Waltz Macabre

by Mary Bowers

  “Barnabas,” I began, “I don’t –“

  “I would never presume upon our friendship,” he said quickly, lifting his hands and upsetting Ishmael, who was in his lap again. “But it’s become quite – quite pressing. I never knew Miss Phoebe in life. She’d become a complete recluse by the time I was a young man. Tell me – like everybody else, you probably know something of the Carteret family. Was Phoebe Carteret reputed to be violent?” He’d lowered his voice and zeroed in on me in a way that wasn’t like him at all, and it hit me that he could feel a presence around him.

  He was treading as carefully as he could, and I began to feel nervous. It’s catching, that flash of superstition that says something unseen is watching you. “Do you think you have a poltergeist? In the bookstore?”

  “The ghost that moves things?”

  “And throws things and generally upsets applecarts.”

  “Yes. A poltergeist.” He hunkered down and intensified, almost in defiance, but he didn’t look around. “It’s been particularly nasty to Ishmael. The poor fellow hates the new one. And the others aren’t very happy either.”

  “You believe it’s Phoebe Carteret?”

  “Well . . . whoever has become attached to that music. The presence came to me the first time I played through it, and has remained with me ever since. Sometimes . . . I feel compelled to play it. And I no longer want to.”

  I stared at him, but refused to lower my voice. “Do you feel that presence now?”

  “Always,” he said, working to seem calm. “And the music. The waltz. It plays in my mind, sometimes so loudly I can’t hear what people are saying to me.”

  “I’m not sure I can help you, Barnabas. I would if I could. But don’t worry. I know who can help.”

  “Oh, please don’t call in Mr. Darby-Deaver.”

  “Why not? I thought you were friends.”

  “He’ll put me on that ghost-hunting television show of his. No, this must remain private.”

  “You mean Haunt or Hoax? You know he hates that show. He’s only in it for the money. He does his own private paranormal investigations on the side.”

  “But what about his partner?”

  “Teddy Force? My impression is that Ed doesn’t tell Teddy about his private investigations, but I’ll make sure he understands that this is not something he can put on his reality show. Ed is a stand-up guy. You know that.”

  Barnabas lifted his eyes from this teacup and looked at me with a kind of pleading. “And you yourself?”

  “I have no psychic powers, Barnabas. Really.”

  “You saw them.”

  Taken aback, I said, “While you were playing just now? I – well, I imagined something. The music is evocative, especially as you play it.”

  “You saw them,” he said more quietly.

  After a pause, “The two dancers.”

  “Three.”

  I closed my eyes. “Two men and a woman.”

  “You saw them.”

  I thought about the images that had moved through the room, the hem of the ball gown that had brushed my leg.

  “Okay, I saw them, but I don’t know what to do about them. When it comes to this supernatural stuff, I’m a newbie, if not a complete outsider. I don’t know what to do. Ed will know, and he’ll keep your personal matters confidential. Shall I call him? Or would you like to call him yourself?”

  There was a long pause while he gazed at his now-empty cup and massaged Ishmael’s back a bit too roughly. The cat jumped down and walked away with his tail in the air and all his fur standing up. At the arched doorway into the dining room, Ishmael gave a sudden screech and streaked off as if he’d been kicked.

  “No, you call him, if you would. And soon. I won’t have Ishmael tormented. And my back isn’t what it once was,” he added, looking up and smiling weakly. “I can’t keep picking up mountains of books and replacing them on the shelves every morning.”

  “I’ll call him tonight. The man never sleeps.” I finished my tea and carefully set the cup in its saucer. “Thanks for the tea. What a pretty little cup.”

  “Take it, dear.”

  “No, Barnabas. Keep it here. You’ll give me tea in it again sometime.”

  He smiled at that, and I left him.

  Chapter 3

  Before Haunt or Hoax? Featuring Porter, the Ghost-Sniffing Dog, (goofy show – I think the title says it all), Ed had had a reputation for integrity within a sub-culture of frauds, exhibitionists and the rare serious investigator. He was irritatingly precise and looked like an undersized professor of physics, with blinky eyes, wire-rimmed glasses and a full head of shockingly white hair. Since the success of his reality show, jealousy in paranormal circles had become savage, and while he kept signing the paychecks, he became more and more sensitive about it. As a friend, I never mentioned the show to him.

  I felt confident he’d keep Barnabas’s poltergeist out of the show. The problem was his co-star, Teddy Force. Teddy was a fraud and an exhibitionist, and his reputation had more to do with the ladies than the ghosts. When we first met, he even hit on me, while my lover Michael was standing right beside me. It’s sort of a knee-jerk reaction with Teddy, whenever he sees something female.

  Still, I was sure I could count on Ed, and Teddy, as far as I knew, was somewhere in South Carolina, relaxing at his father’s vacation condo with his fiancé, Lily. Nice girl. She could do better.

  Ed answered his office phone immediately, greeting me with, “Ah, Taylor. How are you, my friend?”

  “Hey, Ed.” I started to explain what was going on at The Bookery.

  “So he has another one,” Ed interrupted before I was finished. “Interesting. And this one is a problem case? He seems quite comfortable with his other, ah, companions. How odd that he should object to this one.”

  “This one is throwing books.”

  “I see. Poltergeists are never popular, I’m afraid, but they have only themselves to blame. So Barnabas has collected another other-worldly friend. One wonders why the fellow didn’t call upon me himself. He knows very well that helping the haunted is my mission.” His voice had become cool, even indifferent, and it suddenly hit me why.

  “Were you after Barnabas to allow you and that idiot to do an episode of your show on his book store?” I asked hotly.

  Ed sighed. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Teddy’s, and besides, that was sometime last year. I’ve since realized what a mistake it was. Why I let that man push me around . . . but Barnabas’s manner was entirely inappropriate, and I haven’t completely forgiven him. Naturally, a simple request to do a research project was nothing for which I felt an apology was necessary, but perhaps Barnabas feels otherwise. Teddy is irritating, I’ll grant you that, but he’s like a child. One is not sharp with a child. Barnabas and I have met in public since then and we’ve behaved like gentlemen, of course, but no, I haven’t completely forgiven him.”

  “Well, if you take on this project, you’re going to have to leave Teddy out of it. That’s not negotiable; no Bookery episode of Haunt or Hoax, and Teddy is not to know anything about it.”

  “That would be rather difficult just now.”

  “Why? The show’s on hold, right? I heard there was some kind of a problem with the new season. You’re just relaxing at home right now, aren’t you?”

  “No. For the moment, I’m running an insane asylum.”

  I paused. “You’re investigation an insane asylum?”

  “No. I said I’m running one.”

  In the background I heard a dog begin to bark.

  “Is that Porter?” I said, startled. “What’s he doing with you? He’s Teddy’s dog.”

  “Porter and Teddy arrived at my house together a few days ago, and I’m not sure which one has been more trouble. If it weren’t for the fact that Teddy believes that my office is haunted, I’d have nowhere to go for even a moment’s peace. He won’t set foot in here, thank God. I’m in my office now.”

  I suddenly heard Teddy’s vo
ice, shouting from the doorway, apparently. I couldn’t catch it all, but he seemed to be making disparaging remarks about peanut butter.

  “Then order a pizza,” Ed snapped. “Listen Tay . . . my friend, it is extremely difficult to discuss this type of situation over the phone. Direct interpersonal communication is essential. May I come to you?”

  “Who’s that?” Teddy said in the background. Porter’s barking was ricocheting off the walls the whole time.

  “A friend. You don’t know her. Him. This person I’m talking to.”

  “A new client?”

  “No. A friend of a friend. Of a friend. If you don’t mind.” Through the phone, I heard the sound of a door slamming.

  “Yeah, you’d better come on over,” I said. “Sounds like things are out of control over there.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You can come straight over. We’re finished with supper. Michael has a meeting with the City Council in town, and Myrtle’s gone to bed.” (Michael and I live together; Myrtle is our live-in housekeeper. Long story. Later.) “I can’t stand the suspense. Why is Teddy there?”

  “He’s had a nervous breakdown. He came to rest.” Irony dripped.

  “Good lord.”

  “I’ll be there in a little over half an hour.”

  “Are you sure you can leave him alone?”

  “He’s not alone. He has Porter.”

  I tried to ask where Lily was, but he had hung up. I sat there wondering who was worse off when it came to star boarders, Barnabas or Ed.

  * * * * *

  He arrived in twenty-six minutes, which was some kind of a record. It takes at least ten minutes to negotiate the dirt road from Route A1A to Cadbury House on the old Florida estate that I rent. Between the old servants’ cabins and the barn, there’s plenty of accommodation for my animal shelter, and Michael and I live in the old Cadbury mansion, overlooking the river. I suppose you could say we’re more like caretakers, considering the paltry rent the Cadbury family wants. They don’t want to live there, but they’ll never sell. It takes at least twenty minutes to get from Ed’s house on Anastasia Island to the beginning of our dirt road, so he must have pushed his cranky little Geo Metro to the breaking point. Usually he babies that old tin can.

  I was waiting for him in one of the rocking chairs on the veranda when he pulled up and left his little green car shivering in the driveway.

  I had been sitting there thinking up ways to persuade him to take on Barnabas’s problem, but the poor man was boiling over with his own problems, and he never stopped talking as I led him around to the river side of the veranda and gave him an iced tea. It was dark out, and the moon was rising.

  For about five minutes he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Teddy was a prima donna. Teddy was a slob. He was supremely inconsiderate and he wasn’t even taking care of Porter; Ed had to let the beast out, and what Porter was doing to Ed’s yard couldn’t be mentioned in the presence of a lady, but he was highly suggestive about it.

  Porter is an English Bulldog, 60 pounds of muscle and bone and joy. It’s the joy that gets to be a problem. It’s like having an exuberant cannonball shooting around the house.

  It wasn’t until we were sitting down that he told me something I didn’t know.

  “Lily has left him.”

  I was surprised, and then again, not surprised. “Smart girl. I knew she’d come to her senses before it was too late. Not that I thought he’d ever actually marry her.”

  “Oh, he wanted to marry her. That’s why she finally left. He started demanding that they set a date, or even elope. That brought her to her senses, and she bailed.”

  I was nodding. “She suddenly got a clear picture of what living with Teddy would be like, and his misty green eyes weren’t enough to hold her down anymore.”

  “She hit the ground running, apparently.”

  “I bet. After all, she’d been working with him for over a year; she knows him pretty well by now.” Lily was his producer on Haunt or Hoax.

  “Almost two years. Exactly. Women always fall for Teddy, but if he ever actually wants to marry one, he’s going to have to get it done before she has a chance to think things through. So now he’s trying to hire a new producer, and in the meantime, the show is on hiatus. The good times can’t last, though, unfortunately. As Teddy likes to put it in his adorable prattle, the show’s a smasheroo. Inexplicable, but there it is. He’ll probably hire somebody fairly soon, and just now I have a side project I’m working on, which is why I can’t possibly involve myself in Barnabas’s problem. Teddy will want to begin shooting again right away, and we need a new project – something exactly like Barnabas’s problem, in fact. He’ll be sniffing around after me like Porter. No, I’m sorry, Taylor, but you’re going to have to tackle this one on your own.”

  “Wait – I’m not a paranormal investigator. I’m not tackling anything. This is your field. You do it.”

  He was smiling in an irritating, fatherly way. I’m in my mid-60s, and Ed is six or seven years younger than me. I do not look upon him as a father figure.

  “You must be more confident about your abilities, Taylor,” he said. “You have all the natural talent anyone could ask for, and of course, you have Bastet.”

  “Bastet is a housecat. She doesn’t even like me that much. She’s crazy about Michael. I’m convinced that’s why she hangs around.”

  He was shaking his head at me, smiling like a dear old uncle.

  “Do not patronize me,” I said angrily. “Sometimes I think I’m the only grown-up I know around here.”

  That made him chuckle, which made me even madder. I struggled for control.

  “Okay, listen, Ed, Barnabas is in trouble. He needs you. I’m a busy lady, I have the shelter to run, and even if you decide that my cat has some kind of special ability, she’s usually above using it. You said it yourself, Teddy is like a child. Surely you’re clever enough to deceive a child for a few days while you deal with whatever is going on at The Bookery. Look at it this way: it’ll get you out of the house. Is Teddy really having a nervous breakdown? I mean, does he have a doctor and everything?”

  “Teddy is having a tantrum, and he’s dignifying it by calling it a breakdown. No woman has ever dumped him before, and he’s taken a hit to his ego, which is 90% of Teddy the man. No, I’d like to help, Taylor, but it’s simply going to be impossible if we don’t want Barnabas’s secrets on every TV screen in America and for sale in the network’s online gift shop.”

  It began to sink in that he was serious; he wasn’t going to help. “Can I at least consult with you on this? Will you take my calls?”

  “Of course I will. But in the meantime, I have several suggestions. The Pendragons are in Jacksonville just now, investigating an abandoned firehouse. They would probably be willing to help.”

  “And produce a movie and publish a book and give presentations on it at every paranormal convention for years to come. No thanks. You told me all about the Pendragons yourself, remember? You called them media-hungry scam artists, as I recall. You think they’re a couple of phonies, especially the wife.”

  “Yes, you’re right. It’s just that they’re in the area, and they’d definitely be willing. Jonathan Pendragon actually called me the other day. I think he’s angling to get on the show, but Teddy will never allow that. They’d try to take over. Just forget I even mentioned them. Sorry. Sparky Fritz? After all, you do know him.”

  “I don’t trust him. I only met him the one time. Besides, I’ve never been really clear about just what it is he does.”

  “He’s a surveillance expert. He’s good with devices, but not particularly sensitive when it comes to the occult.”

  “A paranormal groupie.”

  “Not exactly, although he has been accused of that. Personally, I like the guy.”

  “I like him too. I just don’t trust him. The only time I ever saw him, he took advantage of my innocence to plant a locator app on my cell phone.”
>
  “Only so he could look after you in case of trouble,” Ed said, actually chuckling, like it was cute. “He means well. But let’s just forget about Sparky. My other idea is much more viable.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Purity LeStrange.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to keep a grip on myself. Purity LeStrange was a professional psychic medium, based in a local farming community called Spuds, and she was definitely a bad idea. I’d attended several of her séances. I was a non-paranormal person, and I was better at getting results than she was. Besides, Barnabas abhorred drama, and Purity had enough drama for Broadway.

  I realized that I was asking Ed for references for his professional associates, and they were all nuts. I wasn’t about to ask for help from any of them. Of all the people in the paranormal milieu that I’d met so far, (way too many), Ed was the most grounded of the bunch. He had a reputation for skepticism, which didn’t get him a lot of love in the ghost-hunting community, but “Darby-Deaver the Unbeliever” was the only one I felt I could trust. If somebody was playing pranks on the eccentric bookstore proprietor, he’d ferret it out and expose it.

  I launched a sneak attack. It was the only option left to me. Hook him with Barnabas’s story and try to reel him in.

  “Have you ever investigated a case of haunted music?” I asked. “Sheet music. Quite old.”

  His head snapped around. I had been sitting there with my eyes closed, and now I opened them and looked at him.

  “A waltz,” I said, gazing at the reflection of the moon on his wire-rimmed glasses. “An old waltz, published in a sheet music magazine in 1926. When Barnabas plays it, it envelops you. It’d be interesting to see what your equipment would pick up while he’s playing it,” I said idly, just sort of wondering, not really looking for an answer.

  “He played this waltz for you?”

  “And they danced. A ballroom full of them in formal attire. Long gowns and tuxedos. A gala night, gliding and twirling, sad music and dim lights, men and women clinging to one another, then changing partners and moving on. Rotating all around the room and beyond the room. So much emotion, so much fear.”