Merry, Merry Ghost (34 page)

Peg Flynn held the lapels of her unzipped blue jacket against the chill of the night. The breeze stirred her light brown hair. She looked desperately unhappy.

I flowed onto the porch, poised to grab Peg’s arm if she held a gun. Unlike Chief Cobb, I’d been so sure of Peg’s innocence. She had offered her share of the estate to Keith. Yet it was she who had recalled the discussions at the dinner table when they were young and Susan’s husband Tom spoke of wills and estates.

Did she know full well when she offered to stand aside in favor of Keith that Wade Farrell would explain, as he had, that her stepping aside would simply afford a greater share to the current heirs? Then she’d tried to give her share to Keith and the lawyer explained about gift taxes and the wisdom of Peg retaining the inheritance and spending it for Keith if she wished. Had all of her apparent generosity been an elaborate charade, designed to portray her as lacking any motive? And tonight, in the parking lot outside Wade Farrell’s office, she’d called to tell Dave Lewis about Leon as a witness to the new will.

In the glow of the porch light, her round face was drawn and tired, her eyes strained, but both hands were empty.

The door opened. Leon looked out, his expression grave. And sad.

She spoke fast. “I can only stay for a few minutes. I had to come. Leon, I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do. And you always helped us.” Her voice was shaky.

Leon stepped back, held the door for her. He gestured toward the small sofa, waited until she took her place before he settled into his easy chair. If ever a man looked as if his heart had turned to stone, it was Leon.

Archie whistled and sang the first line of “A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody.” The words were grotesque in his scratchy voice.

Peg pulled off her coat. She looked nervously toward the door.

I was inches away, alert for a gun.

She folded the coat, placed it beside her. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m almost sure I know who killed Susan and Kim, but I don’t think it would do any good for me to go to the police. I don’t have any proof, at least not the kind the police need. And I’m scared for Keith. I brought him with me. He’s asleep in his car seat so I’ve got to hurry.”

My heart twisted as I pictured Keith in his pajamas and his new snow coat slumped in sleep on this dangerous night.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” Archie shrieked.

Peg leaned forward. “I’m sure I’m right because Gina is dreadfully frightened. And there’s something that happened a long time ago. I kept quiet about it. I should have told Susan and Tom, but I promised Mitch I wouldn’t.” She pressed knuckles against her cheek. “I shouldn’t have made that promise. Mitch could have been killed so easily. I still can’t think why he wasn’t crushed, the gun going off and Black Abbott rearing up above Mitch, eight hundred pounds of horse. Somehow Mitch flung himself backward and rolled away. I was up in the sycamore at the house. I could see the pasture and Mitch with his horse. Everyone knew Black Abbott could be spooked by a rabbit and the gunshot was close, so close, and Black Abbott went up—”

“We were all pretty good at climbing trees.” The lazy drawl came from behind Leon. Tucker Satterlee stood just below the landing on the stairs to the second floor. He was lean and muscular and tense in a black sweater and Levi’s and running shoes. He held a twenty-two pistol, aimed directly at Peg. He glanced briefly toward Leon. “That’s a nice big oak tree on the west side of the house, Leon. When I saw Peg’s car outside, I climbed up and pushed up a window and landed in your study. And here you are with pretty little Peggy, who’s hoping you can help get me hanged.” Tucker spoke without expression, his eyes empty. “Or do they punch you with a bunch of drugs these days? I don’t know. That’s not what I needed to know to run the ranch.” His face twisted in despair. “That’s all I ever wanted. I’ve done a good job. Everything’s up to date.

The herd’s healthier than it’s ever been. I’ve made Burnt Creek better and better.”

Peg clutched at her throat. She was suddenly ashen. “Tucker, how you could hurt Susan? How could you?”

I hovered near the banister. If he lifted the gun suddenly, I had to move at exactly the right moment. Should I shove his hand toward the wall? From his vantage point on the stairs, Tucker looked down on Leon and Peg.

Was Hal Price getting ready to make a move? For now, the police likely were waiting to see what Tucker might do, whether he would come down the stairs, be easier to reach.

Tucker hunched his shoulders. “Susan was dying. What difference did a few days or weeks make? If she’d lived another day, she was going to give the ranch to Mitch’s kid. When Mitch ran away, I was the one who worked the ranch, kept everything going. Then he was killed in Iraq and I was sure Burnt Creek would be mine. Who would have thought he had a kid and the kid would come here.” His eyes ached with pain. “Susan drank her cocoa and she didn’t hurt anymore. And the kid didn’t care. What was Burnt Creek to him? You would have taken good care of him.” His face twisted in despair. “You shouldn’t have brought Keith with you tonight, Peg. You really shouldn’t. He’s a nice little guy. He reminds me of Ellen. Not Mitch, but Ellen.

Mitch killed Ellen.”

“You went after Kim to make Mitch mad.” Peg’s voice shook. “That’s why Ellen died. Because of you.”

“Ellen died because of Mitch’s temper.” Tucker’s reply was hot and angry. “I just wanted to gig him a little with Kim. How could I know he’d storm out of the party and drive like a fool? If he’d had any sense, he wouldn’t have gone so fast. Ellen died because of him. Not me. I never would have done anything to hurt Ellen.” Sorrow weighted his words.

“But Ellen died. And Susan. And Kim. You shot out Kim’s tire.” Peg’s voice quivered. “Tucker, you made love to Kim.”

Tucker’s eyes glittered with anger. “Kim said she’d give me the new will if I’d marry her. She wanted me and Burnt Creek and money to go to France and the Riviera. She’d already started planning a wedding trip.

She deserved what she got.” His face was ugly with hatred. “She didn’t tell me there was a witness to the new will.”

Tucker turned the gun toward Leon. “That turns out to be your bad luck, Leon. I’ve gone through too much to lose everything now.” His gaze flicked toward Peg. “I wish you hadn’t come tonight. But”—and his voice was that of a man persuading himself—“you came here to try to get me in trouble. I wish you hadn’t brought the kid.”

Peg lifted her hands. “Please, Tucker. He’s only a little boy. Don’t hurt him.”

Tucker’s shoulders hunched. “I can’t turn back now. It’s your fault.” His voice was accusatory. “You brought him here.”

Leon’s powerful hands rested on the chair arms. With patience and care, he edged forward in his chair.

The barrel of the gun lifted. “Don’t move again, Leon. I can shoot fast. Remember? I can shoot you and Peg in an instant.”

Leon turned his work-worn hands over, as if in acceptance. “Tucker, you need to put that gun down. The house is surrounded by police. They’ll hear shots. They’ll protect Keith. You may kill me and Peg, but you won’t get away tonight. You’re all finished.” Leon dropped his hands. His left hand was about three inches from the magazine draped over his gun.

Tucker started down the stairs, his steps heavy.

I sensed Leon’s intention when his eyes flickered toward the magazine. Any instant now, he would move, grab his gun. I’d persuaded Leon to put his life on the line. It was up to me to make sure he didn’t lose it.

I launched myself, grabbing Tucker’s right arm and pushing the gun toward the wall. I screamed, “Help, help…”

The bedroom door slammed open. Detective Sergeant Price, gun level, plunged across the floor, shouting,

“Police. Hands up. Drop your weapon. Police!”

I held on with all my strength, but Tucker twisted, jerked free.

I felt myself falling away. I managed a flip that would have been a ten in any diving competition and kicked his arm as he swung the gun forward. A shot rang out, thudding into the wall, splintering the plaster.

Johnny Cain, like a running back swerving around a tackle, thudded past Price. Johnny’s face was convulsed with fury. He ran with his hands out, feet pounding as he hurtled up the steps. Before Tucker could aim again, Johnny slammed him down onto the treads, one hand gripping Tucker’s right wrist, the other tight on Tucker’s throat.

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…