transgressions of the Precepts.
Kay’s face folded in a discouraged frown. “We may know what happened, but I don’t see how the police will ever prove anything. Maybe they can convict her of fraud and theft. I don’t see how they can prove murder.”
I admired the scalloping of the cuff on my linen sleeve. It was much nicer to see the delicate blue than simply to know I was wearing the blouse. “Not to worry. People will talk now. Clint Dunham can reveal the figure of a woman he glimpsed leaving The Castle. He was afraid it was Gwen. They’ve already found Alison’s prints on the dog’s collar. The crime lab will check her clothes basket and the top of her washing machine for traces of gunshot residue. Certainly she washed what she was wearing, but there may be traces of the residue elsewhere. In the Phillipses’ room, the blood was smeared, apparently by the edge of a shoe. They can check her shoes for microscopic traces. Now they can use her photo to find out where she got the leather bone since she doesn’t have a dog. They’ll get the evidence.”
I glanced toward the clock. Five minutes to ten. Did I hear the distant sound of iron wheels? I realized in a rush of emotion that I was going to miss Kay. She’d been stubborn, determined, willful, and acerbic. But…
I popped up and gave her a hug.
She looked suddenly forlorn. “Is it time?”
“Almost.”
Her expressive face held a melange of emotions—sadness, affection, admiration. There might have been the tiniest hint of relief. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss you, even if you do drive me nuts.” Kay grinned. “No offense meant.”
“None taken.”
The rumble of the wheels clacked nearer.
“Good-bye.” I started to disappear. Oh, one thing I’d forgotten. I paused in midswirl. “You’ll see Paul Fisher.”
Her face was suddenly filled with yearning. “I hope so.”
“Be sure and tell him you weren’t going to go back to Africa with Jack.”
Her smile was wide. “Bailey Ruth, you are one foxy lady. Do you know what that means?”
I laughed aloud. I remembered.
“Thank you, Bailey Ruth. Good-bye.”
Faintly, as I moved through The Castle ceiling into the starlit night, I heard her quick shout: “Yeah. Sure. But, please, not anytime soon.”
Here came the caboose. I reached out, clung to the railing. As the lights receded below, I was torn between earth and Heaven, the diamond-bright glitter of Adelaide receding, the brilliance of the stars bathing me in a silvery glow.
A strong hand clasped my arm, pulled me aboard. Above the rush of the wind, Wiggins shouted, “Well done, Bailey Ruth.” A portentous pause. “However, there were a few moments we should discuss.” The wind rushed past us. Shooting stars illuminated our arc as we rose higher and higher.
I slipped my arm through his as we turned to enter the last car. As Mama wisely advised, “Talk to men about something dear to their hearts.”
“Wiggins, how is the schedule coming with that emissary at Ulaa Lodge?”
About the Author
An accomplished master of mystery, CAROLYN HART is the author of twenty Death on Demand novels, the creator of the highly praised Henrie O series, and two previous Bailey Ruth mysteries. She has won multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards, and received the Lifetime Achievement award from Malice Domestic. Her first Bailey Ruth mystery,
www.carolynhart.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Also by Carolyn Hart
BAILEY RUTH
DEATH ON DEMAND
