by Lotta Smith
And so did Ken Tillard. “Mrs. Rosenberg?” He squinted, perhaps in disbelief.
As for Father Harten, he was glaring at her as if attempting to kill her with his gaze.
Karen looked back at them with her piercing blue eyes. “So I’ll be Harpocrates, the gatekeeper god of secrets.” Her tone was calm but determined. “This is a house of roses, and everything spoken under the roses shouldn’t leave here. Look at this. You see a vase of roses here on the table, right? So, Father Harten, you too want to follow the rules from the ancient days and forget about everything we’ve discussed tonight.”
“That’s outrageous!” the priest snapped.
“If you look at it closely, it could be seen as a tragic accident,” Karen said matter-of-factly. “Mr. Grasso will definitely have the dream team of the best defense lawyers. Even if the DA could hold a case, there’s no guarantee that he’d end up in prison. Besides, he’s the equivalent of Steve Jobs for Apple. Just like Steve used to be, he’s the heart and soul, the charisma of Grasso Holdings. Anything happens to him, it has the potential to deteriorate the economics of this great country.”
“Mrs. Rosenberg, are you going to bury your husband’s death into the deep darkness just for the sake of money?” Father Harten demanded, his tone full of loathing and fury. According to the public image, pastors were supposed to be spreading positive messages like love, forgiveness, and helping your neighbors, but he looked more like a guy possessed by Satan rather than the messenger of God’s goodwill.
“No, I’m not!” she snapped. “Still, what you’re trying to do right now is something Michael would never do had he still been alive. He might not be here, but I have a hunch that retribution isn’t something he desires. Michael Rosenberg was the most compassionate person I’ve ever met. As the CEO, he had to make cold-blooded decisions while on duty, but at the same time, he always wanted the best for everyone—including the employees the company had to terminate. So if discretion would make many people’s lives easier, he’d definitely choose not to make a big fuss of his death.”
“But—” Father Harten tried to start another rant, but Karen was faster and more determined.
“Besides that, Mr. Grasso helped us during the previous recession. At that time, Michael’s business was hit hard, and with a humongous liability, even the banks were attempting to ditch us. At that time, Mr. Grasso’s bank was the only one that offered financing to us. I didn’t know why or how he’d persuaded his subordinates to provide a loan, because even from our perspectives, it was more like a gamble rather than an investment. I thought it was Michael’s loving personality that drove him to offer help, but in retrospect, the romance between them might have helped the transaction. If Michael was able to pop up here as a ghost, he’d tell all of us not to seek revenge, as it’s not what he wants. He was such a kindhearted man.”
“Excuse me? Have you forgotten about the fact that Grasso is a criminal? He’s a murderer!” Father Harten screamed.
Karen shook her head determinately. “Suppose you delivered revenge. Will that wake Michael from his eternal sleep? Of course not. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back. So everything about this is a heroic tale for you, but for me, it’s nothing but a past, and the past only exists in the past. Whatever you say or do, my husband won’t come back. All I can do is preserve everything he left behind—his legacy, his business, and the people he used to love.”
“I thought you clergymen were all about pardoning and forgiving. What’s happened to loving sinners? And what about turning the other cheek?” Rick interjected.
Father Harten slammed the tabletop with both hands, prompting the vase of roses to rattle. “It’s all about the money after all! Can’t you, for a second, give money a rest?” As he shrieked, his words flew out like blood sputtering from wounds. “Can’t you at least think about doing the right thing?”
With the lights on and being stripped of his cover as an enigmatic psychic medium, he’d obviously lost the mojo. No one dared to agree with him.
“Father Harten, the show is over,” Mr. Macomber said calmly.
“Why, Mr. Macomber, I thought you were on my side!” the priest gasped.
“No, I haven’t taken anyone’s side… other than Michael’s.” Mr. Macomber nodded. “That video cannot be made public, no matter what. Maybe you might be able to ruin Grasso, but then again, that will definitely harm Michael’s legacy at the same time. You can try another stunt like this, but the odds of delivering it successfully would be slim to none. Karen is right—what’s in the past has to stay in the past. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”
“But God wouldn’t and shouldn’t forgive such an atrocity,” Father Harten muttered.
“That’s your opinion, not God’s,” Rick said matter-of-factly. “You can’t forgive Mr. Grasso, and that’s why you’re insisting on retribution against him. All you’re doing is utilizing God to state your opinion, just like you used that stupid Ouija board. You’re just pretending to hear God’s words.”
“No, you’re wrong on so many levels!” The priest turned red.
“No, you’re wrong, Father, and Rick is right,” Karen said sharply. “You want to pay Mr. Grasso back, not out of justice but purely based on jealousy. By having him accused by the ghost and driving him to turn himself in to the police, your purpose isn’t all about having him make amends for his crime. It’s more like you wanted to convince Mr. Grasso that the ghost of Michael loathes him and is out to get him. Father Harten, now I know you loved Michael so much… no, maybe too much, as to lose your cool.”
As she gave the priest a dark glare, he gasped.
Karen went on. “You wanted to make sure that you deprived Mr. Grasso of all calmness and peace from his life, didn’t you? So he’d fear the darkness and every moment he spends alone, afraid of the ghost coming to get him. You are the one seeking revenge against Mr. Grasso by destroying him, and you’re doing it for your own sake, not for Michael’s.”
“No, that’s not—” the priest attempted to protest, but he didn’t get to finish the sentence.
Karen reached for Father Harten. Gently stroking his shoulder, she said into his ear, “Then again, I’m his wife and you’re not. Do you understand?”
“Wha—”
Father Harten blanched, but without waiting for his response, Karen Rosenberg raised her chin. Looking at each of us one by one with hard eyes, she said, “I have something that I want all of you here to understand.”
After going through the whole ordeal, her tone stayed gracious and confident. Apparently she was the master of this salon, and the master of the Rose and Roses empire. Except for Father Harten, who was slumped over the table as if he had his spirit taken away, everyone listened to her attentively.
“Acting for Michael Rosenberg, I hereby declare that everything discussed here tonight will stay sub rosa. Michael Rosenberg passed away due to an accident. The aforementioned video doesn’t exist and has never existed. Are we clear?”
“Yes. All clear.” Ken Tillard and Mr. Macomber nodded again and again, as if to emphasize that they had chosen her side.
“That’s right. Everything discussed tonight was a piece of funny play, and once the curtain drops, all we can do is go back to our lives,” Rick said.
“Thank you.” Karen nodded, then turned to Father Harten. “So you’ll want to forget about bad dreams and go back to God’s embrace. Michael would be wishing you cheerful days with him. You can go back to your church, and as a loyal student of Jesus, you can help people keep their faith and feel better about themselves.”
Still blanched and looking down at the table, Father Harten was shaking while Karen spoke. After a while, he mumbled, “Why?”
“She already told us why, Father Harten,” Mr. Macomber said, furrowing his eyebrows.
Father Harten’s cheeks were wet with tears. “Michael was always talking about you… like what a wonderful lady you are. How can you say, ‘Let’s forget about the past,’ as if nothing happe
ned? You are supposed to be a wonderful person. How could you, of all people, defend the man who killed your husband?”
Rick butted in before Karen could answer. “It’s all about subjectivity.”
The priest clicked his tongue, as if to express his exasperation over Rick’s repeated interruption. “Excuse us for a moment, Mr. Know-it-all? I was asking her a question, and I’m not looking for one of your speculations delivered as if you know everything.”
“Wow, I didn’t see that coming.” Rick chuckled. “Though I’m sure I have a better understanding of the situation than you do. For starters, Karen responded to your disclosure in a whole different way, which means you didn’t fathom her correctly. Also, how can you be so sure that Mr. Grasso murdered Mr. Rosenberg? After all, the camera didn’t capture the crucial scenes, such as the alleged killer pushing the victim off the stairs.”
“He fled from the scene while Michael lay there convulsing. If he had nothing to do with Michael’s death, he wouldn’t have left, would he?” The priest snorted.
“Oh yeah?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “Then again, Mr. Grasso was a man with a lot to lose, even if he was innocent. It’s easy to accuse him for leaving Mr. Rosenberg to die without rescuing him, but if you were in his shoes, you too could have fled from the scene, abandoning Mr. Rosenberg.”
“Still, if he’s indeed innocent—”
“Why don’t you look at it from a different angle? When a crime is committed, traces of it can be found and presented as evidence. Still, how about when the alleged criminal is innocent? How would he prove his innocence? If he hadn’t committed the crime, traces of his guilt wouldn’t exist, but at the same time, the traces of his innocence would be nonexistent as well. Proving innocence over a crime you never committed isn’t as easy as we want to believe.”
That time the priest was shaking but didn’t retort, as if he couldn’t come up with anything to say. He was biting his lip so hard that it was bleeding. A drop of blood trickled down his jaw, as if he’d suddenly morphed into a vampire.
Rick went on. “All you have is one speculation after another. You said you didn’t submit the video to the police, but in my opinion, you couldn’t give it to the police because it was just a piece of incompetent, circumstantial evidence. It’s reasonable to believe that Mr. Grasso had no idea about the video. Perhaps the reason for his fleeing from the scene was part panic and part avoiding getting caught in an unfavorable situation.”
“Tha-that’s just your side of speculation!” Father Harten snapped for the umpteenth time.
“You’re right.” Rick offered a lopsided grin. “After all, now that we have neither Mr. Rosenberg nor Mr. Grasso here, no one can tell us what actually happened when he died. And, of course, you can’t tell it either.”
As Rick spoke, the priest cast a glare that was so loathsome and so full of hatred, he seemed ready to punch Rick in the face. Trying to keep the raging priest from resorting to violence, I stared at him with all my might—not that I believed I could stop someone’s actions with my gaze, but as he looked at me, he took a deep breath.
“I came here tonight with the purpose of making Matthew Grasso right what he has committed… and I can go to Hell and still smile if only I could make things right for Michael. No matter what you say, if only Grasso didn’t visit Michael at that time, he would still be alive! You shouldn’t listen to Mrs. Rosenberg!”
Clenching his fists, his leather gloves squeaking, the priest glared at Karen. She twitched slightly, as if taken aback, but in no time she recovered and stared back at Father Harten.
“Whether you like it or not, you have no business telling others not to listen to me,” Karen said calmly, looking him straight in the eyes.
“Keeping everything sub rosa and burying the truth in the ground? How can you say such a horrible thing as if you know it all? Now I know you’ve been nothing but a trophy wife! You’re a horrible animal who regards money much more importantly than your husband’s life!”
A flicker of anger crossed Karen Rosenberg’s fair skin as Father Harten screamed. For a moment, her right hand moved, as if it had developed its own will and was ready to slap the unpleasant priest.
“Karen,” I gasped, without thinking… but her hand didn’t even reach for the self-righteous priest. Instead, it swirled elegantly, indicating the exit of the salon.
“The party, séance, or whatever you might want to call it, is over. I’m pardoning you for the broken glass, Father Harten. Take care and have a good night. Goodbye,” she said, in a tone that sounded as if she was seeing a good friend of hers off.
Without returning the farewell, Father Harten stood up and stormed out of the salon, leaving a trace of a disgruntled wail.
“Look, Mrs. Rosenberg… I apologize for everything,” Ken mumbled uncomfortably, prompting Karen to widen her eyes as they registered him, as if she had just realized he was there for the first time.
“Oh, Mr. Tillard.” She offered a tight smile. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. As we know, nothing special happened tonight. Isn’t that right, Rick, Mandy?”
I wasn’t sure about the right answer, but Rick responded quickly. “Of course, Karen. Nothing happened. We had a lovely dinner and a little chat about nothing.”
“He’s right, Mr. Tillard.” Karen nodded gracefully. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. Goodbye and take care. Excuse me while I have a little chat with Rick and Mandy?”
“Oh… of course. Thank you again for a wonderful evening.” The actor stood up, offering the same smile he displayed in public. “Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, I will.” Karen nodded.
Ken’s footsteps echoed in the salon. Karen, Rick, and I stayed silent as the actor’s footsteps grew faint. Mr. Macomber squirmed, but he stood up as if he’d made up his mind. Saying goodbye as if nothing out of the norm had happened, he left.
When the echo of the politician’s footsteps died away, Karen let out an exasperated sigh.
“Karen, are you okay?” I reached for her. She looked so exhausted, to the point that I feared she might collapse.
“I’m okay. Thank you.” She nodded, taking my hand. Then she offered us a weak smile. “Thank you so much for staying with me tonight.”
“My pleasure. Please don’t hesitate to call us anytime,” Rick responded. His tone was gentle and sincere, as if he genuinely meant it, and not out of businesslike interests.
Taking another deep breath, she said, “Please send my huge thanks to your father, will you?”
“Of course, I will.” Rick smiled.
Then Karen looked at me. “You know, Mandy….”
“Yes?” I looked back at her.
After a pause, it seemed as if she’d made up her mind. “Look, Mandy… I caught this rumor that you can communicate with dead people’s spirits.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it like a suffocating goldfish. I could feel her desire, which bordered on desperation, to feel the presence of her late husband’s spirit and, if possible, communicate with him. Still, I couldn’t find the spirit of him, and I didn’t want to tell her about his absence when she seemed so eager to see him. According to Brian Powers, some spirits would depart straight to a better place without wasting time in the land of the living, even if they had been killed by someone.
As I fell silent, Karen chuckled, shaking her head. “Sorry about asking you such a weird question. It’s so silly of me to believe such a groundless rumor. Still, I just couldn’t help asking.”
“Well… I mean….” I fumbled with my words awkwardly.
“Oh, just forget that I asked you, will you please?” She chuckled lightheartedly, the previous tight demeanor gone. “Actually, when Mr. Macomber talked me into accepting his offer to have this séance thing, I felt something eerie and uncomfortable. I don’t know why I felt that way, but I didn’t like his idea. I kept thinking about a smorgasbord of excuses to decline his offer, and indeed, I tried to tell him that I couldn’t hold th
is meeting, but whenever I tried to cancel it, something came up and I couldn’t call it off. One day, I was attending a fundraiser or some charity-related meeting and I met Dan, and the next thing I knew, I was telling him about how I was feeling uncomfortable about this pre-Thanksgiving arrangement. While I was talking to Dan, I was slightly shocked, because I wasn’t planning to share my concerns with anyone. He immediately said that he was going to send the two of you to my home. Assuming from how everything turned out to be, I’m suspecting that I had an angel speaking to me when I met him. Oh no… I’m babbling.”
“Karen, you’re not babbling. Actually, Mandy talks to dead people,” Rick informed her, prompting me to gasp. He reached for my hand and squeezed it, as if to assure me everything was all right.
“Are you… kidding?” Karen’s eyes widened.
“No. But you need to keep this information sub rosa. We offer her service to only select loyal clients. Basically, Mandy’s ability to communicate with dead people is supposed to be a joke. If you mention her communication skills to others, we’ll have to say you’re joking.”
“Oh… I see. Sometimes things have to stay secretive.” Karen nodded, clasping both hands in front of her chest. They were trembling. “Speaking of keeping things secretive, I’m not sure if I did the right thing, declaring secrecy over everything about Michael’s death.” Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“Karen, you absolutely did the right thing. You have tens of thousands of employees all over the world, and getting trapped in a scandal wouldn’t be in your best interests,” Rick assured her.
“That’s good to hear.” A few fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
I sat there frozen. As much as I could imagine how much she missed her late husband and how desperate she wanted to feel him, I couldn’t find him.
“Karen, I’d really—”
The moment I opened my mouth, Jackie popped up from out of nowhere and waved both hands in front of my face. “Mandy, hey, you want to see him?”
EPILOGUE