“Too bad she didn’t follow him this time. It might have saved his life. But I’ll talk to her, see if she picked up anything useful. Now . . .” He stood.
“Saved . . .” The mayor’s mouth gaped, revealing two gold crowns.
“You miss the morning news?” His tone was bland.
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and The Oklahoman, the Oklahoma City paper that was distributed statewide. The Clarion, Adelaide’s only newspaper, was published in the afternoon.
The mayor lifted her rounded chin. “I avoid television in the morn-ings. I focus on the positive. The world pummels us with negative images, turning our citizens fearful and defensive. As a concerned citizen and a devoted public servant”—she raised a clenched fist—“I demand to know why—”
“Yeah. Like you said in your last campaign, Neva. How did you put it? Embrace the positive, shed the draining chains of negativity.
I’d sure agree that skipping the morning news gives you a head start.
But you missed out today. Somebody shot Daryl Murdoch last night.
His body was found in St. Mildred’s cemetery.”
“His body?” The mayor’s mouth gaped like a hungry fish.
I edged an adorable thumb-size porcelain dog toward the edge of the chief ’s desk, my eyes fastened on that tempting mound of bleached hair.
A massive hand clamped on my wrist.
I shrieked.
“Shhh.” A warning growl.
The mayor’s chair tumbled backward. She stood and stared at the small porcelain figure that was still cupped in my palm, clearly hovering an inch above the chief’s desk.
The chief bounded to his feet, but he was looking at the mayor, not at his desk.
I opened my fingers and the little dog slid to the desktop.
Trembling, Mayor Lumpkin swung about and bolted heavily from the room.
Chief Cobb leaned forward, punched the intercom. “Colleen, you’d better let the mayor’s husband know that she”—he paused—
“isn’t feeling well. Have the technicians check out the heating system.
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He grabbed a notebook and pen. As he walked toward the door, he righted the chair and swept the room with a final, puzzled glance.
The minute the door closed, I heard a deep-throated rumble, not so distant this time and definitely not thunder. “Bailey Ruth.” If Wiggins had been visible, I feared his face might have that high red flush that used to be called apoplectic.
“Precept Six.” His voice rose almost to a shout. “Precept Six. ‘Make every effort—’ ”
My head swiveled as I followed the sound of his voice. Wiggins was pacing back and forth in front of me. Perhaps if I offered a cold compress . . .
“—not to alarm earthly creatures.’ And what have you just done?”
Nervously I picked up the little porcelain dog.
“There you go again.” He was breathing heavily.
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” I protested, sure of that fact. I was still here. I hadn’t moved—
“That dog! Put it down. Its levitation astounded that poor woman.”
Served her right in my view, but, of course, I kept this thought to myself. I carefully eased the little dog to the desktop.
“Once again you have transgressed the Precepts. Moreover, you are Reverting!” His tone put the accusation on the level of gravest malfeasance.
“Reverting.” I sighed. Yes, I’d been tempted and succumbed, unable to resist unnerving the pompous mayor.
“Oh.” The exclamation was deep and mournful. I pictured Wiggins with his head in his hands. “This is what I feared, an emissary using our special gift to no good purpose.” I knew my duty. “I’m sorry, Wiggins.” Then I lifted my chin. I can’t stay down for long, and Mayor Lumpkin was odious. “Chief Cobb has better things to do this morning than deal with her.” 115
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“Bailey Ruth.” Wiggins was obviously forcing himself to speak temperately. “I will accept your well-meant effort to free the chief from an unwarranted interruption—”
I should have felt remorse at deceiving Wiggins, but my back was against the wall. I mustn’t be dispatched back to Heaven until I’d rescued Kathleen. Her straits remained dire.
“—yet I must object to your methods. We won’t discuss the paper clips or that episode with the scarf, but I cannot countenance that dog hanging in the air by itself. You must refrain from moving objects about with no apparent means of locomotion. What do you suppose that woman is going to tell everyone?” Since Wiggins couldn’t see me, I didn’t try to stop the mischievous curl of my lips, though I hoped my reply was suitably grave. “Wiggins, don’t be upset. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Oh.” It was almost a moan. Suddenly there was a pounding rat-a-tat on the desktop.
My eyes widened. Was Wiggins pounding on the chief’s desktop?
“Chief—” Colleen stood in the doorway.
Abruptly it was quiet. Wiggins and I didn’t move.
Colleen stepped inside, looked behind the door. “Chief?” Her eyes cut to the desk. She shook her head and turned away. The door closed.
The chief ’s chair scraped back. A subdued voice muttered, “Revert.
That’s always the fear. I thought I’d left it all behind me, losing my temper, giving in to anger.”
I sidled nearer the desk, perched on the edge. “Wiggins, certainly you had provocation.”
“The man in charge”—his voice was as heavy as lumps of coal dropping into a boxcar—“must always serve as an example. That’s what leadership is all about.”
Oh dear. It wouldn’t do for Wiggins to lose his spirit. “Wiggins, I could not be more proud of you. Here you are, taking time from your station to help out a new emissary. Why, having you here has 116
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been”—how many demerits was I acquiring and what was the penalty for a bold-faced lie?—“Heaven-sent.” Fingers drummed on the desk. I glanced toward the door. It would be unfortunate if Colleen returned. Gradually, the tattoo softened, finally stopped. “Do you think so?”
“Definitely.” I moved behind the desk, reached down, and patted his shoulder. “I am inspired. Encouraged. You can return to the Department of Good Intentions confident you have communicated effectively. I shall take up my task and the Precepts shall be ever on my mind.” There was something about talking to Wiggins that stuffed my mouth full of syllables.
With that, I was gone. I hoped I hadn’t left him in a slough of depression, but duty called.
The rectory kitchen was dark and quiet. I didn’t bother to call out.
Obviously, Kathleen hadn’t returned from her errands yet. Perhaps if I concentrated on Kathleen while picturing a bubbling pot on an unattended stove, she would feel uneasy and be drawn home. Was ESP counter to the Precepts? Possibly, but I was desperate.
I was pacing back and forth when the chief’s car pulled into the drive. The church, of course, was very close to downtown. At this moment it was way too close. As he walked up the path to the back porch, Kathleen’s cream-colored Ford station wagon rattled past the kitchen window.
If he reached Kathleen before I did . . .
In an instant I flowed into the front passenger seat of her car. There was no time for a greeting. “Don’t look panicked, but we have a crisis.” The car jolted to a stop. Her head whipped toward the passenger seat, eyes wide. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel.
I talked fast. “Somebody called the police, told them to ask you about the red nightgown—”
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