Ghost Times Two (4 page)

To think is to be, and I arrived on Main Street a few doors down from Lulu's Cafe, fabulous for comfort food in my day and still in business. Lulu's is where townsfolk meet and greet, a long counter with red leather stools facing a mirror, a few tables in the center, and four booths against the opposite wall. I stepped into a nearby doorway, made sure no one was watching, and appeared. I opened a summery blue cotton handbag, smiled. The change purse held quite enough for my needs.

In Lulu's, I sat at the counter, ordered iced tea and a chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. As I ate, I pondered. How could I persuade Jimmy to depart the earth? My English teacher persona might hie him briefly back to the cemetery, but prying him away from Megan required insight I didn't at the moment have. I knew he had been young and had a great future at the
Gazette
.

The
Gazette
!

I was familiar with the
Gazette
newsroom, a cluster of unimaginative gray metal desks with computer monitors, the city editor's desk in the center of the room. I popped from desk to desk and was unable to access any monitor. Passwords are a hindrance to everyone but cyber vandals, who gleefully bypass them in a twinkle. I tried
twinkle
as a password on the lifestyle editor's computer. No luck.

I yearned for the old days, everything on paper and easy to find in filing cabinets. Instead, the information I needed was somewhere in the electronic netherworld. None of the reporters had helpfully written down a password.

In an instant I was in Police Chief Sam Cobb's office on the
second floor of City Hall. I'd had occasion to assist Sam in solving several crimes, and we had forged a bond. He considered a voice in space an interesting exercise in contemplation. I was sure he wouldn't mind my using his computer to assist my investigation, though my search had nothing to do with crime.

I looked about the office fondly, a long room with dingy beige walls. Several maps of Adelaide were interspersed with Matisse prints. I admired a new print, Modigliani's famed
Woman with Red Hair
. Was it possible? I shook my head. My red hair was red and hers . . . Well, there are many shades of red hair. Nonetheless, I felt the addition was perhaps a toast to our friendship.

I settled behind the chief's battered oak desk, pulled out the center drawer, smiled. A small note card held a list of words, all scratched out but the last. Mayor Neva Lumpkin, no friend of Sam's, insisted all city employees change passwords weekly.

I glanced at the list, turned to the keyboard, entered
Shi7eld
. Voila!

In an instant, I'd accessed the
Gazette
news story of July 5, 2014.

STAFFER DIES IN RIVER ACCIDENT

General reporter Jimmy (James Nicholas) Taylor, 24, drowned Friday on the Snake River, Snake, Oregon, when his kayak capsized in the Wild Sheep Rapids.

A sheriff's deputy said Taylor suffered a fatal head wound. When the craft overturned, Taylor's helmet was lost and his head struck a granite boulder.

Taylor joined the
Gazette
two years ago. He covered City Hall, the county commissioners, Chamber of Commerce, local civic clubs, and general news. Taylor uncovered abuse
at a local nursing home and received an award from the Oklahoma Press Association for investigative reporting.

City editor Ralph Logan described Taylor as a throwback to the days when reporters were brash, cocky, irreverent, and incorruptible. “Jimmy was a smart mouth, equal parts Don Quixote, D'Artangan, and (James) Dean. He was a crooked politician's worst nightmare. He listened when people talked and learned more than anyone ever realized. Hell of a guy.”

Taylor was a native of Adelaide. He was a journalism graduate of the University of Oklahoma. He worked for the
Norman Transcript
before returning to Adelaide to join the
Gazette
.

Services are pending.

An adjoining photo showed Jimmy at his desk in the newsroom, looking with a mischievous grin toward the cameraman. He wore a paper pirate's hat.

Oh my, yes, he was handsome, thick tangly dark hair, high smooth forehead, bright dark brown eyes, strong nose, full lips, firm chin. Very young but a promise of resoluteness and humor and intelligence.

I clicked several times, found the funeral home page. Among the condolences:

You drove too fast, climbed cliffs without a harness, skied off trail, barely got out of Old Man Harkin's pasture when the bull charged, but you kept your promise and never told anyone about the night I cried.—Bud

A swell dancer, a sweet guy. Love you—Allie

Remember the night we put the barber pole on top of the church steeple? And left a vial of Viagra on the principal's desk? And showed up at the sorority skit in tutus?—You know who

You volunteered at the old folks' home and you listened when my mom told you they'd hurt her. You sneaked in and hid a videocam in her room. If it hadn't been for you, no one would have helped her.—Violet's daughter

No one cared about the old guy who lived under that bridge until you wrote your story. I got help. I've been clean and working at Major Market for nine months.—Chuck

Dude, you ran fastest, climbed highest, dared the most. Always in your dust—Harry

Megan's living room was shabby but spotless, a cheerful plaid sofa, two wicker chairs, and a worn Persian rug. Framed prints by Rothko, Klee, and Martin brightened pale gray walls. A calico cat curled on the sofa.

Actually the calico was elevated above the sofa.

I strolled across the room, looked down at the cat, obviously quite comfortable on a lap. I judged distances, reached out, firmly gripped Jimmy's arm.

“Hey.” His voice was halfway between a shout and a yelp. He tried to yank away.

I hung on with the determination of a sweepstakes winner clutching the winning ticket in a heavy wind.

The startled cat launched herself into the air.

Rapid footsteps sounded. Megan burst into the living room. She was slim and lovely in a white cotton top and navy Bermudas.

“Let go.” He wriggled and I held on.

“Jimmy.” She looked wildly around the room.

He broke off. “I was just petting the cat.”

The cat stared balefully toward the sofa.

“You're upsetting Sweetie. I thought you went back to the cemetery.”

I felt his shoulder sag. He leaned back against the sofa, his resistance gone. “It's nicer here.” His voice was small.

Megan flung herself into a wicker chair, pressed fingertips against her temples. “I will not imagine Jimmy's here. Sweetie had a nightmare. I didn't hear Jimmy's voice. It's all in my head.”

I increased the pressure on Jimmy's arm. “Jimmy, despite the barber pole on the steeple and your proclivity for living dangerously, you tried to help people. Please look at Megan.”

“Now she's back, too.” Megan's hands fell slackly in her lap. She slumped against the cushion, clearly miserable and more than a little bit scared.

“Hey, Megan.” He was contrite. “I don't want to upset you.”

“Of course you don't.” I made my voice admiring. “You want to help. Here's what you can do. Megan won't mind if you're with her at the office—”

Megan's eyes were wide and staring. I hoped her inner monologue wasn't tending toward hysteria.

“—in the daytime. Will that be all right, Megan?”

She managed a pathetic smile. “That would be dandy. At the office.”

“And”—I was feeling generous—“you can accompany her until seven p.m. Then, as a gentleman, you will agree to respect her privacy until the next day.”

Megan hunched her narrow shoulders. “Am I bargaining with myself? I will only be nuts in daylight hours?”

“You can see,” I was chiding, “that she desperately needs some time alone.”

“I wasn't going to bother her. I've stayed here most nights. Me and the cat on the sofa.”

“Take in a movie. See what some of your old friends are doing. Without,” I added hastily, “making yourself known.”

“Okay.” He was forlorn.

I released my hold on his arm, shook my fingers, which were a bit numb, and moved to a chair near Megan, looked toward the sofa. “You can catch up with her at the office.”

“How come you're special? Do you get to stay?”

“Only for a few minutes. I need to confer with Megan and then I, too, will leave.”

Her head swung back and forth from the sofa to the chair where I'd settled. “When you two get it all worked out, can I be the first to know?”

Suddenly a burst of male laughter gurgled. “Hey, Megan, you haven't lost your spirit.”

I laughed.

Megan pressed her eyes together for an instant, opened them to stare stonily at the—to her—empty chair. “Hilarious.”

“Begone, James.” If I sounded Shakespearean, I simply couldn't resist.

“On my way. Tomorrow I'll be at the office.”

Megan looked startled, lifted a hand to her head.

As he departed, I was sure Jimmy had gently stroked a shining swath of dark curls.

Silence.

I was sure Jimmy had left. I became visible. I opted for casual comfort, a keyhole tie sweater in a pale green, white slacks, and lime leather flats. “He's gone.”

Smoky gray eyes studied me. “How do you know?”

“Jimmy doesn't want you to be unhappy.”

A tiny smile curved her lips. “Jimmy really is—” A pause. “—was kind, a real softy beneath his brash poke-it-and-see-if-it-bites exterior. I know he wanted me to be happy. With him. He doesn't want me to be happy with Blaine.”

“That's why I'm here.” She needed reassurance. “I meant what I said. I'll leave in a moment. But first, let me congratulate you. Smith and Wynn, attorneys-at-law.”

It was like watching lowering purple clouds transform to blue skies. For an instant, I saw Megan as she should be, eyes shining, her face eager.

Her voice was soft. “It will be wonderful. I can get up in the mornings and be excited again, instead of dreading each day. Although I really should turn Blaine down.”

“You want the job. You want to be happy. Why should you turn him down?”

“Money.” She spoke as if the word were heavy as a boulder.

I was surprised and disappointed. I thought it very likely she'd earn more in an established firm, but I wouldn't have pegged her as a woman who put money above everything.

“I see.”

“Do you? You reek with disapproval. I owe forty-eight thousand four hundred and six dollars and thirty-three cents. That's my debt out of law school. That's why I was ecstatic when I got the job with Layton, Graham, Morse and Morse, the best law firm in Adelaide. Brewster Layton was a good friend of my uncle's. I interviewed with Brewster and he hired me on the spot, an associate at seventy-two thousand a year. I can't tell you how happy I was.” There was no trace of happiness in her grim expression.

“What went wrong?”

“Mr. Layton—I'm supposed to call him Brewster—I always admired him. He's tall and thin and scholarly-looking with a goatee, a widower. He's had a sad life. His wife died from cancer a couple of years ago and then his daughter was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Julie died this spring. He's been pretty withdrawn ever since I came to work. I thought he was the lead partner. That's what I always understood. But he almost never comes out of his office. When he does, he looks like the Hounds of Hell—”

She gave me a quick look.

I nodded, quite familiar in myth and poetry with the supernatural beasts with glowing red eyes and matted black fur.

“—are after him. I thought I'd be working for him. Instead I work for Doug Graham.” There was no pleasure in her voice.

“And?” I prompted.

“A big guy. Maybe six foot three. Thick blond hair, blue eyes,
good-looking. Played football. Makes a room seem small. Big laugh, big smile, but his eyes aren't smiling. He can definitely turn on the charm. He massages clients with phone calls, e-mail updates, texts over the weekend. But I do most of the work while he's out on the golf course. A bully in depositions. He's made a lot of money. He lives in one of those fancy houses with copper spires, brick, stone, stucco, and anything else the architect can think to throw in. When I took the job, I didn't know I'd end up as his minion.
Megan, I need an extra woman at dinner, show up at seven, Megan, drop off the car for an oil change, Megan, take a run up to Victoria's Secret and get a red teddy in a small.
You get the picture. And I thought I was trapped.”