Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a whoop, Keith ran to the treehouse ladder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The radiance in her eyes dimmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Way high.” He darted toward the swings.

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

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

“Hold on.” Peg’s cry was anxious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peg nodded, her eyes filled with foreboding.

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

Peg folded her arms, stared at the ground.

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

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

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

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

Johnny looked at her sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keith dashed away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kim?” Gina’s voice rose in shock.

Charlotte Hammond lifted a shaking hand as if in denial.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door began to open, bumped against Peg.

She stepped out of the way.

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

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

As the bells tolled, I knew the murderer must feel confident.

There might be a way to shake that confidence.

I walked to the end of the pier. The lake was a dismal gunmetal gray. Thanks to the warmth of the mink coat and a black cashmere sweater and black wool slacks and boots, I was comfortable despite the chill breeze off the lake. I turned when quick steps sounded on the wooden pier.

Leon Butler stopped in front of me, nodded gravely. “I found your note.” His face was perhaps a shade thoughtful. “Guess I must have left my truck unlocked.”

“That was such a bit of luck.” My tone was innocent. “I hope you didn’t mind my using a receipt from your dash compartment for paper. I left my purse in the trunk of my car. I didn’t have anything to write on.” I patted my pocket, implying a set of car keys within. “Thank you for meeting me. I don’t know whether the police told you that Susan’s new will is missing.”

His mouth drew down in a dark frown. “No, ma’am. Sam Cobb wanted to know about me signing the will and seeing Mrs. Flynn and you, but he didn’t say a word about not having the will.”

Sheer fury glittered in his eyes when I told him Susan was murdered.

“Someone went upstairs and got her digitalis and placed it in the pot for her cocoa. They were all in and out of the living room at Pritchard House Saturday night: Jake, Peg, Peg’s boyfriend Dave, Tucker, Gina, Harrison, and his wife Charlotte. Last night Kim Weaver went to the old brick plant and someone shot out a tire and her car went into the pit. Again, any one of them could have been at the plant.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Tire shot out?”

I described that instant as the Cruiser swung below the pole with the red security light.

“All of the family are real good shots. Real good.” Leon was emphatic. “Tom loved skeet shooting and there’s a course out at Burnt Creek. Everybody competed, Tom, Susan, Jake, all the kids. Harrison’s a duck hunter. Any one of them could nip a tire, even at a hundred yards. I don’t know about Dave Lewis.”

I was discouraged. “You’ve known most of them for many years. Who would poison Susan? Who would conspire with Kim Weaver to hide the will?”

“Different things matter to different folks. Pritchard House means more to Jake Flynn than any pile of bricks should. That house puffs her up. I don’t know what she might do if she thought she was going to lose that house. Peg?” His face softened. “She’s a sweet girl, good as they come. But”—and his eyes narrowed—“she’s nobody’s pushover. If she cares about something, she’ll fight like a wildcat. One time we had a hired hand and Peg came around the corner and saw him beating up on a horse. She had her skeet gun in her hands and she whipped it up quick as lightning and shot around his feet and aimed the gun at him and told him to get his hide off of Burnt Creek and if she ever saw him again she wouldn’t shoot at his feet. She’s like the other kids, not a dime in her pocket except what Susan gave them. I heard tell that Dave Lewis wanted money for a clinic from Susan. Tucker? He and Mitch spent a lot of time together, but he didn’t grieve a minute when Mitch ran away. Without Mitch around, Tucker was in line for Burnt Creek.” He looked dour. “As soon as Tucker took over at Burnt Creek, he called me in, said I’d sure done a good job but he would handle everything himself now. As for Gina”—Leon hunched his shoulders against the cold breeze that tugged at his suit coat—“she’s got too many fancy clothes for a gal who can’t hold a job. Gina grew up without folks. It didn’t seem to hurt Tucker. He loves the land. It fills him up. But Gina’s empty inside. I suspect she’s in a bad fix over money.”

Maybe he saw my look of surprise.

He gave a little whuff of laughter. “Don’t know how an old bachelor knows about buying baubles and such? I got a pretty niece, Lou Ann, a buyer for Neiman Marcus. Lou Ann comes to see me and I find out all about people who don’t think the world is right unless they got the newest and the fanciest and the most expensive. That’s Gina.” The geniality left his face. “Maybe she felt like she had to have money. As for Harrison, everybody in town knows he’s come a cropper with his latest fancy housing addition. The houses are so big the people have to go to Oklahoma City and buy outsize furniture to fill up the rooms. As for Kim Weaver, when she was in high school, she hung around the kids and spent a lot of time at the ranch. A bold piece with a gambler’s eye. I’d wager she figured out which one needed money the most, made her pitch about hiding the will, and thought she was on easy street when the meeting at the brick plant was set up. I guess Kim never thought somebody would put the ace of spades on her king.”

Kim had slipped a small pistol into her purse. She’d been confident she had all the cards, but the joker was out.

Leon smacked a fist into a palm. “I got to do something. I don’t know what, but I got to do something.” His face was burdened by grief.

I looked at him gravely. “There might be a way you could help trap Susan’s killer. It would be dangerous.”

He stepped toward me. “You name it.” There was no mistaking his determination. “I’ll do it.”

The table was laden with food. The good women of the church never fail in times of trouble. As I’d expected, Wade and Cindy Farrell were among those at the house. Cindy Farrell sat on a sofa, helping Keith pull apart and put together a Russian matryoshka doll fashioned after a penguin. The outer doll with a black head, huge eyes, yellow beak, blue bow tie, and white bottom held four smaller replicas. Cindy murmured, “One penguin, two, three penguins, four…”

I popped into the hallway, waited until it was empty, and swirled into being. I chose a black jacquard jacket with white floral trim and a black A-line silk skirt and black heels. In the living room, I walked to the table laden with fried chicken, casseroles, and salads. However, this was no time to overindulge. I needed to be alert. I chose chicken salad, fruit, and a croissant. I edged nearer Wade Farrell. I enjoyed my repast and waited patiently until he was free.

He nodded as a woman turned away, then looked around the room, likely seeking his wife.

I stepped up to him. “Mr. Farrell, may I speak privately with you for a moment? I was with Susan Flynn Saturday night when she signed her new will. I’m sure Chief Cobb explained the circumstances to you. If you’ll come this way, we can use Susan’s study.”

He studied me, his eyes narrowed, his broad face wary. “The police are looking for you.”

“The police station is my next stop.” Telling the truth usually convinces a listener. “I fully intend to consult with Chief Cobb, but I need to speak with you first.”

“In that event, I don’t see any harm in talking to you.” He turned and walked toward the hall.

When we stepped into Susan’s study, I turned on the light and closed the door. I had a plan, but I needed help from Wade Farrell. “Mr. Farrell, Leon Butler signed Susan’s new will. If he swears that he saw Susan Saturday night and she gave him her new will and he read and signed it, can the judge say the old will is invalid?”

“Absolutely not.” Farrell folded his arms. “Only the production of the signed document will suffice.”

I was rocked by that knowledge. I suppose my face revealed the depth of my despair.

“She signed the will.” I was forceful. “I saw her sign it. Leon saw Susan sign it.”

Farrell looked unhappy. “I wish it were that easy. But the judge won’t set aside an existing document on the unsupported word of a witness. Don’t you see? There’s no proof.”

I began to pace. The trap I’d hoped to set wouldn’t work.

“I’m sorry.” He was clearly regretful. “I can see why you thought that might be the case. I suppose it must seem simple to a nonlawyer, but I can assure you that Judge Blackburn is a stickler for procedure. If I went into his court and offered Leon Butler as a witness to a new will that can’t be produced, the judge would chew on me like an old cigar.”

“I don’t know why people’s word can’t be taken. Leon Butler has an excellent reputation.” I knew I sounded snappish. Wade Farrell hadn’t created the laws. I couldn’t blame him. I flung out my hands. “Don’t you see? Susan’s murderer always reacts immediately to a threat. Kim Weaver offered the new will in exchange for a reward. The murderer responded with a rifle shot. I believe the murderer will try to kill Leon Butler if you call together the heirs and tell them Leon signed the new will and his sworn testimony would be enough to declare the old will invalid. I have no doubt Leon will be attacked.”

Farrell looked thoughtful. “You want to set a trap using Leon as bait. That puts Leon—”

I cut in sharply. “—in grave danger. Leon is eager to help and the police will keep him safe.” And I would be there as well. “You can make this possible, Mr. Farrell, none of the prospective heirs are lawyers. They will believe what you tell them.” I clapped my hands together, looked at him expectantly.

“I’d be lying.” His lips pressed together. He gave a quick head shake and turned toward the door.

“Susan was your client.”

He stopped, one hand on the door.

“You can do Susan one last great service.”

Chief Cobb and Detective Sergeant Price were finishing a late lunch from Lulu’s, the chief with a chili burger and onion rings, Price with a hickory sauce cheeseburger and French fries. I hoped they occasionally managed some grilled fish, vegetables, and fruit. They sat at the worktable near the blackboard.

Cobb dipped an onion ring in a side of horseradish sauce. He looked morose. “Like a needle to true north, I keep swinging to Tucker Satterlee. He had opportunity and motive for both murders and he’s a guy used to moving fast and making quick decisions. Nobody runs a big ranch unless they’ve got that kind of savvy. Then maybe there’s a magnetic pulse because I swing right back to Peg Flynn or Dave Lewis. It’s kind of convenient the way they’ve presumably split. I wish I had a crystal ball and could see them a year from now. Will they be Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed with a fancy clinic under construction?”

Price finished the last of his burger. “The other heirs had equal opportunity. Jake Flynn, Gina Satterlee, or one of the Hammonds could have popped the digitalis. Johnny Cain’s interview with Peg Flynn shows Kim Weaver knew all of them pretty well, so her effort to peddle the will makes sense.”

Cobb rolled up greasy papers, stuffed them in a sack. “Harrison Hammond might have been the most desperate. Kim Weaver probably had a nose for desperation.”

Price licked salt from his fingertips. “She’d have been around town enough to hear rumors. It wasn’t any secret that Hammond’s development was in big trouble. And he’s a hunter. I don’t see Jake Flynn shooting out a tire, but Peg and Gina grew up skeet shooting. I checked it out. Hammond’s wife isn’t a hunter. Opportunity and motive aren’t enough, Sam. We need evidence linking one of them to one of the crimes. Fingerprints. Or someone seen in the wrong place. As for the brick plant, no shell showed up in the area where Tucker rode this morning. Sam, we don’t have any cards.”

The chief wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “I’m afraid”—his voice was heavy—“we never will. My gut tells me somebody’s committed two murders and left no trace.”

I looked at the clock. It was half past two. To put my plan into operation required immediate action. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Wade Farrell’s office would be closed. I had to make a move now and make it fast if a trap was to be put in place today. I’d hoped to follow Precept Three: Work behind the scenes without making your presence known. But I didn’t have time to make an indirect approach to the chief.

Cobb’s desk was behind him and Price. I perched in his chair, found a pen and a legal pad. I wrote quickly, then tore off the sheet very slowly to avoid any sound.

Price pushed back his chair, began to clear the table. “More coffee?”

When Price walked across the room to the trash basket and the coffee table, I put my note in front of Chief Cobb:

I can help you trap the murderer. Tell Price to bring Wade Farrell here as soon as possible.

Submitted in urgency—Officer M. Loy

“Coffee, Sam?” Price looked over his shoulder.

“Coffee.” Cobb repeated the word numbly.

Price looked concerned. “Sam?”

The chief picked up my note, folded it very deliberately, put it in his pocket. “Guess I ate too fast.”

Price looked relieved. “You need some bicarb.”

Cobb took a moment to answer, then said gruffly, “I’ll be all right.” He took a deep breath. “In fact, I’ve got an idea.” His eyes slid around the room. He shook his head, turned to Price. “Find Wade Farrell. Ask him to come here. Tell him we’re up against a wall, but he can help solve two murders.”

Price put down his coffee mug. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

As soon as the door closed, Cobb strode to his desk, punched the intercom. “I’m in conference to everybody but Price.”

“No visitors.” His secretary’s voice was matter-of-fact.

“Right.”

“Calls?”

“I’ll take calls.” He switched off the intercom, looked around the room. He paced back and forth, started to speak, stopped, then blurted out, “If you’ve got something to say, say it. No more blackboards. No more notes.”

Praying that Wiggins was utterly immersed in Tumbulgum, I swirled into being. I chose an amethyst silk shirt jacket over a black silk top and black silk trousers and classic leather pumps in matching amethyst. Amethyst is such a good color for redheads. I hoped Wiggins, if he wasn’t utterly immersed in Tumbulgum, understood that a woman needs to look her best when dealing with a fractious male. To check my appearance, I imagined a black alligator handbag, plentifully filled. I retrieved the compact, flipped it open. I decided I was presentable.

Cobb sat down in his chair, rather heavily. “Officer Loy?”

In an instant, I swirled into uniform.

Cobb ground knuckles into one cheek. “I’m nuts. Totally nuts.”

I swirled back into my pretty outfit, not that a woman can’t look outstanding in a uniform. Still, I felt Chief Cobb might feel more comfortable with me in civilian dress. “Or,” I said brightly, “sometimes I’m Susan Flynn’s visiting friend, Jerrie Emiliani.”

“The redhead in the car.” His voice sounded rusty. “The redhead who disappeared.”

“Sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m not.” I hoped my smile was reassuring. “I’ll be brief. You know everything I know.” This wasn’t quite accurate. “Almost everything. I spoke earlier today with Leon Butler. He cared a lot about Susan Flynn. Leon’s brave. He’s willing to take a big chance to help us catch her murderer.”

“Help us?” The chief’s eyes were wide.

“I’m doing my best to be of assistance.” I was demure. I certainly didn’t want to toot my own horn, but facts were facts. “You wouldn’t know nearly as much if I hadn’t been on the scene with Kim Weaver.”

“I guess that’s right.” Without looking down, he fumbled with his desk drawer, fished out the bag of M&M’s, poured some in his hand, and popped them in his mouth. His eyes never left my face. “All right. What have you got?”

I strolled nearer the desk, perched upon one edge. “Sam,” I paused, “I hope you don’t mind my calling you Sam. I feel that I know you very well. You’re honest, hardworking, smart, a cop who wants to catch a murderer. Now”—I leaned forward—

He pressed against the back of his chair.

“—here’s what you can do.”