I had only seconds left. “What did you see? Quick?” She flung out her arm, shooing the gathering ghosties into place.
She bent, touched a button, and the throbbing beat blared. The children began their gyrations, shouting, “Boy say, boy say, boy . . .” Chief Cobb loomed just past Irene, shouted, “Stop there, lady. I got you now.”
What could I do? An abrupt disappearance violated Precept One: Avoid public notice. And possibly Precept Five: Do not succumb to 247
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the temptation to confound those who appear to oppose you. However, I had no choice.
Chief Cobb ducked around a cotton-candy machine, hand outstretched.
I disappeared.
I didn’t move fast enough to evade Wiggins’s clipped order. “The chandelier.”
I sat on the chandelier and felt a bump as Wiggins joined me.
Below us, the chief grasped at air. His face creased in astonishment. His big head jerked from one side to the other, his eyes seeking an answer. There was an empty circle where I’d stood and talked to Irene. Irene, eyes huge, trembled, still mouthing in a hoarse whisper,
“. . . brew can’t get you . . .”
Cobb plunged nearer, glared down at her.
She gasped.
“Where is she?” he shouted over the music.
She looked back and forth. “Who?”
“That . . .” He swallowed, forced out the words. “That cop. That redheaded cop.”
“I don’t know.” Her tone was numb. “She was here and she went away.”
Cobb’s hands clenched. “There isn’t any place to go.” The beat continued and the ghosties pranced. “. . . hey say, hey say, watch the ghosties flop . . .”
Irene blinked. “Maybe she went behind the cotton-candy machine.”
Cobb took a few steps, peered behind the churning froth of pink sugar. Impatiently, he strode back. “What did she talk to you about?”
“I told her I didn’t know anything about anything.” Irene’s voice rose. “She threatened me, said she’d take me to the police station, and here I am, trying to help out at the church.” Her voice wavered in a sob. “I told her I was busy and couldn’t talk now.” 248
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Cobb made a growl of frustration in his throat. “That woman’s going to jail just as soon as I get my hands on her. Impersonating a police officer is a serious crime.”
“Impersonating . . .” Irene had her goldfish look, eyes huge, mouth open.
“If she comes around again, call us.” Cobb frowned. “Who are you, ma’am?”
Irene murmured, “Chatham. Irene Chatham.” His question came hard and fast. “Are you the one Daryl Murdoch accused of stealing from the collection plate?” She grasped at her throat, eyes bulging. “That was a mistake. Absolutely a mistake. I just needed to make change. There’s not a word of truth to it.” Her lips folded in a tight line.
He was unimpressed. “When did the incident occur?” Her face was mulish. “There was no incident.” Cobb’s eyes narrowed. “Did Murdoch take his accusation to Father Abbott?”
She stared at him wide-eyed. “I wouldn’t have any knowledge about conversations between Mr. Murdoch and Father Bill.”
“That’s not an answer.” His look was scathing. “Are you the one Abbott’s protecting?”
Her hands clenched. “Ask Father Abbott.” I was furious. She knew Father Bill would protect her.
Cobb stared at Irene. “Did that redheaded woman ask you about stealing?”
Irene’s eyes flickered away. “I didn’t understand what she wanted, but she was unpleasant. Now you say she’s a fake. The police department shouldn’t let people go around pretending they are officers and acting rudely.”
His face was grim. “I’ll be back in touch, Mrs. Chatham.” He turned on his heel, began a slow, measured survey of the hall.
I wasn’t done with Irene Chatham. She might think she’d seen 249
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the last of me, but she hadn’t. We’d have a tête-à-tête she wouldn’t forget as soon as she left the parish hall. If, of course, I managed to elude Wiggins.
Now the rumble was deep and full-throated. “Bailey Ruth, I’ve reached the end of my patience. The Rescue Express is en route. You will board shortly.”
I held tight to the rim. “No.”
“No?” He was dumbfounded.
Was I the first emissary to mutiny? Was Purgatory my destination? I took a deep breath, tried to keep my voice steady. “I’ve not finished my job. And I have to say”—I felt the sting of tears down my cheeks and my voice wobbled—“I’ve never had anyone treat me this way. Give me a chance, Wiggins. Leave me alone. Stop looking over my shoulder every minute. I can handle everything by myself.”
“Oh.” He sounded chagrined, a kindhearted man daunted by the sniffles that indicate tears. “Possibly I have been too much here. After all, it’s your responsibility. Very well. Do your best.” He didn’t sound as if he had the faintest hope that I would manage with any success.
The chandelier swung.
I wiped my cheeks and felt liberated. No more Wiggins looking over my shoulder, frowning and grumping and harrumphing. I would be in charge. I would do very well by myself, thank you very much.
A drumroll sounded, da-dum, da-da, da-dum, da-da, da-dum. A trumpet blew. Lights blinked on and off.
At the base of the steps to the small stage, Marie Antoinette was impatiently adjusting a white-gold wig. A pirate—oh, it was Bayroo!—waved a sword aloft in time with the drums. She looked eager, excited, and, to Auntie Grand, absolutely lovely, Titian hair gleaming, fine features alive with delight. A sandy-haired boy in a blue pullover sweater and faded jeans grinned at her. Freckles splashed his angular face. He gave a thumbs-up. A towheaded Robin Hood thudded up the steps.
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Father Bill joined Robin Hood on the stage. For once, Father Bill didn’t look pressed or weary. His smile was bright and glad and proud.
From the audience, a peasant girl yelled, “Go, Jeffie.” Robin Hood flapped a big hand. He went to the mike, thunked it. “Sound on?” His voice reverberated. “Welcome to St. Mildred’s annual Spook Bash.”
The drummer pounded in a frenzy. Cheers rose.
Robin Hood grinned. “Thanks for coming and supporting the youth group outreach to Adelaide. I’m Jeff Jameson, youth group senior high president. We’ll begin our program with a prayer from Father Bill.”
Father Bill shook Jeff’s hand, then took the mike. He bowed his head and prayed in thanksgiving for the youth group and their hard work to raise money for the food pantry. Before he handed the mike back to Jeff, Father Bill grinned at the revelers. “How about a cheer for the youth group?”
The roar from the audience was almost equal to the welcome given to Adelaide’s Bobcats when they took the field on a Friday night.
Jeff took the mike. “Thanks, everyone. We’ve worked hard, but it’s been so much fun and now we have a wonderful turnout, so all the effort was worthwhile. This year’s Bash offers more fun and prizes and scary thrills than ever before. Most amazingly, we have a very special guest who’s come to help us make this the best Spook Bash ever. Everybody please welcome Travis Calhoun.” The lanky boy in jeans reached the platform, one hand held high in greeting.
Girls squealed and hugged one another. It reminded me of the bobby-soxer days when teenage girls swooned over Frank Sinatra.
Robin Hood gestured toward the trestle tables laden with pumpkins. “Travis has agreed to judge the painted-pumpkin faces and 251
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present the awards. He’s in Adelaide to visit his aunt and there’s a special story behind his appearance here. Lucinda Wilkie, middle school president, wants to tell us how she and Bayroo Abbott met Travis and invited him to join our party. Come on up, Lucinda.” He clapped. “And Bayroo.”