A Dickens of a Crime
Page 21
“Again, I had to behave as if I wasn’t part of law enforcement and maintain my role as head of the foundation. I knew Detective Crawford had the investigation under control, and we talked frequently about what was going on. I was better off staying focused on the big picture, even though this murder was part of that.” Tom doodled on the notepad in front of him. Meg thought he might be getting tired of answering her questions.
“I see. I do get it now. There were so many questions when all of this was happening, it made my head spin. So ultimately the motive for the murder was to keep Lena from cooperating with the FBI. The means was exploitation of the murderer,” Meg said.
“Exactly. It was a big risk on Hal’s part, but it worked in a way. Now you can take a breather and get back to your normal life.” Tom smiled and held his hand out to help Meg up. She had the feeling they would continue to be good friends.
Meg walked out of the police station relieved that Lena’s murder had been solved, but sad for Giselle and Geneva. Confident Crawford and Tom would stay with the case until they had evidence to file charges on everyone involved, she decided to focus on the upcoming holidays and her own family and put her investigator’s cap aside.
I might even put up a little tree in the living room.
Meg pulled in front of Jean’s house and honked the evening of the Blue Santa Carnival. They were to assist Santa with the gift distribution. They were dressed in red, a suggestion of Crawford’s, who gave them elf hats when they arrived.
The community center was decorated and indeed looked like a carnival midway with numerous activities and food booths for the children to visit. Hawkers manned game booths where all players won a prize.
“I want to introduce you to a friend of mine,” Crawford said, as she led Meg to a small tent structure and lifted the flap to peer inside. “Come on in. Marsha’s alone in here.”
Meg ducked her head and entered a small cozy space decorated to look like the interior of a Gypsy’s caravan trailer complete with a crystal ball on the center of a small table. The woman seated at the table was attractive, with medium-length dark hair and gleaming eyes, a scarf tied around her head, and numerous rings on her fingers, filigreed dangles hanging from her ears. She shook Meg’s hand when they were introduced.
“Oh, don’t mind these things,” Marsha said, referring to the multitude of rings on her fingers. She didn’t release Meg’s hand, holding it as she gazed into her eyes. “I know this sounds peculiar—many people don’t necessarily understand what I do—but I’d like to give you a reading. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”
Crawford’s eyes widened. “You should sit down, Meg. She’s good. I can leave you alone if you’d like.”
“That might be good, Detective,” Marsha said, glancing up at Crawford.
Once the detective left, Marsha prefaced their conversation with some information about how she conversed with spirits. “It’s not so much a conversation as them tapping me on the shoulder when they recognize someone they’d like to share information with. There’s a particular male—actually there are two, but this one’s insistent that I tell you how happy he is that you found a piece of jewelry. I see his face in black and white, like an old photograph. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, just recently—”
“Okay, just need to validate. He’s moving me along. I have to go where they lead.” Marsha smiled, dropping her head slightly and closing her eyes. “He wants you to know how proud he is of you. He says you’re independent and strong. He’s showing me a little girl and the letter T. Is there a child with a name beginning with T?”
“No, not that I can—”
“He’s insisting there is. A child—your child.”
“My daughter is an adult, and her name is Dorie.”
“She’s your child. Is Dorie a nickname?”
“Oh yes, yes it is. Her name is Theodora. She’s named for my father.”
“Yes, this is your father, Theodore. He’s saying again how proud he is of you. He’s telling me you solved a crime recently.”
“How does he know that?”
“Spirit knows everything. They’re always with us. He wants you to know that when you talk to him, he hears you. He’s often with you, a type of guardian angel. You found the locket because he arranged it. He wanted it to get back to you.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you told me that. There’s no way you could know—”
“Hate to interrupt, but there’s someone else who wants to make sure they’re heard. This is also a male, younger. His name is Phillip, Peter, Paul!
“Yes, Paul.”
“There’s a fragrance. Can you smell it?”
Meg sniffed the air. It was there, Aramis. “Yes, I can smell it.”
“He’s been around you recently.”
“Yes he has.” Meg nodded.
“He wants you to know he’s proud of you and your daughter. He says to tell her he hears her talking to him. He doesn’t want to spoil her surprise, but he said she’ll tell you on December 23rd. Oh, and he says he’s glad you have the cat, but he’s glad he’s not living with her. When you have notions, ideas you’re not sure of, thoughts that come to you from nowhere, that could be him. He knows you question that, but know he’s there whispering in your ear.”
Meg laughed aloud. “That’s exactly what he would say. It’s happened so many times, especially recently.”
The reading concluded with all of the questions answered. Marsha told Meg she was intuitive but didn’t always relax enough to allow information to come to her. “You try to make sense of it in present time and connect it to your thoughts. Let your mind go blank and you’ll be able to receive messages from spirit. You only need to practice. Now there was a premonition—that’s a little different. Something about your phone being tapped.”
Everything Marsha said connected the dots for Meg.
She lifted the flap of the fortune teller tent and spotted Jean in her elf cap. She didn’t know if she would mention her reading; it was a little unbelievable, and she wasn’t sure she would admit to anyone that it happened. She’d give herself some time to get used to it first.
THIRTY-FIVE
MEG ARRIVED AT Dorie’s house on December 23rd to help her prepare for a Christmas party. Many of Dorie’s friends would be attending, and Meg was looking forward to seeing them and catching up on their lives.
She sat at Dorie’s kitchen table sticking fancy toothpicks into chunks of cheese wrapped with salami. There were trays of prepared food covering the kitchen counters, waiting to be displayed on a dining table lengthened with two leaves. Meg’s maroon velvet palazzo pants and satin blouse were in the guest room, where she would primp before the party. Michael was off running errands with a list given to him by Dorie. It would be a relaxed gathering, but festive.
Dorie and Michael’s historic house was decorated for the holidays, inside and out. Meg had given Dorie many of the decorations she used in their older home, only saving a few for her small cottage. The dining room glistened with candles and sparkling decorations while the spacious living area was filled with garlands and evergreen swags. Mounds of presents already filled the floor beneath the fragrant Christmas tree.
The mindless work of pushing picks through salami allowed Meg’s mind to wander. She realized that the intuition she had experienced during the past month was probably Paul leading her to information: the decision to ride out to the Double Gates to look for Lena’s car, inviting Giselle inside for tea when she found her walking down the street, looking up the twins’ profiles on social media, approaching Brian Hillard about donating Lena’s clothing to the resale shop, and other decisions she couldn’t rationally explain.
Dorie took a batch of cookies from the oven, placing them on the stove top, then turned the oven off and took the seat opposite from Meg, gathering toothpicks to begin the task.
“Your glowing, sweetie,” Meg said.
“What makes you say that? It could be that I
just took my head out of the oven.” Dorie giggled.
“No, it’s a maternal glow, I think.”
“No way. Did Michael already tell you? That’s not fair.” Dorie seemed genuinely ticked. She put the toothpick down and stared wide-eyed at Meg.
“It’s true?” Meg’s eyes glistened with the moisture waiting to flow down her cheeks.
“Yes, I’m pregnant, and I’m so pissed with this child’s father that I could spit.”
“Don’t be mad at Michael. He hasn’t said a word. You are glowing, but I might not have made the connection if someone hadn’t given me a heads-up. But you’ll never guess who it was.”
“Mom, no one else even knows. What are you talking about?”
Meg got up from the table and walked around to Dorie, placing her arms around her neck and leaning over her shoulder. “Your dad told me. Isn’t that wonderful? He said you planned to surprise me on this very day.”
“Now you’re scaring me. I did intend to tell you today in a toast before the guests arrive. That’s what Michael and I planned. But how could you possibly know?”
“I’m telling you, I’ve received messages from your father, though he didn’t tell me what the surprise would be.” Meg giggled. “You remember how his hints about packages always gave away the gift? Well that’s exactly how he told me this. That’s part of how I knew for sure it was him.”
“This isn’t making any sense.” Dorie shook her head. “I was so relieved when that murder was solved, and now you’re talking crazy about messages from Dad?”
“I can’t explain it either, but that’s beside the point. Congratulations! I’m thrilled about being a grandmother. It’s going to be so much fun. When is this baby going to arrive?”
She would eventually explain the messages she’d received through Marsha the medium, but not just now. They had a party to prepare.
DEDICATION
This novel is dedicated to all the women in the METOO movement who have been subjected to harassment, manipulation, and humiliation by anyone or any institution with power over them. Strong, intelligent women will be responsible for leading the way to make sure men and women are educated to be respectful of the rights of all people no matter their gender, race, or identity. Women who think like Meg and value the contribution of all people, will make a difference. And, one of these days there will be no tolerance of anyone taking advantage of their position to manipulate another. Vote!
Other Books by Phyllis H. Moore
Sabine, Book One of the Sabine Series
Billy’s Story, Book Two of the Sabine Series
Josephine’s Journals, Book Three of the Sabine Series
Secrets of Dunn House, Book Four
Of the Sabine Series
Opal’s Story
The Ember Months
Birdie & Jude
The Bridge on Jackson Road an Anthology
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