Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel)

by Hart, Carolyn

  “Listen, babe.” His voice was beseeching. “Lisa doesn’t mean anything to me. I swear to you. Nick’s trying to cause trouble. I’ll be right over and—”

  I hung up. Cole Clanton appeared frantic to repair his relationship with Arlene. She must have demanded to know about Lisa and revealed Nick as her source of information. If Cole had been angry with Nick before, he would be enraged now. My intent was to warn off everyone who had reason to shoot at Nick. I intended to inform Cole that if anything happened to Nick, Cole’s name would be at the top of the list going to the police.

  If only I had been able to disappear and immediately pop to a destination.

  I reconnoitered. Jan was in the kitchen and turned with a polite smile, a B and B employee ready to be of assistance.

  “Have you seen Nick?”

  “I said good morning a little while ago.” She evinced no enthusiasm. “He’ll be back soon.” She was making a factual report. Her tone indicated it was immaterial to her if he ever returned. “He went out to his house to feed his cat.”

  I felt an instant of alarm. I’d warned him to stay close to others. However, it was unlikely that the assailant would be lurking at Nick’s house this morning. “It would be better if he weren’t alone today. Perhaps he can give you a hand here.”

  Just for an instant, concern flashed in her eyes, then she shrugged, possibly dismissing last night’s attack as more of a prank than a threat. “Nick?” She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think mopping is one of his skills. When he gets back, he’ll find breakfast in the dining room. He’s a guest. He’s welcome to hang around. I can’t wait for him. I’m on my way to the grocery as soon as I finish the dishes.” She turned back to the sink.

  I scanned the room.

  Water gushed from the faucet.

  I used the sound to cover my soft footsteps to a closed door. Cole Clanton was en route to the B and B, and I wanted to overhear his conversation with Jan and possibly one with Arlene. I turned the knob, winced at the click. I glanced toward Jan, but she was working at the sink, her back to me. I eased the door open wide enough to slip inside the pantry. I pulled the door almost shut. If I were found . . . I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, hopefully with more success than my bridge crossing last night.

  A door squeaked. Arlene Richey slowly crossed my sliver of a view. Last night she’d been an older woman proud of a young lover. This morning she was a woman diminished, eyes red-rimmed in a pale face. “Are the muffins hot?”

  “Let me pop them in the microwave. Mom, take the morning off.”

  “Why would I do that?” Arlene’s voice was brittle, a quick challenge to Jan.

  Jan took a quick breath, turned away. In a moment, the microwave pinged. “Here they are.”

  In a moment, Arlene passed me on her way to the door to the dining room.

  When the door creaked shut, Jan said violently, “Oh, Mom, he’s not worth your pain.”

  Abruptly, I heard the back door open.

  I eased the pantry door open another inch.

  In Arlene’s phone pic, Cole Clanton had been a man pleased with himself and his world. Now he looked anxious and uncertain. He gazed around the kitchen, started for the swinging door.

  Jan’s voice was hurried. “Mother doesn’t want to see you. Please leave.”

  “Sure she does. Listen, Jan, that’s all crap about Lisa.”

  “No, it’s not.” Jan’s tone was flat.

  His eyes narrowed and his face hardened. “Lisa’s a slut. So I took my turn. That has nothing to do with Arlene. Come on, Jan, give me break. Where’s your mom?”

  The swinging door to the kitchen opened. Arlene stood in the entryway. She gestured at the refrigerator. “Take some apple juice to the old ladies.”

  Jan looked from her mother to Cole and back again. With a helpless shrug, she walked to the refrigerator and lifted out a pitcher.

  When the door to the dining room swung shut, Arlene gripped the back of a kitchen chair. “Get out.” Her face was pinched. She looked older. A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Hey, Arlene.” His tone was smooth, cajoling. “Let’s sit down somewhere quiet. I can explain. Sure, I hung out with Lisa, but that was before you and I got going.”

  “No.” The single word fell like a stone in a well. “I called some friends. They knew. You made love to me and it was a lie.”

  His features twisted in quick anger. “We said all along we were just having fun.” A flush suffused the back of his neck.

  “Of course.” Her lips twisted in a pathetic attempt at a smile. “So the fun’s over.” Her voice was thin. “You go your way. I’ll go mine.” She whirled and blundered toward the door into the dining room.

  He stood with his shoulders hunched, hands balled into fists.

  I pushed open the pantry door and stepped into the kitchen. “Mr. Clanton.”

  He jerked to face me. “Who’re you?” His tone was hard. A muscle twitched in one cheek. He was livid with the thwarted, petulant anger of a spoiled man faced with a situation he couldn’t control. It took me a little by surprise. Did he care that much for Arlene Richey? Nothing in his demeanor suggested jealousy or great passion. No, he was simply boiling mad.

  People who are angry often speak before they think. I decided an up-front attack might afford Nick the most protection. “You were spotted at Nick Magruder’s house last night.”

  He stared at me, his face utterly still. Finally, he spoke, his voice bland. “You got that wrong. I decided not to come.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, looked more comfortable. “He texted me, said he was ready to deal over the Arnold place. I figured he didn’t want to chump off and pay what he had offered. I decided to let him stew about it. Maybe I would’ve called him today. Maybe not.”

  I felt confident that Nick’s attacker had taken his cell phone from the front seat of his car yesterday, placed some calls, then tossed the phone back into the car. Three people had shown up unexpectedly at Nick’s house: Jan Richey, and Lisa and Brian Sanford. Now it appeared Cole Clanton had been summoned as well. Obviously, the shooter had obtained Nick’s cell, texted messages setting up arrivals after the attack, possibly hoping one of the visitors would call the police and thereby be embroiled in a murder investigation.

  “What were you doing at Nick’s?” His mouth twisted into a leer. His eyes roamed me up and down. “I guess I don’t need to ask. I thought he had the hots for Jan. But you look like fun in the meantime. Maybe we could get together for a drink.”

  “Not in this lifetime.” My glance was dismissive. “I work for Mr. Magruder. If you didn’t come to his house, you must have a double.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No way anybody saw me. I wasn’t there.” Now his gaze was steady, con-man steady.

  I felt a flicker of excitement. I was almost certain Cole Clanton was lying. Although if he had arrived as a rifle was being shot, he might be excused for deciding it wasn’t a good moment to come calling. “You were there.”

  “Who says?”

  “I do.”

  He studied me.

  I don’t claim to read minds. That isn’t a ghostly skill. But, unless I was far off the mark, Cole decided I was bluffing. Maybe he played a good hand of poker. His wariness seeped away. He shook his head as if I were an annoying gnat. “You can’t prove anything. Tell your boss—” He broke off, his eyes narrowing. “Are you really working for the jerk?”

  “I am investigating an attempt on Mr. Magruder’s life.”

  Cole stared at me with a dark, unreadable gaze. “I heard he claimed somebody shot at him.”

  “How’d you hear that?”

  “Everybody was talking about it at Lulu’s this morning.”

  Lulu’s was Adelaide’s old-time café with the best hamburgers in town and breakfasts to match.

  Cole sounded bored. “It’s all over town. Somebody told me it was on the local radio station, and a couple of
guys tweeted me about it. They knew I wouldn’t be shook up if somebody got him. I didn’t take it seriously. Around here, people who shoot don’t miss.”

  I was sharp. “If anything happens to Nick, your name will be at the top of the list for the police.”

  “You scare me almost as much as Phidippus. So who’s got a list and why should I care?”

  “I have a list, and I will make that list available to the authorities.”

  “Are you a cop of some kind?”

  “I am a private investigator.” I loved the sound of the words.

  He appeared to process the thought. “A redheaded private eye. So you and the jerk aren’t a twosome. That means Jan’s still the chick he’s chasing.” His tone was thoughtful. He looked toward the screen door. Was he staring at the door or at the property that stretched beyond the B and B grounds?

  Cole wanted access to the Arnold place. Nick had thwarted him. Last night, someone shot at Nick and someone trampled grass near the site of the original trading post. Maybe it was a leap too far, but I decided to push my chips into the pot.

  My tone was casual. “Did you find what you were looking for at the Arnold place last night?”

  He swung toward me, looking like he’d been sucker punched—eyes wide, mouth open, face slack. He moved toward me, stopped a scant foot away, glared down. “What are you talking about?”

  I described my adventure at length, finishing, “. . . somebody covered me with a plastic bag and threw me in the pond.” If Cole had tossed me from the bridge, I would have expected his bland con-man expression.

  Instead, his face was grim. He asked sharply, “What time did this happen?”

  “Late. After midnight.”

  He took a step toward me, his face intent. “What did you hear?”

  I couldn’t know if he was clever enough to pelt me with questions, thereby underlining his lack of knowledge, or if he was desperately interested in what I knew. Whichever, it wasn’t my intent to placate him. “Mine to know, yours to wonder. Unless you were there.”

  “If somebody was over there last night, it wasn’t me.” His flat voice had an ugly sound. “Why were you nosing around?” His gaze was sharp and suspicious.

  “I saw lights. I was curious.”

  “Maybe you’d better not be so curious.”

  I folded my arms, returned stare for stare. “I’ll do what I want to do.”

  Antagonism flickered between us.

  Jan pushed through the door from the dining room. She stopped and stared at Cole. “You aren’t welcome here, Cole. Please leave.”

  Cole took his time turning away from me. His face was cold and hard. “I want to see your mom. She’s on the committee. I need to put up the trading post over here now.”

  Jan folded her arms. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Do you think she’ll have anything to do with you and that stupid celebration now?”

  Cole slammed his hand on the kitchen counter. “She’s got to help me out.” The door from the back porch banged open.

  Nick stepped inside. “I thought I heard your loud, obnoxious voice.” Nick, as usual, was unshaven. He looked seriously poor in a ratty red polo and worn jeans with one knee shredded and the other grass-stained. His eyes moved from Cole to Jan. “Is he bothering you?”

  “Cole, please leave.” Jan’s voice shook.

  Nick’s chin jutted. He stepped toward Cole, lifted a hand with fingers curled and thumb stiff and gestured toward the door. “Get out.”

  Cole’s shoulders tightened. “Since when do you own this place?”

  “Jan wants you out of here.” Nick’s voice was dangerously soft.

  “So you want to keep Jan happy.” Cole’s tone was considering. “You’ll do anything to make her happy, right?”

  Nick glared. “What’s it to you?”

  Oddly, Cole gave a short bark of laughter. “I think that’s nice. I like romance. You screwed everything up for me with Arlene, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish you luck with Jan. I guess you’d do a lot to keep her happy.”

  Nick stiffened, sensing a threat, uncertain what might be coming. “If you bother Jan, I’ll beat the hell out of you.”

  Cole’s laugh was derisive. “Sure, you and those furry little spiders you hang out with. Gee, I’m scared.” His amusement slipped away, replaced by a combative look. “I got some business to see to, then I’ll be in touch, Phidippus.” He swung around and strode toward the door.

  Nick’s hands balled into fists and he lunged after Cole.

  I moved fast and grabbed Nick’s arm. “Don’t be dumb. He’s goading you.”

  Nick skidded to a stop, glared down at me. “You’re always in the way.”

  I didn’t take his criticism personally. I was too worried about Cole’s triumphant expression as he slammed through the door, his thin lips curved in a cruel smile.

  Chapter 6

  I swung aboard the yellow scooter. I’d warned Cole Clanton that he faced a police investigation if anything happened to Nick, but there were others who found Nick unlovable: the voluptuous Lisa Sanford; her husband, Brian; Albert Harris, who thought he deserved to share in the riches cascading into Phidippus’s pocket; and Nick’s bum cousin Bill Magruder, who would be a very rich young man if anything happened to Nick. I wouldn’t relax until each and every one realized they would be suspect in another attack.

  Seriously rich . . . As a motive for murder, it was hard to pick between sex and money, but money might win by a nose.

  • • •

  Head-high sunflowers, their bright yellow petals brilliant in the October sun, were bunched on either side of the worn front steps. The stately flowers added charm to the shabby old apartment house. I checked the mail slots. More than half were nameless. Bill Magruder was in apartment 6.

  The front door opened readily. Midway down the dim hallway, I skirted a cooler outside of one door. My nose wrinkled at the scent of old fishing bait. At apartment 6, I punched a buzzer, held it for several seconds. On the fourth try, the door opened a few inches. “Hey, what’s the racket? How the hell can I sleep?”

  “Bill Magruder?”

  His face screwed up in disgust, a young man peered out. Also unshaven, blond hair matted and uncombed, he was a bleary version of Nick, the same bony face and sharp features. “Didn’t you see the sign? No soliciting.” He blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Oh yeah.” There was a change in tone. “You looking for me?”

  Bobby Mac always says redheads have an edge. Perhaps that’s true. I smiled, but carefully made my smile simply friendly. I wasn’t going to encourage false hopes. “I’m here for your cousin, Nick.”

  Bill frowned. “What’s he want? Is he broke, in jail, bad ass against the wall?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Bad ass against the wall?”

  “Sorry if that offends you.” There was no apology in his voice. “Nick’s put everybody’s backs up since he hit town.”

  “Including yours?”

  He gave a little whoop of laughter, though he didn’t sound amused. “Babe, he isn’t my favorite cuz these days. More moola than a mogul and tight as a tick. If you know him, he’s probably told you I’ve hit him up for a stake. All I want is enough cash to get to LA. I got a friend who’s working in the William Morris mail room, and she thinks I can get a spot. I can apply online, but I got to be able to get there. What’s a thousand bucks to Nick?”

  “He turned you down.”

  Full lips curved lower than a downward parabola. “Yeah.” Bill’s nose wrinkled. “Just because I didn’t give him some bucks when he was in school and he had to lay out a semester.”

  “You had money then?”

  He shifted from one foot to another. “My mom died and left me some.”

  “Why don’t you use that money to go to LA?”

  “I tried to win big at the casino. Some people do.”

  I forbore to point out that most people don’t. Maybe Bill had learned that lesson.

  He gazed at me with admiring e
yes, then glanced over his shoulder at the disheveled room. “You got a minute, I’ll throw on some clothes, straighten things up.”

  “I’m simply a messenger. Somebody tried to shoot Nick last night—”

  Bill’s eyes widened in surprise. Of course he would appear surprised if his finger had pulled the trigger.

  “—but the shooter missed. If Nick had died last night, you would be rich. However, Nick made his will this morning. His estate had been left to the Oklahoma Humane Society.” Bill Magruder would have no reason to doubt my statement, and that removed the motive of murder for an inheritance.

  Bill rubbed his head again. “I didn’t get in until three. Had to help wash up. A couple of sorry no-shows at the restaurant. Didn’t sleep worth a damn. The doorbell made my head feel like a gigged catfish. Now I find a good-looking chick in the hallway who tells me somebody shot at Nick and his money is going to the dogs. Have I got that right?”

  “Essentially.”

  “Yeah. Well, maybe he needs to improve his overall personality. But I sure as hell didn’t take a shot at him.”

  I thought I detected the slightest emphasis on the first person singular pronoun.

  “Who did?”

  “How would I know?” His expression was suddenly disingenuous.

  “If you have information that could lead to Nick’s attacker, remaining silent makes you an accessory after the fact.”

  “Lady, I don’t know from nothing. Anyway, it sounds like no harm done.” He gave me a wry smile. “Give Nick my regards. And tell the bowwows they’re gonna be rich.” The door started to close.

  “One thing more.” I spoke swiftly. “Can you prove you were at the restaurant from nine to eleven last night?”

  He kneaded one cheek with his knuckles. “I had a late shift, ten to two. I was here”—he gestured with one hand—“until about a quarter to ten. I wasn’t anywhere near Nick. Where did it happen?”

  I didn’t bother to answer. I looked past him into a dingy, small living room that appeared littered with pop cans, DVDs, and fishing tackle. “Where’s your rifle?”

  He gave me an odd look. “I am fresh out of rifles. And that’s my quota on weird questions for the day.” The door slammed in my face.