Ghost in Trouble (2010)

you’re here or not, angel, ghost, or devil, please whisk back to wherever you came from and leave me in peace. Now that I know I’m on the right track, I’ll take it from here.”

I despised lack of clarity in speech when I was an English teacher. Right track. It. I wanted specificity.

“Take what where?”

She looked blank.

“You say you are on the right track and you will take it from here. Take what where?”

“You seem singularly uninformed for a so-called ghost.” She made a shooing gesture, as if I were a bothersome fly.

“It’s a good thing”—I hoped I didn’t sound waspish—“that Heaven doesn’t hold grudges, or I would be gone. In a heartbeat. Look, we need to talk.” I gestured at the shattered vase. “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

Her smile fled as she stared at the debris. In the moonlight, her face looked suddenly older. She drew in a quick breath.

I patted her shoulder.

Kay stiffened. “You are not here.” The words were evenly spaced, but her voice was strident. “I haven’t had that much to drink. Two glasses of champagne at dinner. That’s nothing. I am perfectly sober. Maybe I need a drink. I’ve got to get my head on straight. Maybe if I talk the situation out, I’ll know what to do next.” She flicked a quick glance toward me. “That must be why I’m imagining you. All right. My subconscious will be my guide.” She began to pace. “I found a note on my pillow. But not a billet-doux this time.” Her face softened. “Jack wrote lovely pillow notes. I still have them. This wasn’t that kind of note, but I was thrilled. I knew I was getting somewhere.”

Kay reached into a pocket.

I was wary, prepared for the gun.

Kay lifted out a square of white cardboard, read aloud: “‘Be on the terrace at midnight in the cul-de-sac. I know what happened to Jack.’”

Interesting. I asked eagerly, “What happened to Jack?”

Kay lifted startled black eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t know about Jack? My subconscious must have gone on vacation after calling you up. You can’t be a good sounding board if you don’t know what’s happened.”

“I know you are engaged in a foolhardy and”—I jerked a thumb at the wreckage—“dangerous scheme.”

“Scheme.” She considered the word and gave an approving nod. “You better believe it, honey. I’ve got a scheme, and that pile of dirt”—she jerked her thumb—“proves I was right. I knew things were breaking my way when I got the note. I suspected something would happen.” She patted her pocket. “That’s why I brought a gun. But”—she looked up at the empty pedestal—“somebody outsmarted me.”

“When I got to the balcony—”

She looked sardonic. “You flew, of course.”

I tamped down my immediate flare of irritation…on the earth, not of the earth… With an effort of will (Wiggins, are you applauding?), I was pleasant. “Not exactly. It’s more immediate than that.” I disappeared, zoomed up, stood on the balcony ledge, reappeared, and looked down on Kay. I was clearly visible in the light from a lamp. I waved, then reversed the process. In another instant, I stood before her.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

The instantaneous switch from ground to balcony to ground obviously dazzled her. What fun.

She pressed fingers against her temples. “Hallucination. That’s all that it is. Maybe champagne isn’t good for me.”

I was impatient with her dogged rejection of my presence. Time was fleeting and action was essential. I began again, firmly. “When I reached the balcony, no one was there. I heard a door shut, but I was too late to see anyone. Maybe the police will be able to find some evidence.”

“The police.” She spoke in a considering tone, then gave an abrupt head shake. “I don’t think—”

“Excuse me, is everything all right?” The puzzled call came from the upper terrace.

Kay’s expression was grim. “Everything’s just super, Laverne. Come on down.” She turned the flashlight toward the steps.

CHAPTER THREE

I disappeared.

Kay drew in a sharp breath.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t left. We’ll talk later.” My whisper was intended as a reassurance.

Regrettably, Kay stamped her foot. “I’ve got to stop imagining things.”

A tall, thin woman with dark hair in a coronet braid descended the steps. She walked majestically, as if pages might be to the left and right of her strewing flowers. She was either someone of importance or someone who wished to appear important. She was dressed all in black, a rayon blouse with a fringe and a billowing black skirt. A sharp nose and thin lips dominated her bony face. “Has there been an accident? I heard a huge crash. I thought something had happened in the garden, and I should go and see.”

Kay’s smile was grim. “Did you indeed? Where’s Ronald?”