by John Gaspard
“Yes,” I said. “I’m here to see Arianna Dupree.”
He gave me a long look and then tapped a few keystrokes into the laptop next to the cash register. “Arianna is in session right now,” he said as he studied the screen. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, do I need one? I just have a few questions for her. It won’t take long. I was just in the neighborhood…” I was making this up as I went along and it sounded like it.
“Can I tell Arianna what this concerns?” His tone made him sound like the maître d’ at a five-star restaurant instead of a retail clerk at the local head shop. I decided to fight fire with fire.
“Yes,” I said with gravity, “I’m here to discuss the murder of Walter Graboski, also known as Grey, and the murder of Dr. Maurice Bitterman.”
That got his attention. “Who should I tell her…?” He let his words hang in the air like the balloon effect I had created for Nathan.
“Eli Marks,” I said.
“One moment, please.” He discreetly closed the laptop and disappeared through a beaded curtain into the back of the shop.
I glanced around the store and finally spotted Harry, who was happily sorting through old albums, occasionally pulling one out and examining it more closely. I heard the jangle of beads and turned to see the handsome male clerk returning.
“Arianna will be with you in a minute,” he said, all the frost now melted from his voice. “Can I get you a cup of green tea and some mango slices?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
“Would you care for a quick hit off the oxygen bar?” he suggested, gesturing toward one counter that was set up with small oxygen masks, tubes and tanks. “It’s great for clearing out the negative ions.”
“No thanks, man,” I said. “I’m cool.”
“Well, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.”
“Actually,” I said as he began to walk away, “I did have a question. For you.”
“Yes?” He turned back, clearly trying to put on an expression of interest and concern on his face. It wasn’t really working.
“Did you know Grey and Dr. Bitterman?”
“I’ve met them both, yes. When I decided to get into the intuitive healing arts, I made a point of meeting all the top people in the Twin Cities. The best, of course, being Arianna.”
“So you didn’t know them personally?”
“I’ve interacted with both of them at social gatherings. And I did one past life reading with Dr. Bitterman, which was, at best, disappointing, and at worst unprofessional.”
“Really?”
“I’d prefer not to go into it.”
“Were you at the memorial service for Grey? And the reception that followed?”
His eyes narrowed at me. “Yes. I helped Arianna set up her harp before the service. I also went to the reception, but I arrived later than most of the others.”
“Why was that?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Arianna didn’t want her harp to sit in the car during the reception. Cold weather can warp it, or so she says. So I took it back to her apartment for her, and then came later to the reception.” His stare had turned to ice. “Is there anything else?”
I shook my head. “That’s it. Thanks.”
“Fine. Arianna will be out in a moment.”
He walked away again, stopping at a nearby counter to straighten a small display that didn’t need straightening. I could tell that he was keeping an eye on me.
“Eli! How nice to see you again.” Arianna parted the beaded curtain and skillfully maneuvered her large frame through the narrow doorway. “I had a feeling that our paths would cross again and I was right. Score one more for the psychics.”
She moved with remarkable speed and grace for a person her size, and before I realized what was happening, she was nearly on top of me. She was wearing several flowing layers of billowing pastel silks and scarves, looking like Mama Cass as dressed by Stevie Nicks.
She deftly planted an air kiss on each cheek and then turned around and headed back toward the doorway, just in time to greet a thin, sad-looking woman in her twenties who was making her way through the beads.
“Now, Virginia, remember what I told you,” Arianna said to the woman in a cooing, soothing voice. “The mind, the body, the spirit are all one. If one is damaged, they’re all damaged. If one is cured, they’re all cured. We made a lot of progress today, but this was just another small step on what may prove to be a long and strenuous journey. However,” she continued, placing a hand gently on the woman’s back, “it’s a journey that we’ll be taking together. You’ll never be alone. Do you understand that?”
“I do,” she said softly. “I’m just so worried about everything, and I think that’s what’s making me sick. My job, my finances, my cat. It’s kind of overwhelming.”
Arianna smiled sympathetically. “Yes, of course it is. But the key thing to remember is that you’re not alone. The universe is there to support you. And, don’t forget, I’m here as well. Okay?”
The woman smiled, just a bit. Arianna moved in closer and took her hand. “I’ll see you at the same time the day after tomorrow, but you call if you need to talk before then. Promise me you’ll call?”
The woman nodded. “Good girl,” Arianna said. “Now go talk to Michael and he’ll settle up today’s charges.” She gently pushed the woman toward the handsome clerk, who had noiselessly returned to his position at the cash register.
He looked to Arianna, who gave him a subtle shake of her head. He began to flip through some screens on the laptop. The woman was opening her purse as she approached him.
“You know, Virginia, it looks like you overpaid last time, so there’s no charge for today.”
She looked up, surprised. “Really?”
He consulted the computer again. “That’s what it says here. You’re all set.”
“Oh, okay. Great. I can use the money.” She closed her purse and smiled at him, clearly pleased at this turn of events. “I’ll see you next time.”
She headed toward the door and Arianna watched her go. When she had left the store, Arianna turned and gestured toward me to follow as she moved back toward the beaded curtain. Michael called after her.
“Dewey, don’t forget that your eleven o’clock wanted both the full body work and the aura photos.”
Arianna nodded at him as she sailed through the store.
“I’m between sessions,” she said, glancing back at me, “so if you want to talk, you’ll have to walk.” She laughed as she disappeared into the back room and I followed. And then I stopped.
He had called her Dewey. It was pretty clearly a nickname based on her last name, Dupree, but something else about it sounded familiar.
I turned to check on Harry one last time. He was still standing by the used bins in vinyl bliss, so I pushed the beads aside and stepped through the doorway.
I wasn’t sure what I would see when I walked through the curtain.
Straight ahead was a small photo studio, set up with a digital camera, lights, a laptop, and printer. The backdrop for the studio was a bit puzzling—the left half of the wall was painted bright white, while the right half was painted black. Arianna saw my reaction and smiled.
“That’s where I do my aura photos. Some people’s auras photograph best against a white background, some against black. Even after doing it for years, I can’t tell which will work better until I get them in front of the camera.”
She turned left, into a small room, while I stopped to look at the framed photos on the wall. They were all portrait shots, like you’d get from a professional photographer. The difference was that each person had a colorful glow surrounding them. The colors varied—some were surrounded by blue light, others by yellow, while a small number were bathed in red.
They reminded me of the old days, when we shot photos with film and the last photos on a roll would have an odd glow to them, because the film had been exposed to extra li
ght before developing.
“So, what can I do for you, Eli?” Arianna called from the room she had disappeared into.
One photo caught my eye. It was of a young woman, with long dark hair, and although I didn’t recognize her, she did remind me of someone. And then it hit me. “Nova,” I said out loud.
“What’s that?” Arianna called from the other room.
Nova had told me that one of her past beaus had been named Dewey. I had assumed that Dewey had been a male, but most of my other assumptions about Nova had been wrong, so there was no reason why this one couldn’t get in line to join them.
“Nova,” I repeated as I rounded the corner and stepped into the small room. It was a therapy room of some kind, with a couch and chair. It was lit entirely with candles, some of which Arianna was in the midst of switching out for her next client. “Do you know a girl named Nova? She worked for Grey.”
“And before that she worked for me,” Arianna said with just a touch of bitterness in her voice. She lit the final two candles and stood back to assess her work, then turned to me. “A sweet girl and a lovely spirit. We did not part well. I blame Grey for that. He took a perverse pleasure in destroying things, like relationships.” She turned and looked at one of the candles for a long moment. It may have been a trick of the light, but I think I saw a tear in her eye. “She was a very special girl and he took her from me. In every way.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
She shook her head, breaking her reverie. “Yes, well, now I have Michael and all is as it should be.”
“I must say, you have a rare gift for hiring stunning clerks.”
“What can I say, I have a thing for beauty,” she said, giving me a playful tap on the arm. “Some people are addicted to drugs, some to cigarettes, some to sex. Me, I’m addicted to beauty.”
She stepped out of the therapy room and moved toward the photo studio, flipping on the lights to fully illuminate the backdrop.
“So that was the therapy room, where I do readings and full-body healings,” she said, gesturing expansively around the space. “This is the studio for aura photography, and over there,” she said, pointing around a corner to a long, tall bench with bright lights positioned above it, “is where I do jewelry repair. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that success is all about diversification.”
“Did you ever confront Grey about what he did to your relationship with Nova?” I asked as I followed her.
She turned on the final light and looked at me. “You mean, did I kill him?”
“Well, yes, if you want to cut to the chase.”
She smiled wickedly and shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But I certainly thought about it. A lot. Fortunately, someone beat me to it.” She gave me another wicked smile and began fiddling with the camera on the tripod, adjusting the controls while she looked at the image on the small screen on the back of the camera.
“Do you have any idea who beat you to it?”
“Hon, do me a favor and stand in front of the camera. On the ‘x’ on the floor.” I obliged and moved in front of the camera. There were two marks on the floor, one on the white side and one on the black side. “White or black?”
“Let’s start with white.”
I stood in front of the white portion of the backdrop, but the moment I got settled she called from behind the camera. “Oops. Wrong. Dead wrong. You need the black background.”
I moved over to the black side and waited patiently.
“You have a very inquisitive aura,” she said, her face still hidden behind the lens.
“You can see that through the camera?”
“Honey, I saw that the moment you walked in. So you’re playing detective now, in an attempt to clear your name?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I love that. And I love your aura.”
I heard the click of the shutter, followed immediately by a second identical click.
Arianna’s head popped up from behind the camera and she turned toward the laptop on the stand next to the camera. She began tapping away on the keys.
“Unfortunately, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help to you. Not only is the list of people who hated Grey as long as my arm—” She looked around dramatically, pretending that she was making sure that we were alone. “But, to be honest, I don’t want whoever did it to get caught. Unless they’re planning on giving that person a medal.”
“You said as much at the reception.”
“And I meant it. The world is a hard enough place as it is without bastards like Grey making it worse.”
She hit another key on the keyboard and a moment later a piece of paper began to come into view from the printer. She smiled knowingly as it emerged. “Very interesting,” she said slowly. “Very interesting indeed.”
She picked up the completed print and brought it over to me. It was the photo she had just taken of me, but my body was surrounded by a rainbow of colors: blues, reds, yellows and a thin layer of sickly green that hung close to my body.
“Wow,” was all I could say after looking at the photo.
“Obviously there’s a lot going on here. If you have a minute,” she said, “There are a few things I can tell you about your search, based on your aura.”
I’ll spare you the details of Arianna’s exhaustive reading of my aura.
Suffice it to say that my aura was in conflict. My Chi was completely out of whack. My chakras were jumbled up like a crash test dummy after a serious wreck.
Consequently, she explained, this was not a good time for new relationships or existing relationships. And, if one could believe my aura, whatever trouble I was in was likely to get worse. Basically, my aura, my Chi, and my chakras were suggesting that my wisest course of action would be to take to my bed and stay there.
By the time we emerged from the back room, Uncle Harry was completing the purchase of a small stack of records. Michael had rung up the total and was just processing Harry’s credit card.
“Oh, Buster, you have to see these. I got some choice records to add to my collection,” Harry said as I made my way through the beaded curtain. “Stanley Myron Handelman. Corbett Monica. Woody Woodbury. Even a Rusty Warren that I was missing.”
“My uncle collects comedy albums of performers that he worked with at one time or another,” I said by way of explanation to Arianna. “He’s a magician.”
“So it runs in the family,” Arianna said, smiling broadly.
“Arianna, this is Harry Marks, my uncle,” I said. “Harry, this is Arianna Dupree. She’s the proprietor of Akashic Records, among other skills.”
“A fine establishment,” Harry said as she took his hand in greeting. “And what are your other skills?”
“I travel along a wide spectrum on the astral plane,” she said, still holding onto his hand. “But my primary gift is that of a full body healer, using the art of Johrei.”
“Which means what?” he asked, as he seamlessly switched into his avuncular inquisitive mode.
“It means,” she said, caressing his hand slightly as she studied it closely, “that my gifts allow me to diagnose and treat illness of the mind, body and spirit. For example, I’m intuiting that you’re currently suffering from a bit of arthritis.” She looked him right in the eye.
Harry shook his head, but continued to smile benignly. Arianna quickly moved ahead without skipping a beat. “Or actually, it feels more like a rheumatoid condition.” Another gentle shake of the head from Harry. Arianna set down his right hand and took up his left.
“A respiratory ailment, something in the chest, on the left side.” She looked at Harry questioningly. He smiled and shook his head. She released his hand. “Harry, you seem to be in fine shape.”
“Knock on wood,” he said, giving the wooden portion of the counter a solid rap.
“Harry’s not a big believer in the intuitive arts,” I said, feeling that someone had to state the obvious. I was surprised that the only person
to raise an objection to this was Harry.
“On the contrary, I often look to the intuitive arts to help me plan for the future,” Harry said, turning back to Arianna. “In fact, I’m a big believer in Clidomancy, Gyromancy, and Tiromancy, to name only three.”
“I don’t think I’m familiar with those,” Arianna said, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Oh, they’re the art of divining the future by, respectively, dangling keys, walking in a circle until you become dizzy and fall down, and my favorite, Tiromancy, whereby you tell the future by means of a piece of cheese.”
Arianna looked at him for what seemed like a long time, and then her lips began to form a wry smile. “Harry, you’re having fun with me, aren’t you?”
He returned the smile. “Yes, I am, just a bit.”
She put an arm around him and pulled him close, enveloping him within her massive bosom. “Eli, I like this man.”
I could barely see Harry’s face, but what little I saw told me that he liked her right back.
When we got out to the parking lot, I discovered that I’d forgotten my iPhone in the car and that someone had left me a message.
I turned on the engine to get the heater going, and while Harry cooed over his cache of albums again, I checked my voicemail. It was an unfamiliar number and a slightly familiar voice, but she got my attention right away.
“Hello, Eli,” the voice on the recording said. “This is Franny Higgins; we met at the memorial service? Sorry to bother you, but I thought we should talk. I just got a phone call from someone. He wanted a psychic reading. And the thing is, he said he thinks that he was the one who killed Grey.”
