Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel)

by Hart, Carolyn

  “Hindrance!” She was outraged. “That’s absurd.”

  “Dee won’t appear when she’s needed, and she flits off without a word.”

  “I’ve never been able to tolerate ineptitude. Bailey Ruth was no help today in finding Nick in time to stop him from making threats against Cole. Now those chickens will come home to roost.”

  I snapped, “If he weren’t seriously spoiled as well as seriously rich, he’d have the good sense not to broadcast his moods.”

  “Nick didn’t know someone was going to shoot that odious young man.” Her defense was passionate.

  “Ladies.” Wiggins’s patience was at an end.

  I could scarcely hear him over the woo-woo of the Rescue Express. The scent of coal smoke tickled my nose. The clack of iron wheels pulsed nearer.

  “Nothing about this episode”—his distaste was evident—“reflects well upon the department. Certainly the two of you lack a collegial spirit. The department prides itself upon cooperation, quietness, remaining unseen”—the emphasis was strong—“effort. Faced with an unpalatable choice, I believe the department’s goals will be better met if Bailey Ruth accepts the assignment. Come, Dee, we’ll board the Express, and then we can discuss your highly irregular acts.”

  “I can’t leave Nick!” Her husky voice quivered with despair. “He’s only twenty-four. He needs me.” She might have racketed around the world, felt at her best astride McCoy, loved men and left them, but her cry revealed a woman who cared above all for her dark-haired nephew, who was at the bottom of a pit without a rope.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Wiggins, bless him, is a sucker for a woman in distress. “Stay if you must. Do what you can. But mind, you and Bailey Ruth must cooperate.”

  The Rescue Express, gleaming in the moonlight, swung by, pausing for an instant. Then, with a burst of speed, the train rose in the sky and streaked away like a meteor. “Remember the Precepts” came the distant cry.

  With the immensity of the star-spangled sky arching above us, the departure of the Express emphasized a deep and peaceful silence.

  “Dee?”

  “Here.” She sounded invigorated. She’d won her battle. As if reading my mind, she shouted exuberantly. “Wiggins is a fine fellow. Now, I must be off to help Nick.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. It’s the two of us. . . .”

  Delilah Delahunt Duvall was gone.

  • • •

  Nick’s face was pale and drawn. He moved restively in the hard wooden chair, rubbed knuckles against his bristly cheek. I was relieved to see there was no longer blood on his hand. No doubt the stained hand had been filmed and tested for gunshot residue particles before he was fingerprinted and permitted to wash. A too-large orange jumpsuit slopped over at the shoulders and sagged at his waist. His bloodied polo and blood-smeared jeans must have been taken into evidence. The jumpsuit would be dispiriting, but I imagined Nick preferred it to his own stained clothing.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Magruder?” The familiar voice was impersonal, but polite. Detective Sergeant Hal Price sat behind a high-wattage lamp turned toward Nick. I always felt a quiver of delight when I saw Hal Price, a lean blond with slate-blue eyes, a man who appreciated redheads. If my heart didn’t belong to Bobby Mac, I would be smitten.

  I had assisted Detective Sergeant Price and Police Chief Sam Cobb in previous visits to Adelaide. Both had glimpsed me despite my best efforts to escape their notice. Could I help it that occasionally my actual presence was essential? I especially enjoyed appearing as Police Officer M. Loy, my tribute to the auburn-haired actress who will always be remembered opposite William Powell in the Thin Man movies.

  Price was flanked by the officer who had been in charge at the gazebo and a fortyish policewoman who held a notebook and pen. Chief Cobb stood near the back wall with his arms folded, his well-worn brown suit wrinkled. His heavy face was impassive beneath grizzled black hair. He was a big man with a quietly commanding air. Both a tape recorder and video camera sat on the desk.

  “Mr. Magruder, I’d like to hear again about the meeting you set up with Mr. Clanton. What was the purpose of the meeting?”

  Nick looked wary. “We had some business to take care of.”

  The chief was pleasant. “What business?”

  Nick spoke carefully. “Cole wanted some property that I was going to buy.”

  “The Arnold house.” Price tapped his pen on the table. “It’s pretty well known around town that you made a bigger offer to keep Clanton from obtaining the property.”

  Nick looked truculent. “There’s no law against that.”

  Price appeared interested. “Why did you want the property?”

  Nick looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, I thought I’d like to have it.”

  “Why?” Chief Cobb asked.

  Nick shrugged. “I imagine you know why. I didn’t like Cole. He wanted to put up a replica of the original trading post. I thought it wouldn’t hurt for him to find out he couldn’t always have things the way he wanted them.”

  Price said mildly, “Would you say there was bad blood between you and Mr. Clanton?”

  Nick’s stubborn honesty glinted in his eyes. “He was a jerk. But”—his anger was evident—“I know a lot of jerks, and I don’t shoot them. I was having too much fun making him mad.”

  “Good clean sport? But today, you changed your mind.” The chief’s eyes were gimlet sharp. “Why?”

  Nick’s bravado faded. His eyes flickered. “Yeah. Well, Cole and I had been in touch today and I thought maybe I’d let it go. I didn’t really want the place.”

  “What contact did you have with Mr. Clanton?” The even tenor of his voice made the question seem negligible.

  Nick turned over a hand. “Yeah. Well, we talked a couple of times.”

  Price picked up a folder from the table, flipped through it. “People keep up with the news, Mr. Magruder. Information gets around fast. Apparently local radio and TV have already broadcast news about Mr. Clanton’s murder. We asked media to suggest that anyone with information contact Crime Stoppers or send tweets. We’ve had several responses.”

  Nick tried to appear at ease, but he began to crack the knuckles of one hand.

  “We’ll check everything out tomorrow, get witnesses. From what we hear, you were all over Adelaide today, trying to find Mr. Clanton. Why were you angry, Mr. Magruder?”

  “A misunderstanding.” Nick’s voice was stiff. “We worked things out.”

  Price closed the folder. “You say you and he spoke several times. It’s interesting that your cell phone contains several texts to his cell phone number.”

  Nick slowly nodded.

  Cobb moved fast for a big man. He came around the table, stood within a foot of Nick. “What did you do with Mr. Clanton’s cell phone?”

  Nick’s eyes flickered.

  Of course he remembered the exchange that had been about to be made, the agreement to sell the property to Cole for a dollar if Cole removed Arlene’s photographs, Cole pulling out his cell phone, the cell phone plucked from Cole’s grasp and moving through the air to the back of the gazebo, Cole jerking about, the crack of the rifle.

  “I didn’t take Cole’s cell phone.”

  Price shook his head. “We have your cell. You texted him at 8:58. The shots were heard at 9:07. Shall I remind you of your texts?” Price picked up a sheet and read aloud, “‘Are you coming?’ His reply: ‘Got the paper?’ Your reply: ‘Signed and ready.’ A few minutes later he was dead. Where’s his cell phone?”

  Nick hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t do anything with his cell phone.”

  Price was grim. “Somebody got that cell phone, Mr. Magruder. Otherwise why didn’t we find it in his pocket or in the gazebo?”

  “I didn’t take it.”

  Price snapped, “Who did?”

  Nick looked weary, shook his head.

  “Some of the texts you sent him contained threats.”

  Nick stared at the floor.<
br />
  “Let’s go over it again, Mr. Magruder.”

  “Look”—Nick sounded tired and truculent—“I’ve told you and told you. Somebody else shot Cole. Haven’t you talked to Hilda Whitby? She was there. She’ll confirm everything I’ve said.”

  Chief Cobb’s eyes narrowed. “We haven’t found Ms. Whitby yet. Let’s hear your version again. Tell us what happened from the time you arrived at the park.”

  “I already told you. I parked the car in the lot.” Nick sounded long-suffering. “I walked up to the gazebo—” He stopped with an odd expression on his face. His head jerked to the left. “You’re not here. I got enough problems without you.”

  His left arm rose.

  He tried to pull his arm back. “Let go. Come on.” His voice was anguished.

  Chief Cobb stared, his thick brows drawn into a frown.

  I sped to Nick’s side, swept out a hand, brushed against a tweed jacket. Excellent material. Did Dee like a British country-house look? So far, I’d seen her on earth only in a photograph. Perhaps she had good taste, even if she lacked charm. I caught her sleeve. “Hush,” I whispered. “You’re making a scene.”

  “I’m trying to help him,” Dee hissed, shaking me off. “Nick, don’t say another word until you get a lawyer.” She spoke aloud, her deep voice commanding.

  Nick flinched and grabbed his shoulder. I guessed she’d poked him for emphasis.

  I bent down and whispered in Nick’s ear. “That’s good advice. Shut up and I’ll get her out of here.”

  Nick made a strangled sound. His face stricken, he looked from one side to the other, but, of course, no one was visible near him. “Go away. Both of you.”

  Cobb’s voice was gruff. “That’s enough, Magruder. Maybe you do female impersonations in your spare time, but you’re in big trouble, and smarting off won’t do you any good.”

  I tapped Nick’s cheek. “Ask for a lawyer. Then we’ll leave.” I tried to speak softly, but in the taut silence of the observers, my voice was clearly heard.

  Nick clapped his hands to his head. “All right. Yeah. I want a lawyer.”

  Cobb folded his arms. “You can call a lawyer. We’re holding you on suspicion of murder. Maybe a night in a cell will help clear your head.”

  Chapter 9

  The brightly lit cell was spartan—two bunks, cement floor, metal toilet.

  “This is dreadful.” Dee’s voice shook.

  “Don’t worry.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt. “We’ll find out who shot Cole.”

  Nick stared wildly around the cell. He looked very young, his dark curls tousled, his stubbled face strained.

  “Oh, sure.” Dee’s tone was scathing. “Private Detective Hilda Whitby! You’ve made a mess of everything.”

  “I didn’t make a spectacle of myself in the interrogation room.”

  “Did you intend to hang there and let him talk and talk without a lawyer? I should have done something sooner.”

  Nick was breathing hard, as if he’d run too fast, too far. “Nobody’s here. I got to keep my head together. Nobody’s here.” He cracked the knuckles of one hand.

  Dee snapped, “Don’t do that, Nick.”

  Nick slid a hand over his eyes. After a moment, he splayed his fingers to peer around the cell. “That’s what you always used to say. Aunt Dee, are you really here?”

  “We’re both here.” I reached out and patted his shoulder.

  He dropped onto the bunk, hunched his shoulders. “Either I’m nuts or I’m haunted.”

  Nick was utterly demoralized. He needed encouragement. “Dee, we have to prove we are who we say we are.”

  “There you go again.” Dee was derisive. “You’re hell-bent to appear.”

  “I do hope not.”

  I wasn’t certain, but I thought I heard a faint wisp of laughter. Then came a definite sigh. “Oh well, I’m on my last mission anyway. Wiggins won’t trust me again. So what does it matter if I appear?” She sounded glum. With that, she swirled into being—deep blue eyes, narrow nose, distinctive cleft chin, tall, slender, and utterly confident.

  “Oh.” I was admiring. “I like that jacket. Speckled black tweed! Much more eye-catching than brown.”

  “Just a little thing I picked up from Saks.” Three-quarter-length ribboned cuffs added a definite flair.

  I gave some thought and appeared in a new outfit. After all, I’d been deprived of fashion for several days. I looked down and smoothed the sleeve of a deliciously supple pink leather jacket. Nothing heavy, mind you. I changed my mind in mid-swirl from ivory straight-leg slacks to charcoal gray with matching gray leather loafers.

  Nick was as far back in the bunk as he could manage.

  I moved over to sit beside him, gestured for Dee to join us.

  She dropped down on his other side.

  I touched his left arm.

  Dee touched his right arm.

  He was as rigid as the bars that held him captive.

  Running footsteps sounded in the corridor.

  Dee was sharp. “Here comes trouble. That’s what happens when emissaries appear. You know it’s against the rules.”

  I wasn’t troubled, though the steps were pounding nearer. “Nick needed to see us, but,” I said more quickly, “it’s time to disappear.”

  I disappeared.

  “Who knows what will happen now.” Dee’s tone was waspish as she faded from view.

  “Shh.” I hoped Dee might become a bit more optimistic. I would do my best to share a little sunshine with her. “All will be well.”

  “That’ll be the day.” A huff. “We need to talk to Nick and now look what’s happening.”

  Two officers arrived, a heavyset woman with protuberant brown eyes and a tall, gangly older man with a handlebar mustache. She reached out, pulled at the door, which remained immovable. “Two women were in here. We saw them on the monitor. Where’d they go?”

  Nick turned his hands over. “I don’t know.”

  The man moved past her. “I’ll check.”

  Her face grim, the officer—I glanced at her name tag: Officer L. Nelson—used both hands to grip the bars, shook again. “Tight as a drum.”

  The second officer returned. “No way out. Nobody in the hall.” His name tag read: Officer R. Maitland.

  “We saw them. We heard them. Where are they?” Officer Nelson grappled with the impossible.

  “Maybe I just thought about them and you saw them.” Nick waved his hand. “It’s a variant on the validity of physical objects created by brain waves. The door’s locked. I’m here. Who knows? They may come back. You can watch them on the monitor, but they won’t be here if you come look.” He gave a wolfish smile. “Have a good night.”

  I heard soft laughter from Dee.

  “You laughing at us?” Nelson glared at Nick.

  “Lady, I didn’t make a sound. Nobody”—he spoke loudly—“ought to make any sounds.”

  I hoped Dee was chastised.

  Nelson’s heavy face was hard. “You telling us not to say anything?”

  Nick looked beleaguered. “Not you.”

  “Then who you talking to?” Maitland’s voice was rough.

  Nick’s eyes gleamed. “When I think, physical manifestations may emanate. I’m simply telling them to stay away.” There was definite emphasis on the command.

  “Come off it,” Maitland sneered. “How dumb do you think we are?”

  “Officer, I have no doubt about your capacity to see what is in front of you.”

  Maitland looked puzzled, uncertain if he was being insulted.

  Like a dog with a bone, Nelson repeated, “Nobody’s here.” She spoke with a hint of bluster. “Obviously, if nobody’s here, we didn’t see what we thought we saw. Probably something’s wrong with the monitor. But”—she gestured up the corridor—“let’s look again.” She swung away.

  Maitland’s face flushed. He turned to follow her. “You saying I don’t got eyes? I’m telling you nobody’s down the hall and t
here’s no way out and his cell’s locked up tight.”

  I moved out into the corridor.

  Maitland stopped two cells down. “Hey, Bud. You see anybody come this way.”

  A man rolled over in his bunk, shaded his eyes. “Can’t a man get any sleep around here?” His slightly slurred voice was aggrieved. “Nobody’s been here. But make that guy down the way turn off his radio.”

  Officer Nelson stalked to the cell. “What radio?”

  The prisoner blinked. “I don’t know. I heard a couple of women talking. Had to be radio or TV. I don’t see why I can’t have one if somebody else does.”

  “You aren’t in the Ritz, Bud.” Nelson spoke to the prisoner, but her eyes slid toward Nick’s cell.

  “Like I don’t know that? Anyway, make those women shut up.” He rolled back toward the wall.

  Maitland stood with his arms akimbo. “I don’t get it.”

  Nelson looked indecisive, then jerked her head at Maitland. “Nothing more to do here.”

  I followed them out of the cell area. As the heavy door closed behind them, Nelson jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “That guy’s a troublemaker. Maybe he likes to talk in girlie voices. There’s nobody around. Probably there’s something funny with the monitor. Anyway, he’s locked up. Let’s get some coffee.”

  Back in his cell, Nick sat like a statue, staring at his knee. “Aunt Dee, I can feel your hand on my knee and I know you are trying to encourage me, but it’s making me nuts. I can’t see you, then you and that redhead appear, and then you’re gone again.” He cracked his knuckles. “But I get it. You really are ghosts. That means I’m in deep”—he paused—“deep trouble. Hilda, if that’s her name, is bouncing around in the ether, and I don’t have an alibi, and I’m going to end up tried for murder.”

  “Nonsense. Dee and I will find out who killed Cole.” I spoke more loudly than I’d intended.

  His head jerked toward the sound of my voice. “Keep it low. I don’t need the Police Academy cops back. So”—he folded his arms—“are you really a private detective? A dead one?” There was a faint note of hope in his voice.

  I didn’t think my experience as a high school English teacher and later as a secretary at the chamber would impress him. Telling the truth didn’t require telling everything. “I’ve had some investigative experience.” I spoke with quiet pride. “I’ve helped Chief Cobb here in Adelaide. Nick, you’re exhausted. Try to sleep now.” Actually, a respite would likely help Dee and me as well.