Sugarplum Dead by Carolyn Hart Page A

proclivities. So”—Laurel patted the steering wheel—“I know you are racing. And therefore”—a sunny smile—“I’m sure that you know Buddy. Oh, how Buddy loves to race!” She clasped her hands together. “Dear Go-Dog—I hope you won’t mind my addressing you so familiarly, but I feel as if we are confreres, I have ventured so often to this quiet glen—please”—and now her tone was brisk—“tell Buddy that I truly must speak with him.” There was the slightest hint of impatience. “I know he’s busy, too.” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear, I hope you aren’t competitors. But no, no, I would not have been led here were that the case and truly I have to thank Providence for this opportunity.” She beamed at the marble steering wheel. “I awoke one night with the clearest picture in my mind—stock cars, a great smash-up—oh, that was such a shame, Go-Dog, and you were in the lead—and a white marble steering wheel. It led me right to you. And I must depend upon your good offices because dear Buddy is buried in Milan and I truly haven’t time to go there. I need his advice. I have decided to liquidate a great amount of stock—oh, those particulars are neither here nor there—and use it for the good of mankind. Now, there are those who might have difficulty seeing Buddy as a financial adviser. But”—she leaned closer to the stone—“once I was getting ready to sell my Microsoft stock and do you know what happened? Buddy’s little red Porsche simply zoomed into my room late one night and he jumped out. He looked dashing in his racing goggles and soft leather hat and white silk muffler—fringed silk—and he said firmly, ‘Ne vends pas ces stocks, ma chérie.’” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes, Buddy was Italian, but he also spoke French when—well, at some of our more specialmoments. Of course, I held on to that stock and you know how well it’s done. So I won’t listen to anyone but Buddy. Now, it may be that I shan’t have to bother you again.” A soft laugh. “Although I hope I’ve not been a bother. Do you know, I think you and I should have got on famously had we met at an earlier time.” A pause. “When you were alive. Because I feel so drawn to this lovely spot.” One coral-tipped hand was flung wide. “However, it may be that I am being led. I received the loveliest call from a Friend. That’s a Friend of the Library, Go-Dog. In any event, she’s told me about the most marvelous place to reach out to the Other Side—the Evermore Foundation. She said its president—Dr. Swanson—is simply wonderful! The kindest man, and he is able to put you in touch with everyone! Well, not exactly everyone. No frivolous or mean-spirited contacts are permitted. Don’t you think that’s lovely? To keep the plane of connection at a very high level? But I wanted you to be the first to know because you may be responsible for that call.” She wagged a pink-tipped finger playfully. “Of course, if I don’t speak with Buddy, I will hurry right back to you. Good-bye for now, Go-Dog.” Laurel gave the steering wheel a final soft pat.
    Annie plunged down the slope, skidding a little on the pine needles.
    Laurel reached out to keep her from falling. “Annie, my dear. What a pleasant surprise.”
    Annie looked deep into bright blue eyes. Crazed blue eyes? “Laurel…” Despite Annie’s firm intention to sound casual and unconcerned, she sounded like a Budweiser lizard spotting a frog. “You can’t talk to dead people.”
    Laurel’s laugh was as light and sweet as distant wind chimes. The gaze she bent on Annie expressed chagrin,disappointment and just a soupçon of embarrassment. “My dear, I would have expected better of you.” Clearly the