Ghost at Work (11 page)

As a ghost, thankfully I wasn't subject to physical manifestations of distress such as palpitations or difficulty breathing. Nonetheless, I was shaken by the realization that Kathleen's involvement in Daryl's murder must have been the calculated objective of his murderer. Of that, there could now be no doubt. Daryl's demise on the back porch obviously had been planned from the start. Last night, a call brought
the police to the rectory back porch in search of the gun. Now an anonymous call threatened to embroil her further. How had anyone known about the red nightgown?

No wonder I was still here.

Chief Cobb leaned back in his chair, lips pursed in a soundless whistle. He reached toward the phone. His hand dropped. He snagged a stenographer's-size notebook, flipped to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote
Kath—

A sudden knock sounded, and the door to a connecting office swung open.

Colleen's voice rose. “Excuse me, Mayor Lumpkin, Chief Cobb is in conference.”

“Come now, my dear. We all know these little fictions.” A heavyset blonde appeared in the doorway. Pudgy, crimson-nailed fingers laden with rings clutched the doorframe. Red, green, and gold stones glittered. “I have a little bone to pick with Sam.” She swept inside.

Unseen by the visitor, a plump brunette with a pleasant face looked at the chief and turned her hands up in mute apology.

The intruder closed the door, strode majestically across the room. She was flamboyant in a vivid purple blouse and ankle-length purple skirt with orange geometric forms. The scarf at her throat was in matching orange. The skirt rippled as she walked. Orange boots tapped on the tiled floor.

Chief Cobb came to his feet, face stolid, eyes glinting with irritation. “Good morning, Neva.”

She ignored the lack of an invitation to sit down and pulled the straight chair around to the side of his desk. With a brilliant smile, she gestured to him as she gracefully settled into the chair. “You are such a gentleman, Sam. Take your seat.” It was a command.

The chief backed to his chair, sat. He placed his hands on his knees as if ready to spring up in an instant. “I'm on my way out.”

She gave him another smile, but her eyes were cold. “I am well
aware that you”—she placed a special emphasis on the pronoun—“are devoted to protecting our liberties. I'm sure you agree that a foremost duty of your law enforcement personnel is to share that commitment.”

The chief made no move in his chair, but I realized he was suddenly alert and wary.

The mayor toyed with the end of her scarf. “Your department should be committed to impartial law enforcement. Justice must be blindfolded or”—she looked as though she awaited applause—“there is no justice at all. I am here this morning to discuss this essential component of our liberties.” Her voice dropped, a public servant confronting a momentous truth. “Personal liberties are at the heart of our nation. That is why I had no choice but to break through the defense of your secretary. I know you must have quiet time to execute your duties, but you should instruct Colleen that treating other city officials—”

The mayor reminded me strongly of the high school principal who'd booted me from the faculty. I might not have been tempted to do what I did had it not been for her ill-natured expression and pursed lips. How like a pig's snout.

A box of paper clips sat near the in-box on the chief's desk. I palmed a handful of clips and skimmed just above the floor, coming up behind the mayor.

“—as interlopers is hardly appropriate.”

I delicately pulled back the rim of her blouse and dribbled several clips on her dowager's hump.

She shuddered with the grace of an ice floe cracking.

Chief Cobb looked at her sharply. “Neva?”

A meaty hand yanked at the back of her blouse. Her head jerked around.

I expected the pointy little clips were now lodged near her waist.

The mayor wriggled in her seat, took a deep breath. After an
other wary glance behind her, she waggled a chiding finger, zircon flashing. “You will recall”—her gaze was stern though her eyes slid uneasily from one side to the other—“that I spoke to you last week about Officer Leland and her unfortunate compulsion to persecute an outstanding citizen.”

Chief Cobb looked ever more stolid. “Yes.”

The mayor glowed with righteous indignation. “I know for a fact that Officer Leland ignored your instructions. You did instruct her?” The last was a sharp, flat demand.

I flung the rest of the paper clips high in the air. As they floated down, many landing in her beehive hairdo, I untied her scarf and tugged.

She came to her feet, holding on and gazing desperately about. “What's going on here? Where did those paper clips come from?” She gave the chief a suspicious glare.

I flapped the scarf.

The chief stood. To him, she appeared to be shaking the scarf in the air and lunging forward and back.

I let go.

She lost her balance and crashed down on her chair. Shakily, breathing fast, she pulled the scarf around her neck and tied it, all the while looking sharply in every direction.

“Neva.” He eyed her with concern. “Could I have Colleen get you a cup of tea?”

She shook her head, sputtered, “When did you speak with Officer Leland?” She lifted a hand to brush at the paper clips in her hair.

“Last week.” His tone was irritated. “We straightened everything out. As Officer Leland made clear, Daryl Murdoch never contested the tickets. They were based on infractions of the speed limit and driving regulations. She admitted his attitude irritated her, and that's why she paid special attention to his driving. I told her she had to avoid the appearance of particularized enforcement and she agreed.” Cobb moved impatiently. “Neva, it hardly matters—”

“Hardly matters?” The mayor's voice was shrill. She darted puzzled looks at the paper clips in her fingers. “Daryl Murdoch is a leading citizen, a strong supporter of good government, and a personal friend of mine.”

In politics, as Bobby Mac often said, friendship is just another word for money. I wondered how much Daryl Murdoch had contributed to the mayor's last campaign.

Cobb frowned. “In view of what's happened—”

“Let me finish, please.” A flush turned the mayor's sallow cheeks apple red. “I promised Daryl that your officer's witless pursuit of him would end. Yet”—she leaned forward, one hand chopping as fast as a sous chef's knife—“I personally saw her stop his car yesterday afternoon, lights flashing, everything but a siren.”

The chief's dark brows bunched in a frown. “Yesterday? What time?”

The mayor looked triumphant. “Right after five o'clock. I was leaving our lot. I stopped and watched. She came up to his window and leaned down in a most menacing fashion.”

I nodded. That explained the picture in Daryl's cell. Had he taken it intending to show his friend the mayor? It was too bad I didn't have the cell with me. I would poke it into the thickest portion of her beehive hairdo. I looked about for something that might work.

“Five o'clock.” Chief Cobb's spoke in a considering tone. “Probably not close enough in time to be helpful.”

“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 rata-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.