Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) (18 page)

“Sticky,” Dee murmured with distaste as she flipped through the contents of a drawer in a cabinet on the opposite wall. “Interesting. A thirty-eight. Somebody shoots, likely Brian.”

My search didn’t take long. “We’ll come back after work hours. If Lisa’s not here, maybe Brian will know where to find her.”

The cabinet drawer slammed shut. “Talk, talk, talk. Our efforts aren’t getting us anywhere. What if we find them both here? Lisa won’t admit to anything and probably neither will Brian. I’m going to go see Nick. He needs to keep his mouth shut.” Her tone was slightly defiant.

“Dee, surely he’s spoken with a lawyer—”

The feeling of solitude was now familiar. Dee was gone, and I was alone in the trailer. I could use a quiet moment to consider what to do next, though I would have preferred more edifying surroundings.

In an instant, I was in the cemetery that adjoins St. Mildred’s Episcopal Church. Leaves cascaded from maples and oaks, stirred by the brisk breeze that perhaps heralded a change in weather. The well-kept cemetery with its grassy expanses and clusters of trees was as beautiful as always. I took a moment to stop at the Pritchard mausoleum to pet the stone Abyssinian at Hannah’s tomb and the greyhound at Maurice’s. Hannah and Maurice had been leaders of society in Adelaide, patrons of the arts known for their generosity and kindness. After their deaths, the legend grew that those who stop to admire and stroke their beloved pets are blessed by good fortune. Outside, I drifted above the tombstones. Perhaps a cemetery seemed an odd choice for cheer, but there is solace and encouragement in many epitaphs. Most offered gentle tributes:

In Loving Memory

Beloved Husband

Lifted to Heaven

There were a few unusual epitaphs:

Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule. William Cowper

What seems to us but sad, funeral tapers May be heaven’s distant lamps. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every sound shall end in silence, but the silence never dies. Samuel Miller Hageman

The acts of this life are the destiny of the next. Eastern proverb

I stared at the last inscription, which was dappled by the shade of shifting limbs tossed by the breeze.
The acts of this life
. . .

What act led to Cole’s painful end at the gazebo? Why had he died on that particular mild October night? Had there been a trigger for his murder on Wednesday, or had someone with a deeply held grudge taken advantage of Nick’s public fury?

At the B and B Wednesday, Cole had been desperate to assuage Arlene, but he hadn’t acted like a lover seeking to save a liaison. His thoughts appeared centered on the Arnold property. Before his angry departure from the kitchen, he’d apparently realized that he could use the photos in his cell to force Nick to turn over the Arnold property.

Why had he been determined to gain access to that property? What difference had it made whether or not he set up a replica of the original trading post?

Cole had revealed something else on that last morning of his life. Though he had been focused on obtaining access to the Arnold property, Cole had told Nick that first he had some “business” to see to, then he’d be in touch with Phidippus. I was sure Cole had already had in mind the offer of the sexy photos in exchange for the property. The “business” must have been very important to make his pursuit of the Arnold property second on his list.

The natty French-blue uniform of the Adelaide police carries authenticity. If Officer Augusta was unavailable, Officer M. Loy was ready to report for duty.

Yee-hah.

• • •

The only sound on the third floor office of City Hall was the slight hum of the air register. October is a challenge for office buildings, being neither hot nor cold, so the room was slightly stuffy. The door to the anteroom to Cole’s office was ajar. I peered around the edge. A thin blonde sat at a desk, half-turned to one side as she delicately painted the nails of her left hand a vivid ochre. Unless she was performing in a Halloween play, the color was ill advised. Careful not to muss wet nails, she turned a page of a magazine on her desk.

I glanced up and down the hall, spotted the ladies’ room. Once within, I made certain I was alone. I swirled into being. In the mirror, I admired how the black of the visored cap emphasized red hair. The French-blue uniform was crisp and fresh and the black leather shoes well shined. No doubt the police had already interviewed the secretary, so I doubted she would question their return.

I moved toward the door, then paused. Cole’s secretary had seen me briefly on Wednesday morning when Nick had stormed out of the office. Perhaps I should try a wig. A black pageboy was boring. I didn’t like blonde either. I settled for a rich chestnut. Just in case, I added large aviator sunglasses. I limped as I made my way up the hall. I’d moved swiftly and easily when glimpsed on Wednesday.

At Cole’s office, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The secretary looked up. Quickly, she screwed the cap on the polish and flipped the magazine shut.

I limped forward. “Officer M. Loy, Adelaide Police Department. I understand you were Cole Clanton’s secretary.” I pulled out a small notebook, began to flip through pages. “You are . . .”

“Libby Bracken.” Her eyes were bright with excitement.

I glanced down at the magazine. “
Woman’s Day
! Last week I found the best recipe for chocolate truffle pie. What’s your favorite new recipe?”

“Brownies with coconut and brown sugar topping. I have some here.” She pulled open her desk drawer, retrieved a plastic container, lifted the lid, and carefully unfolded wax paper. “Would you like one?”

When I was comfortably settled in the chair next to her desk, the brownie on a napkin, we traded several recipes. When we were new best friends and I’d finished the brownie, I pulled a pen from my pocket and placed the notebook on my knee. “Sometimes it helps a witness to recall events again. If you don’t mind, please describe Wednesday morning.”

“Like I told the officer yesterday, I was scared. Everything turned nasty. Cole—” She paused, and a bit of pink touched her cheeks. “He was my boss, but I called him by his first name. We grew up on the same block. I know Nick Magruder, too, and I don’t care what they say, he wouldn’t shoot anybody, even if he was awfully mad. And he was. I’ve never seen Nick like that. But that was later. Everything was ordinary until around nine o’clock. I was in Cole’s office. He had a bunch of stuff for me to copy and deliver to the stores downtown, an announcement about the celebration.” She looked deflated. “I don’t know whether they will go ahead with Old Timer Days or not. It’s scheduled for the first weekend in November. That’s about the time when Belle Starr and her gang robbed a Katy train. Some people think she brought the gold here to Adelaide that December. My mom says it’s all hogwash, and she ought to know. She teaches Oklahoma history. Anyway, I had some announcements that looked like old-time wanted posters with the date, and I was supposed to ask the shopkeepers to put them in their windows. I never even got them all copied that day because of everything that happened. About nine, Cole got a call from Arlene Richey. They’d been hanging out together. I think it’s real embarrassing for Jan.” Libby sounded prim. “Jan’s her daughter, and I went to school with her, too.”

“Arlene’s call came around nine?” I wrote in the notebook.

Libby nodded vigorously. “I wasn’t surprised she called him. She called him all the time. He knew it was her. He looked at his cell and gave me a kind of nod, meaning
You can go out and close the door
, and that didn’t surprise me, either. Once I accidentally heard a bit of his conversation with her. It wasn’t nice.” The pink was more pronounced in her cheeks. “But this time”—her eyes were rounded—“I knew something big had happened. I wasn’t even to the door when he said, and his voice was sharp and loud, ‘Wait a minute, Arlene. You can’t mean—’ Then nothing. I suppose she’d hung up on him. I heard the beeps as he dialed her back. Then I closed the door.”

The timing fit with what I knew. At the B and B, I’d answered the hall phone and he’d thought I was Arlene. I’d assumed they’d just been speaking. When he didn’t reach her, he’d come to the B and B. Arlene had made it clear she was done with him. I’d tried to bluff him about Nick’s house and the late-night visitor to the Arnold place. I’d gotten his attention, but not in the way I’d expected. Nick had arrived and told Cole to leave. Cole had made his veiled threat and departed, presumably to take care of some “business” before he dealt with Nick.

I licked a brownie crumb from a finger. “What happened next?”

“Cole rushed out. I didn’t ask where he was going. He was moving fast and his face was awful. I wondered if he was going to go see Arlene. He came back a little before ten, and he looked even madder. He stomped past me like I wasn’t here and slammed his office door so hard it popped open again. That’s the only reason I heard what I did.” She rushed the last sentence.

The door to Cole’s office was a good eight feet from her desk. I had no doubt she’d eased across that space and leaned near the open door. I hastened to encourage her. “Even a scrap of conversation may make a huge difference in our investigation.”

Libby nodded, her eyes huge with memory. “Cole was talking on the phone, and he said, ‘Not so fast. You haven’t heard the latest. I got a foolproof plan that’s going to get me fair and square on the Arnold place. But first I want to be sure you and I are on the same page. I’m coming to see you. I want to know where you were around midnight.’ The words don’t sound bad, but the way he said them was scary, like he was ready to raise a big stink.”

“Do you know or have any idea who he was talking to? Did he mention a name?”

She shook her head. “No. He must not have waited for an answer. All of a sudden it was quiet, and I heard him crossing the floor. He headed out looking mean.”

“Did he return later?”

“I never saw him again.” Her voice quivered.

I doubted that Libby felt a personal loss, but she had seen a man her own age with only hours to live, and her eyes held the shadow of eternity. She bit her lip. “My mom said I’d probably have to testify at Nick’s trial.”

“Trial?” The change in subject puzzled me.

She hooked a finger in a long strand of blonde hair, wound it tight. “Nick raced in about an hour later. He was wild.” Her eyes were wide. “I’ve never seen anybody madder. He was yelling he was going to knock Cole flat and he wouldn’t listen when I said Cole was gone, and he banged into Cole’s office and he kicked over a chair and then he ran out. Everybody says he hunted all over town for Cole and last night he met him in the gazebo and shot him. I wish I wouldn’t have to say what happened, but if I’m under oath, I’ll have to tell the truth, won’t I?”

I snapped shut the notebook. Indeed she would. Nick had left an incriminating trail a blind anteater could have followed. I cleared my throat. “The investigation is not complete. Mr. Magruder is a person of interest, but there are a number of unexplained facts.” I eased to my feet, making a show of a stiff leg.

She watched with big eyes. “Did you get shot or something?”

“It’s a temporary injury. I pulled a hamstring.” I was fuzzy about hamstrings, but the ailment seemed common for baseball players, though the nearest I’d ever been to a baseball field was watching the 89ers up in Oklahoma City.

“In the line of duty?” Her admiration was evident.

How could I disappoint her and let down the side for the Adelaide Police Department? I gave a modest shrug. “Going over a fence after a Peeping Tom. We got him.”

It was a nice note for my departure.

I looked up and down the hallway. Certain I was unobserved, I disappeared. I had a plan, but, regretfully, this would not be the right venue for Officer M. Loy.

N
ick sat on his bunk, hands planted on his knees. The orange prisoner’s jumpsuit was too big, sagging around his bony shoulders. His eyes shifted back and forth across the cell.

I had come to the right place. “Dee?” I spoke softly.

Nick’s eyes jerked toward me. He had excellent auditory skills. “One’s all I can take. I mean”—his head jerked a little to his left—“it isn’t that I don’t appreciate your support, Aunt Dee.” His face tried to stretch into a smile. “It’s just that I feel like I’m at the end of my rope. Like I keep telling you, I don’t know a damn thing about Cole except he was a jerk. Maybe my jerk cousin Bill can fill you in on what Cole’s been up to. Bill hung out with Cole. I’ve only been back in Adelaide a few weeks, but it’s beginning to feel like years. Now you say Cole shot at me.” Nick looked puzzled. “But that’s the gun that killed him. How’d the killer get it?”

Dee was brisk. “We think the murderer came to Cole’s apartment Wednesday and took the rifle.”

Nick stared. “Were you there? If you know, please tell the cops.”

“Nick.” Dee’s tone was chiding. “Either Cole gave the rifle to the murderer or the murderer took the rifle from Cole’s apartment. That’s logical.”

Nick briefly shut his eyes, opened them. “If that’s logic, I think I’ll take another aspirin.” He looked forlorn. “I’ll need more than aspirin. As if the cops don’t have enough against me already, I was at Cole’s apartment yesterday and pounded on the door loud enough to wake the dead.” He looked pensive. “Not that the dead I know seem to take the grave seriously.”

Some comments are better ignored. “Did you see anyone while you were there?”

“I blew in and blew out.” He cracked the knuckles of his right hand. “I heard a door squeak as I went down the hall to the stairs. Somebody might have poked a head out of an apartment.”

I had no doubt he’d been observed. One more dangerous bit of information against him. “Did you see Arlene while you were there?”

Nick clapped his hands to his head. “Oh, wow. If Arlene was there, that’s not good. Look, don’t let the cops know.” His hands dropped and he spread them open in a plea.

Dee’s voice was stern. “Arlene created her situation. She must deal with it.”

“She’s Jan’s mom.” His voice was imploring. “Please, Aunt Dee.”

“You are in jail. That is intolerable.”

I hastened to intervene, because this argument could have no good resolution. “Nick, did you see Lisa Sanford?”

He shook his head. “Was she there, too?”

“We believe she was there.” Dee was emphatic. “We think she saw someone she knew.”

He gave a heavy sigh. “Probably it was me.” Then his face crinkled in puzzlement. “Spoke to her? Voices out of the ether?”

I hastened to explain. “You would be very proud of your aunt, Nick. She appears as Officer H. Augusta. She is very impressive.”

“I’ll bet she is.” A semblance of a grin pulled at his lips. “The Adelaide cops will never be the same.”

Dee had no time for diversions. “Who might have a key to Cole’s apartment?”

Nick shrugged. “Lisa for sure. Probably Arlene. But I know old apartment houses. I lived in one in Austin ’til I launched
Featherfoots
. It would be easy to get inside Cole’s apartment. A credit card can usually jimmy an old latch. Or you can make a lock pick with a butter knife.”

Dee cleared her throat. “That seems an arcane piece of knowledge.”

“My Featherfoots are big on lock picks. I have a sequence where—” He broke off, shook his head. “Featherfoots can’t come to the rescue this time.”

I kept on point. “Arlene Richey has a key.”

Nick’s eyes fell. “Yeah.” He sounded miserable. “Please keep that to yourselves. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t see a way out. I just wish it would all go away and I could wake up and think about the good old days when all I had to do was program ambushes that a smart Phidippus could outwit. Maybe you and her”—he lifted a hand, turned a thumb in my direction—“could go someplace and talk to each other.”

“You and
she
.” I spoke automatically.

“I can’t go anywhere.” He was aggrieved. “You and her have to beat it.”

The door at the end of the hall clanged open. Brisk steps sounded. Heavyset Officer Nelson planted herself like a battleship in front of Nick’s cell. Mustachioed Officer Maitland peered over her shoulder, his face a mixture of uneasiness and bravado.

Officer Nelson’s voice, deep and rusty, sounded like a barge scraping against the sides of a canal. “Listen, bud, are you nuts?”

Nick looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. I may be.”

Maitland took a step back, his face folding in wary lines.

Nelson cleared her throat. “How come you want to talk like women?”

Nick made a steeple with his fingers. “I don’t think I want to.”

“Then why do you do it?” Nelson erupted.

Nick pushed up from the bunk. He waved a hand to encompass the small cell. “When they talk to me, it would be rude not to answer.”

“Who talks to you?” Maitland clawed at his mustache.

Nick looked sly. “I can’t see them, but I know they’re here. And my mother always told me to be polite to ladies.”

Maitland plucked at Nelson’s sleeve. “He’s having us on. We got to stop letting him jerk us around.”

“You got that right.” Nelson took a step nearer the cell, jutted out her square chin. “Magruder, you better keep it down. Much more out of you, and maybe you’d like to be switched to the county jail. This is kind like the Waldorf in comparison. You wouldn’t have your own cell. You might not like the bad men they could put you with. Do you get what I’m telling you?”

“Threats!” Dee’s shout was stentorian.

Nick and I both moved at once. We collided.

I smothered an
ouch
.

Nick winced.

I hissed, “Hush, Dee. Later.”

Maitland was backing away. “The guy’s a nutcase. You ever see anybody bump into nothing like that? And those damn voices again. Let’s see if the chief will let us switch him to county. No point in keeping him here. He’s lawyered up and not making a peep. We’ll tell the chief he’s driving everybody crazy. We got that prisoner in cell eight going to county tomorrow. Be easy to take both of them.”

As the footsteps receded, Nick stood in the center of the small cell, rubbing his face like a tired child. If ever a man looked worn down, it was Nick. “They’ll probably haul my ass over to the county jail and throw away the key.”

“Over my dead body.” Dee’s whisper quivered with outrage, but it was a whisper.

“Aunt Dee, I can’t take a lot of comfort there.”

“Nick.” She sounded stern, even in a whisper. “Remember that on your mother’s side you are a Delahunt.”

Did I hear the distant sound of bagpipes?

“There is that.” His grin was twisted, but it was a grin.

I admire wry courage. The threat of county jail might have proven the last demoralizing straw. I would have liked to have given him a hug, but I doubted he would be pleased.

As it was, we’d tarried long enough. “Dee.” I scarcely made a sound, but I knew she was attentive. “Meet me at Nick’s house.” I moved close enough to lightly whisper near Nick’s ear. “Don’t despair. With Dee and me on the case, you have nothing to fear. We’re leaving now.”

I would like to report that his mood immediately lightened. Honesty compels me to admit that the only expression on his face was relief at our departure.

• • •

A sharp meow sounded from the porch.

Champ knew Dee and I were in Nick’s living room even though we’d arrived unseen. Cats, dogs, and children look with eyes that fathom more of the universe than most adults ever realize.

I opened the door. The big orange tabby twined around my ankles, and I bent to lift him to my shoulder, taking care not to hold him gently. “You’ve been in a sunny patch.” His warm fur smelled of fresh earth. His purr was deep in his throat. At the sound of a snapped-open lid, he twisted free and loped toward the kitchen.

In a moment, two glasses moved through the air.

I took one and drank fizzy cold Coke. “Champion thanks you and so do I.”

Her glass was lifted. “Better than cat food.”

“Unless you’re a cat.”

Nick’s sunny living room was a cheerful contrast to Cole’s apartment. The drumsticks lay on the floor where I’d flung them as the police arrived.

Dee’s glass settled on a nearby table. The sticks rose in the air. A blues shuffle beat sounded, the sticks flicking between snare and bass drums. Why, it was perfect for “Stormy Weather.” I belted out the lyrics. As I finished, she concluded with a rattling finale.

“Very nice.” I always give credit where credit is due.

“Thank you.” The sticks were replaced. “All right, we’ve had a break. Now we need to canvass the apartment house.”

I swirled into being. I needed a lift from the gritty atmosphere of the jail. I chose a V-necked tee in a soft violet, fine black corduroy jeans with a paisley scarf instead of a belt, and pebbled black leather ankle boots. I sighed happily, drank half the Coke, put the glass on the desk, and found the phone book.

“Can you breathe in those jeans?” Dee’s tone was bland.

Some questions do not deserve a response. “An advantage of your police uniform is that it comes with equipment. If you’ll pop here, I’ll use your phone.” I smiled brightly and held out my hand.

Dee gave an irritated huff, but colors swirled and French blue appeared. “I don’t suppose it does any harm to be visible here.” She unclipped the cell, handed it to me.

I flipped pages, found the number. The phone was answered on the fifth ring. “La Hacienda.”

“I’m supposed to drop something by for Bill Magruder. What hours does he work?”

“Five to ten tonight, eleven to three tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone.

“What do you intend to take to Bill?”

“Nothing. Bill works at La Hacienda—”

“Are you hungry for Mexican food?”

“Always, but a visit there will combine pleasure with business. Nick said Bill was friendly with Cole. He may be able to tell us about Cole’s sudden passion for the history of Adelaide.” I settled in Nick’s chair, opened the center desk drawer to search for paper. I settled finally for a plumber’s bill that I flipped over.

Officer H. Augusta perched at one end of the desk. Despite the perfect fit and crispness of the uniform, Dee seemed diminished. She was as imperious as always, but her eyes were shadowed and there was a droop to her shoulders. She looked at me soberly. “I’m afraid for Nick, terribly afraid.”

“Dee, this morning I went to the cemetery.” I quoted the inscription, “‘The acts of this life are the destiny of the next.’ I asked myself what actions by Cole or by others led to Cole’s death at the gazebo. Here is what we know.” I wrote on the back of the plumber’s bill:

1.
Cole worked on the Gazette until he took leave to head up the Old Timer Days celebration.

2.
Cole was not known to have great interest in Oklahoma history, yet he orchestrated a celebration recreating the early days of Adelaide’s settlement. What caused this transformation?

3.
Cole worked closely with Rod Holt of the Back Shop.

4.
Cole received permission from Claire Arnold to set up a replica of the original trading post on the Arnold property.

5.
Out of spite, Nick arranged to buy the Arnold land on the condition Cole not be permitted to erect the trading post.

6.
Tuesday morning Claire informed Cole he could no longer gain access to the property.

I stopped and marked two big
X
s next to number six. “Claire informed Cole Tuesday morning that he couldn’t come on the property. That night Cole shot at Nick. Nick and I went to the Buffalo B & B, which is next door to the Arnold property. Late that night I saw lights next door. Since I was concerned about Nick’s safety, I decided to investigate. The Arnold property was overgrown with vines and downed branches on the path. I caught glimpses of a light—I think it was a flashlight—and I heard an occasional pinging sound. The light disappeared. I lost my way and went off the path, and then a coyote howled and I started running. Suddenly I was wrapped in a plastic trash bag, picked up, carried to a wooden bridge and thrown into a pond.” My nose wrinkled. “A nasty, scummy pond.”

Dee folded her arms.

I admired the Adelaide police insignia, a shield with the Latin inscription
Magna est veritas et praevalebit
. If only we could make truth prevail for Nick.

Dee looked at me quizzically. “I fail to connect your introduction to pond scum with shots at Nick and Cole’s murder.”

I wrote on the sheet:

7.
Cole was willing to commit murder to place a replica of the original trading post on the Arnold property.

Dee tapped number seven. “Isn’t
commit murder
too strong an interpretation of the attack on Nick?”

I remembered the thunder of the shot. “If I hadn’t been here, Nick would be dead.”

She pursed her lips. “You have a talent for the dramatic.”

I pushed up from the chair and walked to the wall. “Come here, please.”

Dee joined me.

“Stand there.” I pointed at the spot in front of the bookcase where Nick had been. The remnants of the broken vase still remained on the top surface and the floor. “You are about the same height as Nick. Look at the wall.”

Dee studied the pocked wall. “I see.” She turned away, a sick expression in her eyes. “All to gain access to an overgrown piece of land.”

“And replicate the original trading post.”

“That is a motive for murder?” Dee was incredulous.

“To build a trading post would require moving materials onto the land. Putting in the foundation would require digging.” I wrote swiftly:

8.
Rod Holt arranged for treasure digs in City Park. Digging on the Arnold property while building a trading post wouldn’t attract attention. Rod Holt has created as many as twenty treasure maps. The maps carry the legend
Belle’s Treasure
.

I scored three heavy lines beneath
Belle’s Treasure
.