Whispers Beyond the Veil

by Jessica Estevao

  I ascended the stairs and made my way along the back hall past the family portrait gallery. Perhaps if I ever got to the bottom of this problem, I might have my picture added to the collection. But first, I needed to get Honoria back to her proper place in the hotel.

  I raced to Madame Fidelia’s room and after receiving no answer to my knock, fitted the correct key into the lock. I glanced around, then stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I moved to the gleaming wooden vanity whose drawers seemed a perfect place to store something as delicate as a crystal ball. Apparently Madame Fidelia did not agree. All the drawers yielded were lacy, monogrammed handkerchiefs and a collection of gloves and a sewing kit complete with a thimble and a tiny pair of scissors. Vexed, I opened a trinket box. Inside were three burnt match ends.

  I hurried to the wardrobe, daunted by the memory of the enormous pile of trunks accompanying her arrival. I flung open the doors and to my surprise found few gowns adorning the bar. They were, however, unusually bulky for summer use. I ran my hands over one garment, giving it a closer inspection. I lifted the hem of a drab black affair and below it spotted a rose silk gown. Checking each costume I discovered at least one and sometimes two other gowns secreted beneath.

  Hatboxes perched on the shelf above the clothes pole. I slid them out one after the next and found nothing of interest inside the first two. As I pulled out the third I heard a clunking sound as something heavy landed with a thud against the shelf. I reached up on my tiptoes and saw a black bound book that must have been wedged in behind the box.

  It looked familiar, and when I opened it I realized why. It was the pocket sketchbook Mr. Ayers had at the ready at all times. I snapped it open, searching for any pages covered with the scene of Johnny’s death. I felt weak with relief as I realized there were none. As I leafed through the book looking for any other damaging drawings, I recognized guests and staff from the hotel, the Sea Spray ballroom, the unfinished pier. Mr. Ayers indeed had a good eye.

  I turned the page and slowly moved my eyes over it. At first glance I noticed only a sea of strangers. As I looked more closely I recognized two familiar faces. Sanford Dobbins stood near the edge of the sketch. But he was not alone. Right next to him, with her arm linked in his, was the woman I had encountered at the bathhouse.

  • • •

  I raced around the hotel looking for Cecelia. When I found her in the ladies’ writing room she was less enthusiastic about my idea than I would have hoped.

  “I thought you’d be happy to help Honoria,” I said. “If she doesn’t return the hotel will close.”

  “And I thought I had your assurance my past would stay in the past,” Cecelia said. “This would bring it all to light.”

  “Not necessarily. Everett and the other staff members needn’t know. If you are discovered, it won’t work anyway.”

  “But what about the policeman?” Cecelia asked. “Can he be relied on to keep quiet?”

  “I’m convinced he’s a man who knows how to keep secrets. Besides, he needn’t know that you are the expert. He already thinks very little of me. It won’t be a stretch to allow him to believe you are simply helping me and that I am the one who’s the expert on fraud.”

  “If you believe he thinks very little of you, you aren’t the psychic you’re reputed to be,” Cecelia said. “If you promise to allow everyone to believe I am simply helping I’ll do it. But we will need a few supplies.”

  “May I leave that in your capable hands while I take care of one other detail?”

  “What would that be?”

  “Inviting the guests.”

  • • •

  Yancey looked up as the door flung open and Miss Proulx, with flushed cheeks and a spring in her step, launched into the station. Something about her arrival made him check his tie for spots and tuck in his shirt.

  “I have proof of who killed Stickney and Ayers,” she said. “Here.” Miss Proulx held out a black book. Yancey took it from her hand and opened it. Inside were pencil drawings of faces, none of which he recognized. “I marked the relevant pages.” She pointed to a scrap of paper serving as a bookmark. Yancey turned to it and saw exactly what she meant.

  “This is interesting but it raises more questions than answers. How do you expect these drawings to help Honoria?”

  “I don’t. I had hoped they would pique your curiosity sufficiently to convince you to help me to gain the rest of the proof.” Miss Proulx smiled at him and he felt himself working to keep from smiling back. “If we combine our areas of expertise I’ve no doubt the truth of this matter will out.”

  “I’m not sure your area of expertise is something a court would be inclined to accept. Are you planning to go on the witness stand and channel the spirits of the victims? I doubt very much a judge will go for that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t need to gain the confidence of a court,” Miss Proulx said. “I think it would be much more effective to preach to the choir. And to answer your question, channeling the victims was exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Of course, I should have thought of that before.” Yancey knew he sounded snide but it beggared belief to think she could actually be making such a ridiculous suggestion. “Why spend all this time running around questioning suspects and collecting evidence when all you had to do was ask who murdered them?”

  “I can’t just ask who murdered them. It doesn’t work that way.” Miss Proulx patted his hand like he was an old man in need of soothing. She really was the most difficult woman he had ever met. Besides Honoria. “But the sitters don’t need to know that.”

  “You want to run a fake séance?”

  “Why not? According to you I have plenty of experience with such things. It’s the perfect way to get the information from true believers. I just need you to listen in the wings.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, there is one more thing.” She smiled sweetly and batted her long eyelashes. “Do you think you can persuade a couple of your officers to dress up like ghosts?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  When I told her I had been advised by my guides that an urgent message from her husband was forthcoming, Permilia readily agreed to a sitting. At my urging she convinced Sanford, the Velmonts, and Madame Fidelia to join her. In fact, she was so eager I worried we would not have time to prepare.

  Fortunately, Millie was joining the séance, too, and had arrived early to help me set up. The darkened séance room was lit only by a single, flickering candle in the center of the table. I cast a final glance around the room as the sitters pushed through the portiere.

  “Please take your seats and join hands,” I said. “The room clamors with restless spirits.” Permilia seated herself at my right and Dovie took the left. The others filled in the remaining seats.

  A feeling of expectation permeated the room. All around me the sitters fidgeted in their seats. Their obvious agitation increased my own nervousness. This was no ordinary con. There was so much at stake. And much of the success would depend on Officer Yancey and the part he needed to play. He was hardly the sort of partner I would have chosen for such an endeavor under normal circumstances.

  Prepared or not, it was time to give it my best try. I lowered my eyelids until they appeared closed and began to sway slightly back and forth. Permilia gripped my hand as a shroud-wrapped figure approached from the shadows. It raised one hand toward the sitters and the other to the back of its head. Mrs. Stickney gave a squeak and Mr. Dobbins gasped.

  From the other side of the room a second, slimmer figure drifted toward the table. It staggered and lurched before raising both hands to its throat.

  “I feel the unquiet spirits of Mr. Stickney and Mr. Ayers at hand.” I paused and my face slowly moved from one figure to the other. “Have you come to expose those responsible for your deaths?” Mrs. Stickney squeezed my hand even tighter as the specters slowly nodded.<
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  “Was it a pickpocket, Leander?” Permilia asked.

  “He says the guilty parties are known to us all,” I said.

  “Who was it who left me a widow?” But as soon as she asked the figure directly, it faded back out of sight.

  Dovie sniffed deeply. “I smell flowers,” she said. An overpowering scent of roses and lavender filled the air as a shower of petals cascaded onto the table from above. “An apportment. What does it mean?”

  “The spirits are trying to speak but I sense conflict in the room,” I said. “Someone here does not want the truth known.” The figures came back into view and both pointed at Mr. Dobbins.

  “They can’t mean me. Why would I harm either of them?” With that, a handkerchief monogrammed and trimmed with delicate lace landed in the middle of the table atop the flower petals and scattered blooms. Elva tugged a hand free and picked it up.

  “Who is FLR?” Permilia asked.

  “Flora Louise Roberts,” Elva said. She waved the handkerchief at Dovie. “We helped Mr. Dobbins choose this for her before their engagement was broken.”

  “Surely, it is not the same one,” Mr. Dobbins said.

  “What engagement?” Permilia asked. “Sanford, were you engaged to Miss Roberts?” She looked at her nephew, who simply swallowed hard and said nothing.

  “Mr. Stickney says he knew of their secret engagement. He also says the handkerchief belongs to Miss Roberts and it points to her guilt,” I said.

  “But Flora isn’t here. How could she have harmed Leander?” Permilia asked.

  I withdrew my hands and raised them swiftly toward the ceiling. I heard a sharp intake of breath and then a dark wig drifted in from the shadows and hovered right in front of Permilia. I reached for it and dangled it in front of Mr. Dobbins’s face. “She’s been here all along.” I pointed across the table to the empty seat Madame Fidelia had just vacated.

  The portiere parted and Officer Yancey loomed into view, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Have the spirits left us, Miss Proulx?” Officer Yancey asked. I nodded. “Then if you would be so good as to let in some light I think we have some questions in this world for Madame Fidelia.”

  “I’ll just open the curtains then, shall I?” I asked in a loud voice but I made no effort to hurry. I waited until the drapes had stopped flapping and I was sure my ghostly helpers had made it through the French doors and offstage.

  “That’s Flora Roberts,” Elva said, pointing to a young, blond woman whom Officer Yancey held firmly by the arm.

  “It certainly is,” Dovie said. “What are you doing here, my dear?”

  “None of this would have happened if your husband wasn’t such a disgusting old man,” Flora said to Permilia.

  “What is she talking about?” Permilia turned to Sanford and all the starch went right out of his spine.

  “Your husband had a habit of pressuring mediums who wanted to avoid exposure to provide him with their favors,” I said. “Instead of giving in to his demands, Flora disappeared from Boston.”

  “Mr. Dobbins said she left because he broke off their engagement after his uncle accused her of fraud,” Dovie said.

  “He thought that was what happened but Flora wasn’t going to give up a wealthy husband so easily. She posed as Madame Fidelia in order to keep an eye on Mr. Dobbins.”

  “But why did she kill Mr. Stickney?” Elva asked.

  “Mr. Dobbins went to Madame Fidelia for a reading after his uncle told him he had decided to dismiss him from his employ. After hearing his financial prospects were endangered Flora determined to fix the problem. She contacted Mr. Stickney and said she’d reconsidered his proposition. She arranged a meeting at the pier, where she struck him with an iron bar, then tried to make it look like a pickpocketing gone wrong,” I said.

  “Sanford wouldn’t kill his uncle over a job. He has a trust fund,” Permilia said.

  “Mr. Stickney threatened to raid the trust if Sanford didn’t go away quietly,” I said.

  “You have no proof that Sanford’s uncle threatened to dismiss him. The word of a newly minted medium is hardly about to stand up in court.” Flora’s eyes blazed as she spoke.

  “I don’t believe any of this,” Permilia said. “Sanford would never kill my husband.”

  “He didn’t kill him. He didn’t even know Madame Fidelia was actually Flora until after the murder. Perhaps she panicked or just wanted to confide in someone but she let him in on her secret. They were certain the police could make no connection between Madame Fidelia and Mr. Stickney so they kept up the charade, at least for the time being.”

  “But what about Mr. Ayers?”

  “I was led by the spirit of Mr. Ayers to his sketchbook hidden in Madame Fidelia’s room and containing drawings of her as both women.” I pulled the sketchbook from my lap and held it open to the relevant page. “As an artist, he had a trained eye. He noticed the similarities between Madame Fidelia and the young woman he saw in Mr. Dobbins’s company on a few occasions.” I pointed to sketch after sketch showing the same woman dressed in two very different sorts of clothing.

  “He may have had artistic talent but being a successful blackmailer was his true calling. At least if the price written at the bottom of his sketches of you was any indication.” Officer Yancey took up the story. “So how did he approach you? Was it during one of the sessions with Madame Fidelia?”

  Flora and Sanford exchanged a look. She held herself erect, her lips pursed and her shoulders back. She gave her fiancé a slight warning shake of the head. It was time to make sure Sanford was more afraid of the dead than he was of the living.

  “Your uncle is with us once more. He says to tell you he regrets the example he set for you and hopes you will show yourself to be a better man than he,” I said. “That unlike him you would do the right thing when it is hard instead of the wrong thing whenever it was easy.”

  Mr. Dobbins started to shake. He turned to Flora. “I told you my uncle would come through from the other side. That we would never be rid of his presence.”

  “Keep quiet, Sanford.” If Officer Yancey hadn’t been holding on to Flora’s arm I think she would have lunged at me in an entirely unladylike fashion. “She’s just trying to trick you into confessing.”

  “Your uncle says he regrets his remarks about your gullibility and that you were right about Madame Gustav. He did plant evidence in her apartments and then point the police in her direction.”

  “I knew it.” Sanford’s eyes glowed with triumph. “I told him my belief in her abilities was not fair grounds for his insistence on dismissing me. I’m not so easy to fool as he thought.”

  “I’m sorry to say it, young man, but I’m afraid you just foolishly admitted you had reason for your fiancée to kill Mr. Stickney and for you to then kill Mr. Ayers in her defense,” Elva said. Sanford’s Adam’s apple bobbed and a deep flush suffused his face.

  “Sanford’s job loss and an anonymous sketchbook are hardly enough to prove either of us killed anyone,” Flora said.

  “There is a bit more we can rely on in court,” Yancey said. “An employee at the Sea Spray bathhouse testified that she regularly removed a dark wig from one of the changing room baskets. She also mentioned there were never any wet bathing costumes from that same booth. When we showed her the sketchbook the locker room attendant confirmed seeing you enter and exit a booth dressed as two different women.”

  “There’s nothing to say Sanford knew Flora was here,” Permilia said.

  “Actually, there is. We also have proof that after Madame Fidelia used the bathhouse to change into Flora she met you in town.” Yancey held up the photograph taken near the train station, showing the two of them together. “Frank, Lewis, we’re ready for you.”

  The two officers appeared at the door and took charge of Flora and Mr. Dobbins. The Velmonts each took one of her arms an
d helped the weeping Mrs. Stickney out of the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  And then I found myself alone with Officer Yancey.

  “That was quite a performance. I think you would have stood a good chance of pulling one over on Mr. Stickney if he had lived to book an appointment.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “It is. I’ve met a lot of criminals but I’ve never used one to catch another.”

  “One incident of embellishment hardly makes me a criminal.”

  “Embellishment? Is that what you’d call it?”

  “Considering I’m in the presence of a policeman, you can hardly blame me for putting a bit of a shine on an ugly truth.”

  “There was nothing ugly about the way you set out to help Honoria and the hotel.”

  “What else could I do?” I felt my chest constrict. “She put her reputation and even her life in danger to try to protect me.”

  Officer Yancey reached out and gently touched the back of my hand. “For a young lady like you, Miss Proulx,” he said, leaning daringly close, “I can see how someone could be quite tempted to take such a chance.”

  I admit I have found myself in many an awkward position with the police in the course of my travels with the medicine show. I had even been on the receiving end of overtly flirtatious, even bawdy, remarks from them from time to time. But I had never before found myself on the receiving end of a policeman’s sincere regard.

  As a matter of fact, excepting Johnny, I had never attracted the wholesome notice of any eligible young man. Both patrons and fellow show workers alike saw girls who worked the medicine show as sport. Long ago I had learned to ignore the leering, to dodge most of the groping. What I hadn’t mastered was the art of accepting honorable intentions. I felt flushed, flustered, and completely out of my depth. Making light of the situation was the only way to keep myself from stammering.