“All right.” I opened the bedroom door, whispered, “You are carrying the letter so float downstairs.”
I followed the envelope over the stair rail. I heard a soft gurgle of laughter. Susan was enjoying weightlessness. When the letter was a few inches from the hall table, the brown alligator handbag on the table apparently opened of its own accord. A handkerchief was briefly lifted and replaced. A change purse jingled. “Here they are.” A black plastic oblong with several keys attached dangled in the air.
“Excellent.”
She tossed the keys in the direction of my voice and I caught them.
With objects to carry, Susan with the letter and I with the keys, it was necessary to open the back door. I waited until I saw the letter on the porch and shut the door.
“Oh, it’s so cold.” Susan sounded shivery.
“Wear that gorgeous mink.”
“It’s in the house.”
“Think: Mink.”
“Mmmm. Thank you.”
I decided to think mink as well. Much warmer than suede. I followed the letter through the shadows to the garage.
Susan opened the side door into the garage and turned on a light. She punched a plastic oblong on the wall and the garage door lifted with a whir. “The blue Ford,” Susan instructed.
I slipped behind the wheel and Susan settled in the passenger seat. I turned the key, pumped the accelerator. I put the car in reverse. Metal scraped against brick. In my defense, I hadn’t realized the wheel wasn’t quite straight when I started. I jammed on the brakes, inched forward, straightened, backed up again.
I put the car in park and reached for the handle. “I’ll see about the door.”
“No need. Push the remote.”
“Remote from what?”
Susan cleared her throat. “It’s not remote from anything. It’s up there on the windshield to your left.”
I glanced at another plastic oblong attached to the interior of the windshield. How complex earthly life had become. However, I appreciated not having to leap from the car to lower the garage door. “Certainly. The remote.” I didn’t want Susan to lose confidence in me. I pushed the button. The door slid down. At the end of the drive, I waited for directions.
“Leon lives on Shanty Road about eight miles east of Oil City.”
In the early oil days, a makeshift camp had grown up on the outskirts of Adelaide when oil was discovered. Shanty Road ran between Oil City and the smaller town of Briarwood.
As I drove, Susan was curious. “Do you like coming back to earth?”
“This is only my second time to return. I love being in Adelaide. I was happy here.” We passed an elementary school. “Rob and Dil went to Sequoyah.” I reminisced about the harried years when Rob and Dil were little and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day and Bobby Mac was getting started as a wildcatter and twice we had to mortgage the house, the exciting years when oil gushed and we traveled to Europe and Rob was an Eagle Scout and Dil the prettiest girl in her class, and the too-short years, when I was the mayor’s secretary and knew everything going on in town and Bobby Mac was at his peak. That ended with our last trip on the Serendipity.
Near the edge of town, I roared up a hill.
“The speed limit is sixty.” Susan’s tone was mild and only slightly nervous.
I glanced at the lighted display. Oh my. I slowed.
A siren sounded behind us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
What will we do?” Susan was distraught. “You don’t have a license.”
It was a statement, not a question. I’d not detailed the activities of the Department of Good Intentions, but Susan was correct in assuming an earthly driver’s license wasn’t standard issue.
I eased to a stop. “This is no time for a police chase. I’ll think of something.” I rolled down the window.
The cruiser pulled up behind us, its headlights illuminating our car.
“Change places with me. Quick. We can pass through anything. Go out the window and in the other.” There was no time for explanations. Fortunately, Susan followed directions. Susan held the letter with the will and it floated through space. I zoomed out the driver’s window and over the top of the car and back inside to settle in the passenger seat.
The police car door slammed. Footsteps sounded. A flashlight swept the interior of the car. The light stopped, as did the steps. The front seats were empty. The letter appeared to hang near the steering wheel.
“Uh-oh. We need to appear. Quick, Susan.” I kept my voice low.
“Are you sure?”
The light continued to sweep the car interior.
“Trust me.”
