Ghost at Work Read Online Free PDF

my homework later.” With that, the girls turned toward the back door, Bayroo in the lead.
    Lucinda’s head swung back for a last puzzled glance at the ceiling fan and her left foot caught the tip of the dead man’s shoe. She staggered forward. “Whoops.”
    Bayroo held the screen door open. “Don’t kick the dummy. He’s going to sit on top of the magic maze at the Spook Bash. C’mon, Lucinda, let’s hurry. They’re not going to believe…”
    As their voices faded, lost in the soughing of the branches and the keening of the wind, Kathleen reached out to cling to the counter. “What am I going to do?”
    â€œBuck up.” I was getting exasperated, although I did understand how draining the girls’ arrival had been. Even I had felt an icy qualm when Lucinda stumbled over the tip of the dead man’s shoe.
    Kathleen jumped. “Please. Don’t talk.”
    I didn’t bother to answer, merely scooped up the gloves and thrust them toward her.
    Kathleen shuddered, but pulled them on.
    â€œAll right. I’m here.” I tugged at his shoulder. “You take his ankles.”
    As her face stretched in a gargoyle grimace, Kathleen gingerly grabbed the dead man’s ankles with her gloved hands, shuddered again, and pulled.
    â€œOne, two, three.”
    Daryl Murdoch slid onto the tarp. In the sharp light from the overhead bulb, I could see there was no muss on the wooden flooring. Decidedly, he had met his fate elsewhere. Perhaps when we knew that, we would know who shot him.
    The thought bobbed in my mind and I realized I was concerned about justice. I felt no scruples about removing the murdered man from the rectory’s back porch. After all, someone had brought him there with no good intentions. Other thoughts bobbed. What connection did Kathleen have with the dead man? Why had the murderer assumed Kathleen would be implicated if Daryl Murdoch were found here? There was much I needed to know to complete my mission. I hoped I was off to a good start. If I did well, I wouldn’t be on probation. I would be officially attached to the Department of Good Intentions. Perhaps I’d be awarded a ribbon or badge.
    As we passed the switch near the door to the kitchen, Kathleen turned off the overhead light.
    â€œHustle.” I tugged on the tarp.
    Kathleen again gave that odd little moan from deep in her throat, but she hurried forward.
    As we maneuvered the tarp across the porch floor toward the ramp, Kathleen muttered, “It’s shock. That’s all. I’m in shock. That’s why I’m strong enough to move him. Adrenaline. Memory lapses. I’m doing things and I don’t remember them. That’s what’s happening.” She looked almost cheerful as the tarp slid down the ramp. Then she saw the wheelbarrow. “How did I get it out of the shed? The shed’s locked. Maybe it was unlocked. That’s it. I just don’t remember…”
    Poor dear. She would have to come to grips with reality—me—sooner or later. Later would suffice. I concentrated on easing our burden from the ramp into the wheelbarrow. Daryl’s feet dangled over the back.
    Kathleen, looking squeamish, pulled a corner of the tarp down to cover his shoes.
    I was glad to see she was thinking ahead. “Good job.”
    â€œIn case we see—” She stopped, shook her head, grabbed the handles. “I have to stop talking to myself,” she muttered. “I am not carrying on a conversation with anyone. I am not.”
    She stopped after a few feet, struggling to catch her breath. “I never knew a wheelbarrow was so heavy.”
    I doubted she’d ever moved one before. Especially not a wheelbarrow laden with a body. I slipped in front of Kathleen and placed my hands in front of hers. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about muscle strain. The wheelbarrow moved with noticeably more speed, though still