Ghost at Work _a Bailey Ruth Mystery

with all the stuff I’ll be hauling away after Halloween’s over, pumpkins and bales of hay and what all. I need my barrow. Mrs. Kathleen, can you get me my barrow back?”

Kathleen hunched over the wheel of her car. “If the police link that wheelbarrow to Daryl, Bill will be arrested.” She turned toward me, though, of course, the passenger seat appeared empty. In the wash of a streetlamp through the window, her face looked pale and desperate.

I agreed. Father Bill was definitely at risk. I was very much afraid for him. If only we knew where the chief’s investigation was headed.

There might be a way to find out if I were clever enough to remember what Bayroo had told me about computers. “I’ll go to the police station and see if I can work the chief’s computer. Bayroo showed me this afternoon.”

Kathleen’s glance at me was pitying. “I don’t think so, Bailey Ruth.

You have to know the password and it takes some skill to find files.” Files? I didn’t want to ask Kathleen what that meant. I pictured a gray steel cabinet. “I know the password. Cougar.” Kathleen’s eyes narrowed. “If I could get in, I can find out what we need to know.” She pressed fingers tight against her temples for a moment. Her hands dropped. She asked quickly, “Where is his office?”

“City hall. Second floor.”

“Do the windows open?”

“I’ll find out.” Before she could exclaim, I was in the chief’s office.

The windows were old-fashioned, with sashes. Back in the passenger seat, I reported, “Three windows on the south side. They open.”

“That’s all I need. Here’s what we’ll do . . .” It was a good plan, a daring plan. I hoped it wasn’t a foolhardy plan, but Kathleen was already shoving the car into gear and speed-ing toward the rectory and the supplies we would need.

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. . . .

The chief ’s office was chilly. I remembered my days in the mayor’s office and the way he turned down the thermostat when he departed for the day. He never arrived until a good hour after the staff, so he wasn’t concerned in winter with how long it took for the offices to get warm. I’d arrived to a frosty workplace often enough that I learned to nudge the thermostat up as soon as he was out the door. Now I found the thermostat, pushed it to seventy. I turned on the light.

At the window, I lifted the sash and leaned out.

Kathleen stood in the deep shadow of an old cottonwood. In her witch’s robe, she was simply a darker splotch in the shadow.

I held out my hands. I missed the tennis ball on her first try. The second time I caught it. A cord was taped to the ball. Swiftly, I pulled hand over hand and the cord lifted the rope ladder she’d retrieved from the Boy Scout troop’s storeroom in the church. I placed the hooks over the sill.

Kathleen wasn’t even breathing hard when she climbed through the window to join me.

“Well done,” I praised.

“I did a rope course last summer.” She spoke softly. She glanced about, with one furtive look toward the door, and strode to the chief’s desk. She slipped into his chair. In a moment the screen was bright.

I pointed at a little picture on the screen. “That one.“ Kathleen clicked, found a file for Murdoch, and in a moment we were looking at a list that included interviews with Mrs. Murdoch, Kirby Murdoch, Kathleen Abbott, Father Bill Abbott, and Isaac Franklin.

Kathleen clicked on Isaac Franklin. It was essentially the same information she had gained tonight but there was an addendum: 194

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Det. Sgt. Price took custody Friday of the wheelbarrow from the shed behind St. Mildred’s rectory. Sgt. Price noted cedar needles in a clump of mud on the wheel rim. There are no cedars on church property. Cedars are plentiful in the cemetery, where the victim was found. Moreover, an inspection of the barrow revealed dust balls that might correspond to those found on the decedent’s suit coat. These discoveries suggest that the body was transported to the cemetery in the wheelbarrow from the vicinity of the church. Saturday morning a thorough search will be made of the church grounds and cemetery for any trace of the wheelbarrow’s passage.

Kathleen moaned. “What if the wheelbarrow left tracks when I brought it back?”

I patted her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.” I’d be there at first light, but if I missed an impression, suspicion was going to be focused on Father Bill or Kathleen.

The little arrow darted up. The file went away. She opened the file on Father Bill.

Rev. Abbott refuses to reveal the reason for his quarrel on Thursday morning

A door banged open. Footsteps pounded across the floor toward Kathleen. A deep voice shouted, “Hands up.” Kathleen scrambled out of the chair and raced toward the window.

Holding his gun straight ahead, gripping it with both hands, a policeman thudded after her.

I shoved the chair with all my might. It slammed into him and he fell, the gun clattering to the floor.

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Grabbing the gun, I raced to the window, tossed it far into the night.

The policeman scrambled to his feet. He shoved the chair out of his way.

Kathleen reached the ground. I unhooked the rope ladder, dropped it down. I pulled down the window with a