Merry, Merry Ghost

Chief Cobb glanced toward the blackboard as I lowered the chalk. I let the piece fall to the floor.

Frowning, Cobb pushed up from his chair and walked slowly toward the blackboard. He moved quietly for such a big man.

Mayor Lumpkin followed his progress. She sniffed as he bent to pick up the chalk. “I believe this is the only office in City Hall with an old-fashioned chalkboard. Everyone else is up to date with dry-erase boards and colored markers. We have to keep pace with the times, Chief Cobb.”

He was gruff. “Chalk was good enough for me when I was a high school math teacher. It’s good enough now.”

“Really! In any event,” she spoke loudly, “Jacqueline will be relieved when I tell her everything will be resolved quickly and quietly.”

Cobb swung toward her, his expression abstracted. “I’ll bring Mrs. Flynn up to date on the investigation when I meet with the family at the house this afternoon.”

The mayor’s gaze was cool. “Surely that meeting is no longer necessary since it’s obvious Susan’s death was undoubtedly self-inflicted.”

Cobb’s face tightened. “I’ll tell you what, Neva, you look after City Hall, I’ll look after suspicious deaths.”

“I am looking after City Hall.” She heaved herself to her feet, face dangerously red, and strode to the door. She stopped in the doorway, head held high. A trumpet roll could not have better announced a dramatic farewell. “I expect a sensible attitude on the part of all city employees. If you refuse to accept ambiguity—and most emphatically there can be nothing certain in the circumstances of Susan’s death—the council will have to consider what action to take concerning the renewal of your contract in January. It may turn out that you should consider a return to teaching.” She flounced into the hall, banging the door shut behind her.

Chief Cobb’s exclamation was short, explicit, and forceful.

I had to agree. She certainly was.

He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” He started for his desk, then turned back to the blackboard.

I suspected no one knew better than he that the blackboard had been quite clean.

Once again I’d intruded upon the discrete world. Despite the Precepts, it was a very good thing I had done so. The longer Chief Cobb stared at the blackboard, the more time I had. He needed help to stave off the mayor’s interventions, discover the truth, and not lose his job in the process.

I looked at the legal pad on his desk. Earlier he’d written: What was Susan Flynn’s mental state? Imitating his neat square printing, I added: Check with Father Abbott. The rector would know Susan Flynn well and certainly attest to her mental health.

After Interview persons who saw her in the last few days, I added: Was there any disruption of the household recently? This would catch Keith’s arrival.

His third question was all-important: Who inherits? I added: When did she last see her lawyer and what did they discuss?

I studied question four: Who moved the body after death and why? I decided to go for broke: Was someone aware Susan Flynn had been murdered and set up a crime scene to be sure there was an investigation?

The pencil was yanked from my hand.

“Ooh.” I swung around and my elbow jammed into Chief Cobb’s side.

“Ouch.” He massaged his side. “How can a pencil stand up by itself?” He looked uncertainly at his chair. “I didn’t bend over. What did I bump into?”

I tried to still my quick breaths. I should have kept a closer eye on the chief. I moved well out of his way.

He stared at the pencil, small in his massive hand, then toward the blackboard. He shook his head in denial. “That woman’s driving me nuts.”

I was offended until I realized he was referring to Mayor Lumpkin. Perhaps he would attribute any confusion on his part to his irritation with her.

He gingerly placed the pencil on the desk, again shook his head. “Now I’m seeing things.” He spoke aloud, forcefully. He flipped the legal pad shut without seeing my insertions. “I can’t think straight when Neva’s around.” He glanced at the clock and tucked the legal pad in a folder.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A young woman bundled in a pink jacket counted to ten. Cheeks red from the cold, Keith ran as fast as he could across the front yard of Pritchard House. He skidded around a big sycamore and pressed against the trunk.

“…eight, nine, ten. Okay, Colin, you can look around now. See if you can find Keith.”

A skinny dark-haired boy about seven years old dropped his hands from his eyes and took a half dozen steps toward a fir.

“In the freezer, Colin.” She wrapped her arms tight across her front, gave a dramatic shiver.

Colin veered to his right.

“Colder. Ice on your nose.”

Colin swiped his nose with a red mitten and laughed. He turned and retraced his steps.

“Warmer.”