Ghost at Work _a Bailey Ruth Mystery

rustle of branches and the keening of the wind. Now I go could inside.

I was in the kitchen when I heard a clatter at the back door. Bayroo’s high clear voice carried well. “Mom made some oatmeal cookies. We’ll have a snack, then go up and do our homework.” I was back on the roof in a flash. Bayroo would see me at once and I certainly couldn’t have dinner while she and Lucinda were at the kitchen table. I sighed. I felt that I’d spent a good deal more time on the roof than Santa’s reindeer. Then I smiled. It wouldn’t take the girls long to eat their cookies and meanwhile I would explore my surroundings, set up a base camp. I wondered if the guest bedroom was available.

Indeed it was. I turned on the light, welcoming the warmth within. I clapped my hands in appreciation of the burl-walnut bed 64

G h o s t at Wo r k

topped by a snowy chenille spread. Puffy pillows looked extremely comfortable. A cozy nook held matching Egyptian Revival chairs with Sphinx-head armrests. The Herter wardrobe glistened with inlays of mother-of-pearl. I suspected a church patron had provided the beautiful Victorian furnishings so appropriate for the rectory.

This was a perfect spot for me. I was tempted to become present, but perhaps I should remain as I was until I’d studied the Precepts.

My lips curved upward. I wondered if this interlude had been arranged by Wiggins to provide me with a moment to chart my future on, of course, the basis of the Precepts.

I settled into one of the easy chairs. Hmm. Not the most comfortable of resting places. I plucked a downy pillow from the bed, placed it on the seat, sank comfortably down, and unfurled the shining parchment scroll that appeared as I thought of it.

PR ECEPTS FOR EARTHLY VISITATION

1. Avoid public notice.

2. No consorting with other departed spirits.

3. Work behind the scenes without making your presence known.

4. Become visible only when absolutely essential.

5. Do not succumb to the temptation to confound those who appear to oppose you.

6. Make every effort not to alarm earthly creatures.

7. Information about Heaven is not yours to impart. Simply smile and say, “Time will tell.”

I understood. What I knew wasn’t to be shared. Heavenly realities are confined to those in residence.

8. Remember always that you are on the earth, not . . .

65

Ca ro ly n H a rt

“Got it.” Oops. I’d spoken aloud. I must remember that in my present situation silence was golden, always a difficult concept for me. And, I think, for most redheads.

It was deflating to realize, as Wiggins had pointed out, that I’d already broken four of the eight Precepts. I’d do better tomorrow. I patted a Sphinx head for emphasis.

A high squeal in the hallway heralded the arrival of Bayroo and Lucinda on the second floor. I refurled the parchment and, out of mind, it disappeared. Now I could have dinner.

I thought and, presto, I was in the kitchen. Perhaps someday Wiggins would explain the dynamics to me. I moved toward the stove and felt bitter disappointment. No pot. Had Kathleen forgotten that she’d invited me to dinner? The cuckoo chimed the quarter hour.

Oh, it was almost nine o’clock. The engaging author of The Egg and I, Betty MacDonald, proclaimed that to dine at nine was divine. I was in fundamental disagreement. Seven is Heaven, but I would admit that delay had definitely enhanced my appetite.

A kitchen is a kitchen. In only a moment I had plucked the covered bowl from the refrigerator and poured a substantial portion of stew into a saucepan. It was a bit of trial and error, but I managed to turn on the stove top. Fortunately, the cornbread was still in the skillet. I cut a generous wedge, added a chunk of butter. I carried a bowl of steaming stew and a small plate with cornbread to the table.

It is more cheerful to say grace with a full table, but I nodded my head and murmured a favorite . . . “Bless this food to my use and me to your service . . .” The first spoonful was grand. Kathleen was a good cook. The stew was savory and the cornbread a twin of Kitty’s recipe. In fact, I was certain it was Kitty’s recipe, with buttermilk and a dollop of bacon grease. I enjoyed every mouthful, though my thoughts swirled uneasily.

If murder had occurred on the rectory back porch, where was Kathleen at the time? I don’t have a good head for puzzles. In school 66

G h o s t at Wo r k

the very words thought problem made my head throb and my hands sweaty. Moreover, it was a matter of supreme indifference to me how long it took someone rowing four miles an hour to go six miles up-stream against a three-mile-an-hour current.

Unfortunately, what had happened and when and where to Daryl Murdoch was very near to being a thought problem. The examin-ing doctor said Daryl had been dead for a couple of hours. I worked backward, trying to estimate times. When I’d first arrived to find Kathleen discovering the body, it was dark and blustery from the heavy clouds, but there was a glow on the horizon from the setting sun. Kathleen and I discussed the situation and I located the wheelbarrow. That took at least fifteen minutes. I spooned a particularly delicious chunk of beef. I added another fifteen minutes to load him up and reach the mausoleum. How long had it taken for me to rout the boys and their crowbar? Five minutes, perhaps. I hadn’t remained long after they fled. Perhaps another five minutes. I arrived in the rectory kitchen at a quarter past seven. The times were approximate, but I figured that Kathleen found Daryl between six and six-thirty.

I was pleased with my calculations. Once I’d discovered what time he arrived at the rectory . . . Oh. That might be difficult. If he was shot on the porch, likely he was in the company of the murderer.

I doubted the murderer would cheerfully reveal times to me. If he was shot here—

The swinging door into the kitchen opened. As Kathleen stepped inside, she stopped, flat-footed. Her eyes widened. She executed an awkward turn to block the doorway. “Elise, I’ll see about the dishes.