Merry, Merry Ghost

rewarded. A church directory hung on a silver cord from a hook below an old-fashioned wall telephone squeezed between a cabinet and the refrigerator. The directory dangled perhaps a foot from the floor, tantalizing as a tiara to a jewel thief.

Tess rolled out pastry crust on a wooden board. She whistled an off-key but energetic version of “Deck the Halls,” tapping time with her right foot. She stood at the end of the counter, very near the recess that held the telephone and the directory.

I didn’t have much room to maneuver. I edged sideways to reach into the narrow space between the cabinet and the refrigerator. If she didn’t look down, I could filch it with no problem. As I slipped the cord over the hook, the directory swung in an arc.

Fur pressed against my leg. The directory was yanked from my hand and dragged to the ground.

I jumped and gasped.

Tess jerked at the unexpected sound. She bumped into me, felt an undeniable presence—after all, I was there even if not seen—and gave a shocked yelp.

I scrambled backward, tripped over Duchess, and crashed to the floor, making an unfortunate thudding sound.

The calico cat howled, her tail straight up.

Tess pressed a floury hand against her chest. “My goodness me my, Duchess, whatever got into you? Look at that, you knocked down the directory. Bad girl. I’d put you out in the cold but my hands are all floury. Now you get yourself back to your cushion.”

Duchess’s tail switched and she gave Tess a malevolent look.

Tess snagged the cord, lifted the directory, and returned it to its hook.

Unblinking golden eyes followed the progress of the directory.

I was not going to be outwitted by a cat.

It was as if Duchess heard my thoughts. That malevolent stare settled on me.

It was time to make peace. I moved close, held out an invisible hand.

Duchess sniffed. She pushed her head against my hand, clearly inviting me to pet her.

I obliged.

Duchess dropped to the floor, rolled over on her back.

Still kneading pastry, Tess looked over her shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been into some catnip.”

Duchess came to her feet, moved close to me, twined around my ankles.

Tess stopped kneading. “Duchess, are you all right?”

It was time for finesse. I hurried outside, then turned and rapped on the back door.

By the time Tess opened the door, I was inside the kitchen. I yanked the cord attached to the directory from its hook.

“I declare, somebody knocked on the door and ran away.” Tess stepped onto the porch. “Who’d be playing tricks on such a lovely day?”

When unencumbered by material objects, my passage through space was as lively and quick as St. Nick in his miniature sleigh. I would be in one spot, envision my destination, and there I was. However, material objects, such as the parish directory, required portage.

I was in a hurry to get the directory and flee the kitchen. I reeled the directory up.

In a bound, Duchess was across the room. She snagged the cord with a determined paw and yanked.

The directory splatted on the hardwood floor.

Tess whirled on the porch, came shivering into the kitchen. She slammed the door behind her. “My goodness, I’m going to be vexed in a minute. Somebody knocking on the door and running away and you”—she shook her head at Duchess—“trying to cause trouble the minute I turn my back. Enough of this.” Tess grabbed the directory, evaded Duchess’s leap, and stuffed the booklet in her apron pocket.

I took a moment in the front hallway to catch my breath. My objective had once seemed so simple. Find the church directory, discover the identity of Susan Flynn’s lawyer, go to his office, and explore his files. Admittedly, nosing into files in a busy law office might be another challenge, perhaps far more difficult than the episode in the kitchen.

However, I was determined. I intended to have a parish directory. Why not go to the source?

I thought and there I was.

I know I am prejudiced but I always felt a thrill when I saw St. Mildred’s. Winter-bare elms and oaks provided a frame for the small gray stone church. Stained-glass windows sparkled bright as the richest jewels, ruby red, emerald green, royal amethyst, and ocean blue.

On the front steps, after a quick glance around, I swirled into being. Invisibility had advantages, but I was ready for the open, direct, uncomplicated approach. Besides, I was tired of not being. I hadn’t realized how much of a Heavenly day I’d spent in conversation. I’d never been reclusive when on earth and this was no time to start. I wanted to see people, talk, laugh, make friends. That such action was in direct contravention of Precept Four (Become visible only when absolutely essential…) bothered me not at all. In fact, I intended to suggest to Wiggins that, to the contrary, emissaries should appear as often as possible, the better to be part of the community.

I strode forward, invigorated, confident of my course. I didn’t bother with my chinchilla coat. I was going inside. I ducked into the church proper.