Free Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) by Carolyn Hart Page A

jacket had the most adorable narrow lapels. I felt a pang. I was going to be tired of my current costume very, very soon. Sartorial boredom is a sad state of mind.
    I focused. “You are rich. Do you have a will naming a beneficiary or beneficiaries? Or have trusts been set up?”
    He jammed a hand through his thick curls. “La—Hilda, if that’s your name, give it a rest. I’m only twenty-four. I don’t need a will.”
    No will. “Who’s your next of kin?”
    “My cousin, Bill. Bill Magruder.” There was no fondness in his tone. “I sure wouldn’t leave him anything. He’s a bum. And he hangs around with Cole. I wouldn’t give him the time of day, much less money.”
    My voice was thoughtful. “A bum here in Adelaide?”
    “Yeah. He’s had his hand out ever since I got back. It’s not my fault he has a degree in art history and he can’t find a museum job. He’s working at La Hacienda, the Mexican restaurant downtown. The only good thing he’s ever done is spill a bowl of queso on that cop who sneered at me.” A happy smile lighted his face. “Sticky, hot queso.”
    “Where does Bill live?”
    “Those old apartments out near the railroad tracks, the Lilac Arms.” He gave a muffled snort. “Who’d name something the Lilac Arms? Can’t you see big, fat arms sprouting purple flowers?”
    The Lilac Arms had been the latest, most up-to-date apartments when they were built in the 1970s. I remembered them well. To Nick, they would be so far distant in history as to be ancient.
    I added Bill’s name to my mental list. I was going to be busy tomorrow with both personal and professional tasks. I needed clothing. After all, a woman can’t wear the same old tired outfit and function at a high level. Once equipped, I intended to ask provocative questions of the likely suspects. I had no expectation that I would speak to those who disliked Nick and discern like a dowser who had pulled the trigger of the rifle. My goal was much simpler: to warn off a killer from trying again.

Chapter 5
    I should have sunk into instant, deep sleep. Heaven knew I’d expended both physical and emotional energy since my arrival. But that was the problem: Heaven didn’t know. I lay wide-eyed. Moonlight streamed into the room, illuminating the dressing table, which sat in a bay. White dimity with antique lace fringes decorated the table. Wooden towel rails were well stocked with fluffy pink embroidered towels. In a mahogany wardrobe I’d found two pink terry cloth robes. One now served as a makeshift nightgown. With little expectation of success, I employed my usual method of dress, envisioning an item of clothing in which I then would appear. There was no change in the feel of terry cloth against my skin. The much more appropriate silk of red pajamas remained a hope.
    I knew of no way to bring my plight to Wiggins’s attention. Possibly he might summon me for an adventure and discover I was not to be found. Until then, here I was and here I would be. Much as I loved Adelaide, I had no wish to become a permanent resident. Without money or identification, I would be a wretched waif. Nick Magruder could provide income while I sorted out the truth behind the attack on him, but I could not expect him to provide for me when that task was done. In the past, when I had been here as an official emissary, Wiggins often arrived to encourage or chide. Perhaps if I ended up in peril, he would sense my need.
    My predicament was enough to make anyone sleepless!
    However, as Mama always told us kids, “If you rip your shorts, sew on a patch and hold your head high.”
    Possibly sleep would come if I got up and found something to read, I thought. I popped up and was halfway to the chest to turn on the lamp when I stopped at a window, my gaze caught by an intermittent flash of light in the thick rank of shrubbery and trees next door. It must now be well past midnight. Absently, I imagined a watch with a buffalo face. My wrist remained