she stood indicated distress. Indeed, there was a cocky lift to her shoulders. She kicked a dirt clod. “I’ll be double damned.” Her husky voice was brusque and, oddly, not so much shocked as satisfied.
“I sincerely hope not.” Once again, I clapped fingers to my lips. Surely Wiggins would forgive my exclamation. Damnation is no joking matter in Heaven.
She swung toward the sound of my voice. “Who’s there?” She took a step nearer the weeping willow. She was partially in the shadow of the evergreens and partially in a swath of moonlight. She reached into a deep pocket and yanked out a small but deadly looking revolver, holding it steady in an unwavering hand. Moonlight glinted on the gun. Her left hand dipped into the opposite pocket and retrieved a flashlight. She switched it on.
The stark beam was shocking after the dimness.
Me and my big, open mouth. That was how I got off to a bad start in my first visit to Adelaide. I’d spoken aloud and then had felt it necessary to appear to calm the situation. The effect had been unfortunate. Earthbound creatures are sadly unimaginative. If you come and go, that is, appear and disappear, the conclusion is immediate that you are a ghost. It is to no avail to speak of a Heavenly visitor as an emissary. The earthbound cling to stereotypes, believing that ghosts are horrid specters rattling chains and exuding a chill that turns hearts to ice.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Take me. I’m a redhead who likes to have fun. I am, if I say so myself, cheerful, energetic, and friendly. However, Precept Four was clear. I glanced Heavenward and gave a thumbs-up. I was determined to remain unseen. Precept Four was clear as could be. Moreover, this woman obviously was in no need of reassurance.
She took two steps toward the willow. The fronds drifted in the breeze. The flashlight beam whipped back and forth. She held the small pistol with apparent competence. “I have a good ear. Come out with your hands up or I’ll shoot.”
She aimed directly at me. That wasn’t a problem, but I felt she was much too ready to wield a weapon. Public safety was paramount. I felt a pang of dismay. Had that pompous thought actually entered my mind? Maybe there was a basis to Wiggins’s continuing worries about reversion.
She raised her hand, straightened her arm.
“Don’t shoot.” I spoke crisply. “I pushed you out of the way. Why attack your rescuer?”
“Who are you? Why are you hiding?” Her tone was equally crisp. “Did you know the vase was going to fall? Or do you claim to have ESP? Whatever, you are a little too handy on the spot to be innocent.” Her disdain was obvious. “Come out or I’ll shoot. One, two, three—”
I became visible. I spared an instant’s thought to be glad I’d changed out of the tweed suit. Certainly I didn’t want to appear unfashionable in front of a woman who obviously had style even if at the moment she lacked charm.
She took a stumbling step back, deeper into the shadow of the evergreens.
I reminded myself that I was not, repeat not, taking pleasure in her discomfiture. Her reaction was understandable, since becoming visible is a striking phenomenon. Colors swirl and slowly take form. It’s quite arresting. I regretted I hadn’t chosen more dramatic tones. Turquoise flatters a redhead, but the gentle shade lacks emphasis. I changed colors in midswirl, and, voila! I was clothed in a scarlet tunic and gold trousers. I added matching gold sandals and a multitude of gold chains. I was sure I was clearly visible in the light of the flash.
The hand with the gun sank to her side.
She had only herself to thank if my sudden appearance scared her.
Immediate upon the uncharitable thought came contrition. I hoped Wiggins wasn’t keeping count of these small errors on my part. As the colors swirled and resolved into me, I forced a conciliatory smile and moved toward her. Wiggins might not be pleased at my appearance, but surely he wanted me to prevent a shooting spree. What was it Wiggins had said about Kay Clark?…
Without hesitation, she walked toward me.
I was impressed. She had to be shaken by my unorthodox arrival, yet she moved with determination to meet me. She stepped fully into the light from one of the torches as we came face-to-face.
I struggled to breathe. Despite the passage of years, I recognized her at once. Her oval face was elegant in its perfection and her beauty perhaps more striking in the mature woman than in the less polished late teen. Of all people…
Was this the circumstance which had concerned Wiggins, made him doubt my suitability to serve as an emissary?
She swore, her husky voice shocked and uncertain.
“You!” I sounded hoarse.
Kay took a step back. “I don’t believe this.” Thankfully, the hand holding the gun remained at her side.
Now I understood Wiggins’s reservations about sending
Kay Kendall—I suppose I’d have to remember that she was now Kay Clark—had been beautiful as a very young woman. She was beautiful as an older woman. What was she now? Nearing fifty, at least, but time had touched her lightly. Now there was the faintest of shadows beneath her eyes, an attenuation of her high cheekbones, giving her a poignant aura of vulnerability. Her face was elegant and memorable, high forehead, straight nose, pointed chin with a tantalizing cleft, raven dark hair lightly flecked with silver, compelling dark brown eyes. Kay Kendall Clark was arresting, fascinating, unforgettable. Few could resist her magnetism; though, like moths drawn to a flame, those entranced by her might forever rue their encounter.
“Bailey Ruth Raeburn?” Kay’s rich contralto voice rose in disbelief. “Oh, wait a minute. You’re dead.” She blinked uncertainly. “I must have a concussion.”
“No such luck.” This time my fingers flew to my mouth in dismay. I must not quarrel with my charge. “You’re fine. Besides, I didn’t push you that hard.”
