Merry, Merry Ghost

by Carolyn Hart

  “We were all pretty good at climbing trees.” The lazy drawl came from behind Leon. Tucker Satterlee stood just below the landing on the stairs to the second floor. He was lean and muscular and tense in a black sweater and Levi’s and running shoes. He held a twenty-two pistol, aimed directly at Peg. He glanced briefly toward Leon. “That’s a nice big oak tree on the west side of the house, Leon. When I saw Peg’s car outside, I climbed up and pushed up a window and landed in your study. And here you are with pretty little Peggy, who’s hoping you can help get me hanged.” Tucker spoke without expression, his eyes empty. “Or do they punch you with a bunch of drugs these days? I don’t know. That’s not what I needed to know to run the ranch.” His face twisted in despair. “That’s all I ever wanted. I’ve done a good job. Everything’s up to date. The herd’s healthier than it’s ever been. I’ve made Burnt Creek better and better.”

  Peg clutched at her throat. She was suddenly ashen. “Tucker, how you could hurt Susan? How could you?”

  I hovered near the banister. If he lifted the gun suddenly, I had to move at exactly the right moment. Should I shove his hand toward the wall? From his vantage point on the stairs, Tucker looked down on Leon and Peg. Was Hal Price getting ready to make a move? For now, the police likely were waiting to see what Tucker might do, whether he would come down the stairs, be easier to reach.

  Tucker hunched his shoulders. “Susan was dying. What difference did a few days or weeks make? If she’d lived another day, she was going to give the ranch to Mitch’s kid. When Mitch ran away, I was the one who worked the ranch, kept everything going. Then he was killed in Iraq and I was sure Burnt Creek would be mine. Who would have thought he had a kid and the kid would come here.” His eyes ached with pain. “Susan drank her cocoa and she didn’t hurt anymore. And the kid didn’t care. What was Burnt Creek to him? You would have taken good care of him.” His face twisted in despair. “You shouldn’t have brought Keith with you tonight, Peg. You really shouldn’t. He’s a nice little guy. He reminds me of Ellen. Not Mitch, but Ellen. Mitch killed Ellen.”

  “You went after Kim to make Mitch mad.” Peg’s voice shook. “That’s why Ellen died. Because of you.”

  “Ellen died because of Mitch’s temper.” Tucker’s reply was hot and angry. “I just wanted to gig him a little with Kim. How could I know he’d storm out of the party and drive like a fool? If he’d had any sense, he wouldn’t have gone so fast. Ellen died because of him. Not me. I never would have done anything to hurt Ellen.” Sorrow weighted his words.

  “But Ellen died. And Susan. And Kim. You shot out Kim’s tire.” Peg’s voice quivered. “Tucker, you made love to Kim.”

  Tucker’s eyes glittered with anger. “Kim said she’d give me the new will if I’d marry her. She wanted me and Burnt Creek and money to go to France and the Riviera. She’d already started planning a wedding trip. She deserved what she got.” His face was ugly with hatred. “She didn’t tell me there was a witness to the new will.”

  Tucker turned the gun toward Leon. “That turns out to be your bad luck, Leon. I’ve gone through too much to lose everything now.” His gaze flicked toward Peg. “I wish you hadn’t come tonight. But”—and his voice was that of a man persuading himself—“you came here to try to get me in trouble. I wish you hadn’t brought the kid.”

  Peg lifted her hands. “Please, Tucker. He’s only a little boy. Don’t hurt him.”

  Tucker’s shoulders hunched. “I can’t turn back now. It’s your fault.” His voice was accusatory. “You brought him here.”

  Leon’s powerful hands rested on the chair arms. With patience and care, he edged forward in his chair.

  The barrel of the gun lifted. “Don’t move again, Leon. I can shoot fast. Remember? I can shoot you and Peg in an instant.”

  Leon turned his work-worn hands over, as if in acceptance. “Tucker, you need to put that gun down. The house is surrounded by police. They’ll hear shots. They’ll protect Keith. You may kill me and Peg, but you won’t get away tonight. You’re all finished.” Leon dropped his hands. His left hand was about three inches from the magazine draped over his gun.

  Tucker started down the stairs, his steps heavy.

  I sensed Leon’s intention when his eyes flickered toward the magazine. Any instant now, he would move, grab his gun. I’d persuaded Leon to put his life on the line. It was up to me to make sure he didn’t lose it.

  I launched myself, grabbing Tucker’s right arm and pushing the gun toward the wall. I screamed, “Help, help…”

  The bedroom door slammed open. Detective Sergeant Price, gun level, plunged across the floor, shouting, “Police. Hands up. Drop your weapon. Police!”

  I held on with all my strength, but Tucker twisted, jerked free.

  I felt myself falling away. I managed a flip that would have been a ten in any diving competition and kicked his arm as he swung the gun forward. A shot rang out, thudding into the wall, splintering the plaster.

  Johnny Cain, like a running back swerving around a tackle, thudded past Price. Johnny’s face was convulsed with fury. He ran with his hands out, feet pounding as he hurtled up the steps. Before Tucker could aim again, Johnny slammed him down onto the treads, one hand gripping Tucker’s right wrist, the other tight on Tucker’s throat.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I had one more task to accomplish if I could.

  I’d last seen Susan’s will on Monday night in Kim’s purse, shortly before I went to the police station. When I returned to her apartment, she was leaving for the abandoned brick plant. I’d assumed the will was still in her purse. In the car the distinctive square envelope had not been in Kim’s lap or loose on the front seat. But the police didn’t find the will in the zipped purse retrieved from the submerged car.

  Nothing in Kim’s demeanor when I returned to her apartment Monday night suggested that she had—in the very short amount of time I’d been absent—taken the will and left it somewhere outside of her apartment.

  I entered her apartment, drew the curtains, and turned on the lights. Detective Sergeant Price and other officers would have thoroughly searched the apartment, searched it as only police know how to search. They had found no will.

  Was it possible that Kim had managed to secrete the will so well that even seasoned investigators missed the hiding place?

  I settled on the sofa. When I left Monday night, Kim had been in the living room, the will in her purse. If she decided to leave the envelope behind in her apartment, that decision had been made in the short span of time that I was in Chief Cobb’s office. She must have moved quickly.

  I looked slowly around the living room at the beige walls decorated by travel posters and the shabby sofa and chairs. The police search would have unearthed the envelope had it been tucked beneath a cushion or slipped into a drawer.

  Travel brochures lay askew on the table next to her chair. She’d looked at them, planning a wedding trip to the Riviera. The lure of foreign lands was vividly revealed in the posters of the Parthenon, the Cathedral at Chartres, Castle Hill in Nice.

  Tucker had dallied with Kim to anger Mitch. Kim had responded to Tucker’s charms, chosen him over Mitch, the scion of the wealthy family. After Ellen’s death, perhaps Kim blamed Tucker’s defection on pressure from the family. When she offered Tucker the will, she wanted marriage in exchange.

  I felt a sweep of sadness. So much sorrow and despair. Kim had likely smiled happily as she worked to frame the posters of exotic destinations. Monday night she must have felt that she was taking the first step toward the French Riviera and a new life as Mrs. Tucker Satterlee. I gazed at the travel posters. The Riviera…

  Abruptly I was across the room. I unhooked the framed poster of Castle Hill in Nice. I turned the frame over. I moved the prongs holding the backing in place and slipped the cardboard free.

  Susan Flynn’s monogrammed envelope lay against the slick white back of the poster.

  I opened a window, loosened a screen, and then I was out into th
e night, carrying the envelope. Stars spangled the cold night sky. I zoomed from the apartment house to downtown, enjoying the sounds and sights of the holidays, carolers, car motors in store parking lots as last-minute shoppers drove up and down seeking a space, Salvation Army bells, partygoers calling out cheerful farewells, and the brilliant panorama of decorated yards and strands of bright lights on lampposts and strung across downtown streets.

  It was time for Officer Loy’s last appearance. On the second floor of City Hall, I waited until the dispatcher turned to answer a call. “…please repeat the address. I can’t help you unless I have an address…” I swirled into being. If she looked up, she would see the familiar French blue uniform with a hand raised to punch the electronic keypad at the door to the police offices. I swiftly bent down, as if tying my shoe, and placed the envelope on the floor.

  I disappeared, moved through the panel, opened the door from the inside. The dispatcher was absorbed in the call. I scooped up the envelope and closed the door.

  The hallway was empty, though a mutter of voices and ringing phones sounded from the squad room. I walked down the central hallway to Chief Cobb’s office. As I’d expected, the frosted glass gleamed from light within. He had many tasks to accomplish with the arrest of Tucker Satterlee.

  The small square envelope seemed oddly heavy in my hand. I would be relieved to deliver it to a safe haven.

  Officer Loy once again disappeared. I put the envelope on the floor, slipped through the door and into the office. Chief Cobb sat behind his desk, several folders opened and spread out. His face was intent as he wrote briskly on a legal pad. His gray suit was more rumpled than ever. He’d discarded his necktie and his white shirt was open at the throat. With his left hand, he plucked M&M’s from a half-emptied sack.

  I eased the hall door open, retrieved the envelope, and shut the panel.

  The phone rang.

  Without looking up, he punched the speakerphone. “Cobb.”

  “Got the transcripts of the Satterlee tapes from the Butler house.” Detective Sergeant Price’s pleasant tenor sounded ebullient. “Do you want me to bring them to you?”

  I picked up the envelope and moved close to the wall.

  Cobb’s mouth spread in a satisfied smile. “I can wait until tomorrow. I was there. I didn’t think it would do any good to wire Leon. I thought for sure there would be a shot with no warning like the brick plant.” He paused, a frown tugging at his brows. “That’s probably what would have happened except for Peg Flynn showing up. My guess is that when Satterlee saw her car, he decided to come inside and see what was up. That changed everything.”

  “Yeah.” There was an odd tone in Price’s voice. “You know, that was strange at the end, when a woman shouted for help.”

  Cobb’s expression was uneasy. “Yeah. Strange.”

  “Thing about it is,” Price ruminated, “the shout seemed to come from the stairs, from right beside Satterlee. Peg Flynn has a high sweet voice. The voice that called out was throaty, kind of husky. Kind of…unforgettable.”

  Cobb scrambled in the M&M bag, grabbed a bunch, tossed them in his mouth.

  “In fact”—Price was emphatic—“if I hadn’t seen what happened, I would have said Cain getting to Satterlee without being shot was impossible. Cain ducked past me like he was running downfield with the ball but he was a good ten feet from the stairs. How did he get there without being hit?”

  “Crazy guy,” Cobb muttered.

  Price’s laughter was wry and rueful. “Known as woman power, Chief.”

  “I understand. But he’s a brave kid.”

  “Brave and lucky. Or”—Price’s tone was thoughtful—“blessed. Satterlee fired into the wall. Why’d he shoot into the wall? If he’d shot straight, a slug should have caught Cain in the chest.”

  Cobb munched M&M’s. “Cops have to work with facts.” His voice was indistinct. “All we know is, Cain got there in time.”

  “Who was the woman who called out for help?”

  “Let’s keep it simple. There was a woman in the room. A woman shouted. Let’s leave it there.”

  “Whatever you say, boss. That’s not the only odd thing.”

  Cobb grabbed more M&M’s. “Yeah?”

  “Who moved Susan Flynn’s body?” Price demanded. “For sure it wasn’t Tucker Satterlee. Why would he? But if the body hadn’t been moved, nobody would ever have suspected murder. If somebody found Mrs. Flynn dead and staged that fake crime scene, it almost has to mean someone saw Tucker on the stairs when he shouldn’t have been or near the chocolate pot and was worried about murder. So there are three women in the house. Who would protect Tucker Satterlee but still want police to suspect murder? The only likely person was Gina Satterlee. Yet I don’t think she would have upset the applecart or done anything to jeopardize inheriting.”

  Chief Cobb doodled on the legal pad, a series of question marks. “Well”—his voice was hearty—“all we have to know is that someone did us a big favor.”

  Price suddenly laughed. “I get you. Be grateful for favors and don’t try to figure everything out. Right. But I’ve got some ideas about what happened and I keep thinking, one of these days I’ll walk into a room and there will be a gorgeous redhead smiling at me. I’d like that, Sam.”

  “Next time there’s a tough case, maybe she’ll show up. Anyway”—Cobb was abruptly brusque—“wrap it up for tonight. Have a good holiday.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  Cobb flicked off the speakerphone.

  I was standing next to the blackboard. I placed the envelope in the chalk tray, picked up a piece of chalk, wrote in looping script:

  Compli—

  At the first squeak of the chalk, Chief Cobb shoved back his chair and was on his feet, striding to the blackboard.

  —ments of Officer M. Loy

  I returned the chalk to the tray, next to the envelope.

  Chief Cobb watched the chalk in its downward swoop. His eyes locked on the envelope. As he picked up the letter with Susan Flynn’s monogram, I moved out of the way. He pulled out Susan Flynn’s handwritten will, then looked in every direction. “Officer Loy?”

  I blew him a kiss and blew another for Detective Sergeant Price, my favorite blond homicide detective. I paused at the window and called out, “Merry Christmas, Sam,” then whirled into the brightly lit night.

  I was alert for the whistle of the Rescue Express as I stopped at Keith’s bedside where he slept curled next to Big Bob. I settled on the chaise longue, thinking I would soon be gone, but the next morning was happy to realize that I’d apparently been granted one more day on this earthly sojourn.

  Either Wiggins was too occupied in Tumbulgum to arrange for my departure, or perhaps, in his kindness, he had granted me the pleasure of being in Adelaide for Christmas Eve. Surely that augured well for future adven-missions.

  Late Christmas Eve afternoon, Charlotte Hammond looked across the quiet room at her husband. Her tone was gentle. “Are we going, Hammond?”

  He looked worn and tired, a figure of defeat. He stared down at his hands, flexed the fingers. “My arthritis is bothering me.”

  She waited, but there was understanding in her gaze and love.

  He lifted his eyes. “I know. We always go to the service with them.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Nothing will be the same without Susan. And”—the words came slowly, reluctantly—“I shouldn’t have fought against the little boy getting everything. That wasn’t the right thing to do. I’m glad they found Susan’s will.” His look at Charlotte was rueful. “I mean it. When Peg called and told me, it was hard to talk. I hope she understands. But I know it must be hard for Jake and Gina, too. Still, what does any of it matter when you think about Susan and Tucker. But I don’t know if we’ll make it. Susan’s bequest will be a big help, but even so we may have to file for bankruptcy.”

  “It will be all right, Harrison.” There was quiet confidence in her voice. “Maybe the bank will help. They say credit is loosening u
p. Whatever happens, let’s not worry about anything tonight. Let’s go over to Susan’s and go to the service with them. Just as we always have.”

  He pushed up from his easy chair. “Sure. That’s what we’ll do.” There was some of his old bluster in his voice. “What are we waiting for? It’s time to go. They’ll be waiting for us.”

  Keith, his blond curls freshly brushed, his brown eyes curious, stood patiently as Jake Flynn tucked up another inch of a little boy’s red bathrobe, fastening it with a safety pin. A packet of pins lay on the floor beside her. She looked over her shoulder at Peg. “Is that about right?” Despite a face puffy from tears, Jake was caught up in the cheer of the moment.

  Peg knelt beside Keith, too. Peg was pale, her eyes reddened from a tear-filled night, but now in the lovely old room elegantly decorated for the holidays with the cheerful crackle of a fire, she was absorbed in judging the length of the hem on the bathrobe. She finally gave a decisive nod. “That’s perfect.”

  Jake continued to lift and pin.

  Charlotte smiled, her eyes soft. Harrison nodded in approval. “Keith will be the dandiest shepherd there.”

  Jake glanced up at Peg. “Is Dave coming?”

  Peg stiffened. Her face was carefully expressionless. “No. Not tonight. Not any night. He called, and when I told him the new will had been found he started backing away. I hung up on him.”

  “Well, that’s good riddance.” Harrison was emphatic. “We don’t need anyone like him in the family.”