Ghost Ups Her Game

by Carolyn Hart

  I hesitated, then took the plunge and described Lambert’s threat when he found Gage checking out the donors.

  Sam looked satisfied. ‘I knew there had to be something else behind her visit to his office.’

  ‘Her concern about losing a scholarship or internship isn’t the point.’ I was frustrated and sorry I’d told him. ‘What matters is that Lambert was upset to see her in the donor room.’

  ‘We don’t know his warning about her file was linked to her visit to the donor room. That’s her story. Maybe she was doing a lousy job. Maybe he came on to her and she blew him off. I agree, Lambert was a jerk. But that’s no excuse for murder.’ Sam pulled out the lower left drawer, grabbed the sack of M&Ms, plumped it on the desk. He pulled a folder near, flipped it open. ‘I have the scraps of paper here along with your proposed draft.’

  I didn’t need to reread what I’d crafted. I remembered quite well:

  The door opened and I saw Ev— (Eva, Evangeline, Eve, Evelyn, Evita) take the tray. I watched the reflection in the mirror. The glass was full. She put the tray on the table. She didn’t add anything to the glass and drank all of it. This occurred March …

  Matthew Lambert

  Sam poured himself a handful of M&Ms, pushed the sack across the desk.

  Automatically I tilted the sack, welcomed the candies in my hand.

  Sam was almost cheerful. ‘In regard to the daughter and the phone call, the whole thing’s a smokescreen to protect Mama. And maybe herself. Maybe he was after the intern for sex and you can imagine how Mama would react to that.’

  I clutched my handful of M&Ms, too shocked to eat them.

  ‘Sam,’ the M&Ms felt moist in my sweaty hand, ‘I heard Gage tell her mother about the phone call.’

  ‘Yeah. But the funny thing is,’ he tapped a folder on the desk, ‘I have a list of Lambert’s cell phone calls for the week. There wasn’t a call at nine minutes after three on Tuesday.’

  For an instant, I had that upside-down feeling you get in a hammerhead ride at the carnival, then I clapped my hands together. ‘That’s more proof he was up to no good.’

  Sam looked at me as though I had suddenly broken into song or spoken Portuguese.

  I tried not to sound chiding. ‘Lambert was using a burner phone.’ That’s how the cognoscenti describe cheap throwaway phones, picked up at what I used to call a five-and-dime and paid for in cash, no records kept.

  His big face squeezed in thought. ‘I don’t say that’s not a possibility. Maybe he was leaning on somebody and being mighty careful, just in case there was a complaint about his attitude. We’ll hunt for a prepaid phone. I’ll look at the donors even though I don’t think that’s a real possibility. No donor quarreled with him yesterday.’

  ‘Someone set fire to his office. I was there. The arsonist wasn’t Gage.’ This had to be the clincher that Gage was innocent.

  ‘I got the call as soon as the flames were spotted. Nice to know you were there.’ Sam crunched another mouthful of M&Ms. ‘So she didn’t set the fire. Maybe, just maybe, her report on the sinister phone call is accurate. Maybe somebody had a good reason to want his records to go up in smoke. But maybe the quarrel between Iris and Lambert was about something she didn’t want the world to know. Maybe Mama was telling him to stay away from her daughter. Maybe Mama was afraid he’d screw up Gage’s scholarship. There’s not a lot of money floating around the Gallagher house.’

  ‘Sam,’ I came back to what seemed to me to be a clincher. ‘He was killed with a homemade blackjack. You keep talking about Iris quarreling with him and getting mad when she sees him in the banquet hall. This wasn’t a last-minute fight with Matt Lambert. His killer came planning to break his neck.’

  ‘Yeah, the killer was prepared.’ Sam was in agreement. ‘That’s why I think there’s more to learn about Iris Gallagher and Matt Lambert and I intend to find it. Maybe it’s about her daughter. Maybe it’s something else entirely, but I’m going to find out.’

  I wished I could alibi Iris for the fire.

  It was as if he read my mind. ‘Maybe Iris Gallagher smashed the window and tossed in a fireball. Be pretty ironic if she torched the office and didn’t know her daughter was in there.’

  ‘Iris didn’t set the fire.’

  He pounced. ‘Were you with her?’

  ‘No.’ Regretfully. ‘Even I can’t be in two places at once.’

  ‘If you could be in two places at once, that would bother me even more than your appearing and disappearing. I’m almost used to you coming and going, even if I sometimes wonder whether I made you up.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t have that kind of imagination. I’m stuck with you as a ghost, nutty as that is.’ Abruptly he was serious. ‘Back to Iris, how do you know she didn’t set the fire?’

  ‘I think the murderer set the fire and I’m sure Iris didn’t kill Lambert.’

  ‘You think. That’s not proof. I want proof. The investigation has covered a lot of ground. Things are clearer. For example, the widow is alibied by four people at her table. She never left the ballroom after she arrived until an officer brought her downstairs.’ He rubbed a cheekbone with knuckles. ‘She looks terrified every time I see her. The police affect some people like that.’

  I could have told him that Joyce Lambert was terrified for her teenage son. I didn’t. I wanted to talk to Jack first.

  Sam reached for a file. ‘As for the office amour, Lambert may have convinced his wife he was being pursued, but we have some statements that suggest he was having an affair with Clarisse Bennett. I intend to nose around a bit more about her – was she stable, was she jealous, was she desperate? We’re still asking a lot of questions. So far, we haven’t found any leads. And sure, I’ll check and see if any donors left their tables last night at the critical time, even if the conversation by the arbor doesn’t impress me. I’ll tell you how I see it. He was killed at Rose Bower. The odds are a hundred to one someone attending the dinner is the killer. The odds are maybe a thousand to one something immediate triggered the homicide. Like a confrontation in his office that afternoon. That brings us to Iris Gallagher.’

  I was impatient. ‘Sam, think about the murder weapon, a sock filled with sand. I suppose that’s what you think every well-dressed woman carries in her purse when attending a banquet.’

  He wasn’t amused, said flatly, ‘If she has an appointment with a man she intends to kill, yes. Pretty clever, actually. Easy to make. I’ve figured from the start he was meeting someone. Why else would he be down there? Sure, I can see the professor with a dandy weapon. Your client, I guess that’s what you’d call her, gave me a my-good-man stare, claimed she knew nothing about what happened to Matt Lambert and declined to discuss the matter further. I could have brought her in for questioning. I decided to see what we could dig up. The digging is going well. I have witnesses that she left the ballroom shortly after Lambert, that she was seen going downstairs. The next time I talk to her she’ll get the Miranda warning. We’ll see how supercilious she is then.’ He gave me a demanding look. ‘When did you first connect with Iris Gallagher?’

  I never lie to Sam, but all he needed for his case against Iris was my report that she was not only downstairs, she was in the Malone Room standing over Lambert’s body with the weapon in her hand when I arrived. ‘A little before seven last night.’ I like to think redheads are special. There are so many who deserve acclaim: Myrna Loy, Agatha Christie, Agnes Moorehead, Greer Garson, Elizabeth I, Florence Nightingale, Lucille Ball. I once played Lucille Ball in a faculty skit. I can look as innocent as Lucy reassuring Ricky that of course she wasn’t the one who did whatever. I widened my eyes. ‘Oh my. A sudden call. Time to go.’ Colors swirled. I went.

  EIGHT

  I’d scarcely disappeared when I smelled coal smoke and heard the roar of the Rescue Express.

  ‘Roof.’ Wiggins’s tone was genial.

  I settled on a parapet overlooking Main Street. As Mama always told us kids, start off on a positive note. ‘I trust T
umbulgum was a pleasant interlude.’ I fervently hoped a follow-up might be required.

  ‘A satisfactory conclusion. A shop girl wrongly accused of pilfering. The owner and family live upstairs and the culprit turned out to be a pet monkey. Clever fellow. He stashed the trinkets in a hollow tree. No more monkey business there.’ A robust laugh. ‘But here,’ a sigh, ‘first you rush away from the Rescue Express,’ his deep voice still held shock, ‘and now you are failing to provide the proper authority with material information. A usual emissary,’ there was definite longing in his voice, ‘would not Appear and converse with the police. Since you do, you surely owe the police chief an honest recital of facts. Such as the presence of Lambert’s stepson near Rose Bower. Further, the minute he asked about Iris Gallagher, you disappeared. It seems obvious you do not want to tell him she was present at the crime scene. She likely can assist his investigation.’

  I was grave. ‘If I tell Sam, he will arrest Iris.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Wiggins is not only kind, he has an appreciation for beautiful women, especially beautiful women in distress. Moreover, Wiggins knew Iris was innocent since she was chosen to receive assistance from the Department. ‘That would be a shame.’

  I was quick to emphasize further dire consequences. ‘If Iris is arrested, the police will end the search for the murderer. All effort will be focused on building a case against Iris for the district attorney. Moreover, placing Iris at the crime scene puts Robert at risk. Involvement in a murder case as a co-conspirator could cost him his law license.’

  Wiggins murmured something about slippery slopes as he gave an exasperated whuff. ‘A difficult situation. I’m afraid the only solution is for you to find the murderer. As soon as possible.’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’ I gave my own exasperated whuff. ‘Iris isn’t making my efforts any easier. I need to know why she was in the room with the victim.’ After an angry exchange with Lambert earlier in the day, Iris surely didn’t seek him out. But she left the ballroom soon after his exit. Maybe she wasn’t following Lambert. Maybe she followed someone else. Perhaps she saw that person leave the room where he was killed and something about that departure prompted Iris to go into the room. Iris insisted she wasn’t trying to protect a murderer. She must feel confident the person she saw had nothing to do with his death. ‘The situation is complicated. I’ll keep trying.’ Possibly I sounded grim.

  ‘It’s unfortunate you find Iris difficult to deal with. No doubt she is distracted by all that has occurred.’

  As I said, Wiggins appreciates beauty. Her lack of charm apparently escaped his notice.

  ‘It is very telling that she sees you.’ There was a hint of reverence in his voice.

  ‘That’s part of the problem. I could get so much more done if she didn’t see me. Is there anything you can do about that?’

  ‘Heavens no.’ Reproof was clear. ‘She sees you because she is unusually empathetic. Life is hard for those with that quality. They often appear sardonic and flippant. That careless attitude serves as a shield against the pain that presses against them when they encounter unhappy souls.’

  Oh. And oh. As Mama always told us kids, ‘Walk a mile in her (or his) moccasins before you scold.’

  Wiggins was firm. ‘It is unacceptable for emissaries to obstruct the authorities. That course can’t be tolerated. You must both protect Iris and do your duty as a good citizen. Today.’ His voice was fading. ‘The Department rarely changes emissaries mid-mission but that …’ His voice faded away.

  I was on notice. Work a miracle or climb aboard the caboose for an ignominious return. Today.

  I felt the wind was at my back, always a good thing in Oklahoma, when I found Sam’s office dim. True to his usual disdain for the city rule that employees change their computer passwords weekly and commit them only to memory, I found his list of passwords in his center desk drawer. Apparently he was feeling alliterative when he drew up this month’s list: wallaby, wombat, warbler, and woofer. The first was drawn through. I typed in wombat.

  It took only a moment to find the file I was seeking. Joyce Lambert’s son Jack Wells was nineteen and this fall would be a sophomore at Goddard majoring in art. When questioned, Jack said he was ‘just fooling around’ from six thirty to eight p.m. Thursday, last saw his stepfather when he and Jack’s mom were leaving the house for the banquet, had no idea why anyone would kill him. Judy Weitz’s appraisal: Seems like a nice enough kid. B average in high school and at Goddard. Summer job at the city pool in the concession stand.

  A machine whirred and ice spun into a cone. A squirt and the ice mound turned orange. Jack’s hair was pulled back behind a red bandana. He looked skinnier than ever in a saggy blue polo, denim shorts, and flip-flops. Another teenager was stacking cellophane-wrapped sandwiches in a cooler.

  The pool was thronged with big kids, little kids, and moms. I found a spot between a weeping willow and the trash bin and Appeared as Officer Loy. By the time I reached the concession stand, my hair lay limp and damp against my neck. It might not have been the right protocol for an investigating officer, but I pointed at the snow-cone machine when I reached the counter. ‘Strawberry, please.’

  Jack saw my uniform, of course. He nodded, flicked the switch. When he handed me a snow cone, I took a huge bite. I wriggled my nose at the shock of cold, murmured, ‘Officer Loy.’ I retrieved a dollar from a pocket – Heaven provides – and put it on the counter. ‘I have a few questions about your stepfather.’ Perhaps it was the nose wriggle or a smear of strawberry on my chin or a question that didn’t sound threatening, but Jack said, ‘Sure.’ He turned, ‘Mickey, take over for me for a few.’ Jack lifted a portion of the counter, joined me. We moved into the shade of an elm.

  He squinted at me. ‘Have you found out who killed Matt?’

  ‘Not yet. We—’

  He leaned forward. His eyes blinked rapidly. ‘Listen, my mom is knocked for a loop. She thought he was wonderful. She didn’t—’

  I was quick to reassure him. ‘Your mother never left the ballroom after she arrived. Lots of witnesses. She is not a suspect.’

  Tension drained from his face. ‘Mom’s OK.’ He tried to keep his lips steady.

  I couldn’t claim Iris-level empathy, but Jack’s evident relief meant there might have been quarrels at the Lambert house, that all might not have been sunny between Joyce and Matt. His relief also suggested to me he hadn’t been quite certain his mom was innocent, which meant he was innocent as well. I chose my words carefully. ‘At present we are pursuing leads that suggest Mr Lambert threatened someone or was involved in a dispute. We are attempting to put together a complete profile of the victim. We know he was outgoing, enjoyed parties and pageantry, admired successful people. We need to know more about the private man. As someone who observed him close hand, can you suggest any character traits that might have led to a quarrel between Mr Lambert and those around him.’

  Jack’s mouth curled in disdain. ‘Oh yeah. That I can do. He was mean. He liked insulting people. People like me or a waitress at a restaurant or somebody behind a counter. You know, people who don’t count. People who aren’t rich. Like Thursday night. Just before they left for the banquet. He came in my room. Didn’t knock. Just came in. I was working on a charcoal sketch. He said, “Looks like chicken scratches in the dirt.” Then he gave that big laugh. See, he always laughed when he gigged somebody so then you look like you’re surly if you got mad. Everything was funny, but it wasn’t really. He gave that laugh and said, “When I was your age, I was in the line at Goddard. Oh well, there are chicken scratchers and football players, right, Jack?”’

  ‘Is that why you drove to Rose Bower last night?’

  He tugged on the ring in his left ear. ‘Did Mom tell you I was over there? Anyway, I got close – there’s a girl I know who waits tables at banquets – but when I was almost there I changed my mind. It would be just my luck to run into him. So I turned off, drove through the park to the other side of campus. You know the Strip?�
��

  I nodded. A street adjacent to the campus has two cafés, a tearoom, three bars, and an ice-cream shop.

  ‘I hadn’t had dinner. I had a banana split, three scoops, one dip each vanilla, butter brickle, and pistachio, caramel on the vanilla, chocolate fudge on the rest.’

  Iris checked the rearview mirror. Clearly she saw me in the back seat of her Malibu sedan. She looked conflicted, as in yes, she could never repay Gage’s rescue and no, she didn’t want an unseen buddy.

  Since Gage was in the front passenger seat, it wouldn’t do to speak aloud. I pointed at myself, then at Iris, drew an imaginary heart in the air.

  The car slowed as she darted a puzzled glance at the mirror.

  I pointed at her, then at myself, tapped my fingers against my thumb, mouthed, ‘Let’s talk.’

  Iris gave an infinitesimal nod. Her face was a study in uncertainty, determination, resignation.

  ‘Mom, are we going to roll there?’ Gage shifted impatiently in the seat.

  ‘Sorry.’ The car picked up speed. Iris made a left turn, pulled into a drive fronting several dormitories. ‘Will you and Robert be over for dinner?’

  Gage brushed back a tangle of dark hair. ‘Mom, don’t talk about dinner. That big man thinks you killed Matt.’

  Iris said quietly, ‘He’s wrong. Not to worry, honey. Everything’s under control.’

  Gage took a quick breath. ‘Mom, who’s Nicole?’ Her eyes were wide with concern.

  Iris didn’t change expression, but her hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘I’ll fix lasagna. Would Robert like a green salad or Caesar?’

  Gage’s eyes shone with sudden tears. ‘Mom, it’s not a game. The police are asking people and they know everything that happened yesterday afternoon and you can’t pretend like everything’s all right.’

  Iris reached out, gently touched her daughter’s cheek. ‘Everything will be all right. I promise. I know what to do. I didn’t kill Matt. Now you get back to your life.’

  ‘The police are after you. And I want to help but there isn’t anything I can do.’ The tears in her eyes brimmed, trickled down her cheeks.