“Reverting.” I sighed. Yes, I’d been tempted and succumbed, unable to resist unnerving the pompous mayor.
“Oh.” The exclamation was deep and mournful. I pictured Wiggins with his head in his hands. “This is what I feared, an emissary using our special gift to no good purpose.” I knew my duty. “I’m sorry, Wiggins.” Then I lifted my chin. I can’t stay down for long, and Mayor Lumpkin was odious. “Chief Cobb has better things to do this morning than deal with her.”
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“Bailey Ruth.” Wiggins was obviously forcing himself to speak temperately. “I will accept your well-meant effort to free the chief from an unwarranted interruption—”
I should have felt remorse at deceiving Wiggins, but my back was against the wall. I mustn’t be dispatched back to Heaven until I’d rescued Kathleen. Her straits remained dire.
“—yet I must object to your methods. We won’t discuss the paper clips or that episode with the scarf, but I cannot countenance that dog hanging in the air by itself. You must refrain from moving objects about with no apparent means of locomotion. What do you suppose that woman is going to tell everyone?” Since Wiggins couldn’t see me, I didn’t try to stop the mischievous curl of my lips, though I hoped my reply was suitably grave. “Wiggins, don’t be upset. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh.” It was almost a moan. Suddenly there was a pounding rat-a-tat on the desktop.
My eyes widened. Was Wiggins pounding on the chief’s desktop?
“Chief—” Colleen stood in the doorway.
Abruptly it was quiet. Wiggins and I didn’t move.
Colleen stepped inside, looked behind the door. “Chief?” Her eyes cut to the desk. She shook her head and turned away. The door closed.
The chief ’s chair scraped back. A subdued voice muttered, “Revert.
That’s always the fear. I thought I’d left it all behind me, losing my temper, giving in to anger.”
I sidled nearer the desk, perched on the edge. “Wiggins, certainly you had provocation.”
“The man in charge”—his voice was as heavy as lumps of coal dropping into a boxcar—“must always serve as an example. That’s what leadership is all about.”
Oh dear. It wouldn’t do for Wiggins to lose his spirit. “Wiggins, I could not be more proud of you. Here you are, taking time from your station to help out a new emissary. Why, having you here has
G h o s t at Wo r k
been”—how many demerits was I acquiring and what was the penalty for a bold-faced lie?—“Heaven-sent.” Fingers drummed on the desk. I glanced toward the door. It would be unfortunate if Colleen returned. Gradually, the tattoo softened, finally stopped. “Do you think so?”
“Definitely.” I moved behind the desk, reached down, and patted his shoulder. “I am inspired. Encouraged. You can return to the Department of Good Intentions confident you have communicated effectively. I shall take up my task and the Precepts shall be ever on my mind.” There was something about talking to Wiggins that stuffed my mouth full of syllables.
With that, I was gone. I hoped I hadn’t left him in a slough of depression, but duty called.
Obviously, Kathleen hadn’t returned from her errands yet. Perhaps if I concentrated on Kathleen while picturing a bubbling pot on an unattended stove, she would feel uneasy and be drawn home. Was ESP counter to the Precepts? Possibly, but I was desperate.
I was pacing back and forth when the chief’s car pulled into the drive. The church, of course, was very close to downtown. At this moment it was way too close. As he walked up the path to the back porch, Kathleen’s cream- colored Ford station wagon rattled past the kitchen window.
If he reached Kathleen before I did . . .
In an instant I flowed into the front passenger seat of her car. There was no time for a greeting. “Don’t look panicked, but we have a crisis.” The car jolted to a stop. Her head whipped toward the passenger seat, eyes wide. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel.
I talked fast. “Somebody called the police, told them to ask you about the red nightgown—”
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Kathleen hunched her shoulders.
“—and your visit to Daryl’s cabin Wednesday night.” She watched the chief’s approach as if he were a giant squid wield-ing a blazing hatchet.
I was exasperated. “Don’t look like that. You might as well hold out your wrists for handcuffs. Smile, Kathleen.” Her lips stretched into a travesty of a smile.
The chief was perhaps ten feet away from the car.
So much to tell. So little time. Such an unpromising confeder-ate. “Tell him you went to the cabin because Daryl called and asked you to come and help him plan a surprise thank-you party for the church secretary. You don’t know anything about a red nightgown.
You talked about gifts but—”
The chief rapped in the window.
Kathleen rolled it down. “Chief Cobb.” Her voice was high and thin.
I reached over and pinched her smartly on the arm.
She flashed a startled look in my direction.
