room.
Chief Cobb leaned forward, punched the intercom. “Colleen, you’d better let the mayor’s husband know that she”—he paused—
“isn’t feeling well. Have the technicians check out the heating system. It made a strange noise. Kind of shrill. Then a whooshing sound.”
He grabbed a notebook and pen. As he walked toward the door, he righted the chair and swept the room with a final, puzzled glance.
The minute the door closed, I heard a deep-throated rumble, not so distant this time and definitely not thunder. “Bailey Ruth.”
If Wiggins had been visible, I feared his face might have that high red flush that used to be called apoplectic.
“Precept Six.” His voice rose almost to a shout. “Precept Six. ‘Make every effort—’ ”
My head swiveled as I followed the sound of his voice. Wiggins was pacing back and forth in front of me. Perhaps if I offered a cold compress . . .
“—not to alarm earthly creatures.’ And what have you just done?”
Nervously I picked up the little porcelain dog.
“There you go again.” He was breathing heavily.
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” I protested, sure of that fact. I was still here. I hadn’t moved—
“That dog! Put it down. Its levitation astounded that poor woman.”
Served her right in my view, but, of course, I kept this thought to myself. I carefully eased the little dog to the desktop.
“Once again you have transgressed the Precepts. Moreover, you are Reverting!” His tone put the accusation on the level of gravest malfeasance.
“Reverting.” I sighed. Yes, I’d been tempted and succumbed, unable to resist unnerving the pompous mayor.
“Oh.” The exclamation was deep and mournful. I pictured Wiggins with his head in his hands. “This is what I feared, an emissary using our special gift to no good purpose.”
I knew my duty. “I’m sorry, Wiggins.” Then I lifted my chin. I can’t stay down for long, and Mayor Lumpkin was odious. “Chief Cobb has better things to do this morning than deal with her.”
“Bailey Ruth.” Wiggins was obviously forcing himself to speak temperately. “I will accept your well-meant effort to free the chief from an unwarranted interruption—”
I should have felt remorse at deceiving Wiggins, but my back was against the wall. I mustn’t be dispatched back to Heaven until I’d rescued Kathleen. Her straits remained dire.
“—yet I must object to your methods. We won’t discuss the paper clips or that episode with the scarf, but I cannot countenance that dog hanging in the air by itself. You must refrain from moving objects about with no apparent means of locomotion. What do you suppose that woman is going to tell everyone?”
Since Wiggins couldn’t see me, I didn’t try to stop the mischievous curl of my lips, though I hoped my reply was suitably grave. “Wiggins, don’t be upset. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh.” It was almost a moan. Suddenly there was a pounding rat-a-tat on the desktop.
My eyes widened. Was Wiggins pounding on the chief’s desktop?
“Chief—” Colleen stood in the doorway.
Abruptly it was quiet. Wiggins and I didn’t move.
Colleen stepped inside, looked behind the door. “Chief?” Her eyes cut to the desk. She shook her head and turned away. The door closed.
The chief ’s chair scraped back. A subdued voice muttered, “Revert. That’s always the fear. I thought I’d left it all behind me, losing my temper, giving in to anger.”
I sidled nearer the desk, perched on the edge. “Wiggins, certainly you had provocation.”
“The man in charge”—his voice was as heavy as lumps of coal dropping into a boxcar—“must always serve as an example. That’s what leadership is all about.”
Oh dear. It wouldn’t do for Wiggins to lose his spirit. “Wiggins, I could not be more proud of you. Here you are, taking time from your station to help out a new emissary. Why, having you here has been”—how many demerits was I acquiring and what was the penalty for a bold-faced lie?—“Heaven-sent.”
Fingers drummed on the desk. I glanced toward the door. It would be unfortunate if Colleen returned. Gradually, the tattoo softened, finally stopped. “Do you think so?”
“Definitely.” I moved behind the desk, reached down, and patted his shoulder. “I am inspired. Encouraged. You can return to the Department of Good Intentions confident you have communicated effectively. I shall take up my task and the Precepts shall be ever on my mind.” There was something about talking to Wiggins that stuffed my mouth full of syllables.
With that, I was gone. I hoped I hadn’t left him in a slough of depression, but duty called.
———
The rectory kitchen was dark and quiet. I didn’t bother to call out.
Obviously, Kathleen hadn’t returned from her errands yet. Perhaps if I concentrated on Kathleen while picturing a bubbling pot on an unattended stove, she would feel uneasy and be drawn home. Was ESP counter to the Precepts? Possibly, but I was desperate.
I was pacing back and forth when the chief’s car pulled into the drive. The church, of course, was very close to downtown. At this moment it was way too close. As he walked up the path to the back porch, Kathleen’s cream-colored Ford station wagon rattled past the kitchen window.
If he reached Kathleen before I did . . .
In an instant I flowed into the front passenger seat of her car. There was no time for a greeting. “Don’t look panicked, but we have a crisis.”
The car jolted to a stop. Her head whipped toward the passenger seat, eyes wide. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel.
I talked fast. “Somebody called the police, told them to ask you about the red nightgown—”
Kathleen hunched her shoulders.
“—and your visit to Daryl’s cabin Wednesday night.”
She watched the chief’s approach as if he
were a giant squid wielding a blazing hatchet.
I was exasperated. “Don’t look like that. You might as well hold out your wrists for handcuffs. Smile, Kathleen.”
Her lips stretched into a travesty of a smile.
The chief was perhaps ten feet away from the car.
So much to tell. So little time. Such an unpromising confederate.
“Tell him you went to the cabin because Daryl called and asked you to come and help him plan a surprise thank-you party for the church secretary. You don’t know anything about a red nightgown. You talked about gifts but—”
The chief rapped in the window.
Kathleen rolled it down. “Chief Cobb.” Her voice was high and thin.
I reached over and pinched her smartly on the arm.
She flashed a startled look in my direction.
The chief followed her gaze to stare, bewildered, at nothing.
“I thought I heard—” Kathleen looked flustered.
I’ve always been a good mimic. I was locally famous for performing a dialogue between Lucille and Ethel—I did both parts—that left our friends in stitches. Of course they might have already had one or two of Bobby Mac’s bourbons on the rocks.
“—my cell phone.” I sounded just like Kathleen.
Kathleen looked haunted.
“Oh.” Cobb nodded. “If you have a few minutes, Mrs. Abbott, I’d like to visit with you about Mr. Murdoch.” He stepped back, an obvious invitation for her to get out of her car.
I gave her another pinch.
Kathleen’s hand jerked to the handle. She opened the door, scrambled out to stand beside the car.
When she made no move to invite him into the rectory, Chief Cobb studied her, his eyes cool and thoughtful. “From information received—”
I was impressed at how official that sounded. It had simply been an anonymous phone call. I wondered if he was being quite fair.
“—we understand you spent time at Mr. Murdoch’s cabin on Pontotoc Road.”
Kathleen was obviously surprised. “That’s not true.”
I gave her an approving pat on the shoulder. This time she didn’t flinch. Good girl.
Cobb’s stare was hard, his eyes suspicious. “Do you deny having been there Wednesday night?”
Kathleen looked blank for an instant, not too long but long enough to convey the recall of an unimportant memory. Perhaps Bayroo’s acting talent was inherited.
“Wednesday night? Oh, that.” Her tone was casual. “He asked me to drop by and help him plan a special surprise for the church secretary. Daryl was senior warden, you know.”
“How long did you stay?” He pushed one hand into a pocket, tumbled coins in a muted jingle.
Kathleen looked confident. “Only a few minutes.”
“Why did he ask you to come to his cabin?” Cobb’s gaze was searching, his suspicions not totally allayed.
She turned her hands up. “I don’t know. He didn’t explain. I suppose he had something planned there and it was more convenient for him.”
“Not very convenient for you. All the way to Chickasaw Lake.”
“Chief Cobb.” Her tone was dry. “The rector’s wife exists to make life more convenient for the members of the vestry.”
He wasn’t done. “What about the red nightgown?”
Kathleen’s eyes widened in classic puzzlement. Ingrid Bergman couldn’t have done it better. “I don’t know anything about a red nightgown.”
“You and Daryl never talked about a nightgown?”
Her laughter almost sounded genuine. “No. In fact, I’ve never talked to him about anything but church matters or OU football or the chances for the Adelaide Bobcats to win another state championship.”
She could not have mentioned safer topics of conversation at any Oklahoma gathering. Football, both college and high school, was sure to be discussed in almost any social setting from a honky-tonk bar to the parish hall.
He inclined his head. “Appreciate your help, Mrs. Abbott.“ He glanced toward the church. “Might as well visit with your husband while I’m here.” But as he turned away, he stopped and stared at the black cat strolling toward Kathleen.
Spoofer came closer, green eyes lifted to gaze at the chief.
Cobb pointed. “Your cat?”
“Yes.” Kathleen reached down, stroked black fur that glistened reddish in the sun.
Cobb squinted. “He ever go in the church?”
Kathleen looked surprised. “Oh no. The vestry wouldn’t approve.”
Cobb gestured toward the rectory. “I saw him in your house last night.”
Kathleen’s glance at the chief was puzzled. “Yes.”
Cobb nodded, gave Kathleen one final unsmiling look, and walked toward the church.
Kathleen stared after him. Spoofer twined at her ankles, but she paid no attention. When the police chief was almost at the church door, Kathleen whirled toward her car.
I caught her by the elbow, hissed in her ear, “You just got home. Go inside.”
If Chief Cobb had looked back, he might have seen Kathleen walking on a tilt toward the back porch because she was trying to veer to her car and I was tugging mightily toward the house.
I won.
In the kitchen, she looked wildly about, glared at a spot near the door. “I’ve got to get to that cabin. My fingerprints are all over that gift package. I threw the gown and box and paper in the fireplace and ran out. I don’t know if everything burned.”
I poured coffee into my flamingo mug. “I’m over here.”
She whirled toward the table. “Can’t you ever do anything but drink coffee?”
It was hard to believe she’d begrudge a cup of coffee. Before I could point out that even a ghost, certainly one as active as I had been so far today, welcomed a brief moment of relaxation, she had clapped her hands to her head.
“I can’t waste time talking to nobody. I’ve got to get to that cabin before—”
I upended the rest of the mug. “Kathleen, please. Don’t you have any confidence in me? I was able to prepare you for the chief’s questions. Now I’m going to the cabin.” I glanced toward the back porch.
I decided that she’d had as much stress as she could manage. I didn’t think it was a propitious moment to tell her about the dust ball with Spoofer’s fur on Daryl’s suit jacket. I’d surely have time to sweep the porch and get rid of the tarp after I dealt with the red nightgown. “Everything will be fine.” I put the mug in the sink, aware that her eyes followed its progress through the air as if it were utterly repellent.
I was ready to depart for the cabin to check on the status of the gift box and gown when I looked through the kitchen window.
Chief Cobb still faced toward the church, but he wasn’t moving.
He stood with his cell phone to his ear. Ah, he must have had a ring before he went inside. A moment later, he turned, thrusting the cell phone into his pocket, and strode toward his car.
He moved like a man with a purpose.
I felt a tingle of excitement. Something had happened.
Kathleen was pacing near the table. “Bailey Ruth, have you left? Are you there yet? Oh, dear Heaven, how can I talk to somebody who isn’t—”
”I’m here.” I was ready to leave, but I had a suspicion that Kathleen might be poised to put herself in a big jam. “Promise me you won’t go anywhere near Daryl’s cabin.”
Kathleen’s face might not have been an open book, but I had no trouble reading it. Consternation was succeeded by guilt. Obviously, she’d intended to make a foray there as soon as I was safely absent.
I hadn’t raised two redheaded children without discovering all there was to know about guile, deceit, and general foolhardiness.
I walked to the table, pulled out a chair.
Kathleen stared at the moving chair, then flung out her hands in defeat. “All right, Bailey Ruth. You win. I promise. Hurry. You’ve got to get there before the chief. If the police find that box, my life is ruined.”
”They won’t. Trust me, sweetie.” I didn’t see an iota of trust in the forlorn face turned toward me, so, of course, I didn’t tell her I was going to make a slight detour. As long as the chief was otherwise occupied, the red gown in Daryl’s cabin was not a threat to Kathleen.
I wavered for an instant. I could go to the cabin and attend to the red nightgown, or I could follow the chief, be in on the latest developments.
However, I was sure that it was essential that I keep tabs on the progress of the chief’s investigation. Certainly I wasn’t succumbing to the siren song of curiosity.
Certainly not.
CHAPTER 9
Judith Murdoch fingered the faux pearls at the neck of her blue sweater. “Are we in danger? Maybe Kirby and I shouldn’t stay here.”
Chief Cobb shook his head. “I don’t see a threat to you or your son. You weren’t home.” He gestured at the ransacked room. ”Whoever broke in probably made sure you were gone.”
Kirby stood protectively near his mother, his thin, dark face furrowed in a worried frown. “Everything was fine this morning. We were only gone about an hour. We went over to the cabin—”
The cabin! I almost willed myself there, but a break-in at the Murdoch house had to be significant.
“—to get it ready for some cousins who’re driving up from Dallas this afternoon. We left the back door unlocked for the cleaning ladies.”
Chief Cobb stood in the doorway and surveyed the shambles an intruder had left behind in Daryl Murdoch’s study. Drawers from the mahogany desk had been emptied and flung aside. A cabinet behind the desk hung on wrenched hinges, the paneling scraped and gashed, files pulled out, papers tossed. Books had been yanked from shelves, thrown into uneven mounds.
The chief crossed the room, pulled aside heavy red drapes. Splintered glass in a French door marked the means of entry. The door stood ajar. He glanced toward Judith. “Alarm?”
She stared at the broken pane and mound of glass. “We only set the alarm at night.”
“Always set the alarm when you leave the house.” The chief’s admonition was automatic. He gestured at the mess. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I wouldn’t have any idea. This was Daryl’s room.” Off limits to her was the unspoken message.
