Boo Who (34 page)

“What?”

“I was breaking into her house at the time,” Martin said quietly. “Don’t tell anyone. But I had to know why she sent the note. I was trying to find clues.”

“You
broke
into her house?”

“I didn’t think she was home,” Martin emphasized. “I had knocked several times, and nobody answered. The front door was open, so I went in.” He threw up his hands and shrugged. “How was I to know she was actually lying incapacitated in her bed? I probably saved her life,” he said, trying to convince himself. “She was alive when they were wheeling her out.”

“Well, let’s go. Let’s go to the hospital,” Wolfe said, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. “That woman has been at death’s door before and come back.”

“It’s a forty-minute drive to the county hospital.”

Wolfe turned to him. “Martin, aren’t you the least bit curious about
why she went to all this trouble to hide a key in a book and give it to me? And then when I didn’t find it, drop a hint to you?”

“Of course I’m curious,” Martin replied. His fingers tore through his hair, and he closed his eyes. “It’s just been a hard day. I’m not sure I can stand any more surprises.”

“Surprises?”

Martin opened his eyes and rolled them, exhausted at the thought of even trying to explain what else had happened. “Can I trust you not to spread what I say around?”

“Sure,” Wolfe said. “What is it?”

“Oliver caught one today.”

“Caught what?”

“I don’t really know what to call it. Ghost doesn’t seem right. Goblin, well, I don’t even know what a goblin is, really. Heck, you’re the expert on these things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oliver caught one of those people that are wandering around the outskirts of town. You know? Screaming every now and then? Looking like the walking dead. Technically, is there a difference between the walking dead and ghosts?”

“Martin, I make ghost stories up. They’re not real. And what do you mean Oliver caught one?”

“Had him tied up in the shed when I got there. I interrogated him—”

“You interrogated him?”

“Yes. Real weird. Eyes wide,” Martin said, his fingers and thumbs circling his eyes in an O shape. “Shaking. Sweating. Claims he’s from Kentucky. How bizarre is that?”

Wolfe had covered his mouth with his hand, as if holding in a thousand questions that wanted to escape. His hand slid down to his chin, where he scratched it in thought. Then he said, “Where is he now?”

“Oliver?”

“No … the … the …”

“Oh. Escaped. Chair fell over. Rope slid off. Up he jumped, and out he went.”

Wolfe zipped up his jacket. “Come on. Were going to see Missy Peeple.”

It was a little hard to decide, there were so many to choose from, but Dr. Hass decided on a black cat with white paws that he named Blot. Blot had been hanging around his porch for several days now, since the first day he’d arrived, in fact, and they’d seemed to have a certain connection. For some odd reason, the cat really wanted in his house.

Thrilled to finally be invited inside, Blot had hardly left his side. She’d tangle her tail between his legs, circling each ankle with a soft meow. Only once did she leave the room he was in to go investigate an owl hooting nearby. She returned only minutes later, though, and was now curled up on the corner of his desk, where he busied himself with back paperwork in the late evening. All this therapy was putting him behind! He’d spent an hour with Melb Cornforth and her weight-loss saga. To her astonishment, she’d been losing weight and believed it was because of their twice weekly sessions. He didn’t dispute her, but instead pocketed the $150 and told her he’d see her the next week.

He was just closing a folder when he heard his front door crash open. Blot hopped to her feet, but Dr. Hass froze in his chair. He could hear footsteps stomping across the floor. He wished suddenly that Blot was not a cat but instead a pit bull.

Just as he was about to scream for help, a man came around the corner, bundled in his coat, emotions scrambled on his face. His eyes were pleading, his mouth in a tight, angry grimace. Overall, it was clear that he was not a very happy man.

“Dr. Hass!” his voice boomed through the office. Blot’s tail sprang toward the ceiling, and she moved a few steps closer to Dr. Hass. It was Leroy Hurgison.

“Leroy. Hello. Good to see—”

“This town is crazy! You know what happened to me today?! I got tied up in a shed, and these people were claimin’ I’m a ghost! I swear I thought they were going to kill me, except then they were discussin’ how one might kill a ghost. I’ve never seen two crazier people in my life. They looked at me like I was some sort of vampire. I don’t know what kind of crazy town this is, but I’m leaving! Do you hear me? There ain’t nothin’ here in this town that’s worth my life, and the last thing I’m gonna allow to happen is getting’ myself murdered by a bunch of townsfolk who think their town’s being haunted!”

Dr. Hass stood up, nervously stroking Blot. “Leroy, I certainly understand why you’re upset. You have every reason to be. But—”

“Don’t even try to convince me I need to stay. You should’ve seen the looks in their eyes. ‘Oliver, what should we do, kill him?’ ‘Why, I don’t know, Martin. Can you kill a ghost?’ I can’t believe I’m standing here alive to tell you about it. I can live with who I am and what I have wrong with me. What I can’t live with is the fear of being hunted like a deer. I’m scared to death! Good-bye!”

Leroy marched out of the office and left without closing the front door. Dr. Hass fell into his chair as Blot leapt onto his lap. “Good grief,” he mumbled. Coming from the city, he hadn’t realized how much small-town folks paid attention to things. In the city, nobody even noticed when something was different. Everyone was into their own business and nothing more. But it was not the same out here. Business was fair game, no matter whose it was.

Blot nuzzled her face into his shoulder. “Wait!” he shouted. “Oh!
Oh!”
He carefully set Blot down and stood, clasping his hands over his head and laughing. He had just realized something, something astonishing! Leroy didn’t even notice because he was so mad!

“Blot! This is amazing! Amazing!” Blot’s slit eyes indicated she was far less impressed. But it didn’t matter. Something huge had happened tonight, something unforeseen.

He scrambled back to his desk and flipped open his calendar. He
was still two weeks from Phase Two, but his gut told him it was time to proceed. Phase Two would begin the day after tomorrow—and include an added twist.

It was past ten when Ainsley unlocked the front door of her house. Alfred had dropped her off about ten minutes ago, but instead of going in, she’d decided to drive over to Wolfe’s house to see if he was still awake. Not being able to speak with him while she was in Indianapolis had disappointed her. And his tone had been less than enthusiastic when she’d phoned him at work to tell him she’d have to cancel that evening.

She was hoping that with all the good news from the day, he’d be able to understand and join in her excitement. But to her astonishment, even this late at night, he was still out. So now thoughts of where he might be plagued her mind.

At home her father was awake, sitting in the kitchen with a ball of yarn.

“Ainsley! Watch this!” Her father rolled a yarn ball across the floor, and Thief tackled it with charisma. “Can you believe it? Thief’s back! The therapy worked!”

Ainsley smiled, unloading her stuff on the couch and joining her father in the kitchen. “That’s terrific, Dad.”

“Amazing, if you ask me. I always thought shrinks were a crock of you-know-what.”

“Aunt Gert’s stew?” Ainsley smiled.

Her father laughed. “No, but close. Anyway, I just thought those guys didn’t know what they were talking about, you know? I figured they were just there to rake in the money. But this shrink fixed my cat! I followed all the steps he told me, and it worked.”

“I’m so glad. It’s good to have Thief back on his feet.”

“So how was Indianapolis?”

“Fine. A lot of fun. I’m a little in awe of all of this, to tell you the truth. Dad, did Wolfe call, by any chance?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard from him today. But your cake lady called.”
“Nita?”

“Can’t remember, but the one who is doing your wedding cake.”

“Yeah, that’s Nita.”

“Well, she said you waited too late to give her your cake choice, and that she’s going to have to special order something-or-other, and it will take about a month to get in.”

“That’s too late.”

“That’s what she said. So she wondered if you had another idea for your cake.”

Ainsley sighed. “Okay, I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“She said she’d definitely need to know something by the weekend. Her calendar is filling up.”

Outside, a faint scream could be heard. Ainsley gasped and turned toward the door. Her father rolled the yarn across the floor.

“Dad? Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That scream.”

Her father shook his head.

“You seem to be the only one around here not to notice there have been some strange things happening, Dad.”

Her father clapped his hands loudly while Thief retrieved the yarn. “Honey, people scream for all sorts of reasons. And so far, nobody is reporting any sort of crime, so I don’t really see what I can do. Fetch, Thief!”

“All right then. If you’re not concerned, then I guess I shouldn’t be,” she said. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She made her way upstairs, changed into her pajamas, scrubbed the makeup from her face, and fell into bed. But she knew as tired as she was, sleep would not come easily, because all she could think about was where Wolfe might be this late at night.

“You’re relatives?” the male nurse asked.

Wolfe glanced at Martin, then shook his head. “No, she has no living relatives.”

“We can’t let anyone see her but relatives.”

“Sir,” Martin said, “she is a lonely old lady. Her only chance at survival may be the comforting words of those who … um.

“Care about her,” Wolfe finished.

“Yes, that.”

The nurse glanced toward the room where Miss Peeple was apparently ‘resting comfortably,’ as he’d put it earlier. “Well, I have to say I’ve been a little disappointed nobody has been up to see the poor lady. She seems so sweet and lovely.”

Martin and Wolfe tried not to flinch.

“How is she?” Wolfe decided to ask. That would be an appropriate question if she were sweet and lovely.

“Honestly, it’s not good.”

“Is she sick?” Martin asked.

“Well, basically what I can say is that she’s simply dying of old age.”

Martin glanced at Wolfe. “People don’t actually do that these days, do they? Die of old age?”

The male nurse smiled a little. “It is rare. You’re welcome to go in and see her. But I must warn you, she hasn’t woken up since she arrived.”

Martin followed Wolfe into the room. She lay in the bed, so white she nearly blended into the sheets. Her breathing was shallow but steady. With those menacing eyes closed, she nearly looked peaceful. Wolfe kept his distance, though. Something told him she might just fly out of bed with a scream.