"I don't need to search my vapor," he said pointedly. "Charles died a year after I reached America. Gout or stupidity or cowardice or some other malady suffered by a rich, fat, overindulgent fool." He waved his hand. Sometimes, a gesture like the wave of his hand would appear in slow motion stretching his long white fingers to impossible lengths before the image tightened back up to regular human proportions.
"Then there was no heir to your family's estate?"
"If I had lived, it would have fallen to me. But there were a number of other greedy cousins waiting in line to be next. Of course, by the time I realized I was no longer of sound mind or solid body, the family estate was no longer important. And that is why your conclusion is wrong."
"You don't need to put extra emphasis on the word wrong. Got it. You're not here because you lost your family fortune to spoiled cousin Charles." A yawn crept up. I covered my mouth. "I guess we'll have to continue this another time. I'm too tired to think anymore."
"I bid you good night then."
The dogs rose groggily to their feet. Their claws clattered on the kitchen floor as they walked like sleepy children toward the bedroom. I stopped before heading down the narrow hallway.
"So you were sent to America, not because you were shaming the family name with your behavior, but because cousin Charles was plotting against you?"
Edward's image grew thin and watery. "There might have been a few instances of scandalous affairs and gambling debts. And then there was the threat of blackmail. You should go to bed. You get unsightly dark rings under your eyes when you're tired." With that confession and unflattering remark, he vanished.
I plodded with heavy feet down the hallway. Newman had already settled himself in the center of the bed, once again leaving me with just a crescent shaped mattress edge. But I didn't care. I was tired. Even more so than usual. Who knew life with a ghost would be so exhausting?
Chapter 5
Myrna had put her black hair up in a bun. She'd brushed the natural streak of white hair up from her forehead into a swirl that reminded me of the twirls on a vanilla ice cream cone. Myrna, the newspaper office manager, and I had grown instantly close and I always looked forward to seeing her smiling face when I walked into work.
Recently, she'd toned down her heavy makeup with a lighter foundation, and pink rather than cherry red lipstick. From what I gathered, the new pastels were her summer color choices. She looked up briefly from her computer and grinned. "I brought some of those donut holes with the rainbow sprinkles you like so much." Sometimes I wondered if I was so fond of the woman because I missed my mom. Myrna was only ten years older than me, but she stood in as a perfect surrogate. She always provided me with snacks and occasionally straightened up my desk when I let it get too out of control.
"Donut holes are the perfect way to start my morning." I walked over to my desk and pulled my laptop out of its case. Parker had insisted on buying me a desktop computer, but I still preferred my laptop. Myrna had placed five rainbow sprinkled donut holes on a paper napkin in the center of my desk. I popped one into my mouth and gave her a thumbs up across the room.
I finished the overlarge bite of food and reached for one more. "I wonder how many of these donut holes equal a whole donut," I mused as I opened my computer.
"I'm sure ten or twelve," Myrna said matter-of-factly, even though she'd just pulled the numbers from thin air.
"I like the way you calculate your donut holes, lady. Then this plate is only half a donut. I wonder if the same ratio works for those mini candy bars we hand out on Halloween." As I pondered the next important question, the door to Parker's office opened. Chase Evans, the head reporter, walked out wearing a snow white Polo shirt and a palmful too much hair product. His strong, clean shaven jaw looked tight as steel, signaling he wasn't pleased about something.
He stopped at Myrna's desk and helped himself to a mint. "Can't believe I'm stuck with covering the local elections. Might as well be covering the local funerals." He stopped his short rant long enough to notice that I was in the cluttered newspaper office. "Sunni, didn't see you hiding there behind your laptop." He pasted on his dazzling smile. As picture perfect as the man was, like a glossy photo from a magazine, I found him lacking in personality, which, in turn, took away a lot of the shine. I knew the look he was wearing. He needed a favor.
"Hey, Sunni, this assignment seems right up your alley." He held up the manila folder, Parker's primitive, almost childish, system of handing out assignments. "How about you cover this—"
"She can't cover the elections," Parker growled from the doorway of his office. He'd recently decided to dye his bushy gray moustache a dark brown. It was hard not to stare at the thing. Myrna and I had secretly decided it looked as if a fluffy mouse had climbed onto his lip and died there under his nose.
"Get in here, Taylor," Parker ordered gruffly and then cleared his throat and lightened his tone. "I've got a new assignment for you." After several successful articles, Parker had grown more confident with my reporting. While he tried to act like the tough, salty editor, there was always an edge of pride when he talked to me.
"If it's more interesting than the elections, then that assignment should go to me. I'm head reporter." Chase sounded a bit whiny, like a kid who didn't get to lead the line in from recess.
"It is more interesting than the elections." Parker's dead mouse moustache shifted back and forth a moment as if the poor critter had been jolted back to life. I was certain Chase's spoiled boy plea had done the trick and that Parker would hand me the election assignment. Chase was, after all, dating the newspaper owner's daughter. I braced for the disappointment, hoping at the very least that some scandalous candidate was running, when Parker motioned me into the office. I glanced back. Chase's mouth dropped in disbelief as Parker swung the door shut behind us.
With some effort and a few grunts, Parker settled himself down behind his desk. His usual array of vitamins, aspirin and lozenge wrappers made a nice medicinal frame around the clutter on his desk. I had to mentally remind myself not to stare at the stark brown fluff of hair above his lip. His hair was still mostly gray, which made the moustache color experiment that much more striking.
Parker mumbled to himself something about checking car brakes as he read off one of the many yellow sticky notes he had pasted around his workspace and along the edge of his computer monitor. "Here it is." He pulled a note off the top of the sticky note pad. "Gina wanted me to ask if your sister has ever done a sweet sixteen party? Our daughter's birthday is coming up next month."
"Oh, um I'm not sure, but Lana can make any party match the occasion. I've got some of her business cards on my desk." I stared at the sticky note in his hand. "Was that all you needed from me or was there an assignment?"
He blew a laugh from his mouth and the dead mouse twittered. "Yes, there's an assignment." He ruffled through a pile of folders and grabbed one out, holding it just out of my reach. "How is that article about the brewery coming along?"
"It'll be in your inbox before I leave work today."
"Great. Looking forward." He dropped the folder in front of me, causing my hair to blow back off my face. "I don't know if you've driven across the Colonial Bridge often, but it's in desperate need of restoration and repair."
"I've driven over it a number of times, and I confess, I hold my breath as I cross it."
"Right. The improvements were voted on and ratified months ago, but there hasn't been any progress. In order to save money, the city council decided to allow private companies to invest in the restoration. I've listed a few businesses that have a financial interest in the project. It might be a place to start."
I opened the folder. Parker's assignment folders were always comically scant. This one was no different. The folder consisted of one printed paper with a few company names and contact phone numbers. The title Colonial Bridge Restoration was printed boldly across the top of the paper. I drew my finger along the list. It ended with the one company I'd heard of, which was sheer
coincidence. "Stockton Tools," I read out loud.
"Yes, do you know the Stocktons?"
"Only through my sister. Well, not exactly. Lana is planning the wedding for the owner's son and his bride." I closed the folder. "I'll get started on this just as soon as I finish up the details on the brewery article." I headed out of the office.
Myrna motioned me over to her desk with the crook of her finger. I leaned down to hear her hushed voice. "Chase is so mad," she whispered.
I quickly glanced into the newsroom.
"He went out to meet Rebecca for coffee," Myrna said in her usual easy to hear tone. She patted a notepad that was covered with her speedy shorthand. "I just got a wedding announcement. Apparently Jeremy Stockton of Stockton Tools is getting married to a local girl." She looked at her notes to find the name.
"Brooke Lewis," I filled in for her. "Lana is putting on the reception up at the barn."
"I bet it will be beautiful. The Stocktons are a well-respected family in these parts," Myrna continued. "Joseph Stockton started that company about eighty years ago." She grinned and moved closer as if she had another juicy piece of gossip. "My Grandmother Gertie dated Joseph for a few months until he joined the army. She couldn't be bothered to wait for him to return and married my grandfather, a wonderful man but not nearly as rich and successful as Joseph Stockton." She shifted back to her computer, a signal that she'd divulged all the gossip tidbits for the time being.
I walked back to my desk. There was a text from Raine. "Lunch after I read the bride-to-be's fortune?"
I texted back. "Yes. I'll need to eat something healthy after my donut hole overload. See you at noon."
Chapter 6
Raine's shop was just blocks away from the newspaper office. I'd spent the morning nibbling donut holes and finishing the brewery article and was in need of a hearty lunch. I was thinking of ordering the Charlie Chaplin at Layers, our favorite lunch spot. The Chaplin had chunks of roasted chicken smothered in smoky cheddar and tucked into a sourdough roll. It made my mouth water just to think about it. I was pleased with myself for making my choice so easily. Ballad Winter, the owner of Layers, had created such a diverse and appetizing menu, I found that if I didn't decide before walking into the restaurant, I risked using up my entire lunch break reading the menu. With my choice made, I could avoid the menu altogether and save myself the anguish of indecision.
A sparkling green Jaguar was parked in front of Junction Psychic. Raine's chalkboard sign was hanging on the door. She hung it out to let people know she was in consultation with a client. I wandered over to the side yard outside of her shop where a pair of sparrows were busy splashing in the birdbath. I moved with the quiet stealth of a cat and pulled my phone free from my pocket. I was determined to catch the cute birds in the midst of their afternoon bath. I lifted the phone and moved ever so slightly to capture them both in one frame. I moved my finger slowly to the button. The view through the finder was going to be an Instagram sensation. Before I could snap the shot, the front door whisked open, and my feathered models shot up to a nearby tree.
"Darn it." It seemed my Instagram stardom was still out of reach. I pushed my phone back into my pocket and turned around.
I immediately recognized the first person out the door. It was Brooke. She was holding her mouth as if to stifle a sob as her thin legs carried her down the front steps. Her skin was pale, like it had been dusted with powder, only I was sure that was not the case. Something had caused her a great deal of despair, and whatever it was, it had washed the color right out of her complexion. The bridesmaid, Cindy, followed quickly after Brooke, shaking her head in angry disbelief. A few sharp words shot from the house and were quickly followed by the bride's grim faced, tight lipped maid of honor, Tory. Raine's face appeared next in the open doorway. She looked nearly as pale as the bride. Her anguished gaze found me standing in the shadows of the yard. Her eyes widened, letting me know she had something to tell me. But it didn't take an investigative journalist to discover that.
Tory threw her arm around Brooke's bony shoulders and quietly spoke to her as she led her to the Jaguar. Cindy opened the passenger door for Brooke and then climbed into the backseat while Tory walked around to the driver's side. She skewered Raine with an angry glare before disappearing inside. The tires on the Jag screamed and left a smoky, rubbery film in the air as they drove away.
I finally crawled out from my semi-hiding spot. "What on earth have you done, Raine? That bride-to-be looked much happier last night when she was picking out her place setting." I climbed up the steps.
"Ugh, the wedding. Your sister is going to be so mad." An array of bangles and bracelets clattered on Raine's arm as she rubbed her face. Some of the color returned to her cheeks. The wild colors of her skirt trailed a rainbow through the air as she turned back to the house with a dramatic flounce.
I followed her inside. Even though the sun was shining brightly outside the small, old house, the front room where all the psychic consultation took place had the heavy curtains shut tight. A few candles sent flickering light and a good deal of acrid smoke through the snug, heavily decorated room. There were four chairs sitting around the small table in the middle of the room. A stack of Raine's tarot cards were hastily piled next to a tea cup that was drained of liquid but covered in wet tea leaves.
"What a morning," Raine muttered as she swept up the cards into a stack.
"What happened? What did you tell her?"
"Only the truth." Raine shook her head as if she was trying to shake off the last few minutes. She busied herself extinguishing candles and putting the room back into regular order.
"Raine, you're avoiding eye contact. What truth?" I'd just placed myself in a tough predicament by asking her 'what truth'. Raine firmly believed in her skills. If I questioned what she considered to be the likely future events, then I would hurt her feelings. But how fair was it for her to upset her customers with predictions she was basing solely on her tarot cards, tea leaves and her own unwavering confidence?
Raine disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, the tea cup clattered into the sink. I didn't need to see it, to know the cup was no longer in one piece. Raine's string of swear words ushering out from the kitchen solidified that conclusion.
Raine returned from the kitchen and sat down hard on the velvet settee in the corner of the room.
"I know you pride yourself on giving it to people straight, but maybe when you are sensing bad news, you should tone it down or pillow it with something good."
Raine pulled off the scarf she had tied around her head. "Oh trust me, I pillow. I pillow every chance I get. I hate when I get strong vibes about bad news, but there is almost always some inkling of good with it. Silver linings here and there, moments of good fortune that seem destined to follow bad luck."
Raine was unusually shaken by it all.
I sat next to her on the settee. "What was it that you sensed or predicted? Is the marriage in trouble?"
She rested her head back and took off her glasses. "It wasn't one particular thing. I had gooseflesh up and down my arms almost the second they walked inside, long before I laid out the cards or brewed the tea." Raine lifted her head. "I don't have the heart to tell Lana. She was excited to get this job. The Stocktons have big influence in this area, lots of connections. She saw this as a great opportunity for more referrals." Raine sat forward with a grunt. "Lana's going to kill me."
"No, I think you're reading too much into this."
"I don't think so." Raine was almost always an optimist. It was the reason people came to her for palm readings and the reason this particular incident was so distressing. Could it be she had more extra-sensory perception than I realized? A purely self-centered thought entered my head. Was a big, noteworthy scandal brewing in town? I tamped down the selfish moment. Raine was unhappy. It was no time for me to feel giddy about an impending news story.
I tapped her arm to pull her from her worried thoughts. "Look, I'm sure the women are al
ready shrugging the session off. And whatever happens, if the wedding is called off or the relationship is over, you'll still have nothing to do with it. Lana certainly wouldn't blame you. Your powers are great," I assured her and kept my tone as genuine as a good friend could, "but you only predict the future. You don't cause things to happen."
Raine seemed to be weighing my words, but I wasn't sure if I had her convinced. She took a deep breath. "I didn't even tell them what I really saw in the cards. I softened my interpretation. I told them that things might not go smoothly for the wedding."
"See, so no biggie. That could mean anything. Caterers are late delivering foods. Rain and wind on the day of the ceremony. Mothers-in-law have an argument. Trust me, Brooke and Tory are already on their way to the city to pick out shoes for the dresses. They won't give this a second thought. Now, what you need to pull you from this mood is a Bette Davis, a hot grilled cheese and ham on brioche bread." I stood up with renewed energy. "Let's go have lunch."
I lowered my hand and we had a short impromptu laugh as I yanked her to her feet.
"A Bette Davis does sound good right now." I sensed that she was starting to feel better.
We stepped outside. The warm air and woody fragrance that always lingered in the moist summer atmosphere helped revive her more. We walked out her garden gate and headed to our favorite lunch spot. It seemed she was feeling close to a hundred percent, which gave me the go ahead to ask a question that was probably better left unasked. But then, I was, after all, a pokey, proddy journalist with an insatiable curiosity.
"You said you softened your interpretation. What exactly did you see in the cards?"
She hesitated but only for a second. "The cards showed something terrible was going to happen before the wedding."
"Soo, like a really bad storm? Bride comes down with chicken pox?"
"Nope. Worse. According to the cards, someone is going to die."
Killer Bridal Party Page 3
