by Jane Tesh
“I’d like that.”
He sounded serious. “Why?”
“Maybe things haven’t gone the way I planned.”
Things definitely hadn’t gone the way I’d planned. “You actually had a plan?”
“I just imagined life would be different, that’s all.”
“Different how?”
He stopped at one of Celosia’s few stoplights and looked at me. “The same, I mean. I thought everything would stay the same. I knew my brothers and I would all grow up and probably move away, but the house would always be there. My parents. Everyone well and happy.”
He rarely spoke of his parents. “I’m sorry, Jerry.”
The light turned green. He drove down Main Street and turned at the corner. As we left the town behind and headed out into the warm darkness of the countryside, he said, “I thought I might be something, you know. A doctor or a lawyer or even a scientist for NASA. Something important and useful.”
“It’s not too late. You could still be whatever you wanted to be.”
“That’s just it, Mac. I don’t know what I want to be. And it is kinda late. Benjamin Britten was only twenty-six when he wrote Paul Bunyan. I’m way behind.”
“You’re planning to write an opera?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You think you’d find the answer on the other side? Is that why you keep playing with all this psychic stuff?”
“Des is psychic, and so is Tucker.”
I’d never seen any indication of this. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, we were all there, when—” he stopped.
“When what, Jerry? What’s the big family mystery? Can’t you even tell me?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not sure it really happened.”
“Don’t go all Hayden Amry on me.”
He wasn’t going to say anything else about it. “That’s why the Eberlin house is perfect. This séance thing is just right.”
“I think it’s just going to get you into trouble.”
“And you can bail me out.”
“Oh, so that’s why I’m along.”
Even in the darkness of the car, I could see him smile. “That’s not the only reason.”
My heart began to beat a little faster. “Oh?”
But Jerry’s answer wasn’t what I’d hoped for. “I need you to kick Geoff Snyder’s butt for me.”
Damn him and his occult nonsense. If he hadn’t been driving, I would’ve smacked him.
CHAPTER FOUR
A screeching noise penetrated my eardrums. I groaned and opened my eyes to stare at my alarm clock. That rooster had to die.
I staggered downstairs. Jerry, as usual, had been up long before me. He was sitting on the porch, eating a doughnut.
“What do you want for lunch?” he asked. “I thought I’d get a grill, maybe burn some steaks.”
“Is it lunchtime already?”
“I’m planning ahead.”
I shook my head. “I must still be asleep. I thought I heard you say something about planning ahead.”
“Just a few hours.”
“Steaks sound good for supper, but I’m having lunch with Ted Stacy, remember?”
He didn’t seem at all concerned. “Oh, yeah. Well, have a good time.”
“What household repair job are you going to muck up today?”
“Gee, I don’t know. How about if I clean the chimney?”
“If I come back and find you stranded on the roof, I’m leaving you there.”
“Fair enough.”
***
Shana met me at the door of her home. “Let’s sit out on the porch. The house still smells charred.”
We took seats in two rocking chairs. She gazed out at the front yard. Birds chirped at the feeder hung in the nearest tree. The scene was calm, but her eyes were filled with concern. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I really don’t have any enemies, and neither does Hayden. Everyone at Burlson and Rawls was sorry to see him go, and his main rival was delighted.”
“That’s where he worked in Parkland?”
“Yes, but selling just wasn’t his thing. The hours and the competition got to be too much.”
“Has he seen things before?”
“Lots of times. He has a very active imagination. But he’s taking all this so seriously.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I had a look around the grounds, would you?” If someone was playing a trick, he or she may have left footprints or some other clue behind.
“Not at all.”
I looked around Shana’s house. I didn’t find any footprints, human or dinosaur. The bushes were all intact except for a large boxwood near the back. It had split down the middle, whether from age or someone trying to climb on it, I couldn’t tell. But the ground glittered with a few tiny round objects I recognized immediately. Sequins.
There were more sequins near the edge of the forest. I followed them along a trail that wandered through huge trees shaggy with moss surrounded by velvety green grass. Birds sang. Butterflies danced over the wildflowers. I stopped when I discovered a log cabin. There were no cars in the driveway, and no one answered when I knocked on the door. All the curtains were closed. I circled the cabin, but failed to find any more sequins. Beyond the cabin, the woods thinned, and I could see a meadow. It was hard to tell, but I was pretty sure it was the same meadow that bordered the Eberlin house.
When I got back to Shana’s house, Gregory Prill waved to me from the porch.
“Good morning, Madeline. Out communing with nature, were you?”
“Just for a little while. I can’t take too much nature.”
His laugh was deep and full, not the high-pitched giggle I expected.
“Sounds like you need a drink.”
I sat down in a rocking chair and accepted a glass of tea. “Thank you.”
“I am so sorry I missed the events of last evening. You must tell all.”
“Well, Hayden’s friend Bummer thought he’d save us from the ghosts and nearly blew up the house.”
“What an imbecile.” He rolled his bulging eyes toward Shana and grinned a sly grin. “Everyone knows you need a qualified exorcist, like Cynthia Riley.”
Shana bristled. “Don’t mention that woman’s name in my house.”
He laughed again. “My dear Shana! If you think a scrawny afghan hound of a woman like Cynthia Riley could possibly tempt Hayden away from you, you must be demented.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about Hayden. I’m worried about how that harpy looks at him. She wants him, Prill, you know she does.”
“And who could blame her? I want him, too. Don’t you, Madeline?”
“Absolutely.”
Shana had to smile. “This comedy act will never make it to the stage.”
Prill readjusted his cape. “So, Madeline, what does your great detecting brain tell you about this case?”
“I don’t have enough information yet,” I said, “but I suspect it’s someone playing a pretty elaborate trick.”
“Shall I tell you what I think?”
“By all means.”
He took a sip of his tea. “This ghost of his, Portia, the one he says is out to get him, is a symbol for all this emotion he says he’s not carrying around inside, all the worry and frustration and jealousy. Portia is simply a symbol for Shana, a Shana he loves and hates.”
“He doesn’t hate me,” Shana said.
“Didn’t he tell you his dream? She was kissing him, so at first, he thought it was you. She’s taking the success he feels should be his, so, in a sense, she’s killing him.”
“Prill—”
“And this Theo figure is simply his more reasonable side coming to the rescue, knocking him away from the confrontation. It’s amazing what the mind can do. You could even call it suppressed desires. What a splendid title for a book.”
I could tell Shana had had enough. “I think you need to leave the analyzing to the experts.”
Prill bowed. “Actually, I need to just leave. Monthly meeting of FLUF. Tell Hayden he’s way behind in his dues.”
He left in his pearl gray Mercedes. Shana offered me some more tea. “I’ve been thinking, Madeline. Maybe the dedication poem isn’t what’s bothering Hayden. We’ve had some other disagreements.”
I figured she meant her successful career versus his stalled career. “Career problems?”
“Oh, no. About children.”
There is no escape. “Children?”
“Hayden wants children, and I haven’t the slightest interest.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Shana, am I speaking to the only other woman in this part of the country besides myself who is not interested in having children?”
She smiled. “Hayden’s the only child I want, and if I’m reading all the signals right, you feel the same way about Jerry.”
I felt my face grow hot. Before I could say anything, Shana apologized.
“It’s none of my business, really, but I couldn’t help noticing. I do write romance novels, you know. I’m used to those meaningful glances and heartfelt sighs.”
“I’d hoped it wasn’t that obvious.”
“No. Don’t mind me. Sometimes I have an overactive imagination, too.”
“It’s a recent development.”
“Does he know?”
I shook my head. “He has a girlfriend. They seemed to have split up, which got me hoping. But it looks like they’re back together.”
“People can change their minds.”
But I wanted Jerry to be happy, and if that meant Olivia Decker, who was I to get in the way?
She smiled. “Madeline, you’re going to have to spell it out for him.”
“Right now, the only word he can spell is f-r-i-e-n-d.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing.”
I didn’t want to discuss my problems. “So you and Hayden quarrel about children?”
“Not the way we blew up last night. It’s more like sad, wounded looks from him and defiant glares from me. I grew up with three brothers and two sisters. I love all this peace and quiet, and I want to keep it as long as I can. Hayden’s an only child. He wants to be a father. I can’t quite decide why, but I think it has something to do with his own father running off. Maybe he has to prove he’s a better man.”
“Would this make him see ghostly women and dinosaurs in the woods?”
“In a word: yes. You should read some of his poems. I think he’s channeling Edgar Allan Poe. Let me show you a sample.”
She went into the house. I gazed at the quiet sun-filled woods. One by one, I’d lost my best girlfriends to Motherhood. Candy Sims, whose darkly comic observations on life used to have me holding my sides with laughter, now spoke only in bizarre baby talk. No conversation was spared; I always had to hear what Nunaw and Poopah thought of their little Tinky Boo. Alison Farmore did nothing but recite what Taylor and Tyler, the world’s most gifted twin girls, had accomplished, while I wanted to scream, “Taylor and Tyler are boy’s names!” Even B.J. O’Hara, my college roommate, once an aspiring architect, could talk of nothing but the virtues of Powder Pink over Lullaby Blue for Madison’s nursery. Madison. Honestly. If I ever had a little girl, I’d name her something that sounded like a girl’s name, something pretty and feminine.
Not that I’d ever have a little girl.
Shana returned, carrying a slim blue book. “You look so serious.”
I grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
“This is Hayden’s first collection, Glass Plums. Don’t ask me what it means.”
I thumbed through the pages. “That’s okay. One of my girlfriends in college wrote strange poetry. We’d just read and nod and say, ‘That’s deep.’”
Hayden’s poems were dark but somehow intriguing. I found lots of references to loss and pain and shadowy figures. The title poem had nothing to do with glass or plums.
Your touch, cold with regret
Your longing glance slow as the last drop of rain dreaming its way down the glass.
I will destroy what harms you.
Hmm, kind of spooky. “Is he working on a second collection?”
“Yes. It takes him days to polish a single line, while I can easily write thousands of words a day when a story is rolling out.”
I handed her the book. “He’s a bit intense.”
She looked worried. “Madeline, I’m really concerned. There has to be an explanation for these things he’s seeing.”
“I might camp out in your woods.”
“Please do.”
“Who lives in the log cabin?”
“Oh, that belongs to the Laytons. They aren’t home. They spend their summers in the mountains.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost eleven. Care for some lunch?”
“No, thank you. I have plans.”
“Well, don’t worry about Jerry. He’ll figure it out.”
“Not now,” I said. “It’s too late. He and Olivia have kissed and made up.”
Shana smiled. “Take it from me, the expert in romance. It’s never too late.”
***
Jerry wasn’t stuck up the chimney or on the roof. He was sitting on the porch looking through the yellow pages. I didn’t see smoke or water running down the steps.
“What did you break?”
“I’m going to hire someone to help me,” he said. “I need time to concentrate on the spirit world.”
“That’s a good idea, the hiring part, I mean.”
I went upstairs, took a shower, and purposely put on the best black dress I had and my go-to-hell high heels. Jerry’s reaction wasn’t quite what I’d hoped.
“Is he flying you to New York?”
“I felt like dressing up.”
“You look ready for the Met.”
The Met. Our senior year, we’d taken a road trip to New York City to see an opera at the Met. It was some Spanish thing, probably Carmen. I’d spent most of the opera either asleep, or watching Jerry enjoy the show. It was one of my favorite memories.
I paused at the porch steps, hoping Jerry would say something else about my ensemble, but all he said was, “Have a good time.”
Ted Stacy’s reaction to my finery was more satisfying. “You look sensational, Madeline. Way too glorious for the Atlas Café.”
“I felt the need to be fancy today.”
“Dixley will never be the same.”
We took Ted’s black BMW to Dixley, Celosia’s arch rival. The Atlas Café was a shiny silver diner with a full parking lot.
Ted explained the café’s popularity. “Best salad bar in the county, and the best iced tea.”
I can do without the rabbit food, but there was plenty to choose from on the salad bar, including fried chicken, ham, and fish fillets. After we were seated and ordered drinks, we headed for the long buffet tables for load number one.
Ted grinned at my all-meat platter. “Next time, we’ll go to Big Sid’s House of Ribs.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
“Thought you women liked to watch the calories.”
“Not when there’s fried chicken on the menu.”
“Then you’ll be real happy with the desserts.”
The waitress brought two large glasses of iced tea to our table. Ted thanked her.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked.
“Kelly, meet Madeline Maclin. Madeline, Kelly Torrue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kelly said. “First time at the Atlas?”
“Yes. You have a great selection.”
“Special dessert today is fresh strawberry shortcake.”
My eyes must have gleamed because Ted said, “We’ll have two.”
Kelly made a check on her order pad. “Bring ’em when you’re done.”
The fried chicken was deliciously crispy; the ham tasted as if it had been cooked in honey. “Everything’s very good,” I said.
Ted’s plate was heaped with salad. “Glad you like it. Ho
w are things going at the house? Your friend’s decided to stay, I hear.”
“He gets these ideas.”
“Known him long?”
“We met at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.”
“Oh, yeah? I went to UNC Charlotte.” Ted shook a generous dusting of Parmesan cheese onto his salad. “His last name’s Fairweather, right? I thought all those folks went to Harvard or Yale.”
“I’m not sure why he chose the university.”
“What did you study?”
“History and English.”
“And what made you decide to be an investigator?”
“Because it feels like a real accomplishment, not a fantasy one. And it doesn’t involve a tiara.”
“But you had a pageant career?”
“As a child. But it wasn’t my idea of fun. And I entered Miss Parkland because I needed some money.”
“I hope you’ll talk to the Miss Celosia contestants about that. Young girls today need positive role models.”
“I have been talking to the contestants, Juliet Lovelace in particular.”
He grimaced. “Now, there’s a young lady who needs some direction. Her aunt doesn’t seem to care a bit what she does. It’s a real shame, because she’s a smart girl. She was the most talented intern I’ve had.”
Randi Peterson’s accusations about Juliet came to my mind. Ted certainly qualified as “good-looking.” “Did you have any problems with her? Personal problems, I mean?”
“I like to give people opportunities, but I’m afraid Juliet took advantage of the situation.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say it didn’t work out.” His smile returned. “But I don’t want to talk about Juliet.”
He was definitely uncomfortable discussing Juliet. “All right. Let’s talk about you. Are you from Celosia?”
“I grew up in Charlotte, and when I had enough of the big city, I moved here. My grandparents were from Celosia. My best memories are of playing in the fields and woods all summer.”
“Any family here?”
“I’m divorced.”
“I am, too.”
“Any kids?”
“No.”
“Me, either. Erica and I never got around to it. We were too busy fighting. Now I’m glad, because I wouldn’t have wanted to drag any children through all that. I’d still like to have children, though.”