Who could I get to translate the note? I wasn’t willing to trust just anyone. First of all, I’d taken the photo without Mr. Hidalgo’s knowledge or permission. For all I knew, he was unaware of the note’s existence. Showing it to any sort of professional, such as Bennett Cole at the Museum of New Mexico, would be opening a can of worms.
Maybe Willow? She’d been able to read the Spanish in Maria’s letters. And after all, it was her questioning Captain Dusenberry that had led to my finding the note.
I closed the file and went back to my suite just as the kettle whistled. With a pot of Keemun steeping, I raided my mini-fridge for something to eat. I didn’t have time to cook dinner, so I made a couple of pieces of toast and put some leftover chicken salad between them, then stood munching the sandwich while I gazed out the window and thought about Tia Maria and the captain.
Whatever was in that note, she had kept it as a secret treasure. I was impatient to get it translated, but it would have to wait until after the séance.
5
Twenty minutes before 7:00, I emerged and looked into Kris’s office. She wasn’t there. I slipped into my own office, unlocked the desk, and took out the amethyst pendant Willow had left with me. I felt a little silly putting it on. Woo woo, indeed. Tucking it into my shirt, I locked my desk and headed downstairs, where I peeked into the dining parlor.
Kris was there, putting away the lace tablecloth. The table’s floral centerpiece rested on a sideboard; the polished wood was bare, but a couple of candelabra with fresh, white candles stood on the other sideboard, waiting.
I pursed my lips, thinking of dripped wax. Kris would get to clean up any mess, I decided, and went to check the front door.
All was locked, closed, shuttered for the evening. The fires were banked, beds of coals slowly leeching the last of their warmth into the bricks of the chimneys. I looked for Dee, expecting I might have missed her departure, but I found her in the butler’s pantry, looking at her phone. She had not only removed her apron but had changed out of her lavender dress, into jeans and a dark blue sweater that heightened her pale coloring.
“Oh, are you staying?” I asked.
She nodded. “Kris asked me. Does she seem a little tense to you?”
“Yes.”
More than.
I continued to the kitchen. Julio and Owen looked up at me from the staff’s break table in the far corner, where Owen had been eating supper.
“Julio, did Kris ask for any kind of refreshments?” I asked.
He shook his head.
My inner hostess wouldn’t stand for a complete lack of hospitality, so I filled a pitcher with water and put it on a tray with some glasses. This I carried to the main parlor, where I set it on the low table in Rose.
The connecting door between Rose and the dining parlor was open. A glance at the floor told me that the salt Willow had poured across the doorway was largely undisturbed. Stepping over it, I spoke to Kris, who was placing the candelabra so as to illuminate either end of the table.
“Do you want this door open?”
“Yes,” she said. “The way it was on Saturday.”
I glanced back toward Rose, remembering how the alcove had looked then—draped in black, with the blood-red lanterns casting the only light, while Gabriel stood there in his golden glory.
The thought came to my mind that Gabriel’s wasn’t the first death associated with Rose. Maria Garcia, Julio’s grandmother, had died there. Right there, in the main parlor, a few steps from the dining parlor.
Stop it, Ellen.
Movement in the hallway outside drew my attention. It was Owen, camera in hand, silently beckoning to me. I joined him, and he started for the stairs.
“Can we download some photos for you?” he asked.
“Yes, please!”
We went up to my office and I turned on my computer. While it was booting, he told me he’d isolated what he thought were the best photos, but that he’d give me the whole set.
“That way if you need more later, you’ll have them.”
“Thank you so much, Owen. What do I owe you?”
An odd smile curved up one side of his mouth. “Nothing,” he said.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I pulled a notepad toward me and took out a pen. “You’re a professional. Tell me your fee, or I’ll make one up and send it to you.”
He laughed. “OK. I’ll send you an invoice.”
I looked at him narrowly. “And what about the photos from Saturday? I should pay for those, too.”
He shook his head. “Kris already paid me.”
“Kris did?”
“Gabriel left everything to her.”
I sat back, absorbing that. My gaze went to the clock on my computer screen. “It’s time to go downstairs,” I said.
We disconnected Owen’s camera and I shut down the computer, then hurried downstairs after him. Kris was at the back door, having a low-voiced conversation with a pale, brown-haired young man I didn’t recognize. Voices drew me to the dining parlor, where Dee stood talking with three other friends of Kris’s: Dale (whom I was glad to see), Gwyneth (whom I was surprised to see), and Cherie (whom I was really surprised, and not terribly pleased, to see).
Gwyneth, wearing a twilight blue chiffon dress, scurried around the table to envelop me in a jasmine-scented hug.
“Ellen! I’m so glad you’re going to sit with us.”
“You look well,” I told her, and meant it. “Is Roberto coming?”
“Oh, no. He doesn’t believe in the spirit realm.” She smiled. “Yet,” she added, with brazen confidence.
I greeted Dale, who looked sharp in a dark gray vest over a black shirt, then turned to face Cherie. She was dressed in a plain black shift, with a long string of tiny black beads around her neck. Her haircut looked even more severe with this ensemble, and she seemed pale and drawn, but (at least) sober.
“How are you?” I asked her.
She ducked her head. “OK,” she said quietly.
The lack of drama made me forgive her past behavior. I pressed her hand. “I’m sorry about Gabriel. Are you sure you want to be here?”
She gave me a sidelong glance as she straightened her shoulders, then a single nod. “Yes.”
Kris came in, with the pale young man beside her. He was carrying a cardboard box, roughly cubic, about a foot and a half high.
“Everyone, this is Tom,” Kris said. “He’s going to conduct the session.”
Tom nodded in response to a chorus of hellos, and looked rather intently at each of us as Kris ran through our names, as if fixing our faces in memory. He then set his box on a sideboard and opened it, carefully removing what looked like a modern sculpture of polished brass. This he placed in the center of the table, while Kris lit the candelabra.
The others drifted to chairs. I waited near the door, wondering whether I should fetch the extra salt Willow had given me, just in case. Not being able to imagine using it, I didn’t bother.
Instead I stared at Tom’s apparatus, which he was taking great care to place in the exact center of the table. To my relief, since it incorporated candles, I saw that he had laid out a square of black cloth beneath it.
The gizmo itself was lightweight, and consisted of a ring-shaped base with letters and numbers all around it, four small candle-holders into which Tom placed little white tapers, and a wheel-like top piece that balanced on a point resting in a cup suspended between the candle-holders. The top piece looked a little like a crown, with slanted fan-blades that rode above the candles, and descending from its sides were four points, three of which were short and stout, the fourth being narrow and elongated with a tiny, pointed weight dangling from it on a chain. The point hung about half an inch above the ring with the letters.
I had never seen anything like it. Despite that, it was ringing bells of memory for me. I frowned, staring at it, until I felt someone watching me and looked up into Tom’s smiling face.
“It’s my own invention,” he said softly, his voice d
eeper than I expected. “It works like those little Christmas decorations with the angels. The heat of the candles makes it turn.”
“Right!” I said, remembering. “That’s where I’ve seen it before! We had one when I was a kid.”
He nodded, then with a slight smile, beckoned to me. “Join us.”
He indicated a chair in the middle of the table, across from his own. I glanced at Kris, but she was already seated at the north end, so I took the empty chair.
Tom handed slips of paper and pencils around. “We’re here to attempt to contact Gabriel Rhodes. Please write down any questions you may have for him.”
Not expecting this, I sat staring at my blank slip. I had many questions, but not for Gabriel. I only wished him peace, poor guy.
In the end, I didn’t write anything. I gave my paper and pencil back to Tom, who accepted them without comment. Dale hadn’t written a question either, but the others had. Dee offered hers to Tom, but he shook his head.
“Please fold it and lay it on the table before you. I’m going to place one of these on each question, to help with clear communication. They’re kyanite.” He stood and showed us a handful of small greenish crystals, then went around the table setting them on the papers and collecting the pencils, which he put into his box, keeping back one. He took a notepad from the box and turned to Dale. “Would you be willing to record the messages?”
“OK, but I’m not fast,” Dale said. “I don’t know shorthand.”
“You won’t need it. The messages will come letter by letter, like this.”
Tom touched the crown of his device, and it gently rotated, then drifted to a stop with the pointer hanging above the letter “T.”
“Won’t it keep rotating while the candles are burning?” I asked.
Tom smiled. “Good question. Yes, until this happens.”
He nudged the crown into moving again, then lightly touched the top of a small pin sticking up from the rim as it went by. This made the fan-blades lie flat, and the rotation halted, this time over the letter “U.”
“The slightest touch will lower the blades,” Tom said. “Then after a second, the candles’ heat raises them again.” With a gentle finger, he lifted the blades back into place, where they set with a tiny click. “It’s designed so that spirits can operate it without expending a lot of energy.”
My thoughts snapped back to Willow’s explanation of ether. That must be what Tom meant, though he didn’t use the word.
“I’ll need you to switch places with Cherie, then,” Tom said to Dale. “The rest of us will be holding hands.”
Dale was sitting on my right. Cherie, who had taken the seat at the south end of the table, traded with him. I gave her a smile meant to reassure as she sat beside me.
Tom set the notepad and pencil before Dale. “Please close your eyes, everyone. Breathe deeply, and release your thoughts of the day. We’re looking for a quiet, relaxed state of mind. I’m going to turn out the lights and close the door to the hall, then I’ll light the candles in the word wheel.”
I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t help sneaking peeks at Tom as he moved around the room. Gina’s skepticism whispered at me that he could be setting up a way to move the device secretly. Maybe he had magnets that he could manipulate with his knees.
Except brass wasn’t magnetic.
Maybe it just looked like brass. It could be brass-plated steel.
But that would be heavy. This was paper-thin, and light.
Stop it, Ellen. Just breathe.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax. My thoughts drifted despite my best intentions. I found myself wondering whether Captain Dusenberry was watching this, and what he might think of it. Would he consider it a valid way to communicate, or just a parlor game?
Captain, this is for Kris, to give her closure.
The chandelier went out, sudden darkness sparking a tiny frisson of wonder, until I remembered that Tom was still up. A warmer glow and a whiff of sulfur told me he was lighting the small candles. One last peek through my eyelashes as he sat across from me.
“Everyone but Dale, please place your left hand on the table beside you, palm up,” he said.
I complied, then closed my eyes again, hearing the soft sounds of the others’ movement.
“Now place your right hand in the hand of your neighbor to the right.”
I laid my hand in Cherie’s, and felt Gwyneth’s hand feather-light in my left. Owen reached across the table to take Cherie’s other hand, leaving Dale free to write.
Tom’s apparatus was beginning to move. The crown circled slowly, much more slowly than the Christmas angels I remembered. I watch the little pointer glide above the letters.
“Please keep holding hands throughout this session,” Tom said, his own hands clasped with Owen’s and Dee’s. “It’s important that the circle remain closed. Now breathe deeply, and clear your minds. I ask that the guardian angels of everyone at this table watch over us here, and shine their light on us to guard us from darkness.”
That was nice. I was beginning to like Tom.
“We are here to reach out to Gabriel Rhodes, who recently crossed into spirit. If he or any of his guardians are here, we ask them to acknowledge our request.”
A long silence followed. I watched the wheel turn slowly, hypnotically. My thoughts drifted around as well. I hoped Kris wouldn’t be disappointed, hoped Tom was sincere. Wondered what the others had asked Gabriel.
A tiny click, startling because it was unexpected, made me look at the wheel. It had stopped over the letter “O.”
I glanced at Tom, who gazed impassively at the device, both hands in his neighbors’. Dale duly recorded the letter. As I looked to the wheel, I saw the blades lifting back into place. Though I knew the heat from the candles was raising them, still I felt a little unnerved.
The wheel moved again, circling a couple of times before stopping on “P.” While the blades rose, I wondered why the spirit forces hadn’t just moved it over one letter. Perhaps they needed a running start.
More letters clicked into place, while I pondered the physical problems of operating the wheel. Would I have been able to make it stop on a particular letter, just by pressing the pin as Tom had done? Probably not. How, then, could a spirit do so?
Maybe it had been programmed in advance somehow, said the voice of Gina in my head.
“Ophelia,” Dale announced.
Kris gave a little gasp, and I thought of the print in her office, depicting the drowned Ophelia from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. I didn’t think Tom had been up there. My impression was that this was his first visit to the tearoom.
The wheel moved again, stopping on “N,” then “O.”
“No,” Dale said.
I glanced at Kris. She swallowed, biting her lip.
The wheel moved to “D,” followed by a period. I looked at Dee.
The wheel continued spelling. “Yes,” Dale said as the final letter clicked into place.
Dee nodded, eyes on the wheel.
Next was “Cher,” which I guessed was short for “Cherie.” The little sob she gave seemed to confirm this. The message she received was “Yes,” which evoked a larger sob.
This seemed much more clinical and less mysterious than I had expected. None of the yes-or-no messages made sense to me, but they seemed to make sense to the recipients. I watched Tom, but he never moved, his gaze remaining on the wheel. I wondered if he had gone into some kind of trance.
“Owen” was followed by a much longer message: “Awesome,” which made Owen laugh. Next the wheel spelled out “N-E-T-H,” then paused.
I felt Gwyneth shift beside me. Dale frowned at his notes, and said, “Neth?”
“Oh!” Gwyneth said, “It’s me.” She began to cry, and the wheel turned.
I followed as the letters were spelled out: “L-E-T-G-O.” Dale announced softly, “Let go.”
I glanced at Gwyneth, who gave a ragged sigh and nodded.
The wheel turned for a l
ong while without stopping. Just as I began to wonder whether the session was over, it clicked to a stop on “E.”
I watched, my nape prickling, as the letters of my name followed.
“Ellen,” Dale announced.
I hadn’t written a question. I glanced up at Tom. He showed no reaction.
“Valid,” Dale said, when that word was spelled. The prickling traveled down my spine as the wheel began to move again. It spelled out “attic,” then “N-E-”
To my right, Cherie gave a little gasp. “Look!” She was staring up at the chandelier. More gasps followed as the others looked up.
One crystal drop was swaying gently back and forth.
Hello, Captain.
6
We waited expectantly, but no more letters came. I realized I was holding my breath, and let it out in a long sigh. Had Cherie’s outburst interrupted the message intended for me? Or maybe the spirits had run out of steam?
After a minute, Tom announced that the session had ended. He said something about thanking the spirits and wishing Gabriel well, but my attention was on the women to either side of me, both softly crying. When Tom gave us permission to release hands, I quietly stood and fetched the tray of water, handing glasses around the table.
No one spoke. My own feelings were rather tumultuous. Unless Dale had somehow reached into my thoughts for the rather unusual word, “valid,” the séance had been genuine, and Captain Dusenberry had been present as well as Gabriel.
I returned to my chair with a glass of water and sipped it, letting that thought sink in. Across the table from me, Tom sat with eyes closed.
Communing? Resting?
What Willow had told me about ether implied that Tom had allowed the spirits to draw on his personal store of that stuff in order to move the wheel. Despite his ingenious device, it would still have cost him something, and the process of spelling out messages letter by letter had taken some time.
As if aware of my regard, Tom opened his eyes. He gave me a slight smile, then looked around the table.
“Does anyone wish to share their question? It’s optional, of course.”
Intermezzo: Spirit Matters Page 7
