by Mary Bowers
“No,” Carly said, “Ed’s got something there. I’ve been thinking the same thing myself. This is Season 3. The show’s getting stale. We need to do something to push our narratives, to show growth, we need some kind of progression. So far, we’ve only concentrated on you swashbuckling around, Teddy. I think we need an episode every now and then that features a more cerebral approach. Ed, in fact.” She lowered very black lashes, bore down on Ed and said, “And we need that séance.”
“We’ve done that before,” Teddy protested. “It didn’t work.”
“We’ve never had Taylor Verone before,” Carly said quietly. She hadn’t looked away from Ed. “She’s the real deal, right? She’s a natural. Not somebody who’s been on the road too long and is riding around on bald tires, like Purity.”
Ed, conflicted by loyalties to Taylor, afraid of pushing her too far, but compulsively honest, said, “She’s the real deal all right.”
“But she said no,” Elliott said. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to go head-to-head with that lady over what to get on a pizza, let alone whether or not she’s doing a séance on the show.”
“Leave it to me,” Carly said darkly, and Ed became very worried but said nothing.
Chapter 15
“Let me guess how the ghost hunt went last night,” Taylor said the following evening, while serving up her favorite vegetarian chili in thick pottery bowls. There was a basket of hot, fresh bread on the table, wrapped in a green-checked linen cloth to keep it warm, and she opened the cloth and offered the bread before setting the steaming bowls before Michael, Ed and herself. Then she sat down and continued.
“Teddy described the ghost and why he-or-she was haunting the house,” she began, giving her spoon a little twirl in the air before digging into the chili. “Then Teddy ran down the hall calling for the ghost. Next, Teddy became very afraid when something happened, (a muffled voice you can’t quite make out on the sound recording, a cold spot the audience can’t feel, a loud knock from out of nowhere). Teddy manned up, Teddy challenged the ghost and finally, Teddy emerged triumphant – panting and sweaty. Am I missing anything? Oh. You followed him around with your latest invention and explained it all scientifically.”
“And at some point, Porter barked at a blank spot on the wall,” Michael added.
The three of them were sharing Taylor’s favorite autumn dinner at one end of the banquet table in a cozily quiet house. The housekeeper, Myrtle, wasn’t there. To everybody’s relief she had announced that she’d have her dinner on a tray in her room because there was a TV show on that she wanted to see. Myrtle didn’t like Ed.
“I’m afraid so,” Ed said. “It’s all becoming depressingly predictable. I even tried out a new device: the Full Spectrum Clarifier, but with disappointing results. In fact, I ended up walking into a pillar. It’s just a matter of tweaking the filters, I think, but we didn’t get anything we can use for the episode. Carly thinks we should shake things up a little. Do something fresh. We’re running out of ideas, though,” he added, flicking a glance at Taylor.
Michael looked from Ed to Taylor and back again. “How are your ratings these days?”
“They were all right for Season 2, but the pre-season Haunt or Hoax? marathon didn’t do as well as expected. We have a lot of competition, and the psychic dog angle has kind of worn off. Teddy still believes Porter can see ghosts, but other than the occasional bark at a something nobody else can see, he hasn’t added much lately.”
“All dogs bark at things nobody else can see,” Taylor commented.
Ed gave a preparatory chuckle. “To show you how desperate we are, Carly has even suggested that I take the lead in some episodes.”
“Uh oh,” Taylor said. “Teddy will never stand for that. Good thing you don’t care if you get kicked off the show. You don’t like it anyway, and you don’t really need the money, right?”
Ed hesitated. “It’s true, I have inherited quite a bit of real estate, but it’s still tied up in probate. The checks from the television show,” he said in a slightly lower voice, “have been coming in handy.”
Michael and Taylor shared a look, and Taylor, to her credit, actually considered it for a moment. Then, decisively, she said, “No. Not even for you, Ed. No reality-show séance. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, perfectly. I never meant to try to change your mind. I respect your decision.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that straight, how are you doing with your investigation into Jessamine’s death? Anything new?”
“You mean did we get any indication of her presence last night while we conducted the ghost hunt for Alan? No, nothing on Jessamine. Nothing much on Alan, either, but don’t tell Teddy I said that. He pronounced the spirit ‘laid to rest.’”
Michael cleared his throat. “You might want to talk to my friend, Benny Flannery. He knew the Pissarros before the divorce, and he still lives on the same block as Wendy, the first wife. He has a few interesting stories from the time the marriage was unravelling, and he also knew Jessamine.”
“Why, what does Benny have to say?” Taylor asked. “You golfed with him yesterday, right? Did you ask him about all this stuff?”
“I did,” Michael said, turning to Ed, “but I’d rather you got it first-hand. Benny said if you wanted to talk to him about it, it’d be fine with him. He’s a pretty easy-going guy. I’ll give you his number.”
Taylor looked intrigued. “He must have said something to pique your interest. What was it?”
“Go ahead, Michael,” Ed said. “I’ll confirm it, of course, for the sake of completeness, but you may as well tell us what your friend has to contribute.”
“Apparently, Wendy and Jessamine were friends at one time.”
Taylor paused to absorb this. “Good friends?”
“Yes. Jessamine was a social climber, and she flattered her way into a lot of little cliques at those cocktail parties they’re always having. Benny remembers actually seeing Wendy and Jessamine at a particular party, buttoned up in a corner of the room and having an intense conversation.”
“This would have been before Jessamine snaffled Wendy’s husband, right?” Taylor said archly.
“Had to be,” Michael said.
“Does Benny know what they were talking about so intensely?” Taylor asked, setting her elbows on the table.
“I didn’t ask. I was just struck by the fact that they were having a cozy little chat, just the two of them.”
“You didn’t ask?” Taylor said. “I would’ve been all over that one.”
Michael faced her with a gentle smile. “When Ed interviews him, he can ask.”
“You say the conversation was intense?” Ed said. “Angry?”
“Um, I don’t know. Like I said, you’d better ask Benny.”
“I see. Thank you, Michael, I’ll call your friend tomorrow and see if I can interview him immediately.”
“You’ll probably get him,” Michael said. “He doesn’t golf on Tuesdays, and other than golf he just likes to putter around at home. He’s always up very early.”
“Good. I’d like to have as much information at my fingertips as possible before the séance tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, the séance,” Taylor said wearily. “I suppose we’d better talk about that. The more prepared we are for this thing, the smoother it’ll go. I’ll call that Angers guy tomorrow and tell him to be at the Pissarro house at dusk.”
“Better make it later,” Ed said. “Trick-or-treaters.”
“Damn,” Taylor said. “I forgot about them. We don’t get them here, down at the end of a long dirt road. Trick-or-treaters always go for the high-volume targets – neighborhoods with lots of houses close together so they can really move in and fill those bags before mom and dad drag them home again. Okay, what time do you suggest?”
“No sooner than ten pm. Later would be better.”
“Ten o’clock it is. Your crew should be cleared out of the house by then, right?”
“And Dobbs? How did it go between Teddy and Dobbs during the shoot, by the way? Did they both behave themselves?”
“About like you’d expect. Dobbs tried to get into the frame a few times, but we have an adroit videographer, and it’s a hand-held shoot. Zooming the camera around only adds to the frantic nature of things. They’re going to give him screen credit.”
Taylor chuckled. “He’ll get himself onto the show somehow, you wait and see. That young man is going places.”
Ed looked at her curiously, wondering what had made her say that.
“I’ve been thinking,” Taylor said, slowing down. “I wonder if we should do this séance outside. I mean on the lanai. There’s an atmosphere out there. What’s the protocol on outdoor séances?”
“No no no,” Ed said. “I’ve never heard of an outdoor séance, not even in a graveyard. Definitely it must be indoors, where the sitters can keep an unbroken circle and there are no distractions. Dobbs has identified the media room as Alan’s most likely hot spot. He loved it in life, and Jessamine wouldn’t even go in there after his death. There’s a particular chair that has an imprint from his elbow on the armrest. I’ll have the table set up in the media room before you arrive.”
“So it’ll be just you, me and the client,” Taylor said. “Oh, and Dobbs. Do we need Dobbs?”
Ed hesitated. “As I’ve explained to you before, Taylor, one shouldn’t have too few participants at a séance. The physical link formed by the joining of hands creates a barrier of protection against . . . unwelcome intrusions. Four sitters is the ideal, three is pushing it, and two – never. Five, or even six would be no problem, of course.”
“So Dobbs can make four. I don’t particularly want him, but at least he’s a warm body – or as you put it, a barrier. If Teddy can get him to shut up and behave, so can I.”
“Indeed.”
It was obvious that Ed was holding back. Taylor bore down on him. “All right, give. Who else is coming?”
“The son and daughter of the targeted spirit. Kent and Tiffany Pissarro. I called to make a routine progress report to the brother, and he already knew about the séance and insisted on coming. I was taken aback, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We will just have to make the best of it. Having some of the blood relatives of our targeted spirit present at the table is never a bad idea.”
“Are you kidding? Who told them?” Taylor asked angrily, then she quickly answered her own question. “Dobbs. Of course, Dobbs.”
“Actually, it was the client, Roy Angers. He called Tiffany and told her.”
Taylor became very still. Then, slowly, she said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . what’s he up to? Does he even get along with those kids?”
“My impression is, no. They all took sides after the divorce, and he sided with his partner while they sided with their mother. Mr. Angers even went so far as to call Tiffany a ‘wet noodle,’ and her brother Kent a ‘mama’s boy.’ Hyperbole, of course. I’ve met them both. Tiffany is delightful, and Kent is, um, formidable.”
“Actually,” Michael said, after clearing his throat, “when you started getting tangled up with these people, I did a little checking on my own. If they haven’t gotten along in the past, they’d better start getting along now; Tiffany and Kent have jointly inherited their father’s share of The Big Catch. As part of his divorce, the courts had something to say about how Alan Pissarro wrote his new will. Wendy already knew he was going to remarry, and she made sure her kids’ inheritance was protected. Jessamine had no family anyway, so, in fact, everything reverts to the kids now, since she didn’t outlive him for a year. It’s common practice to designate what happens when one spouse doesn’t outlive the other for a specified length of time, or if it’s impossible to tell which spouse died first, for instance, when there’s an accident involving both of them. In the case of a coma from which the spouse never regains consciousness – ”
“Michael,” Taylor said gently, “enough with the legalese. Are you guessing, or did you do some sneaky investigating on the golf-course?”
He shrugged. “I’m a retired lawyer. I know all the other lawyers in the area. We gossip, just like any other human beings, but outside the charmed circle, we’re very discreet. If you quote me to anybody,” he added, grinning, “I’ll deny that I told you.”
“I don’t care who told you, and I’m not going to tell anybody else,” Taylor said. “But this is for sure? The kids own half The Big Catch, and they did, even before Jessamine died?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that could be a reason he felt he should invite them.” Taylor said it doubtfully. Then after thinking about it for a few moments, she said, “No, it still doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not happy about it myself,” Ed said, “but I can hardly block my own clients from my activities on their behalf. Not from something participatory, like a séance. You could try to exclude them, I suppose, since they’re not your clients, but that might prove difficult. After all, your client called my clients, and he did it for a reason.”
“And we don’t know yet what that reason is.”
“Correct. We simply have to let it all play out, I’m afraid. I’m worried about Dobbs being there, too. I’m half convinced there was something inappropriate between him and his client.”
“Mrs. Pissarro?”
“Yes, and he’s also shown an inappropriate familiarity with Tiffany. Perhaps that’s just his way; I don’t know him very well, and young people today are so blithe about their relationships. But I’m worried that the cross-currents will interfere with your ability to control Mr. Pissarro, should he appear. If he has been angry about Dobbs living in his house and doing I-don’t-know-what with his wife, it could create chaos. Frankly, I’m beginning to think we should call the whole thing off.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I want that fee. I’ll handle it. Me and my troubadour.”
Ed regarded her with troubled eyes. “I’m still not sure you’re taking this seriously enough, Taylor. There are a lot of explosive elements here, and materializing an angry spirit in the midst of them just could set them off.”
“Ed, don’t worry. You seem to keep forgetting that this is just a show I’m putting on so I can get a donation for Orphans. We’ve done this enough that I think I’m actually getting good at it. But I promise you, nothing is actually going to happen. Maybe getting them all together on the pretext of a séance will turn out to be a good thing, and they can work out some of their issues by shouting into the spirit world instead of directly at one another. You know, I may just have hit on something here: the group therapy séance.”
Ed continued to splutter, but she ignored him and asked him how he had liked the chili.
“You ate it all up,” she added. “Want seconds?”
The pretty antique tureen was still on the table, covered.
Ed gazed down into his empty bowl, a bit startled. He couldn’t remember eating. “Superb,” he said, judging by the taste he still had in his mouth. “Thank you very much.”
Taylor smiled affectionately, knowing exactly how absent-mindedly he’d eaten, and said, “Homemade cookies for dessert. NOT peanut butter cookies. Shortbread.”
“How delicious,” Ed said politely, and he went back to worrying about Taylor’s flip attitude and the coming séance.
Chapter 16
Ed called Benny’s number as early the next morning as he dared, planning on leaving an urgent voice message, and Benny had surprised him by picking up immediately, wide awake and chatting with him as if he were an old friend, and quickly agreeing to meet with him
“What about breakfast?” Benny said. “I have a house on the beach just north of you. It’s walking distance from The Big Catch. I have breakfast there a lot, and I hate to eat alone. I was just going over there now. How soon can you get there?”
Ed could get there in fifteen minutes, maybe less. He hung up, double-c
hecked his spy satchel to make sure he had everything he needed, (and everything he didn’t need), and managed to get away from his neighborhood without being noticed by Trixie.
He entered The Big Catch at 6:42 am, noting the time on his voice recorder. Approaching the only customer in the place who could possibly be Benny – in fact, the only customer in the place at all – Ed said, “Mr. Flannery? Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”
The restaurant/bar was sleepy, maybe even a little hung-over. When Ed arrived, Benny was already drinking coffee.
Ed hadn’t been in The Big Catch for a few years, and in the interim, nothing had been done to freshen the place up. The dining room had originally been decorated to look like somebody’s weekend getaway cabin by the lake, with fisherman’s nets draped on the walls amid old pictures of people holding up dead fish. A half-hearted effort had been made to decorate for Halloween with a few cardboard witches and goblins. Almost all the surfaces were wood, and it all looked as dry as kindling. Mentally pronouncing the place a firetrap, Ed sat down and looked up at one of the wall-to-wall TVs where a local weatherman was talking away mutely in front of his map.
Ed got down to business. “You don’t mind if I record this?” he asked.
The waitress, Sally, arrived, breaking Ed’s rhythm. He gave a start and goggled at her.
“Settle down, honey, it’s too early for that look,” she said. “Want some coffee?”
“Uh, sure,” Ed said distractedly.
“Maybe decaf,” she suggested.
“All right,” he said, hoping she’d go away. He was digging into his bag, and when she spoke again, he was startled again.
“Benny always has the same thing and I already put his order in. Do you know what you want yet?”
“Toast.” It shot out of his mouth like a bullet.