Jake looked sorrowful. “Oh, Peg.”
Peg’s quick smile was light and bright and eager. “I have a better date.” Then she turned to Gina, abruptly sad and uncertain. “Johnny Cain is coming. Oh, Gina, do you mind terribly?”
Sunk in a chair near the fire, pale and drawn, Gina said abruptly, “I’m glad for you, Peg.”
“Please come with us.” Peg reached out a hopeful hand. “It will bring back good days, Gina. Remember how Mitch used to always try to knock off my angel wings?”
Gina almost managed a smile. She said steadily, “I’ll come. I can’t miss seeing Keith as a shepherd.”
The early evening Christmas Eve service for families with young children had always been one of my favorites. The magnificent midnight service is triumphant and glorious, an outpouring of joy, but there is something heartfelt and touching when the younger children, to the vibrant sound of “Once in Royal David’s City,” come down the central aisle, the little boys in bathrobes as shepherds and the little girls with wire halos and cardboard angel wings, to gather around the wooden crib and sing “Away in the Manger,” their childish voices rising in the sweetest song of all.
The front doorbell rang.
Peg looked uncertainly from Gina toward the hall.
“It’s all right.” Gina’s voice was shaky yet firm.
Peg gave Gina a swift hug, then turned and ran quickly to the hall. In a moment, she was back in the living room, Johnny Cain close behind her. He was not in uniform this night. He was resplendent in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He smiled first at Keith. “I like your robe. Hey, you’re going to have fun tonight.” Then Johnny looked across the room at Gina. There was a taut silence that he finally broke. “I’m sorry about Tucker.”
Gina lifted trembling fingers to flick away tears. “You were there for Peg. You saved Peg.”
Peg lifted a hand to her throat, gazed at Johnny with remembered horror in her eyes. “I don’t know how you managed to reach Tucker in time.”
Johnny shook his head. “God knows.”
And that was true.
Peg abruptly moved to Johnny. He reached out, took her in his arms, held her tight. Jake came to her feet, moved to curve her arms around her daughter and her rescuer. Charlotte and Harrison and Gina came across the room and they all held one another, moving only to make room for Keith as he joined them with a whoop, ready for a holiday scrum.
In the distance, I heard the whistle of the Rescue Express.
Outside I circled high above Adelaide, glorying one last time in the brilliance of the holiday lights. I heard clear and sweet and beautiful the strains of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” a midnight such as this.
I swung aboard the Express with both pleasure and trepidation. There had been some moments during my adven-mission that Wiggins would likely mention without pleasure. Yet I had accomplished my primary task. Keith Flynn was safe in the arms of his family.
I popped into the first carriage and headed for a comfortable seat, ready to enjoy my farewell views of lights blazing from dear planet earth on this night when joy lifted hearts and souls. The carriage was filled with travelers of all sorts and backgrounds, some shabbily dressed, some elegant, but all with happy faces. There was an air of festivity and a sense of eagerness.
The gray-haired conductor, tall and thin with smiling eyes, gently took my elbow. “Compartment 3, please, in the next carriage.”
A private compartment! Perhaps I had been promoted. As I reached the door at the end of the corridor, I looked back, wishing I could stay and meet some of my fellow travelers, perhaps exchange stories of derring-do.
Trains always afford excitement, the lurch and swing as the heavy door is pushed open. I felt the jostle and jolt of the connecting plates and lurched to the opposite door. The next carriage was very quiet, compartment doors lining either side of the corridor. I hurried to Compartment 3, tapped. The door swung open. I stepped inside.
Wiggins rose to greet me. “Bailey Ruth.” There was warmth and kindness in his tone.
At his nod, I sank onto the opposite plush seat. I feared the worst. Had I been invited to a private compartment because my contraventions of the Precepts for Earthly Travel were so egregious they must be addressed before the Rescue Express reached Heaven?
Wiggins settled onto the plush seat, next to a black topcoat. He was imposing in his stiff white shirt and broad suspenders and heavy gray flannel trousers. His hair was a bright chestnut beneath the stiff, dark station agent’s hat. He lifted a hand to smooth his walrus mustache. “I was pleased when I learned you would be on the Express tonight.”
Pleased? I managed a stiff smile. “I’m happy to see you.” Was insincerity a bar to any future adven-missions?
I scarcely breathed. This was the moment when I would learn of my permanent banishment from the Department of Good Intentions, though it was rather cruel of Wiggins to find the prospect so amusing.
“In Tumbulgum”—and his brown eyes gleamed with delight—“neither did I.”
About the Author
An accomplished master of mystery, CAROLYN HART is the author of nineteen Death on Demand novels and the creator of the highly praised Henrie O series. She has won multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity Awards, and received the Lifetime Achievement award from Malice Domestic. Her first Bailey Ruth mystery, Ghost at Work, was named one of the best mysteries of 2008 by Publishers Weekly. She is one of the founders of Sisters in Crime, and lives in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
www.carolynhart.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Also by Carolyn Hart
BAILEY RUTH
Ghost at Work
DEATH ON DEMAND
Death on Demand
Design for Murder
Something Wicked
Honeymoon with Murder
A Little Class on Murder
Deadly Valentine
The Christie Caper
Southern Ghost
Mint Julep Murder
Yankee Doodle Dead
White Elephant Dead
Sugarplum Dead
April Fool Dead
Engaged to Die
Murder Walks the Plank
Dead Days of Summer
Death Walked In
Dare to Die
HENRIE O
Dead Man’s Island
Scandal in Fair Haven
Death in Lovers’ Lane
Death in Paradise
Death on the River Walk
Resort to Murder
Set Sail for Murder
Credits
Jacket design by James L. Iacobelli
Jacket photography © by DV/Photolibrary
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MERRY, MERRY GHOST. Copyright © 2009 by Carolyn Hart. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition September 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-195972-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde
Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com