Slowly, his expression befuddled, he followed her into the den.

She finished making her drink. “What’s your pleasure?” she asked.

I moved behind her, dropped down behind a brown leather sofa, and appeared. I unhooked the video cam from my belt and turned it on. I placed it on the floor, moved several feet away, and disappeared. The camera remained where I had placed it. Wiggins had never fully explained the physics of appearing along with whatever accessories I might need. I had learned that an accessory separated from my person remained in existence. Voilà, I now had the instrument for Eleanor’s undoing.

I lifted the video cam and propped it near a vase, the lens aimed toward Eleanor.

Brad ignored her question. He stood stiffly near a potted palm, arms folded. “I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. You know I’ve never struck you.”

She bent forward a little, pulled down the edge of her blouse, revealing a reddish purple splotch. “How do you like it?”

He strode forward, face incredulous.

I nodded in unseen approval. Now he, too, was within camera range.

He lifted a shaking hand. “Where did that come from?”

She tore off a length of paper toweling from the minibar, held it beneath a gushing faucet. “Now you see it.” She lifted the damp toweling, swiped at the splotch. “Now you don’t. The wonders of makeup, Brad. Of course”-and her tone was careless as she pulled her blouse up to cover the now unblemished skin-“what matters is that Joan Grainger got a very good look at my awful bruise in the ladies’ lounge at the club this evening. She was quite sympathetic. Of course I told her, my voice shaking, that I was perfectly all right when she offered to put me up tonight.”

“She thinks I hit you?” His shock was obvious.

“Afraid so.” She swirled the ice cubes in an amber drink, took a sip.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“Yes, I can. Tonight I laid the groundwork for some very ugly gossip that I’m an abused wife. Joan saw the bruise. Now, here’s the deal. Joan keeps her mouth shut. That’s why I picked her. Joan never says anything bad about anyone. Your secret is safe with her. She will check in with me, make sure I’m all right. If you play up, I’ll convince her the bruise was from a fall and I appeared distraught tonight because, poor little me, I had the onset of one of my dreadful migraines.”

“Play up? What do you mean?”

“No divorce. You’ve got evidence on me, but you will never use it. I like being the judge’s wife. I like the fact that you are rich enough that I can do what I like, travel, shop, entertain. You will strive to be the gentleman you are, pleasant in public, out of my way in private.”

“If I refuse?” His voice was grim.

“That would be a grave mistake. You see, most of the women I know are not as reticent as Joan. Tomorrow night I’m playing bridge with some ladies whose mouths never shut, and gossip is their life-blood. I can create quite a spectacular bruise for them. So”-she took another drink-“it’s up to you, Brad. If you file for a divorce, I’ll convince everyone who matters in Adelaide that you use me for a punching bag.”

“That’s extortion.” His voice was harsh.

“How lovely to have a lawyer in the family. Extortion has an ugly sound. Let’s say it’s quid pro quo. You do as I say, or I set you up as a wife beater.” She lifted the glass in a toast. “Here’s to us, Brad.”

In the faraway distance, I heard the unmistakable wail of the Rescue Express. Within minutes, I must be done.

I eased the camera below the side table and moved behind her to French doors that likely opened onto a terrace. The camera appeared to be floating in the air. I waggled it, catching Brad’s attention. The evident shock in his face appeared to her to be the result of her taunt.

I swirled into being, camera held high.

He appeared frozen.

I reached behind me, opened the French door.

She heard the creak of the opening door and jerked about. Her eyes widened in shock.

I suppose a police officer approaching with a stern expression was unnerving.

Brad shook his head in disbelief, but there was a sudden aching hope in his blue eyes.

I held up the video camera. “Extortion is an offense punishable by a sentence of up to four years in prison and a substantial fine.”

“You have no right to be here.” She was struggling to breathe. “You can’t come into someone’s home and tape them-”

I interrupted, “I have a full videotape and recording of your attempt at extortion.”

“-without their permission.”

“I am here at the invitation of your husband”-I looked warningly at Brad-“who had reason to believe he might be subject to threats. Therefore”-my smile was bright-“I am lawfully present and”-I tapped the video cam-“the evidence contained here is admissible in court.” Again I looked at Brad. “As any judge would explain.”

The train whistle sounded again. Of course, only I could hear. Would the Express leave without me?

“Isn’t that correct, Judge?” My tone was sharp. I was desperate to depart.

His sandy lashes blinked, then he responded firmly, “That’s right.” He looked at his wife. “There is no doubt this evidence would be presented and accepted at the hearing where you would be arraigned.”

I nodded approval. “In that event, I will proceed to file my report, and a summons will be issued.” I had no idea as to police procedure at this level. Certainly Brad, as a judge, would know, but I was counting on him to remember that I wasn’t here. Was he clever enough to understand?

Did I smell coal smoke?

“Officer, I might be willing to drop the matter.”

I frowned. “Your Honor, a crime has been committed. Extortion, as I don’t need to remind you, is a felony.”

“However”-he spoke quietly-“it is my prerogative to settle the matter without the filing of charges.” He turned toward his wife. “Eleanor, it’s up to you.”

I folded my arms and looked as menacing as a five-foot-five-inch redhead can manage.

“You got me, didn’t you? I never expected you to be clever, Brad.” She stared at him as if he were a stranger. “What do you want?”

“First, call Joan. You are to sound cheerful and upbeat. Here’s what I want you to tell her…”

The Rescue Express wailed, the high, wavering cry much nearer.

In a moment, Eleanor was on the telephone. “Joan,” she sounded at ease, “I’m afraid I gave you a wrong impression tonight… That bruise had nothing to do with Brad. I got whacked by that automatic door at the grocery. You know the one I mean. You take your life in your hands when you go through that door. Tonight I was upset because I knew I was going to ask Brad for a divorce… Actually, it isn’t because of him. I’ve met a guy, and I was worried about how Brad would take it, but he’s being the perfect gentlemen.” Her eyes burned as she looked toward him.

Brad gave a thumbs-up.

The whistle sounded overhead.

“Anyway, it always helps to talk things out. I’m off to Dallas tonight. Everything’s working out… Right… I’ll keep in touch.” She clicked off the phone. “Satisfied?”

“Yes. In exchange, I’ll make a fair settlement with you. Now. Pack a suitcase and go.”

She flicked a furious look at the video cam in my hand. “What will happen to the video?”

“It is police property. It will be in my custody.”

She looked sick. Obviously, if the camera was at the police station, there was no way she could ever hope to be free of the threat of exposure.

She whirled and ran to the hall and pounded up the stairs.

Quick as a flash, I darted to Brad, thrust the camera at him. “She can’t be trusted. Put this in a vault. Sorry, I have to go.”

With that, I disappeared and zoomed out of the house and up into the sky and there, almost beyond my grasp, was the rail to the caboose.

Oh. And oh. I couldn’t quite reach it!

What would happen to a missing emissary? Would I be adrift, become one of those ghosts aimlessly walking about in their haunts of old?