In a moment, she glanced at her wrist. I assumed she wore a watch with a luminous dial. She tossed her head impatiently. A very nice effect with that tousled look. She glanced out into the garden on the other side of the pond, then up at the house, as if looking for someone. Evidently she had expected to be met.
I looked, too, but there was no movement in the garden or on the terrace below the steps from the house. I was curious that she remained near the bench. I assumed the cul-de-sac was the place designated for an assignation. Was I about to witness a romantic interlude? I shook my head. There was nothing of sensual anticipation in her rapid pacing. Instead, she exuded brisk determination.
Suddenly I heard an odd crackling.
The sound was ominous, out of the ordinary, frightening.
I looked up and for an instant froze in horror. An enormous vase directly above the cul-de-sac teetered on its pedestal on the third-floor balcony. The vase tilted, then hurtled down toward the impatient woman, so near to me, so near to death.
With no time for thought and little room to maneuver, I zipped into the cul-de-sac, whirled, and shoved her, shouting, “Jump!” I pushed with all my strength. We tumbled together out of the cul-de-sac.
The vase struck with enormous force where she had stood. The sound of her cry was lost almost immediately in the thunderous crash. Shards of porcelain and clumps of earth flew in every direction. A huge chunk of vase struck the marble bench. Clumps of dirt pelted us. The sweet scent of gardenias cloyed the air.
She landed on the flagstones well in front of the main portion of the fractured vase. I felt certain she’d escaped injury except for scratches to her hands and knees from her tumble forward. She struggled to her feet and turned to stare at the wreckage.
I regret to say she was swearing in a clipped, angry tone. I zoomed to her side. “Oh, my goodness. Thank Heaven you’re all right.” I was too excited to remember silence was my goal.
Her head jerked around as she sought the speaker.
I clapped cautionary fingers to my lips. From this point forward, I must remember to be unheard as well as unseen. However, despite my vocal lapse, I was confident Wiggins was pleased. I had arrived in time to save a life. Wiggins had warned of skulduggery, so I was sure the vase hadn’t tumbled of its own accord.
The vase! Who engineered its fall? I zoomed upward and hovered above the empty pedestal. There were the occasional lights along the parapet, but none offered much illumination. I saw no one, heard nothing.
I didn’t know which direction to take. I listened hard and heard the unmistakable click of a closing door. Quickly, I moved from one French window to another, trying the handles. All were locked. But a fleeing person would obviously click the lock once inside.
All was not lost. The woman on the terrace clearly had expected to be joined by someone. Perhaps I had now fulfilled my mission. Perhaps I had been sent simply to save her life and now Kay Clark would be forewarned and could take appropriate action. I confess I felt a quick sense of disappointment. It wasn’t that I was reluctant to return to Heaven, but Heaven knew I just arrived.
However, I didn’t hear the whistle of the Rescue Express.
I zoomed back to the ground. I stopped beside a weeping willow not far from where she stood.
The near victim looked at the empty parapet, the remnants of the vase, the mounds of dirt, the cracked marble seat. She exuded determination, which seemed an odd response to near annihilation. Moreover, nothing in the way she stood indicated distress. Indeed, there was a cocky lift to her shoulders. She kicked a dirt clod. “I’ll be double damned.” Her husky voice was brusque and, oddly, not so much shocked as satisfied.
“I sincerely hope not.” Once again, I clapped fingers to my lips. Surely Wiggins would forgive my exclamation. Damnation is no joking matter in Heaven.
She swung toward the sound of my voice. “Who’s there?” She took a step nearer the weeping willow. She was partially in the shadow of the evergreens and partially in a swath of moonlight. She reached into a deep pocket and yanked out a small but deadly looking revolver, holding it steady in an unwavering hand. Moonlight glinted on the gun. Her left hand dipped into the opposite pocket and retrieved a flashlight. She switched it on.
The stark beam was shocking after the dimness.
Me and my big, open mouth. That was how I got off to a bad start in my first visit to Adelaide. I’d spoken aloud and then had felt it necessary to appear to calm the situation. The effect had been unfortunate. Earthbound creatures are sadly unimaginative. If you come and go, that is, appear and disappear, the conclusion is immediate that you are a ghost. It is to no avail to speak of a Heavenly visitor as an emissary. The earthbound cling to stereotypes, believing that ghosts are horrid specters rattling chains and exuding a chill that turns hearts to ice.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Take me. I’m a redhead who likes to have fun. I am, if I say so myself, cheerful, energetic, and friendly. However, Precept Four was clear. I glanced Heavenward and gave a thumbs-up. I was determined to remain unseen. Precept Four was clear as could be. Moreover, this woman obviously was in no need of reassurance.
She took two steps toward the willow. The fronds drifted in the breeze. The flashlight beam whipped back and forth. She held the small pistol with apparent competence. “I have a good ear. Come out with your hands up or I’ll shoot.”
She aimed directly at me. That wasn’t a problem, but I felt she was much too ready to wield a weapon. Public safety was paramount. I felt a pang of dismay. Had that pompous thought actually entered my mind? Maybe there was a basis to Wiggins’s continuing worries about reversion.
She raised her hand, straightened her arm.
“Don’t shoot.” I spoke crisply. “I pushed you out of the way. Why attack your rescuer?”
“Who are you? Why are you hiding?” Her tone was equally crisp. “Did you know the vase was going to fall? Or do you claim to have ESP? Whatever, you are a little too handy on the spot to be innocent.” Her disdain was obvious. “Come out or I’ll shoot. One, two, three—”
I became visible. I spared an instant’s thought to be glad I’d changed out of the tweed suit. Certainly I didn’t want to appear unfashionable in front of a woman who obviously had style even if at the moment she lacked charm.
She took a stumbling step back, deeper into the shadow of the evergreens.
I reminded myself that I was not, repeat not, taking pleasure in her discomfiture. Her reaction was understandable, since becoming visible is a striking phenomenon. Colors swirl and slowly take form. It’s quite arresting. I regretted I hadn’t chosen more dramatic tones. Turquoise flatters a redhead, but the gentle shade lacks emphasis. I changed colors in midswirl, and, voilà! I was clothed in a scarlet tunic and gold trousers. I added matching gold sandals and a multitude of gold chains. I was sure I was clearly visible in the light of the flash.
The hand with the gun sank to her side.
She had only herself to thank if my sudden appearance scared her.
Immediate upon the uncharitable thought came contrition. I hoped Wiggins wasn’t keeping count of these small errors on my part. As the colors swirled and resolved into me, I forced a conciliatory smile and moved toward her. Wiggins might not be pleased at my appearance, but surely he wanted me to prevent a shooting spree. What was it Wiggins had said about Kay Clark?…willful and headstrong and reckless…
Without hesitation, she walked toward me.
I was impressed. She had to be shaken by my unorthodox arrival, yet she moved with determination to meet me. She stepped fully into the light from one of the torches as we came face-to-face.