Photographs decorated the walls, Oklahoma scenes all: a gusher, Wiley Post and Will Rogers standing by the
Kay Clark sat at a fruitwood desk, a tray to one side. Her eyes narrowed, she studied an open file, pen in hand.
I was abruptly starving. However, I always try to be mannerly. “The roast-beef sandwich looks wonderful. May I have a half?”
Kay’s head jerked up. She gazed all around the room, her dark eyes wide with shock.
“Oh, come on, Kay. We’re in this together.” I tapped the desk next to the tray. “Surely you don’t mind sharing.”
She stiffened. Without a word, she pushed the tray nearer the edge of the desk.
I took her action as an affirmative. I picked up a half. Only a half, mind you.
“Mmm. This is almost Heavenly.” I made the modification in the interests of accuracy. Though not divine, Oklahoma beef is by far the best in the world. “I especially like the mustard.”
“Colman’s,” she muttered, her dark eyes huge as she watched the sandwich disappear.
“May I have some Fritos?”
“Whatever.” She averted her eyes as I scooped up a handful.
“Thank you. Now.” I daintily used a paper napkin to brush my fingers, dropped it into the wastebasket by the desk.
Abruptly, Kay pushed back her chair, which thudded to the floor as she stood. She turned away and paced toward the windows.
I reached down, righted the chair. “Kay, please. Look, if it makes you feel better, here I am.” I swirled into being. I saw my reflection in a mirror framed by ceramic parrots studded with turquoise. Perhaps the scarlet tunic and gold trousers were a bit much. The tunic swirled into ivory and the trousers into turquoise.
Kay placed her fingers over her eyes, then slowly dropped her hands. “My psychologist probably won’t even charge for my next session, not after I tell her about you. Go away.”
I folded my arms. “Not until you’re safe.”
Her face creased in thought. She strolled back to the desk, settled in the chair. She picked up the other half of the sandwich, took a bite. “I don’t remember eating the rest of it.” Her tone was uneasy.
“I ate it.” I’m afraid I was impatient.
“Sure. Next thing you know, I’ll be tap-dancing with a frog.” She looked warily about. “If I see a frog, I’ll know I’m nuts.” Not spotting any stray amphibians, she finished the sandwich, slumped back against the seat. “But I keep seeing you.” The pronoun wasn’t said with affection. Her gaze slid toward me, swerved away. “I guess I
I moved the tray out of the way, perched on the edge of the desk. “What happened to Jack?”
Her head snapped up. “I’m not only nuts, I’ve got amnesia. That weird figment of my imagination, Bailey Ruth Raeburn”—her tone was brittle with indignation—“doesn’t even know what’s happened!” She shook her head forcefully. “Okay, my subconscious is telling me something. Maybe I need to look again at what I know about Jack’s fall. Maybe my subconscious is onto something. Maybe I missed something.” She flipped to a fresh page, muttered aloud as she wrote.
I disappeared.
Kay took no notice. I suppose if she didn’t believe what she was seeing, she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t see it.
I read her notations with interest.
Jack’s body was found at the base of the balcony steps on Sunday morning, June 7. Although there was multiple trauma, the medical examiner said death resulted from a broken neck.
Time of death was estimated at some time after nine P.M. the previous evening. At the end of a dinner party, he had announced his intention of taking a stroll on the balcony to smoke a cigar. Since his arrival from Kenya three weeks earlier for his father’s funeral, it had been his custom to end each evening on the balcony with a cigar and a glass of brandy.
A postmortem offered no explanation of the fall. The physician noted that he was in his early sixties and in excellent health, but sudden dizziness could not be ruled out.
A police investigation concluded the death was an accident. The balcony was dimly lighted and possibly he had misjudged a step and fallen.
I tapped on her shoulder. “Why not an accident?”
Kay quivered, but refused to glance behind her. She wrote in her distinctive script:
5. Why not an accident?
A. Jack was an accomplished athlete in excellent condition. Why would he fall down steps?
B. He had jogged Saturday afternoon, returned to The Castle shortly before six P.M., showered, dressed.
C. Dinner was at seven. In addition to family members and Ronald and Laverne Phillips, dinner guests included Alison Gregory and Gwen and Clint Dunham.
D. Jack drank one glass of wine at dinner and carried a glass of brandy to the balcony. He was sober when he died. This was confirmed by the autopsy.
