Three O'Clock Séance: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 3)

by Joanne Pence

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to introduce myself to the other Sandorista here,” Rebecca said to Henry and Marta. “I really enjoy talking to people who have some experience with all this. It was nice meeting you.”

  “We’ll talk again, I’m sure,” Marta said.

  Rebecca found Candace Carter, who stood alone after wandering over to a trash bin to throw away her plastic water glass. Candace appeared to be another strong, spry septuagenarian. Her short hair was dyed brown, her make-up light, and she wore a bright green pants suit.

  “Excuse me,” Rebecca said, then introduced herself as a person interested in learning more about the afterlife.

  “You’ve come to the right place.” Candace smiled pleasantly at her, and then looked over the room. “I think you’ll enjoy it here. I do. It’s my way of being around people I like.”

  “The Sandoristas?” Rebecca asked.

  “Hell, no.” She chuckled. “I mean my friends who have died.”

  Rebecca gaped.

  “I hardly knew what to do with myself after I retired,” Candace began. She had taught second graders until she was forced to retire at age 70. She confessed that before she found Sandy and the Sandoristas, she had been lost.

  “Rebecca, I’m so glad you decided to join us,” a familiar male voice said.

  Rebecca turned to see Sandy approach. As opposed to the older group who had dressed up a bit, he wore jeans and a bulky off-white fisherman’s knit sweater. He greeted Candace quickly, then faced Rebecca again. “You seem to be making friends.”

  “Yes. I’m meeting very interesting and nice people,” she said with a smile at Candace who all but had stars in her eyes as she looked at Sandy. School girls swooning over pop idols had nothing on her.

  “Excellent! Well, now that I’m here, it’s time to get started,” Sandy said.

  He began by having them all sit at the table. Rebecca found herself between Donald Luff and Marta Highfield. She noticed that the four Sandoristas present had automatically positioned themselves between the four newcomers.

  “Before we start,” Sandy said, “I want to explain a couple of things to our new people. First, forget everything you’ve ever heard or seen on TV or in the movies about séances. They’re all crap.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Here, we rely on science. Okay, I can feel you newcomers laughing again.” Sandy’s dimples deepening as he smiled and went around the table, catching each woman’s eye and holding it a moment, causing a spate of more nervous laughter. “Let me put you at ease by letting you in on a secret. Beginning in the 1970’s, the CIA spent billions of dollars studying psychic phenomena, which led to its Stargate project on psychic remote viewing. In it, people used their brain power to psychically view what someone else—perhaps on the other side of the world—was seeing at that very moment. And, here’s the secret: it worked. It wasn’t stopped until the 1990’s, not because it wasn’t producing results—FOIA requests have shown some very real results—but because politicians grew tired of being mocked by their constituents for throwing money away on ‘charlatans.’ But I know, just as the CIA does, and now you also know, this is not trickery.”

  The Sandoristas nodded sagely. Donald Luff caught Rebecca’s eye and winked. She ignored the old fart. He really thought he was something.

  “So, you may be thinking, what is it? Those of us in what some call the ‘New Age’ understand that we all have a Spirit Self, and that self is aided through life by our Spirit Guide. When you die, that connection does not end, which means all of us have the ability to communicate psychically. We can contact each other through channeling, remote viewing and other such means, or with the dead through Spirit Guides.

  “The only danger,” he continued, “is for the medium. We mediums know that when we open ourselves up to The Other, we are open. Period. That means anything can enter—anything. And when you’ve experienced what I have, you know this is dangerous. That’s why anyone who is a serious psychic does not, I repeat, does not encourage a layman who hasn’t had a lot of training to try to do this on her own.”

  Of course not, Rebecca thought. If he or she succeeded, Sandy wouldn’t get paid. This was getting tiresome, and she was sure wasn’t any help in determining what might have happened to Neda Fourman and Betty Faroni.

  “Are you ready to begin?”

  Everyone murmured “yes.” He asked them to hold hands, and to rest their hands on the tabletop. “I will now ask my assistant to blow out all candles except the one on the table.”

  Rebecca was startled when a man, dressed all in black, stepped out from the shadows with a candle snuffer. It was his assistant, Lucian.

  Donald Luff squeezed her hand and then rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. She wasn’t amused, and simply tightened her hand on his. A lot. His eyes widened, and then his mouth opened. She pretty much figured how much pressure to put on before he’d let out a yelp, and she eased up before that point. He stared at her, red-faced, and with a little tear in the corner of one eye.

  She focused on Sandy.

  “For the newcomers,” Sandy said, “my friend, Lucian, will sit quietly in the corner and be ready to assist if any of you faints or feels as if a spirit is trying to take over your body or your mind. These things have happened, so it is always wise to have an observer who can step in. Sometimes you might be so completely overwhelmed by a spirit that you don’t even know you’re in trouble. Lucian will be watching for those circumstances as well.”

  Rebecca imagined the other newcomers would be frightened by such words, and she was right. It put into their heads the possibility they would do and say things they normally wouldn’t. The power of suggestion, she imagined, could create some interesting results.

  The room was now almost completely dark except for the candle on the table. Its shape was low and squat, and as Sandy pulled it closer to him, its light reflected upward on his face making him look positively demonic. Once again, Rebecca found herself on the verge of snorting with derision. She and her sister had done the same thing with candles when they were kids, seeing who would make the scariest “demon.”

  “Now,” Sandy said, “I need all of you to focus your thoughts on what we are about to do.”

  He began with long breaths in and out, getting everyone to breathe in unison. Next, he went to the typical calming exercises of “You’re getting sleepy” and “Your head is getting heavy.” Instead of concentrating on what he was saying, Rebecca paid more attention on the others, keeping her eyes open and watching. She couldn’t help but wonder why she’d fallen asleep so easily the night before. It wasn’t like her to be such a limp noodle. She had seen this sort of thing in connection with hypnosis, but she wasn’t a person who could be hypnotized in any way, shape or form. She would never give any other person that much power over her.

  Sandy began a call for spirits. He spoke in little more than a whisper, calm, and inviting. “Come to us, spirit. Talk with us. We’re here because we want to communicate with you. We want to know you, and to let you know you are not forgotten.”

  The ensuing silence was unnerving and Rebecca was beginning to feel she was wasting her time. She had an idea of getting up and walking out. Then Sandy let out a hushed whisper. “I feel a presence,” he said.

  Marta’s hand tightened on Rebecca’s fingers. Nervous energy filled the room.

  “Are you someone that we know?” Sandy asked.

  Everyone waited in silence.

  “The spirit is very faint,” Sandy murmured. “Almost too … wait. I can feel it. It’s trying to reach out to us. Ah! Donald. It’s a woman. She’s saying ‘Donald.’”

  Donald opened his eyes and became absolutely still.

  “It’s your wife,” Sandy said.

  “Myra,” Donald asked, “is it really you?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Of course it’s me,” Sandy said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m watching you, you old fool. I see you flirting.”

  “
Me?” Donald squeaked, sounding so shocked even Sandy couldn’t repress a smile.

  No one needed the spirit world, Rebecca thought, for that insight about Donald Luff. She was beginning to squirm with annoyance at this time-waster. She wondered if she could announce a sudden headache and leave.

  “Yes, you,” Sandy continued in his high voice. “You can flirt now, but I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  “Waiting? You mean”—Donald swallowed hard—“soon?”

  “No, you old coot. You’ll have many years of fun.”

  “Myra, I don’t mean—”

  “Donald,” Sandy said in his own voice. “She’s gone now.”

  With that, Donald took a deep breath.

  What a sham, Rebecca thought, disgusted by how gullible these people were. At $500 per session, no less.

  “We have a wonderful group here—very open,” Sandy said. You’re making my job a complete pleasure. Tell me, are you up for trying to reach someone else?”

  Rebecca watched the others give a hearty, “Yes,” clearly excited about what had just transpired. Despite the dim candlelight, Rebecca saw Sandy’s pale gaze turn to her. With an inward sigh, she nodded.

  “Okay, then. Deep breaths, everyone,” Sandy said, as he again talked them into relaxing.

  He then began to call for a spirit to join them. He called again and again, until … “I see a form coming closer.”

  Everyone again went on high alert.

  “I can see … it’s a man. And … I can feel … he’s touching his head … or is it his heart?”

  Cute, Rebecca thought. Now Sandy and the spirit are playing charades.

  “He’s trying hard to speak.”

  She hoped he didn’t mumble like the spirits the other night.

  “There’s someone here he wants to talk to. That he desperately wants to talk to, but I’m not sure what he’s saying. I think it’s a ‘ja’ sound.”

  Sandy either needs a clearer connection, or he’s simply using the same old material over and over.

  “He’s an older man, but strong. Yes, very strong. And tall. He works with his hands,” Sandy continued. “Perhaps with the land. A farm—that’s it. He’s a farmer.”

  A farmer?

  That caught Rebecca’s full attention.

  “He’s rubbing his chest as if, perhaps, it hurts or once hurt him.”

  His heart? Her stomach began to tighten.

  “His name—the ‘ja’ sound was part of his name!” Sandy cried.

  Benjamin?

  “Oh, my God!” a woman’s voice cried.

  What the hell? Rebecca glared at the woman holding Sandy’s left hand, a newcomer named Ellen Fiddler. She wanted nothing so much as to tell the woman to shut up and butt out.

  “It’s my husband, George,” Ellen whispered. She was mousy-looking behind white-framed glasses, with short, curly gray hair. “He died of a heart attack eight months ago.”

  Sandy looked startled. “Your husband was a farmer?”

  “A gentleman farmer, he liked to say. He owned the land, and paid others to do the work.”

  “Hello, Ellen.” The voice came out of Sandy’s mouth, but it was deeper than usual, and slightly slurred. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Ellen stared at him in shock. “That doesn’t sound like George.”

  “Hush!” Marta said. “It’s his spirit, not his body that’s here. Do you want to talk to him or not?”

  Ellen’s eyes widened. She gulped, then nodded.

  Rebecca’s cheeks burned with self-deprecation. Just like that, she nearly fell for this scam, too. She shuddered as she realized just how close she had come to speaking, to jumping in and joining needy desperados. But that was it: this whole ideology played on a very basic human need. A “ja” sound and a bad heart? We want to believe, she thought.

  But, if all that were true, how the hell had Sandy come so close to guessing her father’s name? To knowing the way he had died?

  Sandy was busy asking Ellen questions that led to her revealing that George was still being bothered by his mother-in-law in the afterlife. Ellen softly admitted her mother never cared much for George in this life either.

  Then, after more talk and many tears shed by Ellen, Sandy sat back and let go of her hand. Everyone else let go of each other as well. He then put his hand on the woman’s arm. “It’ll be all right, Ellen.”

  She sniffed and nodded her head, at the same time tried to wipe tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry I hogged your séance. I suppose other people wanted a chance to talk, too.”

  “It’s not my séance, my dear, but yours,” Sandy said. “All I can say is, I felt such overwhelming love and joy coming from that spirit, I can’t even begin to tell you. I’m sure it was George, and he wanted you to know he’s all right, he’s even happy where he is, and he looks forward to the day when you’re together again.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “But I remarried two months ago. I know it was soon, but I thought it would be wrong to chance losing him. His name’s Tom. He’s also a good man.”

  “Remarried?” Sandy mugged a stricken look for the others at the table. “It sounds as if she’s going to have a very busy afterlife.”

  Everyone laughed at that, and the tension in the room vanished. Lucian used it as his cue to turn on the lights.

  “That was wonderful!” Sandy said to everyone. “What a fabulous group! This was a marvelous experience for me as well. And Ellen”—he stood, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her cheek—“it was an absolute joy to bring you a message from the beyond.”

  Lucian then wheeled in a cart filled with expensive chocolates and small desserts along with wine, tea, and coffee. Everyone was invited to stay, eat, and share with Sandy and each other what they saw and felt during the séance.

  Rebecca listened as the married Sandoristas, Marta and Henry, talked to Ellen about her feelings after experiencing her first encounter with the other side. Ellen said she was now quite “flummoxed” about Tom and the fact that she remarried so quickly. Was it a mistake? No one could get a word in as she debated, mostly with herself, about her marriages.

  Rebecca shook her head and walked away. What a soap opera.

  She saw that everyone was interested in talking about what they had experienced. She had no idea that she was supposed to have been doing her own bit of channeling, but she wasn’t surprised to see several of them try to top each other as to how much of a “presence” they felt. Even those who initially said they’d felt nothing, were soon nodding and—oh my God, what a surprise!—realized that they, too, had witnessed the spirit’s arrival.

  Donald Luff walked up to her with a glass of white wine. “For you,” he said, handing it to her.

  She guessed he had forgotten her hand squeeze or, God forbid, thought she was trying to show she liked him. “Thank you.”

  “What did you think of the evening?” he asked. “Did you find it wonderful?”

  “It was interesting,” she admitted. “But many of these people spent a lot of money and had no contact with the other side. I wonder how they feel.”

  “That’s no problem at all.” He beamed. “I often make no contact, but I’m always honored to be able to contribute my abilities to help someone else realize what a wonderful world not only this one is, but that there’s another even greater and more magnificent waiting for all of us. It fills me with joy. And I’ll do all I can to help you feel it, too.”

  “How lovely,” she said, her sarcasm going unnoticed.

  She felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Sandy behind her. “I would love to know what you thought of all this,” he said softly. “Cocktails?”

  “Sure.”

  She noticed Donald frown at the two of them, and then march away to talk to Ellen Fiddler.

  Sandy leaned close to Rebecca. “Ignore him. He’s the Lothario of the séance circuit.”

  “There’s a circuit?”

  “Most definitely. Give me a minute, then we can get o
ut of here.”

  Sandy announced to the group that they could stay and talk as long as they wished, and that Lucian would lock up. He said he was exhausted from the ordeal of conjuring up two spirits, but if any of them would like to return next Thursday night, to let him know right now, along with a deposit for half the fee, because the session would fill up as soon as it was announced.

  Six of the other séance participants descended on him with checks and credit cards. Rebecca looked around for the one other participant besides herself who wasn’t signing up. “Where’s Candace?” she asked Marta. “Did she leave?”

  “She said she suddenly wasn’t feeling well.” Gloria, a newcomer, jumped in with the answer. “I think she went to the ladies.”

  “Did I hear Candace isn’t feeling well?” Sandy asked. “Could someone check on her to make sure she’s all right?”

  “I’ll go!” Gloria looked ecstatic to do anything for Sandy.

  He went back to taking credit cards when a muffled scream was heard. It no sooner registered than Gloria pulled open the door to the conference room. “She’s dead!”

  o0o

  Richie had heard that Rebecca was in court most of the day on a murder case she’d been involved in last year. He knew better than to phone to talk about ghosts and spirits. Or about Sandy Geller and why she seemed to be spending so much time with him.

  In any case, he much preferred to see her, face-to-face, after court let out. But that evening, again, she wasn’t answering her phone.

  He drove out to her apartment to see if she was home, but her SUV wasn’t on the street.

  He wondered why.

  He tried calling several more times that evening—at ten o’clock, eleven, midnight. After the club closed at two a.m., on the way home he swung by Mulford Alley. Rebecca’s SUV still wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rebecca had never realized, when on the “other” side of a homicide investigation, just how slowly everything moved.

  The moment Gloria cried out that Candace was dead, everyone seemed to freeze until Sandy stood. “What do you mean, dead?”