CHAPTER EIGHT
What will we do?” Susan was distraught. “You don’t have a license.”
It was a statement, not a question. I’d not detailed the activities of the Department of Good Intentions, but Susan was correct in assuming an earthly driver’s license wasn’t standard issue.
I eased to a stop. “This is no time for a police chase. I’ll think of something.” I rolled down the window.
The cruiser pulled up behind us, its headlights illuminating our car.
“Change places with me. Quick. We can pass through anything. Go out the window and in the other.” There was no time for explanations. Fortunately, Susan followed directions. Susan held the letter with the will and it floated through space. I zoomed out the driver’s window and over the top of the car and back inside to settle in the passenger seat.
The police car door slammed. Footsteps sounded. A flashlight swept the interior of the car. The light stopped, as did the steps. The front seats were empty. The letter appeared to hang near the steering wheel.
“Uh-oh. We need to appear. Quick, Susan.” I kept my voice low.
“Are you sure?”
The light continued to sweep the car interior.
“Trust me.”
Susan swirled into place. She looked at the letter and placed it on the console between the seats.
The officer slowly approached. The flashlight beam settled on Susan. The mink coat looked splendid.
Susan turned a contrite face toward the window.
The officer bent down and his face was caught in full in the lights from his cruiser. He was what I thought of as Irish handsome, coal black hair, deep-set brilliant blue eyes, a broad mouth that looked as though a smile was always ready. He blinked in recognition. “Mrs. Flynn? I thought you didn’t drive anymore.”
Susan’s smile was quick and joyous. “Johnny Cain, how are you? Your mother told me you’d come back to Adelaide. We’re all proud of how well you did at the police academy.”
“I wouldn’t live anywhere else, Mrs. Flynn.” He cleared his throat, looked uncomfortable and as appealing as Rory Calhoun in How to Marry a Millionaire. “I’m afraid the car was going a little fast.”
“Johnny, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go so fast. I was talking—”
Johnny looked past Susan at the empty passenger seat.
There was an awkward pause.
“Do you know”—Susan pointed toward the road—“I believe I saw a fox. Oh, that’s exciting.”
Johnny obediently looked forward. In profile, he was even more handsome.
I swirled into being. “Where did you put your purse, Susan?” I emphasized purse in a cheerful but urgent tone.
Johnny jerked back toward the window. He saw me. His rugged face was an interesting study in disbelief, shock, uneasiness, and amazement.
“Your purse.” I spoke as if she might be hard of hearing.
She stared at me.
“You need your purse.” I bent forward as if to pat her encouragingly on her arm and hissed, “Think: Purse.”
“What did you say, ma’am?” Cain stared at me with rapt attention. It would have been flattering had I thought the gaze inspired by admiration.
A black Coach bag materialized on the floor.
“Your purse will have your driver’s license.” Was it possible to imagine the contents of a purse, down to a valid driver’s license?
“My driver’s license.” Susan’s voice was faint. “Johnny, I may have forgotten to put my billfold in my purse. I was so upset when we left.” She picked up the leather bag. “We hurried to an old friend’s house. She’s very ill. Nothing serious but miserable. You know how stomach flu is. We’ve spent hours cleaning up.”
Johnny stepped back a pace, stood straight. “That’s all right, Mrs. Flynn. I’ll give you a warning ticket this time.” He pulled a pad from his pocket and wrote busily. “My little sister was really looking forward to coming to your tree trimming this afternoon.” He finished writing, handed the slip to Susan. “You’ll want to watch your speed, especially on the asphalt roads. You never know when you might hit a patch of black ice.” He backed away, turned, and walked hurriedly to the cruiser.
When he climbed into the cruiser, I gave Susan a thumbs-up. “How did you think of that?” I was filled with admiration.
“No one wants to be sick at Christmas. Johnny is such a nice boy. He grew up around the corner from us in a little blue frame house—really a kind of turquoise, his mother is an artist. He cut our grass for years. Peg and Ellen and Gina always managed to be home when Johnny did the yard. When he was done, they’d bring out lemonade and cookies.” Susan lifted the flap of the purse and pulled out a tan leather billfold. “I had a billfold just like this. I bought it in San Antonio.” She unsnapped one side, triumphantly held up a driver’s license. She returned the billfold and placed the letter in the purse.
I didn’t ask if the license was current. Heaven is always in the details.
I felt our passage was charmed. We changed places, disappearing, then reappearing.
I drove very carefully.
The sky was brilliant with stars, but on the country road to Leon’s house overlocking limbs, even though bare, made a dark tunnel. The twin beams of the headlights only seemed to emphasize the inky night. As we came around a final turn, our lights swept the front porch of a small two-story frame house. A battered old pickup was parked near the front steps.
As we stopped, the porch light flashed on and the door opened, our arrival announced by the headlights. I was thankful Susan had realized the necessity of a car. It would have been odd indeed if we’d arrived on Leon’s front porch apparently on foot.
Susan walked swiftly to the wooden steps.
After a moment’s thought, I swirled away and joined her, unseen.
Leon shaded his eyes from the porch light. He peered at Susan in astonishment. “Miz Flynn?”
Susan’s smile was brilliant. “I hope I’m not too late for a visit with you.”
“You can come visit me anytime.” He was clearly surprised, but I thought he was also pleased. “Come right in.” He held the door wide.
“I want you to meet my friend who brought me tonight.” Susan half turned.
I wasn’t there.
“Bailey Ruth?”
Leon looked past her at the empty car.
“Oh, she’s here. She’ll be back in a moment. Perhaps she took a walk.”
Leon looked perplexed. The night was cold and damp, the woods dark and forbidding.
Susan briefly pressed her lips together. “She probably heard an owl. It’s easy to lose her when she hears an owl.”
At that moment, an owl hooted.
“Owls.” He nodded in agreement. “Lots of owls in December.”
“She has good hearing.” Susan turned and called out. “Bailey Ruth, come in and meet Leon.” For good measure, unseen by Leon, she added an imperative jerk of her thumb.
Susan meant well, but I regretted that she was bandying my name about. If anyone cared enough, my name could be found in the family plot along with Bobby Mac’s on a column dedicated to our memory. Bobby Mac loved the inscription: Forever Fishing.
I whispered in her ear. “Not Bailey Ruth. When I come in, introduce me as Ms. Loy.” I’d appropriated Myrna Loy’s name when I made cameo appearances as a policewoman during my previous adven-mission in Adelaide. What harm could it do to recall her once again? I’d be sure and tell her the next time I saw her. She and William Powell have continued to star on the truly Great White Way as Nick and Nora Charles. With Asta, of course.
I waited until the door closed behind Leon and Susan. I swirled into being and opened the door. My smile was apologetic. “Sorry,” I called. “A great horned owl. Those distinctive low hoos, six of them and the last two louder. I couldn’t resist looking for him.”
Leon’s look was thoughtful. “Mighty dark in the woods.”