Olivia wrote off her stomach flip to an excess of spicy meatloaf topping. “Probably, but no one seems to know it. You’re the cop, you find out.”
“Have you spoken to anyone else about this woman? Do you have reason to believe she was in the park at the time of the murder? Does she dance every night, or at least on a regular basis?”
“No . . . not really . . . and I haven’t a clue. You might ask Maddie. She seems to be out wandering the streets at night more than the average human being. Or for that matter, ask Charlene and Charlie. Or Jason. All I know is she was there the night before the murder at about the right time and in about the right place. If she was there at the same time Tuesday morning, she might have seen something. And if she saw something, she might be in danger.”
Del pushed aside his empty plate and took out his wallet. “If this dancer witnessed a murder and the killer saw her, she might already be dead.”
“Hey, wait up.” The insistent voice came from behind Olivia as she passed in front of Frederick’s, the men’s clothing store. She spun around to find Ida, the waitress from Joe’s Diner, hustling toward her. “You left so fast, I didn’t get a chance to tell you something,” Ida said. Years of toting heavy trays had kept her in good shape; her breathing was normal. “Joe said I could take my break early. There’s something I want to tell you, and I don’t want anyone listening in. Most people would think I’m crazy—maybe you will, too—but I know your mom, and she’d take me seriously.”
At the mention of her mother as an understanding listener, Olivia mentally prepared for a story involving chakras and sit-ins. Ida, however, was well into her seventies, so Olivia told herself not to jump to conclusions. “Let’s get out of the sun,” she said.
Ida cast a nervous glance toward the town square, where the clue collectors had multiplied, divided into several groups, and spread across the length of the park. “Too crowded around here,” she said. “Let’s go to the playground. I like it there.”
Not the suggestion Olivia expected, but it was close by and had a bench under an ancient oak tree. With Ida about three steps ahead, they walked to the old playground that had entertained schoolchildren up until a few years earlier, when the new Chatterley Heights Elementary School was built at the edge of town. Chatterley Heights lacked the resources to renovate the old brick school building, so it stood empty, its front door padlocked and windows boarded over.
Ida settled on an old wooden bench dotted with bird droppings. A few remaining strips of paint revealed the bench had once been red. With a repressed cringe, Olivia sat next to her. What the heck, she could wash up and change clothes before returning to the store. Ida’s obvious anxiety had piqued her curiosity.
“Just so we’re clear,” Ida said, “I’m seventy-eight years old, but I’ve still got all the brains I was born with. I raised two kids, nursed a sick husband for ten years, and I traveled around the world after he passed on. I’ve seen a lot. But this . . .” Ida slid her hand into the deep pocket of her diner uniform. At first, Olivia wondered if she was searching for cigarettes, but Ida produced two pieces of hard candy. “Want one?” When Olivia shook her head, Ida said, “When I get nervous, I need butterscotch.”
“I know what you mean.”
Ida unwrapped a candy and popped it into her mouth. Her facial muscles relaxed.
“Ida, do you know something about the murder that happened in the park last night? Because if you do, it’s really Sheriff Del you should be talking to. I can pass information on to him, of course, but he’ll still want to hear it from you.”
Shaking her head, Ida said, “It’s not that simple.” She unwrapped the second butterscotch candy and sucked on it like a drowning person desperate for air. Her hand dove into her pocket and resurfaced with two more wrapped candies.
Olivia began to wonder if she’d get back to The Gingerbread House before closing.
“Ghosts are real, you know.” Ida had spoken with two candies in her mouth, so Olivia wondered if she’d heard right.
“Ida? Did you say . . . ?”
“Ghosts. I said ghosts. You’re kind of young to be hard of hearing.” Ida’s tone had returned to feisty normal. “I know exactly how that sheriff would react if I told him what I’m about to tell you. Oh, he’d pretend to listen and maybe write something in that little notebook of his, only it’d probably be ‘Call the loony bin, Ida’s nuts.’ But I know what I saw, and from the little bit I heard back at the diner, maybe you saw it, too.”
Olivia’s heart picked up speed. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve seen a woman dancing in the park? Because the sheriff would be most interested in hearing about that, believe me.”
Ida inhaled another butterscotch. “I slaw . . .” She paused to swallow. “I saw a ghost dancing in the park, is what I’m trying to say.”
“Listen, Ida, if you saw someone in the park last night, you must tell Del. That woman could be a witness to murder.”
“Ghosts can’t witness to anything.” Ida slapped her hands on her thighs, in a gesture of angry frustration. “Don’t know why I bother. Young people today, no imagination. Your mother would listen to me.”
Ida started to stand up, but Olivia grabbed her elbow and pulled her back down onto the bench. “Wait. Ida, I do believe in ghosts.”
“You don’t.”
“Okay, I don’t, but that doesn’t matter. I do want to know what you saw. Because Maddie and I both saw a white figure dancing in the park the night before last, and I’ll agree that she looked ghostlike.”
“She was a ghost.”
“Understood. Have a butterscotch and tell me what you saw. Please?”
“Let go of my arm.”
“Well, okay.” Olivia was half convinced Ida would run for it, but she complied.
Ida did move, but only to put some distance between herself and Olivia. “I wish your mom were here.”
“Me, too,” Olivia said with conviction.
Ida retrieved another candy. “My last one,” she said, slitting her eyes at Olivia. “Don’t interrupt.” When Olivia nodded in assent, Ida nestled the wrapped butterscotch between her palms as if she were warming it, or perhaps drawing comfort from it. “After my husband died,” she said, “I sold the house, cashed out the insurance money, and had me one heck of a trip around the world. Always wanted to do that. I didn’t come back till I ran out of money. Anyway, it was fine while it lasted. Like I said, I’ve seen a lot in my seventy-eight years, and a lot of it was while I was on that trip.” Ida studied Olivia’s face. “You getting bored? Young people these days don’t have much patience for long stories.”
Olivia raised both hands in denial. “Nope. No boredom, none whatsoever.”
“Well, anyway, it was traveling the world that made me understand about ghosts being real. Most other countries are lots older than we are, you know. I saw castles that were maybe a thousand years old and still standing. Mostly, anyway. When a place has been around that long, it collects whole families of ghosts. I met a lot of people who’d seen ghosts, talked to them even.”
Olivia was having trouble following Ida’s logic, but she said nothing.
“I know a ghost when I see one,” Ida said. “And that’s what I saw. More than once, too.”
Olivia nodded and remained mute.
“You see, when I got back from my trip, I had no money and no house, so I figured I’d better get a job. Pete hired me back right away. Pete’s a cranky old cuss, but he’s got a heart. He advanced me enough money to rent a room. I’d planned to save until I had enough to maybe rent a little house, but I got so used to living in one room, I decided to save my money for another trip. I figure I’ll have enough in another year or so.” Ida opened her hands, smiled at her wrapped candy, and closed her hands around it again.