Marty put the filter in the basket and measured coffee with a plastic scoop. She chuckled lightly. “Fortunately, I don’t need much of a library at this stage in my research. My dissertation involves response to psychic phenomenon and I’m doing the field work for it now.”
“I take it psychic interest runs in the family, too?”
“Interest, yes. Ability, no.” Marty filled the coffee maker with water and pushed a button to start it. She turned toward Claudia and leaned on the kitchen counter. “I can barely tell you what happened to me yesterday, let alone what might have happened to you. And if a spirit voice suddenly decided to communicate with me I’d probably think I’d left the radio on in another room.”
Claudia smiled politely.
“Anyway,” Marty continued, “my mother was a practicing psychic until she died, and her mother, too.” Marty shrugged. “Even without their gift, I guess it’s not surprising that I developed an interest. And frankly, staying with my aunt gives me an in for my research that would be hard to come by without a connection. Most psychics and mediums are pretty defensive about their work—you can understand why—but my aunt’s well thought of here and I’m making good headway.”
“What exactly are you doing?”
Marty shrugged. “Exploratory research. Mostly, I just listen. I sit in on a lot of readings, interview the practitioners, interview the clients, that sort of thing. I’m not trying to make an argument for the validity of psychic phenomenon, but for the power of its influence.”
“When you say ‘powerful’ do you mean positive or negative?” asked Claudia.
“Goes both ways,” said Marty. “It’s not up to me to judge, just to present the research.” She grinned. “I had a helluva time selling the idea to my Ph.D committee. My subject matter doesn’t have much of an academic ring to it.”
Marty poured coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Neither, thanks.” Claudia blew on her coffee, thinking. “Miss Eckelstrom, I wasn’t looking for you when I came here, but if you’ve been talking to psychics and clients, you could be an awful lot of help to me.”
The woman shook her head emphatically. “Please call me Marty, and I’m sorry, but no way. I’m only allowed the freedom I am because I promise confidentiality.”
“But you’re not bound by law like a doctor or lawyer.”
“I’m bound by ethics.”
Claudia regarded the younger woman thoughtfully. “It would seem to me you’re also bound by morals,” she said softly.
Marty stiffened. A long silence followed. Then: “That’s a cheap shot, Detective. It’s also a gross simplification of—”
The door opened and a large woman sailed in. Bangles on her wrists clanged like rigging against a mast. She carried a paper shopping bag bulging with food stuff. Behind her, a man her size followed, likewise laden.
“Ah, here they are,” said Marty, relief evident in her voice. She rose to help with the groceries.
“You’re a good girl,” said Mary Curtell. She turned to Claudia. Her expression was inscrutable, but Claudia immediately felt the sharp pull of her eyes. Strong eye contact, she thought, must be a trick of the trade.
“Detective Claudia Hershey,” said Mary Curtell.
Claudia lifted an eyebrow.
A smile played at Mary Curtell’s lips. “Nothing psychic on my part. The murder is the talk of the town and I saw you on the TV news Tuesday evening. It didn’t take a sixth sense to guess I’d be one of those you’d eventually be coming to see. We’re a small community and I know the police’ve been talking to others.”
Claudia stood and extended a hand. Mary Curtell’s grip was firm.
“You’re taller than you looked on TV,” she mused.
“I told you bluntness runs in the family,” said Marty, forced gaiety in her tone.
Benjamin Curtell moved toward Claudia and shook hands. “Yes, and it was tough enough with just Mary here.” He gestured at Marty. “It’s a hoot having two from the same blood line under one roof. Talk about odd man out.”
Claudia smiled politely. Except for their dark hair, there was no physical resemblance between Marty and her aunt. Mary Curtell was round and fleshy, as was her husband for that matter. She carried her weight gracefully, but it cost her. She was breathless and perspiring from carrying the groceries in, and she sat heavily in the kitchen chair Marty had vacated.
The Curtells and Marty bantered good-naturedly while groceries were put away, then Benjamin and Marty excused themselves.
Directing her attention back to Mrs. Curtell, Claudia said, “As much as you may have expected my visit, I’m sorry I have to intrude on your day. If there was another way—”
“Detective Hershey, you aren’t one for small talk,” said Mrs. Curtell. She smiled, not unkindly. “You give off purpose like body heat and that’s fine. I’m right at home with directness; maybe you guessed.”
Claudia leaned back in her chair. “All right. Can you tell me about your relationship with Donna Overton?”
“You know, I just can’t get over that . . . the murder.”
Claudia waited. Everyone had to get past this part.
Mary Curtell shook her head slightly. “She was a marvelous woman and I doubt you’ll run into anyone who will tell you otherwise.” The woman’s eyes misted. “She was also a friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Claudia said softly. “I know this is difficult.” She waited a moment, then said, “Mrs. Curtell, obviously we’re looking at a lot of possibilities. And we’re talking to many, many people. But because you were friendly with Donna Overton, maybe you can tell me something of her life. The more we know about her, the closer we may be to finding whoever killed her.”
Mary Curtell shook her head. “I just can’t imagine that anyone who knew Donna would kill her. What for? She wasn’t powerful. She wasn’t rich. She—”
“Mrs. Curtell,” Claudia said gently, “we’ve learned she did have more money than might have been typical of people in your line of work. Recent money.”
Surprise registered in Mary Curtell’s eyes. “I find that hard to believe.” She shook her head. “She was always behind in bills. I mean, like anyone, making payments was a . . . a favorite topic of conversation.”
Claudia studied the woman. “You must have known about the television she bought. It’s a very expensive set. Didn’t you wonder how—”
Mary Curtell shook her head emphatically. “No, no, she told me she pushed her VISA to the limit, that she needed something to lift her spirits.” Mary Curtell smiled. “No pun intended. Anyway, unless your name is Donald Trump, pushing credit to the limit is pretty much the way of the world.”
“The TV was bought with cash. She’d also paid off all of her bills.”
A radio played in the background. Something classical. Claudia tuned in briefly, trying to identify the music while she gave Mary Curtell time to assimilate what she was hearing with what she thought she’d known of her friend.
“I don’t know what to say.” Mary Curtell closed her eyes. “I can’t think where she would’ve gotten that kind of money.”
“Mrs. Curtell, what do you know of Tom Markos?” Claudia asked.
“Why? You think he—”
Claudia waved a hand. “I don’t think anything right now, but obviously we’ll be talking to everyone who was closely associated with Miss Overton. I understand she and Tom Markos dated.”
Mary Curtell sighed. “Nicely phrased, Detective.” She looked squarely at Claudia. “I didn’t much like him. Too—I don’t know—rough for my taste. But Donna thought the sun rose and set with him. At least for awhile.”
“What happened?”
“That—I don’t know. One day, he just wasn’t coming around anymore. Naturally, I asked Donna about it. But she didn’t want to talk about him.”
“Nothing? She said nothing at all?”
“Nothing I thought revealing.”
“Think back, please. It could be important.”
The refrigerator cycled, humming noisily. Claudia waited.
“She said, she said he wasn’t what she thought.” Mary Curtell shrugged helplessly. “But that was it.”
“What do you think she meant by it?”
“Well, I don’t know. She just suddenly seemed disappointed. I guess at the time I thought maybe she’d learned something about him that she hadn’t known before. She had told me that when he was younger he was often in trouble. I don’t know; maybe there was an ex-wife or something.”
Claudia nodded. “One more thing, Mrs. Curtell. You may know who some of Donna Overton’s repeat clients were. We’re compiling a list—again, we need to touch base with anyone connected with her life—and you might be able to make sure we aren’t missing anyone.”
“Well, we traded stories about visitors, but very rarely did we exchange actual names.”
“But you do know who a few were?”
When Mary Curtell hesitated, Claudia said, “Please. Everything is important right now.”
“This is confidential, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Mary Curtell drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, then reeled off three names. She watched Claudia jot them down on a small note pad. “I know you’re duty-bound to check into all of them,” she said. “I do understand. But, well, I can tell you right now you won’t find your murderer on that list.”
Claudia looked up sharply.
“I don’t know who killed Donna, but it wasn’t a client, at least not a regular.”
“How do you know that?”
With a dismissive wave, Mary Curtell said, “I just know, and you can believe that or not. She was killed by someone in this town, Detective, but not by someone she knew. I’ve never felt more strongly about something.”
Claudia cleared her throat. “In other words, what you’re telling me, it’s a psychic impression.”
“That’s right.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” said Mary Curtell. She locked onto Claudia’s eyes, all business again. “I don’t have to be psychic to know you’re a skeptic, Detective. That’s all right. I wouldn’t have expected otherwise. But at the same time you need to watch out for being too close-minded.”
Claudia inclined her head a bit, then took a sip of her coffee. So that’s how they did it, she mused. Lots of solid eye contact; no beating around the bush. It wasn’t hard to understand why people open for the experience—maybe even desperate for it—responded willingly, likely even with awe. Claudia almost smiled. Hell, it was a little disconcerting.
She directed Mary Curtell through a few more questions, none of which elicited anything useful.
It was going on two o’clock. Claudia stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Curtell. I may be in touch again. And no, I won’t overlook your impressions.”
“Oh, sure you will—for awhile.”
As Claudia turned toward the door, Mrs. Curtell put a hand on her shoulder. “Detective Hershey, you have a daughter, do you?”
Claudia paused, and tensed slightly. “I do, yes.” Then she shrugged, thinking. “Me and a lot of the adult female population.”
“Right, right,” Mary Curtell said impatiently. Her eyes bored into Claudia’s. “I don’t mean to step into your business, but there’s trouble in her path, Detective.”
For a second, Claudia just looked at the woman. Then, unbidden, a spirited laugh slipped from her throat. “I’m sorry, but any trouble in my daughter’s path right now would have to be me,” she said. “We’re at the stage where we conflict now and then.”
Damn if the woman didn’t have her going for a minute!
Claudia arranged her face into something neutral. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It’s not you I’m laughing at. I’m really not. In fact, your observation—”
“It’s a little stronger than ‘observation.’”
“Yes, well. At any rate it’s very apropos to my circumstances at the moment. My daughter and I are busy working out her adolescence and we have different ideas on how it’s all supposed to come out.”
Mary Curtell looked at Claudia thoughtfully. She didn’t seem offended, but her eyes were speculative. “I’ll call you if I think of anything else that might be helpful.”
* * *
“The flowers look great,” said Claudia. She smiled at Marty Eckelstrom. “It would seem you have several talents.”
Marty looked up, but didn’t stand this time. “Periwinkles are about as hardy as they come,” she said, her voice guarded. “I can’t really take any credit.”
Claudia squatted. “Marty, I need your help on this case.”
“I told you. I can’t. You’re asking me to violate not only the integrity of my research but to flaunt the trust I promised everyone who’s talked to me. I just can’t do that.”
“You can. I’ll protect your confidentiality.”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“I’m sorry too, but yes.” Claudia’s voice took on a sharp edge. “A woman has been brutally slain. Are you hearing me? It doesn’t look like robbery. It’s doesn’t look like something domestic. And although we’re checking a lot of angles it’s very possible that whoever killed her was connected somehow to her psychic work. Maybe a client who didn’t like what she was saying. Maybe someone who felt ripped off, or cheated. Murder is almost never random, Marty. There’s a reason, and I intend to find out what that reason was. When I know that, I’ll know who killed her.”
Marty brushed a clod of soil off the walkway.
“I’d rather you cooperated voluntarily,” said Claudia. “But even if you don’t, I’ll force your hand on it. Everything in this community is police business right now and if I have to I’ll use legal tools to make you cooperate. I’d rather I didn’t have to go that route.”
Marty snorted. “Great.”
They stood simultaneously. Claudia felt her knee pop, whether from giving short shrift to her exercises or rapping it on the bass boat, she didn’t know.
“How long will it take you to get your research notes together?” she asked the younger woman.
“I don’t—” Resignation crossed Marty’s face. “Not that long, but I have to be somewhere in—” she checked her watch— “in twenty minutes. I also have to call my Ph.D committee.” She gave Claudia a sour look. “I’d also rather not make an issue of this in my aunt’s home or the neighborhood.”
Claudia quickly calculated how long it would take her to make the remainder of the stops she had scheduled. She also wanted to catch up with Sergeant Peters before the end of the day, see what the others had come up with. If Carella had made further progress, some of what he learned might mesh with whatever Marty Eckelstrom could relate. Talking to the girl who’d overdosed would have to be put off until the next day.
“I don’t want this to wait, but I’m going to be running most of the day,” said Claudia. She groped in her pocket for a pen and her notebook, then tore out a sheet of paper. She scribbled on the paper and handed it to Marty. “This is my home address. Can you come by this evening, say around nine? I know it’s not much of a concession, but if it’ll make you more comfortable with the confidentiality I can at least keep you away from prying eyes here and at the police station.”
Wordlessly, Marty pocketed the piece of paper.
* * *
Even with the dishes washed, the smell of spaghetti clung to the air. Claudia wrenched the kitchen window open and returned to the bar stool at the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. Her case files were opened, but her eyes were surreptitiously cast at Robin, scrunched over homework at the dining room table.
She watched for awhile, sipping Diet Pepsi and listening to the skritch of her daughter’s pencil. The television would ordinarily be on, but of course TV was verboten until Robin’s homework was finished. Without its chatty backdrop every other sound seemed amplified. Claudia heard herself swallow. She heard a neighbor dragging a trash can to the curb. She heard the damnable pi
ng of water dripping from the kitchen faucet.
“That drip-drip-drip is making me crazy,” Claudia said at length. “I don’t know how you can concentrate.”
Nothing, not even a look.
“Doesn’t bother you?”
Robin took her time responding. “No.”
“Probably just needs a new washer.”
Nothing again. Claudia had to hand it to her. The kid was good. Cold war safely exercised limits.
Claudia untangled her feet from the bar stool rungs. A half hour remained before Marty Eckelstrom was due. Time enough to fix the drip.
The tools and fix-it paraphernalia were jumbled in an old rubber dish pan in the storage closet off the front hall. The tangle gave Claudia pause, but the idea of sitting in Robin’s sullen silence even one more moment goaded her on. She hoisted the pan and carried it to the kitchen sink.
The faucet was old, its chrome dulled by years of service. Claudia examined it briefly, then sorted through the pan. She’d never actually fixed a leaking faucet, but had watched her ex do it once. How hard could it be?
She picked a wrench from the pan and found an opened package of various-sized washers. One of them was bound to fit. Then she set to work. But getting the faucet handle off was a joke; the wrench slipped repeatedly, bruising Claudia’s hands. The packing nut was worse still, and by the time Claudia freed that, fumbled a new washer into place and began to replace the assembly, the door bell was ringing. The phone shrilled at the same time.
Damn.
“Grab the phone, will you hon?” Claudia asked on her way to the door.
“I’m not allowed to talk on the phone, remember?”
Claudia shot Robin a look. “Just get the blasted thing.” She watched her daughter amble to the counter toward the phone, then hurried to the door.
Marty Eckelstrom nodded acknowledgment. She carried a beat-up attaché case and a worn legal folder that bulged in the middle. Somehow, she looked smaller than Claudia remembered.
“Thanks for coming, Marty,” Claudia said. She ushered the younger woman in.
The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries Page 9