Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(24)

“Check the neighbors,” she blurted.

I scarcely heard her voice over the deep whoo of the Rescue Express. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was being summoned. Another tap and my hand was lifted to point at the ceiling.

? ? ?

“What a pleasant surprise.” I flavored my tone with the slightest emphasis on surprise. I knew Wiggins had joined me on the roof. I smelled coal smoke as I sat on the two-foot coping. If I turned a bit I would have a wonderful view of downtown Adelaide and the park across from City Hall. Though the sun was high, it cast the thin warmth of November. I felt much warmer with the addition of a beautifully textured red wool jacket with a scalloped lapel. “How is everything?” Perhaps we could visit about some of his other emissaries. Perhaps I’d ask if any problems had arisen lately in Tumbulgum. There had been an occasion when he was distracted by activities in that lovely remote community in Australia.

Wiggins’s deep voice was right beside me. “Quite satisfactory since Sylvie was simply the victim of a practical joke. I’m afraid I sent you on a wild-goose chase. There was no kidnapping. And Susan showed her good character when she immediately handed over the shoe box. I was a bit uncomfortable about the shoe box. Your task is done—”

The rumble of wheels was near, the whoo of the whistle deafening.

“Wiggins”—I gave up my effort at casual repartee—“my task has only begun. The ‘kidnapping’ was a hoax with a sinister intent.” Did I sound enough like an Edwardian novel? “Susan Gilbert is the main suspect in Wilbur Fitch’s murder. She returned the money but she admits to being in his study last night. The discovery of his coin collections in her backyard will be seen as proof Susan decoyed her sister and used her disappearance as a pretext for robbing the safe, was discovered in the act by Wilbur, that she killed him and this morning tried to establish her innocence by returning the shoe box, but she kept the coin collections.”

Wiggins wasn’t worried. “You accompanied her on her mission to the study. You saw her take only the shoe box.”

My nose wrinkled as a cloud of coal smoke enveloped me. “I know she’s innocent. You know she’s innocent. If it were possible for us to appear and vouch for her, all would be well.”

“Oh. Harrumph.”

I let Wiggins digest the problem. Then I played my ace. “Chief Cobb will arrest her forty-eight hours from now unless I find the murderer. When the clock strikes twelve noon on Friday, Susan will be led to a cell.”

The Rescue Express thrummed on the rails.

“Forty-eight hours.” Another harrumph. “You’d better get busy.”

The whoo faded in the distance. The sound of clacking wheels grew faint and was gone.

Forty-eight hours.

? ? ?

Sam Cobb was a busy man, surrounded by officers or techs, reporting, discussing, analyzing. I didn’t like the tenor of the talk. It was all Susan and nobody else. It occurred to me that I had important information. At the moment, two techs stood in front of his desk, describing the results of the investigation in Wilbur Fitch’s study. They stood with their backs to an old-fashioned green blackboard with white chalk resting in the tray.

I picked up a piece of chalk.

Sam happened to be looking toward the blackboard. His gaze fastened on the slowly rising chalk.

I wrote: Privacy, please and drew a halo above the words. Not that I imbue my presence with any aspect of holiness, but I knew he’d understand.

Sam cleared his throat. “Good work. I have to go into a conference in a moment so you can send me the reports.”

As soon as the techs departed, Sam leaned forward, clicked his intercom: “Colleen, I’m unavailable for half an hour. Call Lulu’s and order salad with grilled chicken, ranch on—”

I lifted the chalk, wrote rapidly: Cheeseburger with chili, fries, double malted.

“—the side, iced tea. And add a chili cheeseburger, fries, and double malted.”

I erased the blackboard.

His secretary’s voice was amused. “Same old diet order but a little extra today?”

Sam was brisk. “I’m not straying. I may have a visitor in a while.”

Colleen was bland. “Of course. Order will be placed as requested.” The system clicked off.

Sam gave a morose stare in the direction of the blackboard. “Claire keeps close tabs. I’ve lost twelve pounds. Got eight to go. She likes to visit with Colleen. Colleen won’t deliberately snitch, but she always tells the truth when asked.” He was lugubrious. “A fine quality for a police chief’s secretary.” He sounded resigned. Then he brightened. “You probably don’t want all the fries.”

Lulu’s single order of fries was enough for me and a grizzly. I laughed. “Happy to share.”

Sam gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Join me. I’d like to see you. Laughter issuing from the blackboard unnerves me, even though I know it’s you.”

Sam’s office was a little chilly. A fringed lime and black plaid poncho over a lime cowl-neck sweater, black knit leggings, and black quilted boots were quite warm. I settled in the chair and crossed one leg over my knee.

Sam’s face was bemused. “Sometimes I still wonder if I’m nuts. But you make my life interesting. You look like you’re headed for a football game. Say”—he leaned forward—“did you ever see Roger Staubach play?”