Merry, Merry Ghost Page 12

  Susan looked a trifle panicked. “Where’d you go?”

  I gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “I’m here.”

  She jumped. “How do you do that?”

  I tried to remember exactly what I did to disappear. “Think: Gone.”

  “Gone,” she muttered. She faded away. “Oh, what fun.”

  “Think: Here.”

  “Here.” She swirled into being. “Gone.” She went.

  I pushed away all thought of Precept Two. “Very good. Now, think where we want to go and we’ll be there. I need to know more than Leon’s house. What’s his last name?” I could immediately go from here to anywhere but I needed a specific location. Main and Cherokee. Perkins Drugstore downtown.

  “Butler.”

  “Good. Think Leon Butler’s house and there we’ll be. Since you are carrying the letter, we’ll zoom rather than pop from here to there.” Material objects had to travel through space in real time.

  She shook her head. “Leon lives out in the country. He never misses anything. He’d know he hadn’t heard a car, and how would we explain showing up on his front porch? We have to drive.” She frowned. “I haven’t driven in a long time. Can you drive?”

  If Susan had thought, she would have realized that driving a car was much farther distant in my past. However, I always enjoyed driving. How much fun to be behind the wheel again. “Of course.” I supposed it was like a bicycle. I might wobble a bit at first, but how different could it be?

  “I’ll get the keys.” Susan’s voice was eager with no trace of worry or concern. “We’ll take Jake’s car. Her purse will be on the hall table downstairs.”

  “All right.” I opened the bedroom door, whispered, “You are carrying the letter so float downstairs.”

  I followed the envelope over the stair rail. I heard a soft gurgle of laughter. Susan was enjoying weightlessness. When the letter was a few inches from the hall table, the brown alligator handbag on the table apparently opened of its own accord. A handkerchief was briefly lifted and replaced. A change purse jingled. “Here they are.” A black plastic oblong with several keys attached dangled in the air.

  “Excellent.”

  She tossed the keys in the direction of my voice and I caught them.

  With objects to carry, Susan with the letter and I with the keys, it was necessary to open the back door. I waited until I saw the letter on the porch and shut the door.

  “Oh, it’s so cold.” Susan sounded shivery.

  “Wear that gorgeous mink.”

  “It’s in the house.”

  “Think: Mink.”

  “Mmmm. Thank you.”

  I decided to think mink as well. Much warmer than suede. I followed the letter through the shadows to the garage.

  Susan opened the side door into the garage and turned on a light. She punched a plastic oblong on the wall and the garage door lifted with a whir. “The blue Ford,” Susan instructed.

  I slipped behind the wheel and Susan settled in the passenger seat. I turned the key, pumped the accelerator. I put the car in reverse. Metal scraped against brick. In my defense, I hadn’t realized the wheel wasn’t quite straight when I started. I jammed on the brakes, inched forward, straightened, backed up again.

  I put the car in park and reached for the handle. “I’ll see about the door.”

  “No need. Push the remote.”

  “Remote from what?”

  Susan cleared her throat. “It’s not remote from anything. It’s up there on the windshield to your left.”

  I glanced at another plastic oblong attached to the interior of the windshield. How complex earthly life had become. However, I appreciated not having to leap from the car to lower the garage door. “Certainly. The remote.” I didn’t want Susan to lose confidence in me. I pushed the button. The door slid down. At the end of the drive, I waited for directions.

  “Leon lives on Shanty Road about eight miles east of Oil City.”

  In the early oil days, a makeshift camp had grown up on the outskirts of Adelaide when oil was discovered. Shanty Road ran between Oil City and the smaller town of Briarwood.

  As I drove, Susan was curious. “Do you like coming back to earth?”

  “This is only my second time to return. I love being in Adelaide. I was happy here.” We passed an elementary school. “Rob and Dil went to Sequoyah.” I reminisced about the harried years when Rob and Dil were little and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day and Bobby Mac was getting started as a wildcatter and twice we had to mortgage the house, the exciting years when oil gushed and we traveled to Europe and Rob was an Eagle Scout and Dil the prettiest girl in her class, and the too-short years, when I was the mayor’s secretary and knew everything going on in town and Bobby Mac was at his peak. That ended with our last trip on the Serendipity.

  Near the edge of town, I roared up a hill.

  “The speed limit is sixty.” Susan’s tone was mild and only slightly nervous.

  I glanced at the lighted display. Oh my. I slowed.

  A siren sounded behind us.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What will we do?” Susan was distraught. “You don’t have a license.”

  It was a statement, not a question. I’d not detailed the activities of the Department of Good Intentions, but Susan was correct in assuming an earthly driver’s license wasn’t standard issue.

  I eased to a stop. “This is no time for a police chase. I’ll think of something.” I rolled down the window.

  The cruiser pulled up behind us, its headlights illuminating our car.

  “Change places with me. Quick. We can pass through anything. Go out the window and in the other.” There was no time for explanations. Fortunately, Susan followed directions. Susan held the letter with the will and it floated through space. I zoomed out the driver’s window and over the top of the car and back inside to settle in the passenger seat.

  The police car door slammed. Footsteps sounded. A flashlight swept the interior of the car. The light stopped, as did the steps. The front seats were empty. The letter appeared to hang near the steering wheel.

  “Uh-oh. We need to appear. Quick, Susan.” I kept my voice low.

  “Are you sure?”

  The light continued to sweep the car interior.

  “Trust me.”

  Susan swirled into place. She looked at the letter and placed it on the console between the seats.

  The officer slowly approached. The flashlight beam settled on Susan. The mink coat looked splendid.

  Susan turned a contrite face toward the window.

  The officer bent down and his face was caught in full in the lights from his cruiser. He was what I thought of as Irish handsome, coal black hair, deep-set brilliant blue eyes, a broad mouth that looked as though a smile was always ready. He blinked in recognition. “Mrs. Flynn? I thought you didn’t drive anymore.”

  Susan’s smile was quick and joyous. “Johnny Cain, how are you? Your mother told me you’d come back to Adelaide. We’re all proud of how well you did at the police academy.”

  “I wouldn’t live anywhere else, Mrs. Flynn.” He cleared his throat, looked uncomfortable and as appealing as Rory Calhoun in How to Marry a Millionaire. “I’m afraid the car was going a little fast.”

  “Johnny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go so fast. I was talking—”

  Johnny looked past Susan at the empty passenger seat.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Do you know”—Susan pointed toward the road—“I believe I saw a fox. Oh, that’s exciting.”

  Johnny obediently looked forward. In profile, he was even more handsome.

  I swirled into being. “Where did you put your purse, Susan?” I emphasized purse in a cheerful but urgent tone.

  Johnny jerked back toward the window. He saw me. His rugged face was an interesting study in disbelief, shock, uneasiness, and amazement.

  “Your purse.” I spoke as if she might be hard of hearing.

&nbs
p; She stared at me.

  “You need your purse.” I bent forward as if to pat her encouragingly on her arm and hissed, “Think: Purse.”

  “What did you say, ma’am?” Cain stared at me with rapt attention. It would have been flattering had I thought the gaze inspired by admiration.

  A black Coach bag materialized on the floor.

  “Your purse will have your driver’s license.” Was it possible to imagine the contents of a purse, down to a valid driver’s license?

  “My driver’s license.” Susan’s voice was faint. “Johnny, I may have forgotten to put my billfold in my purse. I was so upset when we left.” She picked up the leather bag. “We hurried to an old friend’s house. She’s very ill. Nothing serious but miserable. You know how stomach flu is. We’ve spent hours cleaning up.”

  Johnny stepped back a pace, stood straight. “That’s all right, Mrs. Flynn. I’ll give you a warning ticket this time.” He pulled a pad from his pocket and wrote busily. “My little sister was really looking forward to coming to your tree trimming this afternoon.” He finished writing, handed the slip to Susan. “You’ll want to watch your speed, especially on the asphalt roads. You never know when you might hit a patch of black ice.” He backed away, turned, and walked hurriedly to the cruiser.

  When he climbed into the cruiser, I gave Susan a thumbs-up. “How did you think of that?” I was filled with admiration.

  “No one wants to be sick at Christmas. Johnny is such a nice boy. He grew up around the corner from us in a little blue frame house—really a kind of turquoise, his mother is an artist. He cut our grass for years. Peg and Ellen and Gina always managed to be home when Johnny did the yard. When he was done, they’d bring out lemonade and cookies.” Susan lifted the flap of the purse and pulled out a tan leather billfold. “I had a billfold just like this. I bought it in San Antonio.” She unsnapped one side, triumphantly held up a driver’s license. She returned the billfold and placed the letter in the purse.

  I didn’t ask if the license was current. Heaven is always in the details.

  I felt our passage was charmed. We changed places, disappearing, then reappearing.

  I drove very carefully.

  The sky was brilliant with stars, but on the country road to Leon’s house overlocking limbs, even though bare, made a dark tunnel. The twin beams of the headlights only seemed to emphasize the inky night. As we came around a final turn, our lights swept the front porch of a small two-story frame house. A battered old pickup was parked near the front steps.

  As we stopped, the porch light flashed on and the door opened, our arrival announced by the headlights. I was thankful Susan had realized the necessity of a car. It would have been odd indeed if we’d arrived on Leon’s front porch apparently on foot.

  Susan walked swiftly to the wooden steps.

  After a moment’s thought, I swirled away and joined her, unseen.

  Leon shaded his eyes from the porch light. He peered at Susan in astonishment. “Miz Flynn?”

  Susan’s smile was brilliant. “I hope I’m not too late for a visit with you.”

  “You can come visit me anytime.” He was clearly surprised, but I thought he was also pleased. “Come right in.” He held the door wide.

  “I want you to meet my friend who brought me tonight.” Susan half turned.

  I wasn’t there.

  “Bailey Ruth?”

  Leon looked past her at the empty car.

  “Oh, she’s here. She’ll be back in a moment. Perhaps she took a walk.”

  Leon looked perplexed. The night was cold and damp, the woods dark and forbidding.

  Susan briefly pressed her lips together. “She probably heard an owl. It’s easy to lose her when she hears an owl.”

  At that moment, an owl hooted.

  “Owls.” He nodded in agreement. “Lots of owls in December.”

  “She has good hearing.” Susan turned and called out. “Bailey Ruth, come in and meet Leon.” For good measure, unseen by Leon, she added an imperative jerk of her thumb.

  Susan meant well, but I regretted that she was bandying my name about. If anyone cared enough, my name could be found in the family plot along with Bobby Mac’s on a column dedicated to our memory. Bobby Mac loved the inscription: Forever Fishing.

  I whispered in her ear. “Not Bailey Ruth. When I come in, introduce me as Ms. Loy.” I’d appropriated Myrna Loy’s name when I made cameo appearances as a policewoman during my previous adven-mission in Adelaide. What harm could it do to recall her once again? I’d be sure and tell her the next time I saw her. She and William Powell have continued to star on the truly Great White Way as Nick and Nora Charles. With Asta, of course.

  I waited until the door closed behind Leon and Susan. I swirled into being and opened the door. My smile was apologetic. “Sorry,” I called. “A great horned owl. Those distinctive low hoos, six of them and the last two louder. I couldn’t resist looking for him.”

  Leon’s look was thoughtful. “Mighty dark in the woods.”

  I patted the pocket of the mink coat. “I never go out without my flashlight.”

  Susan was all charm. “Leon, this is Ms. Loy, a dear friend”—she gave me a quick wink of one eye—“who’s visiting over Christmas.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miz Loy.” Leon ducked his head in my direction. He took our coats and hung them from a wooden coat tree near the door.

  A yellow-and-blue macaw in a bronze cage next to a worn leather couch spoke in a cracked falsetto. “Christmas is the merriest time of the year.” He whistled a bar of “Jingle Bells.”

  “Oh, you’re a handsome fellow.” Susan was admiring.

  “Ladies, this is Archibald. You hush now, Archie.”

  The macaw lifted his wings. “Speak when spoken to.”

  Leon spread an apologetic hand. “I’m afraid Archie’s manners are rusty. We’re two old bachelors together.”

  Archie chattered while Leon brought coffee in ceramic mugs and a plate of homemade peanut butter cookies. He served one to Archie, who munched in satisfaction.

  Susan and I sat on the couch and Leon sat in an old and obviously comfortable easy chair with its back to the stairs.

  Susan put down the coffee mug. “I came tonight”—her tone was sober, her look questioning—“to ask for your help.”

  Leon leaned forward, planted gnarled hands on the knees of his faded Levi’s. “You tell me what you want, Miz Flynn. It’s as good as done.”

  The parrot watched us with bright dark eyes. Leon’s living room was small but neat as a workman’s toolbox, magazines in a red wooden rack, the maple side table by the leather couch empty except for a branding-iron lamp. A worn Bible lay open on a shiny maple table next to Leon’s chair. A pair of glasses rested on the pages.

  Susan opened her purse and retrieved the letter. She pulled out the sheet and handed it to Leon. “Please read this.”

  Leon picked up the glasses from atop the Bible. He adjusted them on his beaked nose and painstakingly read, his lips silently forming the words. He looked at Susan and tapped the top of the sheet. “This here says it’s your will.”

  Susan nodded. “I wrote it tonight and I want you to witness it for me when I sign it. Will you do that?”

  “Sure enough.” But his face was puzzled. “You always handled everything right well, Miz Flynn. The ranch and the oil leases and the bank. I’ve heard people can write out what they want done with their things and the court will see to it. But Miz Welch, who lives over Tecumseh way, got crossways with her daughter and wrote out a paper leaving her place to a slick-talking lease broker and the judge he said there was undue influence and her daughter got everything. Seems like in today’s world”—he picked his words carefully—“everybody’s mighty big on doing things by the book. I’ll be glad to sign whatever you want, but I’m thinking you maybe ought to get a lawyer to fix it up right. Put it into one of those computers.”

  Susan reached out and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry, Leon. My la
wyer will see to everything. And besides,” she laughed, “I’m not disinheriting family like Mrs. Welch. Instead, everything will go to my grandson.”

  “Yes’m.” He nodded in approval. “That’s the way it should be. Let me see.” He placed the sheet on the table and patted the pocket of his flannel shirt. “I got a pen somewhere.”

  Susan opened her purse. She pulled out a gold-plated pen. She cut her eyes toward me in amused acknowledgment and murmured, “Everything as needed.” She came to her feet, lithe and youthful, and moved to the little maple side table. She bent down to sign and date the will, then pushed the paper to Leon. Susan watched as he carefully wrote his name. “Please put the date, too.”

  As Leon finished, tension drained from Susan. “Thank you, Leon.” When she held the precious paper, her smile was tremulous. “We have to go now, but I will always be grateful for your help.”

  He looked embarrassed. “Anytime I can help, Miz Flynn, you just tell me.” He brought our coats and once again we were at his front door. He held it open.

  I stepped outside first. Susan followed, then turned. “Merry Christmas, Leon.”

  “Merry Christmas, Miz Flynn.”

  Archibald chimed in. “And a Merry Christmas was had by all.”

  Susan hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “Leon, please teach Keith how to ride and fish for crappie and hunt deer. Show him all the places we love on the ranch. Take him out to the tanks and let him smell oil.”

  Nothing smells finer to an Oklahoman than sweet crude.

  Susan’s eyes were shiny. “Tell Wade Farrell I asked you.”

  There was longing and sadness in Leon’s voice. “I wish I could, Miz Flynn. That’ll be up to Tucker, I guess.”

  Susan looked away. Her voice was uncertain. “Tucker may not want to stay on Burnt Creek.”

  Leon’s face folded into a frown. He started to speak, stopped, cleared his throat. “If Tucker leaves the ranch, I’ll be there for Mitch’s boy.”

  She didn’t look up as she swung to give him a quick hug. She ducked her head and hurried from the porch.

  I knew she ran because she didn’t want Leon to see her tears. This was her final farewell, farewell to a life she had loved.