Ghost at Work Read Online Free PDF Page B

lurching and squealing. The flagstone path ended.
    It was harder going through the grass. Kathleen breathed in quick gasps. We reached the edge of the rectory yard and stood in the shadow of a pine. The always-present, ever-vigorous Oklahoma wind whipped the branches, buffeted us.
    Even with my warm wool jacket, I was cold. I was exhilarated. In Heaven you choose your surroundings, the ultimate in climate control. Bobby Mac and I love the seashore. Other climes are also available. Amundsen, for example, spends most of his time on anice cap. Sarah Bernhardt exults on a stage with the velvet curtains parting. To each his own. Yet now I was in the world and must cope with weather.
    I wasn’t surprised at the bite of the wind, the plummeting temperature. Halloween in Oklahoma was often synonymous with the arrival of a blue norther. It may have been seventy-five degrees earlier in the day, but if Halloween was imminent, so was cold weather. Weather in Oklahoma is an adventure, in the twenties one day, nudging seventy the next.
    I wished we’d thought to bring a flashlight. We wheeled onto the graveled path, which added a crackling sound to the screech of the wheel. The path curved around a stand of pines. Ahead were blazing lights. I admired the brightly lit paved parking lot behind the church. My goodness, that was a change. A half-dozen cars were parked near the side entrance.
    Kathleen stopped. To reach the west gate to the cemetery required crossing the far end of the lot. The wheelbarrow and, of course, Kathleen would be in full view of anyone leaving the church or looking out of the parish hall.
    Despite the circumstances, I took pleasure in a swift survey of my beloved St. Mildred’s, a graceful church built of limestone. A latticed wall and limestone arches enclosed a cloister between the church and the L-shaped wing with the Sunday school rooms and church offices. The parish hall was between the church and the wing.
    Kathleen crouched.
    I divined her intent just in time and pushed down the handles of the barrow as she was pulling up, preparatory to dumping our burden.
    I was firm. “We can’t leave him here.”
    She jumped back from the barrow, pointed at the starkly illuminated parking lot. “Don’t you see?” She shuddered. “Of course you don’t see. You aren’t here.”
    I stamped my foot.
    She looked down at the stick that crunched.
    â€œQuickly, Kathleen.” He who hesitates…
    She pushed back a lock of dark hair, looked fearfully toward the church. “If anyone looks out, they’ll see us. Me.”
    â€œWe’ll run.” It was a straight shot.
    She dropped her hands from the shafts. “He can stay here.” Her sigh of relief rivaled the whoosh of the wind in the pines. She turned to go.
    I grabbed her arm, hung on, rocked back on my heels for leverage. “Don’t be silly. The barrow might be traced back to the rectory. Look, we’re really close. You take one shaft, I’ll take the other and run like…” I remembered to be of the world, not in the world. After all, one doesn’t want to trifle with Hell. “…fast.” I firmly fastened her hands on the right shaft. “Go.”
    We pelted across the blacktop, the barrow rocking from side to side, wheel rasping, Daryl’s shoes thumping. I’m sure it seemed a lifetime to Kathleen, but in only a few seconds we plunged through the open gate into the cemetery, leaving behind the light. The gently rolling, heavily treed cemetery was dark as a root cellar.
    Kathleen stumbled to a stop. “I can’t see a thing.”
    I have excellent night vision and saw that the graveled path picked up again. “Straight ahead, then veer around the clump of willows.” I gave Kathleen an encouraging pat, ignored her recoil. “We’ll leave him near the Pritchard mausoleum.” It was a showpiece of the cemetery, white marble with Corinthian