What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  Unless Lt. Dole disagreed with that analysis of the situation.

  McCabe reached for her ORB.

  “You want to what?” Dole said.

  “I know it’s a little strange, sir. But if they’re all going to be there, and Olive Cooper has invited Baxter and me—”

  “What an eccentric old woman does for her amusement is none of our business. Have you given any thought at all to how this would look if the media got ahold of it? Clarence Redfield might even come out of retirement as a threader to report this one if he heard you and Ted Thornton were both at a séance.”

  “I think Thornton is coming because Olive Cooper is a friend and on one of his boards. She says he isn’t convinced there is an afterlife.”

  “What Thornton believes has nothing to do with how this would look if—”

  “Sir, I really don’t think anyone there is likely to call the media and tell them.”

  “I’ll meet you and Baxter in my office at two o’clock. Find him and get him there. Meantime, I’ll see if I can reach the commander and run this by him.” Dole ran his hand over his scalp and sighed. “If we hadn’t just had that dustup with Howard Miller and your brother, I’d actually agree to this. When you get a bunch of nervous people in the same room … but under the circumstances, McCabe, we’d better get the commander to sign off.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “It’s annoying as hell to have Howard Miller affecting what we do in a murder investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McCabe thought of her promise to Wayne Jacoby to keep him in the loop. Well, if the commander gave them permission to attend the séance, she would suggest then that they should give Jacoby a heads-up, just in case.

  She needed to find Mike. And she needed to let her father, Adam, and Mai know tonight’s family dinner might have to be Sunday brunch instead. She had accepted Pettigrew’s assurance that he would be able to occupy his Saturday afternoon and evening if she canceled out on the classic crime festival they had planned to attend. Now it looked like instead of film festival or family reunion dinner, she might be attending a séance.

  * * *

  “Okay, the lou’s not here,” Baxter said. “Tell the truth. You swear you didn’t secretly put Olive and her medium up to this?”

  It was Saturday evening. They had driven over in their own cars and arrived at the same time. Several other cars were already parked on the street in front of the house.

  “Yes, Michael, I swear. I may have joked about a séance. I may even have thought about recruiting Luanne if we needed a last-ditch ploy, but I absolutely did not suggest this. It’s a little grotesque the day after the funeral.”

  “If she really wants to rattle some cages, maybe that’s what our girl Olive is counting on. I hope she’s still doing her witch imitation with the black cat.”

  “That might not have been deliberate. She might have been too busy summoning people to the séance to worry about putting her hair up in a bun. And the cat was named Esme.”

  “But it was black with emerald eyes,” Baxter said, grinning. “Sounds like a familiar to me.”

  “Black animals get a bad rap,” McCabe said. “Getting back to the subject at hand, I’ve been thinking about what Lieutenant Dole said about not being able to control what happens. If something weird does happen—”

  “You mean if Kev actually does show up during the séance?”

  “Or if Luanne—maybe with Olive’s help—tries to make it look like he’s attempting to make contact.”

  “That should get some reaction.”

  “Yes, and the reactions could range from shrieks and fainting to accusing Luanne of being a con artist.”

  Baxter shrugged. “Nothing we can do but see how it goes. We should be able to handle whatever happens … unless we end up with another body.”

  “Do not say that. Don’t even think it.” McCabe tugged at the collar of her jacket. “Okay, we’re here. Let’s go in and see what happens.”

  Velma, Olive Cooper’s housekeeper, opened the door at their ring. They scraped their shoes on the mat and handed her their coats.

  “Go on into the living room,” she said, gesturing toward the room off to the left. “Everyone who’s here already is in there having refreshments.”

  The voices coming from the living room were muted. When McCabe and Baxter walked into the room, conversation stopped altogether. They seemed to have that effect on these people, McCabe thought.

  The expressions on the faces of Cooper’s guests—Sarah Novak and her two children sitting on the sofa, Dr. Burdett standing by the window holding a glass, and Francesca Reeves at the buffet table, helping herself to appetizers—suggested that Cooper had not told them the detectives were expected.

  “Hello,” McCabe said. “Ms. Cooper invited us to join you for the séance. I hope no one minds.”

  Luanne Woodward, standing beside Dr. Burdett, smiled. “I’m so glad you could make it. Olive told me she had invited you.”

  “Olive forgot to mention that to the rest of us,” Burdett said. “But I assume she thought you would find this experiment of interest.”

  “She thought I would as well,” Francesca Reeves said. “Find this interesting, I mean.”

  Megan said, “Do you think if Luanne can contact my father he might tell you who killed him?”

  The question was raw and hard to hear.

  McCabe said, “We’re keeping an open mind about that, Megan. We’re not sure that Ms. Woodward will be able to contact your father, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. No offense, Luanne.”

  “None taken. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But Olive and I thought it would be worth a try.”

  “And really not weird at all,” Baxter said.

  Scott said, “That’s what I tried to tell my Mom and Megan. That this is weird. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Daddy believed in an afterlife,” Megan said. “Didn’t he, Mommy? And if we can reach him and find out—” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Then that’s what we ought to do. We owe it to, Daddy. Don’t we, Mommy?”

  Novak hugged her daughter and kissed the top of her head. “If this will make you feel better, sweetheart, we’ll give it a try.”

  “It’ll make me feel better,” Megan said. “Even if it doesn’t work.”

  Scott said, “I still think this is stupid.”

  “That’s you,” Megan said. “Me and Mommy want to do it.”

  McCabe wondered if she had missed that before. Had Megan been calling her mother “Mommy”? Daddy for Kevin, but hadn’t Sarah Novak been “Mom”?

  And was it really wrong to involve a child of thirteen in a séance even if she wanted to do it? Sarah Novak seemed to think agreeing to what her daughter wanted was better than upsetting her. But if the séance didn’t work … and it was highly unlikely it would …

  McCabe gave herself a mental shake. She was here to observe the suspects, not worry about Megan Novak’s emotional health. That was her mother’s job. Something Sarah Novak was likely to be better at than a homicide cop with no children.

  The doorbell rang again. “That should be Ted,” Olive Cooper said as she came into the living room leaning on her cane. Cooper’s hair was back in its tidy bun, but the black cat was with her. Esme trailed after her mistress but didn’t weave around Cooper’s feet. Training or instinct, McCabe wondered.

  Megan reached down and held out her hand. “Hi, Esme. Come here, Esme.”

  The cat bounded across the room. Megan rubbed between the cat’s ears and nuzzled its chin. When the girl leaned back, the cat sprang up into her lap and settled in to be stroked.

  A look of what McCabe interpreted as relief passed over Sarah Novak’s face.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Ted Thornton said from the doorway. As usual, he was flanked by his aide, Bruce Ashby. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

  Olive Cooper said, “You’re wearing a suit. I take it you’re coming
from a meeting you actually thought you should dress for.”

  Thornton opened his dark eyes wide. “Olive, didn’t I understand you to tell me not to come to your house again wearing my worn-out blue jeans?”

  Cooper smiled. “So this is in my honor?”

  Thornton sobered. “And under the circumstances.” He went over to Sarah Novak. “My condolences, Mrs. Novak. I never met your husband, but I understand he was a good man.”

  She looked up at him from the sofa. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I’m sorry about … I heard about your loss, too. Your fiancée … former fiancée…”

  “I hadn’t quite figured out what to call her, either,” he said. “And it is a bit odd, isn’t it? Your husband a victim and my ex-fiancée…” He trailed off. “Well, no need to go into that. Lisa isn’t why we’re here.”

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Scott said. “If you never met my dad, why are you here?”

  “Scott!” Sarah Novak said. “Don’t be rude.”

  “It’s a legitimate question,” Thornton said. He held the teenager’s gaze. “Scott, I’m here because Olive invited me. Simple as that.” He turned to look at Olive. “I assume Ms. Cooper needed Bruce and me to round out the number at the table.”

  Megan’s hand had stilled on the cat’s back. “How many should be at the table for a séance?” she asked.

  Woodward said, “It doesn’t really matter, honey. Some mediums are superstitious, and don’t like to have thirteen people. I think the only problem with thirteen is that it is hard to find a round table in most people’s houses that can accommodate that many folks. But some mediums are still back in the old days when people used to believe the number thirteen was unlucky.”

  Megan nodded. “Daddy and I had a conversation about that once when he was telling me about the old superstitions.”

  Woodward said, “Now that we’re all here, Olive, do you want to get started? Or do you want us to eat first?”

  “If anyone’s hungry, please help yourself to more appetizers,” Cooper said. “Velma will have supper ready for us after the séance.”

  McCabe happened to be looking in Sarah Novak’s direction and saw her wince.

  “If you’ll forgive us, Olive, the children and I will go after the … after we’re done. It’ll be getting late for them.”

  “I’ll have Velma pack your supper to take home.”

  Francesca Reeves said, “Didn’t you mention Reverend Wyatt might be joining us, Olive?”

  “I was sure he would. But he apparently had business elsewhere.”

  Jonathan Burdett said, “I spoke to Daniel before I left to come over. He was somewhat distressed that he hadn’t been able to talk Sarah or you, Olive, out of going forward with this. He was thinking of coming to make one last attempt to change your minds, but apparently he decided not to do that.”

  “Must have realized it would be a waste of his time,” Cooper said. “So we’re all here, then. Shall we go into the solarium? Luanne thought that would be the ideal location.”

  “Why?” Megan asked. She hugged the cat to her as she got up. “Why is that a good location?”

  “I like the vibrations in that room,” Woodward said. “And we may get a bit of moonlight.”

  “Go on,” Cooper said, leaning on her cane. “I’m slow tonight. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “May I offer you my arm?” Ted Thornton asked.

  Cooper smiled up at him. “Thank you, gallant sir.”

  They led the way out of the room.

  Bruce Ashby, who was walking beside Luanne Woodward, said, “I thought a séance was supposed to be done in a dark room. Or, at least, only by candlelight.”

  “I believe in allowing natural light to enter in when it will,” Woodward told him. “I think that makes it more hospitable for the spirits we want to summon.”

  Scott said, “What if the wrong spirits come?”

  Woodward looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart. Nothing bad will get past Luanne. I won’t let that happen.”

  Baxter and McCabe were bringing up the rear of the procession to the solarium. He mouthed, “Woo-woo.”

  She shook her head at him, but silently agreed. Luanne standing at the portal holding back evil spirits was a step too far.

  But Scott seemed satisfied with her explanation. He had put his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “You going to take that cat to the séance?”

  Megan called out, “Is it all right for Esme to come to the séance, Olive?”

  “Fine with me,” Cooper said, “if Luanne won’t find a cat in the room a distraction.”

  “Not a’tall,” Woodward said. “I like cats. Especially black ones.”

  And this was getting stranger by the minute, McCabe thought. But they’d come this far.

  28

  From the front, Olive Cooper’s sandstone mansion had appeared to have two levels. When they entered the solarium, McCabe realized the house was designed to fit the downhill slope of the property. They were on the second floor with living quarters above and a lower level, probably the basement, below. Beyond the glass walls of the solarium there was a small balcony and steps leading down to what must be an expanse of lawn.

  Although Woodward had mentioned moonlight, when they entered the room, the lights were on: Pale hardwood floor with rugs scattered about. White sofas and chairs. And, taking up the back section of the room opposite the door leading onto the balcony, a large round table more than adequate to seat them all.

  On the table, there was a candelabrum holding three white taper candles.

  “What’s the bell for?” Scott asked, pointing at the silver bell beside the candelabrum.

  Woodward said, “It’s called a spirit bell. It will allow any spirit who wants to contact us to let us know he’s here.”

  “By ringing the bell?” Francesca Reeves asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you want us to sit in any particular order?”

  “Wherever you’re comfortable, whoever you’re moved to sit beside. I’m going to sit right here. And, yes, ma’am, I will ask any spirit who joins us to make the bell ring. Now please sit down, everyone.”

  McCabe and Baxter headed for opposite halves of the circle. Maximum coverage.

  Sarah Novak had sat down between her two children.

  McCabe sat down beside Megan.

  When she glanced over, she saw that Baxter was seated next to Francesca Reeves, who had sat down next to Scott.

  Bruce Ashby was on Baxter’s other side. McCabe smiled to herself as she imagined Ashby holding hands with Baxter. As she thought that, Ashby turned his head and saw Baxter. He had been so busy planting himself next to Luanne that he hadn’t noticed Baxter was about to take the seat on his other side. The look he gave McCabe’s partner could only be described as sour.

  Baxter nodded at Ashby and grinned.

  Ted Thornton settled Olive Cooper in the chair next to Jonathan Burdett, who had grabbed the place on Luanne’s right.

  Between the two men, Ashby and Burdett, Luanne would be hard pressed to get away with any kind of sleight of hand. In fact, neither was likely to let go of her hand.

  That worked for McCabe. Luanne was unlikely to let go of their hands either.

  “Looks like this seat is mine,” Ted Thornton said. He sat down between McCabe and his friend, Olive.

  And there they were, McCabe thought. Ten people seated around a round table in a solarium waiting for the eleventh among them to do her stuff.

  “The lights are still on,” Megan said.

  “Got them,” Thornton replied.

  He was obviously familiar with the house. He strode over to the wall switch. “Ready?” he asked Luanne Woodward.

  “Just a moment. Let me get the candles.” She stood up, drawing a bulky old cigarette lighter from her pocket. “There we go,” she said, when all three candles were lit. She sat back down in her chair and nodded to Ted Thornton. “Anytime you’re ready, thank you,
sir. Then if you’ll come back to the table.”

  “And we’ll all join hands,” Baxter said.

  “Must we do that?” Ashby asked Woodward.

  “Absolutely, hon, that part we have to do. We need to form an unbroken circle.”

  “It’s all right, Ashby,” Baxter said. “I washed my hands after I used the john.”

  Megan giggled. Ashby shot Baxter another sour look.

  Sarah said to her daughter, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Esme to sit on your lap while we’re doing this.”

  Megan put the cat on the floor. “Stay by my chair, Esme.”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t repeat the question,” Burdett said. “But are you sure a cat in the room is a good idea? If something should happen to startle it…”

  “Esme is a very calm cat,” replied Olive Cooper.

  That settled the matter.

  “Lights going out,” Ted Thornton said from his station by the wall.

  Megan gave a small gasp.

  Her mother said, “Megan, if you’re frightened—”

  “I’m all right, Mom. I just need to let my eyes adjust to the dark.”

  “Mom” again, McCabe thought. Good.

  The January night was cloudy, but there was enough moonlight to spill through the solarium ceiling and find its way through the glass walls. The room was in twilight with the lit tapers burning on the table.

  “Lovely,” Francesca Reeves said.

  Ted Thornton sat back down and edged his chair closer to the table.

  “Please take hands now,” Luanne Woodward said. “And I’ll ask you to be silent. No matter what happens, please don’t speak unless I—or the person we are trying to reach speaking through me—address you by name.”

  McCabe took Megan’s hand. It was cold and moist. McCabe gave the girl’s hand a little squeeze.

  On her other side, Thornton’s long-fingered hand closed around McCabe’s. His palm felt rough to the touch, as if the skin were scraped. She hadn’t noticed that the last time they shook hands. He must have been doing something without gloves. What would that have been? McCabe wondered. Thornton was an outdoorsman and adventurer. Maybe he had gone out and climbed a mountain since she and Baxter visited him to ask about why Ashby had contacted Kevin Novak.