Yikes! I didn’t have to. She walked toward me. There was a sense of occlusion, as if she were solid but not. When she glided, light shone through her.
“You want to use my name to sell your perfume, is that right, little strumpet?”
Shimmer almost swallowed her tongue. “Yes.”
Joséphine laughed. “You are a woman I admire. You have a dream and you’re willing to risk extreme measures to see it to fruition. You are like me.”
“Oh, madam!” Shimmer almost collapsed in a puddle of pleasure at the compliment. “I’ve studied you and tried to pattern myself after you. I—”
“Did you have a question for Empress Bonaparte?” Brandy interrupted. For a brief second, boredom seemed to touch her features.
“I, uh, I wanted to know—” Shimmer looked around the table as if a guest would prompt her. “I wanted to know your favorite scent!” She was triumphant.
“The delicate perfume of the narcissus, the flower you call the paperwhite, is perfect for morning. But for the evening, it must be heavier, more sensual. The gardenia is like a white stain in the night. Now I must be off. And if you call the perfume Joséphine’s Potion, it should be Joséphine’s Potion of Amour.”
“Oh, yes! Yes, that’s perfect.” Shimmer was all atwitter.
Joséphine was worse than Jitty. She was there and then she was gone. No chance for more questions. No chance for anyone to discern if the whole thing had been rigged.
Shimmer took a moment to regain her senses, and then she sprang from the chair. “Thank you! Thank you, Sherry. You did it! I have permission to use Joséphine’s name and I know which scent to use. This is everything I need. By this time next year, my cosmetic line will be in every major department store in the United States. Then the world!”
She broke free of the circle. “Come, Roger, we have to budget for two perfumes. One for morning and one for the night!”
Roger Addleson sat stunned, as if he couldn’t process what had happened. Slowly he rose to his feet. “Thank you,” he said to the room in general before he went after his wife.
“Well, I never!” Marjorie’s face clouded. “What about the rest of us? Perhaps we’d like a chance to hear from the spirit world. But no, Shimmer has what she needs, and now she’s gone.”
Sherry swayed in her chair. She planted her hands on the table and steadied herself. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted. Let us adjourn until tomorrow evening.”
“I need help,” Amaryllis spoke up first. It was one of the few times I’d heard her open her mouth. “I can’t stay here much longer, and I have to speak with … a departed person. I must. Before I make a fatal mistake.” She appealed to everyone at the table.
“And my daughter. What about Mariam?” Marjorie said, indignant. “I must contact her. You can’t stop now. I’ve been here days and you haven’t brought Mariam to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Sherry said. “Connecting with the spirits drains me. If I don’t have enough energy, I can’t help them come through.”
“I’ve paid a pretty penny to be here to speak with Mariam.” There was iron in Marjorie’s tone.
“And you will speak with your daughter,” Brandy intervened in a soft, conciliatory voice. “Of course you’ll speak with her. But not tonight. Sherry is exhausted. This takes a toll on her. You have no idea how it pulls the life force from her to bridge the gap between the worlds. You must allow her to recuperate.”
I thought Marjorie would resist, but she settled against the back of her chair. “Where is my son, Chasley?” Marjorie asked. “Why wasn’t he invited?”
“I asked him to join us. He said he wouldn’t participate,” Sherry answered. “He said you were crazy to do this and he refused to get involved.”
Uh-oh. He was probably watching, putting together information for his case against his mother. I didn’t doubt, given the least opportunity, he would question her sanity in court if he thought he could get control of her billions.
“Please! Try to see if Mariam will visit with us,” Marjorie said. The starch had gone out of her. She was a woman in her sixties who looked it. “I implore you. Try.”
Brandy whispered to Sherry, who finally spoke. “I will make one more attempt to contact a spirit. I don’t know who will come through. As weak as I am, I can only cast out a plea and see who responds.” Sherry held out her hands as she talked. She indicated Tinkie and me. “Come and join us. Complete the circle.”
Tinkie jumped at the chance. She was at the table in a flash and reaching for Brandy’s hand on one side and mine on the other. Everyone looked at me. I didn’t really want to do this. I liked my position standing against the wall.
“Miss Booth?” Brandy would have snapped her fingers if Tinkie hadn’t been holding her hand.
I slid into a chair and allowed my hands to be captured.
“Close your eyes and concentrate your energy,” Sherry said. She did sound tired. I disobeyed and watched the expressions of everyone. They all looked sincerely focused on the task at hand. At last I yielded to Sherry’s hypnotic voice and my eyelids drifted shut.
Sherry took me to the wooden door again. I pushed it open and stepped through. A numbing cold crept over my body. I knew without looking an entity was behind me, and it wasn’t the bossy Joséphine or the super-bossy Jitty.
I opened my eyes to find everyone else at the table completely unaware of the spirit’s presence. I shifted to check behind me and Tinkie pinched my hand hard. One day I was going to whop her upside the head for doing that. I was contemplating the satisfying sound a whack would make when I saw movement in the far corner of the room. When I saw the female, I lost all thoughts of punishing Tinkie.
The spirit stood in the shadows, a woman a bit shorter than me with thick black hair styled as if she cut it herself. She was fit, and the black dress she wore hugged her curves. She stepped away from the wall and moved—sort of floated—toward Tinkie. I didn’t have a clue who she was or what she wanted.
Sherry had dragged in a stray spirit and this one had a big interest in my partner.
Even stranger was that no one else sensed her. Sherry continued with her calm, mesmerizing tone, lulling everyone at the table into a trancelike state. Only I watched the approach of the entity. I let out a breath and the air crystallized with frost. Holy cow, this was the real deal.
I tried to communicate with her mentally, but she had no interest in me at all. She studied Tinkie as if she were a rare art object. At one point, I thought she might touch my partner, but she stopped, her hand hovering over Tink’s shoulder, and she floated over to Marjorie Littlefield, who sat with her eyes closed and her face upturned as if in prayer. What was everyone at the table doing that they didn’t feel the cold in the room or sense the spirit inches from them?
My first thought was to intervene, but the ghost couldn’t hurt a human. Spirits might scare a person into a coronary, but physically they had no power. At least Jitty didn’t. But enough was enough. As I pushed back my chair, the ghost spoke.
“We share some things in common, Sarah Booth.”
“Who are you?” I asked mentally. Better yet, why did she know my name?
“A colleague.”
“What do you want? Why can’t they see you? Or hear you?” I stared hard. I knew this woman, but she wasn’t a ghost; she was a character in a series of mystery novels. Smart, tough Kinsey Millhone and clad in the world-famous, indestructible black dress. “You’re PI Millhone.”
“You’ve got me pegged.” She was pleased. “You’re smarter than you seem.”
“Thanks. But you’re not a ghost. You’re a fictional character.”
“A technicality. I’m here for you. I’ve got my own cases to work, but I heard in the Great Beyond you were headed for real trouble.”
That sounded ominous. And it also sounded like—“Jitty!”
She stepped closer to the candles on the table and I saw the curve of her cheek and the beautiful mocha skin. “You’re a little slow on the upt
ake, Sarah Booth.”
All around the table, eyes were closed as Sherry continued her hypnotic spiel. “Did you really hear I was headed for trouble?”
She tilted her head, thinking. “Details are not available. You believe me, though, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I have certain … advantages in this case.”
Jitty wasn’t one to breach the confidentiality of the Great Beyond, but I had to try for some answers. “You can talk to Mariam, can’t you?”
She hesitated. “You know the answer in your heart. Even if I could, I can’t relay information to you.” She walked around the table to stand beside me. “You’re smart, Sarah Booth. And observant. You’re a good private dick. Everything you need to know is right in front of you.”
With that, she was gone.
Sherry was still speaking, entreating Mariam to connect with her mother. Tinkie’s eyes were closed, and there was a frown of concentration on her face. Amaryllis Dill was biting her bottom lip, and the two country music songwriters opened their eyes and surveyed the room. I realized that Brandy, too, had opened her peepers. She was about to speak when a bloodcurdling scream echoed from upstairs.
“What the hell?” Brandy broke the circle and knocked over her chair.
“My goodness.” Marjorie slumped, leaning on the table for support. “What was that?”
The scream came again, this time followed by a curse. “You black son of Satan. I will squeeze the life out of you!”
“Chasley!” Marjorie lurched up from the table.
Tinkie and I were already running toward the staircase. We made it to the second-floor landing, and it took only one glance to ascertain the source of his pain and suffering.
Pluto sat at the top of the stairs. The door to Marjorie’s room was wide open. Chasley was on his stomach, and a long red streak of blood slashed across the whiteness of the back of his shirt.
“Call the pound. That beast jumped from the transom onto my back and injured me,” Chasley said. “I told Mother he was dangerous.”
Pluto calmly turned and walked toward Chasley, who scrabbled backwards on his stomach as if the hound of the Baskervilles was after him. I couldn’t help it; I laughed. Chasley reminded me of a really awful Harold Lloyd slapstick comedy. “If this were a silent film, you’d be ingenious. Now you’re just sort of … pathetic.”
Chasley’s expression was indignant. “The cat is rabid. I assure you, he will be impounded and his head cut off and sent to the state lab for a rabies test.”
“You suffer from a real fondness for the visceral,” I noted with a heap of sarcasm.
“You won’t touch a hair on Pluto’s head.” Tinkie scooped the big kitty up in her arms. She started to give him to Marjorie, but the cat hissed and jumped free. For a fat black puss, he ran like greased lightning. In three seconds, he ducked under the bed, his little nails scrabbling a moment as his gut hung.
Tinkie radiated fury. “You’ve terrorized the cat.” She rounded on Marjorie’s son. “You’re a bully and an ass.” She went into the suite and slammed the door.
“The cat is crow bait.” Chasley sought majesty but fell short and landed in lame-threat territory.
“Pluto isn’t going anywhere, but I can’t say the same for you,” I told him quietly. “What were you doing in Marjorie’s room? The cat was shut inside. Had you not attempted to enter the suite uninvited, you wouldn’t be hurt. Any accusations filed against Pluto will result in charges of trespassing and breaking and entering against you.” How could someone so damn handsome be so mean?
“Heed her, Chasley,” Marjorie said. She looked flushed, as if her blood pressure had skyrocketed out of control. “Can’t you simply leave me alone? I only want to speak with Mariam. I want to settle things with her. Then I can die in peace. Why can’t you let me have that cold comfort?”
“Drama queen,” Chasley hurled. “If you aren’t the star of your own melodrama, you aren’t happy. Your cat attacked me and I’m sure I’ll require plastic surgery. Perhaps you’ll refer me to the man who does all your work.”
“I know we’ve never been close, but why do you hate me so much?” Marjorie asked.
“You never loved me, Mother. And you rubbed my nose in the fact. Even when Mariam was alive, you never had a moment for me. After she died, you couldn’t bear to be in the same room with me. I was only fifteen. I was a child.”
“You were much more than a child, Chasley. You were a—”
Brandy planted herself between them. “Chasley, take yourself down to the kitchen and let me put some antibiotic salve on those scratches.” She offered Chasley a hand, and as she did, her foot dislodged a digital recorder from beneath him. It landed at my feet, and I picked it up.
“That’s mine!” Chasley sprang to his feet, not wounded nearly so much as he’d pretended. “Give it back to me.”
“After I hear what you were recording.” I whipped it behind my back.
“Mother!” He implored Marjorie. “Make her give it to me. I need it.” He gritted his teeth. “I really need it.”
To my confusion, Marjorie reached out her hand for the recorder. “I’ll take that. I’m too upset for this kind of argument.”
I hesitated. At last, though, I gave it to her. We’d listen to it in the privacy of her room, which might be a better plan.
Chasley leaned into my face. “This is not the end of this. I will have that creature destroyed. Mark my words. Tomorrow, animal control will be here and that abomination will be taken and put down.”
“You will do no such thing.” Marjorie’s voice was carefully controlled. “I can’t take any more emotional strife. This has been an exhausting day. I’m not feeling well. I want to lie down.”
Brandy offered her arm and assisted Marjorie into the room. The other guests departed. I was left alone in the hallway with Chasley.
“I’m on to you,” I told him. “Before this is over, it’s highly probable you’ll be investigated for the death of your sister. For Marjorie’s sake, I hope there’s no proof you played a role in Mariam’s drowning, but if there is one iota of evidence, I will find it, and you’ll be sorry of the day you were born.”
“There is no proof, because I didn’t do a damn thing. I’ve lived with the rumors and innuendos my entire life.” He was angry, but there was another emotion present. Hurt. “I hope Mariam shows up. She’ll tell Mother I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. I turned my back on my sister for five minutes while I went behind a cargo container to smoke a cigarette. That’s my sin. Neglect. I was a child, not a murderer.”
For the first time, I felt what it might be like to have spent thirty years with the taint of a crime everywhere I turned. If Chasley was innocent of his sister’s death, his life had been more hellish than Marjorie’s.
“You should tell Marjorie this, not me.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? I even came here, to this house of insane schemes and undead spirits, to try one last time. Mother won’t meet with me.”
“It doesn’t help that you keep threatening her cat.”
“She loves him more than she ever loved me. I’m bitter. I can be an ass.” He turned so that I saw only his handsome profile. “I would give anything for my mother to call my name one time and smile. I’ve watched her. When you or the other maid enters a room, she’s glad you’re there. I step in and she has only contempt.”
“Tinkie and I are only here to help Marjorie.”
“She prefers the company of two maids to that of her own son. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“This isn’t completely her fault. You—”
“Act like a cruel bastard?”
“Yes.” It was fish or cut bait as far as I was concerned. I could sympathize with Chasley, up to a point. He was responsible for a lot of his own woes.
“I do lash out. I know it doesn’t help my cause, but I’m frustrated.”
“Talk to your mother.” I had no helpful advice. “Before this goes any f
urther.”
“I’ve tried, Miss Booth. Oh, I’ve tried. I feel my only recourse will be in the courts.”
“We’ll see about that.” I entered Marjorie’s suite and witnessed a scene from a Vincent Price movie. Pluto was on the chaise, arched like a Halloween cat. The sound he made would have sent zombies shambling in the opposite direction. He was seriously disturbed.
“What’s wrong with the cat?”
“Marjorie tried to pick him up and he went bonkers.” Tinkie warily approached the feline, who glared and growled.
“Chasley must have done something to Pluto,” Marjorie said. “He’s never behaved like this to me. Pluto loves me. What if he’s hurt? What if Chasley abused him?”
Tinkie’s slow approach worked. Pluto calmed down, and she gently stroked his fur. In a moment she had him on her lap. As she petted him and whispered endearments, she checked for any sore places or injuries.
“I think he’s okay,” she said at last.
Instead of relief, Marjorie’s face showed alarm. “Then why is he acting like he’s lost his mind?”
“He’s confused and upset,” I offered. “Cats are territorial. They bond with their environment, often more than people. Think about it. Pluto has been living at home, then at Madam Tomeeka’s, and now here. I’m sure he’s feeling insecure. It’s possible Chasley did god knows what to him, but Pluto will settle down.”
Long ago I’d worked a case involving Zinnia’s literary genius, Lawrence Ambrose. A great cat lover, Lawrence had shared basic tips in taming the savage feline beast.
Marjorie pressed a tissue to her nose. “Maybe it’s a sign I should give up.” She sort of melted into a chair. “I can’t go on. I want you both to leave tonight. I’m done here. Mariam won’t come to me, my cat hates me. It’s time to abandon this vale of tears.”
“Nonsense.” Tinkie eased toward her with the cat in her arms. I saw what she meant to do and couldn’t react in time to stop it. She put Pluto in Marjorie’s lap. The cat perched for a moment and then hissed and hopped down.
Bonefire of the Vanities Page 19
