“I wish I knew. For one thing, I wasn’t here yet. Besides—”
“Stop right there. You claim you’re here from Heaven, right?”
I nodded.
“They know everything in Heaven. All I need is the name. Then you can pop back there and I’ll take care of everything.” She waved a hand as if Heaven were somewhere near.
I couldn’t fault her assumption, but she didn’t understand the rules. I had a quick memory of Precept Seven:
“I get it. Whoever pushed Jack is keeping quiet and the only thing I can do is nose around.” She frowned. “So what good are you?”
“I’m here to keep you safe.” I gave her a reassuring smile.
“Why?”
I looked at her, my eyes widening. “I have no idea.” Why, indeed?
“There are people in trouble all over the place. Why do I have a special angel—”
I was firm. “Not an angel. Ghost.
“Angel, ghost, agent, emissary, whatever. Why me?”
“Maybe because you’re so difficult.” I’m afraid I sounded testy. “Heavens, I don’t know. Maybe years from now, somewhere down the road, there’s something important you’re going to do or say. Maybe there’s a great big celestial lottery and your number came up.” I rather liked that idea. God clearly was a gambler. He’d certainly taken a flier on creating Earth.
“If it weren’t for the honor, I’d be just as happy if you returned to…”—she took a deep breath and forced out —“Heaven.”
“When my task is done.” I’d never analyzed how or why the recipients of aid were selected by Wiggins. Did files simply appear in Wiggins’s office? The ways of Heaven are, of course, Heavenly. I urged Kay, “Remember ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.’” My years as an English teacher sometimes prompted a literary reference.
Kay looked at me blankly.
“‘Theirs not to reason why, theirs to do and die.’”
“You are so last century.”
Kay had a talent for offending me. I snapped, “You may not be this century for very long if I fail. Now let’s go.”
“Go where?”
I was beginning to feel like an old Abbott and Costello routine, but I wouldn’t share the thought with Kay. “Wherever you were going.” I waved my hand.
She ran her fingers through her dark hair in a gesture of exasperation. Her unevenly cut hair appeared even more casual and youthful.
I brushed back a curl. “I really like your haircut. Would you mind if I tried that style?”
“Bailey—”
“Francie.”
She tried for a smile, but it took great effort. “Let’s try not to talk for a while. I feel like I’m in the middle of an old Abbott and Costello movie and I should say, ‘What style?’”
I felt much more warmly toward her. “I won’t say a word.” At least until I had something cogent to offer. “Where are we going?” Surely a simple question was permitted.
“Paul Fisher’s office. Jack said ugly things were bubbling beneath the surface at The Castle. Paul might know.” She pushed the brake and reached out to punch a button. The motor purred to life.
“Oh. That’s clever. No key.”
She opened her mouth, closed it.
“I know. So last century.”
“You said it, not me.” There was a burble of laughter in her voice.
She started to shift, then looked in the rearview mirror.
A bright red Lexus curved into the drive and jolted to a stop near the front steps. A strikingly attractive blonde climbed out. In her mid-to-late thirties, sleek Jean Harlow–bright hair (I liked the last century) gleamed in the sunlight. She was one of those perfectly put together women who always drew every eye, especially those of men. She ignored the front steps and walked swiftly around the corner of the house.
Kay jerked a thumb in that direction. “Hey, you can make up for your generally irritating ways. Do your disappearing act. Follow her. That’s Alison Gregory. She was here last night and Jack had one of her cards. She’s made a fortune selling this, that, and the other to Evelyn. Find out what’s going on.”
Alison was midway to the table when she stopped to look up at the empty pedestal. Her gaze traveled down to the three-sided enclave of evergreens. From her vantage point, the great mass of debris was hidden by the
