Occult and Battery

by Lena Gregory

  Stephanie smiled. “Good luck.”

  When they reached the large round table with the number one on a card in the center, Cass chose the seat that afforded her the best view of the room and hung her bag over the back of the chair. “Who else is sitting with us?”

  “I’m not sure. I only looked for our names on the way in.” Bee extracted the microphone from the case and tested it. He didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood. “Here. Slip this on.” He handed her the small box attached to a belt.

  Cass pulled off her sweater. Clad in only her leggings and camisole, she wound the belt around her waist, fixing the pack at the small of her back, and secured the Velcro to hold it in place.

  Bee plugged a wire into the top of the battery pack, then wove it up beneath the back of her shirt and handed her the small microphone. “Make sure it’s comfortable.”

  Though she’d used the microphone before to speak at Bee’s fashion shows, this was the first time she’d used one for a reading. “You’ll make sure it’s not too loud, right?” When she did readings at Mystical Musings, she didn’t need the microphone.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, dear. It’ll be perfect.”

  While Bee fiddled with another box on the table, Cass pulled the microphone wire up over her ear and pressed it to her cheek a couple of inches from her mouth.

  “Hold it right there, hon.” Preoccupied with his preparations, Bee didn’t look up.

  Anxious to get started, Cass began to fidget, rolling her right ankle over, then her left, rocking back and forth. If she wasn’t staring through the open doorway when Priscilla Wellington entered, she might have missed the furtive glance over her shoulder as she folded a piece of yellow paper in half and shoved it into her pants pocket.

  “I’m almost done.” Bee tore off a small piece of clear tape and secured the microphone. He stepped back then ran his fingers through her hair, fluffing it to cover much of the wire and tape. “There. Perfect.”

  Priscilla glanced up and met Cass’s gaze. Plastering a smile on her face, she started across the room.

  “Thanks, Bee.” She left him to gather his things from the table and stuff them into his briefcase, while she started forward to intercept Priscilla. If she could get her alone for a minute, she could ask about having the séance Friday.

  “Priscilla. There you are.” Jim Wellington strode through the far door and headed straight to his sister. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” The statement sounded an awful lot like a reprimand as he gripped her arms and kissed her cheek.

  Priscilla’s gaze locked onto Jim’s. “I . . . um . . . had a f-f-few things to d-d-do.”

  Cass stopped short. And, with any luck at all, maybe she’d find out why the powerhouse of a woman was acting so weird. Priscilla Wellington stuttering? Something was definitely up.

  Jim stared at her another moment, some sort of silent communication passing between them, then squeezed her arms and released her.

  Cass offered what she hoped was a warm smile and extended her hand. “It’s good to see both of you. I’m so sorry to hear about Joan.”

  Priscilla gripped her hand but glanced at Jim before she spoke. “Thank you.”

  Jim took Cass’s hand in both of his. “It’s good to see you again. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to make tonight’s reading, but with Conrad and Joan unable to leave the island yet, we felt it only right to stay with them.” He released her and stepped back. “I’m only sorry Priscilla won’t be able to enjoy it more. She does so love anything to do with ghosts.”

  A visible shiver ran through Priscilla, and she dropped her gaze to her entwined hands.

  Cass jumped at the opening. “Speaking of ghosts, I was wondering if you’d allow me to complete the séance for the guests who’ve already bought tickets.”

  The siblings silently conferred before Jim shrugged and Priscilla turned to Cass. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  “Would Friday work?”

  Priscilla’s eyes widened and her hand fluttered to her chest.

  Uh-oh. Too forward?

  Jim’s eyes narrowed, his gaze firmly locked on his sister. “At the bed-and-breakfast?”

  “As long as the police will allow us in, I’d like to pick up where I left off.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Cass quickly scanned the room in search of Bee, but he was nowhere to be found. She needed a distraction to take Jim’s attention so she could get Priscilla alone and see if everything was all right.

  Priscilla lifted a shaky hand and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “If you’d like, I can give you a private reading as well, Priscilla. Either tonight or Friday.” Cass held her breath, hoping she’d accept the offer.

  “That’d be very nice. Thank you. Perhaps Friday.” She offered an apologetic look. “I have a bit of a headache tonight.”

  Dang. “Friday it is then.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to a few things before we start.” Priscilla turned and left without acknowledging her brother, who stared after her.

  Once she had hurried through the ballroom doors, Jim turned a charming smile on Cass. “I apologize for my sister. This has all been quite hard on her. She and Joan were rather close.”

  That’s not what I heard. Cass bit the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out the rumors she’d heard about all of them fighting like cats and dogs. “Of course, I understand.”

  “I’ll also apologize in advance in case we can’t make it Friday. It will depend on if the medical examiner releases Conrad and Joan. Once they’re released, we’ll have arrangements to attend to.”

  Okay. How tacky would it be to ask how they died? She searched for a discreet way to inquire. “Have they figured out what happened yet?” Duh. They were killed, obviously. Ugh . . . Discreet was not one of her strong suits.

  Jim didn’t seem to notice. His gaze ran over her, searching her eyes, capturing her gaze.

  A tingle fluttered in her stomach.

  “I know the timing is a bit off, with everything going on, but I don’t want to lose the opportunity. If I’m still here Friday, maybe you’d like to go to dinner with me afterward?” He took her hand, running his thumb over her palm.

  Oh boy. Should she accept? An image of Luke popped unbidden into her mind. His dark, shaggy hair and those deep blue eyes. Though she hadn’t seen him in a while, she kind of wanted to see where it was going.

  Where what’s going?

  She ignored the voice of reason. Of course, she might be able to get some information from Jim if she could get him alone.

  She was saved from answering when Bee pushed open the doors and entered with Stephanie and Priscilla.

  Cass jumped back, pulling her hand from the warmth of Jim’s.

  Propping the door open, Bee gestured to someone in the lobby.

  Donald nodded to Bee on his way through the doors, Sylvia clinging to his arm. Figures they’d be the first to show up.

  Ignoring them, Cass returned to her table. She lifted her bag from the chair and slung it over her shoulder, more for something to do than any great need. She’d find the ladies’ room and fix her hair and makeup. With any luck, the ballroom would be full by the time she returned and she could avoid her exes altogether.

  17

  Cass pulled a couple of tissues from the dispenser on the counter. While the Bay Side Hotel didn’t boast the most luxurious bathrooms in town, they certainly had one of the cleanest. She ran the water and wet the tissue a little then used it to wipe the eyeliner that was smudged beneath her eyes.

  She separated her blond curls, leaving some in front of her shoulder to cover part of the microphone wire. Then she smoothed lipstick over her lips. She surveyed the finished product in the mirror. Still clad in her leggings and camisole, Cass shivered. She’d left her sweater back at the table. Oh well.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to chase away the goose bumps. No easy task when most of the chill came from within.

  Cass turned away from the mirror and headed for the door. Time to get this show on the road. She pushed through the doorway and almost ran right over Donald, who was waiting in the hallway on the other side.

  He lifted both hands as if to catch her, but she jumped back before he could make contact.

  “Look, Cass.” Donald scratched his head, a sure sign he was nervous.

  Good.

  He cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

  She lifted a brow, shooting for her best you have got to be kidding me look. “Where’s your sidekick?” Yikes, had she really said that out loud? She clenched her fists to keep from slapping a hand over her big, fat mouth and stalked past him toward the open ballroom door.

  “Please, Cass.” He kept pace at her side. “You have to listen to me.”

  “Fine.” No way was she going to be alone with Donald. “If you want to talk to me, you can talk to me in the ballroom. I have to get ready.”

  He grabbed her arm.

  Startled, she froze.

  He whispered urgently, “I have to talk to you alone, Cass.”

  She shot a glare at his hand on her arm then lifted her gaze back to his.

  Apparently, he got the hint, because he dropped her arm and stepped back, holding his hands up in an I surrender gesture. “Please.”

  She’d always had a hard time saying no to Donald, and if he’d have used his charming routine, she’d have left him standing there for sure. As it was, the usually smooth Donald was looking a bit disheveled. His hair stuck up in spots, as if he’d run his hand through it a hundred times—which he only did when he was nervous—a gesture he repeated as he stood there, hammering her suspicions home. “Look, Donald, I have things to do. I will give you two minutes while we walk.”

  “Come on, Cass,” he whined.

  “Take it.” She started down the hallway toward the ballroom. “It’s that or nothing.”

  He growled but hurried after her. When he reached her side, he pitched his voice low. “You have to do something.”

  “Do something about what?”

  He glanced around the empty hallway. “I think the police suspect I had something to do with Conrad’s death.”

  She slowed, stunned by his admission and unsure of what to say. She’d suspected as much herself, but hearing it said out loud sent chills racing up her spine. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Listen. Please.”

  “Talk fast, Donald.” She stopped walking and looked around, his paranoia contagious. “What is it you want from me?”

  He blew out a breath. “An alibi.”

  “What?!”

  He slapped a hand over her mouth, his other hand gripping the back of her head, and leaned close, whispering urgently in her ear. “After the séance, Sylvia and I had a fight. She stormed off, and I went to my room alone. I was still alone when the screaming started. I ran out and Sylvia was already in the hallway.” He lowered his hand but didn’t step back. Sweat poured down the sides of his face. The urgency dropped off, his next words filled with defeat. “Then, when Joan was murdered, I was alone again.”

  Cass’s head spun. Donald had no alibi for the time in question? She’d assumed he and Sylvia were together. Of course, she’d also assumed there were two killers. Or one killer and one person who helped clean up afterward. She couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  Donald’s hot breath washed over her. Claustrophobia threatened. He was too close, crowding her. She needed room to think. Splaying a hand on his chest, she shoved him back.

  “So what did you tell the police when they questioned you?”

  He raked a hand through his messy hair again. “I said I was alone.” His eyes lit up. “But I could change it. If you tell them I was with you, I can just say I was trying to respect your privacy.”

  “Respect?” Anger surged like a slap in the face, wiping out some of the shock. “Since when do you have any respect for me? Leave me alone, Donald. I have things to do.” Holding her breath, afraid he might grab her, she pushed past him and hurried into the ballroom.

  Cass stopped in the doorway, trying to collect her thoughts, and surveyed the room. Although a few more guests had arrived, the room was still fairly empty. Most of the guests must still be hanging around the lobby. With any luck, they were buying something.

  The Dobbs’ had arrived and were seated at a table in the center of the room, heads bent together in some kind of deep discussion.

  Two women she didn’t recognize stood beside a table. One of them held up a small pouch and emptied stones into her palm. Yes. At least someone had bought something.

  Her gaze fell on Jim, who stood with his back to her, facing Sylvia.

  Sylvia smiled, fluttering her lashes and lowering her gaze. When she next spoke, she peered up from beneath her lashes—the same flirtatious gaze she used to aim at Donald.

  Was she on the hunt, or was there something going on between her and Jim Wellington? That could explain some of the jewelry and furs Donald probably couldn’t afford. There was no way Sylvia could have paid for the full-length fur coat she now wore on her receptionist’s salary.

  Sylvia laughed and laid her fingers on Jim’s arm in that touchy-feely way she’d always had with men.

  Cass thought back to the night they’d found Conrad. Sylvia had been glued to Donald’s arm, wearing a barely there negligee. Had she been with someone else? Jim? Conrad? Maybe Donald had killed Conrad because he found out Sylvia was having an affair with the billionaire. But why kill Joan? Did she figure out he was the killer?

  Cass pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. Time to shake things up a bit.

  Cass put her sweater back on before she took her seat. She lifted her glass with a shaky hand, splashing water onto the blue tablecloth, then put it down without drinking. She had to collect herself if she was going to pull off this reading.

  Guests began to filter in, some stopping to chat, others going straight to their tables. Dinner would be served after the reading, but may of the guests carried drinks from the bar in the lobby.

  Bee pulled out his chair and sat. “Are you all right? You seem a little pale.” He took her bag from the back of the chair and riffled through it.

  “I have a problem.”

  “Oh?” Opening her makeup bag, he removed the blush. “Come here.” He lifted her chin and examined her face. “What’s the problem?” After brushing a little blush on each cheek, he sat back to study his work. “There. So, what’s the problem?” He stuffed everything back in her bag and hung it on the back of the chair.

  Unable to wrap her mind around Donald’s request, Cass turned her mind to the reading. Readings were lighter than séances, and more fun. The mood was dramatically different from the more somber atmosphere she created for a séance. But her nerves were strung taut. How was she going to pull this off?

  “Are you going to share what the problem is, or do I have to sit here worrying all night?”

  “I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

  “I’ll say.” He peered at her expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took a big gulp of water.

  Sighing, she relented. “Donald asked me to give him an alibi for the time when Conrad was murdered.”

  Bee choked and dropped his glass.

  Jumping up to avoid the spill, Cass moved behind Bee. She patted his back a few times until he held his hand up to stop her.

  Heaving in a deep, shaky breath, Bee tried to talk. It came out as more of a wheeze.

  “Are you all right?”

  He glared at her.

  “Oh fine, maybe my timing could have been a little better.”

  “You.” Wheeze. “Thin
k?”

  Laughter bubbled out. Cass couldn’t help it. This entire situation was ridiculous. “I’m sorry, Bee. Are you really all right?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Tell me.”

  Looking around to be sure no one was paying attention to them, she launched into a quiet tirade. “Can you believe that guy? Sylvia wasn’t with him when Conrad was killed, and he wants me to say I was.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  Bee frowned an instant before one eyebrow shot up beneath his bleached blond bangs. “Then who was enjoying the lingerie she was sporting in the hallway, while freezing her bahungas off, I might add?”

  Bahungas? “How do you know she was freezing?”

  “Oh, puh-leeeease, honey, that garment left nothing to the imagination.”

  Leave it to Bee to go right for the gossip angle. Never mind where Donald was or what he was doing. Who Sylvia was doing topped his list of interests. Actually, Cass couldn’t help but wonder the same thing, and her mind jumped right to Conrad Wellington.

  Had she been in the cupola with Conrad? It would make sense, since Conrad was found without a shirt. Maybe Donald went up and found them together and killed Conrad. Logically, that situation worked. Then Sylvia could have helped him try to cover up the murder with a lame attempt to disguise it as a suicide. The perfect scenario. Motive. Opportunity. So why didn’t it sit right in her gut?

  Cass grabbed a couple of white linen napkins from the table and helped Bee mop up the water he’d spilled.

  “You did tell him no, right?” Bee glared across the room at Donald, who now sat beside Sylvia at a small table in the farthest corner of the room.

  She’d have to remember to thank Stephanie for the seating arrangement.

  Cass caught her lower lip between her teeth, knowing she was about to earn Bee’s wrath. “Not exactly.”

  “Well, now you can just march yourself right over there and exactly tell him no.” He shooed her toward Donald’s table.

  “It’s not like I said yes. I didn’t answer him.”

  Bee rolled his eyes.

  “First, I’d like to thank all of you for coming.” Stephanie’s voice filled the room, saving Cass from any further discussion about Donald.