Merry, Merry Ghost (17 page)

I dropped into the cruiser.

Sweat beaded Johnny’s handsome face. “Two-adam-five.”

“Two-adam-five go ahead.”

“No trace Ford driver, redheaded woman in her late twenties in a light brown mink coat. Apparently accompanied by unknown male. Loud voices heard, cannot locate. Woman shouted, ‘Murder.’ Missing redheaded driver originally seen in same car with Susan Flynn. Mrs. Flynn wasn’t in the car. Possibly a search should be made. Send backup.”

I zoomed up until I spotted the white envelope. “Wiggins, I’d hoped to return Jake’s car to Pritchard House, but there’s no chance.” We both knew (at least I knew) whose fault this was, but laying blame never warms relationships. “Officer Cain’s calling for help. The police will contact Susan’s house.” I reached out, grabbed the envelope. “I’ll take the will to the post office.” I’d promised Susan.

He held on to the will for a moment, then relinquished the envelope. “I suppose,” it was as if he spoke to himself, “that you might as well see the will on its way since the document now exists, even though I’m sure Susan’s delayed arrival in Heaven caused consternation. Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Deposit the envelope. I’ll alert the Rescue Express to pick you up at the post office.”

My return ticket was all but in my hand. I’d seen Keith safely through and helped Susan provide for his future and his rightful place as his father’s son, but I was miserable.

Susan had been murdered. I’d not understood that she was in my care, but nonetheless I felt responsible now.

Abruptly, I quivered with anger. I’d wondered why Susan had to die tonight when happy days with Keith lay ahead of her. “Murder! That makes me furious. Worst of all, no one will suspect a thing. She looks so peaceful lying there. They’ll think she overdid today and simply died. That isn’t right.” I glared down at the police car. “I’d almost go down there and tell that young officer. But he’d try to take me into custody and when I disappeared that would put them off on the wrong—”

I felt a rush of excitement. “Wrong track!” I gave a whoop and I didn’t care how Officer Cain reacted.

“Wiggins, there’s no time to lose. The police will be on their way to Pritchard House. I may only have minutes. I’ll dash by the post office.” Zooming through the night air above the lights of Adelaide was an experience to be savored, especially with all of the glorious Christmas decorations. “As soon as I drop the envelope in a letter box, I’ll pop immediately to Susan’s bedroom. I know how to make sure the police investigate her death.” I took a deep hopeful breath. “Please signal the Rescue Express that my assignment has been extended. We can’t let Susan’s murderer get away with a perfect crime.”

I waited. Time on earth can seem eons long. My chest ached as I held my breath. Would Wiggins approve?

Wiggins followed the rules. I often didn’t and I had no doubt my plan would shock his conservative soul.

“Do you believe you can make a difference?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you can make a difference. You always do.”

I chose not to focus on the faintly bitter tone of his voice.

“Do whatever you need to do.” He was gruff and determined. “Susan should have had those happy days with Keith. I’ll send the signal now. Assignment extended.”

CHAPTER NINE

T
he Meissen clock on the mantel chimed a quarter after one. A little more than an hour had elapsed since Susan and I had departed, Susan laughing with pleasure as she floated through space to the hall below.

I hovered above the bed. She still rested on her side. In profile, her face looked peaceful. Yes, now she was at peace. I gently edged the pillow from beneath her head, carried it to the dresser. I opened the drawer, found a makeup kit, smudged lipstick on the pillowcase.

The phone shrilled. It rang a second time, a third, stopped in mid-peal.

I felt like a horse flicked by a crop. I moved fast, throwing back the bedcovers and tumbling Susan’s body onto the floor. Quickly, I placed her on her back. I bent her arms at the elbow, placed her hands palm up, and covered her face and hands with the pillow.

I’d no more than finished when a rattling knock sounded on the bedroom door. The door swung wide.

“Susan, the police just called.” Jake’s voice was breathless. “They said you—Susan? Susan?” The light flicked on.

Jake Flynn stepped inside, struggling to pull on a pink chenille robe. Curlers held wisps of hair, exposing pink patches of scalp. She stared and her puffy, sleep-raddled face froze in horror. Unsteadily, as if the floor rocked beneath her feet, one hand pressed against her lips, Jake crossed the room, dropped to her knees beside Susan. Jake pulled Susan’s right arm from beneath the pillow and pressed her fingertips against the wrist.

Downstairs, the doorbell pealed. Authoritative raps sounded.

Jake came to her feet, breathing in short, quick gasps. She looked toward the hall, then once again turned to that still figure. Face quivering in distaste, she bent over, reaching toward the pillow.

“Mother!” Peg’s cry was stricken.

Jake whirled to face the door, clutched her chest.

“What’s happened?” Peg hurried to Susan’s body, stared down. “Why is that pillow over Susan’s face?”

“I don’t know.” Jake’s voice shook. “I just found her. I didn’t find any pulse. And you can tell she isn’t breathing. The police called and asked to speak to Susan. I told them she was sick and they said they had to talk to her and I came and found her.”

The doorbell rang without pause.

“She’s dead.” Peg’s voice was dull, leaden. Her hand hovered above the pillow. She shuddered and drew back. “We mustn’t touch anything.”

The doorbell continued to peal.

“Wait just a minute. I’m coming.” Gina’s call on the stairwell was loud and irritated. “Jake? Peg? Where is everybody?”

Jake trembled. “That must be the police downstairs. They called about my car. Someone’s stolen it. The police found it. They asked to speak to Susan. I don’t know why they wanted to talk to her. I don’t understand. Nothing makes sense.” She stepped reluctantly toward Susan’s body. “Quick. We have to get Susan back on the bed.”

A deep voice sounded below. Gina’s reply was indistinguishable. There was the muffled sound of steps and the door closing and more voices.

Peg caught her mother’s arm. “What do you mean?”

Jake tried to pull away. “Hurry. She mustn’t be found like this. It doesn’t look right.”

Steps sounded in the hall. “Is Susan sick?” Gina called out. “Where is everyone?”

Peg held tight to Jake. “Look right?” Her young voice rose with a tinge of hysteria. “No. It doesn’t look right.

That pillow—oh God, someone’s killed Susan.”

“Susan’s dead?” Gina’s voice was sharp and high. She stood in the doorway. When she saw Susan’s body and the pillow, Gina reached out, gripped the lintel, held tight.

Jake’s gaze was desperate. “There’s some explanation. Susan felt sick. She got up. She fell and maybe she was carrying the pillow. You girls have to help me. We can put her on the bed.” Jake’s tone was feverish.

“We have to hurry. Susan would hate for anyone to see her like this.”

“Mrs. Flynn?” The deep voice was loud, demanding. “Police.”

Gina made a helpless gesture with her hands. “The doorbell rang and rang. I went down. The police are here to talk to Susan.”

The three women stood frozen for an instant, each staring at the still figure. Jake’s eyes were wide and staring, her breathing irregular. Gina’s thin face was slack with shock and disbelief. Peg shuddered. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Hello?” The stern voice called again from downstairs.

Peg, her face ashen, dropped her mother’s arm. She walked stiffly past Gina into the hallway. “Police? Come help us.” Her call was stricken. “Someone has killed Susan.”

I sat on the
chaise longue near Keith’s bed. I heard noise, deep voices, the thud of feet on the stairway even though the door to Keith’s room was firmly shut. I’d gained some knowledge of police procedures on my previous mission. The medical examiner would be summoned. Susan wouldn’t be touched until the examiner affirmed death. Because of the circumstances in which she was found, an autopsy would be ordered. I felt no need to be present for the early moments of the investigation. I wouldn’t miss anything of importance.

Especially since I’d created the crime scene. Peg had taken time to check on Keith before the women were asked to go downstairs, but I was afraid the movement up and down the stairs and the brusque exchanges of conversation would awaken him. I didn’t want Keith to stumble out into the hallway. Not this night.

Keith stirred. His eyes fluttered open.

I reached over and turned on the lamp, tilted the shade to keep the glare away from his eyes. He blinked sleepily, then stiffened as a loud thump sounded in the hallway. He clutched Big Bob’s brown paw and looked about fearfully.

I brushed back a tangle of blond curls, bent near. “Go back to sleep, Keith. Think about bump-a-thumps, bump-a-thumps, the Christmas march of the elephants. When it’s Christmastime, elephants gather to serenade good boys and girls. They wave their trunks and stamp their feet and each and every elephant has a Christmas muffler, red and white and green just like Big Bob’s.” The oversize bear almost crowded Keith from the bed. I smoothed the end of Big Bob’s muffler.

A bang and a thump sounded in the hall. Men’s voices were loud in the hallway.

“The elephants are very big”—I dropped my voice—“and they have deep, rumbly voices. When you hear them coming, you know that Christmas morning will be special.” I softly sang the refrain, “Bump-a-thumps, bump-a-thumps…”

Keith relaxed against the pillow, the occasional thud and banging in the hallway accounted for. I sang until he slipped into sleep, his lips curved in a smile, one small hand wrapped in the end of Big Bob’s muffler. In his dreams, I hoped he watched beautiful, big-hoofed, dusky gray pachyderms marching upstairs and down, striped scarves swinging, singing for a good little boy.

At the foot of
the stairs, Jake drew her chenille robe tighter and glared at Johnny Cain and a tall angular policewoman standing in the foyer. “What are you doing down here? The rest of them are upstairs.”

The policewoman looked at her politely. “I’m here to answer the door, ma’am.”

“Are there more coming?” Jake sounded close to hysteria.

“Officers and technicians will be in and out.” Her voice had the familiar Adelaide twang, her serious gaze was watchful.

Johnny stepped forward. His handsome face was grave. “Mrs. Flynn, detectives are on the way.” He looked past Jake, saw Peg. His blue eyes were suddenly warm and kind. “Hi, Peg.”

Peg looked young and vulnerable, shivering in her yellow flannel pajamas. Her brown hair was ruffled, her round face bare of makeup. “Oh, Johnny, I’m glad you’re here. You can tell us what we are supposed to do.”

Johnny gestured toward the dark living room. “Maybe you might like to wait in there. Everyone at a crime scene is asked to remain together until the detective in charge can speak with them.”

Jake reached up as if to brush back her hair. A red stain flushed her cheeks. Fingers moving rapidly, she removed the curlers, stuffed them in a pocket of her robe, fluffed her hair until it looked like faded sprigs of yellow yarn. She opened the door to the living room, switched on the light. “I’ll turn up the heat. We can stay in here if that’s what we have to do. I don’t see why we have stay in one room, but I don’t want to be alone.”

Johnny looked out of place in his French blue uniform as he stood beneath the cranberry and pine cone decorated doorway. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

Peg rubbed reddened eyes. “Mrs. Flynn’s grandson, Keith. He’s just a little boy.” Her voice wobbled. “He’s asleep.”

Johnny looked uncertain. “Everybody’s supposed to be together.”

Gina stood with her hands on her hips. “Johnny, you don’t want to wake up a four-year-old and tell him his grandmother’s been killed so he has to come downstairs.”

Johnny turned his hands up in defeat. “I guess not.”

Jake bristled with anger. “Somebody needs to tell us what’s going on. The phone rang and I was told my car had been stolen and then the police banged on the door and wanted to talk to Susan and we found her on the floor. I want to know if somebody called the police. Did somebody know what happened to her? We ought to be told. We were all asleep and Susan was fine when we went to bed. And I don’t understand about my car.

Where is it? Who took it? Wait a minute.” She turned and hurried out to the hall, returned with her purse. She opened it, rummaged, finally upended the bag and let the contents slide onto the top of the piano. “My keys are gone.” Her voice shook. “How did someone get into the house and take my keys?”

Johnny was clearly uncomfortable. “Mrs. Flynn, an investigation is under way. Your car was found”—he hesitated—“abandoned at the foot of Persimmon Hill about a quarter to one.”

“Someone stole my car. And someone killed Susan. It has to be the same person.” Jake’s eyes were huge.

“Who was driving my car?”

Johnny cleared his throat. “When the investigating officer speaks to you, perhaps he can answer your questions.”

Jake lowered herself like an old woman into an easy chair. Peg and Gina settled on the sofa. Johnny stood stiffly in front of the fireplace.

Jake fingered a lace ruffle at her throat. “Johnny, you can sit down.”

He looked stiffer than ever. “Thank you, Mrs. Flynn. I’ll stand.”

The front doorbell pealed, and the policewoman opened the door.

Everyone stared through the open door at the foyer.

A tousle-haired young man, bristly cheeks red from the cold, strode inside, shrugging out of a ski jacket.

“Can’t you people find bodies in the daytime? The last three have been post midnight. How’s a man to get his beauty sleep?”

“Comes with the territory, Doc. They’re upstairs.” She jerked a thumb toward the steps.

Jake frowned. “Who is that?”

Johnny’s face looked older than his years. “The medical examiner.”

Peg’s gaze lifted to a painting of Susan over the mantel, young and lovely, hopeful and eager. “Are they going to…” She broke off, pressed fingers against trembling lips.