by Jane Tesh
He handed over the book without a fight. Jerry looked disappointed.
“I was hoping for more drama,” he said, as we drove on to Mazie Hurwitz’s house.
Mazie was not, as her name suggested, a little old lady. She was an exotic gypsy type with dark hair down to her knees. She also handed over her book without any trouble. She smiled at Jerry.
“Are you the one who holds séances?”
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“I may call you sometime.”
“Anytime.”
I steered him back to the car.
“Now that’s more like it,” he said.
Bruce The Complete Works of Emily Dickenson Seldon looked like a member of a motorcycle gang, and Pat Stories From Great Operas Fenner was a female Pat, pale and wispy. Bruce dug around in his garage and tossed his overdue book to Jerry.
“Ever read any of them poems? They’re damn good.”
Pat Fenner had apologized over and over for her tardiness.
“I just got so caught up in the stories. They’re so complex, so moving.”
“I’m sure you can buy your own copy at Georgia’s Books,” I said.
“Really? Do you think they’d have it there?”
“If not, they can order it for you.”
“I just never thought of that.”
“Success!” Jerry said as we drove back to the library, all four books secured. “Score one for Madeline Maclin Investigations.”
“Now if I could just find Patricia’s umbrella.”
Jerry leafed through Stories From Great Operas. “I think the Parkland Civic Opera is doing ‘Faust.’ Want to go?”
I’m not the opera fan Jerry is, but I’m not passing on any chance to be with him. “Sure.”
“Seattle’s doing the Ring Cycle this season. Wish I could afford to go see that.”
“Well, if you had a job you could afford it.”
“There’s always Mantis Man merchandise.”
I knew a giant insect was too intriguing. “You’d have to have a bankroll first.”
“Maybe.” He closed the book. “I know you don’t like Rick.”
“He’s much worse than any of your other partners. He’s just so slick. I’m afraid he’s going to slide right into jail and take you with him.”
“He’s not doing anything illegal.”
I’d given up trying to explain the finer points of fraud to Jerry. “Just don’t let him talk you into anything.”
“I’m not. I’ve got my séances. The Eberlin house is set to star in a major motion picture. I’m happy.”
“Good.” Maybe this time, he’d stay out of Rick’s schemes. “Now, what about Tucker’s wedding?”
“Can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy that day.”
“All day? The wedding’s just an hour, maybe less.”
“You can tell me all about it.”
I don’t usually go for the low blow, but I know he loves Tucker. “Jerry, this is your little brother we’re talking about.”
“I know.”
“The wedding’s not even going to be in the house.”
Thunderclouds gathered in his eyes. “I’m not going.”
“What about Harriet? Have you gotten in touch with her yet?” I took out my cell phone. “What’s her number? I’ll call her.”
For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he told me Harriet’s number, and I punched it in. After three rings, Harriet answered. Her voice, as usual, was harsh, her tone suspicious.
“Who is it?”
“Good morning, Harriet. It’s Madeline Maclin.”
“What do you want?”
“Jerry and I would like to come visit. We have something to discuss with you.”
“What on earth would you have to discuss with me?”
“When would be a good time?” I figured that no time was a good time for Harriet Fairweather. I was right.
“I’m very busy,” she said.
“This won’t take long. It’s about the fire.”
Jerry looked alarmed by my bluntness. I couldn’t see Harriet’s face, of course, but imagined she looked just as horrified. “That’s none of your business.”
“Well, here, talk to Jerry.” I handed him the phone. “Tell her you have a few questions you’d like to ask.”
He tried to hand the phone back to me, but I wouldn’t let him. After a few minutes shoving the phone back and forth like a game of hot potato, he reluctantly put it to his ear.
“Hello, Harriet. Yes, I know she’s pushy.” He paused to listen. “I know it’s none of her business, but I need to know what happened. Exactly what happened.” He paused again, and I imagined Harriet repeating the Playing With Matches story. Then Jerry said, “Well, maybe I don’t believe that any more.”
There must have been shocked silence on the other end of the line. Jerry looked at me in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to say that. “Harriet?”
She answered so forcefully, I could hear her voice. “Jeremyn Nicholas Fairweather, how dare you? After all I’ve done for you!”
“And I appreciate that,” he said, “but—”
“Why are you dragging all this up now? Will it change things? Will it bring our parents back? No! Leave it alone!”
Jerry handed me the phone. “She hung up.”
“Jerry,” I said, “that was some reaction.”
“Now you know why I don’t call her.”
“We’ll try again later.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“To react that strongly after all these years? I think your sister is hiding something.”
“You think she set the fire?”
“Why not?”
“And blamed me? That’s crazy.”
“Why did she take care of you and your brothers? Why does she still send you money?”
“Until we started this, I thought it was because she loved me.”
“Or feels really guilty about something.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s why you hired me, and I happen to know you can pay.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Harriet closed my account.”
When we stopped by the library to return the books, Joan was thrilled.
“I can’t believe you got all four! That’s wonderful. Would you track down some more?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Let me get the other list.”
Jerry grinned at me. “Madeline Maclin, Library Detective. Check her out.”
I looked around for Bernice Coleman, but she wasn’t at the desk. I did see a newspaper rack, which gave me an idea.
“Joan,” I said, when she returned with her list, “how far back do you keep newspapers?”
“I’m proud to say we have every issue of the Celosia News since it began in 1925. Of course, we’ve had them all put on disks.”
“Any old issues of the Parkland Herald?”
“No, but you can access any one you want through our inter-library website. I’ll show you.”
She led us to a computer station and clicked on the website. “Right up here under Reference.”
“Thanks.” I sat down.
Jerry pulled up a chair. “All the newspaper reports say the same thing, Mac. Mysterious house fire. Tragic accident. You’ve read it before.”
“I just want to read it again.”
After a few moments searching and arrowing up and down, I found the account of the fire. Around midnight, Harriet Fairweather, age eighteen, had frantically called for help. Firefighters responded promptly, but the downstairs was destroyed, and the bodies of Victor and Lillian Fairweather discovered in the ruins. Police determined several large candles had fallen over, setting fire to the chairs and draperies in the living room.
I looked up from my reading. Jerry had taken a dictionary from the shelf and was leafing through the thin pages, avoiding the lines of print on the screen.
<
br /> “Jerry, this says Harriet called for help around midnight.”
“Yes.”
“If you caused the fire by playing with matches, what were you doing up at midnight?”
“I don’t know. I was just six years old when this happened.”
“Exactly. If you were six years old, I think you would’ve been in bed asleep. Didn’t you tell me you remember Harriet pulling you out of the house? She got you and your brothers out of bed, didn’t she? Why would you have been downstairs in the living room, lighting candles?”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
“Why would anybody have been downstairs at midnight lighting candles?”
“Maybe Mom and Dad were having a séance?”
I read the account again. It was possible that someone in the family could’ve left candles unattended. There had to be someone else besides Harriet who knew what had happened.
“Let’s stop by the bookstore,” I said. “Maybe Georgia or Hayden know of another write-up of this story.”
***
“I remember reading about it years ago,” Georgia said, as she carried a stack of books to the back of the store. “There was an article in the paper. That’s it.”
“No one wrote a book about it?”
“Not that I know of.”
Hayden was up front at the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said when we asked him about the Fairweather tragedy. “I really don’t know anything about it. My apologies, Jerry.”
“That’s okay,” Jerry said. “But what about you? Mac said something about another ghost.”
Hayden, as usual, was intensely serious. “I need you to hold a séance here. I think the store’s haunted.”
“What’s up?”
“When I’m here by myself, I hear strange noises. Footsteps, whispers, strange cries.”
This is business as usual for Hayden.
“And I find things rearranged or knocked over.”
Jerry listened very seriously. He didn’t say what I would’ve said, such as, “Are you sure it’s not kids?” or “Have you been taking your medication?”
“Sounds like a poltergeist.”
“Oh, my God. I knew it.”
“Now, don’t panic. They’re usually more mischievous than harmful.”
“Can you get rid of it?”
“Sure. Where did you find things rearranged?”
“I’ll show you.”
Hayden led us to the children’s section. Between the bookshelves was an open space with child-sized chairs and a little table. On the table was an empty plate.
“Georgia and I had some cookies for the kids. They’re all gone. And the other day when we had special treats for a book club meeting, those disappeared, too.” He pointed to the shelves. “And up there, I had a whole row of new books. Every single one was on the floor this morning.”
“Stacked in a pile?”
“No, just scattered.”
Jerry nodded. “It’s a poltergeist, all right. No problem.”
Hayden relaxed. “I knew you could take care of it. I was afraid it might have something to do with all this Mantis Man trouble.”
“What trouble?” I asked.
“The movie they plan to make. It’s really stirring up some resentment in town. I just hope it isn’t stirring up the creature.”
“Hayden, I seriously doubt that.”
But he wasn’t listening to me. “It’s like digging up a grave. You have to leave these things alone. No wonder a poltergeist is in the store.”
“What does Georgia’s Books have to do with Mantis Man?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked so troubled, Jerry said, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll take care of it.”
Once outside, I frowned at Jerry. “Why in the world would you encourage him like that?”
Jerry shrugged. “He’s already decided it’s a ghost. Nothing’s going to change his mind. Might as well go with the flow.”
“But you don’t honestly believe there’s a poltergeist haunting the store.”
“Well, there could be.”
“No, there couldn’t.”
“Not gonna argue with you on this one, Mac. We’ll just see.”
When we got home, there was a message from Patricia on Jerry’s answering machine to call her right away. The director of Voltage Films was in town and interested in seeing the house.
Jerry returned her call. “Tell him to come out any time.” He listened, nodding, and then said, “That would be great, thanks.” He hung up. “They’re on their way.”
I have to admit the Eberlin house looks haunted. Although Nell’s done wonders with the inside, the outside of the house still looks the same as it did the first day Jerry and I saw it. The porch still sags, the roof needs repair, shutters hang loose, and the gray paint is flaked and cracked, giving the house a scabby appearance.
We had to wait only twenty minutes before a dark blue van and a black Lincoln town car came slowly up the winding driveway and parked beside the house. A dark bearded man in a black tee shirt, black jeans, and a black baseball cap got out of the van, followed by a thin girl, also in black, and another man. A lanky man I recognized as Lance Henderson got out of the Lincoln.
Lance Henderson looked impressive as long as he was in strong sunlight and a good distance away. Close up and in the shadows of the trees, I could see the fine network of lines around his eyes and mouth, the red-rimmed eyes, and obvious hairpiece.
The dark man shook Jerry’s hand. “You must be Jerry Fairweather. I’m Josh Gaskins. This is my assistant, Stephanie Harold, this is Flynn Davis, and of course you know Lance Henderson. Terrific house. Just what I was looking for.” He walked back and forth in the front yard, holding his hands up in a square as if examining the house from different angles. “Can we have a look at the inside?”
“Sure,” Jerry said.
Gaskins stood in the doorway and frowned at the living room. “Well, this is too nice for what I’ve got in mind, but the exterior’s perfect.”
Lance Henderson spoke up, his familiar bass voice echoing. “Perfect? What do you mean? The place looks leprous. What kind of setting is this for ‘Pastel Memoirs’?”
Gaskins exchanged a look with Stephanie. “Lance, I’ve explained to you. We’re not doing ‘Pastel Memoirs.’ We’re doing ‘The Curse of the Mantis Man.’”
“I will not be seen in some cheap horror film.”
“Could we talk about this later?” As he walked back to the porch, he said to Stephanie, “I want to create a feeling of dread, you know? A feeling that your very soul is in peril.”
She made a note on her clipboard. “Okay.”
Lance said, “I did not sign on this project to do a horror film.”
“Face it, Lance, you’re lucky to be signed on any film.”
“‘Pastel Memoirs’ is my comeback film. It’s a beautiful script. You promised you’d do it.”
“I’ll do it after we finish ‘Curse of the Mantis Man.’ You’ve got a contract for two films with Voltage. Stephanie, where’s my drink?”
Lance Henderson stalked to the van, folded his arms, and took a dramatic stance, staring out across the fields.
“He seems a little upset,” I said.
Gaskins wasn’t concerned. “Oh, he’s always throwing these little fits. He’ll do it. He has to.” Stephanie hurried up with a large plastic cup. Gaskins took a loud slurp through the straw. “He hasn’t worked in months, unless you count appearances on game shows. Oh, this is our star, Flynn Davis.”
Flynn Davis was an extremely handsome man with dark curly hair and blue eyes. He shook my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maclin. Is this your first film, too?”
“No, I live in this house. What part do you have in the movie?”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’m actually the lead, but I’m not supposed to say that. Lance thinks he’s got the lead role, but his is really more of a character pa
rt.”
“I see,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I did.
“I don’t want to hurt the old boy’s feelings, but his days of playing the hero are over. Got to clear the field for the rest of us. Oh, and Gaskins is bringing in Vivian Montrose for the heroine.”
“Vivian Montrose?”
“She’s the star of ‘Beach Island.’”
I’d seen exactly one episode of “Beach Island,” an overblown nighttime soap opera set on a tropical island and filled with overly-endowed women in tiny bikinis.
Davis smiled. “She’ll be a real asset to this picture. Nice to have met you, Ms. Maclin.”
He sauntered off as if assured I was watching his rear. I was. It was a very nice rear, but I wasn’t so sure about the rest of Flynn Davis.
While Gaskins and Jerry discussed what a few shots of the house were worth, I went over to Lance Henderson. He was still muttering about “Pastel Memoirs.”
“This was going to be my comeback film, a quality picture the whole family could enjoy. Now that upstart Gaskins wants me to be in some sort of low-budget shockfest.”
“It might not be so bad,” I said.
He eyed me. “Are you an actress?”
“I’m Madeline Maclin. I own a detective agency in town.”
“Really? You look more like an actress.”
He was trying what was left of his charm on me. “Thank you.”
“I should hire you to find my career. I lost it somewhere in the Eighties.”
“You still have a lot of fans. People here are excited about seeing you.”
It was pathetic how he brightened. “Really?”
“I don’t think they’d care what kind of movie you were in.”
“But this Mantis Man is just some silly local story, isn’t it? There’s no real facts.”
“No, but it might be fun.”
He sighed. “But I need a part with depth, with meaning.”
“What part do you play in this movie?”
“We’re still debating that.” His dark look at Gaskins reminded me of the sheriff in “Red Canyon.” The bad guys hadn’t stood a chance. “Excuse me, Ms. Maclin.”
He went back to his car. Jerry and Gaskins were in conversation in the front yard.
“I’d like to come by tomorrow with my crew and film some establishing shots,” Gaskins said. He took another loud slurp of soda. “There’s supposed to be a full moon Thursday night, which will work in perfectly. Stephanie, make a note to have Davis and Vivian come out for some exterior scenes.” Stephanie nodded and jotted down what he said. Gaskins shook hands with Jerry. “Okay, we’re all set. Thanks very much. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
