Ghost in Trouble (2010)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Evelyn and Jimmy were in the dining room when Kay and I arrived. She looked up as we entered, her strong face pleasant. “Good morning.” Her deep voice sounded good-humored. Jimmy pushed back his chair. “Good morning.” He was polite, but formal.

Kay was quick. “Please don’t get up. We’ll take care of ourselves.”

He returned to his breakfast, and we moved toward the sideboard. I chose bacon, scrambled eggs with sausage and jalapeño, a waffle, fruit, and orange juice. I glanced in the mirror and admired my outfit. I had still opted for restraint in fashion, but my pale lime blouse had adorable embroidered parasols on it. A matching trim adorned my beige linen slacks. This morning I opted for beige woven leather moccasins. I felt ready for a busy and productive day. After breakfast, it would be time to disappear and take up sentinel duty with Ronald Phillips.

We carried our plates to the table and sat near Evelyn. Jimmy was reading what appeared to be a geology text.

Evelyn held up several sections of newspaper. “Would you care for the newspaper?”

Kay and I declined.

Evelyn lifted a section and became immersed.

Mindful of our ostensible roles, I murmured to Kay, “Do you want me to visit the historical society this morning?”

Clattering steps sounded in the stone hallway.

Diane hurried into the dining room. Her hair poked up in sprigs. She wore no makeup. Her housecoat was open to reveal pink-striped pajamas. “Did someone let Walter out last night? I thought he was inside, but maybe he went out. I whistled and called and he’s not in the house. I went to the back porch and called for him and he didn’t come. Has anyone seen him?”

I glanced at Kay.

She murmured, “The dog.”

Jimmy looked up. “He’s probably chasing a rabbit, Mom.”

She looked doubtful. “Jimmy, please go out and look. Walter’s always on the back steps in the morning if he’s been out at night.” Her voice wobbled.

Jimmy put down his coffee cup. “I’ll find him. He’s too cantankerous for anything to have happened to him.”

Diane nodded jerkily. “I’ll get dressed and come help.”

Kay gave me a quick nod. “Francie and I will help, too.”

I disappeared when out of sight from the terrace. I floated above The Castle grounds. The heat was already building. Though it was early, I judged the temperature to be in the high eighties, which augured one-hundred-plus degrees by midafternoon. Heavenly residents find whatever climate they enjoy, from deserts to polar ice caps. Bobby Mac and I lazed away cheerful days in sparkling bays reminiscent of the Caribbean, but, at this moment, I took delight in the Oklahoma summer. I skimmed above the trees and kept a sharp eye for the old dog.

In the distance, I heard Jimmy whistling and calling: “Hey, Walter. Where are you, you decrepit old reprobate. Found a lady somewhere? Come home, buddy.”

Suddenly I heard a faint yipping.

I swooped down as Jimmy came around the corner of The Castle. He was grinning as he walked to the workshop. He opened the door and Walter burst out, barking in a frenzy. The cocker wobbled around Jimmy, nipped toward his hand, then turned and pelted unevenly toward the house.

The old dog strove mightily but he was slow, hampered by an arthritic back leg. Laughing, Jimmy caught up with him. Jimmy reached down, grabbed him up. “How’d you get in the workshop? Dumb old dog. Mom’s frantic. Come on, stop wriggling, I’m taking you in.”

Before Jimmy came around the corner of the house, I dropped down by the back door and appeared.

Kay jogged up, her eyes darting nervously around. “What if somebody saw you do that?”

I wasn’t worried. “So they didn’t see me for a minute. Now I’m here.”

Kay held the door for Jimmy.

Walter squirmed, trying to get down. He snuffled and quivered, his rheumy eyes bleary.

Jimmy carried him through the kitchen and into the main hallway. “Hey, Mom. Walter got trapped in the workshop.”

Diane hurried to the top of the stairs. “I was just going to come down and help. I’m so glad you found him.”

Jimmy carried the dog upstairs and placed him on the floor. “Here he is. No worse for the wear.”

Walter trotted toward Diane.

Beaming, she picked him up and buried her face in golden fur, murmuring.

Suddenly the dog stiffened. He yipped, his tone high and shrill.

“Walter…”

The cocker wriggled free and dropped to the floor.

Diane called him, “Come here, you bad dog.” But she wasn’t scolding him. Her tone was loving and indulgent. “Come back here, Walter. Tell Mother where you’ve been.” Her voice faded as they moved away from the top of the stairs.

Jimmy grinned at us. “She’d be a lot more upset if something happened to Walter than to me.” But there was affection and good humor in his voice. “As dog rescuers, we deserve fresh coffee.” He turned to go back to the dining room.

“Walter!” Diane’s cry was sharp. “Come back. Their door’s ajar. Don’t push! Walter, stop that.” There was a strangled sound and then a high scream.

Jimmy swerved around Kay and me. He reached the stairs, took the steps two at a time.

Kay and I raced after him.

Diane stood at the far end of the hall near a partially open door. She was trembling. “There’s blood…there’s blood everywhere.”

The door to Laverne and Ronald Phillips’s room was partially open. Blood had pooled in a dark splotch just over the threshold into the hallway.

I glanced back. Only Kay was behind me. I disappeared.

Inside the bedroom, I felt as if I’d slammed into a wall. I wouldn’t follow Ronald Phillips today. His body kept the door from fully opening. He lay on his back, skin flaccid and grayish. Dark splotches stained his once-white T-shirt. His temple was disfigured as well. I suspected a gun had been held only inches away and the trigger pulled.

I hovered above the bed.

Laverne lay on her back. Blood had seeped into the pillows and the bedclothes. She appeared to have been shot in her sleep. Had she awakened, groggy from pills, at the rapid staccato of gunfire? I suspected the attack had been sudden, Ronald shot down, then swift movement to the bed and the gun trained on her.

“They’re dead.” Diane’s cry rose from the hallway. “They’re dead!” She clung to her son’s arm.

Jimmy stared into the bedroom, his young face pale with shock. “Walter.” His voice was shaky. He reached out, snagged the cocker’s collar, pulled him into the hall. Smears of blood stained the floor. He lifted the struggling cocker, held him against his chest, then slid an arm around his mother’s shoulders as she began to sob.

I returned to the hall. I glanced toward the stairs and saw no one. I was behind Diane and Jimmy and Kay. I appeared.

Kay took two swift steps, gazed into the room. She drew in a sharp breath. “They’ve been killed.” Her voice was grim. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her slacks and punched 911.

Jimmy turned his mother away from the room. He still held the struggling Walter. “We’ll wait for the police downstairs. Come on, Mom.” He gave Kay a commanding glance. “Close the door.”

Kay moved quickly, pulled the door shut.

Evelyn waited at the foot of the stairs, worry and fear clear in the drawn lines of her face. Margo and Shannon stood a few feet behind her.

Diane sobbed. “Someone’s killed Laverne and Ronald. There’s blood all over their room.”

Jimmy nodded at his aunt. “Laverne and Ronald are dead. It has to be murder. The police are coming.”

On the main floor, with an apologetic glance, I slipped into the guest lavatory. I regretted that I’d succumbed to the lure of fashion this morning. I couldn’t at this point change to a frumpier costume, but I added oversize harlequin-frame sunglasses and a green kerchief to cover my hair, then returned.

“The police are coming.” Kay spoke quietly. “Possibly we should wait in the drawing room.”

Evelyn led the way. She walked to a Queen Anne chair, sank onto it. Diane huddled on a sofa, shaking, words tumbling. Jimmy paced by the fireplace. Margo and Shannon sat side by side on a bench, their expressions shocked and frightened.

Margo asked abruptly, “Are you sure—”

Jimmy interrupted. “They’re dead and covered with blood.”

Shannon gave a cry.

He started to walk toward her, then shook his head, resumed his quick steps up and down, up and down in front of the fireplace.

The police arrived within five minutes, sirens blaring. Chief Cobb paused in the archway. “Is everyone in the household here?” His gray suit already looked rumpled.

Evelyn wasn’t as majestic as usual. She took a deep breath and nodded, big-boned face bleak.

“Remain here.” It was an order, not a request. “Officer Cain will be in charge. Officer, take everyone’s name.” The chief swung away, moving fast for a big man.

I well remembered young and handsome Johnny Cain. His coal black hair was newly cut, his deep blue eyes alert and intelligent. I hoped he wouldn’t recall the redhead he’d glimpsed at Lulu’s when I was in Adelaide for the Christmas holiday. Of course, on that particular day, I’d worn a particularly flattering jade green blouse and slacks, which emphasized the sheen of my hair. Possibly today was the first time in either my earthly or Heavenly existence that I perceived a negative aspect of red hair. Truly, once glimpsed, the coppery gleam of my hair is difficult to forget.

Morning sunlight slanted across the Aubusson carpet, its colors faded a dusty rose and pale gold from years of exposure. Each person sat in an island of silence. Johnny Cain moved from one to another. When he reached me, his expression was curious. I could have told him it was déjà vu all over again. Instead, I gave my name in a sibilant mutter and hunched my head to one side as if I had a stiff neck.

When his task was done, he waited near the archway.

Everyone sequestered in the drawing room appeared shocked and subdued. Evelyn clasped the silver head of an ebony cane, her expression somber. Diane slumped against the side of the sofa, occasionally pressing a sodden handkerchief to her reddened eyes. Jimmy paced, frowning as he flexed his hands, opening and closing his fingers into fists. Shannon held tight to one of her mother’s hands. Margo kept her gaze trained on the archway, watching as officers and technicians came and went in the hallway. Shannon’s face creased in thought. Occasionally, she stared at Jimmy with haunted eyes.

More quick steps in the hallway. A wiry, trim figure in a sport shirt and Levi’s trotted past the archway. I recognized the medical examiner. His official pronouncement of death was necessary before the bodies could be moved and the business of collecting evidence begun.

I moved restively in a not very comfortable early Victorian chair. Perhaps Wiggins had been right to discourage appearances. If I weren’t a guest at The Castle, I could be upstairs right this moment. Instead, I was trapped in the drawing room.

Occasionally Johnny Cain slid a puzzled glance toward me.

I sat in a shadowy corner with one hand to my face, as if propping up a cheekbone. Upstairs so much was happening…I gave a little mental shrug. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I stood, still with a hand to my face. I veered fairly near Johnny and muttered, “Going to the lavatory. Back in a minute.”

He said, “Miss de Sales…”

“Got to hurry.” Dignity was a small sacrifice for duty.

He followed me through the archway.

I flapped a hand as I opened the lavatory door only a few feet away and stepped inside.

I punched the lock, gave myself a thumbs-up in the ornate ormolu mirror, and disappeared.

In the hallway, Johnny stood where he could keep an eye on the lavatory door as well as the drawing room. In two quick strides, he checked the doors on either side. One opened to a closet, a second to a storage room. Now he could feel comfortable that the restroom had no other exit and I was inside until I came out. I was glad to see he’d lost his tense expression.

In an instant I was upstairs. I hovered above the chief, Detective Sergeant Hal Price, and the quick-talking medical examiner. I spared one admiring glance for Hal Price, the cotton-top detective with craggy good looks, slate blue eyes, and a muscular build. I was always true to Bobby Mac, but I would be disingenuous to pretend my pulse didn’t quicken when I saw Hal Price. I knew the attraction was mutual. Perhaps someday I could find the right redhead for him.

“…looks like contact wounds, both to the chest and temple.” The M.E. pointed at Ronald’s body. The doctor stepped to the bedside and looked down, his thin face intent. “Same MO here. That’s kind of a puzzle. The guy at the door had to be shot first. There’s no suggestion of trauma or struggle by him to prevent the attack. Why did she remain still? Natural thing would be to fling back the covers and fight or run. Instead, she’s lying here, and bang, she’s dead. Probably a narcotic. I’ll run the tests, let you know.”

The last words came as he stepped casually over Ronald’s feet and edged out of the partially open door.

Several uniformed officers were working around the perimeter of the room, measuring and photographing. One officer on his knees near Ronald’s pooled blood looked up. “Hey, Chief. The blood’s pretty much dry except in the center. Paw prints go right through it. But there’s a smear here”—one finger pointed at a brownish curl—“that looks like the edge of a shoe.”

Chief Cobb stepped nearer. “That’s critical. Get a good photo, then try for an impression. Whether we get it or not, the murderer may have stepped in blood. If we get a suspect, we can get a warrant to check shoes. There may be microscopic traces that will send somebody to jail.”

Cobb was thoughtful. “Here’s how I figure it. Late last night there was a knock at the door. Phillips gets up. Probably he’s foggy with sleep. He opens the door, the gun’s jammed against his chest, and bingo. As he falls, the murderer steps inside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, and kicks the door shut. A couple of strides to the bed.” The chief matched action to his words. “Gun to her throat, pull the trigger. Back to the guy on the floor, maybe he’s moaning. Maybe he’s still alive. Gun to the temple and that’s the end of the story.”

Hal looked at him quizzically. “Three, maybe four shots, and nobody heard?”

Cobb raised a sardonic eyebrow. “If anybody noticed the shots, they haven’t shared that information with us. I don’t think there was that much noise. A gun fired against his body muffled the first shot and very likely that was the only shot fired from the doorway. Once Phillips was down, the murderer stepped inside and shut the door. The Castle walls are old, thick, and well insulated. If anyone in bed heard a pop, it didn’t register as gunfire. I doubt the entire attack required more than three or four minutes. When they were dead, the gun was tossed down beside him”—the chief pointed at the gun lying on the floor—“and the door opened. The murderer likely waited long enough to be sure no one was stirring, then returned to his or her room. Or left The Castle.”

The chief looked at Hal. “Process the weapon, then see if anyone in the drawing room can identify it. I’ll find a place downstairs and interview those who are in the house.”

I reappeared in the lavatory, unlocked the door, and was back in my chair when Price appeared in the archway.

“I am Detective Sergeant Hal Price. We appreciate your patience. Chief Cobb will speak with each of you individually in the library.” He glanced at a card in his hand. “Ms. Francie de Sales?” He looked inquiringly around the room.

As we walked down the hall, I held a hand to the side of my face. In my peripheral vision, through the spread of my fingers, I saw Hal Price give me a long, searching look.

He held the door to the library. “Ms. de Sales, Chief.”

I sat down with my hand apparently stuck to my jaw.

Price started to pull up a chair to one side of the oak table.

The chief tapped a legal pad. “I’ll take care of this interview.” His bulldog face was bland. “Check upstairs on the evidence collection.”

“Yes, sir.” Hal moved out of my view. I heard the door open, then shut.

Chief Cobb and I sat on opposite sides of the oak table in the library. His heavy face looked purposeful and determined. His tie was loosened at the throat of a pale blue shirt. “You can take your hand down. He’s gone.”

I yanked off the kerchief and sunglasses as well, tucked them in a pocket.

He laughed, then quickly sobered. “What do you know?”

He didn’t ask how I knew, which I considered tactful. He wanted information. I gave him everything.

He wrote fast, then looked up with a grim face. “You’d think a man who’d threatened to expose a murderer might have been more cautious. Probably Phillips answered the door because he was foggy with sleep. From what you’ve said, he was a cocky little guy. He had planned to let his victim stew, get more and more nervous and worried, then make a move. The murderer didn’t give him that chance.”

I wasn’t surprised. Jack Hume posed a threat and he’d been pushed to his death. Kay Clark arrived, asked too many questions, and a vase crashed down where she waited.

I finished with the story of Walter, the cocker, shut in the workshop. “If only Walter could talk.”

The chief looked at me in surprise.

“If Walter was outside last night, wouldn’t that indicate the murderer came from outside the house?”

The chief shrugged. “Whether the dog was in or out, he had to be put where he couldn’t raise an alarm.”

I understood. Walter loved a frolic. Someone in the house walking in a hallway would attract the dog if he were inside. The answer: scoop him up, carry him outside, stroll to the workshop, shut the dog inside. Then the murderer would be free to slip back to the house and approach Laverne and Ronald’s suite.

If the murderer came from outside The Castle, either Alison Gregory or one of the Dunhams, it was also essential to prevent Walter from barking.

Chief Cobb was suddenly formal. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. de Sales.”

When I was at the door, he called after me: “Should any other information come to your attention, please let us know.” He sounded bland, as if I were simply Kay’s assistant, but his eyes held mine for a moment.

He knew who I was.

I knew that he knew.

Neither of us intended to say more.

I smiled. “I will certainly keep you informed.” As I stepped into the hall, Detective Sergeant Price came around the corner.

Quickly, I yanked the sunglasses from my pocket, put them on.

He walked more swiftly. When he stopped and looked down at me, I was grateful for the dark lenses that hid my eyes.

“Ms. de Sales.”

I waited.

He cleared his throat. “Ask Kay Clark to come to the library.” He lingered only an instant too long, then stepped past me.

I walked swiftly to the drawing room. “Kay, they want you in the library.”

Evelyn Hume’s face folded in a disagreeable frown. “I fail to see why we are being held here and why you and Kay have been summoned before me.” Her sense of entitlement was powerful. After all, she was Evelyn Hume.

I was conciliatory. “Obviously, Kay and I aren’t important witnesses. I never met Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and Kay had only a brief acquaintance with them. I’m sure the chief wished to speak to us first so that he can concentrate on the people who matter, the ones who knew them quite well.”

I wasn’t surprised that my pleasant statement was not reassuring to the occupants of the drawing room. Evelyn’s lips folded into a tight, hard line. Diane broke into fresh sobs. Jimmy stopped pacing and jammed his hands into the pockets of his chinos, his expression grim. Margo looked wary. Shannon moved uneasily.

Kay and I turned away and walked down the hall. As we rounded the corner, the corridor to the library lay empty. I disappeared.

I hovered near the ceiling. I didn’t expect to learn anything from Kay’s visit with the chief, but I didn’t want to miss his other interviews.

In a few quick questions, Chief Cobb made certain Kay could add nothing to the information I’d provided. “Mrs. Clark, please keep our conversation confidential as well as the murders. Nothing has been released to the news media. There are witnesses I wish to interview before the crime is publicly known.”

“I understand.” She rose, then looked at him somberly. “Did Ronald and Laverne Phillips die because of me?”

His rumbly voice was patient. “Did you advise Ronald to try blackmail?”

She shook her head, understanding his query was rhetorical. “If I hadn’t come back to Adelaide, he might not have realized Jack was murdered.” Her dark eyes mirrored her distress.

The chief lifted his bulky shoulders in a shrug. “Phillips could have contacted us. He chose another path. You came to The Castle because you suspected a crime. When we spoke at Lulu’s you admitted as much. If there had been a basis for me to investigate, I would have done so. There is an important distinction between your suspicions and Ronald Phillips’s knowledge. He knew something. It may have been nothing more than a glimpse of someone climbing the stairs to the third floor. If he had informed us, I could have taken that fact and investigated that person.”

Kay pushed back a strand of silky dark hair. “Person.” Her tone was puzzled. “You talk about a person. Last night at the séance, Laverne’s ramblings obviously referred to more than one person.”

Chief Cobb sketched a noose on his legal pad. “Phillips was an equal-opportunity blackmailer. People will pay to hide secrets, even though innocent of murder. But one of his listeners was a murderer. Phillips made a fatal error.”

As Kay left, Detective Sergeant Price stepped inside. He carried a gallon-size plastic bag zipped shut. Clearly visible was a dark metal handgun. He shut the door behind him, lofted the container in triumph. “Homegrown, Chief. There’s a chip on the lower right edge of the grip. Evelyn Hume said her father brought the gun back from the Pacific in World War Two. Army-issue Colt .45. One bullet left. What are the odds the other five will be retrieved during the autopsies?”

“I’m willing to take that bet. In the affirmative.” Cobb’s eyes gleamed. “Where was the gun kept, when was it last seen, who is responsible for it?”

Price answered in order. “Her father’s upstairs office hasn’t been changed since he died. Kind of a shrine, I guess. I checked out the desk. Huge. Mahogany. Drilling plats unrolled and open. Some drilling logs. Evelyn Hume said the gun was kept in the lower right-hand drawer. When I opened the drawer, no gun. Apparently the desk wasn’t kept locked. The old dame simply gave me a cool stare when I asked if the gun was secured. Nothing, she told me frostily, is kept under lock and key at The Castle. I suppose the implication is that only hoi polloi live in houses where they have to lock up the silver. In fact, they hardly lock up anything here. No alarm system. As for keys, they sprinkle them around like confetti. The plumber has one, ditto repair companies like air-conditioning, heating, handyman. You name it, someone has a key.”

Evelyn kept her left hand slightly extended, touching the side of a bookcase as she entered the library. She made ever so slight an adjustment and walked directly to the chair opposite the chief. She sat, lifted her head, and looked every inch an imperious grande dame. Instead of waiting for his question, she spoke, her words swift and clipped. “Last night was reprehensible, from start to finish. Laverne Phillips…”

The chief made occasional notes as she described Laverne’s exploitation of Diane’s grief, Jack’s determination to discredit her and Ronald, Shannon’s pursuit of Jack, Jack’s apparent lack of interest, Margo’s hostility to him, Jimmy’s anger with his uncle.

“I mention these facts because the murders of Ronald and Laverne indicate her claim last night that Jack was murdered may be true. I suppose it was a suspicion of murder which drew Kay Clark here. Possibly she had some communication with Jack prior to his death which suggested to her that he might have been in danger.”

The chief nodded. “Please describe the séance.”

Evelyn accurately reported on the performance in the library.

He glanced down at his notes. He quoted: “‘…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass’…Were those phrases directed at you?”

She appeared intrigued and not in the least alarmed. “I’m the only person in The Castle dependent upon a magnifying glass. I suppose the reference may be to the Willard Metcalf painting in the grand hallway outside the ballroom. A glorious burst of red poppies. Many of the best paintings in our collection are hung there. However, I see no reason why that should excite Ronald’s interest. We’ve had that painting”—her brow furrowed in thought—“for at least ten years.”

“Did you see either of the Phillipses after the gathering in the library ended?”

Her expression was sardonic. “Did I shoot them? No. Nor do I know who did. I went directly to my room and I heard nothing during the night. However, I may know one fact of interest to you. A few days after Jack died, I was coming down the upper hallway. I heard a door open. I turned and saw Ronald coming out of Jack’s room. He had no reason—or right—to be there. I asked him what he was doing in my brother’s room.” A dour smile touched her lips. “He claimed he thought he heard the dog scratching on a door and feared Walter might have been trapped inside. An odd coincidence that Walter apparently was trapped behind a door last night. However, I am sure Ronald was lying.”

As soon as Evelyn rose and turned toward the door, I picked up the pen by Chief Cobb’s legal pad.

His eyes fastened on the pen, then he moved his gaze toward the doorway.

I was startled when I felt his hand cup over mine.

In the hallway, Detective Sergeant Price faced the table as he held the door for Diane Hume.

I wrote swiftly, despite the weight of Cobb’s hand above mine. I released the pen.

Cobb grabbed the pen.

Diane sagged into the chair. Her frizzy blond hair was untidy. She wore no makeup and her face looked sickly. She glanced toward the chaise longue and more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Chief Cobb read my sentence.

As Detective Sergeant Price turned to leave, Cobb called out, “In the murder suite, look for a picture of a young guy in a cap and gown.”

The detective sergeant nodded and pulled the door shut behind him.

The interview with Diane, punctuated by her sobs, revealed little. “…someone must have crept into the house last night…poor Laverne…terrible…”

Chief Cobb regarded her with an objective, measuring gaze. “We have discovered that Mr. Phillips directed Mrs. Phillips to float the provocative statements in the séance for the purpose of blackmail.”

Diane’s head jerked up. Her red-rimmed eyes widened in a glare. “That’s not true.” Her voice was shrill and rising. “Laverne heard from James. It’s dreadful”—now she was shaking—“that James had to tell us someone killed Jack.” She pushed back her chair, struggled to her feet, trembling. “I can’t believe this has happened. No one in the family would hurt Jack. But Margo hated Jack. She and Shannon live in a little house on the grounds. She could have put Walter in the workshop. She’d know about that gun in J. J.’s desk. She knows everything in the house.” Diane rushed to the door, yanked it open, and ran into the hall.

Both the chief and I looked after her thoughtfully. Yes, Diane had depended upon Laverne, revered her. Yet if Diane had slipped up behind Jack, a desperate creature driven to violence, and Ronald knew, he might have wanted much more than a nice steady income from Diane. Diane was a very wealthy woman. Or Diane might have feared for her son.

Could indecisive, sweet-natured Diane have shot two people?

In the spear of sunlight through the library window, Margo Taylor’s face held little echo of youthful beauty. Lines of dissatisfaction radiated from her eyes and lips. She had an aura of unhappiness. “…have no idea what happened last night. Shannon and I have our own house. I’m quite sure Shannon didn’t go out after we went to bed. Nor did I.”

Chief Cobb looked skeptical. “How can you be certain?”

“I sleep with my bedroom door open. I would have heard her door. I slept very poorly last night.” Fear glimmered in her eyes. “I heard Walter barking. I looked at the time. It was almost two o’clock. I was surprised. Usually he doesn’t bark unless he wants to play with someone. Then the barking stopped.”

“You didn’t get up to see?”

“No. You see”—and her voice was barely audible—“I thought someone from the house couldn’t sleep either and had gone out for a walk and Walter wanted to play.”

The instant of silence between them held a vision of a dog bounding up to someone he knew, someone who moved purposefully through the night to The Castle after placing Walter in the workshop.

The chief once again glanced at his notes. “You’ve worked here for a good many years.”

Margo waited, her face still and wary.

“Were you aware of the forty-five kept in the upstairs office?”

“I knew there was a gun there at one time.”

“When did you last see it?”

She turned her hands over. “I don’t know exactly. Several years ago Evelyn decided that the floor in the study needed to be replaced. There had been a water leak. Alison advised her on how to obtain flooring from that era. Evelyn instructed me to empty the desk drawers and pack the contents. After the floor was repaired and the desk back in place, I returned the proper items to the drawers. That would have been the last time I saw the gun.”

“How many people knew there was a gun in the drawer?”

“I have no idea. Actually, a lot of people may have known. Evelyn was very proud of her father. Several times, in order to raise money for charity, small groups have been taken on a tour of the family rooms. That included the study. Evelyn led the tours and she always showed her father’s gun. It was a World War Two relic.”

I studied Margo with interest. She had managed to imply that all of the outsiders at last night’s séance could easily have known about the gun.

The chief’s gaze was stern. “Was the gun loaded?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Was she trying to decide which answer best served her? She paused for a fraction too long, then said smoothly, “I don’t know.”

Cobb straightened his notebook. “Who had reason to murder Jack Hume?”

She looked at him with a blank face. “I have no idea.”

“Was there dissension between Mr. Hume and those living in the house?”

“He didn’t approve of Laverne and Ronald.” Her voice was carefully neutral.

Chief Cobb was sharp. “Clearly Mr. and Mrs. Phillips were not involved in Hume’s death. I want to know his relations with his sister, his sister-in-law, his nephew, and your daughter.”

She was equally sharp in her response. “Ask them.”

He asked brusquely, “You have no opinion?”

“No.” She sat quite still, her face carefully expressionless.

The chief leafed through his notepad, paused as if reading notes. He tapped the pad. “Your daughter was furious with Hume because he dropped her.”

Margo’s eyes glinted with anger. “Possibly he hurt her feelings. She’s very young. Her interest in him was a passing thing, an infatuation. That is scarcely a reason for murder.”

He looked sardonic. “So you do have an opinion.”

She made no response.

Cobb spoke without emphasis. “Years ago, Jack Hume dropped you for another woman.”

Margo’s smile was cold, her tone disdainful. “Are you suggesting that I waited until he came back to Adelaide twenty years later and revenged myself by pushing him down the balcony steps? That’s absurd. If you’re quite finished, I have work to do.”

Shannon Taylor burst into the library. She hurried to the table, skidded to a stop. She looked very young and very pretty, blue eyes blazing, heart-shaped face cupped by thick brown hair. “You are seeing everybody else first. It’s like I don’t count, like I’m some kind of kid. But you need to listen to me. Last night I was upset. People have told you about last night, haven’t they?” Shannon didn’t pause for an answer. “Laverne antagonized everybody. That’s why she was killed, and him, too. Laverne knew that somebody pushed Jack. I know who killed him. You have to talk to Gwen Dunham. She lives next door. I heard her quarrel with Jack in the gazebo and she told him she wished he was dead and then he died.”

“Sit down, Miss Taylor.” The chief’s tone was calm. “Your accusations against Mrs. Dunham are interesting. Last night you accused Jimmy Hume of his uncle’s murder. To be precise”—he glanced at his notes—“you said to Jimmy, ‘I heard you say you were going to hurt him. Did you?’ In fact, Miss Taylor, isn’t that what you said?”

Shannon looked stricken. “I didn’t mean it.”

Cobb was stern. “That was your first thought, wasn’t it? You accused Jimmy Hume, not Mrs. Dunham.” He pointed at the chair. “Sit down.”

She slipped into the chair, stared at him with anxious eyes. “Jimmy might have had a fight with Jack, but he would never shoot people. Never in a million years. The minute I heard about Ronald and Laverne, I knew Jimmy didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Did you hear the dog bark last night?”

The sudden change of subject caught her by surprise.

Shannon’s hands were beneath the top of the table, out of the chief’s view, but I could see them open and close, open and close. She was frightened.

“The dog?”

He didn’t repeat the question. He waited, his gaze steady and demanding.

“I don’t think so.” Her hands opened and closed. “I was asleep.”

I dropped down, whispered in the chief’s ear. “Ask if she heard her mother go outside.”

He went rigid for an instant, then cleared his throat to hide the tiny hiss of my words. “What time did your mother go outside?”

Her eyes flared wide. She waited an instant too long to reply, then said quickly, “Mom didn’t go outside.” There was stark fear in her eyes. “If anybody said so, that’s a lie.” She pushed up, struggling for breath. “Mrs. Dunham wanted Jack to die. Talk to her.”

Jimmy Hume looked tired and somber, his drawn face giving a preview of his appearance at forty if life turned out to be unkind, purplish smudges beneath his eyes, a hard, mournful stare, jaws clenched in worry.

Chief Cobb leaned back in his chair. “You were angry with your uncle. You threatened him.”

“For the record”—Jimmy’s voice was dull—“I didn’t push Jack—”

The door opened. Detective Sergeant Price strode around the table. He carried a gallon-size plastic bag, holding it by the zipped top. He placed the bag on the table.

Chief Cobb looked down at a picture of a handsome young man in a cap and gown. The picture was not framed.

Price pointed. “Found this photograph in the murder suite, slipped into a coffee-table book about Yellowstone. Good work by Officer Woolley. She flipped through the books one by one and noticed that a page seemed too thick. She looked closer and saw tape at the top and bottom, keeping two pages together. When she used a razor to slit the tape, it opened and the photograph fell out. Pretty clever.”

I agreed. A clever hiding place devised by Ronald Phillips, a clever officer to find it.

Jimmy craned to see. He frowned.

Chief Cobb glanced from the photograph to Jimmy. “Do you know him?”

“Sure. That’s Ryan Dunham.” Jimmy appeared puzzled. “I don’t see why his picture was in the Phillipses’ room. Ryan’s a great guy. That’s strange.”

Cobb made no reply to Jimmy. He looked toward the detective. “Has the photograph been checked for prints?”

Price nodded.

“Then I’ll keep it for now. Thanks, Hal.”

At the door, Price looked back. “We have everybody’s prints here in the house. We’ll see if there’s a match on the gun. We still need prints from Alison Gregory and the Dunhams.”

“I want to talk to them first.”

Price nodded.

As the door closed, Cobb turned back to Jimmy. “You were angry with your uncle?”

Jimmy looked bleak. “Yeah. But like I said, I didn’t kill Jack. Maybe I would have punched him. I wouldn’t kill him. Ditto for Laverne and Ronald.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I have to tell you. I was outside last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I took a long walk. There was plenty of moonlight. Maybe I walked a couple of miles, maybe more. I came back by the gazebo. Somebody was walking away from the house, across the grass. I didn’t think much about it. Maybe somebody else couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I was trying to figure out what was going on with the nutty Phillipses. I didn’t really think anybody pushed Jack. I mean, that was crazy. I thought that snake—yeah, well, he’s dead now—anyway, I thought Ronald was trying it on, thinking he could squeeze more money out of Mom. See, Mom heard me yell at Jack and she’s easy to scare. I was trying to decide what to do. But what can you do when somebody says something and you can’t prove it’s a lie? Anyway, I was mad and tired and I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I almost ducked back the way I’d come, but then I saw him stop and look back, almost turn, then head toward me again. I knew it was a man. Maybe that’s why I stopped. If it was Ronald, I was going to…Well, that doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I waited. When he got about halfway to the opening to the Dunhams’, I saw it was Mr. Dunham. He stopped again and looked back. I couldn’t see his face clearly in the moonlight. He stood there for a minute and then he jerked around and hurried toward the gate.” Jimmy’s face furrowed in misery. “Clint Dunham was my scoutmaster. Ryan”—he nodded toward the photograph—“is one of my best friends. Maybe Mr. Dunham couldn’t sleep, too. Maybe he was outside and heard Walter and wondered about the noise.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Was the dog following him?”

“No.”

“Did you hear the dog?”

“When I was over by the lake, I thought I heard him yipping. But I didn’t pay any attention. Sometimes he stays in, sometimes he goes out. If he sees anybody, he barks his head off. Same thing if he finds a rabbit. The thing is”—Jimmy looked burdened—“this morning in the toolshed, Walter had a rawhide bone. It was chewed slick. He loves that stuff. Anytime you want to make Walter happy, give him a rawhide bone.”