by Joanne Pence
“I’ll take a look,” Rebecca told him. “It’s your job to make sure everyone stays put.”
Sandy’s mouth dropped open, but then he nodded. “Will do.”
“Stays put?” Donald asked, moving towards Rebecca. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer, but went into the bathroom. There were three stalls. Candace was on the floor, the door to her stall still fastened shut.
Rebecca used her small lock set to open it. The woman looked like she had suffered convulsions and vomiting, but there were no signs of a physical attack.
Rebecca called Homicide and the Crime Scene Unit. As she returned to the main room, she showed her badge as she explained what was happening.
Before long, her phone buzzed. Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith and his partner, Toshiro “Yosh” Yoshiwara, were on call that night. “Rebecca,” Paavo said. “Dispatch told me you’re at the crime scene. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. It could be natural causes—a violent heart attack, perhaps, but I just don’t know.”
“We’ve got an active murder scene going,” he said. “It’ll be an hour before we can get away. Are you in a position to handle the case?”
“’Fraid not. It’s a ... a get-together, and I was invited here. So, I could be considered as much of a suspect as anyone else in the room.”
“Got it. A couple uniforms are on their way to secure the crime scene. Any danger in waiting for us to get there?”
She looked over the mostly geriatric group. “I don’t think so.”
Just then, Lucian led the uniformed police into the room and Rebecca ended the call to talk to them.
She began writing down everyone’s name, address, and phone number, as well as checking their I.D.s. Even though she was theoretically a suspect, she knew it had to be done, and she was saving time taking care of it herself.
Evelyn Ramirez, the medical examiner, had been at the murder scene with Paavo and Yosh, so she didn’t arrive at Sandy’s offices until shortly before the homicide inspectors did. All were already pretty worn out from working the earlier crime scene. They gave no details, but it sounded ugly and bloody.
Paavo and Yosh talked to Sandy and others in the meeting room while Ramirez checked over the body. When the two inspectors and Rebecca went to see how Ramirez was doing, she wearily rose to her feet.
“Everything is consistent with a heart attack,” the M.E. said as she peeled off her latex gloves. “I’ll look her over again back at the morgue, but short of doing a full autopsy, I’d say that’s what we’ve got. Given her age, and all, unless your investigations point to something more, I think ‘natural causes’ is a very safe conclusion.”
Paavo faced Rebecca, waiting for her reaction. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. Paavo was, she readily admitted, her favorite fellow inspector. Smart, tough, and very good-looking, he was a cop’s cop. Plus, when she was new in homicide, he showed her how to be good at her job in the real world—something much more valuable than months of classroom or theoretical training could ever be. That she, romantically speaking, never had a chance with him from the time he first met Richie Amalfi’s cousin, Angie, was one of the bane’s of Rebecca’s love life.
She drew in her breath. “I haven’t heard anything that would make me think there’s foul play going on,” she admitted. But even as she said it, something niggled at her.
“But?” Yosh asked. He was Japanese-American, large, burly, and as boisterous and jolly as Paavo was quiet and serious. “Come on, Rebecca. We can all tell something’s got your dander up. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Might it have to do with séances?” Yosh didn’t bother to hide his grin. “What’s going on here, Mayfield? You going to start looking into crystal balls to solve your cases?”
She grimaced. “Funny. I was invited here, that’s all.”
“Ah. I see,” Yosh said. “Actually, I don’t. What are you up to?”
“Nothing! It’s late. You guys are tired, and so am I. I think the CSI should check a couple of things, though.”
“Check for what?” Yosh asked. “Is this a crime scene or not? I say we continue to talk to the people out there, and if nothing seems off, we wrap it up. If something more is apparent, we get CSI involved. Until then, they’ve got a lot going on tonight.”
She faced Paavo.
“Yosh is right, Rebecca,” Paavo said. “We’ll cordon this off as a crime scene until we’re sure what we’ve got going. But you do look like something’s troubling you.”
“It’s a good plan,” she admitted. “I’ll leave the questioning to you guys.”
“And we’ll question you as well,” Yosh said. “I can’t wait to find out, officially, why you’re at a séance.” With that, he let out one of his big belly laughs.
Rebecca couldn’t help but cringe.
o0o
The next morning, even though it was Saturday and Rebecca was off duty, she went to Homicide.
It was about 3 a.m. before she got home last night, but even then, she couldn’t sleep.
Her mind kept going over similarities between Candace’s death and that of Neda Fourman and the women Richie told her about. And she kept remembering how pleasant and full of life Candace had been.
Of course, sudden, natural deaths happened all the time. But still…
Rebecca knew she couldn’t enjoy her weekend with this death preying on her mind. That was the reason for showing up at work that morning.
She no sooner sat down at her desk than her boss, Lt. Eastwood, arrived. He was never there on Saturdays. He stopped in front of her. “I thought you’d be here,” he said. “I came in to hear, first hand, why you were at last night’s murder scene. A séance? Really? Let’s go into my office.”
She sat across from his desk feeling like a naughty child facing the principal. She explained that she was at the séance only because a friend had asked her to attend.
“That’s a relief,” Eastwood said. “I somehow can’t see you as a séance goer. I’m not sure that would be such a good activity for a homicide inspector in any case.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She knew he’d been skeptical of her ever since her little run-in with the Russian mob. Not to mention her apparently never-ending association with Richie.
She went on to explain that by the time Paavo, Yosh, and the M.E. had finished questioning Sandy and the séance participants the night before, they had pretty much concluded that Candace Carter had died of natural causes. But Rebecca was aware of other similar deaths surrounding followers of Sandor Geller. As such, she wanted to pursue the case a bit further. She didn’t want to be thought of as stepping on anyone’s toes, however.
“How were you made aware of those other deaths?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure how to answer. “From a confidential informant, sir. That information was, in fact, the reason I was at the séance.”
He frowned at her, but didn’t demand she give up her source. “Are you sure you trust this ‘informant’ enough to get involved?”
“What if he’s right? I’ve had good tips before.”
Eastwood thought a moment, and then told her that if she truly believed something there was worth investigating, he wouldn’t forbid it. But it was off the books, on her own, and he would authorize no overtime unless some clear sign of foul play turned up. He also didn’t want Sutter to help.
She wondered if he honestly thought that last point would matter in the least. Sutter’s on-the-job retirement made him a hindrance more than anything.
Back at her desk, she called up everything she could find about both Candace and Neda, including looking into Kenneth Neary, whose “ghost” had come to Neda Fourman when she took part in Geller’s séances. From all she could learn about the man, he’d been married twice, and his last marriage was a strong one. There was no indication of him ever having anything to do with Neda.
Rebecca debated talking to his widow, but couldn’t imagine that
leading anywhere useful for either of them.
She then looked into Candace Carter.
She called the mortuary and asked if anyone had inquired about Candace, and was given the name of a woman who had referred to herself as a friend. Rebecca phoned the woman, Mary Rodriguez, and said she would like to visit her shortly with a few questions about Candace.
Rebecca was just about to leave Homicide, when who should walk in but Richie.
Rebecca found she was actually glad to see him. He’d been on her mind a lot since Thursday’s strange FBI visit. Now that she’d been told something about his ‘work,’ she had questions. Lots of questions.
“How are you doing, Inspector?” he asked.
She was surprised at his formality. “Fine. I was hoping to talk to you.”
“About Sandy Geller, I guess,” he said as he sat down in the guest chair beside her desk. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, I hear.”
Her brows lifted. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“Word gets around.”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve been spending time to find out what he’s been up to.”
“Until late at night?”
What’s going on with him? She cocked her head. “Are you having me watched?”
He raised his hands, palms up. “I’m innocent. I know nothing but what I hear.”
Tempting as it was to needle him, she said, “If you heard about last night, you’d know one of his clients died after attending a séance.”
His eyes widened at the news. “You’re shitting me. Was it an old lady?”
“She was getting up there, but seemed remarkably healthy … until she wasn’t. Her body is in the morgue in case we want an autopsy done. I just need a reason.”
“Christ! It doesn’t seem to be healthy to have anything to do with Geller. Hope you’re being careful around him.”
“Of course, but he doesn’t seem—”
“He’s an actor. He makes his living being not what he seems.”
She hated to admit it, but he had a point. “You may be right. Anyway, I’m going to visit a couple of the deceased woman’s friends. See what they can tell me about her.”
“Mind if I come along?”
“Yes, I mind. You have no business coming with me on a case.”
“Oh. So, this is a case now, is it?”
He had her there. “Maybe not yet.”
An eyebrow rose at her admission. “Look, I know more about this situation than anyone. Plus, I’ve learned some new stuff about Geller from Shay.”
“What stuff?”
He simply stared at her with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
She grimaced because she knew that unless he came along, he wouldn’t be telling her much about what he and Shay were finding out. In fact, he might decide to check out Sandy on his own, which could cause all kinds of complications. She could be doing herself, Homicide, maybe even the entire city, a favor by keeping him near her. Or so she hoped.
“Okay, Richie. You can join me as long as you promise not to say a word. You’re there to observe only.”
“Whatever you want, Inspector,” he said. “Your wish is my command.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute.
o0o
Mary Rodriguez lived in the flat above Candace’s. When the landlord was informed of Candace’s death, he had immediately told Mary since the two women had been close at one time. Mary had also invited their mutual friend, Jean Hu, to come to her home to be with her when the police arrived and to possibly offer insights of her own.
Rebecca introduced herself, showing her badge. She then introduced Richie as her associate and noticed that the two women didn’t bat an eye, but simply accepted his presence.
Mary invited them into the cozy living room, and they sat.
“Have you known Candace very long?” Rebecca asked.
“Oh, yes,” Mary said. Jean nodded in agreement. “For years, we weren’t only neighbors, but we went to the same Unitarian Church as Candace and her sister, Pearl.”
“I see,” Rebecca said.
“Candace stopped attending after Pearl died. We’ve seen less and less of her ever since.”
“When was that?” Rebecca asked, taking notes.
“It was a couple of years back.”
“Was Pearl’s death sudden?” Richie asked. Rebecca gave him “the look” to remind him he said he wouldn’t interfere, but he shrugged it off.
“She’d been sickly for years—overweight, diabetic, heart issues. Her death was no surprise, believe me.”
“What can you tell me about Candace’s involvement with Sandy Geller?”
Jean’s eyebrows rose as she looked at Mary. Mary drew in her breath and then spoke. “A few years back, the four of us took in one of Geller’s shows. While Pearl and the two of us found the show amusing, something about it ‘spoke’ to Candace, and she went back a couple more times. After Pearl died, all that changed.”
“How do you mean?” Rebecca asked.
“You need to understand, I guess, that Candace and Pearl had been constant companions, even taking vacations together—sometimes their husbands went along, and sometimes the men stayed home. The “girls” as they called themselves didn’t care, as long as they were together. They talked all the time on the phone, lived a block from each other, and seemed to share every waking thought. And neither had children.
“Anyway, after Pearl’s death, we saw Candace less and less, and she only went to lunch with us when we refused to take no for an answer. She was spending most of her time attending séances and getting to know people who believed in them. We were worried about her, but when we tried to talk about it, she said we were being silly. She insisted Sandy’s séances were nothing like the nonsense shown in Hollywood movies, but his were real, and spirits really did come and talk to them. Including her sister.”
“She actually said her dead sister talked to her?” Richie asked.
“Yes. Her words scared us, but Candace said she felt sorry for us, that our minds were closed off to what the world was really all about. She said that, for the first time since Pearl’s death, she was happy.”
“She was widowed, right?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes, for many years. Candace once confessed that she hadn’t bothered to connect with her husband’s spirit. She had tolerated the man for thirty-two years, and felt nothing but relief when he died.”
Richie caught Rebecca’s eye at that, and gave her a “what is it with you women?” look.
Rebecca shook her head, attempted to look annoyed, but failed miserably. At least she didn’t smile.
Jean Hu finally spoke up. “I tried to question Candace,” Jean said, “to show her that what she was hearing at these séances was all fake. But she used facts to prove it was all real.”
“Facts?” Rebecca asked.
“Candace claimed she and Pearl talked about things that only they could possibly know about. They talked of their trips to watch the leaves turn in New England, and a ride on a Mississippi River steamboat. After that, Candace became a complete believer in Sandor Geller and his séances.”
“Did either of you,” Richie asked, “ever attend a séance with Candace?”
Both women shook their heads, looking horrified at the thought.
o0o
“We need to talk to someone who attended one of those séances,” Richie said as they left the Rodriguez home and headed back to Richie’s car. Rebecca sometimes felt she ought to drive her SUV for police business, but considering he owned a Porsche, who could blame her? “Someone who might know if Geller used leading questions that made Candace think she was talking to her sister.”
“If?” Rebecca asked as she got into the Porsche. She knew she was setting herself up for a heckling, but said, “I attended one of his séances, the one in which Candace Carter died. That’s all Geller does is lead. People want to believe what they want to believe, and if he can help them do it, they’re gratef
ul. That’s all that’s going on there.”
Richie went completely still. He had been about to put on his seatbelt, but instead his hand froze in mid-air still holding the clasp. “You did what?”
Her lips tightened. “You heard me. So?”
“Nothing.” He snapped the seatbelt in place. “So why didn’t you just ask Neda Fourman how she died?” Then he laughed.
“I knew you’d say that.” She fumed. “I just knew it. Okay, then, you said you want to talk to séance-goers, I’ll give you séance-goers.”
They first went to Marta and Henry Highfield’s home in the expensive Marina district. The couple was surprised to learn that Rebecca was continuing to investigate what they had understood was a death by natural causes. Nevertheless, they were more than willing to help.
Henry seemed a bit skeptical about Richie being there, but Marta had nothing but smiles for him and seemed rather taken by his good looks and expensive clothes. She said she was gratified to hear the police and their ‘consultants’ were waking up to psychic phenomena.
They sat in the living room. Marta served coffee. Both Highfields expressed happiness that Candace and Pearl were together again, after how desperately lonely Candace had been. Perhaps, Henry mused, Pearl had been quietly attending last night’s séance, and had opened the door to bring Candace home to her.
“I take it you’re a Sandorista,” Richie said to Marta. He sat on the loveseat adjacent to the end of the sofa on which Marta sat.
“Yes. Isn’t that a cute name?” she replied, reaching out and placing her diamond ring laden hand on his arm. “Yes, Henry and I are happy to follow Sandy. He’s a wonderful man.”
“Was Candace a Sandorista as well?” he asked.
“She thought so,” Marta told him. “She did enjoy the meetings, but they did stretch her budget, from what I understand.” She pulled back her hand but continued to eye Richie as if he was tutti-frutti and she just loved ice cream.
“She often said she had to scrimp to attend a séance,” Henry added, “but she managed to get to all the ones Sandy invited her to. In fact, I heard that Sandy gave her a big break on the cost of admission.”
“He’s such a darling man!” Marta gushed.
