by Cynthia Kuhn
“Did you hear anything? Any footsteps? Or catch sight of anyone?”
“No. Not a sound. I know it sounds crazy but I’m positive there was no one else on the stage. It was empty. Except...we do have a ghost here. I mean, that’s been proven.”
I didn’t know about the proven part. “It’s certainly been repeated as a possibility.”
He rearranged the skull-patterned scarf around his neck. “Well, I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m an open-minded man. And even Sherlock Holmes recognized that sometimes the truth can seem improbable.”
“I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“Thank you, Petal.”
Zandra approached us. The white streak in the front of her hair was stunning against the all-black ensemble she wore. She was carrying a clear crystal ball, which she set carefully on a small metal stand in the middle of the table.
“This is my amplifier,” she explained, removing her black gloves and placing them on her lap. “It allows me to more easily connect with the other realm. Something to keep in mind is that occasionally, the connection will happen on multiple frequencies.”
“Meaning?” Clara demanded in a clipped tone.
“Meaning that there are times when the spirits who come through are still very much a part of this world. Not on the other side.”
“You mean they’re alive?” Clara said, snorting.
Zandra spoke evenly. “That’s exactly what I mean. Sometimes when people are asleep, for example, they are able to make connections. They may think they’re just having a dream. But if I can connect with their spirit, and if they have a message, they may come through.”
“Are you saying that when I go to sleep and have a dream, I may be participating in a séance without my knowledge?” Clara’s voice squeaked a little in her outrage.
“Or something like that,” Zandra confirmed, flashing a smile at her. I had the feeling she was enjoying staying calm while Clara’s frustration increased.
“Now,” Zandra said, going around the table and making eye contact with everyone individually, “we begin. Please clear your minds of everything and take several deep breaths.”
We all did as she instructed.
“In a little while, I will ask you to take each other’s hands so that we form a circle. It is imperative that you do not break the circle for any reason. Do you understand?”
We agreed, except for Clara, who sputtered a little. “I’m an upright woman. I’m not sure about this sort of hocus-pocus.”
Zandra smiled at her. “This isn’t witchcraft. This is providing a channel for spirits to speak to me. Or through me. It’s pulling aside the veil, ever so briefly. Making a connection to another realm that is already here but not visible to everyone. But if you’re uncomfortable—”
The lobby door flew open and we all jumped.
“Sorry, sorry.” The man moved quickly down the aisle. “It’s just me, Chip.”
“What’s he doing here?” Clara hissed.
“He wasn’t on the guest list,” Zandra added.
“I invited him,” Bella said firmly. “He has a right to know what’s going on in this property. And if he goes, I go.”
“Bella! Why, you’ve...you’ve betrayed us!” Clara shot Bella a furious glare.
“No, Clara.” Bella leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “I’m trying to get him to see how important this place is. To all of us and to generations to come.”
Clara remained silent, shaking with anger.
“I’ve been trying to tell him that for months now. And we...we...” she faltered, casting a glance at Chip, who had just stepped onto the stage.
“We fell in love,” he said, moving behind Bella’s chair and putting his hand on her shoulder.
“What?” Clara gasped. “You think you’re in love?” She turned to Braxton, whose face reflected her shock, and stood up abruptly. Her chair shot backwards and crashed to the ground. “Come on, Brax. We’re leaving immediately. And Bella,” she shook her finger across the table, “do not bother coming back to work. You’re fired, you ungrateful, wretched child. After all we’ve done for you.”
“Wait,” Zandra said. “Why is this an issue? Bella just told you that she’s trying to convince Chip to save the Opera House, not tear it down. She didn’t betray you.”
“She did,” Clara retorted. “By having anything to do with that man.”
Zandra addressed the table. “I’m going to speak to Clara for a few minutes. Please don’t go anywhere. We’ll be back.”
She went over and put her arm through Clara’s. I thought Clara was going to shake her off, but, to my surprise, she allowed herself to be led backstage.
The rest of us sat silently for a moment, then Braxton looked back and forth between Bella and Chip. “Is he a good man, Bel?” Chip was standing right there, but at the same time, it was said so simply and with such affection that the awkwardness was outweighed by the obvious depth of feeling.
Bella said, “He is, Braxton. He really is.”
Braxton nodded, then looked at Chip for a long while before speaking directly to him. “If you have her heart, you must treasure it.”
Chip nodded vehemently. “I will.”
“If you don’t, I’ll find you.” Braxton fixed him with an intense look. I had no doubt that he was capable of far more than I’d previously imagined.
Chip froze. “I understand.” He looked down at Bella and tilted his head slightly, urging her to say something.
“He asked me to marry him last night,” Bella said. “We’re engaged.”
Braxton drew his eyebrows together and considered this for a long moment. “If you’re truly happy, dearest, then I’m happy for you too.”
By the time Clara and Zandra returned, we were all—except Tolliver—standing around them in a circle, having jumped up to hug and congratulate them.
“What’s this?” Clara demanded. I don’t know what Zandra said to her, but it seemed to have set her on a kinder path. Upon hearing the engagement news, she only allowed herself a small scowl, then pressed her lips together, tugged her jacket down, and grimly congratulated them.
The etiquette expertise served her well in that instance. For once.
Zandra gushed over the betrothed for several minutes before asking us to sit so we could proceed with the séance.
Oh yes. That’s why we were here in the first place.
Chapter 22
We all took our seats and Zandra performed a quick blessing ritual, lighting several white candles arranged around the crystal ball. The reflection of the flames in the glass was mesmerizing.
“Now,” she said, “please join hands and no matter what you see or hear, do not break the circle. One never knows what form the communication will come in. Sometimes they speak and I translate for them. Other times, well, they speak right through me. But don’t be afraid, whether I’m translating or channeling.”
Tolliver took my hand on the left and Zandra took mine on the right. Both were tighter than I would have liked, but I let my hands rest in theirs and tried not to wince.
“Take several deep breaths, please.” Zandra closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled, loudly.
We followed her lead.
“Dear spirits,” she said, in a conversational tone, “we are here to listen. Please come forward. This is your chance to make yourself heard.”
It was silent for several minutes. The candles flickered slightly and Zandra squeezed my hand. “Someone’s here,” she breathed.
A sense of anticipation rose but we remained silent.
I watched Zandra, who seemed to be watching something behind Bella’s head, directly across the table from her. She smiled. “He’s here. I see you, Malcolm. What do you want to say?” She nodded. “Yes, I hear you.”
I cast a glance around the table. All eyes wer
e fixed on Zandra.
“He says that we are welcome here—”
“I knew it,” Clara pronounced, looking satisfied. “He is happy that we’re trying to preserve his home.”
“—as long as we are—” She paused and squinted for awhile, then nodded decisively. “—as long as we are respectful. Thank you, Malcolm.”
A loud thump came from below us, and we all jumped.
Zandra’s expression changed. “Someone else is here too.”
The crystal ball glowed and one of the candles went out.
My heart began to beat a little faster.
Suddenly Zandra sat up straighter. She hummed something.
Bella’s mouth fell open. “It’s Althea’s song—the one Camden wrote for her that was recorded.”
Zandra’s humming grew louder and more insistent. Her face seemed to undergo a reassembling of features, resulting in a softer shape. She blinked her eyes coquettishly and curved her lips up. “I’m here,” she said quietly.
Clara and Braxton exchanged a look that I couldn’t read.
“No one can hear me,” she continued. “Why?”
“I hear you,” Bella said earnestly. “Mother.”
Zandra froze, then turned her face across the table in Bella’s direction, though she was looking above her.
“It’s me, Bella. Your daughter.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
Zandra’s gaze landed upon Bella and turned sorrowful. “My angel. Know that you are loved. I had to leave, and I am sorry, but you belong here.”
“Why did you leave me?” Bella asked, leaning forward, staring at Zandra.
“Be strong. Seek what you deserve.” Zandra closed her eyes and began humming again.
“Please, who is my father?” Bella pleaded. “Can you just tell me that?”
“This is nonsense,” Clara pronounced, though her voice quavered. “And not very convincing at that. Bella, don’t fall for this.”
Zandra’s features reassembled themselves into a hard, angry mask. The words came out in a low growl. “Why did you have to come here? Everything was fine until you came along. She was mine. MINE!”
There was a loud double rap, like someone pounding on wood.
Clara squeaked and Chip yelped. The room seemed to be growing hazy.
“Where did that noise come from?” Chip demanded.
Zandra’s voice changed again, her face contorting into an anguished expression we hadn’t seen before. “Stop, stop!” she commanded, in a low baritone. “For the love of God!”
“Is it Malcolm again?” Clara asked, her voice small, like a child.
“It’s Camden,” Bella breathed.
“No!” Zandra’s voice slid back into a growl again and began to rise until she was shouting. “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE—”
The rapping grew steadily louder.
Bella cried out, as if in pain. “Are they fighting?”
“Is he talking to us?” Clara gasped. “How dare he tell us we’re not welcome!”
“How many people are talking? I don’t understand what’s happening.” Chip’s voice was higher than usual.
All at once, a rush of wind seemed to circle the table, and the crystal ball glowed even brighter.
“ENOUGH!” Zandra roared, then her head lolled forward over her chest, her dark hair covering her face.
Everything went completely still. It felt as though we were all waiting for someone else to say something.
I finally caught Tolliver’s eye. “Should we stop?”
He shook his head. “Let it play out.”
We sat silently until Zandra’s head raised again. Her eyes were glittering. This time, her voice was gruff. “And don’t you forget about me.”
Bella and I locked eyes.
Zandra mumbled something, then repeated it more loudly. “Bonjour.”
Clara gasped again. “He’s here too?”
Zandra’s eyebrows drew together and she seemed to grow in stature as she glared at Clara. “Mais oui. And there is nothing you can do to shut me down now, Madame.”
Clara’s mouth flopped open and closed, but no words came out.
“We miss you, Jean Claude.” I plunged forward, even though I wasn’t sure if it was acceptable to ask people about their own demise. “Can you tell us who killed you?”
The laugh that came out of Zandra’s throat was harsh and disturbing. It seemed to be all around us somehow. When the lights flickered, she inhaled sharply, and released my hand. The laughter stopped immediately.
She raised her arm slowly, pointed a finger at Clara, and screamed. “It was you, Clara! You shot Jean Claude!”
The older woman started slightly, then raised both of her palms in the air as though Zandra was aiming an actual gun at her. “I did not! That’s absurd.”
A loud clunk came from beneath the table.
We all leaned down to see what it was, pawing at the tablecloth. A silver gun with a pink handle lay on the floor.
“My pistol!” Clara screeched, reaching for it.
“Don’t touch it,” I said. “It needs to be checked for fingerprints. It may be the weapon that was used on Jean Claude.”
“That’s what the ghosts are saying too,” Zandra said, glaring at Clara.
We straightened up and looked around the table at each other suspiciously.
“How did it get there?” Bella asked.
“Spirits can move objects,” Zandra said. “They’re offering evidence.”
“You’re serious?” Chip stared at her.
Zandra continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And when the police get ahold of this, Clara will be proven guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“How dare you!” Clara’s face was growing increasingly redder.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Zandra spit at her. “The spirits don’t lie!”
Tolliver blinked rapidly. “How is this even—”
“Not now, Tolly.” Zandra pulled out her cell phone and started dialing. “I’m calling the police.”
“No need. We’re already here.” I recognized Lex’s voice. He was coming toward the stage with several other officers. They must have snuck in at some point during the séance.
I stood up and went to meet him, as the officers made their way over to the group. “Thanks for sending that text, Lila,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t miss this.”
“It would have been hard to describe in a way that did it any justice,” I said, smiling at him. He gave me a quick side hug, which I appreciated since I was still a little unnerved.
Also because it was a hug from Lex.
“Are you going to take Clara in?”
“Well, there needs to be slightly more evidence than, um...” he grinned at me, “a ghost’s accusation before that happens, but we’ll question her thoroughly for starters.”
I grinned back, then remembered. “There’s a gun too, though.”
“We can take it from here,” he said. “By which I mean, please let us take it from here.”
“I hear you, Detective.”
“Is there anything else you think I should know about her?” Lex pulled out his trusty black notepad and flipped to an empty page.
“You probably know more than I do. Clara’s been adamant that the theater stays in the hands of the Historical Society. And as the person who raised Bella, she feels it is her right somehow. Or her duty.”
“Mmm hmm. What about Clara’s relationship with Chip Turner?”
That was an abrupt shift.
“I don’t know Chip very well, but he certainly has made it clear that he wants to get his hands on this property too.”
“Why?”
I cocked my head, shooting Lex a c’mon-now look.
“What?”
“You already know wh
y. You’re a very good detective, or so I’ve heard.”
“How kind.” He winked and held his pen over the page. “Now humor me.”
“Okay, he has said—”
“To you?”
“In front of me.”
Lex jotted something.
“He wants to tear down the Opera House and turn it into a state-of-the-art performance complex where plays can be staged without—”
“Without fear of damaging this historical site. Got it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The whole tearing-down of the historical site is pretty damaging, wouldn’t you say?”
He had the grace to look abashed.
I resumed my earlier tack. “I was going to say where plays can be staged without interference from the Historical Society, which presides over the activities here with an iron fist, to say the least.”
“And the Historical Society is unhappy with that idea.”
“Of course.”
“Anything else?”
“His narrative has also gotten people’s dander up. He keeps saying he wants to bring culture to Stonedale, as if we don’t have a long artistic tradition here, thank you very much.”
His lips quirked.
“What?” I demanded.
“Sounds like you’re defending our little town.”
I paused. “I guess I am.”
“Well, you’ve lived here long enough to be considered a Stonedalian.”
“A what now?”
“Stonedalian. That’s what we call ourselves.”
“Seriously? Not Stonedale-ite? Or Stonedale-r?”
“Nope. And happily because those are pretty awful.”
“I don’t know that they’re that much worse.”
“Oh, they are,” he said, flipping the page over. “Okay, back to the matter at hand. Is there anything else I should know about Chip or Clara?”
“He and Bella are engaged.”
His pen scribbled away. “That’s new.”
“Yes. And a bit of a surprise to Clara and Braxton, who are diametrically opposed to anything Chip-related. Clara outright said that she feels betrayed.”
