A Case of Imagination

by Jane Tesh

  “She seems ready to pin the murder on Evan.”

  “Oh, she’s been mad at him for years. According to local gossip, she was in a Miss Celosia Pageant and lost, and she blamed Evan. Something about her microphone going out in the middle of her song. From what I understand, it was a blessing. I think the crowd gave Evan a medal. More cookies? There are a few here I didn’t destroy.”

  When Hayden and Jerry came back to the porch, Hayden looked relieved. Jerry’s eyes were sparkling.

  “Mac, you should see the upstairs. I want Nell to paint my bedroom like that.”

  Shana stood. “Let me give you the tour, Madeline.”

  I could tell Shana had chosen the decor, for the rest of the Amrys’ house was decorated in bold colors. The bedroom walls gleamed bright shades of yellow and red; Hayden’s office was a calm green; Shana’s office shone with yellow and gold.

  “But I never work here,” she said. “I like the porch best.”

  I had noticed a stack of paper on Hayden’s desk. “How’s your work coming along?” I asked him. Then I wished I hadn’t asked, because the relief in his eyes faded.

  “Could be better.”

  Shana gave him a hug. “Don’t worry about it. Come sit outside with me and keep me company.”

  He checked his wristwatch. “I need to get to the bookstore. I promised Georgia I’d finish the magazine order today.”

  “And leave our guests? Madeline, why don’t you and Jerry stay for lunch?”

  Jerry was about to agree when I snagged his arm. “Thanks, but we’ve got plans. Maybe some other time.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Yes, thanks so much,” Hayden said.

  “We could’ve stayed,” Jerry said as we got into my car.

  “Did you rid the house of evil?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then our work here is done.”

  We’d gotten to the end of the drive when Jerry said, “There weren’t any evil spirits in that house.”

  “Is this your professional opinion?”

  “No vibes of any kind.”

  “That’s good, then, isn’t it? Why are you looking so grim? Were you ready for an epic battle?”

  “It’s Hayden. I’m worried about the guy. I mean, at one point, his hands were shaking. I think he’s headed for another meltdown.”

  “Shana will take care of him.”

  “She’s great, isn’t she?”

  Oh, no. Did I have more competition? Of course Jerry would be attracted to such a beautiful woman. “She’s certainly gorgeous.”

  “Yes, but she’s so loyal to Hayden. You can tell she really cares about him. That’s what marriage is all about. Stand by your man.”

  I could breathe again. “I’m glad you feel that way,” I said, and I meant it on several levels.

  ***

  I wanted to speak with the rest of the Miss Celosia contestants, Jerry wanted to paint the kitchen cabinets, so I took him home and continued my investigation.

  Mary Lee Winston told me how Juliet had stolen her boyfriend.

  “She knew I loved Kevin, and she just charmed him away and then dumped him! He was so upset, he didn’t come running back to me like he should have!”

  Amy Britt informed me of Juliet’s habit of cheating on English tests.

  “She’d use the Internet at the library to find a paper on whatever subject the teacher wanted, and then she’d change it just enough so that it looked like her own work. I was the best writer in the class, but Mrs. Bowers never knew that. She thought Juliet was the next Danielle Steele.”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that.

  Joan Jessup gave me all the details on Juliet’s behavior at parties.

  “And she was never invited! She’d just show up, and nobody had the nerve to tell her to leave, especially not the boys. They’d just stand and gawk at her. She always wore really tight short dresses and no bra. She’d drink too much and start dancing around. It was awful!”

  Everyone I spoke to had a Juliet horror story. Everyone I spoke to was glad she was gone—not particularly glad she was dead, but glad she was out of their lives, out of Celosia.

  I’d heard enough for one day and decided to grab a burger and go home. I walked down Main Street past Georgia’s Books, narrowly avoiding Prill, who was crossing at the post office, a small elderly woman clutching his cape.

  “Inside, quick,” Hayden said. He pulled me into the bookstore.

  I laughed at his sudden move. “What’s going on?”

  “You know how he’s been trying to sell me some woman’s poetry. I’ll bet any amount of money that is Emily Nesp with him right now. If he comes in here, tell him I’m not working today. Tell him I’ve gone down the Amazon.”

  I peered out the door. “They went into the post office.”

  “Probably to mail her latest tome to the Smithsonian,” Hayden said. “He’s been driving me crazy with her ridiculous verses. She’s the worst poet you could possibly imagine. Worse than me.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You’re just having a little dry spell. It happens to everybody. I had to leave Parkland because I couldn’t get work.”

  “I’d think Parkland would be a great place for crime.”

  I thought of Reid Kent and the look on his face when I caught him in my office. “All kinds. Unfortunately, no one was hiring me to solve them.”

  “How’s this case coming along?” he asked.

  “I want to talk to you about Shana.”

  His eyes widened. “Is she a suspect?”

  “Was she with you Friday night at ten?”

  He looked dismayed. “No. I was here, calling in some last-minute orders.” His expression cleared. “But I called her, as well, to tell her I’d be late.”

  “When was this?”

  “Sometime between nine-thirty and ten, I’m almost certain. Uh-oh. Too late.”

  I thought Hayden had remembered a damaging detail. Then I saw Prill enter the store. He waved a stack of paper at Hayden.

  “Look here. Some of her latest.”

  “Spare me.”

  Prill glared. “I’m doing you a favor, you ignorant clod. Read this.” He thrust one paper forward.

  Hayden took the paper and scanned the words. “I’ve been reading small print all morning, so I know my eyes are tired, but not this tired. What is this? Gibberish, looks like.”

  “Don’t you see? She’s made up her own poetic language.”

  Hayden held the paper at arm’s length. “I can’t even read it. Is this supposed to be poetry?”

  “It’s the innermost thoughts of a flower. Read the title, you stupid thing.”

  “‘My Pansy’s Soul’?” Hayden began to chuckle. “I don’t believe this.”

  Prill sighed in exasperation. “Of course you don’t! Didn’t I tell you you were mired in conventionality?”

  “Just yesterday. Madeline, you have to read this.”

  I took the paper and read the flowery script. Hayden was right. It didn’t make any sense.

  Prill pulled another paper from the stack. “Look at this one. ‘The Dust Speaks: A Mote’s Eye View.’ And this one. “Reflections on a Fragment.’ This is golden stuff, Hayden, a totally new art form. Stop laughing! I’m giving you first crack at these.”

  Hayden couldn’t stop. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Then he put his head down on his arms on the desk and laughed some more.

  Prill was furious. “Don’t you understand what this means? Our entire concept of poetry will be altered, revitalized! What is wrong with you? This is obviously not the time to approach you with something of this magnitude.”

  Hayden sat up and wiped his eyes. “Bring back the spasmodic bells. At least that’s in English. Sort of.” He fluttered the copy of “My Pansy’s Soul.” “I can use this. The block is broken.”

  Prill snatched the paper out of his hand. “You are completely useless. I don’t know why I bother with you. You’ll be sorry you laughe
d at this opportunity of a lifetime.”

  Hayden couldn’t stop chuckling. “Aren’t you going to let me read the rest?”

  Prill clutched the papers to his chest and folded his cape around them. “I called your house a thousand times last night. Where were you? There was a sale at Terrance’s.”

  “I was working.”

  “Working on your own pitiful poems? Putting your socks in alphabetical order?”

  “Working here at the store.”

  Prill gave a snort. “Brooding, most likely. When does the library committee meet again? Have you thought about what you’re going to say about Destinies?”

  Hayden’s voice threatened to wobble. “Please let me take one of her latest efforts. It would be just the thing to sway the committee.”

  Prill drew himself up. “You are making sport of me, sir, and I will not have it. Good day!”

  He sailed out. Georgia poked her head out from the children’s section. “What was so funny?”

  “We had a poetry reading,” I said.

  “Not Emily Nesp again.”

  “Thank God he didn’t drag poor Ms. Nesp in here with him,” Hayden said. “I couldn’t stop laughing.”

  Georgia smiled. “Well, it’s been a while since I heard you laugh like that. Maybe her poetry is good for something.”

  I had to agree. The tired lines were gone from Hayden’s eyes. “I didn’t understand a word of it. Prill worked himself into a real snit.”

  Hayden chuckled again. “‘My Pansy’s Soul.’”

  “No comment,” Georgia said.

  ***

  When I got back to the house, Jerry wasn’t in the kitchen. He was on the front porch talking with Flossie Mae Snyder. She must have just arrived. Her huge car clicked as it cooled.

  “My friends and I are still talking about your séance,” she said. “That last one was certainly impressive. When can we schedule another?”

  “Please have a seat, Mrs. Snyder,” he said. She sat down in one of the rocking chairs. “Thanks, but I’m working on a new project. My girlfriend and I are planning on opening a haunted bed and breakfast.”

  “Yes, I’d heard something about that. It sounds most intriguing.” She gave me a sharp glance. “Thought your girlfriend was a detective, though.”

  “Olivia Decker is my girlfriend. I don’t believe you’ve met her.”

  There. He’d said it. That was it, then.

  Flossie Mae gave him a look over the top of her glasses. “So you got two women living here?”

  “Just about.”

  She laughed and reached over to pinch his cheek. “I knew you were a rascal first time I saw you. What did you do to the boys to get them so riled?”

  Jerry perched on the porch rail. “I promise I’ve never done a thing to Sean or Geoff. They’re just way too serious.”

  “Lord, yes. Just like their mother. But what about your folks? They from around here? Val never said a thing about relatives.”

  “My parents died when I was small. I have two brothers and a sister who live in Parkland.”

  Flossie Mae nodded. “Seems to me I recall something about that. Was it a fire? Tell me if I’m being too nosey.”

  “That’s okay,” Jerry said. “There was some sort of fire. I don’t remember a lot about it.”

  “Have you been able to contact your parents during one of your séances?”

  Jerry looked taken aback. “I never considered that.”

  Good heavens, I thought. Don’t encourage him.

  “Perhaps you should, before you give it up completely.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Snyder. It might be worth a try.”

  She looked at her watch and got up. “Well, my sewing circle meets in about ten minutes. If you decide to get back in the séance business, you give me a call.”

  Jerry walked her out to her car and held the door. She drove off, and he came back to the porch.

  “I see you have a groupie,” I said.

  “She’s a real character.”

  “I guess we’ll be hearing from Sean or Geoff pretty soon.”

  “Yep. I’ll say ten minutes.”

  “I’ll say fifteen.”

  In exactly ten minutes, Sean Snyder drove up in a cloud of dust, parked, and got out, fists clenched. He charged up the porch steps and shook a fist in Jerry’s face.

  “You may have fooled Aunt Flossie, but you don’t fool me. This is just another scheme of yours to fleece unsuspecting widows.”

  Jerry just grinned. “And orphans.”

  Sean didn’t get the joke. “What?”

  “Widows and orphans. You’re supposed to say unsuspecting widows and orphans.”

  I could see Sean’s teeth grind together. “Be as flippant as you like. Geoff and I will find a way to stop you.”

  “You don’t have to stop me, Sean. I’ve stopped myself. I’m going legit.”

  “Oh, ha, ha.”

  “Ask your aunt if you don’t believe me.”

  “And what brought about this transformation?”

  “I’m opening a bed and breakfast.”

  This stopped Sean cold for a few minutes. “A what?”

  “A bed and breakfast. You know. People stay overnight, and you feed them in the morning.”

  Sean gave the house a horrified glance. “Good lord. Who’d want to stay here?”

  “You haven’t seen the improvements. Come on in.”

  Sean didn’t move. “I’m not going in there, and neither will anyone else. This house has a terrible reputation.”

  “Well, I’m going to change that.”

  “You don’t fool me for an instant. You’re going to lure innocent tourists in and then pick their pockets with your illegal and devious tricks.”

  “What tricks?”

  “Geoff and I saw you and your partner—what was his name?”

  Jerry sat back on the porch railing. “Jeff. Only he spells it the right way.”

  “We saw you and Jeff pull that phony mind-reading act. I’ll bet you got over five hundred dollars that night before we exposed you to the authorities.”

  “Seven hundred and fifty. It would’ve been more, but Jeff’s microphone kept picking up the local news.”

  I thought Sean was going to go through the roof.

  “You even admit to fraudulent practices! Why aren’t you in jail?”

  “No jail can hold me, Sean. I just walk through the walls.”

  Sean stuck his nose so close to Jerry’s, I thought for a moment he was going to attempt a head-butt. “Well, I promise you, Geoff and I will be watching closely, and if there’s even the slightest hint of illegal activity up here, we’ll have the law down on you.”

  Jerry didn’t flinch. “This is going to be a legitimate business, Sean. You can ask Olivia.”

  “Don’t think I won’t!”

  With this threat, Sean huffed back to his car, got in, and drove away.

  Jerry waved good-bye. “One day, he’s just going to pop like a balloon. There’ll be little pieces of Snyder all over the yard.”

  I wondered what Jerry really had in mind. “You aren’t planning anything illegal, are you?”

  “Nothing I do is illegal. People want to believe. That’s the great thing about them. Oh, here comes Olivia. Sean just missed her. Too bad.”

  I wish I’d missed her. Olivia. Damn. He must have called her.

  Olivia parked her car beside mine and got out, carrying a shopping bag. Jerry bounded down the steps to her. I went upstairs to avoid seeing their happy meeting. I paused in the hallway and looked toward the parlor. Even from here, I could see the gleam of light; light that I knew would be perfect. I walked to the parlor and stood in the doorway, imaging how I’d rearrange things. The fancy Victorian furniture would have to go. I could put a desk and chair in one corner, some file cabinets and maybe a nice plant or two. The rest of the room would be filled with my artist supplies, paints and brushes and—

  No. No, an office might be nice, but how could
I hope to create art here when Jerry and Olivia were lip-locked in their bedroom?

  I could hear her. When was her incessant chatter going to get on his nerves? I went to the landing and listened. They were in the downstairs parlor, Olivia holding forth on her master plan for the bed and breakfast.

  “Jerry, I found these candles at Candle De-Light. They’ll go perfectly with your living room colors. This is a special lighter, too. It’s the latest thing. And I’ve been thinking an afternoon tea might be nice. Vegetables from your garden—if you ever have one. Tours, perhaps, of the area. We could get those little bottles of shampoo and lotion, like hotels have for their guests. Oh, you know what would look good? A grand piano right by those windows.”

  “And who would be playing this grand piano?” Jerry asked.

  “Well, you certainly can.”

  “I think this room is a better séance room.”

  “Jerry, we are discussing a bed and breakfast, not a spook house at the fair. And why is Madeline still here?”

  After all this time and despite all evidence to the contrary, she still perceives me as a threat.

  “She’s on a case,” Jerry said.

  “Do you honestly think she can solve a murder mystery?”

  Getting personal here. I leaned over the railing to hear better.

  Olivia said, “This is Madeline Maclin we’re talking about. She can take pictures of cheating husbands and find watches and rings, but murder? Don’t you think that’s out of her league?”

  Well, excuse me, missy.

  “She can do it,” Jerry said.

  “I still don’t see why she has to stay here.”

  “Mac’s my best friend.”

  “You say that all the time, and it’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Men and women can’t be best friends. There’s too much sexual tension involved.”

  Jerry laughed. “Mac and I don’t have any sexual tension.”

  Ow. Jerry, you are as thick as two planks.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t find her attractive,” Olivia said.

  “I think she’s gorgeous.”

  Thanks for that much.

  Olivia let out an exasperated sigh. “See?”

  “Well, damn it, Olivia, I’m not blind.”