Ghost in Trouble (2010)

by Carolyn Hart

  “If I’m alive, you are not standing there.” She tugged at an earlobe. “So why do I hear you?”

  “Watch closely.” I disappeared. I counted to five, reappeared. For good measure—really the change wasn’t intended to be spiteful—I transformed the tunic to emerald green and the trousers to brilliant white. White sandals, too, of course.

  Kay blinked several times. She touched fingers to her temple. She took an experimental hop. “I’m not hurt, so how can I be dead? Besides”—her tone was dismissive—“if Heaven is like the terrace of The Castle, I want my money back.” She shot me a look of undisguised distaste. “Obviously you are a figment of my imagination. Although why I’d draw you of all people out of my subconscious is one for my psychologist.” She paused, gave a gurgle of laughter. “Now that I think of it, maybe you’re part of the baggage I’ve carried since I slammed out of the mayor’s office, jumped in my car, and left Adelaide in my rearview mirror. Did you know the mayor made a pass at me? I suppose he’d heard the rumors about Jack and thought I’d be a nifty entry in his black book. I saw you on the way out. Your face had a decided prune look. You and all the other virtuous ladies of the town had decided I was a vixen. Actually, I doubt you and your friends were quite so ladylike in your terminology. I can’t wait to tell my psychologist. She’s always insisted that almost everyone has ghastly repressed memories except for me and I might be better off if I started repressing stuff. Finally, I have a repressed memory for her. But it’s weird that you popped to the top of my mind just because I had a close call. Okay.” She blew out a breath of relief. “I’m alive and I’m nuts, but that’s fine. Anyway, since you’re imaginary, I’m not going to waste any more time with you. I’ve got things to do.” She started for the steps.

  I grabbed her elbow. “What do I have to do to get your attention?”

  She jerked her arm away, her face strained. “Those felt like real fingers.”

  “Kay Clark, listen to me.” I shook my head in exasperation. “You haven’t changed since you were working on the Adelaide Gazette and hell-for-leather to break up Jack Hume’s marriage.” Poor Virginia Hume. Sweet, gentle, kind, shy. What chance did the wren have when a macaw strutted onstage?

  Kay’s thin face was abruptly still. Her eyes were deep pools of sadness. And anger.

  I didn’t evade her gaze. Despite the passage of many years, we both remembered our last encounter. I had been, if possible, even more impulsive then than now. Virginia was the only daughter of Madge Crenshaw, my best friend. It was past ten on a hot summer night when Madge called, crying out her anger and despair over Virginia’s unhappiness. “…that awful girl’s chasing Jack. I tried to talk to him but he slammed out of the house. Virginia’s heartbroken.”

  The minute I hung up the phone, I snatched my car keys and raced out of the house. I drove straight to Kay Kendall’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  She’d faced me, young and beautiful and defiant.

  When I finished, she’d stood straight and tall, her face deathly pale. Her lips had trembled. I’d scarcely heard her low voice. “…you don’t know…you don’t know!” The door slammed shut.

  There was no door between us tonight, but there were memories and heartbreak. Her eyes held mine. “All my fault?”

  I didn’t speak. I suppose my cold gaze told her my opinion.

  “I was nineteen years old. He was twenty-seven. I came here”—she pointed up at The Castle—“to interview his father, J. J. III, about a rumor that Hume Oil was for sale. I met Jack in the main hallway as I was leaving.” There might have been a quick sheen of tears in her eyes. “I was so young. I didn’t know how much love hurt. I didn’t know…” She gave an impatient shake of her head. “He was the handsomest man I’d ever seen.” She spoke without emphasis, stating a fact. “Being near him made everything sharper, brighter, faster. Did I chase him? No. Suddenly he was everywhere I went. I left town, went to Dallas. He came after me.” Her face was suddenly sad. “Every time he walked into a room, it was like the Fourth of July, but I would have gotten away if Virginia hadn’t died.” Her eyes probed mine. “Did the ladies of the town blame me for her death and Sallie’s, too?” Her gaze was somber. “Why do I ask? Sure, everybody blamed me and Jack.” She shook her head. “Jack and I didn’t create Virginia’s demons. He tried to help her. His dad tried. Did you know Jack’s dad had insisted on Virginia and Sallie coming to live at The Castle? He’d been down to see them in Houston. He wasn’t anybody’s fool. He was crazy about the baby. That’s the only reason Jack was in Adelaide that summer. He spent very little time here after Hume Oil moved its headquarters to Houston. Of course, his dad still called the shots from Adelaide. But that one summer, Jack was here. He got away as often as he could. He was in Dallas the night of the accident.”

  I remembered his absence. “We’d all heard that he was in Dallas. With you.” Everyone had talked, of course…running after that girl…poor little Virginia…his fault…was it really an accident?…

  “He was with me.” Kay spoke as if from a far distance, as if she were observing shadowy figures dimly seen in a dusky lane. “I told him I wouldn’t see him again. And then the call came. Virginia’s car went into the lake on a bright, sunny, beautiful afternoon.” There was pity and sadness in Kay’s dark eyes. “Virginia was drunk. As usual.”

  “Virginia?” I remembered sweet slender Virginia and her beguiling blue eyes and gentle smile. My shock must have been evident in my face.

  “Did you know her headaches and the days she spent in bed were because of vodka?” The honesty in Kay’s voice was unmistakable.

  I didn’t want to believe Kay, but I’d lived long enough to understand that people we think we know well often hide destructive secrets.

  Kay spoke quietly. “Hardly anyone knew. Jack. His dad. His sister. I don’t think Virginia’s mother knew, or perhaps she refused to see. Virginia was always pretty and kind, a sweet, good-natured, pathetic drunk.”

  I looked at Kay and saw beyond the mature woman who faced me now. I saw the girl of nineteen, beautiful and accused. I remembered myself that night, angry, my voice hard. “Why didn’t you say anything the night I came to see you?”

  Her dark brows drew down in a fierce frown. “Did I owe you an explanation? And how could I talk about Virginia? The family was trying to help her.”

  I made many mistakes during my lifetime. Here was another, even if lately realized. “I’m sorry.” I wished my words could make a difference, but nothing I said now would erase that night.

  Her face twisted in a sardonic smile. “I’ll save your apology for a therapy session. Apparently, my subconscious likes you better than I do. But that encounter with you was the least of my concerns after Virginia and Sallie died. I had too much else to deal with then. Jack was devastated. He blamed himself for the accident. He said he should have put Virginia in a hospital and made sure that she wouldn’t be out alone with Sallie. But he never expected what happened. Of course”—and now her tone was bitter—“the generous ladies of Adelaide had the answer, Virginia drove into the lake because of Jack and me. The reality? Virginia drove into the lake because she was too drunk to drive and she made a wrong turn on the way to the park with Sallie.”

  The photograph in the Gazette had been heartbreaking, water spilling out of the convertible as the winch pulled the white car to the surface of the lake.

  Kay’s thin hands tightened into fists. “Virginia didn’t commit suicide. She would never have hurt Sallie. Jack didn’t matter to her. She shut him out after Sallie was born, but she adored Sallie. So did Jack. When Virginia and Sallie died, Jack was lost. It was the only time I ever knew him to be lost. Until—” She drew a sharp breath. “Why should I tell you any of this? You aren’t here, and I’ve got plenty to deal with.”

  “Skulduggery.” I spoke firmly.

  She came back from the past, gave me a disdainful stare. “I would never have expected you to be quaint, Bailey Ruth.”

  I felt a fli
cker of outrage. Kay Clark might not be a scarlet woman who had tried to steal another woman’s husband, but she was definitely infuriating. The night I’d made a plea for Virginia, Kay hadn’t revealed the truth. I realized now she’d been hurt by the town’s suspicions, but she had refused to defend herself. Was she driven by pride? Or was she a woman who would always go her own way without any thought to the effect of her actions on those around her? Now she was doing everything in her power to send me packing.

  I was tempted to disappear and let her deal with whatever forces she had unleashed.

  …on the earth, not of the earth…

  Did I hear the whistle of the Rescue Express in the distance?

  I spoke quickly. “When I was sent here to help you, I was told there was skulduggery afoot. If you prefer more up-to-date language, let me put it this way. You are in a big mess, and unless you want your attacker”—I nodded at the remnants of the vase—“to get away with murder—yours—you need to listen to me. I was dispatched to save you and I’m going to do it.” Whether she liked it or not. I felt pugnacious as all get out. Kay affected me that way.

  “You save me?” She flicked me a glance of disdain. “I don’t need your help. Thanks, but I know what I’m doing. I don’t need a guardian angel.”

  “Stop.” I held up a commanding hand. “I am not an angel. Heavens, no. Angels are a separate order of being. I’m an emissary.”

  She shrugged. “Angel, emissary, what difference does it make?”

  This was not the time to argue theology. I lost patience and snapped, “In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I am a ghost.” Wiggins had to understand that sometimes language must be clear.

  “Ghost?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I guess you are a ghost of times past, that’s for sure. Whether you’re here or not, angel, ghost, or devil, please whisk back to wherever you came from and leave me in peace. Now that I know I’m on the right track, I’ll take it from here.”

  I despised lack of clarity in speech when I was an English teacher. Right track. It. I wanted specificity.

  “Take what where?”

  She looked blank.

  “You say you are on the right track and you will take it from here. Take what where?”

  “You seem singularly uninformed for a so-called ghost.” She made a shooing gesture, as if I were a bothersome fly.

  “It’s a good thing”—I hoped I didn’t sound waspish—“that Heaven doesn’t hold grudges, or I would be gone. In a heartbeat. Look, we need to talk.” I gestured at the shattered vase. “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

  Her smile fled as she stared at the debris. In the moonlight, her face looked suddenly older. She drew in a quick breath.

  I patted her shoulder.

  Kay stiffened. “You are not here.” The words were evenly spaced, but her voice was strident. “I haven’t had that much to drink. Two glasses of champagne at dinner. That’s nothing. I am perfectly sober. Maybe I need a drink. I’ve got to get my head on straight. Maybe if I talk the situation out, I’ll know what to do next.” She flicked a quick glance toward me. “That must be why I’m imagining you. All right. My subconscious will be my guide.” She began to pace. “I found a note on my pillow. But not a billet-doux this time.” Her face softened. “Jack wrote lovely pillow notes. I still have them. This wasn’t that kind of note, but I was thrilled. I knew I was getting somewhere.”

  Kay reached into a pocket.

  I was wary, prepared for the gun.

  Kay lifted out a square of white cardboard, read aloud: “‘Be on the terrace at midnight in the cul-de-sac. I know what happened to Jack.’”

  Interesting. I asked eagerly, “What happened to Jack?”

  Kay lifted startled black eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t know about Jack? My subconscious must have gone on vacation after calling you up. You can’t be a good sounding board if you don’t know what’s happened.”

  “I know you are engaged in a foolhardy and”—I jerked a thumb at the wreckage—“dangerous scheme.”

  “Scheme.” She considered the word and gave an approving nod. “You better believe it, honey. I’ve got a scheme, and that pile of dirt”—she jerked her thumb—“proves I was right. I knew things were breaking my way when I got the note. I suspected something would happen.” She patted her pocket. “That’s why I brought a gun. But”—she looked up at the empty pedestal—“somebody outsmarted me.”

  “When I got to the balcony—”

  She looked sardonic. “You flew, of course.”

  I tamped down my immediate flare of irritation…on the earth, not of the earth… With an effort of will (Wiggins, are you applauding?), I was pleasant. “Not exactly. It’s more immediate than that.” I disappeared, zoomed up, stood on the balcony ledge, reappeared, and looked down on Kay. I was clearly visible in the light from a lamp. I waved, then reversed the process. In another instant, I stood before her.

  Her eyelashes fluttered.

  The instantaneous switch from ground to balcony to ground obviously dazzled her. What fun.

  She pressed fingers against her temples. “Hallucination. That’s all that it is. Maybe champagne isn’t good for me.”

  I was impatient with her dogged rejection of my presence. Time was fleeting and action was essential. I began again, firmly. “When I reached the balcony, no one was there. I heard a door shut, but I was too late to see anyone. Maybe the police will be able to find some evidence.”

  “The police.” She spoke in a considering tone, then gave an abrupt head shake. “I don’t think—”

  “Excuse me, is everything all right?” The puzzled call came from the upper terrace.

  Kay’s expression was grim. “Everything’s just super, Laverne. Come on down.” She turned the flashlight toward the steps.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I disappeared.

  Kay drew in a sharp breath.

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t left. We’ll talk later.” My whisper was intended as a reassurance.

  Regrettably, Kay stamped her foot. “I’ve got to stop imagining things.”

  A tall, thin woman with dark hair in a coronet braid descended the steps. She walked majestically, as if pages might be to the left and right of her strewing flowers. She was either someone of importance or someone who wished to appear important. She was dressed all in black, a rayon blouse with a fringe and a billowing black skirt. A sharp nose and thin lips dominated her bony face. “Has there been an accident? I heard a huge crash. I thought something had happened in the garden, and I should go and see.”

  Kay’s smile was grim. “Did you indeed? Where’s Ronald?”

  Laverne ignored the question as her gaze swung back and forth, searching the shadows. “Where did that woman go?”

  Kay’s eyes widened. “You saw a woman?”

  Laverne’s stare was haughty. “Of course I saw her. However, I have no intention of intruding upon your meeting. I came down because I heard a big crash. What happened?”

  Instead of answering, Kay swung the flashlight toward the heap of dirt and broken porcelain. A portion of broken marble bench protruded from the debris.

  Laverne’s lips parted. A hand touched at her throat. She was either shocked or a fine actress. Her gaze rose.

  The emptiness of the pedestal was obvious in the moonlight.

  “No wonder the sound was so loud.” She turned back to Kay. “How could that huge vase fall?”

  “I don’t know what made the vase”—there was an appreciable pause—“fall. In any event, no harm done.” Kay glanced at the broken bench. “I suppose someone can check the pedestal tomorrow. I don’t see that there’s anything we can do tonight. Accidents happen.”

  I was stunned. What was Kay thinking? She knew the vase’s fall was no accident.

  Laverne’s sharp gaze studied Kay.

  Kay’s lime green jacket was dirt-streaked. The right knee of her slacks was torn.

  Laverne looked concerned. “Where were you when
the vase fell?”

  Kay’s smile was grim. She pointed at the heap of dirt and broken pottery. “Ground zero. Luckily, I was able to jump out of the way.”

  Did Kay believe she’d jumped? Was she actually convinced I was imaginary?

  Kay bent and snagged a clod of dirt. She threw it into the pond with so much force the frogs were startled into silence. “I’m not dead.” She sounded buoyant.

  Laverne looked puzzled, as well she might. “Was that woman here, too? Where is she now?”

  I didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Could I count on Kay being discreet?

  I slipped behind Laverne and swirled into visibility.

  Kay saw me, of course. How could she not? I cupped my hand near my ear as if holding a telephone, mouthed, “Call the police.”

  Kay stood as if turned to stone, her oval face shocked into immobility.

  Laverne looked uneasy. “What’s wrong?”

  I pointed with a peremptory finger at my make-believe phone and mouthed, “Call 911.” It was a shame neither Laverne nor Kay apparently had a cell phone with them. Most people seemed to be tethered to them at all times, but I understood a cell phone might not be essential for a late-night walk in the garden. I didn’t want to appear prideful, but I was au courant with new technologies after my previous visits to Adelaide as a Heavenly emissary. I knew about computers, too. However, I make no claim of expertise there.

  Kay appeared shaken. She wavered unsteadily. Eyes wide, she looked past Laverne. “You aren’t there.” She spoke with angry emphasis.

  Laverne took a step forward. “Are you ill?”

  I lost patience. I would have liked to stalk up to Kay and give her a good shake. Instead, I disappeared and turned toward the silent, dark house.

  One of the delights of ghostly peregrinations is the ease of transport from place to place. Picture a destination and there you are.