Chief Cobb walked around the desk, looked down at the folders.
He gestured toward them. “Is there any particular reason why these two folders are out?”
G h o s t at Wo r k
“He was scheduled to meet with these clients today.” She opened the first folder. “Mr. Murdoch had drawn up a list of underperform-ing stocks with a recommendation to sell in order to offset capital-gains taxes.” She flipped open the second. “Mrs. Flint was a new client. Here’s the financial plan he’d worked out.” She sighed. “I suppose I might as well put them up.”
I stared at Chief Cobb’s right foot. The tip of his black shoe was perhaps an inch from the edge of the rug.
If I eased out one end of the envelope, then tapped on his shoe, he would look down, see the end of the envelope protruding. The chief would pick it up and Walter Carey would be exposed as a crook.
I touched the fringe on the rug.
“. . . any change in his demeanor in recent days, Mrs. Haskins? I know you are very perceptive and possibly you can help us more than anyone else to determine Mr. Murdoch’s state of mind.” The chief’s tone was warm and admiring. Obviously, he wasn’t above using flat-tery to encourage confidences.
Mrs. Haskins preened. “Well, when you put it like that. But”—
she looked disappointed—“I’m afraid Mr. Murdoch was just as he always was. In fact, he’d seemed in a very good humor recently.” That didn’t raise my general opinion of Daryl, considering his activities.
Mrs. Haskins brightened. “The only thing—” I scooted my fingers beneath the rug.
“—a little out of the ordinary was last night. Right after work.
Oh.” She clapped a hand to her lips, but her eyes were excited. “I suppose he died not long after he left here. Do you suppose . . . I hope not . . . but I saw his son.” Her lips pursed in disapproval. “Kirby’s been a real trial to Mr. Murdoch, taking up with a girl the family didn’t care for. I was getting into my car when Kirby drove into the parking lot, his tires screeching. Mr. Murdoch was turning left into the street. That lady policewoman stopped him. Left turns are
Ca ro ly n H a rt
prohibited there. It’s the middle of the block, you see, and they’ve had so many accidents there.”
Chief Cobb looked impatient. “Mr. Murdoch started to turn left?”
“He pulled out and the police car came up behind him. The officer got out and talked to him for a minute, then she went off. I suppose she warned him. Anyway, he turned right. Now that I think of it, his son’s car came out and turned right, too.” Her eyes were huge.
“Do you suppose . . .”
Chief Cobb was bland. “That may turn out to be helpful. Perhaps his son can give us some idea of the direction his father took. Did you know where Mr. Murdoch was going?”
”Why, yes.” She was the all-knowing, competent secretary. “He had a meeting set up at St. Mildred’s.” She frowned. “He was found in the church by the cemetery, wasn’t he? I wonder why he went there?”
“We don’t know that he did.” The chief’s tone was judicious.
Clearly, Chief Cobb wanted to know why dust balls with cat fur had been found on Daryl’s suit coat. The chief gave the secretary an encouraging look. “It’s helpful to know he intended to go to the church. Would anyone else have known?” Some knowledge flickered in the secretary’s eyes, but her face was smooth and bland as she spoke. “I suppose that’s possible.” Not only possible, but, I was sure, quite certain. Her indirect answer was truthful as far as it went. I wished I could tug on Chief Cobb’s sleeve, remind him that truth isn’t always complete, but he was glancing at his watch, moving toward the door.
I slid my hand away from the rug. Walter’s confession was safe enough where I’d put it. I have no sympathy for swindlers, but I should afford Walter Carey a chance to explain his actions. If I was not very much mistaken, Walter would slip into this office tonight with his stolen keys.
I intended to be here.
G h o s t at Wo r k
I retrieved my notebook and jotted down the information about Walter Carey and the Hamilton ranch mineral rights. I felt calmer.
After all, I now knew everything but the identities of the Altar Guild member who had stolen from the collection plate and the woman who had begged Daryl to call her.
“A church member . . .” I popped to my feet, opened drawers near the telephone, found the church pictorial directory. In a moment I had the Altar Guild member’s name: Irene Chatham. Perhaps it was just as well that Kathleen wasn’t here. She would have been reluctant to tell me. I added Irene Chatham’s name to my list.
I still faced the challenge of identifying the woman with the desperate voice. But just as someone saw Kathleen enter the young professor’s apartment and repeated that information, I was confident that the Adelaide gossip mill knew all about Daryl’s extramarital adventures. All I had to do was find a source of information.
I pulled my chair nearer the table. I like making lists. It was time—
The back door banged open. Bayroo plunged into the kitchen.
“Hi.” Her voice was pleased.
I looked up with delight. It was lovely to feel warm and welcome and that’s how I felt every time Bayroo looked
