If there were windows, they were covered. I focused on the large round table in the center of the room where five people sat. One empty chair remained.
Sherry Westin held the midnight position, and her mother claimed six. Sherry was a tall woman, her pale skin flawless in the candlelight. Red curls framed her face and she wore heavy eye shadow and bright red lipstick. As the young Texaco mart employee had said, she was beautiful. And sad.
Her mother, Brandy, was average build with brown hair and light eyes, but what caught my attention was the hard intelligence shining in the pale depths. She was smart. Very smart. And I suspected she could be ruthless, if required.
To Sherry’s right was Roger Addleson, the CEO of a mining company, and, based on Amanda’s description, his wife, Shimmer. The delicate blond woman across the table had to be Amaryllis. Every guest wore expensive clothes and jewelry.
Marjorie took the empty seat at the table and Palk pointed to a far wall where Tinkie and I were to stand. No chairs for the hired help. I expected the butler to join us, but instead he whispered to Brandy and left the room. The door shut with a solid thud.
“Thank you all for participating,” Sherry began immediately. Her voice was low, husky, almost as if she’d been crying. “We’ve come to join our energetic forces to pierce the veil between this world and the next. Let me assure you, spirits do exist. They’re constantly around us. Some are sad; some are happy. Others are angry. My work allows me to communicate with the dead. My intention is to help them resolve the issues that hold them here, bound to this dimension, so they can be free to transcend into their next life.”
Sherry’s voice settled into a smooth, almost hypnotic cadence. I found myself relaxing, trusting. Tinkie, on the other hand, was jumpy as a cat at a dog show. She kept flexing and contracting her body.
Sherry continued, “Marjorie Littlefield has asked me to help her communicate with the spirit of her departed daughter, Mariam. Shimmer Addleson wishes to communicate with Empress Joséphine, and Amaryllis Dill wishes to speak with a recently departed friend. I’ve explained I can’t call up spirits as a certainty. I can only invite them to appear. Some are willing, others are not, but I have agreed to try. To do so, I will require the help of everyone here.” She paused dramatically and cast her gaze on Tinkie. “I sense a nonbeliever.”
Now I saw how she meant to get us out of the room. Not even Marjorie would defend us if Sherry said Mariam wouldn’t appear as long as we were present.
Sherry rose and came toward us. “You are Mrs. Littlefield’s personal maids, yet you stand between her and her desire to speak with her daughter.”
“No,” Tinkie said softly. “We want only the best for Mrs. Littlefield. She’s been very good to us.”
Sherry seemed to sniff the air around Tinkie. She turned to me. “You doubt my abilities?”
“I want Mrs. Littlefield to find peace.” I could say that without lying. I feared Sherry could smell a lie. “Mrs. Littlefield has been feeling weak. We’re only here to assist her. We have no interest in impeding her wishes.”
“If I detect that you’re disrupting the evening, you’ll be dismissed from the room.”
We both nodded, and Sherry returned to the table. I wondered how much of that was drama and how much was truly her psychic abilities that showed we were there with ulterior motives.
Sherry’s hands skimmed the contours of her body—but not touching—several times, and then she shook them as if casting off ants. She smiled at everyone around the table. “My energy is clear and we can begin.”
The air in the room shifted. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I was used to the sudden appearance of my own personal apparition, but this was different. Tinkie edged closer to me, and I knew she felt it, too.
“Lay your hands flat on the table,” Sherry directed. “Mine are visible to you all, as are Mother’s. I want you to relax. Let go of all your thoughts and desires. Can you do that?”
Marjorie inhaled sharply through her mouth, but she agreed.
“Watch Sherry,” I whispered to Tinkie. I would keep my eye on Brandy. If something strange happened, I wanted to be able to detect how the Westins were manipulating it. Of course, Palk could be anywhere in the house or even this room. It was likely there was another door.
“Allow your thoughts to calm,” Sherry said. “I’m taking you on a journey. You may not all arrive at the same destination. Some of you won’t leave this room. But those who do travel into the land beyond the veil will meet with a number of spirits. Just remember, these entities are merely energy. Some of them can be very treacherous, though. They don’t always tell the truth. As with any person, they have their own motivations and agendas, so beware.”
All around the table, eyes glittered in the flickering firelight.
“I call upon the spirits to assist us. We come in peace and love. We merely wish for communication with our departed loved ones or guidance from behind the veil. I am seeking a child, a beautiful child of ten. Her name is Mariam. Mariam Littlefield. Mariam, your mother wishes to speak with you. There are things that must be settled before she can rest.”
“Ask her about Chasley,” Marjorie said.
“Please!” Brandy’s voice was sharp. “Do not interrupt. Let Sherry communicate if she can. Don’t break her concentration.”
For a long moment, the room was quiet. When Sherry spoke, her voice was different, lower. “You seek a child named Mariam. I know her. She is afraid to come forward.”
“What is she afraid of?” Brandy asked.
“Paper!” Sherry said in that strange, raspy voice. “Give me paper.”
Brandy went to a sideboard and opened a drawer. She brought out plain white typing paper and a fistful of pencils. She put them on the table in front of Sherry, who’d gone into a trance with her eyes rolled up in her head.
Brandy forced a pencil into Sherry’s hand and put it on the paper. The hand began to move in circles. Spiraling lines filled the page, and Brandy removed it and replaced it with a clean sheet.
“Mariam?” Brandy said. “Is that you?”
The erratic motion of Sherry’s hand slowed. A very crooked Y E S was written.
“Your mother is here, Mariam. She misses you. She loves you and wants to talk to you. Will you show yourself?” Brandy kept the paper shifting under Sherry’s rotating hand.
“Your mother is ill. She needs to speak with you.”
Sherry’s hand went nuts. Tinkie and I leaned closer to watch what she was writing. Mommy! she wrote. Mommy! I’m afraid. It’s cold.
Marjorie let out a cry of animal pain. “Mariam! Oh, Mariam! It’s my fault. It is. I’m so sorry. Did Chasley harm you?” she asked. “Did he?” She leaped to her feet. “Tell me what happened that day!”
Sherry slumped sideways. She would have fallen from her chair had Brandy not caught her.
“We’re done for the evening,” Brandy said as she supported her daughter. “Palk! Palk! Hurry. I need help.”
“I have to talk with Mariam.” Marjorie remained frozen beside her chair. “I’m sorry I stood up.”
Brandy rounded on her. “You’ve endangered my daughter. She was in a deep trance, and you broke the circle. Do you realize you could have seriously injured her?”
“I’m so sorry,” Marjorie said. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “My baby is scared and cold. And it’s my fault!” She pushed past Tinkie and me and ran out of the room.
Tinkie and I hurried upstairs after her.
“Sherry is a very accomplished hypnotist,” I said. “She’s dangerously talented. We have to be careful.”
6
Tinkie and I soaked washcloths in ice water to make cold compresses for Marjorie’s forehead. She was in a state, and misery held her in a firm grip. If she hadn’t been near suicide when she arrived, she was now.
I buttonholed Tinkie and whispered, “We need Doc Sawyer.”
“He doesn’t do house calls.” Tinkie barely pulled her attention away from M
arjorie to answer me. She indicated she needed a fresh cloth and I went to the bathroom to fetch it. I’d dumped ice in the bathroom sink and had several hand towels chilling.
Marjorie reclined on the chaise and Tinkie sat beside her. I handed Tinkie the compress and continued pacing. Nursing wasn’t one of my talents.
Tinkie smoothed Marjorie’s hair back from her forehead. The poor woman trembled, and her skin flushed and then went pale in repeating cycles. A pulse throbbed in her throat. I feared for her health.
“Call Doc. This is serious. He hasn’t left the ER in years, but beg him.” Tinkie was really worried.
“He left Sunflower County to take care of you.”
“You’re right.” She returned to the stricken woman and picked up her limp hand. “We’re calling a doctor, Marjorie. He’s a friend. He’ll be able to help you.”
Marjorie moaned and shook her head. “No, no doctor. I just want to die.”
There it was, the thing we’d come here to prevent. While Tinkie tried to comfort her, I went in search of Palk. I meant to have a phone. He was lurking at the bottom of the stairs like a hungry rat with cheese in his sights.
“Mrs. Westin wishes to speak with Mrs. Littlefield. Rising from the table during a session is not permitted. She’s highly upset—”
“That’s not my concern,” I interrupted. “Mrs. Littlefield is ill. She needs a doctor. I’m calling Doc Sawyer at the Sunflower County Hospital and asking him to come here or send an ambulance. I’m afraid if Mrs. Littlefield doesn’t calm down, she’ll have a stroke.”
Palk scurried away like a cockroach. I followed behind him on my rubber-soled shoes. He went into the library and pulled a phone from the drawer of a library table. He took it to a wall jack behind a curtain and plugged it in. At least I knew where the phone was now.
“Just remember, this is an emergency. Phones are off-limits to the staff.”
I made the call to Doc, who was strangely willing to come to Heart’s Desire. “I’ve had a yen to visit that place,” he said.
“You knew about it?” I couldn’t ask many questions; Palk was watching me.
“I’ve heard rumors about a think tank in the Delta,” Doc said. “Mrs. Littlefield is the first person I’ve known who actually bought into the concept, but there’s been talk. To be honest, I thought it was a bunch of hooey. You’d be surprised at the things a doctor hears in confidence.”
“Mrs. Littlefield is very ill. Tinkie’s with her. Please hurry.”
“Is Tinkie involved with Heart’s Desire?” Doc was surprised.
“No, we’re maids for Mrs. Littlefield.”
There was a pause and I could imagine Doc’s startled expression. “This will require a face-to-face explanation. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you.” I replaced the receiver and Palk put away the phone.
“Is he coming?” Palk asked.
“He said he didn’t make house calls, but when I told him it was Marjorie Littlefield, he agreed. They’re old friends, I gather.” I started upstairs. “Send him up as soon as he arrives.” It felt good to order the butler around for a change.
Without waiting for an answer, I ran up the stairs and back to Marjorie’s suite. Tinkie had calmed her a little, but when she saw me, she became agitated again.
“You should go outside for a while,” Tinkie said to me. She wasn’t being mean, but she was worried. We’d come to help Marjorie and now she was more upset than ever. My anxiousness wasn’t helping.
I eased from the room and stood for a while outside the door. Then I decided to snoop. Palk had taken a powder and for the first time since arriving at Heart’s Desire, I had some leeway to poke around.
Taking care not to make any noise, I slipped around the upstairs hallway, pausing outside doors and listening. Roger and Shimmer bickered in the suite next to Marjorie’s. The Ginger Suite, signified by a cinnamon color. The heated conversation and raised voices were audible, but even when I put my ear against the door, I couldn’t make out what they were fighting about. Whatever it was, Shimmer was greatly upset.
The adjacent suite was occupied by Amaryllis Dill. Her room was still as a tomb, but her name was beneath the yellow insignia on her door. I was about to investigate further when I heard someone on the stairs. Moving quickly, I returned to my post outside Marjorie’s door, and just in time. Brandy Westin barreled toward me like a bulldozer.
“I want a word with your employer.” Her voice carried authority. “I’ve been waiting, and I don’t like to wait. What are you doing out in the hall?”
“Doc Sawyer is on the way here. Mrs. Littlefield is very ill.”
“A doctor wouldn’t be necessary if she hadn’t acted like a fool.”
I didn’t like Brandy. Her features were pretty, a classic Joan Crawford look, but her expression was hard. I guessed her age to be early fifties, which meant she’d been twenty or younger when Sherry was born. I wondered where Mr. Westin went—or if there had ever been a Mr. Westin.
She walked around me like I was meat in a shop window. “It was a mistake to allow you and Mrs. Jones in here. You’ve encouraged an old woman in her eccentricities.”
I didn’t want this fight now, but I wasn’t backing down. “I’m sure Mrs. Littlefield will agree it was a mistake for all of us to come to Heart’s Desire. She should go home. Tinkie and I will be happy to pack her things after the doctor leaves. I believe he’ll take her to the hospital. Her blood pressure is off the charts.”
Something shifted in Brandy’s expression. “I don’t believe she’s ill enough to require hospitalization. We can keep her quiet here.”
My aim had been true. “As I said, my only concern is her welfare and comfort. If she wants us to leave, or if she wants to return home, which is my recommendation, I’ll make it happen. She was very upset.”
“She’s here to speak with her daughter. She won’t invest anything until she settles the matter. Sherry can’t help her if she’s going to disrupt—”
The doorbell stopped her. She rushed downstairs. Moments later, black bag in hand, Doc hurried up the steps. I drew my finger across my lips in the grade-school signal for silence, and he brushed past me as though we were strangers.
Tinkie joined me in the hallway while he examined Mrs. Littlefield. Brandy waited with us, casting killing glares as the minutes stretched into half an hour.
At last the door opened, and Doc Sawyer beckoned us inside. When Brandy tried to follow, he closed the door in her face. Doc drew us to a far corner of the room where he could speak—emphatically—and not upset his patient.
“What in tarnation are you two involved in now?” Doc’s white hair was even more unkempt than usual. A deep line between his eyebrows told me how worried he was. Doc had been the family physician for both the Delaneys and the Bellcases. He’d known me and Tinkie since we were born, and he’d tended both of us through some difficult and dangerous cases.
“We’re trying to take care of Mrs. Littlefield. We’re afraid for her life,” I said, which wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
“So you’re here, in this very strange establishment, pretending to be her personal maids?”
“Correct.” Tinkie put her hand on Doc’s arm. “We think the Westins are after her money.”
Doc waved the idea away. “It’s not her money I’m concerned about, it’s her life. Her blood pressure was 210 over 180. That’s far too high. I gave her something to calm her. She was babbling about the ghost of her daughter appearing during a séance.” He glared at me. “The child has been dead for years. What are you involved in, Sarah Booth? Marjorie is in no condition to be tortured, and frankly, I’m surprised you would play on the emotions of a desperate woman.”
“I agree with you. She needs to go home.”
“You all three need to clear out of here.”
I didn’t argue. “We’re trying to convince her to go home. That’s why we came, as her maids, to protect her. But she won’t budge. She’s convinced Sherry Westin c
an reconnect her with the spirit of her dead child.”
“Hogwash!” Doc’s hand chopped the air. “No wonder she’s in a state. And you two! In it up to your ears again. Honestly.” Doc was a little overprotective.
“I know you’re aggravated with us, but we need a favor. Can you deliver a message to Cece?”
“I’m not certain I should help you. If you get hurt—”
“We’re maids, not CIA operatives. No one will be hurt, but I need Cece to look up Roger Addleson and his wife, Shimmer, from West Virginia, and a woman named Amaryllis Dill. I don’t have any way to snap a photo, because they took our cell phones. Just ask Cece to do the best she can. I need their backgrounds.”
Doc went back to the chaise where Marjorie reclined and checked her blood pressure again. When he returned, he was relieved. “She’s relaxing, thank goodness. This situation smacks of trouble, Sarah Booth. They took your cell phones? You’re virtual prisoners in a house where the owners claim to speak with dead spirits.”
“We’re only keeping an eye on Marjorie.” Tinkie had a belligerent tone in her voice. “Doc, Oscar and Graf are already riding us. Please don’t. If we leave Marjorie here alone, I’m not sure what will happen to her. She’s depressed already and says she wants to die. The Westins may oblige, if they figure out how to get her money signed over to them.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his forehead. “Her health is fragile. She told me she didn’t want to live. This is a delicate predicament.”
“She feels guilty about Mariam’s death. Do you know anything about the circumstances?” I asked.
“I knew Marjorie when she was a very young woman. Vibrant, sensual—I hardly recognize her tonight. I’m sure you know the story of her marriage to Ramón Salazar. From all indications, it was a happy union. Marjorie embraced the city’s society, and her husband’s business boomed. Marjorie was always a woman people gravitated to. She loved parties and fun and entertainment. It hurts me to see her like this, an old woman broken by her losses.”
Bonefire of the Vanities Page 8
