• • •
Reporters’ fingers flashed over laptop keyboards on the gray metal desks that rimmed the Gazette newsroom. A balding man with a hypertension flush and an unhealthy paunch sat at a desk in the middle of the room. “Crandall”—his yell was weakened by a wheeze—“where’s the copy on that hit-and-run?”
A thin woman in her fifties with huge eyes, a mop of straggly brown hair, and an aura of toughness barked in a raspy voice, “Almost done, Ralph.” A long strip of red licorice hung from the corner of her mouth, impeding her speech. She chewed, and an inch of the strand disappeared.
I scanned the room’s occupants. A blue-haired woman in her seventies in a navy silk dress flipped pages in a notepad. A mid-thirties man wearing a ball cap backward talked to himself in an indistinguishable mutter as he wrote. My gaze stopped on a mid-twenties man with wiry brown hair, a round face, and an absorbed expression. He typed, paused, typed, gave a satisfied nod. His hand moved to his mouse. He was the right age to have been Nick’s high school friend.
I walked swiftly to his desk. “Albert Harris?”
He glanced up. His brown eyes flicked up and down as he computed my age and social class and tabbed me as a stranger in town. I decided Nick’s former classmate was a young man who thought fast and would not be easy to fool. His crown of tight curls and chunky build gave him a slightly teddy-bearish appearance, but his gaze was penetrating. “I’m Albert. And you?”
“Hilda Whitby. I’m here about the shooting attack last night on Nick Magruder.”
He jerked his head toward the desk opposite his. “Joan Crandall has the crime beat. She covered it, but she’s on deadline about a liquor-store heist. If you want to see the story about Nick’s peril”—his tone was sarcastic—“I can pull it up. It’s short and sweet.” He clicked several keys and text filled his screen. I sat in the chair next to his desk and read:
Adelaide police responded at 9:40 p.m. Tuesday to a 911 call reporting a shooting at the residence of Nicholas Magruder, 819 Mulberry Lane. The police report stated a screen was ripped in a front window of the residence and a bullet was found embedded in the wall opposite the window. The report said no one was injured and Magruder, 24, was unable to describe the purported assailant. No witnesses were at the home when police arrived.
According to the police report, Magruder insisted he had no knowledge of who ripped the screen or fired the shot. According to police, no similar attacks have been reported in Adelaide or in Pontotoc County. However, the police took the slug in the wall into evidence.
• • •
It seemed to me that the police report had clearly implied the attack was phony.
“Anything else you need?” He reached out and clicked and the text disappeared.
“I understand you resent Nick’s success with his video game.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s obvious from the police report that Nick trumped up a fake shooting. What’s your game? Are you trying to pin the so-called crime on one of Nick’s old friends? Like he had any.”
“You don’t count yourself as a friend.”
“I sure don’t. He took our idea and sold it out from under me. Did he cut me in? Not a penny.” His brown eyes glittered with anger. “He lied and said it was all his idea, but it wasn’t. We talked all about the spiders and how they could be a killer game. He owes me.”
“You didn’t do the programming.”
“So?” He shrugged. “We talked about the idea. It was the idea that counts. I read about his sale in a trade magazine. Nine million dollars. He could have spared at least a half million.”
“Where were you last night?”
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms. “So, why are you asking all these questions?”
“I’m a private investigator hired by Mr. Magruder. Last night?”
He grinned. “Eat your heart out. I was at the Blue Note from nine o’clock to eleven, and I had a babe with me. So tell Nick his ploy is a bust. Now”—he glanced at the wall clock—“I got work to do.” He turned back to the laptop.
I stood. I could check out his alibi, but it had been offered with utter confidence. Still . . . “If anything happens to Nick Magruder, expect a call from the police.”
He shot me a taunting look, widened his eyes in mock alarm. “You scare me, lady.”
• • •
Lisa Sanford pushed a book cart in the main reading room at the Goddard College Library. Her blouse was too tight and her jeans too small. Unaware she was being observed, her face drooped in discontent. She was near the wall in a corridor between shelves.
My steps clicked on the tile floor.
She paid no attention until I stopped beside the cart. She looked up. Her eyes widened in surprise. “You.” Her voice was startled. “You told Brian I was trying to make him jealous.” Her tone was sad. “He was real nice. It was the first time in a long time we ever talked. I told him I didn’t care anything about Nick.”
There was no suggestion of returning happiness in the drooping lines of her face.
My voice was gentle. “Brian loves you.”
“I kind of wish he didn’t.” Her gaze was weary. “It’s too late. Me and him. See, he was real handsome when we were in school. A big football player. I was a cheerleader. We got married right after we graduated. He was fun then. He got a good job with Murray Construction. But he lost his job a couple of years ago. He tried and tried to find something, but there’s no jobs out there. Now he mows lawns. We don’t have any money. We had to move out of our house. We’re living in a dumpy trailer outside of town. Brian’s mad at everything. All he does now is mow lawns and drink beer and watch TV. It’s kind of funny”—there was a sob in her voice—“you told him I went after Nick to make him jealous. I don’t care about Nick.”
Brian loved Lisa. Lisa didn’t care about him. Or Nick. She’d been linked to Cole Clanton. “You wanted to make Cole jealous.” It wasn’t much of a leap to reach that conclusion.
She reached down, picked up a book, turned toward the shelf, but not before I saw tears in her eyes. “Cole dumped me for that old woman. How could he do that? He told me not to call him anymore.” She shoved the book onto the shelf.
“So you had no reason to shoot at Nick last night?”
She swung back to face me, a hand at her throat. “Shoot at Nick?”
I described the rifle barrel poked through the screen and the shot that had almost hit Nick.
“Gee, that’s awful.” She sounded shocked. “Listen, I came to his house because I got that text. And so did Brian. Brian acts big and tough, but he’d never hurt anybody. You tell Nick it wasn’t us.” She plunged past the cart and hurried up the aisle.
As the sound of her steps faded, I wondered about Lisa. Did she really care about Nick? If so, she might have been angry enough to shoot him. But if her heartbreak over Cole was genuine, she hadn’t pulled the trigger last night.
Brian Sanford’s furious arrival in Nick’s front yard indicated at that point in time he was violently jealous of Nick. However, if he had shot at Nick, surely he would never have revealed his anger.
I couldn’t be sure about either Lisa or Brian. Lisa could be distraught over Nick’s careless treatment of her. She might not care at all about Cole. Was Brian clever enough to pretend anger to indicate he had no reason to worry about an accusation of attempted murder?
Hard fingers gripped my arm.
I was alone in the aisle. I looked frantically about and tried to pull away.
“You are worse than useless. Get to City Hall. Immediately!” The crisp, cultivated voice was sharp and irritated.
I was struggling to breathe. No one was . . .
Oh.
I planted myself firmly and yanked my arm. “Let go.” I wished my voice weren’t wobbly. A voice from someone unseen is certainly unsettling and a reminder to me to avoid similarly discomfiting those on earth when I was invisible.
Would I ever be invisible again?
“Y
ou are derelict in your duty.” The deep contralto reverberated with contempt, but the pressure on my arm eased.
“You are a great one to talk about duty! You shanghaied me, Delilah Delahunt Duvall. Wiggins doesn’t know I’m here.” Possibly my voice rose in a near shout.
Brisk footsteps sounded. A tall woman with long, straight black hair and a vampire face swung around the bookcase. “Ladies, please. We can’t have . . .” Her words trailed off. She stared at me. “Has the other lady left?”
“Other lady?” I looked about me. “I’m alone here.” I kept my voice soft and offered a bemused smile. “Perhaps another aisle?”
The librarian backed away. When she was out of sight, I whispered, “Keep your voice down.”
A hiss in my ear made me jump. “I had no choice but to corral you if I hoped to protect Nick. I thought you’d be perfect to send back to Adelaide. There was no chance that Wiggins would dispatch you. Nick’s folder doesn’t have a star.”
Nick’s aunt Dee obviously knew a good deal more about the inner workings of the Department of Good Intentions than I did. I’d never been privy to how earthly beings were selected to receive support. “How did you know that?”
A huff of impatience. “Any fool studies the course before riding.”
I did not take that as a compliment. Who was she to be so high and mighty? “Nick told me about you.” My whisper was high and hot. “You sound like a mess.”
“We can have this discussion another time.” Possibly, the implication was clear, when the next ice age arrived. “Right now you’re here, and you’re supposed to be keeping Nick safe. You have to get to City Hall before he does.”
I folded my arms. “You go to City Hall. You can pop right there. I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” Dee was impatient. “Go poof.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve been stuck here since last night. I appeared to reassure Nick, and now I can’t disappear.”
“Oh. That’s a problem.” She sounded personally vexed.
We were in heartfelt agreement, though she might have addressed my situation with a little more sympathy.
Those cool, strong fingers seized my elbow. “Then I’ll have to make do with what’s available.” Disdain was evident in her brusque tone. “No wonder Wiggins considers you a third-tier choice.”
I was wounded to the core. Dear Wiggins would never denigrate an emissary. I was furious. “He didn’t say so.”
“Possibly not in so many words.” The admission was careless. “But you aren’t on his auto dial.”
I felt triumphant. “He sends telegrams.”
“You haven’t received one recently.” The observation was smug.
“You are odious.”
“You are wasting time. You have to get to City Hall before Nick does.” The fingers yanked, and I found myself propelled down the aisle and across the library lobby by a hard push in the center of my back.
• • •
Aunt Dee’s left arm clutched my waist.
The scooter seat scarcely afforded room for two. I felt crowded by the handlebars.
“Faster.” The command was accompanied by a sharp pinch to my right thigh.
The scooter swerved to the right. I corrected and we veered left.
Behind us a car honked.
I gave a bit too much gas, and the scooter jumped like a gigged catfish.
A siren squalled.
“Look what you’ve done.” I flung the words over my shoulder as I eased to a stop.
The retort was sharp. “Quick. Gas it. He’s out of the car and you can make it around the corner.”
“Are you out of your—” I broke off and looked up into the startled face of one of Adelaide’s handsomest police officers, Johnny Cain—curly dark hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, chiseled features.
“I beg your pardon, miss?” He stared at me with an uneasy, not to say haunted, expression. This was not our first encounter. On an earlier assignment to Adelaide, he had seen me in the passenger seat of a dead woman’s car, though he was unaware of her demise at the time. Later, he’d had a partial glimpse of me as I fled the counter at Lulu’s. It would be fair to say neither episode had brought him joy.
I smiled brightly, though I was trying to jut out my chin in hopes of altering my appearance.
“You look like you have lockjaw.” The hiss behind me was snakelike.
I whipped my head around, started to speak. My mouth opened, closed. Calmly, I faced Johnny again. “I thought I heard someone behind me. It sounded like a goose.”
The pinch was sharp. I managed not to exclaim.
“Lockjaw?” he asked.
“Logjam. That’s the predicament I find myself in. Just one of those logjams that we find ourselves in. But that’s neither here nor there, Officer. What can I do for you?” It was an effort to keep my chin out as I talked, and it added an odd cadence to my words.
He stared at me, possibly wondering if I was being impudent or, worse, was slightly unhinged. “You were driving erratically. May I see your license?”
“License.” I nodded in agreement. “I would be happy to display my license.” I spread a hand expressively. “If only,” I sighed, “I had my license. I know you will understand. Actually, I was on my way to the police station—”
Dee gripped my arm tight as a vise.
“—at City Hall”—the pressure relaxed—“to report that my purse had been stolen.” Fortunately, I’d not brought the new purse with me. It reposed in my room at the B and B. I’d tucked the remainder of the money from Nick into a pocket of my slacks. “I know”—I realized I was talking normally and poked my chin out again—“I shouldn’t be driving, but what else could I do? Certainly the loss of a purse isn’t a crime that requires the dispatch of officers. I felt I was doing my civic duty—saving time for Adelaide’s finest—by making my report in person.” My jaws ached.
“You’re on your way to the department?”
“As fast as I can go.”
His broad mouth twitched. “Maybe you might go a little slower.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Name?”
“Hilda Whitby. I live in Dallas, 1427 Carleton Way. I’m visiting Adelaide to make impressions of gravestones of long-deceased relatives. At the cemetery, I dropped into that wonderful old mausoleum with the stone dog and cat.” Johnny well knew the Pritchard mausoleum, because he recently had wed a family connection. “I left my purse dangling from a handlebar and, when I returned, my purse was gone. So”—my gaze was pleading—“I’ll report the theft now if I may, and I promise to drive more carefully.” I poked an elbow backward and took satisfaction in a muffled ouch.
As I pulled away from the curb, I noted in the rearview mirror that the patrol car kept pace behind us until we turned into the lot behind City Hall.
• • •
At City Hall, we took the elevator to the third floor, bypassing the police department. As the elevator door clanged behind us, Nick slammed out of an office midway down the hall.
I hurried toward him. “Nick!”
He was moving fast, fists balled, feet stomping, a furious scowl turning his bony face into a good imitation of an enraged hawk.
“Nick!” The cry from Aunt Dee brought him to a startled stop.
His eyes widened. They darted back and forth across the hall. He looked behind him, then he swung toward me. “Knock it off. You had to know Aunt Dee to sound that much like her. Lady, I don’t know what kind of nut you are, but I want you out of my life. I got enough problems without some death-obsessed redhead on my case. Take the cash and go. If you show up at the B and B, I’ll call the cops, get you arrested for fraud.”
Before I could respond, he plunged around me and broke into a run.
Now I was cast out on my own without even the prospect of a place to stay. Obviously, he discounted my claim to be an emissary, but he knew I could not possibly bear scrutiny by the police. I had no papers. I stamped my foot, my patience at an end. “You’re
a rat,” I shouted after him. “It will serve you right if your ship goes down and you with it.”
“Did he scare you, too?” A reed-thin blonde peered out anxiously from Cole’s office. “I think he’s dangerous. I’m going to call the police if he comes back.”
“He isn’t dangerous. Or a rat.” The pronouncement was vigorous, though there might have been an uneven breathiness to Dee’s deep voice.
The young woman clutched at the doorjamb. She was trembling. “Mama told me I shouldn’t work at City Hall. She said people go bonkers all the time. First you say he’s a rat, then you speak in a different voice and say he isn’t. I don’t know if he’s a rat, but he’s a wild man.” Her voice was shrill. “I’ve never seen anybody madder.” Her china-blue eyes stared fearfully down the now empty hall. “He came crashing in here, yelling for Mr. Clanton. I told him Mr. Clanton wasn’t here but he banged past me and slammed into Mr. Clanton’s office and then he came out and rushed at me and I got behind my desk. He was so mad his voice was shaking and he wanted to know where Mr. Clanton was. I said I didn’t know and he pounded on the edge of my desk and told me to tell him that Nick Magruder was looking for him and they used to hang people like him and when he got his hands on him—”
I had no difficulty sorting out the pronouns.
“—he was going to wish he was dead.”
• • •
I tried to slide back an inch on the scooter seat. “You’re crowding me.”
“If you had smaller hips, I’d have more room.”
“My hips are perfect.” I spoke with confidence. At twenty-seven, I was slender but curvaceous. Bobby Mac always whistled when I walked past.
“Your hips are irrelevant.”
Did I hear a distant whistle?
Only in my heart.
Dee poked me in the back. “Hurry. We have to find Nick.”
I clamped my hands on the handlebars. “Why?”
A hand gripped my right shoulder. “He’s still getting himself in trouble. It will be all over town that he’s threatened Cole Clanton.”
“I don’t care if he challenges Cole to a duel. Nick’s popularity in Adelaide is of no concern to me. Unlike me, you are quite free to pop”—my voice was bitter—“after him. As far as I’m concerned, my job is done. I saved his life last night. I’ve warned the suspects that the police will be informed if anything happens to him. And now, I want to go home.”
Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) Page 9