by Skylar Finn
“Okay,” I agreed. “Let’s do it. If Oliver’s sure.”
Oliver gave the thumbs up from his booth then put his head on his arms and presumably fell asleep.
Jazmin clapped her hands together, a familiar mischievous expression on her face that only I would recognize. She had something up her sleeve. “Let’s get started.”
We set up a table in the middle of the room so everyone could see. Since all of my psychic accoutrements were in the suite upstairs, we improvised. Jazmin stole the tea lights off the lounge tables and arranged them in a half-moon circle. We organized a pattern of lace doilies and placed a salt lamp from the bar atop them. It wasn’t my usual show of crystals, but the white candles were authentic enough to please my audience.
“Here we go,” I said, once everything was set up. Everyone but Oliver pulled a chair close to the table. I quickly braided my hair. It wasn’t Madame Lucia’s trademark pink mohawk, but it helped me get into character nonetheless. I cleared my throat, buying time to remember my opening. “Good evening, spiritualists, channelers, and curiosity chasers!” I began. As soon as the words left my mouth, a thrill raced through me. I’d never had a live audience like this before. “Welcome to Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed, where I, Madame Lucia, connect with the dead and not so departed.”
Everyone clapped, including Daniel and Nick. Imani and Ari, who were my most devoted fans out of the group, whooped and egged me on.
I wagged a warning finger at the group. “I must warn you. Mediumship is not for the faint of heart. We must proceed into the spirit realm with the three C’s—”
“Confidence, candidness, and caution!” chorused Imani and Ari. Everyone else laughed at their dedication.
“Indeed!” I said, amping up my awful Spanish accent for their benefit. “Confidence, candidness, and caution. If you lack but one of these, who knows what you might bring back from the other realm. Today we’re speaking to—uh—”
This is where the live performance deviated from my usual script. Normally, Jazmin and I would have set up a teleconference with whatever poor soul wanted Madame Lucia to contact a loved one from beyond the grave, but without a caller, I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Who should we contact?” I asked the crowd in my normal voice.
“My grandma!” Imani suggested.
“Jimmy Hoffa!” called Daniel. I shot him a look, and he shrugged. “What? I want to know what happened to him.”
“My childhood dog,” Matisse said. “He got hit by a car while I was in college, and I never got to say goodbye to him.”
“We have a winner!” I said. “Matisse, what was your dog’s name?”
“Dog.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I was four when I named him,” he said. “Cut me some slack.”
I rolled my eyes and brought the accent back. “Fine. Today we’re speaking to Matisse from the King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort, who is desperate to get in touch with his long lost friend, Dog the dog.”
Everyone roared with laughter, and I couldn’t help cracking a grin myself. Why hadn’t I done this before? It was totally worth the nerves of standing in front of a crowd.
“Dog?” I called out, suppressing a giggle. “Oh, Dog the dog! We are here today to bring about your presence in this room. If you’re here with us, give us a sign?”
Nick barked from the back of the crowd. Everyone looked around in temporary shock then dissolved into more laughter when they realized who was responsible.
“Hey!” Matisse scolded.
“Sorry,” Nick called. “I couldn’t help it.”
“As I was saying,” I went on. “Give us a sign, Dog! Make your presence known!”
A tinkling crash made everyone jump. A clear glass pitcher had fallen off the table between Jazmin and the others. It hit the floor and shattered. Jazmin leapt out of the way as orange juice rushed toward her shoes.
“Okay, who did that?” she demanded of the audience.
No one confessed. Imani and Ari made matching “I’m innocent” gestures. Matisse and Karli were too far away from the table to have moved the pitcher. I decided to go with it.
“It must be Dog!” I cried. “Give us another sign!”
“No, no,” said Matisse as he jumped up from his seat. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore. I thought it was a joke.”
“It is a joke,” I insisted. “Didn’t you see the last episode of my show? I was totally exposed.”
“Then who knocked over the pitcher?”
When I couldn’t answer, I knew the gag was over. The lighthearted humor had faded from the lounge. Smiles returned to frowns.
“We have to close the connection,” I said. “If we’re done.”
“How do we do that?” Matisse asked.
“Say goodbye to Dog.”
“Bye, Dog,” he said shortly.
I dusted my hands and blew out the candles, bringing the fake connection to an end. “Goodbye, Dog.”
As wisps of smoke wafted across the lounge, the crowd dispersed, separating into solitary groups again. Jazmin helped me put the tea lights back where they belonged.
“That was a bust,” I said.
“I don’t know about that,” she replied. “You gave everyone a laugh, and you cemented Madame Lucia’s powers. No one’s going to mess with you now.”
“Is that why you knocked over the pitcher?”
She mock-gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “What could you possibly be talking about? It’s preposterous to accuse me of such a crime.”
“Please,” I scoffed. “We’ve been doing this together for years. I saw you yank on the tablecloth behind your back.”
“It’s what I do for the production,” Jazmin said. “I didn’t expect everyone to get all up in arms about it. It’s not like they know the lodge is actually haunted. I thought it would be a good way to get the show moving.”
I placed the last tea light on the table next to Oliver’s. “I’m not blaming you for anything. It was a good idea.”
She nudged me playfully. “You were in your element. Don’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”
“It was. I wish it was always like that.”
“It could be.”
“Yeah.” I stared wistfully through the windows of the lounge. The snow had started up again, as if there wasn’t enough on the ground already. “If we ever get out of here.”
3
Since there was no surefire way to regulate everyone’s nighttime rituals and Daniel needed to get some sleep for himself, he let us all return to our regular rooms at the end of the night. He warned us to double lock our doors in case the killer wasn’t done. As we went our separate ways, portioning ourselves off floor by floor, the situation felt more and more surreal. We spent the whole day with each other, laughing and commiserating together. It seemed impossible that one of the people in the Eagle’s View was a murderer. No one came off as threatening, hostile, or out of their mind. Then again, neither had Ted Bundy. Out of everyone in the resort, the person with the shortest temper was Oliver.
Riley slept in our room, smack in between me and Jazmin like a kid seeking solace in her parents’ bed after a nightmare. Her feet, pressed against my calves no matter how I arranged the blankets, were as cold as the snow on the mountain, but I liked having her where I knew she was safe. She was first to wake up the next morning, bouncing across the bedspread and into the bathroom before Jazmin and I opened our eyes.
Jazmin buried her face in the pillows. “Tell me yesterday was all a terrible dream. Tell me we’re going to get up today, have breakfast and a cappuccino, and go skiing on the mountain during our all-inclusive stay here.”
“We’re going to get up, have breakfast and a cappuccino, but we’re not going skiing because I suck at it,” I offered, my voice raspy and low from sleep. “Instead, we’re going to the spa for massages and facials since it’s included in our stay here.”
“That sounds nice
. If only you were telling the truth.”
I checked the alarm clock. It was too early for the Eagle’s View to be serving breakfast. “How long do you think we have before Daniel—”
The phone rang, and Jazmin rolled over to answer it. “Hello? Uh-huh. Super. We’ll be down just as soon as we’re properly awake and dressed.” She hung up, the phone rattling against the receiver. “Not long enough. That was our wake up call. He wants everyone in the Eagle’s View in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes? He’s such a guy. He probably rolled out of bed and into the same pair of jeans from yesterday.”
Jazmin slid out from under the duvet cover, shivering as her bare toes touched the floor. She took my kimono—the one I usually reserved for performances as Madame Lucia—and swung it around her willowy frame. On her, it actually looked like a comfortable yet classy cover-up. On me, it looked like a joke. Jazmin tied it around her waist, put her long copper hair into a messy bun, and went into the conjoined living room and kitchen area. I recognized her purposeful stride. It meant she was up to something.
She sat at the desk near the balcony doors. The entire world outside was white and glaring. Hopefully, the string of storms would peter off soon. The longer we were stuck at King and Queens, the worse things would get.
Jazmin opened my laptop and set up my camera bag. As quasi-producer of Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed, she knew the technical stuff as well, or better, than I did. She plugged in the video camera, the one I’d noticed was missing from my bag yesterday, and the footage began to load on the laptop.
“What are you doing?” I said, leaning over the back of her chair and resting my chin on her shoulder to watch the screen. The video showed Daniel sliding into the booth next to Oliver’s. Oliver was too distraught to make it to the bar where Daniel was holding the rest of his interviews.
“I figured it couldn’t hurt to set up some surveillance,” Jazmin said, fiddling with the volume controls. “So I used your camera to film some of the interviews.”
I reached over her and hit the pause button. “You do realize that’s illegal, right? Daniel’s a detective. These interviews are official police business. You could get arrested for this.”
“I’d rather be arrested than dead, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She spun the chair around to face me, crossing one long leg over the other. “You didn’t seem so opposed to stealing evidence when we poached those photos off the memory card before Daniel could see. Did you change your mind about Odette’s request?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “We have to figure out what happened here, but I’m not sure this is the way to do it. We have to think about the future. If we solve the mystery but end up in jail, what’s the point of all this anyway?”
“To stay alive,” she emphasized. “I’m being practical, Lucia. Daniel is in over his head. You’ve seen what he’s like. He’s high strung and stressed out, and to be honest, I’m not too sure he’s got a handle on his sobriety. Are we supposed to trust a guy like that with our lives?”
“A guy like what?” I said. “He has a problem, Lucia. That doesn’t make him unreliable.”
“Doesn’t it though?” She had that look on her face, the single eyebrow lifting to show she knew she was right about something. “Daniel’s unstable and alone. If we’re going to figure this out, we have to take some unconventional steps.”
“He’s going through a tough divorce,” I argued. “Custody of his daughter is on the line, and he’s trapped in this hotel with a bunch of morons and a murderer. You’d be unstable too.”
“This isn’t about Daniel,” she said, drumming her fingers on the desk. “It’s about you, me, and Riley, though I’m only including myself in that list because I’d like to make it home without twelve stab wounds through my stomach. You’ve known Daniel for a week. Why are you defending him?”
I sank into the arm chair and pulled the fluffy throw blanket around my head like a nun’s habit. “I don’t know.”
Jazmin stared intently at me. I hugged my knees into my chest and covered them with the blanket too like a turtle hiding in its shell. Jazmin continued to stare.
“What?” I demanded.
“Something’s going on with you,” she said, tilting her head to the side as if viewing me from a different angle might reveal my innermost secrets. “You’ve never been opposed to doing illegal things before.”
“Levitating a television out of a third-floor window and impersonating a psychic is not the same as screwing around with a police investigation,” I pointed out.
“No, it’s not that,” she said. “It has something to do with Daniel. You feel sorry for him or something. That’s why you don’t want to get involved with his investigation. You think the Crimson Basin police force will find out, and he’ll get canned.”
“I don’t care about Daniel,” I insisted, but the high pitch of my voice gave away the blatant lie.
Jazmin crossed her arms. “Out with it. What’s your deal with him? Did you guys hook up or something?”
“What? No! He’s ten plus years older than me.”
“Like that’s stopped you before?”
“He reminds me of my dad.”
“Lucia, there’s daddy issues and then there’s daddy issues,” she said. “Please don’t say you have a problem with the latter category.”
“Ugh!” I covered my head with the throw blanket entirely. “Can you stop? That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
I peeked through the lush fabric. The problem with how close Jazmin and I were to each other was that there was no way to lie to her. She saw through every expression. She knew how my eyes darted from one side to the other and how my nose wrinkled and how my lips twitched if I said something that wasn’t truthful.
“What do you know about my dad?” I asked.
Her gracefully arched eyebrows scrunched together like they always did when she was thinking hard about something. “I know what you’ve told me. He was a painter. He loved you more than anything else in the world. He fought with your mom a lot, but they still loved each other. He was warm and kind. He took you to art galleries when you were little even though you didn’t understand much of it.”
“All of that is true,” I said. “But I left something out. My father was also a recovering addict.”
It clicked into place for Jazmin, the thing I’d explained to her once and never spoke of again. Her eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates as she realized what this piece of information meant.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“So when you—?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God.” She dropped off the desk chair and sank to the floor, resting her forehead against my knees like a woman come to worship. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
I brushed my fingers through her silky hair. It smelled like the artificially-scented strawberry shampoo provided by the resort rather than her usual jasmine essential oils, another reminder that we were out of our element. “I didn’t want you to think poorly of me. My dad wasn’t the man I made him out to be. Half the time, he was the perfect father and husband. My mother was enamored with him, and I couldn’t fathom life without him. The other half was—let’s just say it wasn’t fun.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucia.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?” I asked. “You should be running as far away from me as possible now that you know the truth.”
She hugged my legs and rested her chin on my thigh to look up at me. “Listen to me. This doesn’t change anything. I never thought you were responsible, and I still don’t.”
“You don’t understand what I’m telling you then.”
Riley emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that was too big for her as she towel-dried her hair. “What’s going on?” she asked upon seeing Jazmin at my f
eet. “Are you two okay?”
I’d been crying. I wiped my eyes and gently pulled away from Jazmin’s half-hug. “We’re good. Did you enjoy your shower?”
“The water kept running cold,” Riley complained, wandering toward the desk. “Dad needs to get that fixed. Oh, you got the videos up. Have you watched them yet?”
I looked at Jazmin. “You let her in on all of this?”
Jazmin sat on the arm of my chair and shrugged. “She needed a break from babysitting her dad. Besides, she’s a big part of this. Don’t you think she should be involved?”
“She’s twelve.”
Riley perched her hands on her hips. “You didn’t seem to care about that before.”
“Riley, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trying to keep you safe and out of trouble. If we’re going to do this, you have to stay out of it. That’s the best option for you.”
Riley glared at me, bright and defiant. With one finger, she tapped the space bar of the laptop to play the video of her father and the detective.
“Really?” I said, exasperated. I reached over to stop the video, but Jazmin grabbed me around the waist and pulled me away from the desk. “Jaz, come on. Quit it.”
“Shh,” she said, tightening her grip. “We’re trying to listen.”
With Riley at the desk and Jazmin as my captor, I turned my attention to the video. Daniel and Oliver spoke in hushed voices, but Jazmin had attached the external mic to the camera, which was powerful enough to pick up their conversation.
“We need to talk,” Daniel said as he sat beside Oliver. He offered the other man a glass of water, but Oliver refused to drink. “I know this morning has been absolute hell for you. I know the past couple of weeks haven’t been good at all, but I need to get your side of the story.”
This must have been early in the day before Oliver had any time to collect himself. His blank stare was unnerving. His eyes were vacant, dull, and heavily lidded. Worse still, he looked over Daniel’s shoulder toward Jazmin’s booth, right into the lens.