The bell tinkled. A flashlight beam swept toward the front, spotlighting my white sack as it moved briskly through the air.
“Wait a minute.” The waitress’s shout was angry and determined.
“Hey you, stop.” As the lights came back on, the waitress plunged
G h o s t at Wo r k
out onto the sidewalk, heavy flashlight in hand. She started to yell, then froze as the sack, dangling from my unseen hand, sped up the sidewalk.
I looked back.
She backed toward the door to Lulu’s, her face slack with disbelief.
I reached the corner, swerved out of her sight. I was terribly aware that I had violated Precepts One and Six, but certainly it was inad-vertent. I clutched my sack tighter, felt warmth through the paper, and darted from shadow to shadow, not wishing to cause any further distress.
“Bailey Ruth.” Wiggins’s voice was as emphatic as the stamp of a jackboot.
I wobbled on the top step of Murdoch Investments. “Did you serve in the military, Wiggins?”
“The Rough Riders, San Juan Hill, July first, 1898.” His pride was evident.
“Wiggins, that’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear—”
“Bailey Ruth.” Exasperation warred with an evident delight in recalling his days with Teddy. “This is not the moment.” I sensed movement and curled my arm around that Heavenly scented sack. I had no intention of yielding my hamburger to Wiggins. “I need sustenance, Wiggins. I have a big evening facing me.” I determinedly kept my tone light. I wouldn’t be guilty of whining.
Nonetheless, facts are facts. “And there’s no getting around the fact that when I carry an actual physical object, I can’t pop from here to there in an unobtrusive fashion.”
“There is food at the rectory.” The reproof was clear.
“Wiggins, that was my first thought.” How many fibs was I piling up on my record? Would they even let me back in Heaven without a stint in Purgatory? “But even if I popped there and back again, there wasn’t enough time. I must take up my post inside”—I bent my head
Ca ro ly n H a rt
toward the building—“before darkness falls.” Twilight was settling around us.
“I see.” A pause. “Bailey Ruth, you always seem to have an answer.
It’s quite confounding. And I do have other emissaries to oversee.
Very well, carry on.”
Thus justified, my fingers tight on my sack, I oozed to the rear of the office building. I placed the sack on the top step and wafted inside. In only a moment I had opened the back door, retrieved my supper, and locked the door. A moment later I was inside Daryl Murdoch’s office. I drew the drapes, then turned on a lamp near one end of the red leather sofa.
In a small refrigerator behind a curving bar, I found a Dr Pepper.
That thrill could only have been topped by discovering a Grapette.
Not, of course, that I was particular.
I spread out my feast on a tiled table in one corner and offered a very thankful grace. I enjoyed every mouthful. The onions were sau-teed in a tasty brown tangle and the fries fresh, crisp, and salty. The taste of Dr Pepper brought memories of lazy summer picnics and fishing trips with Bobby Mac. However, I didn’t linger and cleaned up quickly, depositing the sack in the kitchenette wastebasket.
I turned off the lamp and opened the drapes. The glow from a streetlamp seeped inside, providing some light. I stretched out on Daryl’s exceedingly comfortable and luxurious leather couch and promptly began to worry about the notations in the chief ’s notebook concerning Father Bill and Kathleen. I wished I’d had a chance to read the rest of his comments before Anita arrived in his office. Perhaps I—
The door to Daryl’s office swung slowly in.
Even though I was expecting a visitor, my throat felt tight. I swung upright, pushed to my feet, willed myself present.
A dark form slipped across the room. The drapes were drawn. A click and light spilled over the end of the room from the lamp. Walter
G h o s t at Wo r k
Carey never glanced toward me. He went straight to the filing cabinets, pulled out the g–i drawer.
“Are you looking for your confession?” My voice sounded over loud in the stillness of the night-shrouded office.
He froze, one hand gripping the steel side of the drawer. Slowly, still holding to the drawer as if for support, he turned and stared at me. His lips parted. His haggard face was pasty white.
“It isn’t in there.” I looked into eyes glazed with shock. “It’s in a safe place.”
He took a step toward me. “How did you know?”
“When Daryl’s study was the only room searched this morning and I was told that he changed the locks after you moved out of the offices, the answer seemed obvious. The intruder—you—wanted his keys. And here you are. There’s one thing that puzzles me.” He stood with his chin sunk on his chest, shoulders slumped, hands thrust deep into his pockets.
“What happened to the money you stole from Georgia Hamilton? I understand you and your wife are having financial problems, have had for some time. She’s gone back to work.” He lifted his head. “I wasn’t really stealing. I
