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CHAPTER TWO
Frogs wheezed, barked, and trumpeted in a dimly seen pond. I took a breath of pure happiness. Not that I don’t appreciate the scents of Heaven, but the rich smell of a hot summer night in Oklahoma brought glorious memories: hayrides, marshmallow roasts, and Bobby Mac’s embrace. The ever-present breeze wafted a hint of fresh-cut grass, water, and magnolia blossoms. Over everything, I delighted in the sweet fragrance of gardenias blooming in cloisonne vases that sat next to a marble bench in a small cul-de-sac facing the pond. Aromatic evergreens on either side and at the back formed the cul-de-sac. Cream-colored lighting in clear glass torches rimmed the pond. The cul-de-sac was shadowy, but not in deep gloom. The spot was well screened from the terrace though overlooked by a balcony.
In a rush of happiness, I forgot my mission for an instant. Truly, I was inattentive for a very short span of time, though we all know how life can change in a twinkling. I had no thought whatsoever about Kay Clark. I was too absorbed in the perfume of my favorite flower. The Castle’s hothouse gardenias were famous in Adelaide. In warm weather, gardenias also grew in tall vases along the terraces and on the parapets of the third-floor balcony.
I had a vague sense of surprise that I had been dispatched suddenly. Certainly everything appeared quiet and peaceful at The Castle. Lights high in rustling trees and at the top of the terrace steps shed some radiance, but the huge house lay dark and silent except for occasional dim lights on the balcony. I knew it must be late, that hour of the night when foxes prowl, coyotes howl, and cats slip through darkness unseen.
Quick steps sounded.
I watched with interest as a woman hurried toward broad steps that led down to the terrace. She neared a lamppost and was briefly illuminated. I was captivated by her haircut. Her dark locks were so perfectly messy with artfully tousled midlength bangs and layered strands razored at the ends.
I brushed back a curl and wondered if I might try that style. I admired her outfit as well, a lime green Irish linen jacket with deep square pockets and linen slacks. Her green sandals were a perfect match. She didn’t slow as she left the pool of light behind her. She crossed the dim terrace, evidently seeing well in the moonlight. The slap of her steps silenced the frogs.
I replaced my tweed suit with a white blouse and turquoise paisley cropped pants. White woven straw flats seemed a good choice for summer. Certainly I wasn’t motivated by an earthly pang of envy. Even though I wasn’t visible, I liked to be properly dressed.
She came directly to the cul-de-sac, but she didn’t sit on the bench. She frowned and turned to look toward the dark house. Hands on her hips, she was a model of impatience. The frogs resumed their boisterous chorus.
In a moment, she glanced at her wrist. I assumed she wore a watch with a luminous dial. She tossed her head impatiently. A very nice effect with that tousled look. She glanced out into the garden on the other side of the pond, then up at the house, as if looking for someone. Evidently she had expected to be met.
I looked, too, but there was no movement in the garden or on the terrace below the steps from the house. I was curious that she remained near the bench. I assumed the cul-de-sac was the place designated for an assignation. Was I about to witness a romantic interlude? I shook my head. There was nothing of sensual anticipation in her rapid pacing. Instead, she exuded brisk determination.
Suddenly I heard an odd crackling.
The sound was ominous, out of the ordinary, frightening.
I looked up and for an instant froze in horror. An enormous vase directly above the cul-de-sac teetered on its pedestal on the third-floor balcony. The vase tilted, then hurtled down toward the impatient woman, so near to me, so near to death.
With no time for thought and little room to maneuver, I zipped into the cul-de-sac, whirled, and shoved her, shouting, “Jump!” I pushed with all my strength. We tumbled together out of the cul-de-sac.
The vase struck with enormous force where she had stood. The sound of her cry was lost almost immediately in the thunderous crash. Shards of porcelain and clumps of earth flew in every direction. A huge chunk of vase struck the marble bench. Clumps of dirt pelted us. The sweet scent of gardenias cloyed the air.
She landed on the flagstones well in front of the main portion of the fractured vase. I felt certain she’d escaped injury except for scratches to her hands and knees from her tumble forward. She struggled to her feet and turned to stare at the wreckage.
I regret to say she was swearing in a clipped, angry tone. I zoomed to her side. “Oh, my goodness. Thank Heaven you’re all right.” I was too excited to remember silence was my goal.
Her head jerked around as she sought the speaker.
I clapped cautionary fingers to my lips. From this point forward, I must remember to be unheard as well as unseen. However, despite my vocal lapse, I was confident Wiggins was pleased. I had arrived in time to save a life. Wiggins had warned of skulduggery, so I was sure the vase hadn’t tumbled of its own accord.
The vase! Who engineered its fall? I zoomed upward and hovered above the empty pedestal. There were the occasional lights along the parapet, but none offered much illumination. I saw no one, heard nothing.
I didn’t know which direction to take. I listened hard and heard the unmistakable click of a closing door. Quickly, I moved from one French window to another, trying the handles. All were locked. But a fleeing person would obviously click the lock once inside.
All was not lost. The woman on the terrace clearly had expected to be joined by someone. Perhaps I had now fulfilled my mission. Perhaps I had been sent simply to save her life and now Kay Clark would be forewarned and could take appropriate action. I confess I felt a quick sense of disappointment. It wasn’t that I was reluctant to return to Heaven, but Heaven knew I just arrived.
However, I didn’t hear the whistle of the Rescue Express.
I zoomed back to the ground. I stopped beside a weeping willow not far from where she stood.
The near victim looked at the empty parapet, the remnants of the vase, the mounds of dirt, the cracked marble seat. She exuded determination, which seemed an odd response to near annihilation. Moreover, nothing in the way
