Ghost at Work by Carolyn Hart

the porch. Had Kathleen called the police to report the murder, a search would have ensued and the gun would have been found. Now the murderer was taking Daryl’s removal andturning it to his or her advantage. Everyone with access to the rectory would be under suspicion if the gun was found here.
    Kathleen and I hadn’t made a search. We’d simply noted there was no gun near the body. Now I looked carefully. The porch ran the length of the house. The counter and sink were handy to the kitchen door. I knelt to peer underneath, noted with approval that the pipes were wrapped for winter. I poked a hand in a dark corner, not an exercise I would have undertaken had it been a hand of flesh. Brown recluse spiders do not take kindly to trespassers.
    I scrambled past the sink and counter, ran my hand behind the rolled-up tarp. Nothing. The gun was not behind the stack of garden pots or tucked in a mélange of rubber boots or nestling in the drawers of a dilapidated desk or wedged among the pumpkins. I sped to the other end of the porch.
    Voices sounded and the kitchen door swung out. “Sure appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Abbott.” The chief looked back at the gaggle of women surrounding the kitchen door. “Ladies, if you’ll stay in the kitchen, I’d appreciate it. This will only take a minute.” He tugged a pair of plastic gloves from his pocket, pulled them on, then turned to his left, the portion of the porch I’d already checked.
    I don’t know what I would have done if he’d turned toward me. Another pinch? Three bulging black garbage sacks were clumped against the south wall. I loosed a tie to peer inside the first one. Unfortunately, I might as well have picked one up and spilled out the contents. The cans banged and clanged. I was almost startled into my skin. I tried frantically to quiet the surging metal. Heaven knows I applaud conservation, but the collection of empty soda-pop cans might be my undoing.
    Chief Cobb swung around. “Nobody’s supposed to touch—” He broke off.
    Of course nobody had.
    He gazed at the south end of the porch, the quivering sack and cascading cans, his face puzzled.
    Kathleen bent down, picked up Spoofer, who was edging past her ankle. She held up the wriggling, offended cat. “He hates it when garbage bags are closed.”
    Elise bent forward. “But the cat wasn’t—”
    Kathleen’s voice rose, drowning out Elise. “He probably heard a mouse. That’s what it was. Mice. Come on, Spoofer.” She hurried across the porch, opened the door, and put him out. She turned back toward the kitchen door, one hand behind her, waggling frantically.
    I understood it was some kind of warning to me, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. The chief was moving purposefully along the counter, stopping to check beneath with a flashlight he’d pulled from his suit coat. Not, of course, the Maglite he’d used in his search for the missing telephone.
    I tiptoed past the trash bags. A gym bag rested next to a bag of golf clubs. I knelt by the sleek plastic bag, edged the zipper open. Empty. I lifted it up. Nothing underneath.
    A piercing voice demanded, “I don’t think it’s mice. Kathleen, do you have a rat? I swear that gym bag moved. It would take a rat.”
    There was a hurried shuffle as the Bible study group members moved away from the kitchen door.
    Kathleen gave an unconvincing laugh. “Things have been moving about out on the porch. Maybe that’s it.” She was backing closer to the bags of cans, trying to interpose herself between me and the women. Abruptly, she pointed toward the chief. “Look, he’s found something!”
    I hoped her ploy was successful. In any event, I took advantage of the momentary distraction to plunge my hand into the golf bag. I tried not to rattle anything, but the clubs clattered together. Heads swiveled in my direction. I tried to