Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(40)

“Perhaps a key. Perhaps someone who attended the party slipped into the study and opened the garden door.”

He came to his feet. “I’m going to go see Susan Gilbert.”

I rose, too. “I appreciate your time.” When we were out in the hall, I murmured, “I have a few more rooms to check.” He nodded but he was no longer focused on me. He walked swiftly to the stairs. I waited until he was out of sight. As the clatter of his steps receded, I disappeared.

I wasn’t finished with Detective Sergeant G. Latham’s interviews. Charming stepson Harry Hubbard, bumbling executive Todd Garrett, and hopeful inventor Alan Douglas were still on my list. But I wanted to talk to them at work. The offices would be open tomorrow. For now I was finished with my police inquiries.

I had an important stop to make before treating myself to a chicken-fried steak, cream gravy, and mashed potatoes at Lulu’s. As my mama always told us, “Don’t let the sun set on a man’s misperceptions or they’ll harden like concrete.”

? ? ?

Sam Cobb’s office was fully lighted, but he wasn’t in his desk chair. Perhaps he would return soon. I felt a little stab of disappointment. I thought Sam would still be at work. The murder of a leading citizen demanded all-out effort.

Unless the case was considered solved.

I glanced at the round clock on the wall. A quarter to six. For an instant, my stomach squeezed. You know the feeling. You wake up at eight fifteen and the final started at eight. You had a good tight hold on someone’s hand as floodwaters swirled and suddenly your hand is empty. You are alone in the house at midnight and there’s a heavy step in the upper hall. I fought down a crest of panic, spoke firmly to myself. “Steady, Bailey Ruth. You’ll save Susan.” I took five deep breaths and moved to the chalkboard. I picked up a piece of chalk.

“A voice with no visible source, deep breaths, and airborne chalk are unnerving. How about spinning yourself here.”

I whirled to see Sam Cobb lumbering up from the sofa, staring this way.

“Sam. You’re here!”

“Where do you think I’d be? This is Claire’s bridge night. I was thinking.” He pointed at the sofa. “I think better staring at the ceiling.”

I like being present. After all, as I once explained to Wiggins when he complained that I was overeager to appear, it is always my sincere wish to make everyone comfortable. I didn’t add that I was including myself. What was the joy in a fashionable ensemble if I couldn’t see it? I appeared and smoothed the sleeve of the lavender cardigan, loving the texture of the cable design. I felt my spirits lift as I settled on the couch beside Sam.

Sam’s big face was a mixture of amusement and, I am glad to say, affection. He smiled at me. “Besides, I was hanging around because I had a feeling Officer Loy might drop by.”

“Actually, Detective Sergeant G. Latham.” I pulled out my leather police ID holder.

Sam took the holder in a huge hand. “Kind of spooky. Right down to the last detail.” He returned the ID. “Wonder if that thing holds fingerprints.” Sam obviously didn’t want any connection to a fake police ID.

“Not to worry. It disappears right along with me. But speaking of fingerprints.” I looked at him urgently. “Did you have prints lifted from Wilbur’s suite door?”

“He was killed in his study.” Sam’s gravelly voice was patient.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You sound like my first grade teacher. Okay, okay. Forensic evidence was taken only from the scene of the crime.”

“Sam, please send the techs out first thing in the morning. Take prints from the suite door. The killer knocked. There might be DNA traces, too.”

“DNA’s expensive.”

I ignored the comment. “Here’s what the killer did last night. Attended the party. At some point slipped downstairs and into the study. Probably had gloves in a purse or pocket. Put them on. Unlocked the garden door so Susan could get in. Maybe went back upstairs, maybe not. Probably called Susan from the study, then went into the hall and looked out a window, watched her arrive. Susan leaves. The watcher returns to the study. After the guests depart and the house is quiet, it was time to turn on the light in the study, open the door to the garden, pull the painting back from the safe, then slip upstairs to knock on Wilbur’s door. No gloves there. Wilbur might not have sensed danger from someone he knew well, but gloves would look very odd.”

Sam leaned back against the leather cushion. “According to you, the visitor was a guest from the party who claimed he/she had returned for something, saw a light in the study, found the door open, yada yada.”

“Do you have a better idea why Wilbur went downstairs?” I spoke pleasantly.

His brown eyes awarded me a point. “Maybe he wanted to check something in his office.”

“Weak.”

Sam shrugged. “There could be a reason.”

“Let’s say you’re right. Wilbur decides to go down to his study and it happens to be just at the moment when Susan returns to get the coins? It’s always been a stretch that she came back a second time.”

He was still skeptical. “Instead of a party guest gone rogue, how about Susan Gilbert unlocked the garden door of the study before she quit work yesterday.”