by Ashlyn Chase
She asked in a normal tone of voice, “Chad, are you in the room?” She waited a bit and shook her head. “Nope.”
“Whew. I know he can’t blab what he overhears to anyone but you or Gwyneth, but still—”
“I know what you mean.” Glancing at the books lining the walls, she said, “Wow, you must really like to read.”
“Very much. But right now I’m more interested in what you have to say. Take a seat.”
She sat on his brown microfiber couch. “I only know what I overheard a few days ago.”
“You’re just going by what you heard?” Konrad sat in the adjacent overstuffed armchair. “I mean, you’re psychic, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know absolutely everything.”
“What do you know?”
“Just bits and pieces, and I’ve learned it’s better not to jump to conclusions until I double check the information I’m getting.”
“Okay. What do you know, and what do you have to double check?”
“Relax. I know you’re a good man, and I’m quite safe sitting here, talking to you. I know you work nights. And yesterday, I overheard that you were arrested. I was hoping you might be able to help me with something in an ‘It takes a thief’ kind of way.”
“I’m not stealing anything for you.”
“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean that.”
Konrad shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Okay, keep talking.”
“I need your advice to help me with my first job as a medium. I’ve been called in to communicate with the ghost haunting the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.”
“You’re kidding. The art museum that was robbed several years ago?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s haunted?”
“Yup, so there might actually be an eyewitness.”
“Excellent! I was severely pissed off when I found out about the theft.”
“You and the rest of the world, apparently. But I was down in Maryland then and didn’t hear much about it. The cops don’t want to tell me anything, either. They say it’s so it doesn’t affect the questions I ask the ghost, but I think they want me to prove my abilities as a psychic and medium.”
“Have you talked to the ghost yet?”
“Yes, Gwyneth went with me, but she couldn’t hear him unless I let him use my vocal cords. He said he was there during the robbery. Unfortunately, he’s confusing the hell out of me. What little he tells me doesn’t make any sense.”
“What has he told you?”
“He says the cops did it.”
“That’s because the thieves dressed as cops to get in, then overpowered the guards and tied them up.”
Morgaine threw her hands in the air. “For Goddess’s sake! Why couldn’t the police tell me at least that much? I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out if he was just messing with us.”
“What do you know about this ghost?”
“He’s been there since the thirties. His name is Reginald. He feels very protective of the place. He won’t tell me why. He said he knew the woman who built it.”
“Isabella Stewart Gardener.”
Morgaine shrugged. “I guess so.”
“I know a little bit about her. I can grab a reference book and find more for you, if you like.”
“You’d better not. If I sound like an encyclopedia, they’ll think I looked her up. But in a CliffsNotes version, tell me what you know.”
Konrad sat up straighter. “I love this woman’s story. She wasn’t accepted by the Boston blue bloods because she didn’t live the life of a restrained, Victorian matron. She loved to travel, had a sense of humor, and was vivacious. In other words, she lived large.”
“I like her already.”
“Yeah, I think you two would have gotten along just fine. Naturally she became the subject of scandals. As far as we know, they were unsubstantiated rumors. She was once quoted as saying, ‘Don’t spoil a good story by telling the truth.’”
Morgaine laughed. “I’ll have to remember that one next time someone accuses Gwyneth and me of being lesbian devil worshippers.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Yeah, I am. Well, about the devil worship, that is. Dottie and Ralph thought we were lesbians because of the noises we made being phone-sex actresses.”
Konrad laughed. “Yeah, I heard about that. You’ve been quiet lately, though.”
“Yeah, she threatened to throw us out if we kept up all the racket, even though it paid the rent.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Now if I can crack this case, there’s a nice reward in it for me.”
“I’ll bet. How much?”
“The FBI is offering five million dollars for the recovery of all the stolen goods. A portion less, if only part of it is recovered.”
Konrad whistled.
“Yeah, so it’s a good thing I got this job, and I really want to do it well. I…I have a hard time leaving the apartment building due to my agoraphobia, but a reward like that, and someone going with me…well, it’s worth anything I have to do. Anyway, tell me more about this interesting Isabella.”
“She loved the Red Sox as well as the symphony and made loads of friends in drastically different circles. She became a major patron of the arts and built the combination home and museum in the Fenway area to house her growing collection. She wanted to share it with the average American.”
“I saw a portrait of her at the museum.”
“Oh, yeah. She displayed the portraits of friends like John Singer Sargent and James McNeill Whistler, but also amassed a collection of famous European painters. It’s considered priceless today. She held concerts too. I went to hear a former student of mine play piano there.”
“What a gorgeous setting for a concert. I don’t suppose you’re talking about rock and roll, though.”
Konrad laughed. “No, it’s mostly classical stuff. Maybe some jazz. I can’t picture the calm, serene atmosphere of that atrium being shattered by Aerosmith.”
“Me neither.”
“Did you see the blank spots on the wall where the stolen art had been? The curator left it like that.”
“Yeah. I was almost sick to my stomach when I realized the theft involved some original Rembrandts.”
“The most valuable painting they stole from the Dutch gallery was the Vermeer. There’s only something like thirty-six of them in the world.”
Morgaine leaned forward. “Would you come with me? Maybe because you know a lot about the museum and Mrs. Gardener, Reginald will talk to you through me, and you can make sense of it. Plus, you might know how they got away with it, because of your…you know.”
“My security expertise?”
“Exactly!”
“Sure. I haven’t been there for a while. When were you planning to go?”
“I can go anytime. I just need to call first.”
“Don’t you need privacy to do your medium thing?”
“They let me upstairs into one of the parlors. That’s where Reginald likes to hang out. He’s not crazy about the visitors. Especially if they try to touch things.”
“Is that how they knew he was there? Did he throw a chair at a tourist’s head or something?”
“No. The curator said a couple of people claimed they saw him, and he senses a presence from time to time. That’s why the curator avoids the parlor and told me I might find Reginald there.”
“It sounds like I’ll see the part that’s not open to the public if I go with you.”
“Yup.”
“And we’re going to talk to someone who knew Isabella personally?”
“If he’ll talk to us.”
“If he loved Isabella, he’ll talk. Men always like to talk about the women they loved.”
Chapter 4
A few days later, Morgaine took a seat at the only table in the room. She sensed it had been for holding canapés and a floral centerpiece at cocktail parties. So not her thing. “Okay,
remember how we all held hands at the séance when the medium contacted Chad?”
Konrad nodded.
“Well, if Reginald is going to talk to you through me instead of just communicating with me through my mind, I’ll need all the extra energy I can get. Would you mind?”
“Not at all.” Konrad sat opposite Morgaine at the highly polished table and extended his reach.
“Thanks.” Morgaine clasped Konrad’s hands, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths to clear her energy. The parlor was illuminated only by natural light and one white candle. She hoped Reginald wouldn’t be shy about talking through her to a stranger, but she had prepared him by introducing Konrad as a security expert.
“Reginald, are you willing to speak to my friend through me?” She waited a few moments then sat up ramrod straight, as if a broomstick had been inserted you know where.
“Greetings.” The much lower voice of a man spoke through her mouth.
Konrad responded with, “Um, hello. Are you Reginald?”
“Who else would I be?”
Konrad sighed.
“Is there a problem?” Reginald asked.
“Oh, nothing. Are all ghosts so snippy and sarcastic?”
“I beg your pardon? Did you just insult me?”
“It’s just that you remind me of the only other ghost I know. I need to ask a few questions to help Morgaine. Are you willing to answer them?”
“Ordinarily I’d never speak to a man in such dire need of a haircut, but if you can catch these felons and put them away, I’ll do what I can.”
“Okay.” Under his breath Konrad mumbled, “Talk about insults.”
“What was that?” Reginald asked in an angry tone.
“Never mind. What can you tell us about the robbery?”
“As I told the woman with the funny name, I saw the cops come in, hit the guards over their heads, tie them up with duct tape, and rob the place.”
“You know those weren’t real Boston cops, don’t you?”
“How would I know that? Come to think of it, how would you know that? Were you there?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” A long sigh emitted from Morgaine’s mouth. “They took my favorite Degas, Three Mounted Jockeys.”
“There were three of them?”
“No, you dolt. The name of the painting was Three Mounted Jockeys. You know nothing about art, do you?”
“I know more than the average American.”
“That’s probably true. Ha. I cannot believe how stupid people are in this day and age. Well, back to the matter at hand. There were two robbers.”
“Fine. Can you give me descriptions?”
“I’m sure the two guards gave the police their descriptions, but because I’m in a generous mood, I’ll try to remember. They were both Caucasian. One was about six feet and the other slightly shorter. They wore fake moustaches and spoke with what passes for a Boston accent these days. Not the eloquent accents of my time, but an uncultured dialect that made them sound ignorant and uncouth. They used foul language too.”
“Did you notice anything else? Perhaps the thieves said something to each other after they stashed the guards in the basement?”
“How did you know about that? Perhaps you were in on it!”
“I read it in the newspaper. Why are you so suspicious of me?”
“Oh, no reason. I just don’t believe a security expert should have hair longer than the woman he’s with.”
“Let’s get back to the case. Did they say anything about already having a buyer?”
“They mentioned getting the stuff into the automobile and driving to Revere.”
“Revere! That’s a huge new clue. What else?”
“Well, they had a list.”
“It sounds like they knew exactly what their buyer or buyers wanted.”
“Yes, and someone knew the value of these items. Like a bronze beaker from the Shang Dynasty. It was at least three thousand years old, possibly four; in other words, priceless.”
“Did they take anything not on the list?”
“Only a Rembrandt etching that was postage-stamp size. A self-portrait. I imagine they thought they could hide it pretty easily.”
“Probably. They may have tried to fence it themselves. That would be helpful if the piece ever surfaces. It could lead us directly back to the thieves. Then they could tell us where the rest of it went.”
“The police and FBI were all over this place, collecting evidence and questioning the staff. I can’t believe they haven’t caught the hooligans? It’s been twenty years.”
“I imagine the FBI has done all the right things.”
“Maybe they were in on it.”
Konrad snorted. “I doubt it.”
“But they had police uniforms and guns.”
“Those can be bought.”
“And the patches that said Boston Police?”
“They may have made or stolen those. My twin brother is a Boston cop. He might be able to ask some of the veterans about it.”
“Oh, so that’s why you don’t want to believe the police are in on it. Your brother is a flatfoot.”
Konrad bristled. “Look, most cops are honest, hardworking individuals who put their lives on the—”
Male laughter interrupted Konrad.
His grip tightened, and he growled.
Morgaine let go of his hands, swayed, and leaned over.
Konrad shot to his feet and grabbed her shoulders before she hit the table. “Morgaine, are you all right?”
She took a few panting breaths and opened her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Where did Reginald go?”
“I don’t know. I imagine he’s still around. I just had to intervene. You two weren’t getting along very well.”
“No kidding. I have the feeling old Reggie doesn’t like cops. Maybe he wasn’t squeaky clean himself.”
“If we want information, you two have to play nice.” Morgaine suddenly sat bolt upright, opened her mouth, and spoke with the formal male voice again. “Don’t call me Reggie, and I won’t call you Connie. Being a disembodied spirit isn’t easy. How would you like to try it, hmmm?”
“Is that a threat?”
“What could I possibly threaten you with? Unless it’s withholding information.”
“You wouldn’t.”
A long silence followed, with Morgaine holding her stiff position.
“Oh c’mon. Don’t be childish,” Konrad said.
“Childish? How dare you. I was born in 1890. I’m well over a hundred years older than you.”
“No, you’re not. We’re barely a generation apart. I was born in 1912.”
Loud male laughter exploded from Morgaine’s mouth.
“I’ll prove it.” Konrad stood and stripped.
“Oh, my. You’re rather like a work of art yourself. What big muscles you have, my dear.”
Konrad grinned, growled, and began to shift. His hair seemed to shrink inside his head and sprout elsewhere on his body. His nose and chin extended, and his back rounded. As he fell forward, his hands and arms became paws and legs.
A long, loud male scream resounded that could have been heard from the sidewalk outside. Konrad shifted back and dressed quickly.
Morgaine felt Reginald practically rip himself out of her and flee. She wavered a moment and braced her hands on the table. Konrad lowered himself to the chair opposite her as if nothing had happened.
Morgaine crossed her arms and glared at him. “Did you have to do that? I’ve never seen you change. It even freaked me out!”
“Sorry, but I hate being patronized.”
“So do I, but you don’t see me flying around on a broomstick every time someone pisses me off.”
Konrad shrugged. “I figured it was important that he understand that not everyone fits in his narrow view of mankind. Some of us aren’t even human and have much longer life spans.”
“That’s it? That’s
all you have to say for yourself? This was my first case, and you probably blew it for me.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Maybe if I apologize to Reginald—”
“I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again. And he certainly won’t speak to you.”
“I’m very sorry. Maybe I can think of something to salvage the situation.”
The door to the parlor flew open and the curator rushed in. “What happened? I thought I heard a scream.”
***
Morgaine and Konrad rode the subway back to their neighborhood in silence. It was just as well. Konrad couldn’t think of much to say in the way of apology. He really couldn’t blame Morgaine if she never spoke to him again.
As they strolled toward their building, Morgaine said, “I’m glad you thought fast and said you screamed because you thought you saw the ghost.”
“I have a feeling the curator didn’t believe me.”
“Probably because you don’t look like the type of guy to shriek in fear. Besides, Reginald’s voice doesn’t match the timbre of yours, even coming out of my mouth.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t scream like a little girl.”
“Well, I almost did when I opened my eyes and saw you changing back.”
“You’ve never seen me change before?” He grabbed the brass door handle but refrained from opening the front door.
“How could I?”
“By looking out your window, although I usually come back before dawn and Sly lets me in. I don’t know if you’re up that early. Or you could catch me at night, but ever since Jason installed the motion detector, it’s bright as hell out there, so I have to find a Dumpster to hide behind, where I can stash my clothes and shift.”
“That must be nerve-wracking. What if Jason or Merry pulled into their parking spots just as you were shifting?”
“Yeah, believe me, I worry about that.”
“I can cast a spell to shield you from view whenever you shift, if you like.”
Konrad almost gasped. “You can?”
“I believe so. I haven’t actually tried to put a spell on a werewolf before. I might have to tweak it a bit.”
He glanced at the apartment to the right of the front door. “Listen, don’t say anything to Roz about me, okay?”
Morgaine placed her hands on her hips and frowned. “You’re going to tell her, though.”
