Ghost Wanted

by Carolyn Hart

  Howie glared at the officers near the door.

  The mayor swung toward the door. “Excuse me?”

  A bald-headed officer standing with his arms behind his back looked puzzled. “Ma’am, we didn’t say anything.”

  Mayor Lumpkin’s nostrils flared. She flapped a hand. “Out. Attend to your duties—if that can be done without imposing on the public.”

  I wouldn’t say Adelaide’s finest scuttled, but they were out the door in an instant.

  Mayor Lumpkin turned back to Howie. She jabbed an index finger at the computer. “Summon Detective Weitz.”

  I didn’t stay to witness the transition of power or observe Howie Warren’s departure. The mayor would direct Weitz to redouble efforts to apprehend that master criminal, Michelle Hoyt.

  In an instant, I was alone in Detective Sergeant Hal Price’s office. The desk was bare, though his in-box was stacked high with papers. It was late afternoon now. I felt a quiver. Saving Michelle from arrest had delayed executing my plan to flush out the identity of the woman who used students in blackmail schemes. I pulled out a city directory, scrawled down two numbers, and reached for the phone. It was important that both calls be made from a police department telephone.

  “Eleanor Sheridan.”

  Perhaps she always answered with her name. Perhaps she noted the Adelaide Police Department on caller ID.

  “Ms. Sheridan,” I used my most homespun Adelaide drawl, “Officer M. Loy calling.”

  “Yes, Officer.” Her tone was pleasant, slightly patronizing.

  “Ma’am, are you the dean of students out at the college?”

  “Yes.”

  This was not a woman to say more than was necessary—no excited demands to know if there was a problem, nothing more than a level pleasant voice that exuded authority.

  “Yes’m, we had a message left on Crime Stoppers. That’s a number citizens can call to anonymously report—”

  “I’m aware of Crime Stoppers.” She sounded amused.

  “Oh, yes’m. Good to know the community is generally aware. Anyway, this message was a little garbled. I just got a printout of the call.”

  “Officer, I doubt I can be of help. Perhaps you should contact the campus police.”

  “You’re the person named in the search warrant. It’s your office.”

  “Search warrant?”

  “Yes’m. The chief wanted to make sure you’d be there at nine o’clock in the morning so the warrant can be served.”

  “Search for what?” She was impatient.

  I gave an apologetic chuckle. “Like the chief said, anonymous tips usually don’t amount to much but they have to be checked out. We’ll be in and out real quick tomorrow.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The chief didn’t say exactly. Something about blackmail. I guess it will be spelled out in the warrant. The chief will probably come along and explain everything, seeing as how it’s an office at the college. Anyway, appreciate your cooperation. See you tomorrow. Nine a.m.” I hung up, made my second call.

  Jeanne Bracewell answered with a gruff “Hello.”

  “Officer M. Loy here. Are you the Bracewell who’s the assistant dean of students out at the college?”

  “Yes. How can I help you, Officer?” The assistant dean sounded prepared for some kind of bad news.

  “Will you be at your office at nine tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem with a student?”

  “Not sure, ma’am. A search warrant’s been issued for your office. Just want to be sure you’d be there—”

  “Search warrant? Why?”

  “Suspicion of blackmail, ma’am.”

  “That’s absurd.” Bracewell was crisp, definitive. “Clearly there’s been a mistake. However, we will certainly cooperate with any investigation.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” But she had already hung up.

  I made my third call. “Please connect me with Sam Cobb’s room.”

  The phone rang a half dozen times, switched to voice mail inviting me to leave a message. Late on a Sunday afternoon, a honeymooning couple might well be out and about, enjoying a walk along the seawall. I thought fast and spoke rather formally, “Chief Cobb, this is Officer M. Loy. Officer Weitz is now acting chief and has been instructed by Mayor Lumpkin to apprehend Goddard student Michelle Hoyt on a charge of theft and murder at the library. The evidence against Hoyt has been fabricated. Hoyt is currently with a reliable friend of mine. By this evening, I will provide you with the identity of the woman behind a series of crimes, beginning with the murder September seventeenth of Susannah Fairlee.” I always opt for the positive in making a statement. I paused, then said warmly, “Congratulations on your marriage, and I hope you and Claire are having a grand holiday.”

  I made quick trips between Eleanor’s A-frame and Jeanne’s house.

  Eleanor sat in a cushioned swing on her deck. Her face was thoughtful. She looked into the trees, a faint line between her brows. Once she looked at her watch. But she appeared settled on the porch. She was not en route to the Administration Building. Finally she reached over to a wicker table, picked up a book with a bright jacket. She opened to a bookmarked page, began to read.

  Jeanne stood at a counter in a narrow 1950s-era kitchen. She looked into a cupboard, lifted a hand to pluck a box of melba toast from the shelf. She opened the package, drew out the dried brown toast, looked down at it with a shudder of distaste. After a moment, she sighed, turned to the refrigerator. She spread a thin layer of marmalade on the toast, placed the piece on a small bright pink plate. A tea whistle blew. She hurried to the stove, poured water into a teapot. In a moment, she had a tray fixed. It was only as she left the kitchen that she paused, gave a hard stare at the wall phone, then pushed through a swinging door into the hall.

  There would be another hour of daylight. However, I didn’t intend to wait much longer before I went to the Administration Building to see if either Eleanor or Jeanne stepped into my trap. First I decided to check on Lorraine and Michelle. They should have arrived without incident at Rose Bower. I felt confident Lorraine had been able to admit Michelle and slip into the upstairs suite without being noticed. However, Michelle likely was still high strung and nervous, worried about the police search and frantic to know if she had any hope of escaping prosecution. I wanted to reassure her that progress was being made.

  Indeed, the suite for Lorraine and Charles did afford a hospitable sanctuary. The chandelier’s prisms glistened and the room appeared large and comfortable. The sound of the softly strummed harp charmed me. Lorraine looked quite lovely sitting on the brocade stool. Soft lighting emphasized the gold of her hair and her flawless complexion. She had changed into a pale ivory gown that had an enchanting shimmer.

  Apparently the soothing music had done little to relax Michelle. She sat stiffly on a loveseat, fingers tightly twined together. Her gaze shifted from Lorraine to the portrait on the near wall. The color of Lorraine’s dress matched the dress in the portrait. Perhaps that accounted for Michelle’s haunted expression. But she should understand that ivory is always complimentary to blondes.

  I chose a coal-black top and silver leggings as I appeared. I thought I was a good foil for Lorraine. Black, of course, sets off red hair quite nicely. Wiggins felt I was too often preoccupied with fashion, but how can a woman do a good job if she doesn’t look her best?

  Michelle watched as colors swirled and shifted into substance. She waited until I was fully present, then said, almost without a tremor, “Good to see you.”

  I laughed. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “Not yet.” She managed a flash of a smile, then sat up quite straight. “I want to text Joe but Lorraine says it would be a mistake.”

  Lorraine’s fingers slipped from the strings. “I’ve never used one of those phones
, though they don’t look like phones to me, more like elongated compacts. But I’ve heard students talk about them and how any use can be traced. Michelle is safe here, but what if the police have access to her cell phone? Right now she has it turned off. If she texts Joe, they could be here in an instant.”

  Michelle pushed to her feet. “The last time he saw us, we were disappearing into the basement of Old Ethel. In a text before I turned it off, he said police searched everywhere and when they left they told him to call them ASAP if he heard from me. He’s frantic to know where I am.” Her look was imploring. “I have to text him.”

  Lorraine was right. The police very likely did have access by now to her cell phone. “Definitely not. I’ll drop by and tell him you’re all right.”

  She sank back onto the loveseat, her face forlorn. She looked around the lovely room with a hopeless expression. “All right? Not very. I’m a fugitive. What do they say? I’m on the lam. Except I’m in a room nobody ever comes into except ghosts.” Her voice was shakier. “I can’t stay here forever. For one thing, I’ll starve.”

  I hadn’t thought about dinner. I turned toward Lorraine. “If Michelle promises to stay here and keep her cell turned off and not text, you can go to Lulu’s and pick up dinner.”

  Michelle studied me thoughtfully. “Is there anything you two can’t do?”

  “Quite possibly. But dinner is easy.”

  Lorraine looked doubtful.

  I reassured her. “Arrive on the side street. Find a shadowy area and appear. Imagine a lovely purse to match an outfit.” I thought fast, something appealing that wouldn’t look too 1940s but Lorraine would find acceptable. “A white crochet blouse and a pale lavender short jacket and a maxi skirt with a pattern of lavender swirls and matching lavender heels.”

  “How can I pay for a meal?” Lorraine’s blue eyes were concerned.

  I smiled. “The purse will contain a billfold.”

  Lorraine said eagerly, “Do you suppose I could have the change purse I last carried in a bag? It was about five inches long and three inches deep, a silk brocade with a phoenix and a dragon. I haven’t thought about it in years. Charles bought it for me in Hong Kong.”

  “Imagine that change purse. It will be there.”

  “That will be such a delight for me.” Lorraine came to her feet and threw me a kiss. “You have the loveliest ideas. I see why Paul thinks highly of you.”

  I quailed inside. I wasn’t sure Wiggins was thinking highly of me at the moment. Precepts Two, Three, and Four had been jettisoned along the way.

  Lorraine beamed at Michelle. “I’ll be off at once. You will be a good girl and wait quietly for me.” Her dark blue eyes fastened on Michelle’s face. “I’m trusting you.” And she was gone.

  Michelle brushed back a tangle of dark hair. “Crazy. That’s all. I’ve tried not to think about it. But there’s no doubt. She’s here, then she’s gone. You’re gone, then you’re here. But hey, I’m hungry and if she comes back with something good, I will not look the gift ghost in the mouth.”

  “Perhaps it would be better not to trouble yourself with details.”

  “I am troubled about a detail: me. My future. We aren’t any nearer knowing who’s behind everything that’s happened. If we don’t find out, I’ll go to jail and be there forever.”

  This girl needed encouragement. Quickly, I explained what I’d done. “So I should learn who’s behind everything tonight. The greatest help you can give is to stay here out of sight. Don’t call or text Joe. By tomorrow you will be vindicated.”

  If all went as planned . . .

  Joe jumped to his feet, rushed around his untidy desk, knocking off a pile of folders. Papers cascaded onto the floor. “What’d you do with her?” His bony face was anxious.

  “What one doesn’t know, one cannot reveal.”

  “Like I’m going to tell the cops?” His jaw jutted and he gave me a ferocious glower. He loomed over me, big, powerful, and riled.

  “Cool down. Michelle is safe. She’s with a friend of mine.”

  “Somebody you can trust?”

  “Absolutely. Michelle understands that she must remain there until the case is solved. She didn’t text because her cell might be traced. It won’t be too long now. Everything’s under control.”

  “Under control?” It was almost a sneer. “Oh sure. The cops keep popping in here and glaring at me. There’s an APB out for Michelle. I’m sure AP and the Oklahoman have picked up on the story. Even if she ever gets cleared, she’s been labeled a fugitive. How’s that going to work out for somebody who wants to be a historian? I’ve been going nuts. Michelle went down into the basement, though I told the cops I didn’t know where she went when she left here, but I know where she went and I’ve been down there and looked into every closet and under the press and if there’s a tunnel, somebody hid it awfully well. You can stand there and tell me about forgetting to lock doors but I know the doors are locked and here you are. Who are you and how come you have keys to Old Ethel?”

  I heard a faint throat clearing.

  Joe was too intent on my answer to be aware of that unmistakably masculine harrumph.

  I picked my words carefully. I wanted Wiggins to realize that my intention was always to honor the Precepts. Joe’s assumption that I entered with a key inspired me. I couldn’t claim to be Adelaide Police Officer M. Loy, but maybe I could convince him I was another kind of investigator. “You’re too smart for us.” I sounded regretful and admiring at the same time. “I’m Special Officer M. Loy, undercover for the FBI. We have a case of blackmail that crosses state lines.” I was definitely spinning a big one. “Michelle was picked to be the patsy. But we’re close to cracking the case. If you want to help, here’s what you can do.”

  He listened intently. When I finished, he quirked an eyebrow. “You want me to manufacture evidence?”

  I feigned shock. “Definitely not. The film isn’t intended ever to be used as evidence.” Certainly that was true. “But we can create material that will lead the Adelaide police to look for the right person.”

  His thick dark brows bunched in a tight frown. He rubbed knuckles along one jaw.

  I liked him a lot. He was an honest guy who believed in following the rules.

  “All I can tell you”—and this was certainly true—“is the result will faithfully reflect what happened Friday night.”

  Joe turned away from me, paced back and forth in the small office.

  A tap on my shoulder suggested Wiggins was getting impatient. I said softly, “Meet you in the newsroom.” Then I immediately spoke loudly and clearly to Joe. “If you help me, I’m sure the police will investigate further and there will be some compelling evidence for them to find.” If and when I placed such evidence advantageously, but I didn’t intend to tell Joe everything. “We are not falsifying evidence. We are going to create a dramatization of what occurred Friday night at the library. As for false evidence, that’s what was planted on Michelle, her entry code used the night of the theft at the library, the rare book placed in her apartment.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was tight with anger. “You got that right. Michelle never did a thing to land in the kind of trouble she’s in. Ben Douglas was nice to me. He shouldn’t be dead.”

  I opened his office door. “You’ll do as I ask?”

  Slowly he nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  I stepped into the newsroom and pulled the door shut before I disappeared. I whispered softly, “Wiggins, please meet me on the roof of the Administration Building.”

  “Very well.” His tone was crisp and definitely contained no pleasure.

  It was almost dark. From the roof of the Administration Building, the campus was a patchwork of shadows illuminated by spots of golden light. I balanced on a parapet, felt a gentle breeze stir my hair. Leaves rustled in a nearby elm. I patted the brickwork next to me. “It�
�s a lovely night, Wiggins.”

  “I suppose so.” He spoke from beside me.

  I wondered how he could always find me, and, I assumed, his other emissaries, while I could not see him unless he appeared. Oh well, there are more things in Heaven and earth than I will ever understand. Possibly a kind of Heavenly GPS. I giggled. I doubted Wiggins was au courant with the world’s electronic marvels.

  “You are amused?”

  “Forgive me.” I was contrite. “I was thinking of worldly things like GPS—”

  “Lorraine was quite clever to be aware of the dangers of using a cell phone when avoiding detection.” His voice exuded admiration.

  I had underestimated Wiggins. Maybe there was a Heavenly GPS. What did I know?

  “Lorraine shouldn’t have appeared, of course, but she wanted to console the young woman.” His voice was soft. “The lovely harp music took me back so many years. As always, Lorraine tries to bring peace and calm. However”—his voice was edged by frost—“there has been wholesale disregard for Precepts Two, Three, and Four. I have reached my limit.”

  Coal smoke tickled my nose. Wheels clacked on steel rails. I spoke hastily. “Wiggins, we”—I emphasized the plural; after all, I represented the Department of Good Intentions as honorably as I knew how and never saw myself as playing a lone hand—“are very near a solution. I understand you prefer that emissaries and others, such as Lorraine, remain unseen, unnoticed, unsung, but surely you understand that Lorraine and I had to disappear so that we could lift Michelle through the trapdoor to safety. Each of us took an arm and up we went. Think how dreadful it would have been for Michelle to be trapped in that dark tunnel.” I hoped he was envisioning rats and spiders and bats.

  “Certainly I understand that would upset her.”

  Encouraged, I said firmly, “Had Lorraine been aware of the Precepts, she would have refrained from making her presence known. But what is, is.” I was a well-meaning emissary, dealing with the vagaries of the world. “I know you understand we needed to reappear and reassure Michelle after her rescue.” That Michelle was also distressed by our appearing and disappearing wasn’t a matter I intended to pursue. I was cheery. “I rather think Michelle will be reticent about her experience.” Would she and Joe compare notes? Quite likely, but as Michelle had said in another context, it was better not to look a gift ghost (or two) in the mouth.