Ghost at Work (24 page)

The drummer pounded in a frenzy. Cheers rose.

Robin Hood grinned. “Thanks for coming and supporting the youth group outreach to Adelaide. I'm Jeff Jameson, youth group senior high president. We'll begin our program with a prayer from Father Bill.”

Father Bill shook Jeff's hand, then took the mike. He bowed his head and prayed in thanksgiving for the youth group and their hard work to raise money for the food pantry. Before he handed the mike back to Jeff, Father Bill grinned at the revelers. “How about a cheer for the youth group?”

The roar from the audience was almost equal to the welcome given to Adelaide's Bobcats when they took the field on a Friday night.

Jeff took the mike. “Thanks, everyone. We've worked hard, but it's been so much fun and now we have a wonderful turnout, so all the effort was worthwhile. This year's Bash offers more fun and prizes and scary thrills than ever before. Most amazingly, we have a very special guest who's come to help us make this the best Spook Bash ever. Everybody please welcome Travis Calhoun.”

The lanky boy in jeans reached the platform, one hand held high in greeting.

Girls squealed and hugged one another. It reminded me of the bobby-soxer days when teenage girls swooned over Frank Sinatra.

Robin Hood gestured toward the trestle tables laden with pumpkins. “Travis has agreed to judge the painted-pumpkin faces and
present the awards. He's in Adelaide to visit his aunt and there's a special story behind his appearance here. Lucinda Wilkie, middle school president, wants to tell us how she and Bayroo Abbott met Travis and invited him to join our party. Come on up, Lucinda.” He clapped. “And Bayroo.”

Marie Antoinette bustled onstage. Bayroo followed, but she looked surprised. She glanced from Robin Hood to Marie, a frown tugging at her face.

Marie Antoinette righted her wig, pushed her glasses higher on her nose, and stepped to the mike. “Everybody in the world knows Travis Calhoun—”

Lucinda was guilty of exaggeration. I'd never heard his name until she and Bayroo arrived on the rectory porch Thursday evening. Of course I had to remember that I was
in
the world, not
of
the world.

“—who stars in
Show Me the Way,
Emmy Award–winning TV series now in its third season. Travis has the lead in a feature film,
Gotcha Covered,
to be released in November. He plays the role of a teenager who has to turn detective when his mom, a bank president, is kidnapped during a holdup. He's here this afternoon to spend time with us and we want to thank Bayroo Abbott, who made this possible. Bayroo heard at Safeway that Travis was in town to visit his aunt and she wanted him to know we'd love to have him at the Spook Bash. His aunt lives across from the entrance to the nature preserve.” Lucinda pointed vaguely to her right. “Anyway, it was Thursday and just getting dark and kind of a spooky night.” She leaned close to the mike. Her wig tilted. She pushed it upright. “We decided we'd wait at each end of the block so we'd know when Travis got home and then we'd go up and introduce ourselves. There's a busy parking lot next to the house and Bayroo wasn't sure she'd see him because of cars coming in and out. She realized she'd have a better look at the house if she waited in the nature preserve.”

Bayroo reached out, tugged at Lucinda's puffy sleeve.

Lucinda shook her off, increased her volume. “Bayroo's trying to hush me. Her folks told us never to go in the preserve by ourselves and of course we don't, but this was a special exception for a very good cause and it's brought more people here today than ever before and that means we are raising more money for the Adelaide food pantry for the homeless. But”—her tone was breathless—“Bayroo had a really scary time. She heard leaves crackling and somebody was walking through the woods not too far from her and she just about had a heart attack. She hunkered down behind the stone pillar at the entrance. A little later, she heard sounds again and she was really glad when she saw Travis getting out of the car and she dashed across the street and said hello and said we all think he's swell and we'd like to make Adelaide fun for him while he was here and he was so nice and he invited us in and we met his aunt and we told him about the Bash and here he is. Travis Calhoun!” She held out the mike.

He moved with the ease of a seasoned performer, flashed a good-humored smile. He gestured for Bayroo to join him. “Sounds like you could star in a Nancy Drew film.”

Bayroo's face was as red as her hair. She glanced uneasily around the hall. “It didn't amount to anything. Lucinda's making up a good Halloween story.”

Travis held the mike down to pick up the sound of his shoes as he stealthily slid them on the flooring, lifted it again. “Footsteps of doom.” His voice was sepulchral. He intoned, “Bayroo Abbott, what frightful denizens of darkness dwell within the haunted preserve?”

Bayroo looked uncomfortable. “Honestly, we never go in the preserve alone.”

I suspected she was hoping to avoid searching questions from Kathleen and Father Bill.

She managed a bright smile. “Sure, it was scary, but as soon as I saw the car, I knew everything was all right. Anyway, nobody cares
about that. Everybody wants to know who the winners are.” She picked up a burlap sack. “We have them right here.” She handed an embossed diploma-size sheet to Travis.

Travis held it up in the air for all to see. “Neat, isn't it? Everybody who painted a pumpkin face gets one. You know, that's nice.” He was suddenly serious. “It gets pretty old to see kids try their hearts out and not get any notice. I'd like to congratulate the Pumpkin Patch committee for making everybody a winner.” He looked at Bayroo. “And for making me feel like a winner here in Adelaide, where I didn't know a soul, and now I feel like I belong.” He swung back to the audience. “You know what Bayroo did?” He waved to encourage the audience's questions.

“Hey, what?” “Did she scare up a ghost in the preserve?” “Bet she gave you a Bobcat T-shirt.”

Travis shook his head. “I'd like to have a T-shirt. But this was even better. She baked me a birthday cake, my favorite, white with chocolate icing, and she brought it over and gave it to me this morning and I've already eaten half of it. It's the first homemade birthday cake I've ever had.”

Oh, that dear boy. Living in a mansion may be fine and fun. Living in a loving family is better than a mansion any day.

“So”—he turned his hands up—“when she asked if I'd mind judging the contest, I said sure. I had a blast looking at the pumpkin faces. All of them were great. We have prizes for everything from the meanest face to the sweetest, the scariest to the friendliest, the happiest to the grumpiest. As your name is called, please pick up your pumpkin and bring it to the stage to receive your award. Our first award goes to Emily Howie for…”

A sweet-faced little girl carried a dainty pumpkin toward the stage.

Travis continued to call out prizewinners. Bayroo slipped down the steps, looking relieved to be out of the spotlight.

I surveyed the hall, spotted Chief Cobb in the doorway, face somber, eyes still scanning the crowd. While I'd watched the presentation on the stage, the hip-hoppers had disbanded. Irene Chatham was nowhere to be seen.

I zoomed back and forth, seeking Irene. Kathleen was working fast at the cash desk for the collectibles. Father Bill stood in an alcove, arms folded, head bent, as he listened to a sharp-featured woman who gazed up at him searchingly. Walter Carey, his face gentle, knelt to listen as a dark-haired elf whispered in his ear. Isaac Franklin helped an old lady with a cane as she tapped toward the bake sale.

I found Irene in a far corner that had been turned into a temporary old-fashioned diner. She sat at a table with several other women, sipping a Coke, listening intently.

I swooped down, caught fragments of conversation:

“They say Father Bill's had to talk to the police several times. Why do you suppose?” The plump woman's bright brown eyes darted about the parish hall.

A lean blonde with a horsey face was adamant. “There's nothing to it. Apparently Father Bill happened to be in his office around the time Daryl was killed.”

“What was Daryl doing”—the voice was freighted with innuendo—“in the cemetery?”

The blonde smothered a giggle. “Maybe Judith faked a call from his current mistress, hid behind a tombstone, and blew him away. That's what I would have done. I can't imagine why she's…”

I retreated to the nearest chandelier, intent upon keeping Irene in view. It was a relief to know the general populace had no inkling that Kathleen and Father Bill were high on Chief Cobb's suspect list. I was sure the women below had heard everything generally known in Adelaide about Daryl's murder and the investigation. But Kathleen and Bill faced more and harder scrutiny from Chief Cobb.

I'd tried to deflect the chief with the block-letter note implicating
Irene. I felt sure he'd follow up on that inquiry, but Irene's bland response and refusal to admit to wrongdoing would likely protect her.

I had to find a way to inform the chief what I now knew for fact. Irene had been aware that Daryl was going to the church and she'd sped recklessly from her driveway at shortly before five o'clock.

What were the odds she'd driven straight to the church? I felt it in my bones. When I had bones. But…

I stared down. Irene listened, her gaze darting from face to face. She looked complacent. There was no trace of her earlier panic when I'd confronted her. She nibbled at a Baby Ruth. No one ever appeared less murderous. She'd removed her hip-hop sheet. Her green print dress had seen better days, as had her limp brown cardigan. She was frowsy, down-at-heels, possibly sinking into marginal poverty. But murderous?

A desperate creature can be driven to desperate measures.

I wondered if Chief Cobb understood the enormity of her situation. She had to have money to fund her gambling. Daryl threatened what had likely been a steady source of cash. Perhaps even worse, he threatened her respectability, Irene Chatham, member of the Altar Guild, churchwoman in good standing.

Men have surely been killed for less.

Irene licked a dangling bit of chocolate and peanut from one finger.

Had this woman stood in the flower bed Wednesday evening peering into Daryl's cabin? Had she seen Kathleen fling the red nightgown into the fire and coolly plotted a murder on the rectory back porch? Had she met Daryl at the church Thursday evening and marched him to his date with death? Had she called the Crime Stoppers line and said the murder weapon was on the back porch? On Friday, had she called again to describe the red nightgown? Were her stubborn denials of theft the product of lucky stupidity or cunning dissembling?

Irene? I moved impatiently. The chandelier began to swing. I oozed away.

The horsey woman glanced up. “The chandelier—”

I put out a hand, stopped it.

She blinked, shook her head.

The dark-eyed woman said slowly, “It looked like someone gave it a push, then reached out and stopped it. Some spooky things have been happening around the church. That chandelier shouldn't have moved. And did you hear about the cell phone Virginia Merritt saw up in the air Thursday night in the church parking lot?”

“Thursday night! That's when Daryl was shot in the cemetery. I heard his cell phone's missing. Do you suppose…”

The women hunched nearer the table, talking fast.

I repaired to the chandelier. I hoped the church wasn't in serious danger of achieving a reputation as a haunted place. However, a ghost has to do what a ghost has to do. Despite my ups and downs, I'd accomplished quite a bit. I knew more than anyone about Daryl Murdoch's murder, yet I couldn't name the murderer. Chief Cobb may have learned some facts to which I wasn't privy, but not many, and surely I knew everything that mattered.

I knew Kathleen and Father Bill were innocent.

I knew the true suspects and their motives:

Judith Murdoch. She'd set out to confront her husband over his latest mistress. Had she really turned away at the church?

Kirby Murdoch. He was estranged from his father because of Lily Mendoza and furious about her job loss. His .22 pistol had been shot that day. During target practice, he said. When he saw his mother's car, had he turned away, driven to Lily's? Wouldn't he have been more likely to follow? Perhaps his mother had ended up at the church to confront Daryl. Or perhaps Judith turned away but Kirby followed his father.

Irene Chatham. Daryl was threatening to expose her as a thief.

Cynthia Brown. Was her near suicide the product of despair? Or guilt?

Walter Carey. He had motive and to spare. He certainly had broken into the Murdoch house to get the keys to Daryl's office. He would be ruined if the truth ever came out.

Isaac Franklin. Was an insult to his pride—Daryl treating him with disrespect over the groceries—reason enough to kill?

It had to be one of them but—

A fire alarm shrilled. The undulating shriek blared, high, harsh, shocking.

The lights went out.

C
ries and shouts rose. “Jan, where are you?” “Wait for me.” “Get out, everybody, get out.” “Paul, find Buddy, I've got Leila.” “Don't push, please.”

“Quiet.” Father Bill's shout was commanding. He was on the platform. “Evacuate in an orderly manner. Form lines.”

The black trash bags covering the farthest window were yanked down and light spilled inside. The next window was uncovered.

Father Bill called, “Good work, Jeff.”

“Travis and I will get the bags down.” Jeff was breathless.

“That's enough light. You and Travis help the children get out.” Father Bill pointed toward the doors. It was possible to see, if dimly.

Chief Cobb's deep voice boomed from the south door. “Police Chief Cobb here. Remain calm. Everything's under control. Take your time. We're going to get everyone out. There's no smoke. Take your time.” The surge toward the two exits slowed, became more orderly.

Father Bill peered out at the moving throng. “Thanks, Chief. Good job, boys. Kathleen, lead through the north door and out to the parking lot. Go to the far side near the rectory. Assemble by Sunday school classes.”

Abruptly, the main lights came on. Glad cries came as mothers scooped up children. Long lines, now four abreast, moved swiftly through both exits.

Fire engines rumbled into the parking lot, the sirens ending abruptly. It seemed only an instant and firemen in white hats and bulky yellow coats were thundering inside. One shouted, “Where's the fire?”

Father Bill jumped down from the platform, worked his way through the diminishing crowd. “It must be the roof. There's no smoke inside.” He looked anxious, kept checking to see if the evacuation was continuing. “Are flames visible outside?”

“No flames. No smoke. We'll check it out.” The fireman turned away, gestured to his men. Firemen left the parish hall in a heavy run, thudded out into the main hallway. Chief Cobb followed. Muffled shouts could be heard. “Anybody smell smoke? Check those closets.”

The tall golden lights of the parking lot dissipated the gloom of dusk. Car headlights added their bright gleam. Families searched for missing children, came together in thankfulness.

Father Bill was the last person out of the church. He stood on the steps, gazing out at the surging mass of evacuees. His voice was strong, reassuring. “Firemen are looking for a blaze and making certain no one remains inside. We'll stay here until there's an all clear sounded.”

Breathless and shaking, the sexton burst out the door, reached Father Bill. “The fuse box was messed with. Somebody threw the switches. That's why the lights went off. The fire alarm by the nursery was yanked plumb out. Father Bill, I don't think there's a fire. There's no smoke, nothing hot. I looked everywhere. The firemen are up in the attic and down in the furnace room, but they don't see anything wrong. Somebody played a mean trick on us.”

“No fire.” Relief made Father Bill look years younger.

The door swung open and Chief Cobb and the fire chief stepped outside. Firemen filed down the steps, returning to their engines. Chief Cobb held up a hand. “There is no fire. The alarm had been pulled, but there is no trace of fire anywhere in the church building. If anyone has any information regarding this incident, please contact me or one of my officers. It is against the law to trigger a fire alarm without cause.”

Voices rose and fell. “A false alarm.” “No fire after all.” “Thank God.” “If it was a Halloween prank…”

Kathleen pushed through the crowd bunched near the foot of the stairs. In the stark light at the entrance, her face was white and strained. “Bill, where's Bayroo? I can't find her anywhere.”

Father Bill was impatient. “She's out there.” He gestured at the several hundred dark figures moving in no coherent pattern. “She was with the young people.” He called, “Bayroo?”

Kathleen ran to the top of the steps. She whirled to face the parking lot. She stretched out her hands. “Bayroo.” Her call rose above the sounds of the crowd, the shuffle of feet, the rumble as the fire engines pulled away. “Bayroo, where are you?”

Silence fell. No one moved. No one spoke.

“Bayroo?” Kathleen clutched Father Bill's arm.

No answer.

Father Bill held Kathleen tight, stared out at the lot. He shouted. “Bayroo! Bayroo!”

Marie Antoinette, one hand clamped to fake curls to keep her wig in place, dashed up the steps. “She was right with me. We were helping the little kids in the Mysterious Maze and we got outside and Jimmy Baker was sick at his stomach. He always throws up when he gets excited. Somebody turned on a flashlight. It was shining right at Bayroo and a voice called out, ‘Bayroo Abbott, this way please.' I had to help Jimmy and then everybody was moving across the parking lot and I didn't see her again.” Tears rolled down Lucinda's face,
smearing the dramatic makeup. “I even looked in the house.” She pointed toward the rectory. “She wasn't there. Nobody's there. Oh, Mrs. Abbott, where can Bayroo be?”

Kathleen clung to her husband. “She's gone, Bill. She's gone. Somebody's taken my baby.”

Father Bill's voice shook. “We'll find her. We will, Kathleen. Please, God.” It was a father's shaken prayer.

Chief Cobb cupped his hands to his mouth. “Bayroo Abbott. Bayroo Abbott.”

Murmurs of sound rose, but Bayroo was gone. In the melee, no one had noticed her departure.

Kathleen darted down the steps. “I'm going to get flashlights.”

Father Bill turned to Chief Cobb. “We have to have help. We need search teams. Can't you get some dogs to help track?”

Chief Cobb looked stolid, but his brows pulled down in a worried frown. “Perhaps she was frightened by the false alarm. There's no evidence she's been abducted.”

Father Bill gripped the chief's arm. “Bayroo would never run away and leave the children. Never.”

Chief Cobb held his cell phone. “No one saw her leave under duress.”

Father Bill's voice was husky. “Our senior warden was murdered not far from here. Now Bayroo's in danger. You've got to help us.”

Kathleen returned with flashlights. “I'm going to look.” Her eyes were hollow, her face desperate. “Maybe in the preserve, maybe…”

Father Bill gripped her arm. “They're setting up teams. The Boy Scouts are coming. We'd better stay here.”

Kathleen pulled away. “I can't stay.” She started out into the night, calling, calling.

Chief Cobb stared after her, then punched his cell phone. “All officers are to report to St. Mildred's Church…”

St. Mildred's happy Spook Bash was transformed into a crime
scene. Chief Cobb knew it wasn't regulation to assume so soon that a missing child had been abducted, but the memory of Daryl Murdoch's body in the cemetery had to be dark in his thoughts.

The parish hall was the heart of a rescue effort. I was aware of the bustle and effort under way. Walter Carey stood in one corner, using his cell phone to contact the Boy Scouts, calling them to come and help. Dogs arrived, barking and snuffling. Names were taken, information sought.

I understood Kathleen's need to search. I would have joined a team, but they didn't need me. I forced myself to remain. I had to think. I knew well enough that Bayroo had never left of her own accord. She'd been taken. But why and by whom?

The first necessity was understanding why Bayroo was taken. The alarm was pulled, the fuses thrown, firemen summoned, all to provide an opportunity to kidnap Bayroo. Only a sense of dire urgency would have prompted such an elaborate charade. The kidnapper could not afford to allow the passage of time. Bayroo had to be snatched immediately.

What peril could Bayroo pose to anyone?

There was only one possible answer. Bayroo knew something she must not tell. What secrets did Bayroo have? She had been upset when Lucinda described her sojourn in the nature preserve Thursday evening. The girls were forbidden to go into the preserve. Everyone knew danger lurked for unaccompanied young girls in remote and untrafficked areas.

Bayroo had ignored that rule and something—someone—frightened her. But she'd reassured everyone—was she speaking to her parents?—and said she'd been scared, but as soon as she saw the car, she knew everything was all right.

She saw a car late Thursday afternoon as dusk was falling, a car hidden in the preserve. Whose car? Did she recognize that car?

Within minutes of Bayroo's arrival in the preserve, the murderer
marched Daryl Murdoch at gunpoint to the rectory and shot him on the back porch. His murder was planned. The murderer would not park in the church lot and certainly not behind the rectory. Instead it would be so easy to drive into the nature preserve, leave the car hidden behind pine trees or willows. That meant the murderer knew Daryl was en route to the church, knew it beyond question.

Bayroo had been kidnapped by Daryl's murderer. I almost dropped to the floor, determined to accost Chief Cobb. But he might brush me aside. After arresting me, of course, banishing me to jail. That would not be a problem for me, but I had to know enough, be emphatic enough, that he would listen.

The solution was obvious now. Of all who had reason to wish Daryl ill, only Walter Carey, Irene Chatham, and Isaac Franklin had been in the parish hall to hear Lucinda's artless revelations. Judith and Kirby Murdoch were not present. Nor was Lily Mendoza. Or Cynthia Brown. Walter was organizing the Scouts into a search team. The somber sexton hovered near Father Bill.

Irene Chatham. She knew Daryl was coming to the church. Her rackety old car had squealed from her drive in time to arrive at the preserve, be hidden before Daryl reached the parking lot.

Irene—

I stared down.

I saw Irene Chatham shoving a serving cart with two coffee urns against the wall nearest the south exit. She lifted Styrofoam cups from a bottom shelf, arranged packets of sugar and creamers. It was a churchwoman's immediate response to a gathering.

If I'd suddenly tumbled from a mountaintop and turned end over end through space, I could not have been more shocked. Irene Chatham was innocent. Her presence here was proof. She was innocent and she had not abducted Bayroo. Then who…

I gripped the wood rim of the chandelier, held on as if its concrete reality would anchor me to facts. These things I knew:

The conclusion seemed inescapable: Irene came to the church. I pressed my fingers against my temples. She was at the church, but it wasn't her whom Bayroo had seen or her car that Bayroo recognized. However, Irene told me,
“I didn't meet him. I swear I didn't. When I saw—”
She'd broken off, claimed she hadn't seen anyone. I thought she was lying. Irene had a talent for lies.

Irene had seen something. Or someone. I had to get the truth from her. I would do whatever I had to do. Time was racing ahead. How long had Bayroo been gone. Twenty minutes? Half an hour? How much time did Bayroo have left?

Irene bent into the freezer in the kitchen. When she spoke, as she reached for a large tray, her voice sounded hollow. “I'll get some cookies out, heat them up. It would be nice if we had a snack for everyone.”

Another volunteer was bustling out of the kitchen with baskets of chips. She called over her shoulder, “Good idea, Irene. Be back in a minute.”

Irene moved to a big oven, turned it, set the temperature. She looked absorbed, almost cheerful. She liked being helpful. She might be a compulsive gambler, a thief, and a liar, but she enjoyed helping people and working with children and keeping the Lord's house immaculate and holy.

I appeared. I spoke gently. “Irene, we need your help.”

She whirled, backed against the stove. “You.” It was a gasp. “I'll call the police chief.”

“We'll talk to him in a minute.” Please God, yes, with a name and the hope and prayer that Bayroo was still safe.

Irene glared. “He said you were a fake. I don't have to talk to you. I don't have to say a word.”

“Bayroo Abbott's been kidnapped. You are the only person who can save her.”

Her sallow face flushed. “That's crazy. If you're accusing me of hurting Bayroo, I never, never would.”

“Irene, listen closely.” She was one of those women—Bobby Mac believed this to be true of all women—who never hear any statement without taking it personally. “Daryl Murdoch's murderer kidnapped Bayroo. Bayroo was in the preserve Thursday evening and saw a car. We have to find out what car she saw.”

“I didn't see any car except—” She clapped a hand to her mouth. Panic flickered in her eyes.

“You were here at the church.” I felt a surge of triumph.

Her shoulders tightened in a defensive posture. She stared at me, fear mixing with stubbornness.

“What did you see? Was it Kirby Murdoch? Judith?” Even as I asked, I was unconvinced. Neither had been in the parish hall during the Spook Bash.

Irene's eyes jerked toward the door into the parish hall. She tried to slide away.

I blocked her escape. “Bayroo's been gone a long time now.” I heard the tremor in my voice.

Her face crumpled. “If I admit I was here, they can say I killed him and I swear I didn't. I got here and I saw him, and when I saw the policewoman I thought he was going to have me arrested and so I left.”

My hand closed on her arm. “Policewoman?”

Her face drooped in remembered fear. “She was walking toward him.”

“Are you sure it was a police officer?” I struggled to understand.

“Of course I'm sure.” She sounded angry. “I may be in trouble, but
I've got eyes that see. She had on that uniform, just like you do, but I know she's a real police officer. She gave me a ticket once. Officer Leland.”