Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(66)

Sylvie Gilbert stood up, blonde curls wind tousled. She was young and cute in a pink sweater and rose slacks. “Where’s my sister?” Ben Fitch rose, too. He looked eager.

Sam walked forward. “Ms. Susan Gilbert, who was instrumental in helping authorities with background information about Mr. Fitch, has been released from protective custody, as the arrest of Mr. Kelly concludes the investigation into the murders of Mr. Fitch and Mr. Ross.”





Chapter 14


I was surprised to find both Susan’s and Sylvie’s cars parked in the driveway at their house and no one home. Oh, of course. I found them with Ben in the large living area behind the huge double staircase at the Fitch mansion. “I put champagne on to chill before I picked Sylvie up.” He was buoyed by Susan’s vindication, but his face also held anger. He filled three flutes, put down the bottle of Dom Pérignon.

He carried a glass to Susan. She stood next to a crystal sculpture of a dolphin. Sunlight streamed through a skylight, turning Susan’s hair as glossy black as a raven’s wing, giving the sculpture a sheen as if the dolphin had just emerged from the sea. Susan was slender and lovely in the richly red sweater and gray slacks. She looked up at Ben and her eyes held wonder. He handed her the glass and their fingers touched. She said with a catch in her voice, “You believed in me.”

His blue eyes softened. “There was never a question. The first time I saw you, I knew you were good and fine. Dad thought the world of you. Dad was always right about people.” Now there was a catch in his voice. “Except George. And in a way he was right about George. He never trusted George. He always told me you need a lawyer who’s a junkyard dog. But the good thing is he was right about you and Todd and Alan and Harry.”

“Hey, speaking of, I just got a text.” Sylvie was excited, her voice light and bubbly. “Pour another glass. Harry’s coming—”

A French door to the terrace opened. Harry Hubbard stepped inside, gave a fist pump. “I heard the news.” He was preppy in an oatmeal cashmere sweater over a blue shirt and navy dress slacks. “I streamed the press conference. Glad they got the bastard. Glad they stopped being stupid about Susan. Anyway, Sylvie says there’s champagne.”

Sylvie looked at him with admiring eyes.

Susan, a tiny frown plucking at her striking dark brows, glanced from the champagne flute in her sister’s hand to Harry, now standing quite close to Sylvie.

“On the way over here, I got to thinking.” Harry grinned at Ben. “I know that will come as a surprise to you, esteemed stepbro. But Wilbur always wanted us to look ahead, make the company better. I’ve got an idea for a new look for Fitch Enterprises, like somebody splashed pink paint on a green billboard and flung a handful of glitter and turned on a huge spotlight. And here”—he pointed at Sylvie—“is the artist who can make everything bright.”

? ? ?

The Rescue Express streaked into a sky as richly blue as a Caribbean sea. Cinders sparked. Coal smoke swirled. The wheels rumbled like the Adelaide Cougar drummers at a championship football game. Going home. Susan and Sylvie safe. Going home. . . . The wind stirred Wiggins’s russet hair. He spoke above the rumble. “I knew you would succeed, Bailey Ruth. You were as clever as C. Auguste Dupin.” His tone was filled with awe.

But I knew the truth. Detective G. Latham was no Mike Shayne. “Wiggins”—this was a time for honesty—“I was at Roger Staubach’s great game in 1975. Twenty-four seconds left. Fourth down. He launched the ball and said a Hail Mary. That’s what I did, too.”





About the Author


An accomplished master of mystery, Carolyn Hart is the New York Times bestselling author of sixty novels of mystery and suspense including the Bailey Ruth Ghost Novels and the Death on Demand Mysteries. Her books have won multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. She has also been honored with the Amelia Award for significant contributions to the traditional mystery from Malice Domestic and was named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America. One of the founders of Sisters in Crime, Hart lives in Oklahoma City, where she enjoys mysteries, walking in the park, and cats. She and her husband, Phil, serve as staff—cat owners will understand—to brother and sister brown tabbies. Visit her website at carolynhart.com.