Hands deep in trouser pockets and head bowed, Sir Gary slouched down the second floor hallway. Alice couldn’t really mean what she’d said to that aunt of hers, could she? Why would anyone think Katy a suspect? Not his Katy, the first friend he’d found since his death. The person who’d led him to Alice — even though Alice wasn’t fulfilling her responsibilities!
Petite, tiny Katy couldn’t kill someone, especially in such a dastardly manner. Not that women weren’t capable of violence; he’d seen a few murderesses over time. Should Katy ever explode to the brink of bloodshed, however, he would imagine her performing the deed in a less violent and messy manner — perhaps a knitting needle in the eye or a shove down a steep stairwell. Anything that would keep her always-proper attire spotless.
But...Katy had been on her own for quite some time while he watched television. She knew as much as he did about the sword — fine-honed blade, balanced precision. She’d been dressed differently in the kitchen — a cover-up outfit over her bikini. Had she changed to swim, or donned the cover-up due to blood spatters?
There was no way to tell how long Bucky had been dead, given the water he floated in, filled with blood from his severed vessels. Perhaps that medical examiner would know more later. And the head...he couldn’t picture Katy picking up that gruesome object to hide. No! He would not believe that of his Katy. Still, some buried memory tried to surface...some other woman...something similarly unbelievable . . .
The memory floated away, and he shook his head. The bobbies weren’t getting anywhere. True, they’d finally identified the body, but it didn’t appear they were any closer to unmasking the perpetrator nearly eighteen hours after the body was discovered. And Alice had evidently seen Bucky, sensed him at least. So the man...ghost...shared Sir Gary’s dimension. He had to question him. How? Could he speak with a headless entity?
That idea he’d been prepared to tell Alice, had she not been so snotty, had merit. Who but someone like him, with experience in this business of being a ghost, would come up with the perfect inspiration? With a jaunty stride, Sir Gary dissolved through the Peach Room door.