Ghost in Trouble (2010)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hidden from view behind crape myrtles with lavender blooms, I swirled into the elegant blouse and slacks I’d worn when I spoke with Gwen Dunham. Although I expected she’d be too upset to notice, the contrast between Francie the Frump and Bailey Ruth, aka Francie with a shopper’s paradise at her disposal, might be disconcerting. I decided Francie’s future wardrobe would be subdued, not dowdy. Subdued can be stylish. Besides, nice clothes made me feel like doing a cartwheel. The lush green grass around the gazebo looked thick and inviting.

Cartwheels could wait. As I climbed the gazebo steps, I remembered long-ago summers and a skinny redheaded girl in the twilight, listening to the cicadas and crickets, whirling from one end of a dusty brown lawn to the other with no thought beyond that moment. It was as if those magical days would last forever.

The air pulsed with heat, and I welcomed the shade of the gazebo. I sat in a comfortable wicker chair and watched the opening in a tall green hedge of Nellie Stevens holly trees that marked the boundary between The Castle and the Dunham property.

Gwen Dunham came slowly along the flagstone path, walking as if she carried a heavy burden. At the gazebo steps, she stopped for a deep breath, then slowly climbed. Her face was shaded by a wide-brimmed crocheted raffia hat with a blue camo-ribbon trim that matched her blouse. Dark glasses masked her eyes. Her patrician features might have been chipped from granite.

She walked across the plank flooring and stood a few feet away from me, her arms folded. “How did you find out about Ryan?” Her tone was anguished. “What do you want?”

I came to my feet and said gently, “I don’t intend to cause trouble.” Unless, and this was the qualification in my mind and heart, she had ended a man’s life to protect herself and her family.

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice shook. “Why else did you call and say you knew about Ryan and you’d be back in touch and hang up?”

I looked at her gravely. “I didn’t call you. Nor did Kay. Was the caller a woman?”

“The voice was just a whisper. It could have been a man. The call came from The Castle. Just a few minutes ago.” If she’d looked desperate before, now she was frantic. “Who else knows?”

“The person who took Ryan’s photograph knows.” But Margo wasn’t the only possibility.

Gwen’s hands gripped each other, twisting and turning. “Where’s the picture now? Where’s Ryan’s brush?”

“I don’t know who has the picture. The hairbrush is in a safe place, where it will stay until it is discarded.”

“Why are you doing this? Do you want money? I’ll buy the hairbrush from you.” She talked fast, the words running over each other. “How much do you want? I’ll pay you. I’ll get the money today.”

“I don’t want money. Moreover, I don’t have the hairbrush. Unless circumstances change”—if I didn’t have to tell Kay and Kay didn’t give the information to the police—“we won’t reveal anything to anyone.” Paul Fisher had apparently decided against pursuing the truth about the young man who was a mirror image of Jack Hume when he was Paul’s quarterback. Perhaps Paul felt that Jack’s quest was understandable when he was alive, but revelations after his death would cause heartbreak for no good purpose.

“If you don’t want money, what do you want?” Gwen’s voice was harsh.

“Kay and I want to understand what happened in the last few days of Jack Hume’s life. Kay has no intention of including everything she learns about Jack’s last days in her book, but she is a careful investigator. If she felt there was good reason to exclude some information, I’m certain she will.”

“Good reason?” Her voice shook. “Is my son’s trust in me and his dad a good reason? Is leaving a happy family alone a good reason?” She flung out a hand. “Don’t you see, it was so long ago and only one night and it shouldn’t matter now. Jack came home for James’s wedding. I was Diane’s maid of honor. There were parties and dances and one wonderful night on the balcony of The Castle.” She lifted a hand to clutch at a rose-quartz necklace. “He was handsome and we talked and he held me in his arms. I’ve never felt that way about anyone else. It was a kind of madness. That night we went to the Hume cabin on the lake. My parents thought I’d stayed at The Castle. The next morning he asked me to come to Africa with him. Just fly away and leave Adelaide behind. I wanted to go with him.” Her voice wobbled. “I couldn’t do that to Clint. He had a summer job in Houston. He was coming home in three weeks for our wedding. I couldn’t treat Clint that way. I love Clint. He’s good and kind and he adores me. He came home and we married. I didn’t know I was pregnant. When I found out, I thought everything would be all right. I thought the baby was Clint’s.” Her tone was defiant. “When Ryan was little, I suppose I knew then, but I pushed away the thought. That night didn’t matter. Clint is Ryan’s dad. Don’t you see? Clint is his dad.”

“Weren’t you afraid someone would notice Ryan’s resemblance to Jack?”

She threw out shaking hands. “Why would anyone think of Jack when they saw Ryan? There was no reason to make that connection. When Jack came back from Africa with an eye patch and a scar on his cheek and white hair, he didn’t look anything like he did when he was young.”

Someone had remembered the youthful Jack with painful clarity. I was sure that Margo Taylor, bitter over his long-ago dismissal of her, fearful of her daughter’s pursuit of him, had entered the Dunham house and taken Ryan’s graduation picture. She had pushed the photograph beneath Jack’s door. Whatever her motive—revenge, jealousy of Gwen, or a wish to distract him from Shannon—she had unleashed violent emotions, Jack’s fury at the son denied to him, Gwen’s fear at a revelation she believed might destroy her family, and Shannon’s youthful heartbreak at Jack’s abrupt lack of interest.

Gwen began to pace. “I wasn’t concerned when he came back. There was no reason to do more than say hello to him. Ryan is a counselor at a camp in Missouri this summer. I made it a point to have Diane to my house, rather than dropping in to see her at The Castle. That last week, Diane came over several times. She was terribly upset because Jack accused Laverne and Ronald of fraud. Poor little Diane.” Gwen’s face softened. “She’s kind and good and generous, but she’s credulous. She’s sure she is actually hearing from James and that makes her happy. Jack should have left her alone. It may be a fool’s paradise, but what harm was there?”

“Possibly he didn’t want Laverne and Ronald to fleece Diane. Possibly he felt delving into the occult was irreligious.”

“The Humes have more money than they can ever use. As for the occult”—she made a dismissive gesture—“actually it wasn’t, because it was all fake.”

Gwen’s reasoning was faulty, but this wasn’t a moment to pursue theology.

“Anyway”—she was sympathetic—“hearing from James makes Diane happy. Destroying her connection to James would be cruel. Of course, Jack knew they were taking advantage of her. He’d made up his mind to get rid of them. When he told Diane, she cried until she was sick. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d lived. He was”—her voice was ragged—“frightening when he was angry. He came to my house Friday morning. He forced his way inside. He had Ryan’s picture. He said someone pushed it under his door. He showed me a note with Ryan’s name and birth date. Thank God Clint was at his office. Jack found the wall of our pictures. He looked at them and saw the empty place and then he turned on me. He asked me how I could I have done this to him, how I could have cheated him of his son. But when I knew, what was I supposed to do? I’d heard Jack was getting married. Clint was my husband. Jack yelled at me. He stormed up the stairs and found Ryan’s room—”

She was suffering, but Jack had suffered, too. Long ago his little daughter died, and at that moment in the Dunham house, he saw a room filled with mementos of a child’s life he hadn’t shared.

“—and took Ryan’s hairbrush. I tried to get the brush away from him and he pushed me away, said he’d have the brush, no matter what.” She slumped against a pillar, her fingers once again clasping the hard stones of her necklace. “I begged him. He said he had to know Ryan. He said he would give me a week to tell Clint and Ryan. If I didn’t, he would find Ryan himself and by that time he would have proof that he was his father.”

The DNA from Ryan’s hairbrush would have provided all the proof Jack would ever have needed.

“What did you tell Clint?”

She pushed away from the pillar, stood stiff and still. “I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know anything.” But her eyes glittered with fear.

“You met Jack at the gazebo Friday night.”

If possible, she looked even more terrified. She scarcely managed to speak. “How did you know?”

“You were seen.”

She hunched her shoulders.

“Does your husband know you quarreled with Jack at the gazebo?” I watched her carefully.

“Of course not. I waited until Clint was asleep. I slipped downstairs and called Jack, told him I had to talk to him. I hoped he might remember how we’d felt and be kind. He came to the gazebo, but he started in again about telling Ryan. I begged him to leave us alone. He wouldn’t listen. Then Diane’s dog barked. I was afraid—” She broke off.

“Afraid?”

“I thought I’d heard someone near, a rustle in the bushes. I didn’t want anyone to see me there.”

Had she feared her husband had awakened and followed her?

“Anyway, there was no use. Jack had made up his mind. I ran home. I wish I could run away now.” She looked despairing. “But it’s no use, is it? You know about Ryan. Someone saw Jack and me in the gazebo. How many people know?”

She felt surrounded by nameless, faceless enemies. I wished I could reassure her. There was perhaps one positive note I could add. “I don’t believe the person who saw you in the gazebo knows about Ryan.”

Some of the tension eased from her body. Her face was taut in thought. Then she gave a short, knowing murmur. “Shannon must have followed him.” Her smile was mirthless. “Dazed by his magic. I suppose she thought…well, it doesn’t matter what she thought. You think she doesn’t know about Ryan?”

“I’m sure.”

“So there’s you and Kay and the person who called and whoever has Ryan’s brush. Oh, I suppose Kay has the brush. It was probably in Jack’s things. That’s how you found out.” She held out her hands in a plea. “If it’s you and Kay, then I beg you. Please don’t be cruel. There’s no reason to bring up all of this. It was long ago, one crazy night in all of Jack’s nights. Don’t let that one moment ruin my life and Ryan’s and Clint’s. Please.”

“Jack said he’d give you a week. What were you going to do?”

Her face once again was a hard, resentful mask. “What difference does it make now? Jack is dead. Ryan will never know. Don’t destroy my life. You can write your book about Jack, but don’t rake up something from the past that will do nothing but break our hearts.”

“I can promise that your family won’t be included in the book.” Since the book would never be written, I felt comfortable reassuring Gwen.

For the first time since she’d reached the gazebo, there was a hint of hope in her strained face. “Ryan won’t find out?”

I wondered if it had ever occurred to her that her son had a right to know the identity of his birth father. From the happiness and warmth obvious in the family photographs in their den, it seemed unlikely that Ryan would ever consider anyone other than Clint to be his dad.

“He won’t be told anything by Kay or by me.”

Her voice was thin. “I hope you mean what you say.”

“Let us know if you get another call about Ryan. Don’t pay blackmail. Let us help.”

“Ryan mustn’t know. I’ll do anything to keep Clint from finding out.” She could not have made her decision clearer. If she had to pay blackmail, she would. “If only Jack hadn’t come home.” She whirled and ran down the steps and walked swiftly toward home.

I opened the door and stepped into Kay’s room.

She sat at the desk with a pen and pad. She put down the pen and looked up. “If I could swoop through the air unseen, it would be my choice of transport.”

I waved a dismissive hand. “That’s old hat. I enjoy being.” I glimpsed my silk georgette blouse in the mirror. It was truly lovely. “And I’m parched.”

“Mine but to serve,” Kay murmured, but she popped up and moved to the wet bar.

“Club soda, please.” I settled in a comfortable easy chair by the coffee table.

The club soda fizzed as Kay poured it into a tall tumbler filled with ice. She selected a Coke from the refrigerator for herself. She turned from the wet bar and carried the glasses to a clear glass coffee table, then brought a bowl of cashews.

“Thank you.” I reached for the glass. Plain club soda was always my drink of choice, bright, fresh, and not a trace of sweet. I selected five cashews, ate them slowly, felt a pop of energy. I pushed a cushion behind my back and stretched to admire my sandals. Perhaps they’d be even prettier with a green trim. Oh, yes. I nodded approval.

Kay retrieved her notebook and pen and sat in a webbed leather chair on the other side of the table. A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight through the west windows of Jack’s sitting room revealed the fine lines that feathered from her eyes and lips, reflecting a life filled with humor and thought and adventure and empathy.

I spoke rapidly. “I talked to Diane, Jimmy, Shannon, Margo, and Gwen. Diane thinks Jack was murdered…” And I concluded, “…Someone is trying to blackmail Gwen.”

Kay looked up from her notebook as I finished. “How’s this for a summary? Diane’s terrified that Jimmy pushed Jack. Jimmy admitted he intended to confront Jack, but claimed he found the balcony empty. Shannon heard Gwen Dunham say she wished Jack was dead. Margo refused to answer any questions and you believe she pushed Ryan’s picture beneath Jack’s door.” Kay’s expression softened. “And there’s Gwen Dunham. Poor woman.”

Kay’s gaze swung toward the windows to look at the hedge between The Castle and the Dunham house. “I have two sons.” The sentence was filled with understanding and compassion. “I wouldn’t trade my years watching Kyle and Connor grow up for anything in the world.” She tapped her pen on the notebook. “Gwen Dunham had the most to lose.”

“The dog barked.”

Kay looked bewildered.

I was following my own line of thought. “Gwen Dunham was not the only person who was threatened by revelations about Ryan. Friday night, Shannon followed Jack to the gazebo, where he met Gwen. Shannon tried to get near enough to hear, but Diane’s cocker started barking. Gwen said she slipped from the house, leaving her husband asleep. Was he asleep? Did he follow her? Did the cocker bark at him or at Shannon? How upset would Clint Dunham be if he thought the son he loved would learn Clint wasn’t his father? Clint had a motive for murder. Or was someone else out there? Ronald Phillips has a talent for slipping around unseen. He may be planning to blackmail Gwen.”

“There are too many possibilities.” Kay sounded discouraged. “How can we figure out who is guilty?”

“Which one was capable of murder? Was Paul helpful?”

Kay looked at me unhappily. “I feel like I took advantage of him. These people are his friends. He thinks I wanted his perspective so that I could more effectively interview them.”

“Jack was Paul’s quarterback.”

Some of the tension eased from her face. “Thank you.” Her glance said more than her words. Paul’s admiration and respect mattered hugely to her. Someday, if Kay revealed the truth about Jack’s death, Paul would understand.

“I believe Paul’s view of them is as honest a picture as we will find. So”—she was brisk—“Gwen seems an unlikely suspect. He describes her as gentle, self-effacing, unwilling to cause controversy. She loves Adelaide. Clint had a chance some years ago to go with Travelers Insurance in Dallas. Gwen didn’t want to leave Adelaide.”

I looked back over years, considering how Gwen had dealt with a once-in-a-lifetime chance for love. “Jack wanted her to come to Africa. She wouldn’t—or couldn’t—break out of the mold of her life. Keeping the status quo mattered more to her than passion. If she clung to a kind of life that had barely begun, what would she do if something occurred which threatened to destroy her long-established, secure world?”

“Gwen hated him that night in the gazebo.” Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Shannon heard her: ‘I wish you were dead.’”

I cautioned, “We have no proof of what Gwen said. Shannon may have lied.”

“Why?” Kay sipped the soft drink.

“You are forgetting one small matter.”

Kay raised a questioning eyebrow.

“The vase.”

“Oh. Of course. The murderer is quite sure questions from you or me have nothing to do with a book and will take every opportunity to direct suspicion elsewhere. That means the response of one of them has to be filtered through the possibility of guilt. Clever of you.” She gave me an admiring glance. “You aren’t as ditzy as you look.”

Every time Kay and I seemed to be forging a bond, she said something tactless. I suppose pique was evident in my expression. I stiffened. Had I heard a faint chuckle? I looked around the room. If Wiggins was here, he remained, of course, unseen.

He whirled into being behind Kay, visible only to me, chestnut hair burnished in a stream of sunlight from the window, broad genial face equable, mustache quivering in amusement. He gave me a thumbs-up, pointed into the distance, and disappeared.

I was swept by elation. Despite my continued appearances, Wiggins had clearly awarded me the Department of Good Intentions Seal of Approval. If Wiggins didn’t have a seal, I’d be happy to help design one. Perhaps a dear sea lion perched astride bright red (of course) letters trumpeting: YES! For an instant, tears of joy filmed my eyes.

“Don’t cry.” Kay was obviously distressed. “I didn’t intend to be disparaging, but, frankly, you are so young and pretty, it’s hard to take you seriously.” She clapped a hand over her lips, looked appalled. “Did I say that? How many times was I treated like that when I was your age!” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Of course you aren’t that age, even if you look it. How confusing is that?”

My, a seal of approval from Wiggins and a compliment and an apology from Kay. I felt like giving another Rebel yell, but settled for a pleased smile. “‘No offense meant, none taken.’”

Her laughter was genuine and appreciative. “Anyway, you’ve done excellent work.” She bit her lip, flashed me an impish glance. “For a pretty young woman. Okay.” Her smile fled. “If Shannon pushed Jack, she’d try to steer suspicion to someone else. Do you suppose she knew about Ryan?”

I drank the fizzy club soda, slowly shook my head. “She’d have told me, especially if she was trying to implicate Gwen.”

Kay stirred the ice in her Coke. “Paul was circumspect when I asked about Shannon. She’d been a client. I asked the circumstances. He said the matter had been settled and he wasn’t at liberty to discuss it. When I got back, I checked with Evelyn. She was more forthcoming. When Shannon was fourteen she rammed her bicycle into a teenage boy who was throwing rocks at a cat. She knocked him down and he ended up with a broken nose and five stitches in his chin. His parents sued. Jimmy got his dad involved. The suit was settled. Evelyn didn’t know whether James had provided money, but she thought so.”

It was my turn to murmur “oh.” “Hotheaded. Impulsive. Lacks control.”

Kay glanced at the notebook. “Shannon’s not the only one with a temper. Paul said Evelyn is quick to anger, slow to forgive. The Castle matters more to her than people. She takes enormous pride in the art collection. Although she dutifully responds to charitable requests, her gifts are respectable, but not overly generous. She never hesitates to spend several hundred thousand for a painting or sculpture that she wants.”

I was puzzled. “How can art matter that much to her when she has such poor vision?”

Kay shrugged. “Pride of possession? Perhaps having Alison describe a work and knowing that the painting hangs at The Castle is enough. Maybe the art collection gives meaning to her life. Paul said Evelyn was resentful, angry that she’d never met anyone to love, that she’d spent her time caring for her father without any support from her brothers.”

Kay glanced again at her notes. “As for Diane, Paul said she’s timid, easily flustered, affectionate, and vulnerable. Paul thought it was a shame Jack hadn’t dislodged Laverne and Ronald. He said”—Kay’s eyes met mine—“that Diane would fight to the death to keep them at The Castle.”

I remembered Diane’s pitiful “I’d rather die” when she spoke of losing Laverne. “When a weak person is backed into a corner, the response can be vicious.”

Kay said briskly, “‘Dangerous if threatened’ sums up Diane. Jack had no intention of easing up on the Phillipses.”

“Wouldn’t Diane wait until she was certain he could prevail?” I had no doubt Diane was desperate to keep Laverne near, but I thought the threat would have to be certain before she would act. “Is she decisive enough for preemptive action?”

Kay was thoughtful. “For all we know, Jack may have spoken to Diane Saturday evening. I think she would have to be absolutely desperate to commit murder.”

“Paul’s take on Jimmy?”

Kay’s face softened. “Jimmy reminds me of Jack when he was young. Paul feels the same way. Although”—her tone was suddenly dry—“unlike Jack, Jimmy’s been a one-woman man since he and Shannon went on a Halloween hayride in middle school. Shannon is volatile and known to flirt. In fact, she dated another guy last summer.” She paused. “Jimmy slouched around looking morose. That’s when he took up hang gliding.”

I quoted Coleridge: “‘And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain.’”

“The old boy had that one right.” Kay’s words were flippant, but her eyes were somber with understanding. “Yet, when you talked to Jimmy, nothing he said suggested an effort to implicate anyone else.”

“Unless”—I felt sad making the suggestion—“he was artfully making clear the extent of Shannon’s unhappiness with Jack. In fact, he may be a wily murderer and still very angry with Shannon. What did Paul say about Margo?”

“Beaten down. She grew up in Adelaide in modest circumstances. She was nineteen when Jack came back for James’s wedding. Jack gave her a big rush and then he met Gwen. He dropped Margo. Later, she married a rodeo cowboy, Rollie Taylor. Shannon was born the next year. Margo followed Rollie on the circuit for a half-dozen years, but he ran around on her. They had a bitter divorce and she got a pretty good settlement. He was a big prizewinner. A few years ago, he was paralyzed when he was thrown from a bull. He needed money. She told him nothing doing. After the divorce, she worked part-time, went back to school, and got her degree. She was a flight attendant for American for a half-dozen years till all the layoffs. She came back to Adelaide because her mother, Phyllis, had Alzheimer’s. Phyllis had been the housekeeper at The Castle for fifteen years. Evelyn and James were happy to have Margo take over her mother’s job and that made it possible for Phyllis to stay here until she died last year.”

Kay drew a string of question marks across the top of her pad. “Margo must have been furious when Jack came home and spent time with Shannon.”

I nodded. “She was angry enough to slip Ryan Dunham’s photograph under Jack’s door. My guess is that after you came, she took the photograph from his box.”

Kay was puzzled. “Why not leave the picture there?”

I had an idea. I hoped I wasn’t right. “Did Paul appraise Margo’s character?”

Kay shot me an irritated look. “Do you take special pleasure in non sequiturs?”

Possibly my swiftness of thought wasn’t appreciated. I resisted the temptation to quote Damon Runyon: “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.” However, I felt Kay’s patience had reached its limit. “Someone called Gwen, clearly to set her up for blackmail. The caller may have been Margo.”

“Would Margo commit blackmail?” Kay shrugged. “I don’t think she’d try to get money. That might not be the point. Maybe she wants to turn the screw a little tighter on Gwen.” She wrote on her notepad. “Paul was fair, but he has a negative view of Margo. He’s mostly positive about Alison Gregory. He’s grateful for Alison’s kindness to his wife and he admires Alison’s success, but he said she blocked the establishment of a competing gallery by a friend of his. Alison persuaded the financial backers to pull out. Paul shook his head, said she might have been smarter to welcome a new gallery, the-more-the-merrier philosophy of the big chains when they build across the street from each other. Paul said he understood Alison’s dependence upon Evelyn Hume as a primary customer, but her cultivation of Evelyn sometimes seemed excessive.”

I didn’t find Alison’s focus on Evelyn surprising. Possibly not completely admirable, but definitely not surprising. “If we checked the provenance of artworks purchased by Evelyn, I imagine many of them were provided by Alison.”

Kay looked indifferent. “Jack had a list. We can probably check and see, but I don’t think it would tell us anything. Anyway, Alison is smart, aggressive, and plenty tough beneath the charm. Although I don’t find her all that charming.”

I laughed. “Of course you don’t. You’ve never fawned over anyone in your life.”

“Thanks.”

I was glad that she cared what I thought of her. That was definitely a step forward.

“However, speaking of fawning—”

Two minds that worked as one. I nodded. “Laverne and Ronald Phillips.”

“Scum. That’s how Paul sees them.” Her face furrowed. “Diane’s their golden goose.”

“There’s a séance tonight?” I spoke with distaste.

“Every Wednesday at eight in the library. Diane told me all about it. Breathlessly. I’ve heard what James says and how happy he is to be with her.” Kay shook her head. “Poor Diane. She’s easy pickings for the Phillipses.”

“Who attends?”

“Diane and Laverne. As you would imagine, Jimmy thinks it’s all nuts and Evelyn has no patience with the supernatural.” Kay abruptly looked gleeful. “It would be a hoot to introduce you to Evelyn as my ghost-in-chief. She’s so arrogantly in command. I’d like to see her in a situation she couldn’t control. Come on, Bailey Ruth, how about it?”

I was appalled. “Precepts One, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven. I would be drummed out of the department.”

“Okay, okay. No need to get hot and bothered.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Why do you ask? Do you want to attend? No problem. Disappear and go.” Once again, her eyes held a wicked gleam. “Hey, you could add a spot if excitement. You—” She broke off. “Have I said something unacceptable? You don’t look amused.”

“Remember”—I knew I sounded uncommonly serious—“those who are alive must not seek to contact those who are dead. That way lies evil. If Heaven, as in your case, sends a spirit to you, that is for good.”

Kay reached out, patted my arm. “I got it. Not a two-way street. I’m sorry. Your fur is definitely ruffled. I apologize. We’ll ignore any and all séances.”

That was my definite intent. “Diane is too transparent to be discreet. We can easily find out what happens tonight. I’m sure Ronald Phillips has some mischief in mind. He said, ‘The Great Spirit’s going to put on a good show.’ He told Laverne he had a few more things to find out, then he asked if this was Diane’s afternoon with James. What did he mean?”

“James died at four o’clock on a Wednesday. Every week at that time, Diane takes fresh flowers to the cemetery.”

“Ronald told Laverne to meet Diane there.”

Kay’s gaze narrowed. “You make that sound sinister.”

“I think it is.” I glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to four.

I started to disappear, stopped.

Kay’s eyes widened. “Don’t be half here. That’s too spooky for words.”

I swirled back. “I’m off to the cemetery. I may be able to find out what Ronald is planning. While I’m gone, lock your door”—I pointed toward the hall door—“and stay put until I return.”

“You may be ghost-in-chief.” Her voice had its familiar acerbic tone. “You are not nanny-in-chief.”

I looked at her sternly. “It may seem far in the past, but less than twenty-four hours ago you escaped death because I pushed you to safety.”

“So I’m appreciative.” Kay was impatient. “Take my thanks as a given. I’m also not stupid. I’ll be careful. I’ve been thinking about Alison Gregory. It still doesn’t ring true to me that Jack talked to her about Evelyn. So, if that wasn’t the subject, what was? I’ll drop by the gallery, tell her I found some enigmatic notes about her and that guy out at the college.” She looked at me inquiringly.

I shook my head. “Your plan is good. Your timing is not. Tomorrow I’ll go with you.”

“What do I do in the meantime?”

I gave her an encouraging smile. “Cultivate patience. As Charlie Chan advised, ‘Anxious man hurries too fast—often stubs big toe.’”

“He also said”—Kay’s eyes glinted—“‘Hours are happiest when hands are busiest.’”

“Very true.”

Her eyes lighted.

I shook my head. There would be no wanderer’s blessing from me. “You’re extremely smart, Kay.” Praise worked wonders when I taught English and generous comments smoothed my path in the mayor’s office. “You’ve found out everything possible about Jack’s last few days. Going back to the well won’t accomplish anything. Instead, put that fertile brain of yours to work. We have a logjam of facts. Figure out where to poke in a stick of dynamite and change the landscape.”

“In other words”—her drawl was dangerously pleasant—“I’m confined to quarters?”

“Here in a locked room you are one hundred percent safe.”

“Maybe I should ask that grizzled police chief to lock me up.” Her eyes widened. “Get that considering look off your freckled face.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you don’t stay, I don’t go.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. You are a pain.”

“You are recalcitrant.” I had a happy memory. I lifted my right hand. “I, Kay Clark, do hereby solemnly promise…”

She made a rude gesture, then raised her arms in surrender.