Free Ghost Wanted by Carolyn Hart Page B

was forlorn.
    I said gently, “Wiggins wants us to be unnoticed. Unheard.”
    â€œNo one is looking for Michelle.” Lorraine was distressed. “I’m terribly worried now. I didn’t know she was last seen on Wednesday evening. We have to do something.”
    â€œI agree.” My tone was grave. Michelle wasn’t the kind of young woman to walk out and leave a cat with no one to care for him. I didn’t like to think what might have happened to her. “We definitely will look for her. First let’s see what’s happening in the apartment. Let’s go back and listen. If you need to talk to me, rattle a window shade.” It wasn’t exceedingly clever, but for now it would do.
    Joe Cooper was talking to the manager. “. . . know who some of her friends are?”
    Ms. Rogers shook her head. “Not by name. Maybe someone in the History Department can—”
    â€œHey, Don.” Johnny’s voice boomed from the bedroom. “Looks like I found it.”
    The detective crossed the living room in three strides. Joe Cooper was right behind him. Ms. Rogers followed to the doorway of the bedroom.
    Johnny stood in front of an open dresser drawer. He used his cell phone to snap one picture, two, three, four. He put the phone back in his pocket and bent to open an attaché case on the floor. He pulled out a pair of tongs. He already wore plastic gloves, but he used the tongs to lift up a brown leather-bound book. He turned toward Smith with a satisfied expression. “Shoved under some negligees. This matches the description, right?”
    Ms. Rogers brushed back a white curl. “Is that the book stolen from the library Wednesday night? I heard about it on Channel Four.”
    Smith glanced at a card, intoned, “Eight inches long, five inches wide, brown leather covers frayed at the bottom. Slight tear on the upper left back of the cover?”
    Johnny carefully turned the book over. “Check.” He pulled out a clear plastic bag from the attaché case, gently slipped the book inside the bag. He wrote on a white sticker, placed it on the bag. Turning back to the dresser, he continued his search. “Hey, look at this!” He lifted out a glass cutter. “What do you want to bet the lab finds some traces that match the glass in the display case at the library?” He hummed as he placed the small tool in another evidence bag. That done, he turned back to the drawer. “Looks like that’s all that matters. There’s a long-stem red rose wrapped in a lace handkerchief. That’s all besides silk stuff.”
    â€œOhh.” Lorraine’s voice was soft and dreamy. “She put the rose in her lingerie drawer. I left the rose on her desk.”
    Smith jerked his head toward the manager. “You left the rose? How come? You know anything about the roses at the library?”
    Rogers glared at him. “I not only didn’t leave a rose here, I know nothing about this particular rose or any other roses. Moreover, I did not say anything.”
    Smith’s expression was skeptical. “That was a woman’s voice.”
    â€œNot mine. Maybe the cat talks. I don’t know who’s saying stuff, but I can tell you one thing”—the flat Midwestern voice was brusque—“Michelle never took that book. I’m going to file a missing person report. You people need to start looking for her.”
    Detective Smith raised his cell phone. “We’ll look for her, all right. What was she wearing?”
    The manager hesitated, obviously put off by his aggressive tone.
    Detective Smith was brusque. “You say she should be found. Help us find her.”
    She took a quick breath. “Light blue blouse, white collar with blue piping, three-quarter-length sleeves, pintucking on the front, white trousers, navy sandals.”
    â€œPintucking?”
    â€œThe material tucked to make some vertical and