Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER FOUR

Gina rushed into the kitchen. Her black cashmere turtleneck emphasized the rich plum of slacks that flared wide at the bottom.

I really liked that style, the low snug fit over the hips and a saucy front tie. I’d have to find out what the slacks were called. They were certainly distinctive enough to have a name.

Gina’s gaze jerked to the counter near the stove and a tray covered with a fine damask napkin. Some of the tension eased from her thin face. “I’ll take Susan’s breakfast up.”

Peg looked surprised. “That would be nice. I need to fix Keith more French toast.”

Tucker’s brows drew down in a quick frown. “Hey, let’s get the show on the road. We’ve got to find the right tree.”

Gina was already picking up the tray. “I need to talk to Susan. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

As the swinging door shut behind her, Tucker looked exasperated.

“More coffee?” Peg held up the carafe.

Tucker nodded, his face drawn in a frown. “Gina’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

Peg looked hesitant.

Tucker gripped the mug. “So what else is new? How much does she owe?” His voice was weary.

Outside Susan’s door, Gina hesitated, then gave a brisk nod. She opened the door and called out, “Breakfast.” She carried the tray to the table near Susan’s chair in front of the fake fire.

Susan wore no makeup, but her lovely face looked younger. She smiled at Gina. “Thank you, my dear. I suppose Peg is busy with Keith.” Her smile grew wider, her eyes shone. “Oh, what a happy day. Gina, I haven’t had a happy day in so long.”

Gina’s eyes glistened. “We’re glad for you, Susan. He’s a nice little boy.” She removed the napkin and the cover. “Do you want coffee now?”

At Susan’s nod, Gina poured from the hottle. Then she took a deep breath. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her voice was shaky.

Some of the light fled Susan’s face. She looked up, gave a tiny sigh. “What’s wrong?”

Gina stood stiff and still, her thin face twisted in despair, her shoulders hunched. “I owe almost forty thousand dollars on my credit cards.”

Susan’s aristocratic features stiffened. Her dark eyes gazed at Gina with a long measuring look. She didn’t speak.

Gina’s hands twisted together. “I know. I’m a fool. But I had that good job for a while and I got so many credit card offers and I signed up and I wasn’t thinking. I was able to make the payments until I lost my job and now I can’t find a job.”

Susan glanced at Gina’s outfit. “I saw those trousers in a Neiman catalog. They were expensive. Bedford pants. Very distinctive.”

Gina stared at the floor.

“You have beautiful clothes. You’ve always liked fine things.” Susan was more grieved than scolding. “You’ve always spent money you didn’t have. Tucker has helped you, hasn’t he? I suppose you’ve asked Jake, too.”

Gina pulled her hands apart, turned them out in appeal. “I’m desperate. I can’t get a job, and I get all these threatening phone calls.”

Susan was brusque. “You were able to make the payments. Don’t you understand, Gina? That’s going into debt. The interest charged is huge. What will happen if I pay the debts? Will you live on what you can earn, buy things only if you have the money to pay for them? Somehow I’m afraid you’ll fall back into your old ways. I don’t know. Maybe this time you will have to work out your problems by yourself.” She made a sudden swift gesture. “I’ll think about what should be done. Let’s not talk any more. I have much to do today.” She turned to her breakfast, her face stern.

Susan gestured with her ebony black cane. “Look toward the back of the closet.” There was a becoming pink flush in her pale cheeks. Her softly waved hair was brushed back, emphasizing her expressive face. Regal in her red silk brocade dressing gown, she was full of cheer. There was no hint of her uncomfortable morning encounter with Gina.

Jake reluctantly stepped into a long cavernous closet with a flashlight in one hand. “What if there are fiddlebacks?”

Susan laughed aloud. “Would a fiddleback dare hide in any house under your supervision?”

Jake’s voice sounded hollow as she slowly moved deeper into the closet. “No one dusts in here. No one’s been in here for years.”

Susan’s face was suddenly somber. Lines of sorrow pulled at her face. “No. Not for years.” She gripped the head of the cane. “At the back, there are boxes with Ellen’s name. Look for the one that reads Carousel.”

“Ooh. A spider.” There was a sound of a stamping foot.

Susan’s expression was a mixture of irritation and amusement.

“I see the box.” Jake’s voice lifted in triumph. “It’s on top. I’m not sure…Yes, I can. Oh, it’s not too heavy.” She stepped into the hall. She held a box out in front of her, gripping it with obvious uneasiness.

Susan led the way, the cane thumping on the floor. She opened the door to the blue room.

Keith sat cross-legged on his bed, stacking his plastic gold coins, patiently picking them up when they slid and fell. Duchess rested at the foot of his bed, golden gaze fixed on the plastic coins. Keith looked up as the door opened, his expression uncertain.

Susan’s face shone with delight. “Good morning, Keith.”

Peg turned from the mirror, laid a hairbrush on the dresser with a smile. “Good morning, Susan. Keith ate a huge breakfast. Keith, here’s your grandmother.”

Susan came across the room, bent to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad I caught you before you and Keith leave.” Susan was a little breathless. “I have something special for Keith.”

“Tucker brought a present, too.” Peg gestured at the small leather bag and Keith’s pile of play gold coins. “After we go shopping, Keith’s going to think the world is made up of presents. What do you have?”

Jake stepped into the room, still holding the box stiffly.

Peg hurried toward her mother. “Let me help. What is it?”

Susan smiled at her grandson. “I’ve brought Ellen’s musical carousel for you. Every morning and every evening we can turn it on for you to listen.”

Peg’s face softened. “The carousel! We loved hearing it play Christmas carols. Here, I’ll take it.” She carried the box to the bedside table and stripped tape from the lid.

Keith slid from the bed with a thump, came nearer, his dark eyes curious.

Jake fluttered her hands. “There may be spiders.”

Keith’s face was serious. “Mütter says spiders are good mütters. They work hard.”

Peg smiled at him. “I like spiders, too.” She lifted out a lumpy shape protected by plastic wrapping. She carefully peeled back the plastic wrap and set the merry-go-round on the table between the twin beds. She bent sideways to insert the plug.

Leaning on her cane, Susan came across the room. She reached down and turned the switch.

Lights twinkled. Animals rode up and down, including a sea dragon, a rabbit, a cat with a fish in its mouth, a rooster, a stag, and a goat as the carousel went around and around. Sweet and clear came the strains of “Silent Night.”

Keith walked slowly toward the turning carousel. Lips parted in a smile, he reached out to touch the light-bright top.

Susan’s eyes were soft as she watched her grandson.

Faintly, the front doorbell sounded below.

Susan nodded toward Jake. “That will be Wade. Please bring him to my room.”

Susan Flynn’s lawyer bounced into the room. Though middle-aged, his dark hair thinning and his athletic build contending with the beginnings of a paunch, he seemed youthful with a broad, good-humored face and a hint of boyish eagerness. He beamed at Susan and held out a plate covered with pink Saran Wrap. “Cindy’s famous pralines.”

Susan smiled and took the plate. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without the best pralines in Adelaide.”

They settled near the electric fire, she in her chair. He sat opposite her in a Morris chair.

Susan peeled back the covering, offered him a piece of candy.

He grinned. “Cindy would rap my hand with a ruler, but hey, I think it’s okay if I take just one.” He patted a slightly bulging waistline. “You can’t be married to the best holiday cook in town and not put on a few pounds. Tomorrow she’s making pfeffernuesse cookies.”

Susan chose one of the smaller pralines. She took a bite, nodded in appreciation. “The pecans are wonderful. Thank you and please thank Cindy. And”—her face was suddenly serious—“thank you for taking time to come to the house. I wanted to talk to you in person. As I told you when I called, everything is upside down here, but for a wonderful reason.”

Wade licked one finger, his face wrinkling in concern. “It is certainly amazing news.” He paused, appeared to pick his words with care. “However, don’t be too hopeful, Susan. Let me check everything out.”

She wasn’t disturbed. “That is precisely what I want you to do. I need verification, but I have no doubt”—she held up the manila envelope—“that these papers are authentic. And these”—she touched the medals ranged on the table next to her chair—“were Mitch’s. But, of course, we must prove that I am Keith’s grandmother and can properly take custody of him.” Her face changed from one of sharp intelligence to somber sadness. “Poor little Keith. He must scarcely remember Mitch, if at all. And then to have his mother die from pneumonia. It is very important that I gain custody of him as quickly as possible. We’ll need to see about school and his vaccinations, all that kind of thing.”

The lawyer’s big face was anxious. “I know you are excited, Susan. Maybe everything is exactly as it appears. However, it still seems odd that the person who brought him left him alone on the porch. That worries me.”

“We’ll find out the reason.” Her smile was confident. “That is, you, dear Wade, will find out the truth. I know I can count on you. And now, if you will please indulge me, I want to ask a great favor. I know the holidays are almost here and you and Cindy will be off to ski, but I want this settled as quickly as possible. Move quickly. Spend whatever is necessary. It is the age of the Internet. Please try to confirm Mitch’s marriage and Keith’s birth no later than tomorrow.”

For an instant, he looked stunned, then, with a crooked smile, he nodded. “For you, Susan, I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

I breathed deeply of cold air scented by burning leaves and exhaust fumes. The December sky was as clear and distinct and blue as a Delft plate. Cars circled the jampacked Wal-Mart lot seeking a newly vacated spot. Garlands of evergreens decorated light poles. Scotch pine and firs drew shoppers to a side lot. Outside the main doors, a Salvation Army lady rang her bell.

I kept sight of Peg’s car as she turned into an empty space. I ached to be part of this Christmas scene, the bustle and the crowd, the jostle and the rush. What harm would it do for me to appear? No one knew me. I ducked behind a huge blocky van and swirled into being. I tried not to take too much pleasure in a sea green turtleneck and a boldly patterned plaid wool skirt with a matching block of green. Beauty is always admired in Heaven. Are you listening, Wiggins?

Knee-high saddle-toned suede boots were perfect for crunching through an icy crust left in the parking lot from an earlier storm. Wind gusted from the north. A suede jacket was just right. I reached up, caught the ends of a cashmere scarf, and tied them under my chin. I was invigorated.

I sensed a walrus mustache quivering in distress. If Wiggins appeared, I’d simply urge him to listen to the cheer of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” that echoed through a loudspeaker. Wasn’t I purely and simply in the moment?

Inside, I ducked around family groups, children tugging toward the toy department and impatient women pushing carts piled high with clothes, housewares, electronics, toys, picture frames, and boxes containing furniture to be assembled.

Peg wheeled first to the children’s department. It took a moment for a harried but cheerful sales associate to help her find an appropriate car seat for Keith. Peg picked a sturdy one and plumped it in the basket.

I was close behind Peg and Keith when they reached the boys’ department. Women shifted piles of jeans on tables. Babies cried. A little girl stamped her foot and demanded a Barbie. I was in shopping heaven.

Peg was quick. Soon the cart contained three corduroy trousers, fire-engine red, chestnut brown, and cream, several pairs of jeans, a half dozen nice thick fresh long-sleeved cotton pullover shirts, and a nifty dark blue snow coat.

Keith glimpsed me as she turned him to see how a shirt looked. His eyes brightened and he smiled.

Peg looked at him in surprise.

He pointed and I heard his low murmur. “There’s Jerrie.”

Before Peg’s gaze swung in my direction, I ducked behind a table piled with sweaters and crouched low, pretending to pick something up from the floor. It was fine for Peg to equably accept Keith’s invisible friend, but she might be more than a little curious if Keith’s redheaded friend appeared.

A little girl under the table gazed at me. Pixie glasses gave her eyes an owl-like stare. “I like caves. Do you?”

I smiled. “I love caves. Be sure to say hello to the dragon who lives in the cave.” I pointed behind her. “The one with big sweet brown eyes and green scales. If you give him a hug, it will bring you good luck.” I slowly rose and peered over the mound of sweaters.

Peg was absorbed in finding the right sizes. Finally, she pushed aside a stack of jeans. “These will be perfect. I think we have everything we need. Now, let’s go to the toy department.” She swung him up to ride in the cart.

When they reached the toy department, Keith’s eyes rounded in amazement.

Peg helped him down. “Let’s pick out three toys.”

Overwhelmed, Keith simply stared.

Peg took him by the hand and they went up and down the toy aisles. When they finished, he clutched a Mr. Potato Head Spider Spud box and a LEGO building set. Peg pushed him in one cart and behind her pulled another carrying a Cozy Coupe II Car.

I was smiling as I disappeared.

What a lovely day.

A plump dark-haired woman bustled about the Pritchard kitchen. Christmas cookies cooled on racks on the countertop. Her placid face was relaxed and cheerful. “I’ve baked six dozen cookies. I’m making popcorn balls and candies. We’re going to have the best neighborhood Christmas party ever. This tray”—and she pointed to a lacquerware tray at the end of the counter—“has treats for the house.” She placed a glass of milk on another tray with cookies and a teapot and cups and added a handful of red napkins. “Miss Susan’s excited as she can be. I hope she’s not overdoing. She’s come to the stairs and called down a half dozen times to see if you’re back. You go right up and show her everything.”

Peg smiled and took the tray. “Thank you, Tess. And thanks for the loan of the car seat. I put yours back in your car. I bought a new one when we shopped.”

Keith was on his knees, his eyes excited as he carefully petted Duchess.

“That car seat’s been warmed by all my grandkids and I’m glad you could use it for Keith.” The cook bent down. “Here, Keith, I made this especially for you.”

He turned to take the small triangular-shaped piece of candy, brown with bits of pecans. “Thank you.”

“Your daddy loved Aunt Bill’s candy and I’ll bet you will too.”

As Peg and Keith walked up the steps, Keith nibbling his candy, I checked upstairs and down. I didn’t find Jake or Gina. With Peg and Keith in Susan’s bedroom and Tess in the kitchen, I was free to discover what I could.

Although I had arrived only the evening before, I feared Wiggins might feel I’d not made enough progress in learning about those connected to Susan Flynn. Although I was fairly clear on their relationship to Susan, not blood kin as Gina had emphasized to Jake, I had yet to find out the full names of everyone present last night and where they lived.

I looked for an address book in the study. I checked near the telephone. I opened desk drawers. No address book. Possibly Susan kept her address book upstairs.

Photograph albums in a bookcase yielded many pictures of now familiar faces, but the inscriptions weren’t helpful. Those who identify family photos expect that first names will suffice. Nor could I utilize a phone book since I didn’t have surnames. In a flash, I realized the solution. The church directory. Susan Flynn was a lifelong member of St. Mildred’s, as had been her family before her. As I knew from my last sojourn in Adelaide, St. Mildred’s had a pictorial church directory, the better, of course, to encourage recognition and fellowship among members. Somewhere in this house there had to be a church directory. I would find plenty of names and pictures, including, I was willing to bet, the full name and address of Susan’s lawyer. As a staunch supporter of the church, Susan would be very likely to choose her lawyer from among its members. His office would contain all the information about the beneficiaries of Susan’s will.

The kitchen was the most likely spot for directories of all sorts. I sped to the kitchen and was immediately rewarded. A church directory hung on a silver cord from a hook below an old-fashioned wall telephone squeezed between a cabinet and the refrigerator. The directory dangled perhaps a foot from the floor, tantalizing as a tiara to a jewel thief.

Tess rolled out pastry crust on a wooden board. She whistled an off-key but energetic version of “Deck the Halls,” tapping time with her right foot. She stood at the end of the counter, very near the recess that held the telephone and the directory.

I didn’t have much room to maneuver. I edged sideways to reach into the narrow space between the cabinet and the refrigerator. If she didn’t look down, I could filch it with no problem. As I slipped the cord over the hook, the directory swung in an arc.

Fur pressed against my leg. The directory was yanked from my hand and dragged to the ground.

I jumped and gasped.

Tess jerked at the unexpected sound. She bumped into me, felt an undeniable presence—after all, I was there even if not seen—and gave a shocked yelp.

I scrambled backward, tripped over Duchess, and crashed to the floor, making an unfortunate thudding sound.

The calico cat howled, her tail straight up.

Tess pressed a floury hand against her chest. “My goodness me my, Duchess, whatever got into you? Look at that, you knocked down the directory. Bad girl. I’d put you out in the cold but my hands are all floury. Now you get yourself back to your cushion.”

Duchess’s tail switched and she gave Tess a malevolent look.

Tess snagged the cord, lifted the directory, and returned it to its hook.

Unblinking golden eyes followed the progress of the directory.

I was not going to be outwitted by a cat.

It was as if Duchess heard my thoughts. That malevolent stare settled on me.

It was time to make peace. I moved close, held out an invisible hand.

Duchess sniffed. She pushed her head against my hand, clearly inviting me to pet her.

I obliged.

Duchess dropped to the floor, rolled over on her back.

Still kneading pastry, Tess looked over her shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been into some catnip.”

Duchess came to her feet, moved close to me, twined around my ankles.

Tess stopped kneading. “Duchess, are you all right?”

It was time for finesse. I hurried outside, then turned and rapped on the back door.

By the time Tess opened the door, I was inside the kitchen. I yanked the cord attached to the directory from its hook.

“I declare, somebody knocked on the door and ran away.” Tess stepped onto the porch. “Who’d be playing tricks on such a lovely day?”

When unencumbered by material objects, my passage through space was as lively and quick as St. Nick in his miniature sleigh. I would be in one spot, envision my destination, and there I was. However, material objects, such as the parish directory, required portage.

I was in a hurry to get the directory and flee the kitchen. I reeled the directory up.

In a bound, Duchess was across the room. She snagged the cord with a determined paw and yanked.

The directory splatted on the hardwood floor.

Tess whirled on the porch, came shivering into the kitchen. She slammed the door behind her. “My goodness, I’m going to be vexed in a minute. Somebody knocking on the door and running away and you”—she shook her head at Duchess—“trying to cause trouble the minute I turn my back. Enough of this.” Tess grabbed the directory, evaded Duchess’s leap, and stuffed the booklet in her apron pocket.

I took a moment in the front hallway to catch my breath. My objective had once seemed so simple. Find the church directory, discover the identity of Susan Flynn’s lawyer, go to his office, and explore his files. Admittedly, nosing into files in a busy law office might be another challenge, perhaps far more difficult than the episode in the kitchen.

However, I was determined. I intended to have a parish directory. Why not go to the source?

I thought and there I was.

I know I am prejudiced but I always felt a thrill when I saw St. Mildred’s. Winter-bare elms and oaks provided a frame for the small gray stone church. Stained-glass windows sparkled bright as the richest jewels, ruby red, emerald green, royal amethyst, and ocean blue.

On the front steps, after a quick glance around, I swirled into being. Invisibility had advantages, but I was ready for the open, direct, uncomplicated approach. Besides, I was tired of not being. I hadn’t realized how much of a Heavenly day I’d spent in conversation. I’d never been reclusive when on earth and this was no time to start. I wanted to see people, talk, laugh, make friends. That such action was in direct contravention of Precept Four (Become visible only when absolutely essential…) bothered me not at all. In fact, I intended to suggest to Wiggins that, to the contrary, emissaries should appear as often as possible, the better to be part of the community.

I strode forward, invigorated, confident of my course. I didn’t bother with my chinchilla coat. I was going inside. I ducked into the church proper.

A brisk woman in coveralls directed two younger women as they placed potted geraniums in stands by each pew. She smiled a welcome, her prominent blue eyes friendly. “Are you with the Standish-Ellison wedding?”

I shook my head. “I’m a long-ago member of the church back in town for a visit.” I was pleased at my quick and honest response.

We discussed the floral swags and brown candles and the lovely effect when pink rose petals would be strewn in the aisle.

I pushed through the door into the main hallway. Direct and simple, that was the path to take. Soon I would have the parish directory in hand and I could obtain the information I needed. Wiggins would be proud of me.

Christmas artwork from Sunday school classes was taped to the walls of the corridor outside the parish hall: Christmas trees made of pasted strips of art paper, stained-glass windows created by pieces of colored cellophane, manger scenes, Mary cradling Baby Jesus in her arms, stars with gold glitter, red-nosed reindeer with toothy smiles and Santa Clauses with jolly smiles, bells with silver glitter.

I threw out my arms and began to sing “Silver Bells.” I couldn’t resist a sweeping dance with a curtsy here and a bow there. I reached the end of the hallway and the second stanza. Portraits of past directresses of the Altar Guild graced both sides of the corridor here.

It wasn’t pride that made me pause in front of my portrait, assuredly not. I was paying tribute instead to time past. I’d been proud to serve and felt I’d managed my terms with a minimum of acrimony, though there had been fractious moments. Hortense Maple, for example, had been very difficult to deal with over the matter of when to replace candles. Emmaline Wooster was slapdash when it came to ironing the linens. The time she’d been absorbed in an I Love Lucy episode and scorched the altar linen donated by the Templeton family didn’t bear thinking about. None of this long-forgotten past was apparent in my portrait. I looked gay and carefree though much older than I now appeared. I nodded in approval at the contrast between my flaming curls and a white organza hat. That frock of pale lilac eyelet lace had been one of my favorites.

Rapid footsteps clattered near.

I whirled around, possibly with a guilty start. It wouldn’t do for anyone to compare me to that long-ago portrait.

The steps paused. A graying pageboy framed a long worried face. The woman glanced at me uncertainly. “Excuse me, did something startle you?”

I gave her a friendly smile. “I’m looking for the church office.”

She looked reassured. “Right this way.” She hurried ahead, held the door wide. “I’m Lucy Norton.” She gestured toward a wicker chair with plump red cushions. “How may I help you?”

I looked around the familiar room, shabby and plainly furnished, but the chintz curtains at the windows were freshly ironed. As she took her place behind the desk, I settled comfortably in the chair.

The desk was neat, envelopes tidily stacked in the in and out baskets and several folders aligned with a church bulletin next to a copy of the afternoon newspaper. A church directory rested near the telephone.

“I used to live in Adelaide and was a parishioner. I’m visiting friends.” I was, after all, Keith’s friend Jerrie. “I want to pick up a copy of the parish directory so I can call old friends.”

“Call old friends,” she repeated. Her eyes fell to a story below the fold on the front page.

“You know how it is when you pack in a rush.” I invited understanding. “I didn’t bring my address book with me.”

“Are there particular families you wish to contact?” Her smile was bright, but it didn’t reach suspicious blue eyes. She folded the newspaper.

“Just old friends.” My shrug was casual. “I talked to Susan Flynn, but I didn’t want to trouble her for phone numbers.”

Her smile was swift. “Susan is a dear. I suppose she told you the sad news about the Carstairs?”

“Actually, we didn’t talk about the Carstairs.” Carstairs? That wasn’t a name I recalled.

The secretary’s eyes widened. “I would have thought that was the first thing Susan would have brought up, the dreadful accident last week.”

“We had so many old friends to remember. Now, if you don’t mind”—I glanced at my watch—“I’ll take the directory and run along.” I glanced pointedly at directories stacked on a shelf in the walnut bookcase on the near wall.

She popped to her feet. Without a glance at the bookcase, she pulled a key ring from the pocket of her yellow cardigan. She came around the desk, gestured toward the hall. “The new directories are in the supply closet. If you’ll come with me, I’ll get one for you.”

I gestured toward the bookcase. “I don’t need the most recent edition.”

“Might as well be up to date.” She led the way into the hall.

I was tempted to march to the bookcase, seize a directory, and sail past her. Instead I rose and followed her.

As we walked in silence, she darted uneasy sideways glances at me.

Had I said something amiss?

Midway down the corridor, she stopped and unlocked a door. She swung it open and stood aside for me to enter. She turned on the light, revealing a long narrow storeroom. “The new directories are on the middle shelf.”

I saw the stack. Success was to be mine. I hurried forward.

The door slammed. A click. I rushed to the door and twisted the knob. Locked!

Locked doors posed no difficulty for me, but I wanted the directory. I could waft right out into the hall but I would have to open the door to take the directory and I had no key to unlock the door once I stood in the hall.

I disappeared. In a flash, I was back in the secretary’s office.

Hands shaking, she punched numbers. “Police? Come at once to St. Mildred’s. I’ve detained a suspicious woman. She came to the church and tried to get a parish directory. I saw the story in this afternoon’s Gazette.” She yanked up the newspaper, held it with a shaky hand.

I read over her shoulder.

BEWARE CHRISTMAS SCAMS

Police Chief Sam Cobb reported today that a statewide alert has been issued by the OSBI regarding fraudulent activities common during the holiday season.

Calls purporting to come from charitable groups should be checked by the recipient. Chief Cobb advises against providing any personal information, including Social Security numbers or back account numbers, over the telephone.

A favorite scam reported in Dallas and Oklahoma City involves a well-dressed woman claiming to have monies that will be paid over as soon as the person contacted provides a checking account number.

Chief Cobb said in another ploy, a woman arrives at a home to pick up a promised donation for a church or charity. The woman exhibits familiarity with the family using information gained from newspaper society pages or church directories.

Chief Cobb…

The church secretary carried the phone and poked her head out in the hallway to keep an eye on the closet door. “This woman was certainly well dressed and charming, but I didn’t believe a word she said. She claimed to know people in the parish, but I think she just wanted to get the directory so she’d know what people looked like and their addresses. I locked her in a storeroom. When I let her out, I’ll explain the door slipped and I had to find a better key and she can’t prove otherwise, and besides if there wasn’t something funny about her, why hasn’t she banged on the door and shouted for help? She hasn’t made a sound. Please hurry. Maybe an officer can say she was observed speeding and he can ask for identification.”

I gave Lucy a cool glance. At least she apparently found me charming.

Within a few minutes, a stocky, middle-aged police officer arrived. “Sergeant Linton, ma’am.” He looked concerned. “You say you have a woman locked up here in the church?”

“I’ve got the key. I saw that story in the Gazette and I knew she was a fraud.” She was shaking with excitement. “She hasn’t even called out and asked for help.” Her tone was portentous. “That’s a sure sign she isn’t on the up-and-up. When I open the door, I’ll explain that lock slips sometimes and I’m so sorry and I went to get a key and it took a moment for me to find it.”

They walked swiftly down the hall.

I picked up the directory next to the secretary’s phone. At the window, I pushed up the sash and looked outside. I didn’t see a soul. I unhooked the screen and tossed out the directory. I put the latches back in place and zoomed outside.

“…no way she could have gotten out of that storeroom.” The secretary hurried into the office with the policeman behind her. The icy rush of air from the window had already chilled the office. She jolted to a stop. “That window was closed. And look, my directory on my desk is gone. Somehow she got out of the closet and came in here and she’s gone out the window. With my directory.”

I grabbed the directory and rose in the air.

Sergeant Linton was at the window in two strides. “No one’s out there. Not a soul.”

The secretary joined him, peered through the screen. “Look up there.” She pointed above the bare limbs of a sycamore. “There goes my directory.” Her voice was a screech. “Up there. Way up there.”

I shot a defiant glance Heavenward. I knew I shouldn’t, but sometimes people just ask for trouble. With a cheerful smile, I made a circle eight and swooped by the office window. I flipped open the pages and flapped the directory with the vigor of a mallard duck heading for a pond. I shot upward.

Faint cries rose from below. The policeman’s voice was deep and gruff. “Wind gust. Happen anytime. Downdraft. Updraft.”

The secretary’s voice was shrill with an undertone of panic. “How did the directory get up there? Why does it look like it’s flying?”

I made one more flamboyant swoop.