Merry, Merry Ghost

by Carolyn Hart

  Leon lifted a hand, took a step after her, then stopped. His mouth opened. Closed. He shook his head. He turned and opened the screen door. “Burnt Creek…” His voice was gruff with an undertone of anger. The door closed behind him.

  As I walked to the car, I carried a clear picture of his face, an honest face, grieved and forlorn.

  I opened the driver’s seat. The interior light flashed on. Lying in the driver’s seat was Susan’s letter. I picked up the envelope, saw that it was sealed now as well as stamped.

  The passenger seat was empty.

  “Susan?”

  Suddenly I knew I was alone. Susan’s task was done. Death after Life doth greatly please. She was free now, no longer tethered to earth. Before too long I would be home in Heaven and Susan would be there, vigorous and happy, reunited with those she had loved.

  I tucked the letter in the pocket of my coat and slid behind the wheel. I didn’t glance again at the passenger seat. I would never again while on earth hear Susan’s light, clear voice or see her kind eyes and quick smile.

  “Godspeed.” I turned the key and moved the gear to D. I drove down the dark road and, to be honest, heaved a sigh of relief. I’d embarked on a perilous and forbidden path and was exceedingly fortunate that my gamble had succeeded. Perhaps Wiggins, occupied in Tumbulgum, would never know that I’d once again succumbed to impulse. Certainly I had the greatest respect for Precept Two and had ignored its stricture only because I felt I had no choice.

  I turned onto the main road.

  Ends justifying means rarely received plaudits, but in this instance everything had worked out well and surely that was a mitigating circumstance. However, I suspected I would be climbing aboard the Rescue Express as soon as I returned Jake’s car. Perhaps she’d never notice that scrape on the left rear fender. I’d hoped to stay through Christmas—was there anything lovelier than the peal of bells at the midnight service?—but it looked as though my work was done. Keith was authenticated as Mitch’s son and was now officially Susan’s heir. I would go by the post office and drop the letter in the slot.

  I reached the top of Persimmon Hill. Here the road ran straight and true, swooping down at a steep angle. Adelaide teenagers, not to mention some adults, were sometimes tempted to put the pedal to the metal.

  I rolled down the windows, felt the flood of cold air. Why not?

  “Yee-hah!” The wind blew my hair, rushing past loud as the wings of a Mississippi kite. I felt as one with the bucketing car, exhilarated, adrenaline rushing, the headlights’ twin beams flashing through the night, fast as a black skimmer snatching fish from a Gulf wave.

  “Bailey Ruth!” Wiggins’s stentorian shout shook me.

  I flinched. The wheel swerved under my hands. The car whipped from one side of the road to the other, zigging and zagging down the sharp incline. I fought to keep the front end from careening into the bridge at the bottom of the hill.

  A siren shrilled.

  The Ford shuddered as I brought it to a stop on the shoulder just past the bridge.

  “Worst ride…since that night…the Lady Luck’s brakes went out.” Wiggins spoke in strangled gasps.

  I clutched the steering wheel and struggled for breath, but Wiggins’s uneven bleats moved me. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” There was an edge of despair in his voice. “How can I be all right? Transgression piled upon transgression. Consorting with a departed spirit. Encouraging defiance of a Heavenly summons. Appearing here, there, and everywhere. Alarming that officer.”

  Footsteps approached.

  I twisted to look. Oh dear Heaven, here came Officer Cain, clearly revealed in the wash of lights from his car. I had a dreadful premonition. Officer Cain had no doubt marked down the license plate of the blue Ford he had stopped earlier. My mink coat gleamed a soft caramel in the sweep of his flashlight. I’d not bothered to disappear when I left Leon’s house. The passenger seat, of course, was empty. Perhaps I, too, could wish a purse and driver’s license, but Susan was forever beyond my call. Officer Cain might reasonably wonder what had happened to her and where she was.

  I swirled away. As the coat and I dissolved, Susan’s letter tumbled to the seat. I grabbed the envelope and floated out of the car.

  The beam of Officer Cain’s flashlight rose, following the letter into the darkness of the night until I’d gone higher than the light reached.

  “Stop right there.” But the shouted command came from Wiggins, not the young policeman.

  This was not the time to defy Wiggins. I stopped and hovered. “Shh. He’ll hear you.” I glanced down.

  Officer Cain’s head went back at an awkward angle. He stared upward, seeking the source of the voices. He looked to be in a fearful strain. I feared tomorrow he might have a painful crick.

  “I don’t care who hears me,” Wiggins roared. “I would have come sooner except events in Tumbulgum were out of control.”

  “Wiggins,” I whispered, “Precept Six. Look at poor Officer Cain.”

  The young policeman rubbed his ears. He took a deep breath.

  Now the only sounds were the urgent hoos of a courting owl, the rustle of hackberry branches in the wind, and the rumble of a passing truck.

  The beam of the flashlight wobbled. Officer Cain swept the light back and forth against unrevealing darkness.

  Far away a train whistle sounded.

  Cain slowly, as if forcing himself, turned toward the car. Light danced across the hood, illuminated the empty seats. He plunged to the driver’s window, poked the flashlight inside. In a frenzy, he opened the front and back doors all the way around the car. He lifted the trunk, slammed the lid down again.

  He backed away from the car, the flashlight beam playing this way and that, up and down, and all around. After a final illumination of the clearly empty seats, he turned and ran for his patrol car.

  “Make every effort not to alarm earthly creatures.’” Wiggins sounded morose.

  I didn’t know what to say. Was an apology in order? For which offense? I sighed.

  “Clearly there has been a failure of leadership.” His deep voice was subdued.

  “Wiggins, don’t blame yourself.” He made no response. I tried to be upbeat. “These things happen.”

  “Only in Tumbulgum and Adelaide.” There was a wealth of despair in his tone.

  “Oh. A real problem in Tumbulgum?” Possibly we could ponder some other emissary’s foibles.

  “Nothing similar.” He spoke hastily. “Your actions are always well meant. If only you tempered enthusiasm with restraint. If you were less inquisitive. Less impulsive. Less rash. Less forthright.” A heavy sigh. “And much less daring.”

  I had no answer. No doubt Wiggins was ready to hand me my return ticket on the Rescue Express. I consoled myself that I had reached the goal of my stay, even if in a slapdash fashion. Keith was established as Susan’s grandson and—surely this was a bonus that Wiggins should applaud—was now assured his proper inheritance.

  I looked down. Officer Cain hunched in the seat of his patrol car, his lips moving rapidly. I assumed he was reporting the abandoned Ford at the foot of Persimmon Hill.

  Such a nice and remarkably attractive young man. I hoped this evening’s experiences didn’t haunt him. That, too, could be chalked up in my debit column. Did the credit and debit columns balance out? “I did my best.”

  “Except for Susan.” His tone was sad rather than accusatory.

  “Susan?” Assuredly, my decision to aid Susan in her effort to provide for Keith might be criticized, yet his voice was somber, not angry.

  “I warned you to keep an eye on her. I was afraid there might be trouble.”

  Fair was fair. I would certainly take responsibility for derelictions of duty re the Precepts, but at no time had I been charged with overseeing Susan Flynn. “I beg your pardon.” My tone was sharp. “I was sent here to look out for Keith, not Susan.” I can sound steely. It harks back to my days as a high school English teacher before
I flunked the principal’s son and kept Bubba out of the championship football game and had to find a new career in the mayor’s office. “As for Susan, I don’t know what more I could have done.”

  “Before I was summoned to Tumbulgum, I warned you.” A pause. “Oh. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. When Susan decided to change her will, I became uneasy. I wanted you to guard her against danger. Bailey Ruth, forgive me.” He spoke with chagrin, his deep voice carrying. “Likely even if you had been with her every moment, you wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  “Difference about what?” My voice remained steely. If he meant the sojourn to get the will signed, I had been with Susan every moment, either seen or unseen.

  “Her murder.” He was lugubrious.

  “Murder?” My voice rose in shock. “Murder? What do you mean? Susan died.”

  “I know she died.” He sounded testy. “Of course she died. But she didn’t die in the natural order. Don’t you remember? When I briefed you at the department, I told you. Susan was scheduled to arrive June 15.”

  “Murder.” I heard my cry, forlorn as the call of a loon.

  The frenzied crisscross of the flashlight beam startled me. Officer Cain stood rigidly next to his cruiser, seeking to find the voices that volleyed above him in the night sky.

  I whispered. “That poor young man. He heard us. Look, he’s getting back into the cruiser, talking on his radio again. I’d better go down and see. Wiggins, hold the letter.”

  I dropped into the cruiser.

  Sweat beaded Johnny’s handsome face. “Two-adam-five.”

  “Two-adam-five go ahead.”

  “No trace Ford driver, redheaded woman in her late twenties in a light brown mink coat. Apparently accompanied by unknown male. Loud voices heard, cannot locate. Woman shouted, ‘Murder.’ Missing redheaded driver originally seen in same car with Susan Flynn. Mrs. Flynn wasn’t in the car. Possibly a search should be made. Send backup.”

  I zoomed up until I spotted the white envelope. “Wiggins, I’d hoped to return Jake’s car to Pritchard House, but there’s no chance.” We both knew (at least I knew) whose fault this was, but laying blame never warms relationships. “Officer Cain’s calling for help. The police will contact Susan’s house.” I reached out, grabbed the envelope. “I’ll take the will to the post office.” I’d promised Susan.

  He held on to the will for a moment, then relinquished the envelope. “I suppose,” it was as if he spoke to himself, “that you might as well see the will on its way since the document now exists, even though I’m sure Susan’s delayed arrival in Heaven caused consternation. Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Deposit the envelope. I’ll alert the Rescue Express to pick you up at the post office.”

  My return ticket was all but in my hand. I’d seen Keith safely through and helped Susan provide for his future and his rightful place as his father’s son, but I was miserable.

  Susan had been murdered. I’d not understood that she was in my care, but nonetheless I felt responsible now. Abruptly, I quivered with anger. I’d wondered why Susan had to die tonight when happy days with Keith lay ahead of her. “Murder! That makes me furious. Worst of all, no one will suspect a thing. She looks so peaceful lying there. They’ll think she overdid today and simply died. That isn’t right.” I glared down at the police car. “I’d almost go down there and tell that young officer. But he’d try to take me into custody and when I disappeared that would put them off on the wrong—”

  I felt a rush of excitement. “Wrong track!” I gave a whoop and I didn’t care how Officer Cain reacted. “Wiggins, there’s no time to lose. The police will be on their way to Pritchard House. I may only have minutes. I’ll dash by the post office.” Zooming through the night air above the lights of Adelaide was an experience to be savored, especially with all of the glorious Christmas decorations. “As soon as I drop the envelope in a letter box, I’ll pop immediately to Susan’s bedroom. I know how to make sure the police investigate her death.” I took a deep hopeful breath. “Please signal the Rescue Express that my assignment has been extended. We can’t let Susan’s murderer get away with a perfect crime.”

  I waited. Time on earth can seem eons long. My chest ached as I held my breath. Would Wiggins approve? Wiggins followed the rules. I often didn’t and I had no doubt my plan would shock his conservative soul.

  “Do you believe you can make a difference?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you can make a difference. You always do.”

  I chose not to focus on the faintly bitter tone of his voice.

  “Do whatever you need to do.” He was gruff and determined. “Susan should have had those happy days with Keith. I’ll send the signal now. Assignment extended.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Meissen clock on the mantel chimed a quarter after one. A little more than an hour had elapsed since Susan and I had departed, Susan laughing with pleasure as she floated through space to the hall below.

  I hovered above the bed. She still rested on her side. In profile, her face looked peaceful. Yes, now she was at peace. I gently edged the pillow from beneath her head, carried it to the dresser. I opened the drawer, found a makeup kit, smudged lipstick on the pillowcase.

  The phone shrilled. It rang a second time, a third, stopped in mid-peal.

  I felt like a horse flicked by a crop. I moved fast, throwing back the bedcovers and tumbling Susan’s body onto the floor. Quickly, I placed her on her back. I bent her arms at the elbow, placed her hands palm up, and covered her face and hands with the pillow.

  I’d no more than finished when a rattling knock sounded on the bedroom door. The door swung wide. “Susan, the police just called.” Jake’s voice was breathless. “They said you—Susan? Susan?” The light flicked on.

  Jake Flynn stepped inside, struggling to pull on a pink chenille robe. Curlers held wisps of hair, exposing pink patches of scalp. She stared and her puffy, sleep-raddled face froze in horror. Unsteadily, as if the floor rocked beneath her feet, one hand pressed against her lips, Jake crossed the room, dropped to her knees beside Susan. Jake pulled Susan’s right arm from beneath the pillow and pressed her fingertips against the wrist.

  Downstairs, the doorbell pealed. Authoritative raps sounded.

  Jake came to her feet, breathing in short, quick gasps. She looked toward the hall, then once again turned to that still figure. Face quivering in distaste, she bent over, reaching toward the pillow.

  “Mother!” Peg’s cry was stricken.

  Jake whirled to face the door, clutched her chest.

  “What’s happened?” Peg hurried to Susan’s body, stared down. “Why is that pillow over Susan’s face?”

  “I don’t know.” Jake’s voice shook. “I just found her. I didn’t find any pulse. And you can tell she isn’t breathing. The police called and asked to speak to Susan. I told them she was sick and they said they had to talk to her and I came and found her.”

  The doorbell rang without pause.

  “She’s dead.” Peg’s voice was dull, leaden. Her hand hovered above the pillow. She shuddered and drew back. “We mustn’t touch anything.”

  The doorbell continued to peal.

  “Wait just a minute. I’m coming.” Gina’s call on the stairwell was loud and irritated. “Jake? Peg? Where is everybody?”

  Jake trembled. “That must be the police downstairs. They called about my car. Someone’s stolen it. The police found it. They asked to speak to Susan. I don’t know why they wanted to talk to her. I don’t understand. Nothing makes sense.” She stepped reluctantly toward Susan’s body. “Quick. We have to get Susan back on the bed.”

  A deep voice sounded below. Gina’s reply was indistinguishable. There was the muffled sound of steps and the door closing and more voices.

  Peg caught her mother’s arm. “What do you mean?”

  Jake tried to pull away. “Hurry. She mustn’t be found like this. It doesn’t look right.”

  Steps sounded in the hall. “Is Susan sick?”
Gina called out. “Where is everyone?”

  Peg held tight to Jake. “Look right?” Her young voice rose with a tinge of hysteria. “No. It doesn’t look right. That pillow—oh God, someone’s killed Susan.”

  “Susan’s dead?” Gina’s voice was sharp and high. She stood in the doorway. When she saw Susan’s body and the pillow, Gina reached out, gripped the lintel, held tight.

  Jake’s gaze was desperate. “There’s some explanation. Susan felt sick. She got up. She fell and maybe she was carrying the pillow. You girls have to help me. We can put her on the bed.” Jake’s tone was feverish. “We have to hurry. Susan would hate for anyone to see her like this.”

  “Mrs. Flynn?” The deep voice was loud, demanding. “Police.”

  Gina made a helpless gesture with her hands. “The doorbell rang and rang. I went down. The police are here to talk to Susan.”

  The three women stood frozen for an instant, each staring at the still figure. Jake’s eyes were wide and staring, her breathing irregular. Gina’s thin face was slack with shock and disbelief. Peg shuddered. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Hello?” The stern voice called again from downstairs.

  Peg, her face ashen, dropped her mother’s arm. She walked stiffly past Gina into the hallway. “Police? Come help us.” Her call was stricken. “Someone has killed Susan.”

  I sat on the chaise longue near Keith’s bed. I heard noise, deep voices, the thud of feet on the stairway even though the door to Keith’s room was firmly shut. I’d gained some knowledge of police procedures on my previous mission. The medical examiner would be summoned. Susan wouldn’t be touched until the examiner affirmed death. Because of the circumstances in which she was found, an autopsy would be ordered. I felt no need to be present for the early moments of the investigation. I wouldn’t miss anything of importance. Especially since I’d created the crime scene. Peg had taken time to check on Keith before the women were asked to go downstairs, but I was afraid the movement up and down the stairs and the brusque exchanges of conversation would awaken him. I didn’t want Keith to stumble out into the hallway. Not this night.