THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “The ends don’t justify the means, Wilson. Despite the fact as your lady friends have pointed out, that we’ve learned nothing I can present to the police as evidence, I refuse to take justice into my own hands. I’m not some vigilante. That’s not what I do, and you shouldn’t either.”

  I felt the need to emphasize that, as a shade, Wilson’s future soul might be in peril should he decide to do something on his own. While a ghost couldn’t kill or facilitate any action that might result in the death of a mortal, a shade had more free will. It wasn’t inconceivable Wilson might be persuaded to do something for which, I worried, he might be harshly judged.

  Wilson dismissed my worry with a wave of his hand and told me I could think whatever I liked. “However,” he added, “according to Eli, you’re going to have an opportunity to test this vigilante theory of yours, and very soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It appears after yesterday’s upset between the doctor and Amy, the two had that little heart-to-heart; she admitted how lost and lonely she felt and that she needed a friend. Someone she could talk to, and she asked Conroy if she might have you in for tea.”

  My stomach roiled. I knew where this was going.

  “And surprise, surprise—” Wilson clapped his hands. “—the doctor agreed. Of course, if you ask me, it’s all a setup. But then, what do I know?”

  I doubted the idea for tea was Amy’s idea alone, but one Eli had planted in Amy’s head, and Conroy, seeing it as an opportunity to meet with me one-on-one, agreed.

  I stood up. Aside from the luminary’s desire that I poison the doctor, what might a tea mean? To Amy? To the doctor? To me? I placed Bossypants back on the window seat and got as far as the doorway when I turned and noticed a silver flask on Wilson’s desk.

  “Is that Jared’s?” I asked.

  Wilson picked up the flat silver flask and held it in his open palm. “Yes, lovely, isn’t it?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Please tell me it’s not the one Raul came by to retrieve from Lupe?”

  “Oh come now, Old Gal, you don’t really think Jared only had one hidden cache in the guest house, do you?”

  “So that’s not the one Lupe gave Raul? You didn’t somehow manage to steal it back from him?” I couldn’t put it past Wilson’s kleptomaniac tendencies to think he might not have wanted to lift the flask for his own collection of memorabilia. So much of the old craftsman was full of things I suspected he had obtained from similar habits while mortal.

  “Please,” Wilson tsked. “You witnessed it yourself. Lupe gave Raul the flask when he came up to the house. His flask had Jared’s initials etched into it. This, however,” Wilson tossed the flask in the air and caught it handily, “is a second Lupe kept in the kitchen for her own private use. Like you, when you palmed Amy’s engagement ring, I thought perhaps she might be better off without it.”

  The idea Wilson continued to add to his collection of memorabilia convinced me he hadn’t really bought into the idea of his temporary condition.

  “You can’t take it with you, Wilson. Not any of it.” I gestured to the collectibles on the desk. “It doesn’t leave here when you do. All that you see here is just temporary.”

  “Yes, that’s too bad, isn’t it? But it’s no good stuffed away in some kitchen drawer. Lupe doesn’t need it, and the police aren’t interested. Unlike Jared’s cologne, this has no bearing on the case, and I like it. Besides, perhaps when I’m gone, you’ll take some comfort in seeing it on my desk. It’ll remind you of me and this little discourse you and I always seem to have. Tell me, Old Gal, when I’m gone, will you miss me?”

  “Like a headache,” I said.

  Chapter 25

  Amy rang my cell phone later that afternoon, exactly as Wilson had predicted, with an invitation to tea the following day. In her mind, both she and the doctor had experienced a terrible tragedy and needed to do what they could to support one another. She pleaded with me to come and said she couldn’t wait to see me.

  I sensed the girl was in total denial. The doctor had painted a very different picture of events that, in Amy’s current state of mind, she had substituted for the truth.

  “We had such a good talk, Misty. I only wish Jared had been able to speak with his father like I did before he died. He told me so many stories. He and his wife didn’t think they could have kids, and when Jared was born, it changed everything. All those wild parties they used to have here at the house? They turned into family get-togethers for the kids. Jared’s aunt Elizabeth, and his uncle Edward and his wife Madeline, they’d come by with their kids, and there would be pony rides and games. They even had a puppet theater in the garden. He said Jared loved puppets.”

  Amy’s willingness to accept Conroy’s description of Jared’s childhood smacked of denial and desperation—of a desire to believe in a world she wanted to be true, and one in which she hoped might mend her own fractured past. But when she mentioned Billy, my jaw dropped.

  “The doctor even agreed Billy couldn’t possibly be guilty of murder. He’s offered to find him a lawyer. He thinks Jared was murdered by one of his competitors who wanted to hurt him. He said it could be a cut-throat business. Whatever happened, Dr. Conroy’s devastated, and he said we need each other now more than ever.”

  I knew right then exactly how easily the doctor had manipulated Amy, how he had gently coaxed the secret of Amy’s relationship with his illegitimate daughter with a promise to help Billy. Amy had no idea as to the gravity of her confession or what the revelation of her secret might mean to her friend.

  I felt it best I not let on. “I’m so happy for you, Amy. This must make you feel better.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? I even took Dr. Conroy with me for my ultrasound. And guess what? I’m having a boy. A boy! Can you believe it?”

  As Wilson and I drove to the Conroy mansion, I had no idea what we might be walking into. Perhaps some cordial event where the three of us—Amy, the doctor, and myself—sat quietly, sipped our tea, and nibbled finger sandwiches while ignoring what each of us suspected about the other. A quiet visit full of pleasantries, whereby we’d shake hands, wish each other well, then bid one another goodbye.

  Or maybe it’d be a much deadlier scenario.

  I knew the idea for the tea had been Eli’s, a thought she had planted in Amy’s head in hopes that I would carry out the luminaries’ plan to murder the doctor. But what if I didn’t? What if, rather than spike the doctor’s tea myself, the luminaries had convinced Lupe to sprinkle his tea with his digitalis medication or as Eli had said, the more organic version from Conroy’s garden? With just the tiniest taste on our lips, one of us was doomed, certain to be dead before our tea cooled. What was I to do, just sit back and watch?

  And what if I was wrong? What if the luminaries were merely goading me to see how far I might go? What then?

  Was the truth even more twisted? Had the doctor agreed to have me to tea so that he might murder me? Or was it because he thought it might be the perfect opportunity to settle things quietly between us? After all, Matthew had told Conroy of our encounter. What the doctor didn’t know was that I knew he knew about our meeting. He also didn’t know I had been to the Conroy mansion, not once, but twice before, or that Lupe had given me Amy’s ring. The possibilities of my death versus the doctor’s death exhausted me. As a psychic, I can read many people. Unfortunately, my abilities end there, and I’m not able to read myself, and I could only hope for the best of all possible outcomes.

  Despite my concerns for my personal safety, I needed to go. Amy’s future, that of the baby, and Billy’s future depended upon it. I knew the doctor was insane, that he had targeted Carlene, and I was just as certain the rumors he had murdered his wife and paramour were true. But was he disturbed enough to collude with his nephew and Madeline to kill his own son? Or had Matthew and Madeline manipulated the doctor,
and he was nothing but a deranged and innocent bystander in his son’s death? I didn’t know, and like the luminaries said, I had no proof. My only hope was that now that the police knew Jared’s death was no accident, they’d come up with some evidence connecting the doctor to Jared’s murder. Unless, of course, the doctor convinced them Amy had been involved. After all, she did know about Jared’s cologne and where he kept his EpiPen. In my mind, time was running short, and I had no choice. I had to act. So I tabled my worries and dressed in my best go-to-tea outfit, which was nothing more than a fresher version of what I already had on: a long skirt and a tie-dyed t-shirt. At the last minute, I clipped my wavy gray hair back into a fancy barrette, then checked myself in the hallway mirror, patted my growing mid-line—made a promise to myself once this was over I’d lighten up on the pasta and lose those troublesome twenty pounds—then sighed and grabbed a silk scarf and threw it over my shoulders. Voila! Wilson and I were ready to return to the House that Vanity Built.

  Amy greeted me at the door dressed in a simple summer shift that hinted at her baby bulge. She looked rested and relaxed.

  “You came,” she said. “I knew you would.”

  Like a child, Amy threw her arms around me and hugged me close. I returned the welcome squeeze, then stepped back, and with her hands in mine, looked at her. The girl was glowing with new life, the color in her cheeks rosy.

  “You look well,” I said. My eyes traveled to the doctor who stood behind her, his hands clasped one on top of the other on his cane. He gave what I felt was a thin, obligatory smile, and nodded his head.

  “I am,” Amy said. “The doctor’s been seeing to it.” She gestured with her left hand to the doctor, and I noticed the sparkle of her engagement ring.

  Dr. Conroy stepped forward. “It’s nice of you to join us, Ms. Dawn. Amy’s told me quite a bit about you. I apologize if I seemed a little overprotective of her at Jared’s memorial. It was a difficult time for us both. I’m sure you understand.”

  Before I had time to answer, Amy took my arm beneath her own and led me down the long entry hall toward the kitchen.

  With my head close to hers, I whispered, “I see you’re wearing Jared’s ring.”

  I wondered how much Amy had shared with the doctor about the ring. Had she told him it was missing and that I had given it to her? Or even worse, that Lupe had found it and given it to me? Either scenario wouldn’t bode well for Lupe or me.

  “Relax,” Amy patted my hand. “I told the doctor I found it in the guest house. Exactly as you told me I had. I never mentioned anything to him about Lupe finding it, or that she gave it to you. If he even thought Lupe had anything to do with the ring, he’d fire her, and I need what friends I have around here to stay.”

  I was grateful Amy hadn’t revealed my relationship with Lupe to the doctor or the housekeeper’s connection to the ring. I deliberately hadn’t called Lupe to tell her I’d been invited to tea. After my last visit to the mansion, I felt Lupe was in an emotionally precarious situation, and I didn’t want to do anything that might rattle her. Best not to give her too much time to think about it.

  As a result, I was relieved when I walked into the kitchen and Lupe, dressed in a crisp white housekeeper’s apron, gave me nothing more than a slight nod of recognition that she might give any guest. My sense was that Amy had told her I was coming to tea, and Lupe had braced herself for the unexpected. Either that or Lupe was under the influence of the luminaries, comatose to the world, and following their instructions with no sense of self or understanding of what it was she was about to do.

  I paused at the marble island, where Lupe stood with her eyes fixed on a silver tea service.

  “May I?” I picked up one of the teacups, a lovely English bone china with a delicate blue and gold grapevine trim, and glanced over the rim at Lupe. Her eyes darted from me and back to the tea service, while her hands spread wide across her apron, smoothing it against her hips. Was it my imagination, or was there a slight bulge in her apron pocket? Big enough perhaps for a pill bottle? Had she done something to spike the tea, poison it perhaps?

  I comforted myself with the knowledge a luminary couldn’t plant an idea in the mind of a mortal and cause them to do something they wouldn’t want to do on their own. However, luminaries were known to be very convincing. If Lupe were to kill the doctor, she might have easily been persuaded to think it to her advantage. No doctor. No challenge to her green card. No record of her past.

  “It’s Hammersley.” Amy placed her hand on my back. “It belonged to Jared’s mother. The doctor says it was her favorite. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Ladies–” Dr. Conroy pulled Amy away and pointed with his cane in the direction of the solarium. “—shall we?”

  As I followed the doctor and Amy through the kitchen and into the sunroom, we passed Wilson and his lady friends. They were sitting at the high-top cafe table, exactly as they had been before with a deck of cards between them. The doctor appeared to be totally unaware of their presence.

  Which was not surprising.

  Luminaries can choose to make themselves seen or heard when and where they like. It’s entirely individual. As I understood it, it varied by circumstance. While Lupe had reported she had frequently heard the doctor talking to himself or someone whom Lupe felt was the doctor’s wife, I had no reason to believe, based upon the fact the doctor didn’t appear to react to their presence in the sunroom, that he had actually ever seen the luminaries. And he certainly wasn’t acting like he saw or heard them now. Luminaries by their very nature were vain, and I doubted either would want the doctor to see them in death.

  I scowled as we passed.

  Eli raised a brow. “Such a lovely day for tea, don’t you think? I wonder whose idea it was?”

  “Does it really matter?” Christina asked. “People are in such a rush these days. Nobody just sits and visits anymore.”

  “Yes, such a shame,” Eli gestured with her cards. “High tea’s become a dying art, don’t you think?”

  The doctor and Amy settled themselves on one of two green-striped loveseats in the center of the room, while I made myself comfortable opposite them on the matching sofa. Between us, a glass table was set with a three-tiered cake plate on which scones, finger sandwiches, and small cakes had been carefully placed.

  Dr. Conroy was first to speak. “I must confess, Ms. Dawn, after Amy told me about you, I googled you. You’re quite the celebrity. Seems strange to me, you and I both living in the same city and knowing some of the same people, that we haven’t met before. With all the parties I used to have here, I can’t imagine why we never crossed paths.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never been much for the party scene, Doctor.”

  “Yes, but you did have quite the Rolodex in the day. Big Hollywood names. Politicians. Not to mention your work with LAPD and the FBI.”

  I smiled and stared back into the doctor’s gray face and wondered if I were looking at that of a quirky genius or an evil magician who had orchestrated the murder of his own son. If the doctor had been a rational being, I might have been able to read him, but his diseased mind was too convoluted for me to even try.

  “I have been busy,” I said.

  “It appears from those investigations you worked on that the police, particularly LAPD, hold you in high regard.”

  “Sometimes.” I wanted to add but not at the moment. My recent fall out with the detectives had convinced me they thought me less than useful. Instead, I said, “Unfortunately, even psychics don’t get it right all the time.”

  “Yes, but with your history and connection to Amy, I’m surprised they haven’t invited you in on this case.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t about to give away my eroding connections with the case or the LAPD.

  “You see, I find what you do interesting, and I hope you’ll forgive me if I talk candidly, but it seems to me if you really are a
ble to predict the future, you would have foreseen my son’s death. And you might have at least warned Amy what was about to happen.”

  I was prepared for the question, and I knew it was the doctor’s subtle way of undermining my relationship with Amy.

  “The truth is psychics can’t predict everything. Particularly life-changing events that don’t happen to the person they’re counseling. If it helps, a psychic is more of an intuitive. I can sense the wants and desires of those who come to me, but those close to them? That’s another case entirely. Since I never met Jared, I can only tell you I was surprised to hear about his death and sorry for your loss.”

  “So you’re telling me, even though you claim intuitive powers and spoke with Amy just days before my son’s death, that you had no idea he was about to die, who might have killed him, or how it might have happened?”

  The muscles in my back began to constrict. Both the doctor and I knew I was aware of more than I let on.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I wish I could be more helpful.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed like darts.

  “As do I, Ms. Dawn. You see, despite my reluctance to accept what it is you claim to do, it would give me great comfort to know anything—anything at all—you think might be pertinent to the case. With all your past experience working with the police, you must have some idea.”

  “I’m sorry to say the police haven’t shared anything with me.”

  “Nor with me. At least not since they arrested Billy.” The doctor patted Amy’s knee. “Which of course, we both know is foolishness. Unless, Amy dear, you’ve kept something from me.” The doctor laughed as though he had been making a joke.

  The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on me. But the cunning manner in which he joked about what I knew was his intention to turn the investigation on to Amy, caused my mind to race.

  Lupe interrupted. In her hands, she carried a large silver tray with a teapot, creamer, and sugar bowl. She placed the tray on the table between us,