Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) (13 page)

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.

“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.”

T
he 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 there’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.

“Sleep . . . Yeah.” He rubbed his face. “Listen, my cat comes in at night and sleeps on my bed. He’ll be at the door waiting for me.”

Nick’s mind had to be pummeled by anxiety, fear, and disbelief. He’d seen a man die and now found himself a suspect in that death. None of this would ever have occurred to him in his wildest nightmares. Yet he worried about a battle-scarred tomcat waiting for a door to open.

Dee had said, “. . . but there are those who love him . . .”

I felt a rush of affection. “We’ll see about Champ. We’ll make sure he’s fed until you’re home again.”

“Home.” Nick’s voice was hopeless. “Yeah. Well, if I don’t get out, maybe Jan will take him. He’s a great guy. He wants to be talked to, but don’t pick him up. He’s got a bad hip. And maybe when you talk to Jan . . .” He stopped, looked even more discouraged. “But you can’t talk to her. I mean, the cops are hunting for you, Hilda. Plus, if I got it right, it’s against the rules”—he sounded a little puzzled—“to be seen. I guess there’s no way to tell Jan I didn’t shoot Cole. I mean, I hope she knows that, but I’d like for somebody to tell her.”

Dee was brusque, and I suspected beneath her stern exterior was a heart that cherished romance. “We’ll tell her. Somehow.”

“Of course we will. Don’t worry about Jan.” Nick needed sleep. Perhaps we could ease his mind at least a little. “Write her a note.”

He turned his hands over in defeat. “They took everything. My billfold, my cell phone, a pen.”

“We’ll get . . .” My voice trailed off. Dee and I could speed through walls and doors, but to bring him a sheet of paper and a pen required opening the locked entrance to the cells. “Don’t worry. Dee and I will make sure Jan knows you are all right, and you are going to be all right. We’ll go there first and then we’ll take care of Champ.”

• • •

The lower floor of the B and B was dim except for a Tiffany lamp on a hall table. The cream, jade, and crimson art glass added cheer. The last fading notes sounded from the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. It was a quarter to eleven.

I spoke softly, sure that Dee was nearby. “The police must have already been here. Let’s check upstairs for Jan.”

All of the bedroom doors were closed. Jan stood at the end of the hall, her hand on a doorknob. She tried to turn the handle. “Mom, unlock the door. The police are gone.” She twisted again. “I know you came in the back way and slipped up the stairs. I have to talk to you.” She shook the knob. “Mom, where were you tonight?”

“Dee.” My whisper was faint, too soft to be heard over Jan’s entreaties.

Dee tapped my arm.

I bent toward the touch, whispered, “Go into Arlene’s room. Find out what’s happening. I’ll wait until Jan goes downstairs, then I’ll appear and talk to her.”

I waited to see if Jan prevailed. She tried again. The knob didn’t budge. Finally, she turned away from her mother’s door and walked toward the stairway, her round face creased in an anxious frown. She walked heavily down the stairs.

When the kitchen door closed behind her, I swirled into being. Regretfully, I replaced my elegant pink and gray outfit with the black sweater, slacks, and shoes I’d worn to the gazebo. I consoled myself that the change was temporary. I pushed open the door.

Jan whirled. “Mo—” Eagerness was replaced with shock. “You! Where have you been? The police are looking for you. You have to call and tell them you’re here. They said you don’t exist, and they wanted me to tell them who you really are. I don’t care who you are.” She sped across the floor, gripped my arm. “They’re holding Nick. They think he shot Cole. They don’t believe you were there. But you went with him. Why didn’t you help him?”

“Jan, I’m doing my best for Nick. He understands that I can’t appear to talk to the police right now. I’m working undercover. I have every intention of informing the police of the killer’s identity. Nick is innocent, despite what the police think. I was there, and someone shot Cole from the weeping willows behind the gazebo.”

Sheer terror flickered in her eyes. She whirled away from me, walked to the counter, placed her hands against the rim as if clinging for support.

I followed, lightly touched her rigid shoulder. “What time did your mother get back here?”

Jan jerked to face me. “Mom didn’t shoot Cole. I know she didn’t.” She tried to sound confident, but her voice was shaky.

“The police will find out if she was at the park. She’d be much better advised to contact them and describe what she saw.”

Jan took a deep breath. “I’ll tell her.”

I looked into eyes brimming with fear. “Ask your mother if she wants an innocent man to go to prison.”

“Mother wasn’t there.” It was a prayer.

I turned and walked to the hall door.

“Wait.” Jan started after me. “The police want to talk to you.”

“I’ll contact the police when I have information that clears Nick. If you want to help him, don’t tell anyone I came here.” I pushed through the door. As it closed behind me, I disappeared and flowed back into the kitchen.

Jan rushed to the telephone, grabbed up the receiver, then slowly replaced it in the holder. “Oh Nick.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Nick, I don’t know what to do.” She whirled away from the counter, began to pace.

She wasn’t going to report my return, hoping that her silence would be best for Nick. But she wasn’t afraid only for Nick. Arlene had known that Nick was meeting Cole in the gazebo. Had Arlene been in City Park, too?

• • •

Arlene’s bedroom was pure Victoriana. Another time I would have been enthralled by the pine Georgian fireplace and its flowered-tile insert of urns with roses and ferns. A reproduction of a Sargent painting hung above the massive carved mahogany bedstead. A Japanese screen stood in one corner of the room. Filmy muslin edged with lace draped a dressing table, which sat in a bay window framed by dark red velvet drapes. Bric-a-brac decorated several small tables, all with lace cloths.

I was puzzled. Jan had stood at her mother’s door, asking for entry. Where was Arlene?

“Dee?” I spoke softly.

“Over here.” Dee’s reply was equally soft. “She’s in the bathroom. She’s dreadfully upset.”

The bathroom door creaked. Arlene stepped into the bedroom. Her black silk dressing gown with golden embroidery was lovely, but in the privacy of her chamber, her face revealed shock, despair, and fear, eyes red-rimmed, face bloated from tears, quivering lips. She walked to a rose-patterned chair, fell into it, stared blindly at the drawn window curtains. Slowly she lifted her hands. Her face sank down. Sobs shook her shoulders.