Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  He cast another smirking glance over at Dr Murchison. She was, from his uncomfortable expression, grilling Bumstead to within an inch of his red-faced life.

  ‘People like her sharpen the chisel I hold in my artist’s hands,’ proclaimed Dada. ‘She will help me uncover the throbbing vein of memory.’ He mumbled absent-mindedly to himself, ‘I must ask her to sit for me. I can just see her dressed as Freud and wearing a croissant as a wig …’

  Selznick sniggered.

  Dada ignored him to eyeball Earl, his gaze full of malice. ‘Though perhaps I should paint her in session with one of her more deluded patients.’

  Suddenly I wanted a quiet talk with Alphonse. He obviously had it in for Earl …

  And what exactly was he hinting at?

  Earl missed the dig, too preoccupied with fondling his date. Dada didn’t like that and gave a very queenly sniff.

  ‘You know, you could be onto something there, Alphonse,’ said Selznick. ‘I’ll have a talk to Dr M about this. With her methods, she must have some interesting cases we could use …’

  ‘What’s so new about her technique?’ drawled Honeycutt, bored.

  I eyed him with impatience. Except for hassling me, he considered this case a joke.

  ‘She uses hypnotherapy to uncover unresolved mental issues,’ replied Selznick.

  ‘What’s new about that?’ I said.

  ‘She says many mental issues stem from past lives,’ asserted Earl, now on the defence.

  Past lives?

  ‘So she … what … analyses past lives as well as this one?’ Honeycutt was trying to stop himself from laughing out loud.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Earl, peeved. ‘Under hypnosis Dr M regresses her patients back into their past existences. She helps them to re-experience, and hence release, traumas from those times.’

  ‘I didn’t realise the Sorbonne was teaching Reincarnation for Beginners now,’ said Honeycutt, dry as the Sahara.

  Dada gave Honeycutt an assessing once-over, as though he could be a tougher fish to hook than expected.

  Earl’s date insisted on being fed once again and Selznick got up to dance with Carole, so I took the opportunity to lean towards Dada. ‘Didn’t you meet Earl when he was on holiday in Paris in March?’

  Dada grimaced in disgust. ‘You mean when he was busy trawling France for ideas to steal?’

  ‘Oh, I thought Earl commissioned you to do his portrait?’

  ‘He did,’ Dada hissed venomously. ‘That fool wants something avant-garde to go with a room he’s just had painted red.’

  Queen Victoria was not pleased.

  I followed Dada’s glare back to Earl and immediately met another, equally intense, gaze turned the same way.

  Charles Gibson was staring past his host, the mayor, who was busy talking at him … to Earl.

  His pale eyes reminded me of an eagle contemplating a spring lamb.

  Blasted Earl! He no sooner walked into a room than a dozen more enemies appeared.

  Honeycutt caught my expression and turned as well.

  His features hardened.

  ‘Why do you hate Charles Gibson?’ I whispered.

  Honeycutt brought his jade eyes close to mine. ‘A gut feeling, darlin’.’ He nodded at the mayor’s table. ‘Watch out for that one.’

  36

  MORTIMER MACVILLE

  The swing music was cut short and replaced with a Strauss waltz. It must’ve been a signal because immediately the whole Guild Council rose to gaze consideringly around the ballroom. At the same time the dance floor cleared and Selznick and Carole came back to our table.

  ‘Kay, it’s traditional for everyone to dance at least once before the Guild president makes his speech,’ said Carole.

  The Guild vice president, a short plump man, appeared at my shoulder. The rest of the council were spread out at different tables across the room.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said, sweeping me an old-fashioned bow. ‘I am Hubert Humbolt and I wonder if you would honour me …’ He nodded towards the dance floor. ‘It’s tradition for everyone to dance at least once on the double Ms.’

  I followed his gaze. There was a big MM in dark wood set into the centre of the dance floor.

  Selznick said, ‘Carole, why don’t you take Daniel?’

  Then the four of us were waltzing.

  ‘What do the double Ms signify?’ I asked, trying to disregard my partner’s sweaty hands.

  ‘It’s Mortimer MacVille’s grave,’ replied Humbolt pompously.

  I shot him a disbelieving look. ‘There’s a grave in the middle of the dance floor?’

  ‘In accordance with Lily MacVille’s will the Guild had to rebury her father under the ballroom floor. And each year we have a ball over his grave … seems reasonable, given what he did.’

  ‘Really?’

  MacVille Park seemed to have dead bodies strewn all over it.

  ‘You don’t know about Lily MacVille? The story of how the Guild acquired the park … All this land was originally part of a Spanish land grant given to the Felices family …’

  ‘Right, I know that. So Mortimer MacVille was the Yankee lawyer who was supposed to defend the claim but ended up with everything after the family was slaughtered.’ I paused. ‘But didn’t you say Lily MacVille was his daughter? Why did she stipulate that condition in her will?’

  ‘When MacVille took over the Felices’ ranch he moved his wife, Adeline, and their ten-year-old daughter Lily down from San Francisco.’

  ‘And he’s the one that built this Gothic … edifice?’

  ‘Exactly his grandiose style, by all accounts.’ Humbolt smothered a patronising smile. ‘But things started to go wrong not long after they arrived. The Mexican labourers refused to stay after dark, claiming that the ghosts of the Felices family haunted the ranch. Which scared Adeline and Lily. Mortimer didn’t care because he spent most of his time in San Francisco monitoring his investments.’

  ‘Nice man.’

  ‘Exactly … His attention was only stirred when young Lily became too friendly with the Mexican families working here. Adeline had begun using laudanum to deal with the isolation and Lily had no one else to talk to, so Mortimer’s solution was to send her to a boarding school back east.’

  ‘Bet that helped her mother’s drug problem.’

  ‘Of course … Adeline, now left completely alone, began to talk to herself. She told her neighbours that she’d seen the ghosts of the Felices family … and they kept telling her to leave. She thought they hated her.’ He grimaced. ‘But I think they were trying to warn her. The day before Lily came home from school, Adeline was found with her neck broken at the bottom of Dead Horse Canyon.’

  ‘Poor Lily.’ I paused mid-waltz to wipe my now sweaty hand on my skirt.

  ‘Yes. She arrived to find Mortimer claiming her mother had killed herself … But three months later Mortimer married a neighbour’s fifteen-year-old daughter.’

  ‘The rotten bastard. So Mortimer was waiting like a wolf at the door. Devour one and bring on the next. So what did Lily do?’

  ‘Well, while she was still reeling from her mother’s death she met their new neighbour, Merlin Jones …’

  ‘Bet Mortimer didn’t like that!’ I snorted.

  ‘When Merlin Jones threatened to expose MacVille, he was also found murdered in Dead Horse Canyon. Lily realised she had to get away before it was her turn and wrote to her mother’s wealthy sister in New York. His young wife was pregnant with what Mortimer hoped would be his first son, so he let her go.’

  ‘So what happened to Mortimer? I suppose he lived happily ever after.’

  ‘Not really. His new wife died in childbirth, along with her son. Then there was a long drought … Nothing that was the fruit of this land prospered. And Mortimer … Well, he began to roam the estate talking to himself —’

  ‘Just like Adeline.’

  ‘Yes. In 1868 Mortimer was found dead at the entrance to Dead Horse Canyon.’ Humbolt shook his head.
‘But he didn’t have a mark on him. The only change was that his hair had gone completely white.’ Humbolt smiled; it wasn’t a humorous one. ‘I think Mortimer met his victims one last time.’

  Hmm. Just as well I didn’t believe in devils, hobgoblins or ghosts.

  Not if I was going to spend midnight in Dead Horse Canyon with black magic practitioners trying to raise the dead on top of a massacre site.

  ‘So Lily willed MacVille Park to the Guild …’ I prompted.

  ‘And the only condition she made was that her father had to be reburied under this floor and once a year we all danced on his grave.’

  Now that I liked. Lily had style.

  Honeycutt appeared at Humbolt’s shoulder and firmly tapped it.

  Humbolt bowed. ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  I wiped my hand once more, but this time behind my back.

  Honeycutt clasped it and swept me into the waltz.

  ‘Have you heard about the double Ms?’ I asked, trying to drag my attention from the muscular torso pressed firmly against mine. I’m tall, but I had to look up as I spoke.

  His shoulders were solid muscle. I wanted to pinch them … or do something to them.

  ‘Carole told me.’ He pulled me even closer and whispered, ‘I wouldn’t have dragged Mortimer back from the canyon myself. There’d have been enough hungry coyotes around to finish him off where he lay.’ He glanced over my shoulder to where Selznick was sitting. ‘But forget Mortimer, we’ve got a problem.’

  ‘The séance?’

  ‘Yeah. Selznick said that Renfrow is going to the official one. The one in Merlin’s tomb.’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘It gets worse, Selznick couldn’t convince Bumstead to wedge us in. Bumstead said there’s only room for six people in Merlin’s tomb and all the spots are taken.’

  Damn …

  My brain was too foggy from lack of sleep to come up with a quick solution.

  I leant my head on his well-padded shoulder and inhaled. He smelt musky, masculine, hot.

  Then I felt his rougher cheek on mine.

  ‘Kannon …’ murmured Honeycutt.

  ‘Yes?’ My brain was definitely fogged up now.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you lied to me about that weird doll stalking you in the cemetery.’

  I pulled back but he held onto me. ‘You’re going to tell me what really happened.’

  I jerked away. We were not going to have that particular conversation.

  The music cut out abruptly and everyone on the dance floor came to a halt.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you take your seats now. And waiters, fill everyone’s glasses for the toasts.’ Osgood Bumstead stood next to the bandleader on the dais; he’d commandeered the microphone.

  The dance floor cleared and waiters began moving from table to table with bottles of champagne.

  I shot a look at Honeycutt as I marched back to the table. ‘You’d better get your mind off me and back on the job, Marshal … because we have to find another way into that séance.’

  I could almost see the steam rising off the top of his head. Honeycutt knew exactly what I was doing …

  Changing the subject.

  ‘Tonight,’ boomed Bumstead, ‘is the one hundredth anniversary of the awakening of our beloved founder, Merlin Jones. As everyone knows, we will be communing with his spirit at midnight and awaiting his promised manifestation. As well …’ He gave his council a warning glance. ‘I will be seeking his guidance on the future of the Guild.’

  At that a few of the council exchanged heated glances.

  ‘Also tonight, we must acknowledge our beloved predecessors who started our mission of bringing the truth to the seekers, solace to the grieving and support to the deserving.

  ‘After Merlin Jones was killed, the Guild chose to withdraw from local politics to focus on the national fight for the election of Lincoln and the abolition of slavery. From 1861 to 1865 the Guild shrank as our members left to either fight and die for the Union or serve as nurses on the battlefield. After the war only a tiny fragment of the Guild returned to our commune in Glendale. But of these, three were our mightiest souls indeed.

  ‘When the spirits guided Lily MacVille to give us this estate, these great teachers built the first temples on the highest peaks in the park. Three temples to help us understand the connection between our world and the next. And there they still sit — on the very peaks of the mountain range behind us — to watch over and guard us.’

  Bumstead signalled a waiter, who passed him a flute of champagne. He raised the flute, saying, ‘I ask everyone to stand and raise your glasses to our beloved founder, Merlin Jones.’

  We all drank.

  ‘Now let us toast those three brave men and women: Letitia Potts, who built the Shrine to Gloriata Rose; Magnita Bell, who built the Church of Christ without Chains; and, most importantly, Jubal Pierce, our second Guild president, who built the Temple of Lost Souls on top of Mount Warning. It stands as a beacon of compassion to us all.’

  Dada leant over to Selznick to whisper, ‘This Temple of Lost Souls sounds like a place I’d like to see.’

  ‘That’s easily done,’ said Selznick. ‘It’s tradition for everyone to walk the Path of the Three Ways after the ball. It’s also the best place to view the fireworks.’

  ‘Tell me,’ insisted Dada. ‘What do they do at this temple?’

  ‘Ask Carole, she’s the resident expert.’ Selznick was well and truly bored with the topic.

  Carole, irritated with being handed over to Dada, said snappishly, ‘The temple is supposed to redeem those who have lost all hope.’

  ‘Most of the priesthood is made up of ex-cons,’ added Selznick dismissively. ‘Some of them are famous. There’s Machine Gun Hawkins — he robbed eleven banks. Then there’s Simon Renfrow who —’

  I interrupted. ‘Simon Renfrow. Is he —’

  ‘He’s Lewis Renfrow’s adopted brother,’ said Selznick. ‘He got out of jail last year.’

  Honeycutt and I exchanged a keen glance.

  I said, ‘And is Simon Renfrow at the Temple of Lost Souls tonight?’

  ‘Probably. It’s their busiest night of the year,’ said Selznick. ‘Tonight each of the mountain temples offers free services to the tourists.’

  ‘How do we get there?’ asked Honeycutt.

  ‘Just follow the crowd …’

  37

  THE THREE WAYS

  We trooped back to the cobbled main road and joined the traffic climbing up to the ridge of mountains above Mount Mortimer.

  Selznick immediately accosted Honeycutt, trying to convince him to invest in the film about Dr Murchison. Earl hung beside them, producing argument after argument to prove that he, rather than Hitchcock, was the only director in town who could do justice to the project. Earl’s date tagged limply behind the three men.

  I was keen to get to Mount Warning so I strode ahead. Honeycutt could fend for himself. Carole shadowed me in an attempt to outpace Dada, who now saw Carole as his own private tour guide. He was convinced that MacVille Park was a potential goldmine of Dadaesque dreamscapes. Carole and I were fitter than Dada, plus he had to contend with the trailing skirts of his bizarre Queen Victoria costume, so we left him behind as we climbed up to the first peak.

  ‘Kay, you’re going to like the Shrine to Gloriata Rose.’ She cast a flirtatious look over her shoulder at Honeycutt as she said it. ‘It’s the favourite place in Los Angeles for lovers to meet. You should see it on Valentine’s Day.’

  Actually, I could hear it before I could even see it.

  Or rather I could hear the bees …

  The Shrine wasn’t a building but a sprawling, light-filled garden. Even though it was night you could hear the swarming bees humming in fervent ecstasy.

  Adam and Eve wouldn’t have been stupid enough to get kicked out of this paradise.

  The Shrine was a cluster of lush eco-precincts. The one closest to us was a scented garden full of roses, ga
rdenias, lavender and more. Above it, the bees swam intoxicated through the sweet heavy perfume. Beyond was more exotic vegetation. One garden was a mini jungle filled with towering rainforest trees that formed a thick canopy; underneath bloomed an array of vines, ferns and orchids.

  High up in the trees I could see a pair of eyes glistening. There were animals in there.

  But what caught my gaze was the precinct right in the centre of the Shrine. It was a living maze, so green with vitality it was luminous. You could almost see the hedge growing.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ said Carole. ‘Every woman in Los Angeles comes here on a regular basis and every man in Los Angeles wants to come with her.’ She winked. ‘That maze leads into the Garden of Earthly Delights … you and Daniel should take a look.’

  ‘So this Garden of Earthly Delights is where you get to …?’

  ‘Do whatever you want, Kay. It’s very private.’

  Honeycutt and his enthusiastic fanbase were catching up. I wanted to get on to the Temple of Lost Souls as soon as possible but was reluctant to lose track of Earl.

  ‘What about Earl? Will he want to take a look too?’

  Carole snorted. ‘No doubt about that. David and Earl try to make it through the maze every year; they’ve got a bet going. But neither one has made it through to the garden yet.’

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. ‘What is this maze — some kind of intelligence test?’

  ‘I wish. No, it’s more about proof of …’ Carole paused. ‘Let’s call it compatibility.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘I brought Clark here before I agreed to marry him.’

  ‘I’m guessing that means you made it through to the Garden of Earthly Delights.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ There was a world of meaning in that last throaty word.

  Dada bobbed up at Carole’s side, questions bubbling out of him like a boiling kettle. ‘Is this a temple? Why don’t they have buildings? Who …’

  Carole turned her back to him and grimaced. She was getting to the point where she’d take a swing at Queen Victoria.

  Selznick hobbled up. ‘This is un-fucking-believable!’ He was sweating profusely and clutching his right knee. ‘The Guild should let us bring in cars! This is ridiculous!’