Ghost in Trouble (2010)

Quick to observe the proprieties, I changed to a sky blue blouse and white linen trousers with the most fetching white sandals. I took a deep breath and looked in the direction of his voice. I wished he would appear. I suddenly empathized with Kay Clark. Dealing with an unseen presence was unnerving.

Moreover, I knew I was a ghost in trouble, fighting for my mission.

CHAPTER FIVE

It is better to give than to receive. Especially if trouble is on the way. Before Wiggins could scold, I beamed and clapped my hands in appreciation. “How nice of you to come. I’m sure you want to know the latest developments.”

“I know the latest.” His voice had a curious strangling sound. “Appearing, always appearing.”

I suspected an accusatory forefinger was at this moment pointed at me. I increased the wattage of my smile, clearly a woman confident of her actions. “Everything is working out splendidly!”

“Working out?” There was a note of uncertainty and possibly a flicker of hope.

I almost felt a moment of compunction. Really, men are such lambs, always responding readily to concrete statements.

“Definitely.” I was tempted to break into “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” but decided not to push my luck. “Kay thinks I’m imaginary. So, should I need to appear, no harm done. She won’t believe I’m there.”

I continued to beam in the approximate direction of his voice. I wished he weren’t so averse to being visible. “Of course, tomorrow—today actually—I’ll try again to convince Kay to leave the investigating to me. The wisest course would be for her to leave Adelaide.”

“That will be wonderful.” Relief buoyed his voice. “Your mission will be done. The Express can pick you up this afternoon.”

Perhaps I was too clever by half. My high-wattage smile felt fixed. “I’ll do my best to persuade her to depart, but there are ramifications.” My face grew grave.

“Oh?”

I spoke quickly. “Others may be at risk. Kay is my primary responsibility, but I need to discover the reason for Jack’s murder.” I gave my husky voice a portentous vibrato. “Until then, no one at The Castle may be safe.”

“Unfortunately”—Wiggins sounded somber—“I have a similar feeling. In the department, we are not privy to the innermost thoughts of those on earth. Only God knows. However, when I checked your file, I felt most uneasy. Though possibly your predilections might be the source of my discomfort. And”—his voice was dour—“I find it discouraging that you arrived at your post unaware you were here to protect Kay Kendall Clark. I most specifically”—great emphasis—“advised that you were perhaps unsuitable considering your attitude toward Kay. You assured me”—now there was a put-upon note to his voice—“that you were absolutely capable of discharging your duties. That moment in the garden when each recognized the other was not a scene I like to dwell upon.”

I refused to be daunted. “All missions have their ups and downs. Why, you yourself when last in Tumbulgum”—at the conclusion of my previous visit to earth, Wiggins had admitted a deviation from the Precepts when he had been forced to intervene in a mission in that remote Australian community—“realized that despite the best of intentions, at times one does what one has to do. In this instance, I will emphatically carry out my duties with a brave heart and a clear conscience.”

“Well put.” He was hearty.

Dear Wiggins. So easily deflected from the matter at hand.

I looked soulful. I caught a quick glimpse in the mirror. Perhaps the world lost a great actress. Truly, I appeared as noble as Portia in the famous painting by Millais.

“Bailey Ruth, do your best.”

I stood straight as a soldier with a battlefield commission. Until I was sure he was gone. Then I gave a whoosh of relief. In any event, I’d better work fast and hope Kay Clark turned out to be as stubborn as I thought she was. It was essential that I speak with her privately in the morning. I thought for a moment, then popped to the kitchen. I turned on a light, found a notepad near the telephone, and composed a message. I left the note on the kitchen table. Upstairs in Kay’s room, I used a sheet from her notepad, wrote quickly: Breakfast will arrive at eight o’clock. Await further instructions. I propped the note on the lavatory in Kay’s bathroom and returned to the guest room.

Possibly I fell asleep even more quickly than Kay. A clear conscience affords that luxury.

My eyes popped wide. I’d had only a few hours’ sleep, but I was eager to get a glimpse of the inhabitants of the house. When they are alone, many people’s demeanors differ profoundly from that exhibited when in the company of others. Also, I needed to check on the not-quite-hidden tools.

With no fear of observation while in the bedroom, I chose to be visible. In the luxurious bathroom, I was enchanted by the huge white marble shower designed without a curtain or glass door. Absolutely Heavenly. As the water pelted, I recalled the household members as they gathered on the porch last night:

Evelyn Hume—Tall, imposing, a commanding figure. Dark hair streaked with silver. A long face with a determined jaw. A deep, imperious voice.

Diane Hume—Faded blonde. Dresden-fine features marred by a lost look in her blue eyes and anxious lines at her eyes and mouth.

Jimmy Hume—Tall and well built. Bright blue eyes. Wiry, shortcut brown hair. Squarish face set in a dark frown.

Margo Taylor—Frowsy auburn hair. Unsmiling. An aura of discontent.

Shannon Taylor—Young and pretty, blue-eyed, brown hair with gold highlights, her expression withdrawn and sad.

Laverne Phillips—Coronet braids. Dark eyes. Thin nose. Bony face. She tried to appear important, but came off as theatrical, a shopgirl pretending to be personage.