by Anne McAneny
I swallowed. He stroked my throat with his thumb.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” I said. Apprehension overtook my entangled feelings from earlier. My breathing grew erratic, and with a force that burrowed up from deep inside me, I forced his hand from my throat, breaking the spell. “No,” I said. “Whatever this is, I’m not ready for it.”
“You will be,” he said. “I promise. You’ve waited as long as anyone.”
I remembered his story about the amulet—a conduit from another world. Had he cast some sort of spell on me? Drugged my wine? I wanted to stand, to confront him, but weakness overwhelmed me. I became the white parts of a blue circle—not really there, not seen by anyone, lost in a mirage. And then an idea struck me. The answer had to be above. I needed to look again, to see not what my mind had filled in, but what was really there.
I lay back down on the floor, staring upward. He watched, sitting up, unmoving. I gazed at the images, felt myself swirling in the brushstrokes of the paint, the taunting edges of the subjects’ robes. I felt the glistening points of their weapons, tasted the coldness of the metal. A dismal gloom surrounded me, and suddenly, I spotted something disturbing in the image, something anachronistic and haunting, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Binoculars,” I whispered. “I need binoculars.”
He reached for them.
The doorbell rang.
We both froze, pulled from the surrealism of the past few minutes, and we looked at each other accusingly, as if each had plotted for the doorbell to ring at precisely that moment.
It sounded again. I sat up and shook my head to indicate that I had no idea who it was. Rafe broke into a grin, then, as if enthralled by the prospect of more fun and games. Part of me wondered why he wasn’t more disappointed that our evening alone, filled with such disturbing potential, had been interrupted. As he sprung up to answer the door, I stayed motionless. It was all I could do to breathe.
“Let’s keep this between us, Chloe,” he said as he crossed the room. Then he turned back and winked. “I know you can keep a secret.”
Seemed to me that a secret was the least of what had transpired between us.
He strode to the foyer and opened the door. From where I sat, I couldn’t see him, but the acoustics in the vast space allowed me to hear everything.
“Evening, Deputy Sheriff,” Rafe said. “It’s Chad, isn’t it?”
Chapter 25
I stiffened. What in the world was Chad doing here? I forced myself up and straightened my dress. Then I primped my hair and prayed that my face would go pale. But I felt flushed and downright post-coital—a look Chad was intimately familiar with.
Please don’t invite him in. Please don’t invite him in.
“This was on your front door,” said Chad’s voice, and I heard a crinkle of paper exchanged.
A quiet moment passed. “A magic show?” Rafe said with boyish delight. “Sounds intriguing. Won’t you come in, Deputy?”
“Sorry to bother you like this unannounced,” Chad said in his easy way, “but you don’t have a land line, and I knew where you lived, so I took a chance.”
I could hear him wiping his feet on Rafe’s sisal carpet.
“No problem at all.” The front door closed.
I willed Rafe to tell Chad that he had company, that he was busy, anything but—
Chad entered the living room. I forced a smile, my hair tousled, my lips shaky. Chad’s expression left no doubt that I looked all sorts of not right.
My hand strayed to my neck, touching an area that still felt tingly. For all I knew, Rafe had left a handprint there—or a psychic hickey. Then I patted down a strand of hair, but none of it did anything to lessen the aura of guilt wafting off me like an animalistic pheromone.
“Chad. Hey.” Awkward, fluttery wave. “What are you doing here?”
His face darkened and he actually ignored me, turning back to Rafe who’d remained standing at the edge of the room. “I’m sorry, Mr. Borose,” Chad said. “I didn’t realize you had . . . company. We can talk tomorrow.”
“No worries. And please, call me Rafe.” He flowed into the room then, his bare feet silent against the floor, as if awkward situations actually made him cooler. “I believe you know my neighbor, Chloe Keyes.”
“Neighbor?” Skepticism filled Chad’s voice. “As the crow flies, I guess.”
“May I get you a glass of wine, Deputy? Chloe and I were just discussing betrayal. We’d love to hear your take.”
Chad looked pointedly at me while answering. “It happens. That’s my take.”
Rafe laughed—a fine, gentlemanly laugh, rich with color. “A succinct answer. I like your style.”
Chad folded his arms in front of him. “As I told Chloe earlier, turns out Grace Elbee was betrayed more than we originally suspected.”
“How so?” Rafe said.
“Evidence of foul play. That’s all I can say.”
Rafe pulled his head back. “That’s disturbing.”
Chad adopted a confident, nonchalant manner. It was his best persona—the one that had turned me on most when we dated. “So, Rafe, I need to know how it is you came to know where Mrs. Elbee’s body was the moment it surfaced.”
“Certainly. If you’ll excuse me just a moment.” Rafe glided into the kitchen, leaving Chad and me alone to stare at each other. He made a show of noticing my bare feet, which stood only inches from the single pillow on the floor. It seemed that his heart broke a little then.
Rafe appeared between us with a glass of water for Chad and a refilled glass of wine for me. He gestured for Chad to take a seat. Chad chose a wide chintz chair with enough room for two while Rafe chose a curved, short-backed sofa, leaving me with an awkward decision.
I chose the pillar between them, leaning against it and sipping my wine defiantly.
“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help as far as Mrs. Elbee goes,” Rafe said. “But I’m happy to give you my statement.”
Chad gave an encouraging nod. “Please.”
“I got on my computer around 4 a.m. I do a lot of futures trading at night and a fair bit of monitoring of the Asian markets. At sunrise, I took a break and played with my cameras—I’m a bit of a technology wonk—and later, I went outside to do some yoga.” He sniffed deeply. “I do love the smell of swamp in the morning.”
I glanced at Chad, knowing how pluff mud’s stew of decaying odors made him feel like he’d stuck his nose in a pile of dirty socks.
“When I came back inside,” Rafe continued, “I bumped my telescope and it landed on Mrs. Elbee’s body.” He gestured to his telescope. As Chad glanced over, he surely appreciated how the phallic lens offered a perfect view of my house. “Shortly afterwards, I spotted Chloe entering the water in her waders.” He smiled at me as if we were an established couple sharing an intimate memory. “Very flattering by the way.”
I cast my eyes to the floor, pissed. He had no reason to hurt Chad. But Chad surprised me by letting out a chortle. “I used to tell her she looked like a walrus in those things; she thinks they’re slimming.”
He and Rafe shared a chuckle over that one and I ended up feeling like an idiot.
Rafe continued. “I calculated that Chloe would reach the body before me, so I called 9-1-1 to report it in case she hadn’t.”
Chad’s head cocked just enough to be noticeable. He’d be verifying that call.
“And then I swam over to see if Chloe needed any help.”
“Did you know Mrs. Elbee?” Chad asked.
“Only briefly. We tried to get our hands on the same amulet at the Farmer’s Market.” Rafe got up and plucked an amulet from a display case against his wall, dangling it like a hypnotist’s watch. “Very similar to this one.”
He handed it to Chad, who examined it closely and then placed it down. “Since you’re into this stuff . . . what about writing a dead person’s name on a mirror? What does that mean?”
I was surprised Chad revealed that detail, but
at least he hadn’t related it directly to Mrs. Elbee.
“A mirror?” Rafe said, sitting down and crossing his legs while splaying a long arm across the back of the sofa. “Attraction, clearly. Think about it. We use mirrors to enhance our own attractiveness. Images multiply within them, many times over with the right angles.” He looked at me to convey the next thought. “Mirrors can also split light and create images that seem ghostlike or real. They’re used for deception and trickery, even spying. I can’t imagine a more attractive surface for drawing the attention of a spirit than a mirror.” He looked pointedly at Chad for his next question. “Was the mirror in a room with other reflective surfaces?”
Chad glanced at me, no doubt thinking of the sterling silver candleholders in the bathroom, the shiny porcelain vanity, the shower’s glass door, and the echoes of our own images in the reflective light fixtures. He returned his gaze to Rafe, his suspicions far from allayed now. “It’s just a hypothetical situation,” he said.
“Well, the more times a reflection is projected into the world, the more dimensions it reaches. Better odds of connecting with a particular spirit.”
I couldn’t help but interject, although I needed to phrase my question carefully. “But if someone were wearing an amulet to repel evil, why would they want to attract a spirit?”
Rafe slowly turned his head to me to answer the question. “You know what they say. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. I’ve always believed in it.” He punctuated his statement with a satisfied smile before continuing. “The amulet would still protect its wearer from the evil intentions of the spirit, while simultaneously bringing the spirit closer . . . either to be destroyed or to receive a message. Most commonly, one attracts a spirit to renew love and ask it to stay, or to make amends and ask it to leave.”
Chad cleared his throat. “And if this spirit got the message, how would it respond?” He smiled, but insincerely, and I sensed it was meant for me. “Not like it could call on the phone, right?”
Rafe leaned forward and seemed to take the question more seriously than it had been rendered. “We humans think it’s harmless to shoot all sorts of rays and waves around the world with our cell towers, microwaves, electromagnetic pulses, radios, you name it, but spirits savor such waves.” His eyes narrowed and his enthusiasm grew. “Think about it. There are colors on the visual spectrum we can’t see, depths of odor we can’t decipher, frequencies we can’t hear. Why wouldn’t there be hitchhikers out there, invisible to us, traveling on the waves we take for granted?”
Chad threw his hands up, palms facing Rafe. “Whoa. Getting a little out there for me.”
“Deputy, if the voices of everyone from Elvis to Justin Bieber can travel on waves to either delight or haunt our ears, why wouldn’t we believe those same waves might be carrying uninvited guests? And why wouldn’t those guests travel on such easy, pre-established conduits like the telephone line you mentioned?”
“Tell you what, Rafe, if you believe in ghosts, you got your choice of ’em in this town.” He glanced from Rafe to me. “Now, when was the last time each of you had interaction with the victim?”
I started at Chad’s use of the word victim, realizing that despite my neutral post against the pillar, teams had been chosen: Chad versus Rafe and me.
“About ten days ago,” Rafe said. “Mrs. Elbee was walking through New Beulah with a candlestick, using it as a microphone of sorts.”
“How about you, Chloe?”
“That would be this morning, Chad. When I dragged her body out of the swamp for you.”
He smiled patiently. “And before that?”
“Am I a suspect now?”
“Haven’t ruled anyone out yet.”
“Then don’t leave yourself out,” I said. “You saw her when you were picking up Richie Quail’s secretary for your lunch date. Does that help?”
He nodded, ever so coolly. “Noted, thanks.”
Rafe then gave a formal statement. By the end of the conversation, I’d had quite enough of the evening. I thanked Rafe for the wine and stepped onto the porch with Chad, who noticed the red stains there with a curious eye. He then reflexively took my arm and offered to escort me to my boat, but I told him I’d be fine. When we reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the lawn, Rafe called after me. “Chloe, I don’t know when I’ll see you again, and there’s a magic show coming to town.” He held up the flyer and shook it. “Would you do me the honor of being my date?”
Did Chad feel my forearm tighten in his grasp? “That sounds lovely, Rafe. Thanks.”
I pulled my arm from Chad’s grasp, mumbled a quick good-bye, and we went our separate ways.
Chapter 26
Two Days Before the Thump
Macy smelled bacon. She leaped out of bed and grabbed the aluminum Louisville Slugger leaning against her wall. She gripped it like someone who meant business as she tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. Was that humming? Coffee dripping? If it was a robber, he sure was making himself at home.
She loosened her grip on the bat and inched the door open. Her mom smiled at her.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Melanie LeGrange said.
Macy shook her head to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. Her mother noticed the reaction. “I know, I know. But I woke up feeling good today, and as they say, take ’em when you can get ’em.”
Macy ran over and hugged her mother as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. In essence, they hadn’t. “We celebrating something?”
“Baby, in my world, I celebrate if I don’t wake up feeling tired.”
“Is it that new medicine Doc West prescribed? Thought you were ready to give up on it.”
“He told me to stick with it for a week, so I did. Eight days today. I may not be feeling quite as chipper as this bacon sizzle suggests, but whaddya say we do something fun?”
“Anything,” Macy said, beaming.
Her mom opened the refrigerator. “Looks like we’re out of cream. You okay with milk in your coffee? Or maybe you can take it straight, like your momma.”
Macy had been drinking coffee since the age of ten. Her mom probably didn’t realize it, but most days they couldn’t afford cream. Milk was all she’d ever used.
“I’m fine with milk.”
“Let’s stop by Boyd’s later and pick up some cream. Can’t have my girl starting her day off with a compromise.”
After breakfast and showers, with only a few cockroaches for company, Macy and her mom went window-shopping at the scant stores Beulah Proper offered. They stopped by the park and swung on the swings, and when Melanie leaped off her swing just to prove that she could, Macy laughed for a solid minute as they both brushed sand from her mother’s bottom. Afterwards, they grabbed a bite to eat at Tupelo’s Lunch Counter where two people could split a sandwich and stick two straws in a shake for less than five dollars.
As they walked over to Boyd’s to get cream, Macy told her mom how she’d lied to Richie Quail about her getting a job at the tattoo shop. That cued Melanie to laugh for a solid minute. “And what did Richie say to that?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if he walks his wide tush over there in search of you.”
Melanie shook her head. “I sure hope the owner doesn’t talk him into a tattoo.”
“Momma, be serious. I do believe they’d run out of ink.”
As they reached Boyd’s parking lot, they ran into Chloe Keyes who was tying a plastic bag to the handle of her bike.
“Hey there, Chloe,” Mrs. LeGrange said. “You buy much more, you’re going to need a basket on that bike.”
Chloe jerked her head up at the sound of Mrs. LeGrange’s voice. She looked stunned to see the woman out and about. Subduing her reaction quickly, she converted it to a smile. “Hi, Mrs. LeGrange. Hey, Macy. Just picking up some butter for my mom. She’s a pretty bad cook, but butter makes it better, as my dad says, so we stay stocked.”
“I agree. A little butter and salt never
hurt anything,” Mrs. LeGrange said.
Chloe indicated Boyd’s store with her thumb. “Boyd Junior’s in a sour mood today. Better watch out.”
“I’m sure it’s been hard on him since his father passed,” Mrs. LeGrange said.
“Still,” Chloe said, “I was a lot fonder of Boyd Senior. Used to throw hard candies in my bag, just to be nice.”
“Junior’s not so bad,” Macy said. “Maybe he’s embarrassed because he dropped out of school and such.” She nudged her mother. “Hey Momma, you should ask for a job in there. You could probably double Boyd’s business in a week.”
Her mother grinned. “Maybe I will, sweetie. Especially if it comes with a store discount.”
Macy pointed to the A-shaped sidewalk sign outside Boyd’s. It read: Egg Special $1/Duz.
“Look at that, Momma. Eggs are on sale and we used ours up this morning. Must be our lucky day.”
“If it’s our lucky day,” Mrs. LeGrange said, pointing to the lower half of the sign, “then we ought to buy a ticket.”
The second message on the sign, hogging most of the space, read: Power Pot Lttery. Now 16,oO0,0o0 $. Tix here BYD’S GENERAL Stre.
“Looks like he ran out of zeroes,” Macy said. “Bet he’s never needed that many before.”
“Tickets are five bucks a pop,” Chloe said.
“Maybe we should have skipped lunch,” Mrs. LeGrange said, her voice projecting a trace of regret.
When Macy glanced up, her mother was smiling, but it seemed to require more of an effort than it had this morning. “Absolutely not,” Macy said, rubbing her stomach. “Best lunch I had in weeks. Besides, Hoop promised me when he grows up, he’s gonna make more money than every Power Pot winner combined.”
Mrs. LeGrange looked instantly anxious. “That’s not a plan, Macy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You girls need to remember one thing, if you remember anything at all.” She pointed at each of them with her slim finger as her expression grew taut. “Don’t you ever depend on any man to help you make it in life. Depend on only one person in this life, and that’s yourself. It’s all well and good if some boy plans to make himself a million dollars, but you need to go out and make your own million. Or at least enough to get by, with or without the likes of him.”