Paradise Island

by Mary Bowers

  Well, she’d come all this way. She wanted to be sure he was all right. And – strangely – she heard voices in the office. She knew he couldn’t have anybody in there, and there was no TV. He must be on his phone and have the speaker on, but somehow it didn’t sound like that. Well, if he didn’t want to open the door, he didn’t have to. She didn’t want him to think she’d left in a huff.

  She tapped three times and quietly said, “Ed, I’m going now. Are you all right?”

  Instead of answering, he opened the door and motioned her in, first checking that Trixie wasn’t close behind her.

  Chapter 3

  He went to the desk and pulled another chair beside his own swivel chair so they could sit side by side. On his computer’s screen was a freeze-frame of Jessamine Pissarro.

  “This is a recording of my initial – and only – interview with Mrs. Pissarro,” he said, and he started the recording from the beginning again.

  Taylor stared at the monitor, watching and listening closely.

  When the recording had played out, they both sat back.

  Ed spread his hands. “Impressions?”

  Thinking it over briefly, Taylor said, “I wouldn’t have believed her either. You could tell she was making some of that up. Don’t beat yourself up over this, Ed. Your suggestion that she see a counsellor was dead-on. That’s exactly what she should have done, and apparently she didn’t.”

  “Instead, she went to The Marvelous Dobbs,” Ed said, putting a kind of stink into his colleague’s moniker.

  “You don’t need to follow up on this,” Taylor told him. In her mind, she began to hear that sucking sound again – that intake of pressure that always ended with her being drawn into some debacle she didn’t have time for.

  “What should I do with this?” Ed asked, gesturing toward the monitor. His record-keeping was legendary, and that he was even asking what to do with the video file suggested he wanted to erase it. It was totally unlike him.

  “You’d better keep it, Ed,” she warned. “Her appointment calendar probably has your name on it, and you may be hearing from the police.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “There’s nothing damning in there. But the cops know you. They won’t believe you didn’t keep notes. They’re going to figure that her suicide had something to do with her husband’s death, and that your interview did too. They’re going to want to know everything she said in that interview, and at least by giving them this you can avoid a lot of questions. Everything’s there; they can hear it for themselves. Look, I know you just want to get rid of this and forget she was ever here, but you can’t. You still have this in the camera? Good. You need to call the police before they contact you and tell them you have your interview with her in your camera and they’re welcome to take it and download it wherever they want it. Wash your hands of it, Ed. It’s your only choice.”

  After a morose pause, he said, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “But what does this prove? You know how it’s going to look. People who consult paranormal investigators are treated like kooks. It may give the cops the wrong idea.”

  “Ed, it may give them the right idea. Did you ever think of that? I mean, she did commit suicide.”

  “That doesn’t mean she committed murder.”

  Taylor paused. “Even you don’t sound like you believe that, and nobody else is going to, either. I’m afraid that by killing herself she just about admitted her guilt.”

  “How can you say that?” Ed said, incensed.

  “Everybody’s going to be saying that.”

  They gazed at one another for a long moment.

  “You don’t owe that woman anything,” Taylor said.

  Ed’s eyes became misty. “Don’t I? Trixie’s right. She came to me for help, and I didn’t believe her. Worse, I let it show. I was tired that day, but that’s no excuse. Instead of being open-minded, I let her see that I doubted her. It was unforgiveable. And worse, it was unprofessional.”

  “Ed,” Taylor said in a warning voice.

  He became savage with himself. “And then she turned to that con artist, Dobbs, and probably wrote him a check right off the bat for the same amount she was going to give me. For half that amount, Dobbs would jump through flaming hoops in a clown suit. I can hardly stand to think about it.”

  Taylor gave him a moment to come down from his emotional crescendo. Then she said, “Ed, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to call Detective Bruno; he’s probably got the case. Paradise Island is in his jurisdiction, and we already know him.”

  “He has not become a personal friend,” Ed said frigidly.

  “We know him,” Taylor repeated pointedly. “He’s fair. He’s open-minded. We’re going to tell him about this recording, play it for him, and then I am sure that Detective Bruno will explain to you that neither you nor The Fabulous Dobbs had anything to do with Jessamine Pissarro’s death. Much as I hate to say it, Trixie is probably right; the police were probably getting ready to arrest her, and she knew it. And if you’d like,” she said steadfastly, “I’ll stay with you while you talk to Bruno.”

  Ed’s eyes became moist enough to require the removal of his glasses. Not Kleenex-moist, but moist enough. It was with soft, brown, naked eyes that he looked at his friend and said, “It’s ‘The Marvelous Dobbs.’ And thank you. I’d like you to be here.”

  Damn, she thought. But Taylor was a staunch friend, and much as she never wanted to see a homicide detective again, in any jurisdiction on the planet, she would be at Ed’s side when the cops arrived.

  Ed made the call, hoping to make an appointment for some distant point in the future – far enough away for the police to forget, or decide they weren’t interested after all – and was saddened when Detective Burton Bruno said thank you for calling, I’ll be right over.

  He ended the call and set the phone down gently. Then he said to Taylor, “You’ll stay for supper?”

  She smiled. Around Ed’s house, “supper” usually meant peanut butter sandwiches. “We’re going to get rid of Trixie and go out for supper. I think you deserve a treat.”

  “You’re a good friend, Taylor.”

  Chapter 4

  Taylor, Ed and Trixie sat in silence on the back screened-in porch of Neptune’s and stared at the beach beyond the dune. The lost battle to leave Trixie behind had exhausted them all and left two of them steaming.

  The early dinner crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet, but it was a Friday, and it was only a matter of time before the place was buzzing, and if anybody recognized Ed and Taylor, there might be eavesdropping. They were becoming local curiosities – the paranormal investigator and, improbably, the animal shelter lady.

  Even Trixie was quiet. She had been feisty enough to refuse to be left behind, but even she seemed to understand that this was no time for loose talk. She didn’t even seem to be having a hard time holding her peace. For now, she was just happy to be there, after Taylor had tried so hard to ditch her.

  But Taylor was keeping a sharp eye on her. Ed had been through enough that day: first Teddy Force, then Trixie Dare, and finally a couple of homicide cops. But if they were going to rehash the session with Detectives Bruno and Stetson, Taylor realized, they’d better get on with it; Neptune’s was going to be busy soon, and Trixie had just ordered a glass of wine, which tended to make her talkative.

  Taylor began, keeping her voice low. “How do you think it went?”

  “They didn’t accuse me of anything,” Ed allowed, “but I sensed disapproval.”

  “Well, you did turn the poor woman away,” Trixie said.

  Taylor threw a whipsaw glance at her and looked back at Ed. “I’m sorry they threw me out. I really did intend to stand by you, Ed, but cops tend to be control freaks, don’t they? Anyway, they weren’t too hard on you, were they? How did you like Bruno’s new partner, by the way?”

  “Stetson? He’s young. One wonders a
t the increasing youth of our professionals. We don’t notice ourselves getting older, but we do notice them getting younger, don’t we?” He gave her a misty smile.

  “Ed?” Taylor said gently.

  “Oh, all right. The police. Well, all in all I felt they were fair. Confiscating my camera is no great hardship on me. I offered to put the file on a thumb drive for them, but they wanted the camera itself, and I didn’t mind. I’ll get it back. Someday. It’s not my only digital camera, and I have no investigations in hand at the moment.”

  “And you won’t if you keep turning everybody away, like you did Jessamine,” Trixie said. The drinks had arrived, and Trixie was loosening up. “Even if you smelled a rat, you should have agreed to investigate. That woman was a murderer. You should have called up Taylor, ‘cause she’s good at cases like this one – you know, murder and all – and between the two of you, you could’ve laid old Alan to rest by getting his murderer arrested and everything would’ve been peachy.”

  “I am not in the habit of getting my clients arrested,” Ed said coldly. “Besides, she said the police had cleared her.”

  Trixie looked at Taylor, grinning wildly. “Do you believe this guy? She tells him the police have cleared her, and he doesn’t even check it out? Some investigator! Alan Pissarro wasn’t even cold in his grave yet. Well, I guess he’d have been cold.” She paused to consider it clinically. “Let’s see, she shot him in early May and she didn’t come to you until early October. All that money, all that angst with the family, her being a trophy wife married just over a year, and you just go ahead and believe her when she says the police cleared her? I thought you were a skeptic.”

  He regarded her, exhausted. “I hadn’t officially accepted her case, but I suppose you’re right. Ladies, I must admit it, this has been a blow to my self-esteem.”

  “What self-esteem?” Trixie muttered, signaling for another glass of wine.

  Ed went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I reviewed that recording several times after the actual interview, and today I’ve seen it three more times. My reaction to it hasn’t changed, and that fact more than anything else makes me doubt myself. Why didn’t I grasp the fact that the woman was suicidal? She was emotional, but there’s a difference between crying a few tears and being ready to commit suicide. If anything, I would have said immediately after the interview that she was quite self-possessed, and in the wake of her husband’s death was only looking for a distraction, or possibly a way to make herself interesting. Friends who turn away in the wake of a scandal might come back quickly if something intriguing like a ghost hunt is going on. I’ve seen it many times. People are fascinated by the occult, and will find excuses to get involved in it.”

  “Except for Taylor, here,” Trixie said a little too loudly.

  “Trixie, would you like to go enjoy your next glass of wine at the bar?” Taylor said sweetly. “No? Then shut up. And maybe you should have something to eat before you order another one. Ah, here’s the food. My friend will be switching to iced tea now,” she told the waiter. “Unsweetened.”

  Ed had shown no interest in the ladies’ banter, and when his broiled fish and grilled vegetables were slid in front of him, he stared at them wistfully. Apparently addressing the fish, he quietly said, “I have to know.”

  Taylor had picked up a French fry, but hearing Ed, she slowly put it down on her plate again and set her hands in her lap.

  Trixie alone was a bright spot at the table, and she looked eagerly from Ed to Taylor a few times before saying. “Great! I knew you’d investigate. When do we start?”

  Simultaneously and in identical tones of voice, Ed and Taylor said, “You stay out of it.”

  They ate their dinners in near silence after that, with the rest of the diners throwing furtive glances their way. Their combined voices had been a little loud.

  When they paid the bill and rose to go, Ed asked Taylor to come back to his house with him; he had a phone call to make and he wanted her there.

  “Great,” Trixie said. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “If you do, you’ll drink it alone, in your own kitchen,” Ed told her sternly. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company and now you will be going home.”

  Behind them, a lady in a white tank top watched them go, then leaned toward the lady with the coral necklace sitting across from her. “That’s that ghost hunter, Edson Dobby-Something. The one with the TV show? He lives around here. The tall woman runs Orphans of the Storm, down in Tropical Breeze, but I don’t know who the short one is. Probably a groupie. He should be nicer to his fans.”

  Chapter 5

  Ed put Taylor into one of the chairs facing his desk, then grimly seated himself and stared at the phone. Trixie had lost the battle this time and was in her own home, possibly making coffee, possibly not.

  Taylor didn’t need to ask who Ed was going to call. And she knew exactly why he was dreading it, and why he needed a little friendly support while he did.

  “Do you want me to call him?” she said at last.

  He pulled himself together. “No, no. I’ll do it.”

  He had to look the number up in a private directory of paranormal investigators. Hoping for a recorded greeting from an answering machine, Ed was startled when he found himself talking to a live person.

  “Is this . . . are you . . . this is Edson Darby-Deaver calling. Am I speaking to Marvin Dobbs?”

  “This is The Marvelous Dobbs.”

  “Yes. Hello. My name is Edson Darby-Deaver.”

  “I heard you the first time, and like the rest of the civilized world, I have Caller I.D. Also,” the voice added, with dripping irony, “I happen to be psychic. I knew you’d call.”

  Glaring at the phone on his desk, Ed pushed the speaker button so Taylor could hear both sides of the conversation.

  “I’m calling about – ”

  “You’re calling about Jessamine Pissarro,” the smarmy voice said. “Our mutual client. Or should I say, the woman you turned away when she came to you, desperate for help. Well, what do you want? There’s nothing you can do for her now. She’s dead.”

  “I know.”

  “I have no intention of speaking to you or anybody else about what was an intense and very private investigation. Good day, Mr. Darby-Deaver. We have nothing to talk about.”

  Curiously, he did not end the call with that stinging exit line. Ed gave Taylor an elaborately bored look, and Taylor silently shook her head.

  After enough time had elapsed, Ed said, “It’s Dr. Darby-Deaver, as I believe you know. Although you have left comments on my website numerous times over the last year and a half, I believe this is the first time we’ve actually spoken.”

  “Second,” the other man said quickly. “You signed one of your books for me at a conference. We had a lengthy discussion about apports, particularly live frogs.”

  “Ah yes, I remember,” Ed said, shrugging his shoulders to indicate to Taylor that he didn’t. “And I believe you’ve shown some interest in my reality show. My production assistant mentioned that you’d contacted her about a possible appearance on the show.”

  There was a pause amounting to silent yearning before The Marvelous Dobbs said, “Is that what you’re calling about?”

  “I do have the correct Marvin Dobbs, then?”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” he answered eagerly. “This is the right Marvin Dobbs. I’m a paranormal investigator, like you. Yes, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing some of your crew in a restaurant one time. Actually, your costar was there, too – Teddy Force, not the dog – and I dropped by the table to say hello. I introduced myself, and he said he recognized me. We had quite a nice little chat, but I had a lady waiting at my table, so of course I had to cut the conversation short.”

  Ed lifted incredulous eyebrows, remembering his co-workers’ vastly different version of the incident. He went on in a perfectly modulated voice. “We like to keep ourselves available to up-and-coming talent in the field. Give them a hand u
p, if they show promise. About Jessamine Pissarro – ”

  The Marvelous Dobbs opened like a flower and gave a glossy synopsis of the intense and very private investigation into the Pissarro haunting, while Taylor sat looking on, amused that Edson could manipulate another ghost hunter so skillfully when he couldn’t even deal with an infatuated neighbor.

  By the time they ended the call, The Marvelous Dobbs was calling Dr. Darby-Deaver “Ed” and Ed was calling him “Dobbs,” as requested. He didn’t seem to like it when Ed called him “Marvin.”

  Ed suggested they meet the next morning for coffee and Dobbs jumped at the idea. “I’m in Chattanooga at the moment,” he added after a pause, “but I should be able to work out the logistics.” He lived in Chattanooga, he explained, and he had returned home after his commission from Jessamine Pissarro had ended, but he had a few things to wrap up in St. Augustine and some other people to meet with, and he might as well include Ed on the list of all the other things he had to do in the area. Tomorrow morning would be fine. Ten-ish?

  They finally set the time at nine-ish, and Dobbs said he knew where Karma Café was, so they would meet on neutral ground. The call ended with pretty expressions of anticipation from both parties and a glance toward heaven from Ed.

  “You know you’re going to have to put the guy up for a few days,” Taylor said after the call was ended.

  Ed stared at her.

  “He’s driving all the way in from Chattanooga,” she said. “I didn’t believe all that baloney about having loose ends to tie up in St. Augustine. He’s driving here just to see you. To get here for coffee in the morning, he’s going to have to drive all night. You can’t make him turn right around and drive back the same day after stopping at the beach for a cup of coffee, and you can’t just send him to a fleabag motel, which is probably all he can afford. Paranormal investigators don’t exactly make a fortune, and this guy seems to be on the fringes, at least as far as I can tell. I don’t think he can afford a B&B in St. Augustine, do you? If you hadn’t inherited all that money and real estate, you’d probably have to get a real job yourself.”