Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  “Grams, are you feeling okay?” This time Chelsea picked up Grams’s hand and held it limply in her own. All the color had bled from her grandmother’s face.

  “Great-Granny helped those families accept a loss. You, Chelsea … you can talk to those who are the lost. You can do so much more.”

  “Grams … ” Chelsea wanted to run away, hide. Nothing made sense anymore.

  “Now, wait a minute, let’s talk about this before you come unglued. Think about what’s happened to you.”

  “Yeah, hallucinations, daytime nightmares.”

  Grams’s face grew stern with a look that Chelsea remembered all too well, the one that dared her to say another sarcastic word. “Seers can help the living leave the dead to their next lifetime, and in your case, you can help the dead, the ones who have become lost, those who are scared or who can’t move on.”

  “So, the dream I had about Great-Granny … She was really there? Officer Davies, or his ghost anyway, stood at the front door of our home. It’s all true?”

  “It would seem so, now wouldn’t it?” Grams lifted her glass, only a single drop of wine swirled in the bottom. “It’s our family heritage.”

  Chelsea leaned back in her chair. “Family heritage. Okay, let’s say I believe all this is true and for some reason, I’m one of the lucky few. Why me?”

  “Sweetheart, I just don’t know.” Grams shrugged. “I wish I had the answers.”

  Chelsea blanched. “I don’t want talk to the dead, I don’t want see them. What if I don’t want any of this?”

  “Honey, it’s not your choice. Just think about all those people you could help.”

  And she did. Could any of this be true? “Cripes, Grams, can’t you just tell me I’ll be okay after I seek medical help, maybe psychiatric? New medications? I live in a borrowed house, without a job, and I just asked my grandmother to move back in with me because I’m afraid of the dark. And now you want me to believe in ghosts too?”

  “That about sums it up.” She smiled at Chelsea, brushed her fingers over the soft skin of her granddaughter’s cheek. “The gift usually makes itself known in adolescence. I guess you’re a slow starter, one of the lucky ones after all.”

  “Well, I don’t feel so freaking lucky. Why didn’t this start when I was thirteen then? After my accident? If all this is true, why not then?” Maybe, Chelsea thought, I need a room with a twin beds on the psych ward — one for me, the other for Grams … ’cause we’re both nuts.

  Grams shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Maybe your body or mind wasn’t ready to accept all this yet. Who really knows? When you didn’t have … well, you know, visions … . when people didn’t come looking for help, I thought there wasn’t any reason you ever needed to know. Maybe Great-Granny’d been wrong. When those abilities never materialized, I thought why tell you if it wasn’t going to affect your life.” She shrugged again. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Chelsea glanced at her grandmother, saw the truth glistening in her eyes, and thought, I wish you’d been right.

  Chapter Eight

  Brad opened Chelsea Karmikel’s file and paged through the basic information: unmarried, twenty-three years old, born in Decatur, Illinois to mother, Sandra, and father, Jonathan, both living in Florida. She had an older sister, Teresa, twenty-five years old, married to David with two children, Veronica and Oscar, all living in Michigan. He paged down further and found Chelsea’s address: Rural Route 4, Taylorville, Illinois … a farm girl. He printed the page.

  He shoved the mouse away as he stared at the information. He’d made an ass of himself; he knew it, she knew it. Now, how to make it better? If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was not admitting when you were wrong. And, damn it, he’d really screwed up this one.

  He pushed away from his desk. “Sally, I’m leaving for the day,” he called.

  “Okay, but you have an appointment with your brother at five-thirty … ”

  “ Bloody hell.” He wanted to make a quick exit, not spend time being grilled by Sam, trying to figure out Aunt D’s will. And how to get around her bequest to leave everything to Chelsea Karmikel. “Can you get him on the phone?”

  Sally stuck her head in his office and whispered, “I could, but he just walked in the door.”

  Brad shook his head. It was just like Sam to show up early in case he tried to slip away. “Let him in.”

  Sally held the door open and smiled in Sam Rearden’s direction, avoiding his eyes, making sure to step away when his hand reached out to brush her arm. Brad knew she only tolerated Sam’s presence because the man was his brother. She disdained even his smallest touch — he just didn’t know why. “Is there anything else I can get for you before I take off?” Sally made eye contact with Brad, letting him see her discomfort.

  “No, I’m fine. You go home and enjoy your family.”

  “Okay. ’Night, boss.” She sidestepped around Sam one more time to close the office door.

  “Sam.” Brad held out his hand, and his brother grasped it. Without thinking, Brad wiped his brother’s touch away — maybe Sal was rubbing off on him. He pointed to a chair, but Sam shook his head. “What can I do for you?”

  “I think you know why I’m here. Did you speak with this Chelsea Karmikel?” Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and walked across the floor.

  “Yeah, I think you know I did. She came in, we talked.” Brad sighed. This wasn’t going to end well, he could already feel it.

  “So? Do you think she’s been in contact with Aunt D? Can we handle this thing outside of court?” Sam took a wide, defensive stance, his anger apparent on his face.

  Brad scrubbed his face with his hands — he was tired of dealing with this already, and it was such a small amount to worry about, anyway. He glanced over the paperwork on his aunt’s house, with the adjacent field, it was only worth two hundred grand tops, maybe a little more. Small change for the family’s bank accounts. But Sam wasn’t seeing this, and for the life of him, Brad couldn’t figure out why … unless there was something he wasn’t privileged enough to know.

  “Chelsea Karmikel hasn’t seen Aunt Deloris in more than ten years, hasn’t been in contact with her. Hell, she didn’t even remember who she was.” Brad opened a drawer and pulled a sheet of paper out, looking over the information. “She seems pretty decent.”

  Sam stared at his brother stupidly, like he couldn’t understand him. “Who cares?” He threw his hands up in the air. “She doesn’t deserve to inherit something that shouldn’t belong to her!” Brad could feel Sam’s fury as it filled the space between them. “Why can’t you just fall in step, go along with what the family wants, what I want, just this once?” His shout echoed across Brad’s office.

  “Chill, Sam.” He couldn’t understand his brother’s anger, but maybe that was the problem between them — they had grown too far apart, neither cared about the other’s feelings. “Look, you asked me to find out what I could about Ms. Karmikel, and I did. I can’t with a clean conscious let you go after someone simply because you don’t want her to inherit what you think of as yours. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you want it, anyway. You were never fond of staying with Aunt D. You never cared for a life outside of the city.” Not like Brad had — he’d loved the summers spent growing under Aunt Deloris’s guidance. He hurt because D hadn’t confided in him, but she must have had her reasons. He knew one thing — he was tired of the family politics. This was why he distanced his company from them; family politics didn’t gel well with a legitimate enterprise. “Why is this so important to you?” He rubbed his hands across his tired face. This day would not end.

  “Because, damn it, that piece of property has been in the family since the turn of the century!”

  “Yes, and Uncle Mick and Aunt D bought it from the family with their own money. If you’re that concerned, offer to buy i
t back from Ms. Karmikel. It’s a small house on a few acres — what’s it worth, two or three hundred thousand?” Brad shook his head in disbelief at this conversation. “Please, the family has that in petty cash!”

  He couldn’t understand the importance of something so trivial, not when his aunt was dead. Shouldn’t they be grieving, instead of trivializing? Her loss was like an ache deep in his soul.

  “Deloris’s bank account has maybe ten grand after expenses,” he said. “Not worth the trouble to keep it. I don’t understand why the family’s so concerned.”

  Sam glanced down at the floor, shifting his eyes away from Brad — a sure tell there was more going on than Sam wanted to admit.

  “Shit!” Brad threw himself back into his chair. “You better make this freaking damn good, because if you used me … damn it, I’ll kick your ass!” He jumped up from his chair, coming face to face with his brother.

  Sam smiled that snake oil smile of his, the one he’d used when they were kids and Brad was going to take the blame for whatever Sam did, the one that juries were so susceptible to. It made him good at his job.

  Brad and Sam were polar opposites in every way. Sam was the younger brother, smaller, harder, wirier than Brad, blond and tanned. Brad’s own look was dark and rugged, his hair in perpetual need of a trim, with an easy smile that wanted to tug his lips.

  Sam was the same all their years together, Brad realized, he merely grew slicker with age. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Sam tried to keep the peace. “Calm down, okay? It’s not that bad. It has to do with a geological survey.” Sam took a step back, putting distance between him and his brother.

  “So the property itself is worth little. You couldn’t give a good damn about it, but the land, it might be worth a fortune, and you’d like to keep that information just between us boys?” Brad raised an eyebrow, and Sam nodded.

  “Did Aunt D know?” Brad watched his brother. “She did, didn’t she? She went outside the family, made sure her will remained the way she wanted it.” He paused. “You know, D and I were close, and she didn’t even tell me what she was doing. I have to think there was a reason for that. She trusted me, but I bet the family worked on her. She chose a different path, and I followed her in her footsteps.”

  “If this is what Aunt Deloris wanted, and there wasn’t any harassment or deception on the part of Chelsea Karmikel, and I don’t think there was, then I don’t see how you can get around it.” But Brad knew that might not be true — all it takes is a judge who sees things from his family’s wealthy point of view. And Sam was surely aware of that fact as well, though he still seemed to be set on settling the matter out of court.

  “Can’t you see beyond what you want, and maybe see what I need?” Sam said. “That property was supposed to come to us. It was supposed to be ours.” He pointed to Brad and himself. “Do you understand what that means? Can’t you use some of that charm of yours to help us both out?” Sam grinned up at his older brother. “Or are you afraid you might get a little dirty?”

  “Get out, Sam, before I do something I might not regret.” Brad stared into his brother’s hard gaze.

  “This is reality, brother, this is how real life works.” Sam held out his hands. “Face it.”

  “I’m done.” Brad walked across the room and opened the door. “Get out … get out now.”

  “This conversation stays between us,” Sam said, eyeing his brother.

  “I won’t be party to taking advantage of anyone,” Brad grounded out. He left the door open, walked back to his desk, and grabbed his case. “This is why I didn’t want to be involved. Don’t you get tired of this crap?” He gestured to the room around him. “Don’t you ever want to call it quits?”

  Sam looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “But you can see the family’s point, right?”

  “That’s it? That’s your only response?” Brad shook his head. Why did he bother? “Count me out, Sam.”

  “You’re not going to see Ms. Karmikel again, right?” He eyeballed Brad. “If need be, we can let the courts handle it.”

  Right, and that would be so fair to Chelsea Karmikel. “Good-bye, Sam. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Brad stormed from the office.

  What had he gotten himself involved in? The fools. They could cost him his license, and they didn’t even care.

  Brad entered the small lounge next to Sally’s desk, and glanced up to see Eddie, Sam’s best friend and co-hort, picking his fingernails with the pointed edge of a pocket knife. He sat, tipped back in one of Brad’s office chairs, balancing on two of its legs. The chair slammed to the floor as Eddie’s black eyes found Brad’s.

  “Eddie.” Brad acknowledged with a frown. Eddie Vinner. What Eddie and Sam had in common Brad couldn’t understand. Their parents frowned on the friendship since its beginnings, Eddie was not country club material. Sam said Eddie took care of ‘things’ for him, and Brad had to wonder about that too, he was sure Eddie’s morals were loose, there wasn’t much the man wouldn’t do, if the price were right.

  Eddie gave Brad a sneering grin, “Brad,” then he snickered. “How’s it hangin’?”

  Brad ignored Eddie’s question and continued across the room. “Make sure you leave everything where you found it.” He turned, glaring over his shoulder. “Not like last time.”

  “No problemo,” Eddie said with a laugh in his voice, his eyes moved over Brad, leaving him with the feeling of a reptile sizing up its next meal. Eddie raised his hands, “See, nothing up my sleeves.”

  Brad left, shaking his head and curious how Sam found the man’s friendship appealing.

  • • •

  Brad exited the building, cursing as he entered the parking garage. He loosened his tie and then the button holding the collar tight to his throat. “Evening, Carlyle,” he called towards the tollbooth.

  “Evening, Mr. Rearden.” Carlyle buzzed the gate, and Brad climbed the stairs to the fourth level to retrieve his Jeep.

  As he left the garage, he headed south on Jefferson, to Clear Lake, and then out on freeway, IL29. The Queen CD filled the car with Freddie Mercury’s powerful voice, and the music seeped into his senses, unwinding him after his ordeal with Sam. Why did he let his brother get to him? Or the rest of the family, for that matter? He’d never be a family lackey. Damn! This was the last time he let his PI credentials be dragged into the family business. He’d paid his dues, served his time in the Springfield PD. Now he was supposed to be free to make his own decisions, not bow to family pressures.

  Chapter Nine

  Taylorville hadn’t changed much from Brad’s beloved childhood memories — skinny dipping in the lake and taking in a few movies in the old Roxy, a one-screen theater with crappy seating. Aunt D’s place was just down the road between Edinburgh and Rochester.

  The Karmikel house was a big old farmhouse — worn, but well tended. Flowers filled the yard and big oaks guarded the lane. It looked like a place Chelsea Karmikel might call home.

  “Why have I come all this way?” he asked himself. “Just to see where she lived, then turn around and go home?” He felt foolish, yet he needed to have a look inside her life. Needed to try to understand her.

  “Why would Aunt Deloris, one of the least gullible people I’ve known, put such stock in her? Why’d she leave everything to someone who claims to be a total stranger? Why would Chelsea Karmikel refuse to take what D had obviously felt she owed her?” He didn’t understand any of this. His Blackberry buzzed with a text from Sal.

  “The Karmikel file is complete, but there wasn’t much more available. No tickets or suits, she attended college at Eastern Illinois University before returning home. Her family history is as clean as well. Let me know if I can do anything else.”

  He tossed the phone. Why the hell had he driven all the way out here? His family, that’s why. The
y’d use him up if he wasn’t careful. He thumped his fist on the steering wheel and glanced over at the house one more time before he pulled away, easing over the gravel, and headed toward home.

  Chapter Ten

  Chelsea saw the Jeep from her living room window, but didn’t think much about it. Lots of people end up lost out here in all the farm fields.

  Grams followed Chelsea into the kitchen. “Did you see who was in that car?”

  Chelsea opened a can of tuna and poured the contents into Grendel’s bowl. “Nope, I didn’t even look.”

  “I think it might have been that private investigator. Kind of looked like him to me.” Grams lifted her eyes to Chelsea’s face.

  Chelsea’s temper re-bloomed into full blossom, heat flooding her face. “Nope, wasn’t him,” she denied. “Or, at least, it better not have been.” She angrily stomped around the kitchen, slamming a pot onto the stove, then grabbed the spaghetti noodles and sauce to make dinner. “Are you sure it was him?” She turned to Grams, a grim frown on her face.

  “No, can’t say I’m positive, I only saw him for a few minutes. But I swear it looked like him.”

  Chelsea added roasted garlic to the sauce and wiped her fingers on a dishcloth, growing angrier by the second. “Where’s that card of his?” She searched her jeans pockets, then snatched her bag and began pulling out items, finally upending the bag to spread the contents across the kitchen table. “Damn it, what’d I do with it?”

  Grams reached into the pile and lifted a card from the mess. “Is this what you’re looking for?”