The chief followed her gaze to stare, bewildered, at nothing.
“I thought I heard—” Kathleen looked flustered.
I’ve always been a good mimic. I was locally famous for perform-ing a dialogue between Lucille and Ethel—I did both parts—that left our friends in stitches. Of course they might have already had one or two of Bobby Mac’s bourbons on the rocks.
“—my cell phone.” I sounded just like Kathleen.
Kathleen looked haunted.
“Oh.” Cobb nodded. “If you have a few minutes, Mrs. Abbott, I’d like to visit with you about Mr. Murdoch.” He stepped back, an obvious invitation for her to get out of her car.
I gave her another pinch.
Kathleen’s hand jerked to the handle. She opened the door, scrambled out to stand beside the car.
G h o s t at Wo r k
When she made no move to invite him into the rectory, Chief Cobb studied her, his eyes cool and thoughtful. “From information received—”
I was impressed at how official that sounded. It had simply been an anonymous phone call. I wondered if he was being quite fair.
“—we understand you spent time at Mr. Murdoch’s cabin on Pontotoc Road.”
Kathleen was obviously surprised. “That’s not true.” I gave her an approving pat on the shoulder. This time she didn’t flinch. Good girl.
Cobb’s stare was hard, his eyes suspicious. “Do you deny having been there Wednesday night?”
Kathleen looked blank for an instant, not too long but long enough to convey the recall of an unimportant memory. Perhaps Bayroo’s acting talent was inherited.
“Wednesday night? Oh, that.” Her tone was casual. “He asked me to drop by and help him plan a special surprise for the church secretary. Daryl was senior warden, you know.”
“How long did you stay?” He pushed one hand into a pocket, tumbled coins in a muted jingle.
Kathleen looked confident. “Only a few minutes.”
“Why did he ask you to come to his cabin?” Cobb’s gaze was searching, his suspicions not totally allayed.
She turned her hands up. “I don’t know. He didn’t explain. I suppose he had something planned there and it was more convenient for him.”
“Not very convenient for you. All the way to Chickasaw Lake.”
“Chief Cobb.” Her tone was dry. “The rector’s wife exists to make life more convenient for the members of the vestry.” He wasn’t done. “What about the red nightgown?” Kathleen’s eyes widened in classic puzzlement. Ingrid Bergman couldn’t have done it better. “I don’t know anything about a red nightgown.”
Ca ro ly n H a rt
“You and Daryl never talked about a nightgown?” Her laughter almost sounded genuine. “No. In fact, I’ve never talked to him about anything but church matters or OU football or the chances for the Adelaide Bobcats to win another state championship.”
She could not have mentioned safer topics of conversation at any Oklahoma gathering. Football, both college and high school, was sure to be discussed in almost any social setting from a honky-tonk bar to the parish hall.
He inclined his head. “Appreciate your help, Mrs. Abbott.“ He glanced toward the church. “Might as well visit with your husband while I’m here.” But as he turned away, he stopped and stared at the black cat strolling toward Kathleen.
Spoofer came closer, green eyes lifted to gaze at the chief.
Cobb pointed. “Your cat?”
“Yes.” Kathleen reached down, stroked black fur that glistened reddish in the sun.
Cobb squinted. “He ever go in the church?” Kathleen looked surprised. “Oh no. The vestry wouldn’t approve.” Cobb gestured toward the rectory. “I saw him in your house last night.”
Kathleen’s glance at the chief was puzzled. “Yes.” Cobb nodded, gave Kathleen one final unsmiling look, and walked toward the church.
Kathleen stared after him. Spoofer twined at her ankles, but she paid no attention. When the police chief was almost at the church door, Kathleen whirled toward her car.
I caught her by the elbow, hissed in her ear, “You just got home.
Go inside.”
If Chief Cobb had looked back, he might have seen Kathleen walking on a tilt toward the back porch because she was trying to veer to her car and I was tugging mightily toward the house.
G h o s t at Wo r k
I won.
In the kitchen, she looked wildly about, glared at a spot near the door. “I’ve got to get to that cabin. My fingerprints are all over that gift package. I threw the gown and box and paper in the fireplace and ran out. I don’t know if everything burned.” I poured coffee into my flamingo mug. “I’m over here.” She whirled toward the table. “Can’t you ever do anything but drink coffee?”
