Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) (24 page)

“Ah, the rope trick . . .” Chief Cobb turned his big hands palm up. “Maybe somebody else was there.” He spoke carefully, as if the words had the fragility of crystal glass stems. “Maybe somebody didn’t want him to get away.”

“Somebody?”

Cobb’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Don’t look a gift horse . . .”

The man was almost as obsessed with the equine kingdom as the woman who was likely even now astride a huge black horse, out for a last gallop before the arrival of the Rescue Express.

• • •

Bright sun bathed Adelaide in gold. I hovered near the steeple of St. Mildred’s, gazed at the wooded park on one side, the cemetery on the other. The bell chimed the hour, and I saw the twisting curl of coal smoke and heard the clack of the great iron wheels on steel rails.

I heard a snuffle nearby. “Dee, let’s see if he’ll agree.”

“I’m with you.” She was genial and relaxed now that Nick was safe.

Wiggins’s shout was exuberant. “Come aboard, ladies.”

I swung aboard the rear platform. I wasn’t at all sure Wiggins would grant my plea. I spoke quickly, my voice full of entreaty. “Wiggins, since there is no time in Heaven, would you be kind enough to swing back by and pick up me and Dee at five o’clock this afternoon?”

After an instant’s puzzlement, he laughed. “Don’t tell me you truly think there’s a steel box full of money in Claire Arnold’s yard?” His tone was teasing.

“You don’t run a horse into a lather and not sponge him down.” Dee’s deep voice was firm. “That’s leaving a job half-done.”

“Life is full of surprises, especially if you look for them.” That’s what Mama always told us kids.

“The two of you make quite a pair. Partners in crime.” He found that hugely amusing. “Very well. Five o’clock it is.”

• • •

Smoke belched from the yellow Caterpillar bulldozer as the bucket dumped a couple of feet of rich black dirt to one side. Kids perched on tree limbs. Casually dressed adults holding paper plates and cups stood behind security tape that kept the crowd back from the bulldozer and the deepening hole. Nick’s arm was draped around Jan’s shoulder. He looked proud and happy. Jan’s face glowed. Arlene Richey was pale but composed. Claire Arnold pushed back a strand of brown hair and looked shyly at Chief Cobb, burly in a blue polo, jeans, and worn cowboy boots.

In the broad seat, the muscular driver looked bored. He manipulated the bucket down to jam into the dark, dark dirt.

Clank.

The driver leaned forward, peered. “Got something down there.”

Cobb turned to Claire. “Do you want me to see?”

Her eyes wide and excited, she nodded. She lifted her fingers to press against her cheeks.

The chief eased into the two-foot ditch, knelt. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, brushed away tendrils of roots and clods of dirt to reveal a rusted oblong steel lockbox. With an expression of amazement, Cobb worked the box free from the soft earth and stood. He climbed out of the hole.

“Oh my, oh my, oh my. Oh, Sam, please open it.”

Cobb placed the lockbox on a picnic table. He fumbled in his pants pocket with a dirt-stained hand, drew out a pocketknife, flicked out a small tool, inserted it in the rusted lock, and wiggled the blade.

A screech.

Claire drew in a deep breath.

Cobb used a stronger blade to pry along the rusted seams until he could prize open the lid.

The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Yellowed newspaper lay atop the contents. Cobb removed the paper and fragments broke and drifted in the air. He picked up a packet wrapped in thick plastic and carefully unfolded the covering. “By God, look at these!” The chief’s big hand held up a thick stacks of bills bound with rubber bands.

Tears streamed down Claire’s face. “Now I can take care of Sis.”

• • •

Dee and I stood on the platform of the caboose as the Rescue Express streaked toward Heaven.

She clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll ride with you anytime, Bailey Ruth.”

Wiggins thumped my arm. “As they used to say when I was a young man and we settled around the poker table, if you can’t be good, you’d better be lucky. This time, Bailey Ruth, you were good and lucky.”

The wind stirred my hair. The wheels thrummed as the Express picked up speed. Heaven-bound and glad to be. I reached out and grasped a callused hand and a firm, rein-strong hand. “I’d never claim to be good, but I’ve always been lucky.”