Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio

by Andrews

  "You are so sensual. I'm so glad the planets have aligned to bring you to my bed. Although, since they're aligned exactly as they were twenty years ago, I would still like to have had you then," I said. My remark made Callie pause and then look up at the ceiling for a long moment. "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "What you said about the planets aligning just as they did twenty years ago. It's made me think about something related to the chart." She jumped out of bed and headed for her computer, locating the scrap of astrological paper bearing the Stellium in Scorpio. "The ghoul pool always takes place on Halloween. This chart was created on Halloween. That's one thing he's trying to tell me. Mo must have had this chart on his mind when he died, because it just has his presence. Whatever happened on this most recent Halloween at the ghoul pool gathering is what brought the energy of this hotel's natal chart back. You see, it's a retrieval of energy from the Halloween Eve in which the groundbreaking occurred. Sun, Moon, Uranus, Venus, Mercury, and Mars, all lined up like little soldiers."

  "Come back to bed. I am so sorry I mentioned the damned planets. Get over here, please!"

  "Don't curse the planets." Callie stood up at her computer, too excited to sit. "A Stellium is the conjunction of three or more planets in the same sign of the zodiac. In this instance, if we want to be liberal about our orbs and allow ten degrees, one could say there's a double Stellium: Sun, Moon, and Uranus within eight degrees of each other, all in Scorpio in the Eighth House, and Venus, Mercury, and Mars all within ten degrees Scorpio in the Eighth as well. The Eighth House is just packed! Every aspect, every sign, every planet, every asteroid has a positive and negative energy attached to it. We use it for either good or evil, depending upon our own will. Scorpio in the Eighth House is inherently intense, secretive, sexual, power seeking. The Eighth House relates to many issues, including reincarnation, death and dying, and other people's money."

  "Sounds terrible."

  "It's all in how you use it. Someone with that aspect in their natal chart could use the energy positively to become a powerful surgeon specializing in reconstructive surgery, or on the negative side, he or she could be a murderer. You see, two ways to use a knife. Positively, one could be a brilliant forensic detective; negatively, the same person could be a sexual predator. Again, two ways to use the power of tracking an individual. Positively, a power seeker in the sense that he marries or becomes the head of state; negatively, that same person could be a power seeker in the sense that he corrupts the head of state. You see how that works?"

  "So who makes the choice—that person or the cosmos?"

  "Another question becomes, when are the choices made: before you ever arrive on Earth or as you live each day?" Callie smiled, enjoying our being able to share a conversation like this.

  "So someone who knew Mo Black and the story about this chart is passing us the word that something dark and Plutonian is going on in his hotel right now, or that the old darkness is about to be brought to light—or both?" I asked.

  "Exactly. We know Rose is on the ghoul pool list, but we don't know why. We know Mo Black was on the list at one time. Karla mentioned that. It's possible that he was on the list right around the time the young boy was killed. Then Mo died as well. Maybe Mo was on the list as a warning to be silent regarding the boy prostitution ring, and he ignored the warning and he and the boy were both murdered— the boy first to make Mo suffer, and then Mo. And if I'm right about the retrieval of energy, Rose is on the list as a warning to be silent, and if she's not, maybe someone else dies along with her. Retrieval of energy, a present-day event mirroring the past. But usually you go back to retrieve energy in order to change it and correct it." Callie took a deep breath.

  "Let's hope so," I said.

  Callie threw her head back, and I could see the elegant lines that made up her neck and the exquisite structure of her cheekbones and her nose, Greco-Roman carved and perfectly sculpted.

  "In the Eighth House Stellium, Venus is involved. It sits right in the middle. So there is a woman in the middle of this, and Venus is Retrograde so the woman is going back. Back where? Back to do what? Look at this." She picked up a book from her suitcase that contained something called Sabian Symbols. She explained that every single degree through which a planet can pass has a particular meaning.

  "Venus is at 19 degrees and 6 minutes in this chart. If you consult that symbol, it says something like an exotic bird hearing and then talking. Now I know that's strange and makes no sense, but I've come to realize that there is sense there. I simply can't decipher it right now."

  I was totally worn out from the conversation, the kind of fatigue that comes from concentrating intensely on trying to understand someone talking to me in a foreign language.

  I turned on the TV to catch the morning news, accepting that our time in bed together had been waylaid by the cosmos. As the picture came into view, the reporter announced, "Investigators were at the home of a well-known Las Vegas showman, Johnathon Burr, known in Las Vegas show circles as Joanie Burr, who died late last night. Mr. Burr came home from his late-night second performance and apparently slipped on his back patio, falling to his death." The news broadcast cut to performance photos of Joanie Burr in costume wearing black tights, Russian boots, and the blousy shirt Callie described.

  "That's the woman who died on the terrazzo floor at Giovanni's home. She's the drag queen, Joanie Burr!" Callie shouted.

  "So she died twice? Once at Gio's party and once at her own home?" I asked, totally confused.

  "No, her face was different at the party, but it was Joanie," Callie said.

  "I'm lost." I shook my head in frustration.

  "The woman who died on the terrazzo floor at the party was the drag queen Joanie Burr, who died last night at her home, and they showed her on TV just now, but at Giovanni's house, her body and her clothing matched the clothing Joanie was wearing on TV. Her face was a woman's face because she was dressed in costume, but it was almost like the face of the man in the bathtub."

  "Well, that clears things up," I said, trying to be funny, but Callie was obviously too upset to laugh. "It's weird that twenty-four hours ago, we asked if Joanie Burr would talk to us, and now she's dead. Is she dead because of that very thing?" I asked.

  "Rose is the only one who knew we wanted to talk to Joanie, but I don't think she would ever have anything to do with her death. In fact, if your palm imprint is correct, she could be next," Callie said.

  "Let's go talk to her," I replied.

  I gave Elmo a quick hug goodbye and Callie and I headed downstairs, past the ringing slot machines, under the celestially lit domed ceiling, beyond the ever-hot buffet and the ticket information booth, and down the long corridor and into the darkened theater, backstage, and up the staircase to the greenroom where we found Rose Ross sitting alone sobbing. She said she never even got to ask Joanie if she'd talk to us. She died too suddenly. Still, something didn't feel right. With everyone in this hotel seeming to know our every thought and deed, maybe someone did know we wanted to question Joanie Burr.

  "Rose, you're obviously not telling us something," I said.

  "Too many people. Even I don't know who's on whose side," she said almost inaudibly.

  "We think you landed on the ghoul pool list to ensure someone's silence or your own. True?" I asked.

  The door opened and Marlena filled the doorway. "You shouldn't be alone, Rosie. Come on, you're too upset." She gave us a look that indicated how sorry she felt for poor Rose, and she helped the girl up. "We have to go," Marlena said to us, and we watched her shepherd Rose away.

  "They always seem to know where Rose is," Callie said.

  "Let's hope they're protecting her. Ever since those names appeared on my palm I've been worried it's a gallows list."

  ∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

  As we headed back down the stairs and through the maze of ropes and pulleys backstage, the phone rang and Wade Garner's voice sounded solemn as he asked me if I'd told anyone else about my request that
he do some investigating for me. When I assured him I hadn't, he said he'd gotten an anonymous call warning him off the case.

  I apologized profusely and told him to back off. This wasn't his affair.

  "No way," he replied. "I'm just impressed that you're dickin' around with crooks who have the balls to call me a thousand miles away to threaten me. Must mean you're getting close. Stay in touch," he said. And I knew he was saying stay safe.

  While my body was moving through the theater, my mind flashed back to the Star Bar, where I'd been the night Wade called and I'd stepped outside to get better reception. Everyone always met at the Desert Star Bar. Everyone had to step out of the bar to make a call because no one could get reception inside, and everyone had to face in the only direction one could face and get a cell phone to work. The spot outside the bar where the phone would work faced a series of overhead glass panels just off the lobby.

  They’re scanning everyone’s cell phone conversations through the glass. It happens in the lobby, I thought. I picked up my pace, wanting to get out of the theater and back to the glass panels to check out my theory.

  I don't know what made Callie look up as we proceeded across the theater's back stage. I only heard her gasp and my eyes followed the tilt of her head. Up above us, a man stood on his tiptoes, on scaffolding that jutted out away from the tall theater walls. His anguished expression seemed to communicate that he was committing suicide. He let out a piercing scream and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest as he tumbled down, diving to his death. Our hands instinctively covered our mouths to stifle our own screams as we watched in horror, not wanting to hear the dull splat, but then at the last moment, he pulled out of the dive like an aircraft, his arms outspread, soaring above our head under his own power, shrieking and laughing in the most maniacally chilling flight. Callie and I ducked as he dive-bombed us. I searched for wires or filaments or any support system but saw none. Suddenly he seemed to lose control of his aerobatics and crashed to the floor, just missing our heads by inches, and now it was our turn to scream. We bent over the body and it was nothing but a dummy, a mannequin. Elliot Traugh stepped out onto the grid work up above our heads. "Oh, good heavens, I'm so sorry. Hector could have killed you! Are you all right? Hector is our flyboy test dummy!"

  "Sound effects are pretty hair-raising," I responded.

  "No one's supposed to be in here without permission," he said, fretting insincerely over the near tragedy.

  "And if they are, you're forced to kill them?" I joked.

  "Should I call the hotel nurse?" Elliot asked without the least bit of concern in his voice now that he presumed we were uninjured.

  "No, we're leaving," Callie said and pulled me back toward the place where we had entered.

  "Put the Do Not Enter sign up please on your way out," Elliot called to us.

  "What do you know about Joanie's death, Elliot?" I couldn't leave without asking.

  "I know it was tragic, a great loss to the theater community and to this show," he replied solemnly.

  "Was it an accident.. .really?" I probed.

  "That's what the paper said, and all the newscasts," Elliot responded.

  "Who found her?" Callie chimed in.

  "I sent Sophia to her house with a key when she didn't show for rehearsal. Sophia's still very upset. I don't understand your fascination with this... are you police or reporters... or just bored?" He went back to being the acerbic gay man.

  "Sorry we bothered you," Callie said.

  Out of Elliot's earshot, I leaned into Callie. "Why would he send Sophia? If he suspected Joanie was injured or maybe even dead, why wouldn't he send another drag queen who would know what things to remove or hide or who to call?"

  "Perhaps he wanted to send Sophia a message. Perhaps he knew Joanie was dead and her corpse was an up-close reminder of what could happen to people who talk," Callie said. "But why would Sophia talk?"

  "Maybe because of her relationship with Rose. If they're close friends, and one of them is in danger, I would imagine the other one should watch her back," I said.

  We retraced our steps up the steep incline, through the double doors, and back out into the brightly lit lobby.

  "The dummy—was it an accident?" I looked into Callie's eyes as we found ourselves outside the darkened theater and once again in the hubbub of people having normal lives.

  "No," she whispered softly. "The dummy flying down at us, the death of Joanie Burr.. .nothing here is by accident."

  "I'm getting skittish, Callie. Too many places an attack can come from, and it always looks innocent."

  "Wrap ourselves in white light," Callie said firmly.

  I said nothing, thinking we'd most likely used up our personal ration of white light at this point.

  Callie and I took Elmo outside, taking solace in mundane activities. As the Queen of England purportedly said, the secret to success is never to pass up an opportunity to go to the loo. That was Elmo's secret to success as well. He hunched his body up at the base of an ornamental shrub, making it only slightly more ornamental when he was through. I was busy looking over my shoulder for would-be attackers and didn't have my plastic bag with me, so I left Elmo's token for the gardeners. I was thinking we needed to find Sophia and ask her about her discovery of Joanie's body.

  When we reentered the lobby, I was struck by the number of businesspeople happily holding their conferences and meetings amidst what could only be termed total chaos: noise, lights, and throngs of humanity—like trying to hold a church service at a carnival. A man strode across the lobby and gripped the hand of a friend in a strong handshake that lingered just a beat too long, making me wonder if they were gay.

  "Did you know that at one time there was a tribal group in New Guinea that shook penises," I said, causing Callie to stop walking and pay full attention. "They believed if you could trust a stranger with your most vulnerable body part, you could trust him with your life. I wonder how that got started. I mean, there had to be that first guy who said, 'May I shake your penis?' and then it caught on."

  "Teague, your mind is a very strange place." Callie giggled.

  "No, I'm dead serious. Can you imagine a New Guinea woman ever in her wildest dreams deciding that women should shake each other's tits? You see what I mean? I don't care where they are in the world, men's thought processes are just damned strange," I concluded.

  As I thought about the men in the lobby, shaking hands instead of penises, my mind reached back into its databank and pulled up the image of Giovanni shaking our hands so warmly at dinner, first me, then Callie. "Callie, Gio put the letters on my palm when he shook my hand just before we left the restaurant. I remember thinking his hand was so warm, a bit sweaty, but he was so sweet holding my palm to his. He was transferring the ink. But did he mean it as a threat or a warning?"

  "A warning—one that's too late for Joanie but not for Rose. Check the ring," she whispered, her lips barely moving.

  I looked up and, sure enough, the dealer was wearing the signet ring on his pinkie finger. I looked past the dealer and spotted one of Hollywood's most famous leading men, Sterling Hackett, walking toward us. I punched Callie and nodded in his direction, and then we both pretended not to have noticed him.

  I slid onto the end chair at the blackjack table, and Elmo and Callie stood beside me. Mid-deal, Sterling Hackett sat down to my left. "Is the dog winning?" he asked dryly.

  "He just started playing," I said, not cracking a smile, but the dealer did.

  The cards were dealt, and I checked mine—ace and eight—I waved my hand palm down three inches above the cards, giving the sign that I didn't want another. Sterling looked at his cards, two eights, and told the dealer to double down. The dealer laid a six over one of the eights and a king on the other: fourteen and eighteen. The dealer then turned his own card over, revealing a ten to go with his king and beating us both.

  "Elmo, you lost," I said over the edge of the table as the dealer dealt us cards again.

  "
I'm busted," Sterling said, this time holding twenty-two, and the dealer took it all with twenty-one. "I've had fourteen be a winning hand," he mused. "Well, I'm hitting the hay and tackling this tomorrow."

  "Good night, Mr. Hackett. I enjoy your movies, by the way," the dealer offered.

  "Thanks," Sterling said without looking back, and he wandered off toward the elevators. Callie yanked on my jacket, and I cashed in my chips. Elmo, Callie, and I caught the elevator and got off on eighteen. Sterling entered room 1823. Callie said she felt strongly that we should hang around for a few minutes. I stood by the elevator with Elmo for fifteen minutes until he and I were both tired of shifting our weight from one leg to the other. Suddenly, whoosh! and the elevator doors opened and a young man who looked to be prepubescent walked down the hallway, escorted by an older, shorter man wearing lifts. He knocked on the door of room 1823, and I pulled Elmo back out of sight. Sterling opened the door and let the boy in, and the older man left. I could see Callie's countenance cloud over, and I knew what she was thinking. I didn't want to think about it. After all, maybe that was the boy's father who brought him there for an audition. You know that's bullshit, a voice in my head said. Well, so what! the warring voice in my head replied. So what if Sterling had boys come to his room late at night? There could be a million reasons, none of them our business.

  Elmo was so tired he was beginning to stumble. When basset hounds wear out, they wilt like a flower in a matter of minutes, and Elmo had gone from being a tulip to a pansy. The voice in my head would not be silenced. You know that Sterling Hackett has a reputation for sexual encounters with underaged boys. It’s been reported in all the trades in L.A. You know that he’s probably boffing that kid right now.

  "Do something!" Callie said as if residing in my head. There was scuffling and a muffled protest coming from the room.

  "Like what?" I replied.

  "Are you going to let him harm that boy?"