Mitch started for the side door where the chief had gone out with the fortune-teller, then stopped. His boss’s actions only served to reinforce the animosity Mitch knew the man had for psychics like Madame Mariah. But just how far would that animosity drive him?
“Detective Burns?”
Mitch turned and saw the balding man he had met briefly at Kelly’s house just a few days earlier.
“Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name the other day.”
“Frank Mertz. I’m Kelly’s father. I was hoping you had some sort of lead or information that might help my daughter out right now . . .”
Mitch shook his head, searched for words that would bring comfort to the man. But there were none. “I’m sorting through every piece of evidence I come across and I know it’s going to happen. We’re going to get him, you have my word.”
If only he could have faith in his own words. So many people were counting on him to stop the killing. He took a deep breath and walked toward the end of the pew. His gaze fell on a man hunched over in a chair in a far corner of the church. He stepped to the right just enough to get a better view of the person and realized it was Father Leahy. Worried, he headed over to the priest.
“Father, are you okay?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m so deeply troubled by what is happening to my parishioners.” The priest looked upward as he spoke. “I have presided over three funerals in two weeks and I feel so powerless. Susie, Cindy, and Ben were all so faithful and good. I just don’t understand what the Lord’s plan is right now. Then, today, I watched as two of my parishioners removed a mourner from my church. I am saddened by the way people seem to be rushing to judgment.”
“You saw that?”
“Yes, I did,” the priest answered quietly. “I asked the men why they made the woman leave and our mayor said she did not belong in God’s house.”
Mitch reached out for the priest’s hand and held it gently. The man’s sickly pallor alarmed him. Normally very energetic and youthful, Father Leahy suddenly looked every bit of his seventy years.
“I’m doing everything I can to figure out who is doing this. I have some solid leads right now, Father, but I have to examine every aspect to make sure the right person is brought to justice for these crimes.” He looked at the elderly priest with concern, hoped his words were bringing some sort of reassurance and comfort to the man he had come to depend on so heavily since moving to Ocean Point.
“I will say a special prayer for you, Mitch, so God may give you the wisdom and strength to see these investigations through. I will also pray for our parishioners so they may find it in their hearts to keep their minds open until you have completed your work.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Monday, June 28
9:30 a.m.
They were all waiting in the conference room, their solemn faces surely a mirrored reflection of her own.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Elise said, placing her notebook and pen on the table.
“You’re not late.” Sam gestured toward the wall clock over the doorway. “We’re all early for once.”
Sam’s normally jovial mood was replaced by a quieter demeanor. He skipped his usual lighthearted small talk and got right down to business.
“We’ve had more news to cover in the past three weeks than I would have ever hoped to see. Each of you has been the consummate professional in these matters and I’m proud to have you on my team.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I want to continue working with the police department to help solve these cases, not use our reporting as sensationalism. And we’re doing a very good job in that regard so far.”
He handed an agenda to each of them.
“Let’s hold off on talking about the murders for the time being and discuss some lighter stuff first.” He looked around at his small staff, and his gaze stopped on Elise. “Elise, nice job on your inside look at the new mayor.”
“Thanks, Sam. He’s a nice man.”
“Self-righteous Steve?” Dean leaned his arms on the conference table and looked at Elise, his gaze a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “I’ll never understand how that guy got elected. He spouts Bible verses the way most people recite movie lines. He’s always hurling biblical stuff around like he’s some sort of guru.”
“His religion is certainly important to him, but I wouldn’t call him a guru.” Her defensive tone seemed to surprise everyone, including herself. “He’s a nice guy.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. She looked down at her notations quickly, looking for some way to diffuse the sudden tension she felt in the room.
“My luncheon with Daniel Johnson was interesting to say the least. I talked to some people after the council meeting Thursday night and several of them are considering the possibility of a picket against his proposal.”
“Oh, that’ll go over big,” Sam said with sarcasm. “Old Danny-boy will blow a fuse if people screw with his request.”
“I think so too,” Elise said. “These residents I spoke to are furious that he wants to bring more vacationers into Ocean Point. They are grateful for the business each summer and don’t want to see that jeopardized in any way, but they don’t think we need any more people coming in.”
“I think there are a lot of people who feel that way,” Karen said. The society reporter crossed her legs and sat up straight in her chair. “Most people I speak with want things to stay the same. They are adamant about not wanting any more outsiders in this town.”
“When are they planning this picket?” Sam asked.
“They’re aiming for this Thursday if they can get the support they need.”
“I think the expression on Daniel Johnson’s face will be the real photo op there,” Dean mused.
“He certainly sees the recent murders and their apparent tie-in with the fortune-tellers as his ticket to building that condo,” Elise said. “And he’s playing it for everything it’s worth.”
“I bet he is,” Sam said, his scowl a clue to the disgust he felt.
“Speaking of the fortune-teller thing, did you guys hear about Madame Mariah’s hasty exit from Ben Naismith’s funeral on Friday?” Elise turned her gaze to look at the normally quiet sportswriter. It was rare that he spoke of anything other than sports. But she had come to learn that when Tom did speak, it was usually worth listening to. “She got a personal escort out of the church, though I dare say it wasn’t a requested escort.”
“What do you mean escorted out?” Elise asked.
“My friend was there and he said that the lady showed up halfway through the service and sat down. When Chief Maynard and Mayor Brown saw her, they evidently went berserk. They went over to her and pretty much dragged her out of the church.”
“I guess they didn’t want to hear their fortunes, huh?” Dean asked in a wicked tone. He shoved a donut hole into his mouth and looked around with a grin.
“It certainly seems as if that woman is the prime suspect, at least in the eyes of many Ocean Point officials.” Sam shook his head slowly as he spoke. “I just think the whole scenario smells too fishy.”
“I agree totally,” Elise said. “I think she’s being set up as the fall guy.”
“Don’t you mean fall psychic?” Dean quipped.
11:00 a.m.
Mitch looked at the crime scene photographs and personal information in front of him for the hundredth time. But it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing new jumped out at him that could help him solve these vicious crimes.
He thought back over the week, about the council meeting Thursday night. Daniel Johnson had seemed so smug when he was giving his condo pitch. It was like he knew he was going to win.
“Maybe Elise is right,” he said under his breath. “Maybe this creep is so desperate for his damn condo that he’ll do anything to get the council members to vote in favor of tearing down the first pier.”
It wasn’t too long ago that
someone at Mia’s had suggested to him that the small fire at Madame Mariah’s last year may have been deliberately set in an attempt to destroy her business and the entire pier. Could that failed attempt have been the catalyst for something more drastic?
“Daniel Johnson would certainly have had motive for that crime as well,” Mitch mumbled. He thought back to last year. It was after the fire—and the council’s less than enthusiastic response to the proposal—when the developer first backed down. Until now. Here he was, a year later, trying to play on the town’s fears in order to get his way. And once again, Madame Mariah’s business was the target.
And Elise was afraid of him. She seemed to suspect him, and he certainly seemed like a likely suspect. Maybe it was time to pull Daniel Johnson in for questioning in the murders. Every time they had spoken to that point had been in regards to the condominiums.
But then there was the chief. He hated psychics. He wanted more manpower in the department but there wasn’t enough crime to justify the added officers. Now there was, and he was getting his bigger department. Mitch was ashamed of the brief thought that flashed through his head. But he couldn’t ignore it. If the killings suddenly stopped now that the chief’s request was approved, he would have to do much more than just wonder about his boss.
“And what about Madame Mariah?” He rose to his feet and walked toward the photographs of each victim. “Every one of them consulted her for a reading and she warned each of them of tragedy. Then . . . whammo, they’re dead.”
He paused momentarily as a flood of thoughts raced through his mind. He found himself recalling the psychic’s bizarre words when they had talked on the telephone. But what the hell could she mean by being punished for their visit?
He knew that if she wasn’t involved in the murders then it meant she really could see the future. And he didn’t believe in that stuff at all.
He looked at the clock on his desk and pushed the intercom button on the bottom of his phone.
“What do you need, Mitch?”
“Is the chief around?”
He grabbed his badge and locked his desk drawer.
“Nope. He’s sitting down with the bigwigs at town hall trying to work out the details of our soon-to-be recruiting efforts. Shouldn’t be much longer though.”
“Okay. Will you please leave him a message for me?”
“Sure thing. Shoot.”
“Tell him I’m heading home to get some rest. I’m going to be doing a little checking around tonight and I’ll be in touch with him in the morning.”
“Doing a little undercover work, huh?”
“You got it. Thanks.”
Maybe he’d finally find some answers where Madame Mariah was concerned.
Chapter Twenty-two
Monday, June 28
7:30 p.m.
Although he was fairly certain Madame Mariah wouldn’t notice him, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. His khaki shorts and polo shirt were a safe bet for blending in, but his lack of tattoos didn’t help. Maybe he could pass as a tourist.
He pulled his baseball cap a little lower on his forehead and quickened his stride. The boardwalk was busy. Everywhere he looked he saw a familiar face and hoped they didn’t notice him. The staff intern, Mayor Brown, Elise’s boss, Chief Maynard, Daniel Johnson, and even Father Leahy were out in force. But they hadn’t seemed to notice him.
Once he was safely past the faces he knew, Mitch stopped to grab a bite to eat. It was going to be a long night and he needed something to keep him alert.
“Hey, how’s it going?” He tried to keep his head down as he addressed the concession worker. The fewer people who recognized him, the more likely it was his cover wouldn’t be blown. “I’ll take a cheese steak with onions and two Yoo-hoos.”
“Comin’ right up!”
Mitch looked out toward the beach as he waited. The white foam of the waves broke up the darkness, their rhythmic sound more noticeable at this end of the boardwalk. It was more peaceful down here, inviting. A great place for a long walk with Elise. He would give anything to get these murders solved so he could put in a real effort where she was concerned.
He felt a smile creep across his face and chuckled. Aunt Betty always said he would know when he found the right girl. And he couldn’t help but feel he may have finally done that.
“Here you go. Enjoy.”
Mitch nodded at the worker and grabbed the white bag. He headed immediately toward a vacant bench just a few feet from Madame Mariah’s doorway. The vantage point was perfect for seeing everyone who came and went from the woman’s booth. He sat down, stretched out his legs, and reached inside the bag next to him.
10:00 p.m.
Scott Levine was almost done with his novel, but he knew he needed a better perspective on the fortune-teller who entered briefly into the ending. So it was with a pad of paper in one hand and his lucky pen in the other that he set off for the boardwalk.
He eyed the countless parking lots closest to the boardwalk but refused to pay the six bucks to use any of them. The remote alleyway four blocks away would be just fine. With any luck he’d be trading in the 1975 Chevy wagon for a Porsche in a few months, and then maybe he’d just park on the boardwalk next time.
Laughing at the image, he tossed the cola bottle he had just finished onto the pavement in front of him and headed toward the bright lights and carnival noises of the nearby amusement piers.
Madame Mariah was going to be perfect for his character research. He’d been hearing a lot about her lately and figured she would be as good a choice as any to teach him about the world of psychics.
As he approached the first pier, Scott began the mind-clearing exercises he found necessary to transform himself into the award-winning author he knew he would soon be. They worked just fine until he saw the guy sitting on the bench drinking Yoo-hoo. It really bugged him to see guys like that lounging around without a care in the world. Must be nice to not have to worry about a paycheck.
He could feel his anger growing, his task at hand forgotten. But he couldn’t let that happen. The world was full of lazy guys who had the world by the pants. He’d be lounging around like that too once his novel sold. Only he would be drinking something a lot classier than Yoo-hoo.
When he finally reached Madame Mariah’s House of Fortunes, he was grateful to see only one other person in the waiting area. He looked around the room. A sign propped up on a table in the corner caught his eye. Ten bucks to have a fortune done? He could feel his anger rising to the surface. Why was it that everyone was out to screw him?
But it would be worth it to finish the book right. And besides, he thought, it would probably be a tax deduction later on. Research expenses.
Less than fifteen minutes later, it was his turn.
“Would you like a tarot card reading, a palm reading, or shall we take a look at the crystal ball?” the mysterious-looking woman asked him.
He could feel his creative juices flowing as he savored everything about the atmosphere. He chose a palm reading.
“Take a seat,” the woman said. She pointed to a worn chair across from where she was now seated.
With the prices she charged, he couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t have a better chair for her clients.
He sat down and faced her, suddenly aware of how nervous he felt.
“What line would you like me to read first?”
“What line?”
“You have three main lines in your palm,” she explained slowly. “You have a Heart Line, a Head Line, and a Life Line.”
“Let’s go with my Heart Line first.” He soaked up every detail of the woman’s face as she bent over his palm, studied the crisscrossed lines that seemed etched into her skin.
“I see a very lonely life. No one very special, although there was someone not too long ago. You thought there was a future with this person but it did not come to pass.”
He shifted in his seat. How could she know that? And then he remembe
red the wedding notice that had been changed in the paper after he was left standing at the altar.
“Instead, you fill your life by creating scenarios,” she continued. “These creations are your passion now.”
He thought of his book.
“Now, I will read your Life Line.” The woman tilted the gooseneck lamp on the table so it would shine more brightly on his palm.
“Oh, dear . . .” All color in the woman’s face drained as she spoke, her skin almost ashen in its appearance.
“What?” Scott asked. He found the woman to be very amusing in her performance. But those same theatrics probably explained the lines in her face.
“You are in danger, grave danger. You must be very careful when you leave here,” she said, her voice rising with each subsequent word.
“What kind of danger?” he asked. He knew his words sounded sarcastic but he couldn’t help it. This was ludicrous.
“I’m afraid for you and your safety. Please be very careful.” She rose to her feet and waved in the direction of the curtain. “You should go now.”
“Are you kidding me? I gave you ten bucks to do this reading. You haven’t even gotten to the Head Line, yet!”
He saw the bewildered stare the woman gave him and he met her gaze head-on.
“Take your ten bucks back,” she shouted, shoving the crinkled bill he had just given her back into his hand.
Now, that was what he called cheap research.
10:55 p.m.
Mitch looked at his wristwatch. His stakeout was a bust so far. In all the time he had sat on the bench, he had only seen a handful of people actually go in and out of Madame Mariah’s. And based on snatches of conversation he picked up as they walked by, he was able to deduce that most of them were tourists.
Deadly Readings Page 12
