by Mary Bowers
Oswald got between his uncle and me and started to talk very quietly and soothingly. I stood there feeling rattled – and mortified. When Detective Lodge moved in and spoke to me, I must have stared at him wildly.
“At a convenient moment,” he said, “we’d like to talk to you.”
“You’re not taking him seriously, are you?”
He smiled as if we were sharing a little joke. “We operate on the earthly plane, Miz Verone. We’ll leave the astral plane alone for now, but we do have a few questions we’d like to ask.”
“Sure, fine, but all I’ve got is – what do you call it? – hearsay. But I’m here to say it, whenever you want it.”
“Why don’t we let Mr. Grist and Miss Barkley get their uncle checked out and settled at home while we have a cup of coffee somewhere.”
“Okay, but let’s have some good coffee,” I said. “I don’t want hospital cafeteria coffee.”
“I know just the place,” Lodge told me, and I remarked that I was sure he did. I meant that he knew Key West pretty well. I was not making a donut shop joke, but he seemed to think I was, so we were off on the wrong foot already.
* * * * *
Lodge proved me right about knowing Key West pretty well. He took us to a coffee shop not far away that was run by a nice lady with flowers in her hair, really good cookies fresh out of the oven and really great cappuccino topped with foam that was almost as thick as marshmallow. I like my foam chewy.
After flirting around with the owner in a harmless way, Lodge led us to a table for four in a back corner where he and his partner seated themselves against a brick wall. Michael and I had to sit facing them and the wall, with our backs to the rest of the shop.
“You two are just here for the week?” he asked chummily.
“We’re doing this reality show,” I said as if he didn’t know. “My friend Edson Darby-Deaver is one of the stars of the show, and every now and then he calls me in.”
“You’re sort of a consultant,” he hazarded.
“Right.”
“A paranormal consultant. What exactly is it that you do?”
“I run an animal shelter.”
His gaze drifted blankly to my forehead for a moment, the perfect reaction to a non-sequitur. He thought it over and decided to let it go for the time being.
Michael filled the gap, saying, “Oswald was struck from behind? You must not suspect Darrien, then, since you’re sending him home with him. You aren’t worried about the fact that he was the only one there when Oswald was assaulted?”
“He wasn’t there when his uncle was assaulted,” Lodge said. “Mr. Grist’s injury was already clotting by the time the paramedics got to him; he’d been injured hours earlier. Mr. Darrien Grist was able to prove by his in-home security system that he was at his own home at the time. His cousin, Arielle Barkley, is claiming y’all for an alibi. You were all up and, well, doing whatever it is you do, throughout the night? First the reality show, then the private séance with Camille Waverley?”
“Yes,” I said. Then I hedged. “There was actually a break of a couple of hours between the two. I got a couple of hours’ sleep before the cat woke me up.”
“The cat woke you up?”
“Arielle’s pet cat has taken a liking to me. She was sleeping on our bed, and she woke me up. When I went out into the hall with her, I heard Camille and Arielle in the parlor and went to see what was going on.”
“And that was what time?”
“About two a.m. When did we go to bed, Michael?”
“I didn’t look at the clock. Let’s see, the crew set up and started the shoot at around 10, but it didn’t last long because something went wrong. Then we went to Ed’s room and talked a while.” He tapped the handle of his coffee cup and made some little humming noises, calculating, and finally he said, “Must have been around 11:30 by the time we finally went to bed.”
I did some quick math of my own. “And Oswald was attacked around midnight. I’ve never been to Oswald’s house. Is it very far away from The Sailor’s Rest?”
“Nothing in Key West is very far away from anything else. The island is only six square miles.”
“I know that, detective.”
I waited for an actual answer and finally he said, “Oswald lives on Eaton Street, not far from his nephew.”
“And only a block or two from the B&B.” Michael and I looked at one another.
“Does she have a home security system?” Billew asked. “They usually give an audible signal when they’re set or turned off. If she turned it off and went out, you might have heard that.”
“She has one, but she doesn’t use it much,” I told her.
“She hasn’t used it since you’ve been staying there?”
“Only one time,” I said. “The night she was attacked by the lamp.”
The cops got their you-can’t-faze-me faces on and stared a little. Then, eyebrows just a tad elevated, Lodge said, “Not a teacup this time?”
I explained. “Teddy Force wasn’t the only one hoaxing this week. Arielle got herself a spot on the show by waking us all up in the middle of the night – what night was it, Michael? I’m losing track, with all the fun and games we’ve been having.”
“It was early Wednesday morning,” he said.
“My how time has been flying. Two hoaxes in one day. Anyway, she threw a lamp onto the floor and broke it and then started shrieking, woke everybody up and claimed the lamp had gotten itself possessed somehow and decided to attack her. She was wearing a really nice silk teddy, wasn’t she Michael?” Without giving him time to comment, I rattled on. “Arielle has a really great figure, detectives, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. By setting the alarm before she started throwing lamps, she was able to point out to us that it couldn’t have been a mere burglar who attacked her, since nobody could have come into the B&B without the alarm going off, ergo and ipso facto, it had to be a paranormal event. Case closed. Anyway, she wasn’t badly hurt, and we got her into bed with an icepack, a good time was had by all and today she’s all better again.”
Lodge and Billew were listening to me patiently. My dislike of Arielle was jumping up and down and waving flags, but they were probably used to that kind of thing, in their line of work.
“So the alarm was not set last night,” Lodge summed up, “and it was only set the night before because Miss Barkley was planning something and wanted to be able to prove that nobody had come in from the outside.”
Before I could tell him he was damn right, Michael said, “That’s how it looked, anyway.”
I stated the obvious. “So she could have left the B&B after the Haunt or Hoax? thing but before the teacup thing, and nobody would have heard her turning the alarm off, because it wasn’t on. And Darrien has an alibi, so he’s in the clear, unless he and his cousin are in on it together.”
“What makes you say that?” Lodge asked.
“They may want to move up the date of their inheritance. Cherchez le moola, detective. Just working out the possibilities, that’s all.”
“Have you seen any evidence of collusion there?”
“When they know people are watching, they fight, but the other night we all met at Mallory Square to see the sunset, and when Arielle and Darrien were away from the rest of us, they looked like they got along just fine.”
I knew I was talking too loosely, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’m an honest citizen and I like to empty the bag when the authorities ask for a look inside. Like the hammerheads back at the hospital, I could just picture them going back to their breakroom at police headquarters and having a good laugh with the rest of the troops, saying, “Wait, guys, there’s more – it’s not just teacups, they got killer lamps now, too,” but I didn’t care. I was getting that feeling again, and talking things over out loud was helping me get a grip on things.
“They were murdered, weren’t they?” I said.
That got a blink out of them.
“They?” Billew said. “Who e
xactly?”
“Maybe not Lydia Stoffel, but probably Ferdie Stoffel, and definitely Marnie Carnahan, depending on your definition of murder. Are you a murderer if you could have saved somebody but you didn’t?”
“It depends,” Lodge said slowly. “What’s on your mind, Miz Verone?”
“Call me Taylor,” I said absently. I bit my lip, thinking. I looked down into my cappuccino cup, but there was nothing in it but foamy dregs and a puddle of coffee grit. I didn’t see any answers.
“Is that like reading tealeaves?” Billew asked, carefully remaining serious.
“If so, I never got the hang of it,” I told her. “It’s just a dirty cup.” I pushed it away.
Lodge tried again. “I’m interested in what you said about it being murder if you have a chance to save somebody but you don’t. Why did you say that?”
“How long did she lay there in that bathtub?” I asked quietly, not looking at them.
Lodge didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know who I was talking about. “Days,” he said. “The M.E. said Miss Carnahan had been dead for at least two days, and she probably fell at least a couple of days before that. Maybe longer.”
I shook my head sadly.
“You think someone came in, found her like that and didn’t help her?” he asked.
“If they did,” I said, “it was murder. Maybe not legally, but it was still murder.”
“I tend to agree. Who was it?”
I looked up at him as if he’d surprised me.
Persistent, coaxing me along, he said, “Marnie Carnahan was fighting with all the neighbors on her block. One in particular.”
“Nobody liked Marnie,” I said. “Whoever it was didn’t have to be somebody on her block.”
Michael spoke up, making us all turn to him. “And after the list of people Taylor just named all died, Maryellen Grundy drowned, and now Oswald Grist has been attacked in his own home. In all probability, whoever hit Oswald thought he was dead, too. You’ve got a problem in Key West, detectives.”
They looked at him steadily.
“If I could help you, I would,” I told them. “Real cops don’t actually consult psychics, do they.”
Lodge smiled sadly and gave a little shrug. “But you’re just a lady who runs an animal shelter, right, and you happen to be familiar with the whole string of events, so we’d give you a special listen if you had something you wanted to tell us.”
“A whole string of events,” I repeated, “all strung together by a pretty little teacup. Madness. Or genius. Or just plain greed.”
Lodge spread his hands on the table. “Which do you think it is, Miz . . . Taylor?”
An answer leaped into my mind, all at once and crystal clear, but I knew I’d already said too much. After all, I didn’t really know anything.
“Look, detectives,” I said, “I sometimes do a carnival act, but the act is over now. I’m tired. Too much has been happening. If you want to know about last night, I’ve told you all the facts. If you want to know about my conversations with Maryellen, Oswald, The Professor . . . oh, who else? Helena Brady, Camille Waverley, and Darrien and Arielle, then ask away. I talk too much, as you’ve probably noticed, and I hang around with a lot of eccentrics. Ask me anything you like and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”
Lodge smiled. “When did you get to Key West?”
“Michael and I arrived on Sunday afternoon. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you just start with Sunday afternoon and tell us all about what you’ve been doing and who you’ve been seeing. Then we’ll see if we have any more questions.”
“Fine. But let me start a bit before Sunday afternoon, so I can explain why Michael and I are even here. It started when Dr. Darby-Deaver called me about an artifact that he’d found here in Key West . . . .”
In the end, I walked away with a clear conscience. The bag was definitely empty. Let them make of it what they could.
I already knew what I thought, but I wasn’t going to tell them. I couldn’t prove a thing.
Chapter 29
The detectives got a call and left, and Michael and I decided to stay in the coffee shop and have lunch there. The lady with the flowers in her hair had sandwiches in the cold case, premade but decent-looking, and that was all we wanted just then.
We didn’t talk about all the mayhem while we ate, but after Michael went back to the counter and got cookies for us, he settled, held my gaze a moment and said, “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you. You don’t need to tell me what it is right now, but tell me if I can help. Or do you not want to talk about it?”
“Ed was right,” I said vaguely. “I shouldn’t have let her touch me.”
Michael is good at being quietly supportive. I broke off pieces of the cookie and nibbled until it was gone, and then I was surprised that it wasn’t there anymore.
Finally he said, “You couldn’t say anything to the cops because it was just a flash you got, one of those psychic things.”
“Psychic,” I repeated thoughtfully. “How deep does it go? When you put together puzzle pieces that you already know as facts and suddenly a picture appears, is it being psychic or is it rearranging pieces behind the scenery somewhere until they suddenly come together and then it seems like magic?”
“Which came first, the intuition or the reasoning?” Michael asked gently. “An age-old question. But you’ve seen the picture now, haven’t you. A picture of whom?”
Still I hesitated. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“You thought Arielle was a witch,” he said, “and Camille calls herself a psychic. They both touched you last night, and when they did, you saw something. Which one was it? Do you know?”
My cellphone rang, and I looked. It was a local number. The Professor, in fact.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he began in a rush, “I got your number from Ed. He was curious about why I wanted it, but he was a good sport and gave it to me anyway when I wouldn’t tell him why. I need to talk to you before I show this to anybody else. Can you come to my house? Now? It’s important.”
I became very sad, almost too sad to speak. Michael looked at me in alarm.
“Of course,” I said hoarsely. “Michael is with me. We’ll be right over.”
The Professor paused. “You already know, don’t you.”
“I guessed.” I hung up and told Michael we were going to The Professor’s house.
“Is there anything I need to know ahead of time?” he asked.
“No. There’s nothing we can do now. It’s over.”
That seemed to worry him even more, but he didn’t ask any more questions.
* * * * *
“Is it Oswald?” Michael had asked as we walked up to The Professor’s house. “Is he dead?”
“God, I hope not. Why do you ask?”
“Because obviously somebody’s dead, and he’s the last one who was attacked.”
“As far as she knew, she had killed him. She probably died thinking she’d see Oswald on the other side.”
He hesitated. “Well, Arielle is still alive; we just saw her at the hospital. Is it Camille? And she’s dead?”
“I think so.”
By then The Professor was opening his front door for us and introducing Sailor. The Professor looked grim, and the dog was in sympathy with him, as dogs always are. But upon being introduced to two new humans, both of them smelling like dog people, he perked up.
Sailor was a magnificent creature, as Dobermans always are. After meeting him and admiring his deportment, I refused to believe that he had killed that rooster without sufficient cause. When he decided he liked me and ran off, coming back with a squeaky toy that he dropped at my feet, I began to wonder if the rooster hadn’t killed himself while Sailor just happened to be nearby.
The thought gave me my last smile of the day. The next few hours were going to be bad, and knowing what had happened wasn’t going to make it any easier.
“Come into
my office,” The Professor said, moving quickly. “I can’t wait much longer before I turn this over to the authorities, but I had to show it to you first. It was between the door and the jamb of my back door. The first time I took Sailor out this morning, we went out the front door and I didn’t see this until just about half an hour ago, when we went out the back way. She must have left it there last night sometime, because Sailor and I went out that way at 11 last night and it wasn’t there then. Ed says she was at the B&B between two and three in the morning. She might have actually had this with her then. In fact, she must have, because I don’t think she would have had time to write it after getting home again. It shows considerable thought, and as you can see, it’s rather long. Internally, it looks like a document she had been working on for a long time.”
I took the pages from him. There was a handwritten preamble of a few pages, followed by a computer print-out of some kind of document. She had signed her name to the bottom of every page. Starting off with a few brief notes to The Professor, it constituted her last article for The Keyster, and amounted to an apologia for murder. I stared at the pages in revulsion, approaching the actual reading of it obliquely, first skimming a little. Then I nodded at The Professor, sat down in a chair facing his desk and began to read from the beginning.
The Professor asked me to read it aloud, and after steadying myself, I did.
Chapter 30
Good morning, Professor,
By the time you read this, I will have transfigured into my immortal self. Dead, putting it in words you can understand.
I predicted my own death when I first realized it was coming, months ago. In this document, I will explain everything, and I’ve put it in the form of an article for your newspaper. I’d like you to use this title when you publish it: PSYCHIC PREDICTS HER OWN DEATH. The title of my old column was “Camille Speaks.” I suppose you can go ahead and use that again. This will be the last time.