What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  His hand was not cold or moist. In fact, he seemed to be quite comfortable with the proceedings. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting Luanne to connect with Lisa Nichols, his dead ex-fiancée. Nichols, dead and still crazy, would be sufficient to chill anyone.

  She felt Thornton’s glance. He leaned toward her as if he were about to whisper something. Before he could speak, Luanne said, “I’m going to blow out the candles one by one. There is nothing to be afraid of. We are all safe here.”

  Thornton leaned back in his chair.

  Luanne said, “We are going to breathe together, in harmony. Take a deep breath and release it slowly. Let your body begin to relax. Another breath…”

  In spite of her intention to stay alert, McCabe found herself being lulled by the sound of Luanne’s voice. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, she thought. It had been late when she reached Adam, but she had been relieved when he assured her that he was holding Howard Miller solely responsible for shoving him into the spotlight. Of course—and Mai had pointed this out—he might have done a better job of controlling his temper when he’d gotten that question from the reporter about the burglar and the shooting. Losing his temper was playing right into Miller’s propaganda.

  McCabe had been grateful that Miller hadn’t derailed the progress that she and Adam had been making toward mending their relationship. But she had still tossed and turned before falling asleep.

  “I’m going to blow out another candle,” Luanne said. “But I want you to go on breathing gently, breathing in harmony with each other. Go on holding hands. Remember the circle must be unbroken. Keep holding the hand of the person on either side of you.”

  McCabe felt her eyelids drifting closed. She forced them open and straightened in her chair, glancing around her. Over at Baxter. His eyes were open, too. He was glancing around the table.

  McCabe slid a glance to her left, at Thornton. His dark eyes glistened in the dim light. Obviously, Mr. Thornton did not intend to go under.

  Ashby, on the other hand, seemed to be drifting. McCabe saw his head jerk.

  She couldn’t tell if Burdett was feeling the effects of Luanne’s relaxation technique. His head seemed to be bowed, but he might have been faking.

  Before she could look at Olive Cooper, Luanne blew out the third candle.

  At that same moment, the moon disappeared behind a cloud.

  Someone—McCabe thought it was Francesca Reeves—whispered something, maybe only a gasped “Oh!”

  Luanne said, “It’s all right. Continue to breathe, breathing together. Let yourself relax in this warm, safe place. A place where we can welcome Kevin Novak’s departed spirit to us.”

  McCabe had the sense a sigh had passed around the table. A whisper of sound. She found herself wishing the moon would come from behind the clouds again. A little light would be welcome.

  You’re not afraid of the dark, she told herself.

  Thornton’s hand tightened ever so slightly around her own. She did not look at him. She wouldn’t have been able to see his expression in the dark anyway.

  Megan, on her other side, was clutching her hand so tightly that McCabe wanted to flex her fingers. But she stayed still.

  Her nostrils twitched. What was that odor? Something barely there, but familiar.

  “Kevin,” Luanne said. “Kevin, we want to welcome you among us. We want you to join us here. Your family is here, Kevin. Sarah and Megan and Scott. They want to speak to you.”

  Megan squeezed even tighter on McCabe’s hand. McCabe wondered if she was doing the same to her mother on the other side, or if she was focusing all her anxiety in the hand that was clutching McCabe’s. If Sarah Novak knew how frightened her daughter was, she might well stop this now.

  Maybe they should stop it before … what the devil was that odor? Something she knew.

  “Kevin, if you’re here,” Luanne was saying. “Kevin, ring the spirit bell to let us know you’re here.”

  They all held their breath, waiting. Nothing.

  On the other side of the table, Jonathan Burdett cleared his throat. “I think this—”

  “Be quiet, please,” Luanne said. “We have to wait, we have to give him time. Kevin, we—”

  The bell jangled. Once. Twice.

  Gasps passed around the table.

  “Keep holding hands,” Luanne said. “The circle must be unbroken. Kevin, do you want to speak to your family?”

  “Daddy?” Megan said. “Daddy, are you really here?”

  The bell jangled again. But this time, the sound was above the table, in the air above them. The bell was ringing over their heads.

  Afterward, McCabe wasn’t sure of the order of events. Whether the scream—from Sarah or Francesca—came before or after the bell crashed to the table. Whether Megan let go of her hand before or after Esme, the cat, ran past their legs from under the table. Whether the outer door to the solarium blew open at the same time something on the other side of the room fell to the floor and shattered.

  “Don’t move,” Luanne said. “Don’t move. I’m going to light the candles. Stay where you are. Continue to hold hands.”

  Megan drew a shuddering breath and fumbled for McCabe’s hand. On Megan’s other side, McCabe heard Sarah Novak whisper, “It’s all right, baby. Everything’s all right.”

  The first candle flared up. The second. And then the third. The people at the table glanced around, seeking information from one another.

  “I think…” Thornton said, “Olive, I really think this is enough for one evening. I’m going to turn on the lights now.”

  Cooper had her head turned toward Luanne Woodward. McCabe couldn’t make out her expression. But she was staring at the medium, who was looking down at the table.

  “Olive,” Thornton said. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “Turn on the lights. We’re done.”

  Thornton let McCabe’s hand go, and she realized she had forgotten he was still holding it. He got up. A moment later, the lights in the ceiling fixtures came on.

  “What fell?” Burdett asked.

  “First, the bell that was supposed to be on the table,” Ashby said. “And then something over on the other side of the room.”

  Reeves stood up. “It sounded like something made of glass.”

  She headed off to investigate, and the others followed her.

  Except for Luanne, who was staring at the bell that was now back on the table. And Olive Cooper, who was staring into space, her expression unreadable.

  Baxter had followed the others. McCabe said, “Aren’t you interested in what fell, Ms. Cooper?”

  “I know what it was. I have a large crystal vase on the side table—had a vase, I should say.”

  McCabe looked from one woman to the other. “Was this rigged? Was it all smoke and mirrors?”

  Luanne Woodward shook her head. She turned and looked at Olive Cooper.

  Cooper said, “We had planned something in case Kevin didn’t respond.”

  Woodward said, “But what happened wasn’t what we planned.”

  “So what you’re telling me,” McCabe said, “what you want me to believe is that the spirit bell rose in the air and rang over our heads and the outer door blew open and the vase fell, all without any help from the two of you.”

  “That’s what we’re telling you,” Cooper said.

  “Someone … or something was here,” Woodward said. “But I don’t think it was Kevin.”

  McCabe said, “We have had enough of this for one night.”

  “More than enough,” Cooper agreed. She reached for her cane and pushed back her chair with a burst of vigor. “Everyone, don’t worry about the vase. Velma will clean it up. Let’s go into the dining room.”

  McCabe waited until Cooper had gotten around the table and began to herd her muttering and shell-shocked guests toward the food. Then she leaned across the table where Woodward was still sitting.

  “I want the truth,” she said. “Wer
e you responsible for what happened here tonight? I don’t care if you are a fake. I’m not interested in what con you might be up to. I have a murder investigation going on.”

  “I’m not a fake, honey. Sometimes I’m able to reach those who have passed over and sometimes I’m not. But I’m not a fake. And I didn’t ring that bell up in the air or slam open that door or make that vase fall. Something else did that.”

  “Something? But not Kevin?”

  “Not unless he’s awful angry.”

  “He was murdered,” McCabe said. “That might have pissed him off.”

  Woodward nodded. “That can do it. A violent death. But I thought with his daughter here wanting to speak to him … I hear he loved his daughter and his wife and son. No matter how angry he is, I don’t think he would have behaved like that with them here.”

  “Right,” McCabe said. “So you think it was some other malevolent spirit.”

  “That’s what I think, honey.”

  “Then I guess you’d better watch out.”

  “We all had,” Woodward said as McCabe turned away. McCabe kept walking.

  She’d convinced Lt. Dole to allow her and Baxter to waste an evening of their weekend off. What in the name of the Fox sisters had she been thinking?

  Out in the hall, she could hear the voices of the others discussing what had happened. The dining room must be in that direction.

  “Detective McCabe,” a voice said from the shadows of the doorway she was walking past.

  Feeling like an idiot, McCabe dropped the hand that had flown to her throat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Thornton?”

  “Could we speak in private?”

  McCabe peered past him and recognized the shape of a toilet. “In there?”

  “Oh … sorry, I just stopped in here to wash my … we can go back into the living room.”

  “Never mind. Let’s just make this quick.”

  She motioned him back and ducked into the room, closing the door.

  They were standing in the dark. McCabe waved her hand. “Why aren’t the lights coming on?”

  “Try the wall switch,” Thornton said, sounding amused.

  “Oh.” McCabe fumbled along the wall by the door until she found it.

  “Olive prefers to maintain the original design of the house,” he said.

  “What do you want to discuss, Mr. Thornton?”

  His smile faded. “I’ve been thinking about how Lisa died. I’ve been told it could be months before the investigation is completed. Her death is going to be examined as a part of an extensive review of procedures at the facility.” He paused. “I’ve thought about what you asked me, Detective McCabe. I don’t think Lisa would have committed suicide.”

  “Then maybe it was a stunt,” McCabe said.

  “A stunt?”

  “An escape attempt. Ms. Nichols knew she going to be transferred to jail when her trial began on Tuesday. Maybe she thought that by staging a suicide attempt she could get herself taken to the hospital. She might have thought it would be easier to escape from a hospital room than from a jail cell.”

  Thornton shook his head. “She couldn’t have thought that taking enough pills to kill herself would be the ideal way to plan an escape.”

  “She might have miscalculated.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I didn’t say it made sense, Mr. Thornton. I understand Ms. Nichols’s defense was going to be temporary insanity. Maybe she was still having a problem with rational thought.” She held his gaze. “It’s an alternative theory. Something that you might find easier to live with than the idea that Ms. Nichols deliberately took her own life.”

  “Thank you, but what I want is the truth.”

  “The truth is, everything points to suicide. I haven’t seen her autopsy report, but if there was any suspicion it was anything other than suicide, the police would be handling the investigation.”

  “I understand that,” he said.

  “I’m sorry that you don’t have a sense of closure—”

  “Do you?”

  “Ms. Nichols’s death is not a police matter, Mr. Thornton. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Her hand was on the old-fashioned glass doorknob when Ted Thornton said, “Something’s wrong about all this. You feel it, too.”

  McCabe turned and looked at him. “What I feel is that I am going to stop obsessing over your ‘killer blonde.’ She’s dead. I’m going to let her go. I suggest you do the same.”

  McCabe stepped into the hall and saw Baxter coming toward her. “Hey, partner,” he said. “I thought you’d gotten lost.”

  “Nope, here I am. And I’m starving.” She reached behind her and turned off the light in the powder room, leaving Ted Thornton in the dark.

  “Velma’s put out quite a spread,” Baxter said.

  “Then let’s go eat. We may as well get a good meal out of this fiasco.”

  Baxter turned and started back down the hall beside her. “You see Luanne anywhere?”

  “I left her in the solarium pondering the malevolent spirit she claims showed up in place of Kevin Novak.”

  “That’s what she’s saying, huh?”

  “She and Olive admit they were planning something if Kevin didn’t show up. But they deny responsibility for the bell in the air, the door slamming open, and the shattered vase.”

  “Guess we had ourselves a genuine poltergeist.”

  “What are the others saying?” McCabe asked, dropping her voice as they reached the dining room.

  “That they can’t believe what happened. Scott was real quiet and Megan had this wide-eyed look,” Baxter said. “Their mom hustled them out.”

  “Good idea,” McCabe said.

  Baxter glanced back the way they had come. “Hey, have you seen Teddy?”

  “He must still be here,” McCabe said. “Ashby’s sitting there breaking bread with Jonathan Burdett. Let’s get some food, and go eavesdrop.”

  They were at the sideboard, filling their plates, when Ted Thornton came in. Luanne was with him.

  “I’m sorry to be so rude, y’all,” she said to the room in general. “I needed to think awhile about what happened. I hope none of you were too rattled.”

  Francesca Reeves laughed. “No more than one would expect when objects begin to fly about.”

  Woodward looked over at Olive Cooper. “I guess we should be glad Reverend Wyatt didn’t come tonight.”

  Since the two of them had confessed to having some kind of stunt planned, McCabe thought, they obviously hadn’t been concerned about whether Wyatt suspected trickery. But what had they planned? And who had they thought it would rattle?

  Ted Thornton said, “Bruce, if you’ve finished eating, we should get going.” He turned to his host. “Olive, forgive us for cutting the evening short, but I have some work I need to get done tonight.”

  “Velma will fix you a plate. And don’t tell me you have food at home. We had food left over from my celebration last Saturday even after we’d given away as much as we could. Everyone who goes out of my door tonight is taking food.”

  Woodward laughed. “Now, Olive, you sound just like my grandma. She used to cook enough to feed an army and she fed everyone who came by.”

  “I should be running along, too, Olive,” Francesca Reeves said. “This has been a fascinating evening, but draining.”

  “I have to admit I’m rather tired, too,” Burdett said.

  McCabe glanced at Baxter. “Could we get our plates to go, too, Ms. Cooper?” she asked.

  29

  Sunday, January 26, 2020

  2:52 P.M.

  Luanne leaned over her gleaming white kitchen sink and threw up. She had barely managed to snatch the collard greens out of the way and shove them across the counter before it happened.

  “Oh, that’s disgusting,” she mumbled.

  But there had been no hope of making it to the bathroom in the hallway. Better in the sink than on her clean floor.

  She st
raightened up and reached into the cabinet for the glass she always drank water out of. She hated being sick. Had hated it since she was a child.

  “Please, lord, don’t let me be getting the flu.”

  She sipped lukewarm water from the faucet and then reached for the disinfectant and scrub brush under the sink. She would have to throw the brush away after she’d used it to clean up after her vomit.

  It might be something she’d eaten. Maybe the food she’d brought home from Olive’s house last night. She had finished the plate before she went to bed. But all she’d had was roast beef and potato salad, and both had seemed fine.

  Luanne glanced toward the box on the counter. The box the pie had arrived in. She might as well admit it. Making a lunch of chocolate pecan pie wasn’t likely to do anybody’s stomach any good. But it had been so nice of Olive to send the pie. She’d even tucked in a note saying Luanne wasn’t to worry herself about last night and that Olive would call her as soon as she got back home on Monday.

  Olive had mentioned last night she was going down to New York City today to visit with a friend from her college days. When you were Olive’s age, Luanne thought, you didn’t want to miss an opportunity to visit with an old friend. You probably didn’t have that many of them still kicking.

  But Olive had a whole lot of energy for her age. And she’d kept her figure. She was straight-backed and skinny as a girl.

  “Not that you were skinny even when you were a girl,” Luanne said to herself. “And you aren’t ever likely to lose those twenty-five pounds when you eat half a pie.”

  Not that she had intended to eat half a pie. But one slice had led to three. She’d had a lot to think about and she did her best thinking when she was nibbling on something sweet.

  She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when another pain caught her and bent her over. This time, Luanne managed to make it to the toilet. But the mess spattered on the rim and the tile floor.

  Her stomach gurgled and she had to slam down the seat of the toilet and scramble to get her panties down before her bowels erupted.