Ghost Wanted Read Free

completed four successful adventures in Adelaide on behalf of the department. Scratch that. Four missions. Wiggins abhors the idea of ghosts having adventures. Oh, there I go again. He also abhors the use of the term
ghost
. He equates the noun with the popular picture of ghosts as scary creatures rattling chains. Why chains, I wonder? In any event, I don’t see that saying
tomahto
makes the fruit any different than
tomayto
. Emissaries are invisible visitants (except when circumstances arise, as I have indicated) from Heaven to earth. If that doesn’t mean ghosts, I wasn’t standing here in a white linen suit with a delicate gray stripe. As for his stricture against equating a mission with adventure, I firmly believe adventures are good for the spirit. Especially mine.
    â€œAdelaide.” I beamed at him. “Wiggins, you know I can help.”
    Dot. Dot. Dot.
    True to the early nineteen hundreds, the latest intelligence reaches Wiggins via Teletype.
    Dot. Dot. Dot.
    He whirled at the urgent sound and rushed to the telegraph key fastened to the right side of his desk. A sounder amplified the incoming messages.
    Wiggins dropped into his chair, made rapid notes, his face creased in concentration. Once he drew a sharp breath. The clacks ended. He swung in his chair to me. “You know Adelaide. You could help her.” But he sounded anguished. Clearly he was conflicted. “Precept Two. I have always insisted that Precept Two be observed.”
    Dot. Dot. Dot.
    â€œOh, Heavens.” Wiggins took a deep breath and gazed at me with a mixture of hope and shamefacedness.
    Shamefacedness? Wiggins? Whatever could be upsetting him? I hastened to help. “Precept Two,” I repeated firmly. I knew the Precept, of course: “No consorting with other departed spirits.” “Wiggins, don’t worry. That’s the last thing I’d do.” I hoped, of course, he was too distracted to remember that was exactly what I’d done on my last visit to Adelaide.
    Wiggins didn’t appear consoled. If possible, his expression grew even more doleful. “Right.” His tone was hollow. “Absolutely. Definitely, you must observe Precept Two.” He appeared completely demoralized.
    Clack. Clack. Clack.
    He gave the sounder a desperate look, bounded to his feet, and dashed to the ticket box. He pulled down a bright red ticket, stamped the back, and thrust the ticket toward me. “Go. Try. Do what you can. She—oh, Bailey Ruth, she needs help.”
    She? In the past, when Wiggins briefed me on a mission, he explained who I was to help. Last time was an exception, of course. But now as I grabbed my ticket, I knew only that
she
was in trouble. There was no time for more, because the rumble of iron wheels on the silver track was deafening.
    I rushed out to the platform as the Rescue Express thundered on the rails. The train paused long enough for me to swing aboard a passenger car. I stood in the vestibule, held tight to a hand bar, and leaned out as the Express picked up speed.
    Wiggins’s frantic shout followed me. “Dark dealings being blamed on her. Her portrait . . .” His words were lost in the rumble of the clacking wheels.

Chapter 2
    I stood in darkness on a wide central landing of wooden stairs. To my right and left, flights led from the landing to the next floor. Golden-globe wall sconces shone at the top of the upper stairways and at the bottom of the central steps. I sensed without seeing much of my surroundings that I was in an old building. Years of use had hollowed the wooden treads. The wooden railings were ornately carved. Should I go up? Left or right? Or possibly down? Wiggins had sent me in such a rush. . . .
    Brisk footsteps sounded below.
    I looked over the handrail.
    A flashlight bobbed. I dimly saw a stocky shape behind the beam. There was no attempt at concealment. Footsteps thumped loudly on the wooden treads.
    I was careful to