Ghost in Trouble (2010)

by Carolyn Hart

  I stood in total darkness. However, I have great faith in my comings and goings. I never doubted I was in the study of The Castle. It was no great gamble to will myself there. What mansion didn’t have a study? What study didn’t have a telephone?

  I lifted my hand in search of the wall switch and flicked it up. I went straight to the desk, picked up the handset, punched 911. I glanced at the ship’s bell clock on the mahogany desk. Twenty minutes before one A.M.

  “Adelaide Emergency Services.”

  “There’s been an attempted murder near the pond on the south side of The Castle.” I didn’t bother with an address. Everyone in Adelaide knew The Castle. “Intended victim Kay Clark survived. No trace has been found of the attacker.”

  I daintily replaced the handset.

  As I expected, the telephone immediately rang. I didn’t answer, of course. Someone would hear the peals and respond. I smiled in anticipation and spoke aloud: “Laissez les bon temps rouler.” I hoped Wiggins was impressed by my French.

  I popped back to the garden.

  Kay darted back and forth near the pond, calling out. “Where are you? Where did you go?”

  Laverne hesitated, then spoke sharply. “Kay, I’m here. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

  Kay glared at her. “I know you’re here.”

  I swooped next to Kay, tapped her on the shoulder.

  She stopped and stiffened.

  I murmured, “The police will be here—”

  A siren wailed.

  Kay looked haunted.

  “Oh, good, here they are. I think I’ll watch from the parapet. See you later.” I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “You might—or might not—see me.”

  I landed on the third-floor balcony and sat on the ledge overlooking the drive. The fire truck was the first to arrive, lights flashing. A patrol car and ambulance slammed to a stop within another two minutes. Lights flared in rooms on the first and second floors of The Castle.

  The firemen waited next to their truck. The paramedics jumped lightly from their van. A chunky, middle-aged policeman, flashlight in one hand, thudded up the broad front steps to the massive entrance. A lithe policewoman, hand near her holster, followed. Her eyes swept the porch and then she turned to gaze at the drive. Her partner held a finger to the doorbell. “Police. Police.” His shout was loud and imperative.

  The front porch lights came on as Kay and Laverne hurried around the side of the house. Kay was in the lead. Her expression was a mixture of shock and wariness.

  The front door opened. A small woman with faded blond hair clutched at the lapels of her seersucker robe as she stepped onto the porch. Her voice lifted in fear. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  An older woman stepped carefully to the doorway, hand on the lintel. She stood with her face slightly turned as if trying to hear. She had strong features, a broad forehead, jutting nose, and firm chin. The porch light glittered on exceedingly thick-lensed eyeglasses. She had an aura of authority. “Diane, what has happened?” Her dressing gown was a deep mauve.

  A plump woman hurried up the steps from the driveway. She had obviously dressed hastily in a wrinkled blue cotton top and jeans. Her auburn hair needed a trim. She might once have been pretty, but her rounded face now sagged, marred by deep-set lines and a defeated look. She stepped onto the porch. She was followed by a young woman in a light cotton robe. Tawny hair hung loose on her shoulders.

  A stocky man in his late forties with silver hair and a Vandyke beard edged onto the porch past the older woman. He wore a short-sleeved seersucker shirt and tan trousers. He looked immediately toward Laverne. I pegged him as the Ronald of whom Kay had inquired. His gaze at Laverne was curiously intent.

  Last to arrive was a young man with thick brown hair and a broad, tanned face. He blinked sleepily. He was shirtless and barefoot in worn jeans.

  The young woman and young man immediately glanced at each other, then quickly averted their gazes.

  A muscular EMT with matching dragon tattoos on his forearms climbed the steps. “Anyone injured?”

  At the bottom of the front steps, Kay held up her hand. “Wait a minute, everyone.” She looked toward the EMTs. “No one’s hurt. We don’t need you.” She looked at the helmeted and coated firefighters. “Or the fire truck.”

  His face grim, the officer at the door looked down at her. “What’s going on? We got a 911 call about attempted murder.”

  “Murder?” The faded blonde swung around to glance at each in turn, then faced the policemen. “Everyone’s here.”

  Laverne pushed past Kay. “Go look on the terrace. A vase fell from the balcony and almost hit Kay. But who called the police?”

  Exclamations sounded: “That must be what I heard.” “For God’s sake, Kay, what were you doing on the terrace?” “How could a vase fall?” “I heard a crash.” “Did someone push it?” “That’s ridiculous. Nobody could knock one of those vases over.”

  Another siren sounded. An unmarked sedan pulled up behind the patrol car. Police Chief Sam Cobb swung out and walked swiftly toward the house. He hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen him: heavyset, fiftyish, with grizzled hair and a blunt face, domed forehead, bold nose, square chin.

  Cobb moved fast for a big man. He thudded rapidly up the steps. “Burton?”

  The patrolman stood straight. “Nobody’s hurt, Chief. We received a call claiming there was attempted murder.” He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “The intended victim was named Kay Clark.”

  “I’m Kay Clark.” Kay hurried up the steps. “I can’t imagine who made that call.” Her smile was full of charm. “There’s obviously been some confusion. All of us”—she gestured at the group on the porch—“are fine. I suppose it was a prank call. Possibly the vase was toppled by a vandal. In any event, there is no need for any of you”—she waved her hand at the assorted vehicles—“to be concerned.”

  Chief Cobb was firm. “A 911 call came from this number and it requires investigation. I’m sure all of you”—he looked from the middle-aged blonde to the older woman with the thick glasses and air of authority—“will be cooperative.”

  The older woman, who obviously didn’t see well, turned toward the sound of his voice. “We are happy to cooperate. I am Evelyn Hume. How can we assist you?”

  “With your permission, we want to check the site from which the vase fell. If someone could show us?”

  Evelyn was crisp. “Kay, since the call to the police apparently concerned you”—there was distinct reproof in her deep voice—“perhaps you will be kind enough to escort the gentlemen to the balcony. Diane will switch on the outside lights.” Evelyn Hume turned back to Chief Cobb. “Since the hour is late and the crash of the vase caused no harm, I’m sure that the rest of us will not be needed.”

  Chief Cobb frowned. Obviously, he would have preferred to speak with the occupants of the house tonight. However, he had no clear evidence of crime, and he was dealing with one of Adelaide’s most prominent families.

  After an instant of silence, he said gruffly, “A search of the grounds will continue. If the results of the investigation indicate that the fall of the vase was not accidental, I will pursue the investigation tomorrow.”

  Lights now fully illuminated the balcony. Chief Cobb studied the empty pedestal. He spoke rapidly to a slender young officer who made quick notes. “Possible chisel marks apparent on the pedestal. No cement particles on balcony. Vase may have been loosened earlier, resulting debris removed. Hammer and chisel likely needed. A crowbar may have been used to tip the loosened vase.” His gaze swept the balcony. “No tools on balcony. Fingerprint and film the site.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young officer hurried toward the stairs.

  Chief Cobb looked at Kay. “Did you call 911?”

  “I did not. I have no explanation for that call. I assume the call was made in error.” Her expression was bemused, a woman obviously puzzled.

  I was indignant. She appeared determined to block any investigat
ion into the attack on her.

  Cobb drew a small notebook and a pen from a back pocket. “The call came from the house. Who’s staying here tonight?”

  Kay folded her arms. “Since the call was in error, I fail to see the point of your question.”

  “It’s a misdemeanor to place a false 911 call. Until the origin of the call is explained, the investigation will continue.” His gaze was unrelenting.

  Kay shrugged and spoke rapidly, as if in a hurry to answer and be done with his questions. “Evelyn Hume. Diane Hume, James’s widow. Diane and James’s son, Jimmy. Laverne and Ronald Phillips, friends of Diane. Margo Taylor, the housekeeper, and her daughter, Shannon Taylor, occupy a small cottage on the grounds.”

  “Why were you in the garden?”

  “I read late. I wasn’t sleepy.” She sounded relaxed and untroubled. “I decided to take a stroll.”

  Cobb looked both suspicious and puzzled. “Were you alone?”

  “Yes. I walked down to the second terrace. It was lovely in the moonlight. I paused by the cul-de-sac that faces the pond. I heard a noise. I was turning to see and the vase landed behind me. My lucky night.”

  Cobb glanced at her torn slacks. “How did you rip your slacks?”

  Her eyes flared a little. If she’d faced the balcony and fallen forward, she would have been hit by the vase. “Everything happened so fast.” She made a deprecating gesture. “I suppose—yes, I think I was turning to look up and I realized something was falling and I whirled and stumbled toward the pond.”

  “Did you see anyone on the balcony?”

  “It was dark.”

  “When you came to the front porch, you were with a tall, thin woman in black.”

  “Laverne Phillips. She heard the crash and came to see.” The tension had eased from Kay’s body. She knew the interview was almost over. Laverne Phillips had seen me with Kay, but I supposed that Kay doubted the police would speak to Laverne. Or, if they did, Kay would deny Laverne’s claim of a redheaded woman. After all, the police would find it hard to prove I had been there. Kay obviously was willing to gamble.

  Cobb flipped shut his notebook. His face creased in thought as he looked toward the steps leading down to the garden. “The balcony seems to be a site for accidents.” His gaze swung to Kay. “Were you here the night of June sixth?”

  Kay’s face was somber. “No. I was at home.”

  “Where is home, Mrs. Clark?”

  “Dallas.”

  “What brought you to The Castle?”

  He could not have been as eager as I to hear her answer. If only I’d been more attentive when Wiggins had briefed me.

  Her lips moved in a faint smile. “Business.”

  He waited.

  She met his gaze in silence.

  How maddening.

  “Very well.” His words were clipped. “Get in touch if you remember anything helpful.” He turned to walk away.

  I seethed. Kay was not only foolish, but an ungrateful wretch. Refusing to tell the police that someone had toppled the vase placed her, in my view, in further danger. I’d saved her once. Who knew if I could manage to save her again?

  If I’d been visibly present, I knew my eyes would be glinting and my lips pressed tight. But I wasn’t visibly present. So…I took two quick steps and plunged my hand into the capacious pocket where she’d dropped the note found on her pillow.

  Kay made a gurgling sound in her throat. She seized my wrist.

  Chief Cobb turned to look. His eyes widened.

  As we struggled, she listed to her right. To an observer, Kay’s posture was odd.

  “Let go,” she hissed.

  “Mrs. Clark?” The chief took a step toward her.

  She yanked herself upright, but maintained her tight grip on my wrist. “Sorry.” She was breathing fast. She made an effort to move forward, but I braced my feet against the balcony floor. She continued to appear strained. “I’m a bit unsteady. Shock.”

  Chief Cobb took a step forward. “Can I help you?”

  “No.” The word was forced between breaths. Kay twisted free and used both hands to shove me.

  I lost my balance, but I had the note.

  She flung herself in pursuit of the folded sheet and grabbed the note. As she whirled toward the railing, she tore the paper into tiny pieces and threw the particles out into the night. Her chest heaving, she faced the chief. “Sometimes I have trouble breathing. Asthma, you know. That accounts for my unsteadiness and…and the choking sounds. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my room.”

  Chief Cobb’s massive face was a study in disbelief.

  No doubt he was trying to reconcile what he had seen with what she had said. The note had been small. The movement of her hands could have been a flutter of distress. The pieces of paper were now well disposed of.

  “If you’re certain you are all right…” Cobb spoke slowly, his gaze bewildered.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” She strode past him.

  Reluctantly, I gave her an unseen thumbs-up. She was a worthy oppo—oh. I must not align myself against her. Unless forced to do so by circumstances beyond my control.

  Chief Cobb and I gazed after her as she walked swiftly toward the steps leading down to the garden. Whatever he thought, he surely realized that there was more to this evening than met the eye.

  As for me, I was willing to cede the first round, but I wasn’t through. Kay wanted a verdict of accident. I had no idea why she had made that decision. I was determined to engage the police. An active investigation of attempted murder would protect Kay. Keeping her safe was my priority. For me, that goal had neared the status of a search for a unicorn. However, I would not be thwarted by obdurate, stubborn, impossible Kay Clark.

  My eyes narrowed in consideration. No tools had been found on the balcony. Tools were kept in a workshop. One quick thought and I again found myself in total darkness. I slipped my hand over the wall and turned on the lights. Any handyman would have been thrilled with the collection of tools in The Castle workshop. Tools were arranged in niches or holders on one wall. I spotted a collection of chisels and hammers and three crowbars of varying size. The tools appeared clean and shiny, but I would expect no less in a well-kept tool room. There was nothing to suggest any of these tools had been used to loosen the vase, but nothing to show they had not. I chose a claw hammer that had a nice heft and a moderate-size chisel. In my nonvisible state, I didn’t have to be concerned with fingerprints.

  However, burdened with tools, I had to transport them through actual space. I could no longer envision a destination and immediately arrive. Turning off the light, I opened the workshop door and stepped outside. I was near the garages. The Castle blazed with lights. Flashlight beams danced in the garden.

  The tools should appear to be well hidden, yet I wanted to place them where they’d be easily found. Moreover, I hoped to put the tools inside the house. I hadn’t forgotten the sound of that closing door. I wanted the police to look very hard at the occupants of The Castle.

  I moved from shadow to shadow, edging ever nearer the garden.

  The stark glare of a flashlight swept over me. I wasn’t there, but the crowbar glittered silver.

  I dropped to the ground.

  “Hey, Joe. Something moved over there near the mimosa.”

  Heavy footsteps moved cautiously nearer. “Police. Hands up. Police.”

  Three flashlights cut bright swaths near me. The searchers held the flashlights to one side to avoid providing a silhouette.

  Keeping the tools barely above the ground, I retreated, escaping those seeking beams by inches. My heart was thudding by the time I reached a huge oak with a massive trunk. I rose. The tools hidden by foliage, I watched the police officers below. As the search of the lower terrace continued, I zipped, still hidden by trees, to the front of the house.

  In my absence, the fire truck and ambulance had departed. The chief’s car and several cruisers remained in the drive. The brightly lit porch was empty. Ha
ppily, the front porch wasn’t visible from the terrace. I found the front door closed and locked. I placed the tools on the welcome mat and moved through the wooden panel. Once inside, I turned the lock, opened the door, retrieved the tools, closed and locked the door.

  A low-wattage yellow bulb burned in a wall sconce. Otherwise, the hallway was dim. The stairs stretched up into darkness. I wondered how well the occupants were resting after the late-night interruption.

  In a mirror on a sidewall, the crowbar, chisel, and hammer appeared to dangle in space.

  The door at the end of the long, marbled hallway began to open.

  Hurriedly, I looked around. A massive oak cabinet sat beneath the mirror. I opened the second drawer, the one at eye level. If the drawer had been locked, the situation would have been perilous. Fortunately—good work by Wiggins?—the drawer easily slid out. I stashed the tools inside.

  Kay stepped into the hallway, carrying a tray with a carafe and a plate covered by a napkin. A late-night snack? Perhaps she would share.

  At the foot of the stairs, she flipped several switches and started up.

  I opened the drawer a few inches and pulled out the shiny tip of the crowbar. Anyone going out the front door in the morning would be sure to notice.

  Now for a chat with my recalcitrant charge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kay’s bedroom was enchanting. I wondered if all the guest rooms at The Castle were this grand. The terra-cotta walls matched the tiled floor. A collection of Roseville pottery filled a bamboo cabinet. Photographs decorated the walls, Oklahoma scenes all: a gusher, Wiley Post and Will Rogers standing by the Winnie Mae, Maria Tallchief in The Fire-bird, the Cherokee alphabet, the château-style Henry Overholser Mansion in Oklahoma City, a Black Angus bull, an eagle wheeling in the sky.

  Kay Clark sat at a fruitwood desk, a tray to one side. Her eyes narrowed, she studied an open file, pen in hand.

  I was abruptly starving. However, I always try to be mannerly. “The roast-beef sandwich looks wonderful. May I have a half?”

  Kay’s head jerked up. She gazed all around the room, her dark eyes wide with shock.