by Anne Canadeo
Along with the writing desks and claw-foot closets, lamps, china dishes, and cups were scattered like colorful jewels. A few flirtatious, fringed piano shawls, lace-edged linens, and other vintage odds and ends were displayed in eye-catching arrangements. Nora had an artistic flair, there was no doubt.
And Richard was a wizard at reclaiming stained and damaged pieces with rich potential. Maggie had once told her that he picked up their items at garage sales, thrift shops, and flea markets for rock-bottom prices, and turned a handy profit reselling them.
Of course, that was not without hours of hard work put into the restoration. Richard made each wooden surface glow like satin. Nora’s artful staging worked its own magic on their customers as well. The two were a well-matched team.
“Hello, Lucy. Can I help you with something?” Richard appeared from behind a high armoire, a chamois polishing cloth in one hand.
He looked tired and drawn, his complexion pasty, his eyes bloodshot, as if he’d been up all night, worrying, or taking care of Nora.
“I just stopped by to say hello. How is Nora doing?”
His sighed, wiping his hands. “Not well. She’s beside herself. She still can’t process it . . . this loss.” He met Lucy’s gaze. “I didn’t think much of Cassandra Waters, but Nora had come to depend on her. I didn’t realize until yesterday how much.”
“That’s too bad.” Lucy paused. “Have the police spoken to Nora yet? I heard they were interviewing all of Cassandra’s clients.”
Richard nodded. “Yes, briefly. She wasn’t in any condition to be of much help. I’m sure she doesn’t know anything about this. Believe it or not, there are people in this town who visited Cassandra even more often than my wife did.”
“She had a booming business, didn’t she?”
Richard cocked his head. “Oh, that she did . . . and at those rates, she did well for herself.” He folded the cloth and laid it on a table.
Lucy could hardly imagine the sum he and Nora had given to the psychic advisor. How bitter Richard must feel, believing it was worth any price to help his wife with those sessions, and finding Nora right back where she started. Or worse.
“Did the police ask you any questions?” She knew she sounded nosy now and was not sure of his reaction. “I’m just asking because I got a call last night from a detective on the case, and I have to call back around noon.”
Richard’s expression relaxed and he nodded. “Oh, sure . . . well, let’s see. Yes, they did ask me a few. But I’d never gone to see her alone. Once or twice with Nora, at the start. I never believed in her powers, though she was a convincing actress,” he added. “With the candles, and the cards, and all the lingo.”
He waved his hands in the air, smirking again.
Lucy had seen the routine for herself. She knew that was true.
She wasn’t sure what to say next, but pushed herself to continue. “Richard, please don’t take this the wrong way . . . but I was walking my dogs Friday night and I was on Ivy Lane, where Cassandra lived. I saw you coming out of her house. About ten o’clock, I guess.” Even in the dim light she could see his face drain of color, his pale blue eyes blinking nervously.
“Me? Are you sure? I’m usually home, snoring away at that hour.” He tried to force a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“You were wearing a hat and glasses, but you took them off when you got in your van. You drove right past me.”
He smoothed back his thin, straw-colored hair with his hand and sighed. “Well . . . all right. I was there. What of it?”
“I just wanted you to know that when I give my statement later, I have to tell that to the detective. I’m just trying to give you a heads-up. I don’t care why you were there,” she added quickly. “I know it’s none of my business.”
Now she did hear a genuine laugh, a short, sharp bark. “Ha . . . at least something’s off-limits for you.”
Lucy felt stung by that reply. She felt her cheeks grow red with a nervous flush, the curse of her recessive genes.
“I wasn’t there on purpose. It was a coincidence. Other people may have seen you, too. Neighbors, maybe. To tell you the truth, I’m sorry that I did see you. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you, or for Nora. Honestly. That’s why I came to tell you first, before I have the interview.”
Richard sighed, his mouth straight and tight as he peered down at her. “All right, guess I’m warned. Not that it will help much. This entire situation is the biggest debacle of my life. I bet you have your theories, too, about what I was up to with Cassandra. Don’t you?”
Lucy straightened her shoulders. “I told you before, I don’t want to know.”
“I don’t believe you. I’m sure you’re curious.”
Lucy knew it was time to go but her feet felt bolted to the floor.
“It’s not my business,” she said again, though she still didn’t walk away.
“What’s the rush? You’ve come this far; you should be the first to know. Everyone will hear about it soon enough. No secrets are safe for long in this town.”
He shrugged, his demeanor that of a man who was worn-out, drained to the bone, physically and emotionally, practically giddy with exhaustion, the gears stripped on his powers of judgment and discretion, uncaring now of what he might say or do.
He seemed to be cracking before her eyes. Carrying a secret too long, she wondered? Or was it watching his wife relapse into her former mental state that had been the last straw for him?
Lucy was afraid now how he’d react if she did go. She took a deep breath, and met his gaze. Bracing herself for his confession.
His mouth twisted to one side. He glanced away. “It’s too embarrassing to say out loud . . . but I’d better get used to it. I’ll be telling the police soon enough. The whole pathetic story.”
Chapter Seven
Lucy stood stone still; she didn’t even breathe, waiting for him to continue. “What story?”
“The awful truth of the matter. Why Nora got so hooked on that damn psychic reader . . . I was feeding Cassandra information about my son, Kyle, so that she could help Nora during their sessions. She needed to say things that had the ring of truth. That were convincing. That gave Nora some peace and closure.”
Lucy leaned back, resting a hand on a nearby table to steady herself; her legs had gone watery. She could hardly believe what she’d just heard.
“You gave Cassandra private, personal information about your son so she could devise convincing messages from him for Nora?”
He pursed his lips and nodded bleakly. “I’m not proud of it, believe me. But when I saw how Nora started coming out of her depression after those first few sessions with that woman . . . And without really hearing anything substantial. Maybe a few bits of information Cassandra had strung together from news articles, or picked out from a high school yearbook.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how she pulled off her act. I never asked. But I did know even a tiny spoonful from Cassandra was a miracle drug for Nora. She wanted more. She needed more,” he said firmly. “And I wanted my wife back. For me, for Dale. Most of all, I wanted her to have her life back, too.”
“Whose idea was this, Cassandra’s?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t mine. I’m not that diabolical. No matter what you might think now,” he added with a short, harsh laugh.
Lucy took a breath. She didn’t know what to think, her former impression of kind, supportive Richard all mixed up in her head by this shocking disclosure.
“Cassandra got in touch with me a short time after I sat in on a session with her and Nora. Nora was so eager to share this wonderful experience. It cost so much, I wanted to see for myself if it was worth it.”
“Of course you did,” Lucy replied.
“I guess Cassandra could tell I knew she was a faker from the word go. But I was willing to play along and humor Nora. The psychic smelled an easy mark, that’s for sure. She’d probably rigged this deal before. I didn’t agree at first,” he added. �
�But Nora came back one day from a session all upset and said there were hardly any messages from Kyle that day. The connection was fading. She was torn apart again. I couldn’t watch that, when I knew how easy it was to fix.”
“So the fix was in,” Lucy murmured.
“It was. I would speak to Cassandra over the phone, once or twice a week. She’d report on her sessions with Nora and we’d figure out how the next session should go, what she would say. What private information about Kyle she could weave in. That sort of thing. She always acted like she was doing me a favor, not charging any extra for this service.” Richard laughed harshly. “She knew she was getting Nora addicted and had set me up, supplying the drug my wife needed. A real sucker, wasn’t I?”
Lucy didn’t reply. What could she say?
He took a long breath and wiped his hand over his mouth. “I know now it wasn’t just for Nora. It was for me, too,” he said. “Selfish. I can see that now. A deal with a heartless conniving witch that was bound to come to a bad end. No matter how it unraveled . . . But I never expected this. Cassandra, murdered? Nora, traumatized all over again.” He shook his head sadly. “No, sir, not in a million years.”
Lucy stared at him, not sure what to feel. Repulsed by the way he’d deceived and betrayed Nora? Sorry for him as well? He did seem such a desperate and pathetic figure, looking like a scarecrow now in his baggy khaki work shirt and paint-splattered jeans.
Plain old adultery—Suzanne’s suspicion, mainly—looked dull as dishwater compared to this revelation. Lucy almost wished now that’s what his confession had been.
“You can’t understand. I know.” Richard raised his hand a moment, and let it drop again. “Unless you live my life. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” he added with a sad smile.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for you. Sorry for both of you,” Lucy said finally.
She’d come to unburden herself and give him fair warning before she spoke to the police. Now she felt doubly burdened, knowing the full meaning of what she’d seen Friday night.
“You’ve opened a Pandora’s box now, haven’t you?” His tone was low and flat. “I think the best thing for me to do is close the shop and go down to the police station and tell them . . . well, what I just told you.” He shrugged. “It’s not a crime. It doesn’t have anything to do with the reason the psychic was murdered. I guess that’s why I didn’t tell the police in the first place. I didn’t think it mattered, one way or the other.”
That was not the reason. He knew it, too. But Lucy didn’t bother to call him on that point.
“That’s a good idea. You sound like you’ve been wanting to get this off your chest for a while, Richard,” she said honestly. “It must have been very hard to keep that secret.”
His pale eyes flashed with recognition of her sympathy. “It was hard. I didn’t like lying like that to Nora. But when I saw how happy she was, I couldn’t stop. If you loved someone and they were sick and you knew there was some magic potion that could cure them, but you had to lie a little to get it. Not hurt anyone physically, or steal or do anything that awful,” he added. “Wouldn’t you do that? To save the life of someone that you loved?”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Lucy said. But would the police understand his side of it? They might turn around and accuse Richard of scamming his wife. But he could prove he wasn’t gaining anything from it. It would be a hard case to bring into court and the police had their hands full right now with bigger fish to fry.
He might be all right, she reasoned.
“I hope they don’t tell Nora. Do you think they will?” he asked her suddenly.
“I don’t know that it would serve any purpose. Maybe they won’t have to tell her.”
“I hope so,” he said quietly. “I will let them know that we had this conversation. That you saw me at Cassandra Waters’s house the other night and asked about it,” he added.
She was thankful for the gesture. It would still be an awkward moment when she spoke to the police. They might ask why she didn’t come forward sooner. But at least she didn’t have to feel she was incriminating anyone.
“Well . . . I’d better go,” she said quietly, finally turning away.
“I’d better, too,” he replied.
When Richard said he was going to the police station, he’d meant right away. He walked with her to the door, shut the lights, and took a big ring of keys from his pocket to lock up.
Outside the shop, Lucy unlocked her bike from the post. She saw him walk to his van, parked in front of the shop. Down an alley beside the store, she saw a separate garage, Richard’s workshop space.
She wondered what would happen to their business if Nora relapsed into another deep depression. It would be one more pressure on him, keeping everything afloat.
“How could you understand?” he’d said to her. “You’d have to live my life. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
The way Richard had contributed to Nora’s deception was unthinkable . . . maybe even unforgivable, but Lucy couldn’t help it. She still felt sorry for him.
* * *
Lucy pedaled home slowly, the sun beating down like hot metal weights on her bare shoulders along with the pressure of Richard’s confession. The dogs were glad to see her return and she let them romp outside in a gated space while she took a fast shower and gulped down more water.
She wanted to tell at least one of her friends about her disturbing visit to the antique shop. Maggie maybe? But it was almost noon and she had to call the police department and give her statement. A moment she’d been dreading. But a job begun is half-done, her mother always told her.
Lucy checked the number she’d jotted on a slip of paper on the kitchen counter and tapped it into the phone.
“Ruiz,” a pleasant female voice responded.
“This is Lucy Binger. You left a message on my phone to get in touch today.”
“Oh, Lucy . . . right. I was calling in regard to Cassandra Waters. You’ve heard about what happened to her?”
“Of course. Everyone in town has.”
“The police are interviewing all of her customers. I noticed your name here. Looks like you saw her last week, Thursday night, June eighteenth. Is that correct?”
“That’s right. I booked a group session with her and she came to the knitting shop. She read cards for all my friends.”
“Oh, I see. Their names are in her notes, too. But I didn’t realize you had seen her all together.”
Lucy had made the appointment, so that made sense. Maybe Cassandra kept separate notes about people she consulted with, bits of gossip she ferreted out, or information she looked up on the Internet?
If Detective Ruiz thought it uncanny that Lucy and her knitting circle were in the middle of another of her investigations, she didn’t mention it. They had first met the police officer years ago, when a rival knitting store owner had been found murdered in her shop and Maggie became a prime suspect. Of course her friends had felt obliged to rally to Maggie’s defense.
But a few years later, when a blushing bride—who had knit her own gown with Maggie’s help—had been tangled up in the mysterious death of her husband, Lucy and her friends had again become involved in police business.
Actually . . . it happened fairly often, Lucy reflected. And seemed to come as natural as knitting. If the police were ever honest about it, Lucy knew that she and her friends had helped them far more often than they had messed up any investigations.
She hoped that would be Detective Ruiz’s perspective today. . . .
“So, why did you consult Ms. Waters? Any special reason?”
“We were all curious, I guess.” Lucy paused. “And we were trying to do a favor for Edie Steiber. Her niece Nora Gordon had been seeing Cassandra very frequently but Edie didn’t trust Cassandra. She thought the psychic was deceiving Nora, just to get her money. So we had a reading to see if we could debunk her.”
Detective Ruiz didn’t answer for a moment
. “Did you observe anything during your session that supported this suspicion?”
“It wasn’t any one thing. It was more like a combination of techniques, we thought made her so convincing. Reading a person’s appearance and body language, for example, and their reactions to questions. Maybe even doing a little research about them before the session.”
“That’s generally how these hoaxes work.” The detective didn’t accuse Cassandra of operating that way, Lucy noticed. Just spoke in broad terms. That’s how police detectives generally worked, with well-chosen words, holding their cards close to their vest.
“I guess I need to speak to all of your friends,” Detective Ruiz said. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen at the session? Anything at all you thought was, oh I don’t know . . . notable?”
“Nothing that remarkable. Her predictions and advice were pretty general and vague. Especially when we picked it over later.”
Detective Ruiz paused. “Is that the only time you ever dealt with her?”
“Actually, I met her a few days before the session at the Schooner Diner. She was there with Nora Gordon, and Edie Steiber introduced her to everyone. She spoke to us a little while. That’s when we decided to book a session and help Edie. Right after she left.”
“I see.” Lucy heard papers rattling. “I understand you had contact with her another night as well—not contact exactly, but you saw Cassandra Waters and Richard Gordon together, on Friday night, June nineteenth. That would be the day after the session at the knitting shop. Do you remember that?”
“Yes . . . yes, of course I do. I was just about to mention it.”
“Good. Take your time. Tell me everything you can recall.”
Lucy took a breath. Richard must have gone to the station as he’d promised and told his story. That’s how the detective knew to ask her about it. It should have made it easier, but she still felt put on the spot.
