by Jane Tesh
He looked around. “And where is this?”
“302 Grace Street, Parkland, North Carolina, USA. Earth,” I added, just in case.
He stared at me. “Parkland? Parkland! How did I get so far from the mountains?”
I caught his uninjured shoulder and turned him to face me. “All right, whatever’s going on, just stop it right now. Camden, stop it.”
I saw a flicker in his eyes like that weird membrane snakes have. Flick. The other personality was gone. Camden looked at me.
“What?” he said, as if I’d asked him a question.
“What the hell was all that about?”
“All what?”
“A minute ago you were John Ashford. I thought mediums usually channeled Indian chiefs named Mombasa.”
He looked puzzled. “I had another blackout.”
“You said you were John Burrows Ashford, the man my client says cheated and killed her great-grandmother.” I went into my office and brought out one of the booklets Melanie had given me, The Collected Folk Songs of John Burrows Ashford. On the front cover was a picture of mountains in silhouette, trees, and a crescent moon. Inside, there was a picture of the great Mister Ashford himself, a tall, dark-haired man with a permanent sneer. He was dressed in a black suit and vest, his chest puffed out like a rooster’s, his prominent nose up. He reminded me of that pompous Colonel Winchester on M.A.S.H.
“What does it mean? What does he want?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Camden said, exasperated. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to know where he was and why he was so far from the mountains.”
“And you said—?”
“What I always say when you get like that, ‘cut it out.’ I think my actual words were, ‘stop it right now.’”
Camden took a long look at the picture and shook his head. “This is something new.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I don’t remember doing it the first time.” Then his eyes went wide. “Do you suppose during these blackouts, Ashford has been trying to come back through me? I don’t like this idea at all.”
“Me, neither.” Although it had occurred to me this would be a simple way to solve my case. The next time Ashford popped in, I’d give him the third degree. No, this was ridiculous! Ashford was dead. Camden was having one of his breakdowns, that’s all.
“But why Ashford?” he asked.
“You must be picking up some vibes from me.”
He was unconvinced. “I suppose.”
“Don’t worry about it. The burgers are getting cold. Let’s eat.”
Kary came in and had a burger and so did old Fred. So did Buddy, who showed up with another box full of wooden animals. Conversation was normal, although I kept giving Camden glances to make sure he was still Camden. I was so concerned, I almost forgot to ask Kary for help.
Almost. “Kary, what’s your schedule like tomorrow?”
She thought a moment. “Learning styles seminar in the morning and a talk with my advisor in the afternoon.”
“Can you skip the talk? There’s something you can do for my case.”
“Great!”
Ignoring the evil eye Buddy sent my way and Camden’s amused grin, I explained. “I need you to play some music for me. The owner lives in Oakville. He’s an elderly man who doesn’t want me to take or copy the songs. He can’t play them for me, but I know you can.”
She took another French fry. “I really need to meet with my advisor tomorrow. How about Friday?”
“That’ll work.”
Buddy made a snorting noise.
I put my burger down. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Kary, honey, did you remember to ask about a dulcimer player?”
“Yes, I did. I think one of the music majors at school might be able to play. Let me get her number.” She left the table to get the information for Buddy.
Buddy grinned at me. “Help on a case, my ass.”
“Will you mind your own business? I don’t remember inviting you to dinner, anyway.”
He took another handful of fries. “Just ‘cause your two-bit detective agency is here, don’t think you own the place. Tell him, Cam.”
When Camden didn’t answer, we both gave him a quick look. His eyes were starting to glaze over. I reached out and shook his arm. “Hey. Don’t do that at the table.”
He blinked and came back. “Sorry, I drifted off for a minute.”
“No drifting.”
Buddy frowned in concern. “You feeling okay? Seeing something spooky?”
Camden decided this was the safer route. “Yeah. Some accident out on the highway. It’s okay. Nobody got hurt.”
Buddy nodded and chewed his fries. Everyone who knows Camden is used to this kind of thing. I raised my eyebrows as if to say, was it another blackout? Camden shook his head. I figured he was still shaken from his close encounter with Angie and the westbound traffic.
In a few minutes, Kary returned. “Buddy, I called my friend, and she can’t play with your group. She’s going to be out of town that weekend.”
“Shoot a monkey,” Buddy said. “Well, thanks for asking her. We’ll have to try somewheres else. You’re gonna come hear us, right?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it.” She took her seat and picked up her cheeseburger. “Donnie has to work all day that Friday, but Saturday, we plan to come to the festival.”
My cheeseburger tasted like dust. I set it down again. What a great basis for a successful marriage. Yes, we both love the Falling Leaves Festival.
Buddy chuckled. “Well, the two of you have a real nice time. You stop by and we’ll play something special for you.”
The food I’d already eaten struggled to the surface. “Excuse me. I just remembered there’s a phone call I need to make.”
I went back to the parlor office. I needed to contact Byron Ashford. He’d gotten my message and said he’d have time to talk to me tomorrow.
“I’ll be glad to tell you my side of the story, Mr. Randall. Stop by any time after ten in the morning.”
I thanked him and hung up.
I went online to check for an apartment, but after looking at about ten likely places, I sat back. Besides wanting to know more about Kary, I was a little concerned about Camden’s mental state.
You need to stay here and look after both of them, I told myself, while my more rational side said, You’re just looking for excuses. Putting off the inevitable.
After a while, I heard Buddy leave and then I heard Kary talking on her phone.
“But I thought we discussed this. You know how I feel.”
Hmm, sounded like a problem.
“Donnie, for goodness sake. Don’t be like that. No, we need to settle this. You know this about me. You know how I feel about children. I told you.” She listened a while and then made an exasperated sound. “Well, maybe I don’t want to wait. No, you don’t understand! No, just forget it!”
Then there was a furious burst of music as she pounded on the piano. I didn’t recognize this tune, either, but I imagined it was called “You Stupid Jerk.” It was a good song. I enjoyed it. About the time she wound it up, a car horn beeped outside. She came to the front door and paused, startled, at my office door.
“Oh. Sorry about that, David. I keep forgetting you have your office there now.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“No, everything’s fine. I just—have a few things to work out.”
The next person to stop by my door was Camden, who said he was going to Lily’s. “The Abduction Support Group meets this afternoon.”
“See if Ashford has any advice for them.”
“I’m sure Lily will let me know if he beams in.”
<
br /> “Did you hear Kary’s ‘Sonata in Rage’?”
He leaned against the door frame and put his hands in his jeans pockets. “I believe the whole neighborhood heard it.”
“A quarrel with Donnie. Have you met this paragon?”
“‘Paragon.’ Ten points.”
“Come on, that’s worth twenty.”
“Yes, I have met him.”
“So is he the one for her?”
“No. But she thinks he is.”
What? I sat up in my chair. “Good grief, tell her.”
“Oh, I think we both know how well that would go over.”
“Seriously. Is this prewedding jitters, or is she having second thoughts?”
“Let me put it this way. Kary has a definite plan for her life, and if someone doesn’t fit in, she’s going to leave them by the wayside.”
And why wouldn’t Donnie the Paragon fit in? That was a mystery I wanted to solve. Because if he wasn’t part of her plan, maybe I could be.
Chapter Nine
“Where Have You Been, My Own True Love?”
After Camden left for Lily’s, I read Internet news about the Robertson PBS documentary. Some of country music’s biggest stars were already attached to the project, and, as Ellin had said, Morgan Freeman was being considered as the narrator. Special preview showings were scheduled in L.A, Boston, New York, and D.C. before being broadcast on PBS nationwide. It was indeed a Big Deal. Robertson said, “We hope to include everyone, from the big cities to the humblest small towns, with songs representing all areas of our country. No contribution is too small or obscure. This is the peoples’ music, our music.”
I took a break on the porch. Camden and Lily came back through the hedge and up the front walk. Lily wore a ruffled blouse that hung down way past the waist of her patchwork skirt. The hat of the day looked like an old fisherman’s hat, but instead of lures, it was decorated with pins. Probably souvenirs of all the planets she’d visited.
She tugged the hat. “But don’t you see the significance of her dream, Cam? That white room, what could it be?”
Camden paused at the porch steps. “It’s just a white room. Marsha’s been thinking of repainting her den.”
“But that tall guy, he’d really been abducted, hadn’t he?”
“He really thought he had.” By the tone of his voice he was letting her down easy. “He’s read a lot of accounts, seen a lot of those TV dramatizations, and he was drinking a lot that night.”
Lily wouldn’t give up. “The aliens could’ve gotten him drunk, couldn’t they?”
Most aliens I know carry a spare six-pack in the old saucer. Never know when you’ll need a quick pick me up.
Another pause from Camden. “I don’t think so, Lily.”
“And what about Bummer?”
“All flashbacks. He took a few too many trips back in the sixties.”
“Cam, weren’t any of them abducted?”
“No.” He looked sincerely sorry.
She sighed. “But we were so sure this time.”
“Look at it this way,” he said. “At least your support group is in place. When someone actually has a close encounter, you’ll be ready.”
“But they have all these stories. One of them has to be true.” She glanced up at me. “Have you ever seen a UFO?”
“More times than I can count,” I said.
“Really? Do you feel you’ve had an alien encounter?”
I’m having one right now. “Entirely possible.”
I could have reeled her in if Camden hadn’t said, “Randall never gives a straight answer. I don’t think he believes in anything.”
“Oh.” She absorbed this radical concept. “That’s too bad. So I don’t guess you believe in ghosts, either, Mister Randall?”
A little figure in white, brown curls bouncing, a presence in the house. “No. No ghosts, no monsters, no Bigfeet, no Elvis sightings.”
She grinned, her elfin face glowing in the sunlight. Damn, woman, get rid of that hat. “Well, I draw the line at Elvis sightings myself, but you have to believe we are not alone in the universe.”
Honey, we are more alone than you could possibly imagine. “I think if there were intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy, it would have contacted us by now.”
“Oh, but it has!” she said. “We’re just not able to interpret the signals.”
“Yes, well, leave that to the expert here.” I indicated Camden. “Your own neighborhood satellite dish.”
She beamed at him. “We really appreciate his help. Most people think we’re a little cracked. I can’t blame them, I suppose.”
“You know you can call on me anytime,” Camden said.
Dark eyes sparkling, she put her hands on his shoulders. “Thanks, Cam. You’re a sweetheart.” She kissed his cheek and hopped back around the house.
I settled back in one of the rocking chairs. “Wow, she’s a cutie. Space travel must agree with her.”
“She certainly brightens up the neighborhood.” He took his seat in the porch swing.
“Speaking of alien encounters, did Ashford return?”
“No, and if he had, I’m sure Lily would’ve told me.”
“What’s with this little support group of yours? They pay you for your time?”
“No. They don’t ask me very often.”
“Is there some reason you keep doing this?”
He watched the goldfinches hanging upside-down to tweeze thistle seeds out of their feeder. A few fat doves pecked at the grass beneath. “I saw a cartoon once. A man looking up at a flying saucer and little bug-eyed aliens looking down at him. The man says, ‘Take me with you,’ and the aliens say, ‘No, you’re too ugly.’”
“Actually, that’s pretty amusing.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it’s funny, but it’s the ultimate rejection. Lily and these other people have been rejected by everybody, even aliens, or the aliens they think they’ve seen. They want to belong. I can understand that.”
“So you go over and depress them further by telling them nobody’s really been on a spaceship.”
“They need to know the truth. They need a little reality.”
“And you’re just the man to give it to them.”
He looked out across the lawn. “You bet. Somebody who sees things all day long, things nobody else can see.”
“Why do they believe you?”
“I don’t know. I guess they have to believe someone.” He got up. “I’d better refill the bird feeder. Bring you anything?”
“No, thanks.”
He put more seeds in the feeder and returned to the porch swing. Some shiny little blue bird joined the cafeteria line under the goldfinches. All the birds whirled away in alarm as Ellin’s silver Lexus swung into the driveway. She slid out, beaming. For a moment or two, I could understand why Camden was so crazy about her.
She ignored me and went right to Camden. “Exciting news! I have a meeting with Robertson tonight. He’s actually interested in a paranormal angle for his series. He likes the idea of tying it in with the Spiritualist movement. I want you to come meet him.”
Camden, predictably, was not impressed. “No, thanks.”
Ellin’s voice went up an octave. “Why not?”
“I told you I don’t want to be on TV.”
“Good God, if I had your talent, I’d be touring the country!”
“Ellie.” He remained baffled by her inability to understand. “Don’t ever wish for something like this. It’s not at all what you think. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat except I wouldn’t wish my kind of talent on anyone.”
Oh, brother, I realized. Ellin isn’t psychic at all.
Ellin turned away. Her hands gripped the top of the porch rai
ling as she stared out into the yard, obviously trying to control her temper. “I thought by working closely with psychics, something would take, something would rub off or sink in, but I’m just a blank.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“You know everyone in my family is successful. Everyone! Mother is head buyer for women’s clothing at Shay’s Department store. My sisters head up their own companies.” She faced him, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I want a top position at the Service. I want to be the producer of the PSN. It’s my one chance to prove myself. I’m not musical, I can’t make clothes or cute little craft items, I’m not particularly athletic, and don’t even ask me to dance.”
He tried to stem the flow. “Ellie—”
“But I have excellent administrative skills, I’m well-organized, I can make tough decisions, and I work really well under pressure!”
And you’re going to explode. She gave me a glare I read as, “You were supposed to help me convince Camden.” I shrugged. These two were on their own.
“Ellie, you don’t have to be psychic to get the job,” Camden said.
“But you are, and you’d be perfect for this program. If you’re not going to help me, then what am I supposed to tell Robertson?”
“I have other obligations.”
“You’re not doing a damn thing.”
“It’s Wednesday. I have choir practice.”
She couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d bitten her on the leg. “You could skip one practice, couldn’t you? I’m sure they have more than one tenor.”
“I have two more solos.”
Ellin plopped into a rocking chair. “I don’t believe this. Cam, for heaven’s sake, can’t you let it go for once? The other choir members would understand.”
“They’re counting on me. And I want to sing.”
She started that whine up again, but Camden stopped her with a look. “Ellie, I need to sing. It’s important to me. The choir is important. Those people helped me out during some hard times.”
“All right,” she said. “All right!”
She propelled herself out of the rocking chair and down to her car. Camden sat on the swing for a while.
