Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

  He put his arm around her waist, and he felt her shiver. When she turned to look at him, he lifted his hand to her cheek, then pulled it away to cover a manufactured cough. “Could he be someone you know?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “What about someone you’ve worked with?”

  “There’s only one other person besides my parents, and he wouldn’t swat a mosquito. Anyway, he’s not tall enough and I would have recognized him. I’ve searched everyone in my past employ, and no one fits the description, no familiar voice.” She bit her thumbnail. “No, this guy wouldn’t get anywhere near me without a definite purpose. And he’s the only one who knows what that is.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have it in for you, for any reason?”

  She shook her head. “No, Ernie, I can’t.”

  “What about when you were a kid? Any case make you an enemy?”

  “That was over twenty years ago. I honestly can’t remember. Do you think that could be the connection?”

  “There has to be one. These deaths aren’t coincidences.”

  “I’ll ask Galen. He remembers everything that ever happened in my career.”

  Lucier cocked his head in her direction.

  “Don’t say a word,” she warned. She turned around and froze.

  “What?”

  “I just had the strangest feeling, an almost otherworldly sensation of being watched.” She squinted. “Someone over there.”

  Lucier swiveled around. “Where?” He started toward the crowd that had gathered, half visible in the morning mist rising off the Mississippi.

  “No,” she called. “It must have been a shadow. But I could have sworn…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Found: Lost Gift Never Lost

  Diana had been spooked by the incident in the park early this morning. The sense of being watched was strong and would have continued to bother her if the headline on the front page of the morning’s newspaper didn’t bother her more.

  CHILD PSYCHIC GROWS UP. HELPS POLICE IN MURDER INVESTIGATION

  She debated tossing the paper in the trash, but gave in to curiosity and read the article. It pictured Diana reading an unknown subject the previous year during her New Orleans performance. The story, written by Jake Griffin, left out nothing, rehashing Diana’s childhood legend and what he termed “the resulting psychological trauma.”

  Where do these guys get this stuff? Resulting psychological trauma. Who ever said that?

  Other pictures splashing the page showed Diana at age six after the discovery of her first body and fourteen-year-old Diana debuting as a psychic performer. Griffin exhumed the persistent accusations of fraud and the blatant shamelessness of the family’s penchant for publicity.

  No matter what she did, the media slammed her. But more than any time in her career, she wished they’d leave her alone now. Sure, all the notoriety sold tickets, but people were dying, and she might be the catalyst. This time the situation was personal.

  * * * * *

  “You’ve arranged to do these readings, Diana. You can’t back out.” Galen paced the floor in Diana’s hotel room. “Your credibility would be shot if you cancel.”

  “I’m not sure I can go through with them, Galen. I’m afraid of what might happen.”

  Galen hesitated, wringing his hands in knots. “Um, I need to speak to you about that, baby.”

  Diana didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever. But she knew it was inevitable. “About what?”

  “The gift’s come back to you, hasn’t it?” Her father focused on her, waiting for her reaction. “How long have you known?”

  She put on her most innocent face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.” Galen, his wiry body usually in constant motion, stood statue still. “Last night, me and your mother discussed what’s been goin’ on. We went over the last twenty years, pickin’ out times when we questioned how you could’ve known what you did. You sloughed us off, so we figured you hired another source or did your own research. You knew things beyond what we was diggin’ up.” Not taking his eyes off her, he said, “I’m askin’ again. How long have you known?”

  Diana dreaded this day. How could she admit that the last twenty years had been a lie? But the time had come, and she wouldn’t lie now. “I never lost my gift, Galen. I tucked it away.” She drew a deep breath and held it for a long time before exhaling. “There, I’ve said it. I’ve confessed.” And the relief feels almost as good as absolution.

  Galen eased into a chair, looking like someone had pulled the plug and let out all his air. His face turned to stone and he spoke in a tone that tore at Diana’s heart.

  “How could you keep that from us, all the while lettin’ us believe a lie?”

  He looked so old. Why hadn’t she noticed before? His thin face had shrunk and turned gaunt, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. She never wanted to admit her parents were aging along with her—that they wouldn’t be around forever, but she’d resisted acknowledging the visible signs. Worse than old, her father looked betrayed.

  She moved to the arm of his chair and took his hand. “I couldn’t do it anymore. The pressure was tearing me apart. Dead bodies everywhere; people treating me like a freak.” Tears she’d held back for years flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t go on.”

  Her father pulled her onto his lap like he did when she was a little girl. “You should’a told me, baby.” He put her head on his shoulder and stroked her hair. “You know you’re the most important person in the world to me, along with your mother. I would’ve understood.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you. I figured if I said I lost the gift, you couldn’t be mad. Then, after you created the act, I thought everything would be all right, that you’d be proud of me again.”

  Galen pushed back from her and cupped her chin. “I’ve always been proud of you, sweetheart. No one could’ve been prouder. If you wanna stop this whole thing today, we’ll stop.”

  “I don’t. Not now, not today. Someone’s purposely pulling me into this, and I won’t stop until I find out why. Now that you know, I feel like a twenty-year-old guilt has been hauled off my shoulders.”

  “You know, at first I wasn’t sure what you said happened at the party really wasn’t for publicity.” A smile crept across his lips. “Downright brilliant, in fact. Something I’d’a done.” He squeezed her hand. “But that whole thing was for real, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was real.”

  “And that ain’t happened before, has it? Like the way it did?”

  “No, that’s the first time I touched a killer. The Hartwell woman was the first time I had a vision through a third party. That’s why this is psyching me out so much.”

  “And ’cause you kept this secret all these years, you didn’t want to tell me, but you told that cop.”

  “He’d guessed most of it anyway.” She waited for Galen’s reaction. A minute passed before he spoke.

  “Smart guy, huh?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You ain’t gettin’ interested in him, are ya?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t badger me. You know how I hate that.”

  “And you know how I feel ’bout―”

  “Stop. That might be a problem for you, but not for me. I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the subject. We’re leaving in a few days, but I like him, and I plan to spend time with him while we’re here, so get used to the idea.”

  Galen brushed her cheek. To Diana’s amazement, he kept his mouth shut.

  * * * * *

  Lucier sat at his desk trying hard to concentrate on the reports from the medical examiner’s office and forensic lab concerning Eleanor Hartwell. Unfortunately, all he could think of was Diana and how her tiny body felt in his arms. She’d been overcome with grief thinking that she had something to do with two murders. That did seem like a possibility. But why?

  He turned his attention back to the re
ports. Nothing unexpected. Death attributed to suffocation either during or right after sexual stimulation. Penetration but no semen. Powder residue from a popular latex condom available at any drug store. Nothing to indicate force and no defensive wounds, no skin under her nails or scratches on her body. Her alcohol level tested well above the legal limit.

  Cash came up empty at the bar. The bartender remembered the two women coming in together. Elizabeth sat at the bar the whole evening with a guy, but he lost track of Eleanor. When Eleanor left, she told Elizabeth she was leaving with a hunk, but he’d already scooted out the door. No one remembered him.

  Forensics found no trace evidence at the scene other than one dark blond hair on the woman’s clothes. No follicle, eliminating any chance of a DNA match. No clear prints on the railing or the bench to run through the database. Even before Lucier received the reports, he knew that Cyrano was too smart to leave an easy path to his identity. Lucier’s gut instinct told him that the two dead bodies were peripheral victims.

  The real target…was Diana Racine.

  Chapter Twelve

  Into the Dark Realm

  Diana arrived at Francine Marigny’s home with a plainclothes police escort, Detective B. D. Harris. Francine appeared in a turquoise silk pantsuit, more fitting for receiving royalty than a morning appointment with a psychic. Typical Francine, Diana thought as she made the introductions.

  “Make yourself at home, Detective,” Francine said, and ushered Harris into the solarium. He sank into the deep cushions of a flowery chintz-covered armchair and, with a wink to Diana, unfurled his newspaper.

  Diana, my dear, do come with me.” Francine crooked her finger and spoke as if she were about to impart a secret. “I was afraid you might not come, considering what’s happened the last few days. Isn’t it just awful? Those poor women. And my dearest friend Claire. I feel so sorry for her.” She flitted through the foyer talking nonstop, Diana struggling to keep pace.

  “Even as a young girl, Buffy was wild, but no one could have imagined she’d get involved with a murderer. My goodness, and to think you found her body. I don’t know why you don’t do that kind of thing with the police more often. You’re so good at it.”

  Somehow, Francine’s compliments seemed to have a reverse twist attached, leaving Diana to figure out their true meaning. “I wish there were no need for me at all under those circumstances, Francine.”

  “Of course, dear. How thoughtless of me. I hope you don’t get any bad vibes from me.”

  Each time Diana was in Francine Marigny’s company, she had to adjust to the woman’s shrill voice, shrugging off the involuntary shiver the sound generated. “If you prefer to cancel this morning, Francine, I’d understand.”

  “Don’t be silly. I should be saying that to you.” With no hint of giving Diana the option, she dashed ahead like a runway model, arms and shoulders in rhythmic motion. “But I’m sure you’d hate to miss this reading. After all, you get here only once a year, and I know you want to help me plan the year coming up.”

  Diana liked private sessions, though she never understood how a person could plan life according to a psychic. But they did, and her pocketbook thanked them.

  She followed Francine through the formal living room, noting the French antique décor. One of the Louis periods. They all looked overdone to her, but Madam Marigny fit the style perfectly.

  “I’ve made some of that rich coffee you like so much, dear. The coffee service is waiting for us in the study where it’s nice and quiet. Then you can tell me all about me.”

  On the first visit to the Marigny estate, Diana complimented her hostess on the strong chicory-flavored brew, even though she found the taste bitter. Since then, a silver pot sitting on a silver tray with a creamer and a sugar bowl waited on the sideboard, making her feel like a member of the queen’s court for an hour. Diana prepared her coffee in the tiny Limoges cup, grateful Francine didn’t offer mugs from which she’d have to suffer twice the amount. No matter, it was nice of Francine to remember.

  Putting their coffees on the round table, they took seats next to each other. Diana, as in the past, surveyed the book-lined study, absorbing its atmosphere, embracing whatever secrets the room offered. The residence reminded her of a gift-wrapped package that, when opened, contained nothing. Though filled with riches, Francine’s showplace lacked the warmth that made it a home. Diana had always found the ambiance sterile, as if a designer had bought and placed every item, without capturing the essence of the people living there.

  “Alain thinks I’m a foolish woman, but this is so exciting,” Francine confessed. “I wish I could talk him into sitting with you, let go his prejudices once to see what happens.”

  “Does he think my readings are all hogwash?”

  “I wouldn’t say hogwash, dear, and neither did he.” Francine looked up with an apologetic expression. “His language is much more…colorful. But that was before the other night. He was positively distraught over what happened. You know, when you passed out after touching that man, and then when you found the body. He couldn’t ignore that.”

  “Whether he’s a believer or not, he was kind to me after the incident. Tell him I’d be happy to give him a reading, for free, of course, after which he can tell me if he still thinks I’m bogus.”

  “Now, I never said he thought you were bogus. He’s a natural born skeptic, that’s all. Nothing personal.”

  Diana chuckled to herself, watching Francine trying to extricate her Jimmy Choo from the verbal quicksand, but said only, “I understand. Tell him if he’s interested to call me at my hotel and we’ll set up an appointment.”

  “How generous of you, my dear. I’ll tell him. I would love to see you prove him wrong.”

  Of course he thought it was hogwash, a euphemism for the more preferred word, but having dealt with many skeptics in her career, convincing someone like Alain Marigny could mean a whole new clientele. Diana reasoned that few took Francine seriously, but Alain—quite another story. He appeared the buffoon, but no one questioned his business acumen and financial success, even during the economic turndown. In the past, Diana received quick glimpses into the man, flashes of inner vibrations, and judged him a receptive subject.

  Before Francine’s reading, both women spent a moment relaxing and sipping their coffees while creating the conditions for one to transmit, the other to receive. Francine was the perfect client, responsive and trusting. Her interests scratched no deeper than the frivolous life of a society matron and any obstacles that might interfere with its pleasures.

  Francine placed her wedding ring in Diana’s palm, then covered it with her own. Unlike psychics who used tarot or mirrored objects―whatever worked―Diana found a metal object allowed her clients to release magnetic energy, which allowed her a peek into the owner’s mind.

  Diana often held back frightening or ominous sensations, especially the rare premonition of imminent death. Death was in everyone’s future, so why heighten a client’s fear of the inevitable? There were times, however, when her subject transmitted nothing at all. That’s when she relied on Jason’s research. No different from her performances, she rationalized. Sure, she was a fraud―except when she wasn’t.

  Diana sat with her eyes closed. She sensed trepidation in her subject, an uncharacteristic restraint. “You’re preoccupied with a trip you’re about to take with Alain. You’re concerned with making sure everything is organized, but you’re more concerned with whether or not he’s found out about your affair. You’re worried he may have.”

  Francine pulled her hand from Diana’s. The liberated ring rolled across the table before Diana clapped her hand on top. Francine sat upright, her eyes two blue saucers. “You must be mistaken; I haven’t had an affair.” She spoke in the haughty tones of a mistress to her servant.

  In spite of Francine’s denial, the vibes radiating from her had been too intense. “My impressions were very strong. Of course, if I’m wrong, we’d better stop now because either I’m n
ot receiving or you’re not open for this session.”

  Francine, who probably never allowed a ray of sunlight to caress her alabaster skin, appeared to lose even the color of her cosmetic blush. “How do you know this? Am I telling you?”

  “You’re sending me impressions, and I can’t help what they are. You wanted this reading, Francine. Do you want me to consult honestly?” Diana made no pretense of her exasperation. “I’m not the town crier. What transpires between us never travels beyond this room.”

  Appalled at the tone of her own voice, she realized the stressful events of the last few days caused her to snap at a client.

  Francine avoided Diana’s eyes and lifted the cup to her lips with a trembling hand. “I have been seeing someone. But the affair is over. And you’re right. I’ve tortured myself that Alain has found out.” She shifted in her seat and finally looked at Diana. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. You’ve never been so intrusive, except that one time. You know…the miscarriage.”

  After Diana unearthed certain things from Francine’s past in previous readings, she never considered holding anything back. “You should have told me some matters were out of bounds. I wouldn’t have gone there.”

  “No, no.” Francine jerked her head, liberating a strand of hair from a tortoise comb. “You told me what you saw. That’s what a reading is, isn’t it?” After a moment’s hesitation, she continued. “What else did you sense?”

  “That your fling was a mistake.” Knowing what she was about to say would hurt, she continued. “You retaliated because you knew Alain had been unfaithful.”

  Francine sniffed. “Nothing the whole of New Orleans doesn’t know. He’s been active for years, but this was my first time. I wanted to get back at him, but revenge isn’t as sweet as I imagined. I worried the whole time he’d find out. At first I thought that’s what I wanted, but it was cold comfort. I don’t want him to leave me.”