Free Ghost Wanted by Carolyn Hart Page A

splashing sound. “And nice fresh water.”
    When she stepped into the living room, Smith said curtly, “Stay by the door.” He returned to the desk, pulled open the center drawer.
    A knock rattled the partially ajar hall door, pushing it in.
    The detective turned. “Stop. Police investigation in progress.”
    Joe Cooper strode inside. His dark hair was uncombed. He was unshaven. He quickly checked out the room, gave the detective a pugnacious stare. “Joe Cooper.
Bugle
. I got a call, some woman at the library—”
    Lorraine obviously had used a telephone in an unused office to lure Joe here.
    â€œâ€”who said Michelle needs help. Where is she?” He looked around.
    Deep lines bracketed the detective’s mouth. “Ms. Hoyt isn’t here. Police investigation under way. Stay where you are.” He lifted out the center drawer of the desk, scanned the contents. He replaced the drawer, opened a side drawer.
    â€œPolice investigation.” Joe’s frown was fierce. “What kind? Where’s Michelle? What’s going on?”
    The detective ignored him, closed a bottom drawer, pulled out the upper drawer.
    The white-haired woman took a step toward Joe. “They showed up about fifteen minutes ago, had a search warrant. I’m Alice Rogers, the manager. I saw your story on Michelle in the
Bugle
. She said she was going to meet you at the Brown Owl Wednesday night after she ran an errand.” There was a question in her voice.
    Joe took three quick steps, looked down at her. “When did she say that?”
    â€œAbout five o’clock.”
    â€œShe didn’t show up.”
    Ms. Rogers’s face squeezed in a worried frown. “I hoped you might know where she is. I haven’t seen her since then. Her car hasn’t been here since Wednesday afternoon. I don’t think she’s been home at all.”
    â€œNot since Wednesday.” Joe took a quick breath, pulled out a cell phone, swiped. “Newsroom.” He waited, the muscles hard in his jaw. “Hey, Ted. Joe Cooper. Appreciate a heads-up. Has the
Gazette
picked up anything on car wrecks Wednesday night? Any . . . assaults?” He gave a breath of relief. “Thanks. . . . No. I’ll let you know, but a friend’s hunting somebody, good to know nothing on the police report Thursday morning.” He clicked off the phone, looked at the manager. “Did she say what kind of errand she was going to run?”
    â€œRobbie Upton in 306 was revving up his Harley.” The manager was apologetic. “I didn’t quite hear what Michelle said. Something about ‘never knew I was going to be chief errand runner.’ She sounded exasperated, and said, ‘I have to hurry. I just have time to put up the groceries and get out there and make it to the Brown Owl by six.”
    â€œOh my goodness. Where can Michelle be?” Lorraine’s high clear voice quivered with distress.
    I whispered, “Hush.”
    Detective Smith gave the manager a puzzled glance, likely assuming she made the comments but wondering at the difference in the voices. “Maybe she has a good reason not to show up.”
    A subdued but insistent whisper sounded near me. “We have to do something about Michelle.”
    â€œOutside,” I breathed. I threw out the only bait I had. “News from Wiggins.”
    Smith snapped, “Ms. Rogers, if you want to stay in here, I’ll ask you to be quiet and stop interfering with our search.”
    The manager frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”
    Joe’s voice had an odd sound. “Her lips didn’t move. I don’t think she said a word.”
    Smith was irritated. “That’s enough out of you two. She’s the only woman in here, right?”
    Hoping for the best, I popped out into the hall.
    â€œBailey Ruth? I don’t mean to be a bother.” Lorraine’s cultivated voice