by Jane Tesh
“Aren’t you busy with ‘Music Man’?”
“Kenna’s in charge of that, which leaves me free to do the pageant. It’s just what I needed, Madeline. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been a little depressed. Working on a new show has been a godsend.”
What could I say to that? “Oh, well, good, then.”
Evan went upstairs to his office. I pushed open the double doors leading to the auditorium and went inside. The actors were attempting the “Marian the Librarian” song and dance. Donna Sanchez, one of the former Miss Celosia Pageant contestants, played Marian. She sat in the front row while the dancers worked on a tricky part of their choreography. She moved her pocketbook so I could sit down in the seat next to hers.
“Hello, Madeline.”
“Hi, Donna. How’s it going?”
She was still smarting from the pageant’s cancellation. “Well, it’s not as good as Miss Celosia was going to be, but I guess it’s all right.”
“I’m sorry Juliet got herself murdered. That was so inconvenient for you.”
Donna missed the irony. “That’s all right. There’s a new pageant coming up.”
“I hope it doesn’t interfere with your debut as Marian.”
“I’ve worked everything out with Kenna and Evan.” She flipped back her hair. “I know I’ll win. There’s absolutely no competition.”
“No one else has entered?”
More totally good irony wasted. “Well, Karen Mitman’s mother made her, as usual. Then there’s Jeanie Swain, Destiny Ray, and a few others. None of them have a chance. They’ve never been in a pageant before.”
“There’s always beginner’s luck.”
She gave me a pitying look. “I don’t think so.”
Kenna called for Donna to come try her part of the dance. When Donna went up on stage, Kenna came out into the auditorium to watch the dance. She had on a short leopard print skirt and a black leotard. Large gold hoops hung from her ears. Her platinum blonde hair was decorated with pink-tipped spikes.
“Nice to see you, Madeline,” she said as the dancers twirled and skipped through the library set. “I want Jerry in my next production. See if you can talk him into it.”
At first, I heard only the “I want Jerry” of this sentence. Then I realized what she’d said. “I doubt he’ll need much persuading.”
“I think he’d be a natural on stage. We’re planning to do ‘How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’ next season. I think he’d make a perfect J. Pierpont Finch.”
I’d seen the movie. “The scheming guy who works his way up through the company by sneaky tricks?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, he could probably handle that. His singing voice is fair to medium, though.”
“We can work on that. I’d rather teach an actor to sing than try to get a singer to act.” She gave me a critical gaze. “What about you? I know you’ve had stage experience.”
“Enough for a lifetime.”
“You’d make a good Rosemary. Can you sing?”
“Not a bit.”
Kenna wasn’t discouraged. “Like I said, we can work on that.” The dance ended. She raised her voice. “All right, everyone. We’ll take a short break and run Act One.” She turned back to me. “And I understand you’re a painter?”
Jerry Fairweather, you are a dead man. “I used to paint a little.”
“Portraits?”
“Some.”
“Let me tell you what I have in mind. I’d love to have a portrait of children in various costumes for the lobby. Do you think you could do something like that?”
“I haven’t painted a portrait in a while.”
Jerry strolled over in time to add to the conversation. “She plays the violin, too.”
I couldn’t believe he was bringing this up. “Jerry.”
“Excuse me. I meant to say fiddle.”
Kenna looked impressed. “You should be in our orchestra.”
“I just know one song,” I said. For my pageant talent, I had learned “Orange Blossom Special,” a guaranteed crowd-pleaser, no matter how sloppily it’s played. Since most of the other contestants belted out Broadway tunes or hopped about in character ballets, my not so perfect version of the fiddle tune was often enough to win the talent competition.
“Well, please think about the portrait,” she said.
Two of the dancers came up to ask her about part of the dance, so she excused herself to demonstrate the move for the girls.
Jerry correctly interpreted the expression I leveled his way. “I think there’s trouble in River City.”
“You’d better believe it, bud. Why did you tell Kenna I was an artist?”
“That may have slipped out.”
“And then to bring up the violin?”
“Now what’s the harm in that?”
“I am definitely never sawing through ‘Orange Blossom Special’ again, and you know it. I pawned that fiddle years ago.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “But look me in the eye and tell me you’re giving up on your art.”
As much as I enjoy looking him in the eye, I couldn’t do it.
He slumped comfortably in the seat beside me and stretched his legs. I noticed the flamingo tie glowed faintly pink in the dim light of the auditorium. “Start out small, Mac. There are probably lots of people in town who’d like to have their portrait painted.”
I didn’t want to tell Jerry I wasn’t sure I could still paint portraits. “I don’t have the time.”
“In-between cases.”
“I don’t have any supplies.”
He sat up straight. “Mac. Quit making excuses. You can start with me if you’d like to get back in practice.”
I honestly felt my heart squeeze. I’d wanted to paint him forever, to see if I could capture his impish smile and the light in his clear gray eyes.
“You can’t sit still that long.”
“More excuses. I happen to know you can work from photographs.”
“Damn.”
He grinned. “You cannot escape your fate. What sort of brushes and stuff do you need?”
“I can buy my own.”
“And you can use the parlor.”
Ever since Jerry had mentioned turning the upstairs parlor into a studio, my imagination had been decorating the room. I’d have my easel by the window, my extra canvases stacked in that corner and rows of oils and acrylics arranged by color—
But another part of me cringed at the idea, the foolishly idealistic part that had been crushed by criticism and seared by my mother’s silent smirk that broadcast, “I told you so” louder than anything she’d ever spoken.
Jerry said, “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“I’ll think about it.” I’ll think about it. I’d been able to do nothing but think about it ever since he’d suggested using the parlor.
I could tell Jerry didn’t quite understand my reluctance. “It’s not like you have to put on a show,” he said.
“That’s never going to happen again.”
“So paint some portraits. Earn a little extra dough for Madeline Maclin Investigations.”
This time I did look him in the eye. “On one condition.”
“This is going to cost me, isn’t it?”
“You look for a real job.”
He slumped back again. “Oh, man.”
“Not feeling walls, or listening to spirits, or wandering around with a dowsing rod. A real job.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me. Okay. I’ll look.”
“You will look and you will find.”
“In other words, something dull and predictable.”
On stage, Kenna called for places. “Jerry, we’re going to try the dance again.”
He hopped up and went back to the piano. This time, the dancers were all on the right beat, and Kenna was pleased with the results.
“Much better. Do it once more, and we’ll call it a night.”
Other
cast members came out into the auditorium to watch. I recognized two of the older women, Agnes Forsythe and Billie Lee Danbury, the same two ladies who “didn’t know beans,” as Austin had so charmingly described them. Somewhere there’s an assembly line stamping out “Small Square Grannies.” Both women are short and squat with gray hair and glasses. They’re often in Georgia’s, flirting with Hayden. They looked through a box of large feathered hats the costume crew had left by the stage steps.
“This pink one will go with your costume,” Agnes told Billie Lee. “I think I’ll use the yellow one.”
Billie Lee tried on the pink hat. “What do you think?”
“That’s fine. What about this one on me?”
“I don’t know. It’s awfully big.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
Agnes looked around, saw me, and came over, trailing ribbons and artificial flowers. “Madeline, you know about these things. Doesn’t this hat suit me? I’m playing the mayor’s wife. I really should have the biggest hat.”
“I don’t know about hats of the nineteen hundreds, Agnes.”
“But surely your pageant experience includes costumes of all kinds.”
“I never wore a period costume, just fancy dresses. Ask Kenna.”
She took off the hat and turned it around in her hands as if measuring the hat’s circumference. “My hat really needs to be the biggest.”
“I’m sure it will be,” I said.
“Do you know the show? The mayor’s wife is actually a very large part.”
I honestly couldn’t remember the mayor’s wife. “I’ve seen the movie.”
“It’s not the same. The stage production has much more depth.” She glanced up to the dancers. “That’s coming along very well, isn’t it? This is going to be a great show.”
“Jerry’s enjoyed it so far.”
“Oh,” she said. “A word in your ear, Madeline.” She sat down beside me and lowered her voice. “All the young ladies have been flirting with him. I thought you might like to know.”
And all the old ladies, too, I’ll bet. “Thanks,” I said, “but that’s okay. He probably flirts right back.”
Agnes blinked a few times. “Your relationship must be very secure.”
“We’re good friends, that’s all.”
“Well, still, I’d look out for that Donna Sanchez if I were you. I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, but she is the closest thing to a tramp I’ve seen in this town.”
“Thank you, Agnes.”
Billie Lee came over to us, tying the ribbons of a blue hat. She twirled around to give us the full effect. “I like this one the best.”
Agnes sighed. “But your dress is pink! A blue hat would look ridiculous.”
“I’ll put some pink flowers on this one.”
“Billie Lee, there is a perfectly good pink hat for you to wear.”
Billie Lee ignored her. “Madeline, I’m glad you’re here because I have so many questions. How many extras will this movie need? I am so excited! My neighbor says she saw Lance Henderson’s car today at the Stop ‘N’ Shop. Is he as handsome as he is on TV?”
How to put this tactfully? “He’s a little older.”
“Well, that’s all right. So are we! Are all the actors staying with you, or just the big stars?”
“They’re all staying at the Wayfarer Motel,” I answered.
“Oh, did you hear that, Agnes? After rehearsal, let’s go over there and see if we can get Lance’s autograph.”
Agnes gave her a look. “Take that hat off first.”
Agnes and Billie Lee left, babbling excitedly about the possibility of seeing their idol. Kenna thanked the dancers and reminded everyone of the rehearsal schedule.
Jerry tucked his music book under his arm. “Okay, Mac, we can stop by the employment office on our way home and see what’s available.”
“It’s closed, and you know it.”
“Gee, that’s too bad.”
We said good night to Kenna and the dancers and walked up the aisle.
“If it’s any consolation, you were psychic the other day,” I told Jerry.
“Oh, yeah?”
“One of the boxes Kirby Willet left at Frannie Thomas’ house is full of money.”
“Mister Willet doesn’t trust banks?”
“Maybe Mister Willet robs banks. This was stacks of hundred dollar bills.”
“Counterfeit, maybe?”
“I brought a bill along to take to Warwick.”
“You’ll make his day. Mind if I tag along?”
I was pretty sure I could handle Milton Warwick alone, but I never turn down an opportunity to be with Jerry. “I think you’d make a good chaperone.”
“If you want me to see you spooning with Milton, think again. I have shopping to do.”
“Shopping?”
“I’m out of ectoplasm.”
“What about flying trumpets? Don’t you need a couple of those?”
His look was of mock scorn. “That’s so old fashioned. You watch me tonight. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
***
I’ve seen Jerry do dozens of séances. I’m always astounded that people take his otherworldly pronouncements seriously. Tonight, one of his regular customers, a thin, intense older woman named Flossie Mae Snyder, had brought along her round, jolly thirty-year old niece, Sylvie. They came into the parlor and took seats at the round table. Jerry dimmed the lights, sat down, and they all took hands. After a few minutes of humming and making odd noises, he went into his fake trance and told them everyone on the Other Side was well and happy.
“Ask about Uncle Henry,” Sylvie said.
“Uncle Henry says ‘Hello, Sylvie.’”
“Ask him if I’m going to marry Elbert Dooley.”
“He says ‘Elbert is a good boy.’”
I would’ve said, “You can do better,” but it wasn’t my séance.
Flossie Mae wanted to know if Aunt Marge and Aunt Marie had settled their differences and if there was any news about the gold watch. She’d been coming for several weeks, trying to find this important piece of jewelry. I was curious to see how Jerry was going to handle this problem.
“Marge and Marie are at peace,” he said in his far-away voice. “The watch is very faint. Yet I sense its presence. It will be found when it wants to be found.”
This answer satisfied Flossie Mae. She and Sylvie asked a few more questions. Then Jerry came out of his “trance.”
“How did it go?” he asked them. “Did Henry come through?”
“And Marge and Marie,” Flossie Mae said, smiling. “We’re very close to finding the watch. An excellent reading, Jerry, thank you.”
She paid for herself and Sylvie. They said they’d see him next week. He escorted them to the door. When they’d gone, he turned back to me. I was standing in the parlor doorway, my arms folded, shaking my head.
“What?” he said. “That was a very successful séance, thank you very much.”
“You have no idea where that watch is.”
“So? Neither do they.”
“How can you lead people on like that?”
“I’m not leading them on. I’m giving them hope. Didn’t you see how Sylvie’s face lit up when Uncle Henry told her to marry Elbert Dooley?”
“Sylvie would be happy to marry anybody. You’re such a fraud.”
“But I’m a very good fraud.”
Is there any chance of reforming him? I wondered. What am I thinking? I can’t even tell him how I feel, much less convince him to give up these ridiculous séances. “These pretend séances aren’t part of our bargain.”
“They’ll have to be for a while. You have to give me time to find another job.”
“A legal job.”
“A dull job. You’re asking a lot, Mac.”
“Finding a real job shouldn’t be difficult for someone who talks to the dead.”
He decided to go on the defense. “What about your studio? Have you set u
p shop yet?”
“I have to buy supplies, remember?”
“Great,” he said, triumph in his eyes. “You can do that tomorrow after your visit to Warwick.”
***
The next morning, we drove to Parkland. I dropped Jerry off at Transformation and Company, a magic shop in Commerce Circle Mall, and drove to Warwick’s studio.
Milton Warwick is a long thin man with a domed head and shiny eyes, a real life Mantis Man. He’s also quite good with the tiniest scraps of evidence. If I can tolerate his unhealthy fascination with me, I can usually get some helpful information.
He held the hundred dollar bill up to the light and turned it around in his thin fingers. “This is a very real bill, Madeline. Couldn’t be realer.”
“Thanks.”
He handed the bill back to me. “Bring me anything else today?”
“No. This is the only clue I have.”
“Please, have a seat. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
I had other stops to make, but thought it would be rude to rush off. I sat down in one of the white plastic chairs in what Warwick calls his waiting room. As far as I can tell, he lives and works within three small rooms, his lab, his bedroom, and this room, furnished in Early Dentist. He sat down across from me.
“How’s life in Celosia?”
“Getting more complicated by the minute.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, the Pageantoids are in town.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Your groupies.”
“Fortunately, they’ve found something to keep them busy. Another thing happening is a movie about the Mantis Man. Ever hear of him?”
“Just a silly story. I wouldn’t think there’d be enough material for a movie. You’re not in the movie, are you?”
“No, but Jerry’s house is.”
Warwick steepled his long fingers. “Ah, yes, the haunted house. Are you still living there?”
“Just until I can find an apartment.”
His eyes gleamed with hope. “How are things with you and Jerry?”
“About the same.”
“You’re wasting your time there, Madeline. You need to be with someone who appreciates you.”
I didn’t like the direction of this conversation. “I’m also investigating the disappearance of one of Celosia’s mysterious citizens, Kirby Willet.”