by S. G. Wong
“And that’s where you saw your dead client,” said Bednarski.
Lola winced inwardly, but she kept her voice calm. “The lights weren’t on then. I quite literally...stumbled across him.” For a moment, she felt the weight of him on her chest again. She took a long, deep breath, willing her gorge to stay down. She cleared her throat. “My guess is he was propped up, likely magically, and I broke the Spell when I...made contact.”
“No idea why he’d be here?” asked Marks. “He didn’t say anything about Mayor this afternoon, before he disappeared?”
Lola was relieved to be able to answer truthfully. “No.”
Bednarski and Marks exchanged a glance.
Mayor cleared his throat politely. “I’d like to speak with Miss Starke alone now please. Inspectors, my staff is prepared to answer your questions now.” Mayor stood.
Marks said, “Sir, we need to speak with Miss McCall privately now.”
“I’m staying with my daughter,” stated Grace.
“A few more minutes, Inspectors?” Mayor asked, as though it were an actual request.
Bednarski stood and placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. He nodded at Mayor then turned to Lola. “We’re your escort downtown. Don’t leave without us.” Marks grunted and marched out of the room, his spine ramrod straight. The larger cop followed. Lola watched his rumpled back until he closed the door softly without a backward glance.
Mayor started pacing. “As you’ve noticed, my Conjurers are less than pleased with your presence. I had to vouch for your integrity.” The Spell Casters remained motionless behind the chair Mayor had vacated. Their eyes, however, tracked left to right, left to right, just over Lola’s line of sight. She guessed Aubrey was pacing. “There’s a reason I don’t normally allow other Ghosts near me. At least, Ghosts who aren’t already Haunting my Conjurers. It’s common knowledge that my Death Moon lands on the night of the new moon in April. What’s not well-known, and by design, I might add, is that I must Ward especially on this night every year. It’s a special Warding against Spells that involve other Ghosts. I won’t get into the details. They’re unimportant to you, I’m sure.”
“St. John made sure to ask if I’d stayed down here. Were you Warding upstairs?” asked Lola.
Mayor nodded. “My Conjurers prefer to ask questions later, if you understand me. It would not have gone well for Aubrey to find you near me during the ceremony.”
“You’d completed the ceremony?” asked Lola. Mayor nodded. “Nothing unusual occurred?” she pressed.
“Everything went according to ritual, as always. Didn’t it, Grace?”
Lola’s mother shifted. “Yes, I didn’t think it was different from any other time.”
“Arbogast had to have been there,” said Aubrey.
“We would have sensed him,” said Mayor.
“Maybe you didn’t,” countered Aubrey.
“You sound terribly certain,” replied Mayor.
“The disturbance I sensed in the library. Its trail led me to Arbogast. When you first came into the ballroom, I sensed the same thing. You were ten feet away and I felt it. I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Neither I nor my Conjurers seem to have your sensitivity,” replied Mayor. A hint of a sneer flitted across his narrow, handsome features.
“What did Aubrey say?” Grace asked Lola.
Lola ignored her mother, keeping her attention on Mayor. “Are you certain you didn’t feel anything strange happen?”
“I believe I’ve already answered that question, Lola,” replied Mayor.
“Fine.” She glanced at the Conjurers. They stood like statues, only their eyes keeping pace with Aubrey’s pacing. Mayor’s assertion seemed not to make any impression on them. A thought occurred to Lola then, as she considered Mayor’s bodyguards. “Why are you so concerned about other Ghosts?” she asked suddenly.
The Conjurers shifted. Mayor stopped pacing. He looked from Grace to Lola. He settled on the latter. “It’s not the Ghost. It’s what someone with the right power can do with the Ghost.” He cocked his head to the left. “Obviously, you don’t have that sort of power. It’s the only reason you and your Ghost are allowed to be here.”
“Do you mean a Dispersal Spell, using another Ghost’s essence?” asked Aubrey slowly.
Lola felt uneasy at the horror in Aubrey’s voice. “I’m no Spell Caster,” she said. “Neither was Arbogast, who wasn’t Haunted. Josephson had a Ghost but she was an addict, like her Host. No one we spoke to ever even hinted that Lucille was able to Cast.” She cocked her head at Mayor and his Conjurers. “I’d wager you have your own list of enemies, ones capable of that kind of Spell.”
“Of course.”
Lola considered for a moment. “Is AJ Copenhagen on that list?”
“I’m not familiar with that name,” replied Mayor. He looked to his bodyguards. The Conjurers shared a glance. The shortest one, a woman, looked at Mayor and shook her head.
“She’s Assistant Deputy Commissioner of Gaming,” explained Lola.
“And why do you consider her a possibility?”
“I don’t know if I do,” replied Lola. “She—”
A knock sounded on the door. Bednarski stood, a pad of paper and a capped pen in hand. “Excuse me, sir, it’s time to take Miss Starke downtown.”
Mayor stared at the detective a few moments in silence. Bednarski met his scrutiny with weary calm. Finally, Mayor smiled slightly. “I’m sure Miss Starke is anxious to give her statement. I can, of course, vouch for her presence here. I’m sure you’ve checked with my gate security.” The big man nodded. “Please report to me tomorrow morning, Detective Inspector. I expect to be updated on your progress.”
“Yes, sir. Miss Starke?”
Mayor held up a hand. He turned back to Lola. “You as well, Lola. Tomorrow. I believe you have more to tell about this Assistant Deputy Commissioner. For tonight, however, I feel confident my security can do its job.”
Lola stood. “I’ll be in touch, Mayor.”
“Darling, wait,” said Grace. “We need to talk.”
“It can wait, Mother. It’ll have to.” Lola stopped long enough to give her mother a sombre face. “Locke can’t save you from their questions, you know.”
“I don’t need him to. I’ve nothing to hide and I don’t have anything to do with this horrid business.” Her mother’s face was tight, her dark blue eyes ringed with fatigue.
“You should go home as soon as possible. I’ll find you when they’re done with me.” Lola turned away.
“You could do worse than comfort your mother,” said Aubrey quietly.
Lola pressed her lips together and walked out of the room.
* * *
When they turned her loose outside the station house, Lola wanted nothing more than a few hours’ sleep. Her eyes were blurry with fatigue and her teeth felt covered in fuzz. She allowed herself to slump once she climbed into her car, but she knew it would be another hour before she would find her own bed. Lola drove, shifting in her seat restlessly, unable to settle. There were plenty of vehicles on the roads even at this time of night. It was a point of pride that the City was open for business and pleasure at all hours. Lola let her mind drift as she drove westward and upward.
There were few homes high up on the Northern Cliffs. Chinese thought it bad luck to build atop such a precarious perch as a wall of stone sitting atop a beach of sand. European transplants, however, were an entirely different story. Nevertheless, the homes up here didn’t even try to compete with those in North Hills. That would have been sheer foolishness as well as arrogance. The few builders in the City willing to construct homes on a cliff were bold, not stupid. There was only so much one could do against erosion.
Lola drove through a simple barred gate. The driveway was modest, perhap
s fifteen feet in length. It curved in front of a two-car garage and joined itself, forming a loop. Lola parked just past the garage, facing back down the driveway to the gate. She hauled herself out and stretched the kinks out of her neck. She hid a yawn behind her hand.
The house itself was typical of the homes on the Northern Cliffs: white painted adobe walls and red terracotta tiles on the roof. A main set of double doors, with the traditional Chinese circular handles of iron, faced Lola dead on. She walked past them and made for the covered path to the right of the house. She could hear the rhythmic shush of waves from the ocean below. Lola followed the flagstones around to the back of the house. As she walked, with the wall of the house to her left, she looked through the graceful arches to her right. An expanse of lawn, dotted with flowering pots and small trees, led to an outdoor swimming pool, covered now. A small building, just big enough for two changing stalls, sat dark.
Lola rounded the corner of the house and there it was, the ocean at night, with nothing in her way but clear sky. The moon wasn’t making an appearance tonight, she knew, so she barely spared a glance at the dark waves spreading to the edge of the world. Lola had an obligation and she was dead set on fulfilling it.
She stopped short, suddenly realizing that there was a closed door in front of her. Shaking her head, she raised a hand to knock.
Grace opened the door herself. She had a deep blue silk dressing gown, its collar a profusion of pale cream ruffles, wrapped tightly around her slender body. The house behind her was quiet. Grace stepped aside and Lola entered the kitchen. A pot of coffee was still percolating on the stovetop. It filled the room with its rich aroma. Lola dragged herself up onto a stool at the counter. Grace sat lightly on the stool beside her. The women were silent as they waited for the coffee to brew. Grace poured out a mug and added a splash of whiskey. She placed it in front of Lola. After a moment, Lola took it and drank gratefully, welcoming the scalding heat. Grace’s eyes were hooded, wary, as she watched her daughter. Lola imagined her own gaze was much the same.
She savoured her coffee and thought about closing her eyes. Instead, she told her mother, “I gave my statement. I’m sure they’ll be checking it out.”
Grace nodded. “Do they believe you? About that poor man?”
“Hard to tell. But they can’t prove that I did something I didn’t do.” Lola sipped at the steaming coffee. “They know I’m no Spell Caster, and Arbogast was certainly killed by a Spell.”
The silence stretched out for so long that Lola was almost asleep when Grace spoke. “Things are different now. Between us. With Matteo. He needs me to be there for this ceremony and I go. Not just for me, but for all of us. In the City. It’s the only regular contact I have with him anymore.” She sighed. “Matteo is gone. He’s only Mayor, now.”
“And your film premiere? Last week?”
Grace shook her dark hair. “I hadn’t asked him. He called me and asked to accompany me. I don’t want to see our ancient history in the papers any more than you do.” She sighed, reached for a jewel-encrusted cigarette case. She picked out a long cigarette and snapped the case closed. “I suppose Penny put him up to it. She was the best manager in the business.” She fitted the cigarette into a lacquered holder and used a squat, leather-cased lighter.
“What did he have you do?” asked Lola.
“You mean the ceremony?” Grace pushed the lighter around on the countertop, aimlessly making circles with it. “I stand in a certain place and shiver when it’s cold, perspire when it’s hot. I don’t say anything, don’t do a special dance. I don’t even have to be conscious, for all I know. It’s all very arcane and hair-raising—I mean that literally. All I do is supply my physical presence.” She pulled over a cut crystal ashtray.
“Because you were there the first time, when he turned.”
Grace nodded. Lola thought for a moment, then said, “Do you know what goes on?”
“It’s just as he said.” Grace shivered. “That’s why I was so concerned that you’d brought Aubrey to the house. On the very night of the ceremony.” She paused. “He didn’t say it, but before this Warding, I mean, this annual one, he’s at his most vulnerable.”
“Because it’s the month of his death,” supplied Aubrey. Lola nodded absently.
“They don’t explain anything of the ceremony to you?”
Grace shook her head. “And I’m not sensitive. Except for the hairs standing up, I wouldn’t know when it was over. His Conjurers are even more close-mouthed than he is.”
“He seemed mouthy enough to me,” said Lola.
Grace’s laugh seemed just as surprising to her as it did to Lola. “He’s fond of you, I think.”
“Does he talk to you? Confide in you?”
“No, we’re barely friends anymore.” Her sentence ended abruptly. A look of surprise sat awkwardly on her face.
“You got enough friendship out of him years ago.” The words came out unbidden, sounding tired and worn even to Lola.
“Please, just stop.” Grace wrung her hands; her knuckles were white and tendons stood out in sharp relief. She managed to avoid the burning cigarette tip even as she swiped at her tears wearily. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know what I know,” said Lola.
“And that’s not nearly enough for you to judge me,” Grace replied. Her challenging tone belied the hollow exhaustion of her face. She was getting worn down, slowly and surely. Lola turned her face away and looked down at her mug of doctored coffee.
“Anything else you can tell me about this arcane ceremony?” she asked.
“I’ve said all I know.” Grace took another drag of her cigarette. “You’ll have to get your answers from him.” She began to rub at the edge of the crystal ashtray.
Lola drained her toddy. “Good night, then, Mother. It’s been a long day. Get some rest.” She stood.
Grace hurriedly laid down her cigarette and holder on the edge of the ashtray. “Lola, darling, you can stay here. Your room’s always ready.” Grace came over to stand in front of Lola, her hands on her daughter’s arms. Lola was the taller of the two. As she looked at her mother, she thought she glimpsed grey in the roots of her hair. It distracted her from the expression on her mother’s face.
“I sleep better in my own bed.” She extricated herself delicately. “You need sleep, Mother. Good night.”
Lola walked with purpose to the back door, closing her ears to everything but her own quickening steps.
Chapter Twenty-One
When it came time, Lola got up and went through the motions of a normal morning. She poured hot coffee down her throat and glanced at the liquor cabinet. She mechanically dressed in the outfit Elaine laid out: wide-legged pants in buff, tailored tweed jacket with waist belt, cream blouse, hunter green neck scarf. She pulled her hair back into a tight twist and decided against a hat. She ate her breakfast without tasting it, considered a bottle of scotch for a few moments but picked up the telephone instead. The appointment was made for mid-afternoon. Lola lit a cigarette when the call was done, and sat for some minutes, thinking over her options. The telephone rang.
“Lola, good morning. I’m glad I caught you,” said Betta rapidly. “Listen,” she continued after Lola had exchanged greetings, “A friend of mine just rang me back last night. She’s been out of town, just received my message. She was at the Temple, same time as your friend.”
“What’ve you got?” asked Lola, her heart racing at the idea of a new lead.
“I’m with patients all morning. Come by at lunchtime and I can talk at leisure.”
They made arrangements for a lunch meeting and rang off. Lola smoked some more, made another telephone call and another meeting time. When she set the receiver on its hook, she had a rare sense of satisfaction. She caught her reflection in her bedroom vanity mirror and pulled up short. In
stead of her own overly pale face and dark-ringed eyes, she saw the final expression on Arbogast’s face, the mouth gaping and eyes wide with shock. Lola closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Are you all right?’ asked Aubrey.
Lola hung her head, unwilling to speak. Finally, she heaved a breath, pushed herself up from the chair, and moved around the room. She stowed two knives and her gat, made sure she had cigarettes in her case, and walked out into the living room. She told Elaine, “I’ll be out all day.”
Elaine nodded solemnly. Lola grabbed her keys from the porcelain bowl sitting on the little table next to the door. She was in the elevator and down to the cars in a matter of minutes.
“Where to?” Aubrey asked.
Lola gritted her teeth against the nausea in her gut. She got into her beat up Buick, jammed it into gear. She forced herself to answer. “I promised an update.” She waited for the onslaught of questions, but Aubrey was silent. Lola drove grimly southward. It was barely ten o’clock.
She found Jed Wing in his backyard this time, trimming his clematis vines. She knocked on his gate and the older man startled. He whirled around. Lola raised a hand in greeting and placation. Wing closed his eyes for a second, then motioned for her to enter his yard. He seemed rooted to the spot, a pair of shears in his bare hand, while she approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Wing,” Lola began.
But Wing didn’t have the patience for niceties, it seemed. “What’s happened? Did you find Bodewell?”
Lola stopped a few feet in front of the man. She didn’t know how to soften it. She said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wing. Mr. Arbogast is dead.” She tensed, ready to catch the poor man if he needed it.
Wing stood, appearing motionless, his eyes riveted to her face. Lola felt her gorge rising once again, but she kept a tight rein on her expression. She watched Wing’s face fill with fear. He said, “How? Did he...was it...suicide?”