Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2)

by Anne Marie Stoddard

  He turned his head and lifted his chin, a New York gesture if I'd ever seen one, toward a stainless-steel kitchen cart against the wall. A clear glass dome covered a good-sized platter. Clams on the half shell sat atop a generous bed of salt crystals on the platter. Parsley and lemons decorated it.

  "Clams?" I said again. "For the séance? I don't—"

  "I didn't either at first," he interrupted. "But Fabrizio insisted Mrs. Elway asked for them specifically. A dozen fresh clams on the half shell. It seems they were her husband's favorite dish, and she is convinced having them there will encourage his—I can't believe I'm saying this—his spirit to manifest."

  "Oh." What else was there to say? I glanced at my watch. "Well, looks like it's getting to be about that time." I stood.

  He didn't step back from the table, which put me right next to him. I could have leaned over and laid my head on his shoulder. I sighed. Better not.

  But Cap'n Jack seemed to have something similar on his mind. He laid his hand on my shoulder and leaned over me. I closed my eyes and held my breath, anticipating…what?

  A soft cloth caressed my upper lip. I opened my eyes.

  He smiled down at me. "There you go," he said and laid the napkin down. "You just had a little sauce there."

  Of course I did. "Thank you," I said. "I'll just…"

  I crossed the room, took hold of the cart's handle, and pushed it from the kitchen.

  * * *

  Séances were held in a small but lovely room where Miss Marple might serve tea. Burgundy drapes swagged corner to corner. Blue flames flickered low in the fireplace courtesy of a special-effects chemical log Fabrizio swore would bring up the ambiance.

  A medium-sized round table sat smack in the middle of the room, seven chairs around it and a purple cloth covering it. The lights were low. So many candles were lit that the place was warm enough for bread to rise.

  Fabrizio was already there, looking nervous as a crawfish next to a pot on the boil. He knew, and I knew, and he knew I knew he wasn't exactly what you'd call a genuine medium, but I had to give him credit. He looked like one, every inch, from the top of his turbaned head to the bottoms of his white patent-leather boots. His long face glistened with perspiration.

  "Fabrizio," I said. "Why don't we blow out a few of these candles? Your makeup and eyeliner are going to run."

  He nodded, and I set about doing it. The poor guy had to be pretty warm. His long-sleeved white jumpsuit was layered under a full-length sequined white cape. A cross between the Great Houdini and Liberace.

  Within a few minutes, Mrs. Cecile Elway and company arrived. Five in all, just like at dinner the night before. There were low murmurs of appreciation as they glanced around the room, taking in the whole experience.

  Fabrizio opened his arms wide. His bellowing voice carried all the drama of his training at the Royal Academy. "Welcome—welcome, all."

  The group circled the room, all heads swiveling this way, that way, taking in the authentic ambiance the hotel owner's checkbook—fortified by a winning streak Harry and his cousins enjoyed on Family Feud—had bought.

  Fabrizio lifted fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes. "Come, my friends, let us be seated. I sense the spirits gathering."

  Glancing around nervously, they all converged on the table where Fabrizio stood in front of a high-backed chair with a red velvet seat that looked more like a throne than anything else.

  "Hey, I remember you." Billy Whitlock, Cecile's stepgrandson, peered at me in the semidarkness. "You're the girl from last night. Right?" His eyes dipped below my chin to my cleavage. "I see you're not wearing the soup tonight."

  Well, wasn't that special? Nice to be remembered. I tried to smile.

  Cecile seemed to have just noticed me. "Who is that young woman, and what is she doing here? This is supposed to be an exclusive affair."

  Mrs. Elway looked doubtful until Fabrizio took her hand and patted it. "Miss Hamilton is here at my invitation. She's been known to be a soul sympathetic to the world beyond the veil, an asset when summoning spirits. Mrs. Elway, if you would sit to my right, please. Miss Hamilton to my left." He glanced around to the others and spread his arms to indicate the empty chairs.

  Cecile took the chair to Fabrizio's right. Terrence Montague, who I'd decided was shacking up with Mrs. Elway on behalf of his caterpillar conservancy organization, took the chair next to Cecile.

  Rosalyn, the stepdaughter, twittered like a nervous little bird as she sat down beside him.

  Penny Devere, the psychic, was opposite Fabrizio. Billy Whitlock flipped the next chair backward and straddled it. The remaining chair looked like it had my name on it.

  The look on Billy's young face said a lot about his attitude, and his words only served to confirm it. "Really? This is uberlame."

  "Billy, shush." His mother put a finger to her thin lips.

  Fabrizio clasped a hand to his forehead, his expression pained. "We must all be of like mind as we call on your grandfather's spirit. We must have harmony, or the psychic energy will not flow freely."

  "Harmony? What a crock."

  "That will be enough, Billy!" Mrs. Elway said.

  When it came to séances, I pretty much agreed with Billy.

  Everyone settled in.

  "As you glance around the room," Fabrizio began, "you'll be aware of the tools required to summon your loved one." He rolled his hands over his "crystal ball." I was pretty sure it was a big snow globe he appropriated from the reading room. "A bell for Theodore to signal us when he's arrived." Fabrizio's eyes cut over to me then back to Cecile. "Did you bring a picture of Theodore with you as I asked?"

  Cecile fished in her big purse and pulled out a small photo, which she handed to Fabrizio.

  He laid it on the table beside the crystal ball. "Everyone must join hands, close your eyes," he said, "and open your minds."

  As silence settled over the room, Penny Devere looked around the table. "Do we have everything we need?"

  Cecile spoke suddenly. "Oh," she said, "the clams. Don't forget the…"

  I disengaged from the minor tussle with young Billy, who'd been trying to stroke my palm when our hands were clasped, and stood, went to the trolley, took the cover off the tray, and picked it up.

  "Where should I…?"

  Fabrizio glanced up then over at Cecile. "Put them in front of Mrs. Elway, please."

  I carefully set them before her.

  Rosalyn took a hanky from her bag and covered the lower half of her face.

  Billy waved his hand in front of his face. "Ew, really? Gross."

  Cecile only smiled. "Theodore's favorite. He always came to the table when we served clams on the half shell."

  I actually didn't think they smelled bad. To each his own. I took my seat at the table as the Great Fabrizio went into his act.

  He closed his eyes and threw back his head. His voice deepened. "Center yourselves. Reach out with your minds and souls. Think of your loved one. Call him."

  The voices sounded.

  "Theo?" Cecile's tone was uncertain.

  Terrence Montague mumbled something I couldn't quite understand, but I could have sworn it sounded like, "Yeah, whatever."

  "Daddy," Rosalyn twittered. "Daddy?"

  "Mr. Elway." That was Penny, her voice soft. "Theodore."

  "Hey, Granddad. S'up?" Billy's voice rang above everyone else's.

  Fabrizio cleared his throat. "I feel the vibrations. Theodore? Theodore? Our beloved Theodore, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Theodore, and move among us. Give us a sign."

  The room grew cold as a stiff breeze circled the room, extinguishing the candles. The lights went out. I couldn't have seen my hand in front of my face. A collective gasp circled the table.

  The bell tinkled, fell over, and rolled across the table.

  It was Fabrizio speaking, but it wasn't his voice or accent. "Dammit all, Cecile, you forgot the hot sauce."

  Cecile cried out. "Oh. Oh. The
o? Theo, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "Simple questions, Mrs. Elway," Fabrizio said, his normal pitch and British accent back. "Only yes or no questions."

  "Daddy! Daddy!" It was Rosalyn's voice. "Daddy, tell us. How did you really die? Did someone murder you?"

  A soft moaning came from somewhere above us. The table began to vibrate then to shake. And then the crazy thing lifted off the floor.

  "Whoa, dude." Billy seemed to be enjoying the show.

  If I hadn't known better myself, I'd have believed old Theodore had joined us. The table crashed back down. And suddenly I wasn't holding anyone's hand anymore. There were soft whimpers, the scraping sound of chairs scooting back, and feet shuffling.

  It was scary. Damn, Fabrizio. Good job.

  The room grew quiet. No one seemed to be moving anymore.

  The only sound in the room was the low hum of Fabrizio's voice as he continued with the farce, staying fully "connected" to the spirit world. After a few minutes, the lights came back on for no apparent reason I could see.

  Everyone had stood and moved away from the table except Fabrizio, who was still in his chair, eyes closed. The rest of us all looked around the room at each other, relieved to have made it all the way back from the world beyond.

  Or maybe we all hadn't made it after all.

  Cecile Elway was still in her chair, slumped over, her face buried in the platter of clams. A few empty clamshells were strewn around in front of her.

  Montague lifted her wrist and let it drop back. "My word," he said. "I believe she's…but she can't be. Can she?" He looked around at all of us. "Dead? She can't be dead."

  But she was.

  "Hmm," Billy said. "Bad clams?"

  MYSTIC MAYHEM

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