Merry, Merry Ghost

by Carolyn Hart

  “Speaking.” The contralto voice was brisk and firm, but genial.

  “Hey, Janie. If you’ve got a minute, can I run something by you?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Cobb’s face turned a dull reddish color. “I wanted to talk to you about one of my officers. Good guy, but I think maybe he’s under a strain. Now, this is between us, but he gets these messages. It’s the blackboard.” Cobb ran a finger around his collar as if it were too tight. “He sees the chalk in the air and nobody’s holding it, but there are words being written and in a minute there’s a message and it has to do with a tough case.”

  “Does he hear voices?”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that.” He stared at the smudged blackboard. “At least, he hasn’t heard voices yet. The message was on the blackboard and signed by an officer who had a previous connection to the department.”

  I smiled, pleased for Officer M. Loy to have even that grudging recognition.

  “Would he have some special reason to remember this officer?”

  “Oh yes.” The chief’s response was fervent. “Is it possible he’s getting some tips, say over the phone, and he writes them on the blackboard and doesn’t remember doing it?”

  “That would be one explanation. Under great stress, the mind can deliberately shut off particular memories. The signature of the former officer could reflect appreciation for previous assistance. However, the solution may be simpler. Perhaps someone in the department wants him to have the information but doesn’t want to be identified as the source. Is the officer performing rationally otherwise?”

  Cobb rubbed the back of his neck. “So far as I know.”

  “I’d keep a close eye on the situation. I’ll be glad to talk to him if you think that would help. Got to go, Sam.” The line clicked off.

  As the chief reached for files, a frown lingering, I vowed to avoid blackboard duty in the future. I didn’t want to cause the chief further stress of mind. As his doctor said, the mind was capable of adjusting reality until it was acceptable. I’d count on time to assuage Sam Cobb’s concern.

  As for time, Officer Johnny Cain should arrive at Pritchard House any minute.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The police car sat in front of Pritchard House. Johnny Cain stood next to Peg’s Honda at the foot of the drive. He bent down as she opened the window. The breeze stirred his dark hair. “Hi, Peg.” His face held a mixture of eagerness and apprehension.

  “Johnny.” Peg’s wan and tired face brightened. Despite artfully applied makeup, reddened patches revealed a tearful night. She was dressed for the funeral in a black wool suit. A charcoal wool jacket was neatly folded in the front passenger seat. “I’m taking Keith to the park for a little while. I had to get out of the house. There are flowers everywhere. They’re beautiful, but I feel like I’m choking.”

  In the backseat, Keith clicked a red toy car on the armrest of the car seat. “Va-room. Va-room.” His blond hair was perfectly combed. He looked bright and fresh and happy.

  I was standing a little to one side of Johnny. I blew Keith a kiss.

  He looked toward me and gave a quick gurgle of laughter. His face lighted. “Can you come to the park with us?”

  Johnny’s face softened. “I’d like that.” He looked at Peg with a question in his eyes.

  “That would be very nice.” Her voice was a little shaky.

  With a whoop, Keith ran to the treehouse ladder.

  Smiling and hurrying to keep up, Peg and Johnny stopped a few feet from the end of the slide.

  “Hey, he’s fast.” Johnny’s tone was admiring. “Maybe he’ll go out for track.”

  Peg’s smile slipped away. “I want him to grow up in a happy house and be what he wants to be. Maybe he’ll love ranching like his dad. If things”—her voice shook—“hadn’t gone wrong, Mitch would be at Burnt Creek right now. Maybe Keith will want to have a store or run for office or be a policeman like you. I want to do that for Susan. I tried to give him my share of the estate, but Wade said it would be better for me to keep the money and not give a bunch away in taxes and that would leave more for me to spend on Keith. I’m going to put the money in the bank for Keith.”

  Johnny took her hands, gripped them hard. “Keith will turn out fine. Just like you.”

  She clung to his hands. “I’ll do my best for him. You understand that, don’t you, Johnny?”

  “I do.” His eyes were admiring. “I want you to do that. Maybe I can help. Be like a big brother to him.”

  She gave his hands a squeeze, pulled free, her cheeks faintly pink. “That would be very special.” Her voice was soft.

  “Peg, look at me.” Keith’s high voice was excited.

  She looked up and waved. Keith sat down and scooted to the edge of the platform and started down the slide with a shout. “Here I come.”

  Peg turned to Johnny. “I’m glad you came with us.” She was slightly breathless.

  Johnny put a hand on her arm. “I need to talk to you for a minute.” His voice was serious, his eyes anxious.

  She looked at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m a cop.” His handsome face was somber but determined.

  Her eyes were admiring. “Of course you are. I’m proud of you. You graduated tops in your class at the police academy.”

  “I’m here as a cop.” The words were short and hard.

  The radiance in her eyes dimmed.

  Johnny gazed out at the gray waters of the lake, cold and uninviting despite the vivid sunlight, then looked at her directly. “You may not have heard. It was on the radio this morning. Last night Kim Weaver was murdered.”

  “Kim?” Peg’s face was stricken. She lifted a shaking hand. “I saw her yesterday at Wade’s office. She was fine. What happened?”

  Quickly Johnny described the shot and the car toppling into the pit and the desperate effort to raise the car.

  Peg pressed her hands against her cheeks. “I don’t understand any of this. And what does it have to do with me?”

  “Chief Cobb thinks Kim was murdered because of Susan’s will.” Johnny talked fast. “Kim opened the mail yesterday morning at Wade Farrell’s office. They’re pretty sure she found a new will drawn up by Susan that left everything to her grandson.”

  “Oh, Johnny.” Peg’s eyes widened, brightened. It was as if the weight of the world slipped from her shoulders. “Everything for Keith? That’s wonderful.”

  Johnny shook his head. “Right now that will is missing. The chief said Kim took it to the brick factory. She was meeting someone.”

  Peg lifted a hand to her throat. “Who?” She scarcely managed a whisper.

  “We don’t know. That’s why I hope you will talk to me.”

  “Here I come, ready or not.” Keith flew across the uneven ground, threw himself toward Peg.

  She caught him. “Do you want to swing?”

  “Way high.” He darted toward the swings.

  Johnny followed Peg to the swings. She settled Keith into the plastic seat. “Hold on tight.”

  Johnny grabbed the chains, drew the swing back, gave a mighty push.

  “Hold on.” Peg’s cry was anxious.

  Johnny was relaxed. “He’s okay. Mitch’s boy can handle being up high.”

  As Johnny pushed and the swing rose, Keith squealed in delight.

  Peg looked at Johnny gravely. “Who was Kim meeting?”

  He didn’t answer directly. “As you know, Kim called the heirs under the other will and asked them to come to Farrell’s office. Your mother, you, Tucker, Gina, and Harrison Hammond.” His eyes fell. He added reluctantly, “Or the chief thought she could have called Dave.”

  Peg stood stiff and still. “Why would she call Dave?”

  Johnny gazed toward the lake, avoiding her eyes. “The chief knows all about you and Dave and Dave wanting a loan from Susan. Kim called somebody. It had to be someone who was at Pritchard House Saturday night.”

  Peg nodded, her eyes
filled with foreboding.

  “The chief thinks Kim told somebody about the new will and agreed to keep it hidden. For a price. That’s why the meeting was set up last night. Kim was supposed to bring the will.” Finally, he faced her, his gaze both hopeful and uncertain. “Kim was in school with you and me and Gina and Tucker and Dave.” He looked a little wry. “Between school and work, I didn’t have a lot of free time to run around. She was part of the popular crowd so I don’t know who she was close to.”

  Peg folded her arms, stared at the ground.

  “Who would she tell about the new will?” Johnny gave the swing a push.

  Peg’s lips trembled. “I don’t know. How can I know? She used to be Gina’s best friend. She was at our house a lot. We hung around together, Kim and Gina and Tucker and Mitch and Dave and Ellen and me. Kim knew everyone who was supposed to inherit, one way or another. She knew us too well.” Peg’s voice was faint and reluctant. “She knew my mother was obsessive about Pritchard House. She knew Gina was always broke and desperate to pay her bills. She knew Tucker didn’t want anybody telling him what to do with Burnt Creek. She probably knew Harrison was in financial trouble because Kim’s dad had done work for Harrison. It could be any one of us, except”—she drew a deep breath—“I know it wasn’t Dave.”

  Some of the vigor seemed to drain from Johnny’s posture though he tried to look positive. “Well, sure. I mean, I know you and Dave are a couple. Obviously, Susan wouldn’t have considered making a loan unless…Well”—he sounded uncomfortable—“I understand that you’d stick up for him.”

  She looked at him in surprise, flushed. “Not for the reason you think. I know he didn’t because of what he said Saturday night.”

  Johnny looked at her sharply.

  She spoke rapidly, her face forlorn. “I know he didn’t harm Susan because Saturday night he demanded that I try to persuade her to make the loan. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it. And”—the words came ever faster though her voice dropped almost to a whisper—“when I told him I wasn’t going to take the money, he hung up on me.” Her face was white and strained, she was clearly humiliated. “But anyway he wouldn’t have asked me to keep trying with Susan if he’s the one who poisoned her.”

  “Peg”—there was anguish in his voice—“I’m sorry.”

  Her head jerked up. “You don’t need to be sorry for me. I should have known Dave wasn’t interested in me. He always dated really popular girls. He never paid any attention to me until last spring. I should have known he wanted Susan’s money, not me.”

  He reached out, gripped her arm. “Dave’s a fool.”

  Her eyes shiny with tears, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Johnny.” But the light fled from her eyes. “I wish I could believe that Kim called Dave. But I don’t. That means Kim called someone I know and love.”

  “He’s as likely as anyone.” Johnny was emphatic. “Sure, he asked you to talk to Susan. Maybe that figures. Nobody said this murderer is stupid. But you’re right about one thing: she called someone who was at the house Saturday night. That’s why I want you to tell me what you know about Kim and the others. Who did Kim know well enough to take the chance of saying, ‘I’ve got something here that might interest you. Susan Flynn wrote out a new will, leaving everything to Keith. It came in this morning’s mail. Do you think I should put it on Wade’s desk?’ Whichever one she spoke to, she made a big mistake. Kim didn’t know Susan had been murdered.”

  Peg’s face was abruptly merciless. “I hated Kim.”

  Johnny looked at her in dismay, his open face shocked.

  Peg caught the swing as it lost momentum. “Last swing today, Keith.” She helped him hop to the ground. “Race from here to the slides and back and it will be time to leave. See how fast you can go.”

  Keith dashed away.

  Peg’s hands clenched into tight hard fists. “Kim was reckless and greedy and a cheat. I always thought she encouraged Gina to spend more money than she had. Maybe that’s not fair. Gina still buys and buys and buys. In high school, Kim flirted with anybody, everybody. Mitch was crazy about Kim. She was the prettiest girl in the junior class. Mitch was wonderful, but having him wasn’t enough. She always wanted more. She was the one who made Mitch mad that night. She was running around on him. Mitch found out and lost his temper. He stormed out. That’s why Ellen died. Worst of all”—Peg’s voice was flat and empty—“Kim was cheating with Tucker. We never let Susan and Tom know that it was Tucker. Tucker dropped her immediately. I wasn’t sure whether he was sorry at what happened or if he had never cared about her and only used her to make a fool out of Mitch.”

  Out of breath, cheeks flaming, Keith ran full tilt at Peg. She caught him up and turned away, hurrying across the playground to her car.

  Johnny lifted a hand, took a step after her, then stopped. With a frustrated shake of his head, he walked swiftly toward the police cruiser.

  Never be late for a wedding or a funeral. I was at St. Mildred’s a good fifteen minutes before the service. Unseen, I stood in the narthex near the side table with pamphlets about church teachings. The casket, covered with a cream and silver pall, waited near the central aisle. The church was filling quicky. Susan Flynn’s many friends had come to bid her farewell.

  I always found the order for the burial of the dead beautiful and comforting: God is our hope and strength, a very present help in trouble.

  I saw every mourner who entered. I felt a rush of relief when Leon Butler arrived. He looked solemn and unaccustomedly formal in a old blue suit which likely hung in his closet most of the year. He sat on the Gospel side of the sanctuary near the back.

  I sped outside. The parking lot was full and cars were parked on both sides of the street. I finally found Leon’s battered old pickup near the entrance to the forest preserve. I flowed into the passenger seat and opened the dash compartment. It held maps, a tool kit, receipts, and a large half-eaten Hershey bar with the wrapper neatly folded back over the open end. I fished out a receipt from Hanley’s Hardware. Now I needed something to write with. I had almost despaired when my fingers touched a stub of a pencil.

  I placed the sheet on the dashboard and quickly wrote on the back of the receipt:

  Mr. Butler—It is urgent that I speak with you about Susan Flynn’s will. After the funeral, please meet me in the forest preserve at the end of the pier. Thanking you in advance for your cooperation—Susan’s friend whom you met Saturday night.

  St. Mildred’s was bounded on one side by the cemetery, on the other by the forest preserve. The entrance to the forest preserve was about twenty feet from Leon’s truck. I draped the note over the bottom curve of the steering wheel. It could not be missed. I opened the latch on the passenger door. Otherwise, Leon would surely wonder how a note was placed inside his locked truck.

  Everything depended upon Leon. Saturday night I’d realized there was a deep affection between Leon and Susan. I was counting on Leon to be willing to climb any mountain for Susan Flynn and her grandson.

  Mourners were still walking into the church. I entered the room where the family waited to be summoned to the front pews.

  Jake Flynn nervously rolled a crumpled tissue in one hand. Her purple silk dress made her look pale. “Where’s Peg? She promised to be here in plenty of time. I told her not to go to the park. It wasn’t appropriate.”

  Charlotte Hammond smoothed her graying hair. “We have at least ten minutes.”

  The door opened and Peg walked in. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it. There was a desperate, intense quality to the stricken gaze that moved from face to face. “Somebody killed Kim Weaver last night.”

  “Kim?” Gina’s voice rose in shock.

  Charlotte Hammond lifted a shaking hand as if in denial.

  Peg took a deep breath. “A new will leaving everything to Keith arrived at Wade Farrell’s office yesterday. In the mail. Instead of giving the will to Wade, Kim Weaver kept it. She took the will to the old b
rick factory last night. Someone killed her.”

  “A new will?” Jake lifted a trembling hand. “That can’t be. Susan wasn’t going to sign the will until Monday morning.”

  Peg stared at her mother with a mixture of horror and despair.

  Gina came to her feet, strode across the room, grabbed Peg’s arm. “Kim can’t be dead.”

  Tucker lounged on a small sofa. His face was calm but his eyes were alert and wary. Jake struggled to control her breathing. Harrison gripped a chair arm, as if the room had suddenly become unsteady. Charlotte watched him with concern.

  “Kim is dead. She is very dead.” Peg’s voice wavered with hysteria. “The police think she told someone about the new will. Last night she went to the brick factory with the will and someone shot out a tire on her car and the car went into the pit.”

  Harrison clenched his hands. “What about this purported will? Where is it?”

  “No one knows. The police can’t find it. It may have been lost in the water.” Her face suddenly twisted in bitterness. “Does that make all of you happy? Especially one of you?”

  The door began to open, bumped against Peg.

  She stepped out of the way.

  A silver-haired man in a dark suit slipped inside, spoke softly. “If the family is ready…”

  As the age-old liturgy unfolded, those who had surrounded Susan in life sat together to bid her farewell. Yet each seemed as separate from the other as figures on an Edward Hopper canvas. Plump Jake Flynn’s dark purple silk dress, even though unflattering, was appropriate for a funeral. As she dabbed at her eyes, I wondered if she remembered Susan and her generosity or if she was exulting that Pritchard House was hers alone. As the haunting strains of “Amazing Grace” filled the church, Peg Flynn sang until she stopped to stifle a sob. Of them all, only Peg seemed to care about Susan’s grandson. Gina Satterlee’s narrow face was pale and drawn, her gaze distant. Susan’s death meant she now could afford extravagant shopping. Tucker Satterlee appeared grim. Occasionally he glanced at his sister. Harrison Hammond followed the program and engaged in the proper responses, but he avoided glancing toward the pall-covered casket. If Susan had lived one more day, his financial doom would have been sealed. A teary Charlotte wiped at her eyes. With the news of Kim Weaver’s murder, did she wonder where her husband was last night?