Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I had one more task to accomplish if I could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crazy guy,” Cobb muttered.

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

“I understand. But he’s a brave kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

Cobb grabbed more M&M’s. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“You too, Chief.”

Cobb flicked off the speakerphone.

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

Compli—

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

—ments of Officer M. Loy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake continued to lift and pin.

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

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

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

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

Jake looked sorrowful. “Oh, Peg.”

Peg’s quick smile was light and bright and eager. “I have a better date.” Then she turned to Gina, abruptly sad and uncertain. “Johnny Cain is coming. Oh, Gina, do you mind terribly?”

Sunk in a chair near the fire, pale and drawn, Gina said abruptly, “I’m glad for you, Peg.”

“Please come with us.” Peg reached out a hopeful hand. “It will bring back good days, Gina. Remember how Mitch used to always try to knock off my angel wings?”

Gina almost managed a smile. She said steadily, “I’ll come. I can’t miss seeing Keith as a shepherd.”

The early evening Christmas Eve service for families with young children had always been one of my favorites. The magnificent midnight service is triumphant and glorious, an outpouring of joy, but there is something heartfelt and touching when the younger children, to the vibrant sound of “Once in Royal David’s City,” come down the central aisle, the little boys in bathrobes as shepherds and the little girls with wire halos and cardboard angel wings, to gather around the wooden crib and sing “Away in the Manger,” their childish voices rising in the sweetest song of all.

The front doorbell rang.

Peg looked uncertainly from Gina toward the hall.

“It’s all right.” Gina’s voice was shaky yet firm.

Peg gave Gina a swift hug, then turned and ran quickly to the hall. In a moment, she was back in the living room, Johnny Cain close behind her. He was not in uniform this night. He was resplendent in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He smiled first at Keith. “I like your robe. Hey, you’re going to have fun tonight.” Then Johnny looked across the room at Gina. There was a taut silence that he finally broke. “I’m sorry about Tucker.”

Gina lifted trembling fingers to flick away tears. “You were there for Peg. You saved Peg.”

Peg lifted a hand to her throat, gazed at Johnny with remembered horror in her eyes. “I don’t know how you managed to reach Tucker in time.”

Johnny shook his head. “God knows.”

And that was true.

Peg abruptly moved to Johnny. He reached out, took her in his arms, held her tight. Jake came to her feet, moved to curve her arms around her daughter and her rescuer. Charlotte and Harrison and Gina came across the room and they all held one another, moving only to make room for Keith as he joined them with a whoop, ready for a holiday scrum.

In the distance, I heard the whistle of the Rescue Express.

Outside I circled high above Adelaide, glorying one last time in the brilliance of the holiday lights. I heard clear and sweet and beautiful the strains of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” a midnight such as this.

I swung aboard the Express with both pleasure and trepidation. There had been some moments during my adven-mission that Wiggins would likely mention without pleasure. Yet I had accomplished my primary task. Keith Flynn was safe in the arms of his family.

I popped into the first carriage and headed for a comfortable seat, ready to enjoy my farewell views of lights blazing from dear planet earth on this night when joy lifted hearts and souls. The carriage was filled with travelers of all sorts and backgrounds, some shabbily dressed, some elegant, but all with happy faces. There was an air of festivity and a sense of eagerness.

The gray-haired conductor, tall and thin with smiling eyes, gently took my elbow. “Compartment 3, please, in the next carriage.”

A private compartment! Perhaps I had been promoted. As I reached the door at the end of the corridor, I looked back, wishing I could stay and meet some of my fellow travelers, perhaps exchange stories of derring-do.

Trains always afford excitement, the lurch and swing as the heavy door is pushed open. I felt the jostle and jolt of the connecting plates and lurched to the opposite door. The next carriage was very quiet, compartment doors lining either side of the corridor. I hurried to Compartment 3, tapped. The door swung open. I stepped inside.

Wiggins rose to greet me. “Bailey Ruth.” There was warmth and kindness in his tone.

At his nod, I sank onto the opposite plush seat. I feared the worst. Had I been invited to a private compartment because my contraventions of the Precepts for Earthly Travel were so egregious they must be addressed before the Rescue Express reached Heaven?

Wiggins settled onto the plush seat, next to a black topcoat. He was imposing in his stiff white shirt and broad suspenders and heavy gray flannel trousers. His hair was a bright chestnut beneath the stiff, dark station agent’s hat. He lifted a hand to smooth his walrus mustache. “I was pleased when I learned you would be on the Express tonight.”

Pleased? I managed a stiff smile. “I’m happy to see you.” Was insincerity a bar to any future adven-missions?

He suddenly boomed with laughter. “You didn’t follow the Precepts. But”—he leaned forward—“I must share a truth with you.”

I scarcely breathed. This was the moment when I would learn of my permanent banishment from the Department of Good Intentions, though it was rather cruel of Wiggins to find the prospect so amusing.

“In Tumbulgum”—and his brown eyes gleamed with delight—“neither did I.”