unbelievable—”
G h o s t at Wo r k
I heard the echo of parental discussion.
“—but the price of oil is great for Adelaide. Anyway, maybe you can help Dad, too.”
“Bayroo?” Kathleen’s call was faint.
“Mom’s calling.” My namesake flashed an apologetic smile. “I have to hurry downstairs for breakfast and finish my homework.” She darted to the closet, banged inside, and came out carrying a plastic sword, a crimson smock, tall silver boots, and an eye patch. “I’m going to be a pirate. Do you think I should be Captain Hook or Blackbeard?”
“I’d be Captain Bayroo, a lady pirate who rescues captured sailors.” Bayroo’s eyes gleamed. “What does she do with them?”
“She returns them to their ships and reaps wonderful rewards, gold and silver and rubies.”
Bayroo saluted me with her sword—“Captain Bayroo, ready to sail”—and turned toward the door.
I called after her, “Remember, it’s our secret. Your mom doesn’t know I’m here at the moment. And, please, always pretend you don’t see me unless I give you a thumbs-up.” She paused in the doorway, looked at me earnestly. “Don’t worry.
I had the lead in the fifth-grade play. I won’t give a thing away. I won’t tell a soul even though everybody’d be really pumped. A ghost in the house for Halloween! Way cool.” After Kathleen and Bayroo left for school, I heated two strips of bacon and a leftover frittata. I murmured a thankful grace and had a lovely breakfast. I was quite careful to be certain I was alone in the kitchen when I washed the dishes. I was enjoying a second cup of coffee when Kathleen returned.
She stopped just inside the door, stared toward the table. “You’re here.”
I took another sip, placed the mug on the table.
She shivered. “It’s cold outside. The wind’s picking up and the clouds look like old pewter. I keep thinking everything that hap-93
Ca ro ly n H a rt
pened last night is a bad dream, and I come home and that hideous coffee mug is in the air.” She pointed with a shaking hand. “In the air.”
I looked at the mug. It was bright pink with a flamingo-shaped handle. If she thought it was hideous, she should have discarded it.
“I think it’s cute.”
She quivered. “All right. I hear a voice. You’re here. Unless I’m imagining—”
Wiggins would have to understand that Kathleen’s nerves were stretched. I needed to reassure her. I will confess I turned toward the mirror over the sink, not with any sense of vanity but simply to be sure my pantsuit was appropriate. In an instant the swirl of color resolved into my image. I brushed back a tangle of red curls. The cut of the jacket was exquisite. I would bring no shame on the rectory should I be observed.
Kathleen approached me, one hand outstretched, her gaze desperate and determined. She came within a foot, took a deep breath, reached out to grip my arm.
I lifted my free hand, patted her shoulder.
She went as rigid as a pointer sighting quarry. “You’re here. You really, really are. But you weren’t. Now you are. I don’t understand.”
“You worry too much, Kathleen. Relax and accept your good fortune. First we must deal with Daryl’s cell phone. Here’s what I want you to do . . .”
My instructions were simple, but she repeated them, frowning as she muttered, “. . . at the end of the dock.” It would take only a moment to retrieve the cell phone from the roof. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” Kathleen tossed her head like a fractious horse. “I have to pick up the cupcakes for Bayroo’s homeroom Halloween party and visit Mrs.
Mossman at the hospital and check on the shipment of candles for the Altar Guild. Can’t you bring it here?”
G h o s t at Wo r k
I shook my head. “If that cell phone were found in the rectory, you’d be in big trouble. It won’t take long. You’ll have time for your errands.”
She shivered. “It’s awfully cold outside.”
“Brisk, but secluded. Wear gloves.” I finished the last sip of coffee.
“Gloves?” Her tone was wary. “Why do I have to wear gloves?” I was amazed. Had Kathleen never read a mystery? Perhaps I could provide a reading list. I never missed a Leslie Ford novel. She gave such an interesting picture of wartime Washington. I’d read her latest,
“We don’t want your fingerprints on Mr. Murdoch’s phone. I’ll see you there.” I was fading from view when I realized that perhaps I should be clearer. “Actually, I’ll see you, but you won’t see me.”
I settled on the railing, the telephone in one hand. I was quite comfortable in a gray lamb’s-wool coat and gold cashmere scarf. I had forgotten how much fun it was to shop, although a catalog couldn’t match going to Lassiter’s. Lassiter’s had been Adelaide’s finest women’s shop in my day. Of course Brown’s in Oklahoma City had been my favorite store. I wrinkled my nose, remembering the scent in the bath-powder-and-perfume section.
Kathleen’s face looked pinched.
The dock, understandably, was deserted except for us. Bulbous gray clouds looked as immovable as elephants at rest. A gusty wind corrugated gunmetal-gray water. Autumn-faded reeds rippled. The lake was in the center of the small nature preserve that adjoined the church property. The preserve on one side and the cemetery on
Ca ro ly n H a rt
