A Minister's Ghost Read Free

Lucy’s house was larger than my cabin, better appointed. The living room was to the left of the front door, dining room to the right. A long hall took me to the kitchen at the back of the house; beside it was a sort of den or parlor, home for her television and large bookshelves. Three bedrooms were upstairs, a full bath on each floor.
    Her backyard was a half-acre English garden where she spent hours every day. Some Saturdays she delighted in directing me as to what I should dig up, how it should be moved, and where I should plant it next. She rearranged the garden more than she did the living room. It was a spectacular example of the agricultural arts.
    While water became coffee, if the brown water I was about to
drink deserved that appellation at all, I dialed the telephone on the wall, blue powder and hospital clean.
    â€œMorning,” the familiar girl’s voice answered. “Sheriff’s Office, Melissa Mathews speaking.”
    â€œSheriff Skidmore Needle, please, Melissa.” Even though Skid and I had known each other since boyhood and it had been nearly a year since he had been elected sheriff, I still delighted in asking for him that way on the phone. I liked the fact that he was sheriff, it made the entire county seem saner. I also thought it was somehow amusing to tease Melissa.
    â€œMay I tell him who’s calling, Dr. Devilin?” Melissa asked me zealously.
    â€œNo, you see, Melissa,” I began, “if you know who I am, you don’t need to say that part. I mean, you already know who’s calling. It’s me.”
    â€œOh, right.”
    â€œBut you can tell him it’s someone else calling if you want to.”
    â€œOkay.” She put the phone away from her mouth and shouted, “Dr. Devilin’s calling!”
    The phone clicked and Skidmore’s voice was on the other end.
    â€œWe have an intercom, but Ms. Mathews still likes to shout.” He took the phone away from his mouth. “I got it!”
    There was another click, and the telephone circus was concluded.
    â€œAnd she still hasn’t quite mastered the whole telephone answering part of her job,” I said, hoping to lighten the initial moments of my call.
    â€œFever.” His voice shifted to low tones. “You’re calling about Lucinda’s little nieces.”
    â€œI’m at Lucy’s now, in fact. She’s still asleep on the sofa. I’m in the kitchen.”
    â€œI understand,” he surmised. “You want me to do most of the talking in case she walks in.”
    â€œMm hm.”
    â€œI know she’s got to be really upset.” He sighed. “It was terrible at the scene, and that’s a fact. Their car was nearly flat. That train hit it good. Girls died instantly. Thank God.”

    â€œStill wearing seat belts?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo they hadn’t even tried to get out of the car.”
    â€œDidn’t look like it.” He shuffled some papers in his desk. “We’re still trying to figure out exactly what happened.”
    â€œBut no evidence, that you saw,” I whispered, “of anything out of the ordinary.”
    â€œNo,” he sighed. “It was a really bad accident.”
    â€œLucinda wants me to look into it,” I said quickly. “I understand that you don’t want me in your way. All I need to do is go over to Pine City, take a look at the crossing, see the car, examine the bodies, that sort of thing.”
    â€œI could have guessed she’d want you to do this,” he said, a slight irritation growing in his words, “but I have to ask you not to. I don’t want her upset. And I don’t want you in my way.”
    â€œOf course.” I’d heard that tone a lot recently. He was tired, pressed—and it was only eight in the morning.
    â€œBelieve me,” he allowed, “you don’t want to look at the bodies. What’s left of them is seriously messed