Murder by Candlelight

by John Stockmyer

  "Working" with Jamie at the "ghost house," the two of them tossing the Kunkle place, he'd never seen Jamie in anything but shirt and slacks. (At the ghost house, he hadn't seen her in much of anything.)

  "Hello," Jamie said to the others in the room. Her voice low. Seductive.

  Though Z had never noticed it, Jamie and Susan had identical voices. Could it be that the "sound" of a woman attracted Z as much as her looks?

  What Z didn't need was more distracting thoughts than he already had!

  "Jamie, this is Rachel. Rachel Roberts." Susan indicated the sailor suit, the "middy" draining her fourth glass of wine so she could nod at the newcomer. Z wondered if Rachel could still talk. Wondered if something about sailor suits drove whoever wore them to drink. .....

  "This is Jamie Stewart," Susan said, introducing the newcomer to Rachel. "We met at work. Jamie had come in to check on a policy and we fell to talking. But I think I already told you that."

  Susan was still nervous. Even though she babbled on sometimes, she rarely repeated herself. "And this is June Douglas. June works just across the aisle from me, but in the claims department."

  "Hi," June said.

  "Hello."

  "And this is Z." Remembering to act the gentleman, Z lumbered to his feet. "That is," Susan rushed to explain, "Bob Zapolska, my ...." Susan stopped suddenly. What was Z to her, she was asking herself. More than a boyfriend. Less than a fiancee.

  "Ah," Jamie said. "I'd know you anywhere."

  "What?" Z's heart was racing.

  "I've seen you in bed ... that is, in my dreams. ... Susan described you so perfectly."

  "Oh."

  Z sagged back on his end of the divan.

  "Now that everybody knows everybody," Susan said, smiling crookedly, "what do we do?"

  "Perhaps we should get to know one another a little better," Jamie suggested, crossing to sit down beside Z, Susan following her, sitting on the divan's other end.

  Jamie wiggling to settle herself, she was ready to begin the con.

  "We are going to have an experience shared by few," said Jamie, stating the obvious. "I would not go so far as to say it will be frightening. On the other hand, it may be ... strange. People who know each other seem to ...." Jamie didn't finish that thought.

  "May I have a little wine?" Jamie asked, noticing that Rachel was filling her glass again.

  "Of course," Susan said. "Anyone else?"

  This time, June and Z raised their hands as high as old-time banktellers staring down the barrels of the James boys' colts. The nearer the seance, the thirstier everybody got.

  While Susan was out of the room to get more glasses, Z avoided looking at Jamie, but couldn't help but smile at the other women ... to assure them he was there to keep them safe. He only wished somebody would protect him from Jamie.

  Back in the room, Susan gave glasses to Z and Jamie.

  With Rachel reluctantly relinquishing exclusive possession of the wine bottle, June, Z, and Jamie extended their glasses in turn, Susan pouring, Susan burbling a little wine in her own glass before putting the bottle on the coffee table and sitting down.

  The five of them were now grouped around the low table, the wine bottle and "sadly neglected" snack plate the table's centerpiece.

  Following Rachel's practiced example, Z belted down his wine; felt the glow of it in his throat; immediately took the pledge. (D.J. Jewell had taught him that after two drinks, a Diet Coke enthusiast turns into a wino.)

  Looking around, Z noticed everyone but Jamie had also finished off their drinks, bottled courage better than none at all.

  "I know I'm here tonight as spiritual leader," Jamie started, "but I'm just a normal person. In the winter, I'm a teacher. In a girl's school in Kansas City, Kansas. Psychology." Sober-faced, the other woman nodded. "You're all working at an insurance company. In fact, the only one of us here who is at all ... strange ... is Mr. Zapolska."

  As if on cue, the women swung their heads to look at Z, their stare trapping Z like a bottled insect caught by a bug-collecting child. "Not many private detectives around," Jamie finished, explaining what she'd meant by Z being the "strange" one of the group.

  "Z does other things as well," Susan said, trying to come to Z's defense without making it look like she was ashamed of his profession. "He's also a security installer."

  The two insurance ladies nodded. June, because that's what she did. Rachel, because she was having trouble holding up her head, Rachel's sailor hat slipped to the side, the hat also a little "tipsy."

  "So," Jamie said, leaning forward, setting her mostly-full glass on the table, the ghost hunter all business now that the pleasantries were over. "Let me tell you what we'll be experiencing tonight.

  "First, since it's on everyone's mind, let me talk to you about psychic fraud." Jamie paused, as if feeling her way. "It's the simple truth that all kinds of people make their living cheating the public, swindlers in the business community putting the likes of gypsy fortunetellers, palm readers, astrologers, and numerologists to shame. You'll find rip-off artists everywhere: from gold-plated bank presidents who made fortunes raiding S and Ls, to the little guy who 'fudges' on his income tax." Susan smiled disarmingly. "The old adage, 'Don't believe anything you hear and only half of what you see,' is as good today as it was when someone thought it up.

  "For instance -- getting back to what's called the supernatural -- I know a contortionist who's doing very well financially in the faith healing business. For reasons unknown to me, there are people obsessed with the notion that one of their legs is shorter than the other. So much so that 'growing' people's legs has become a stock-in-trade of religious 'healers.' This man I know works miracles that 'lengthen' legs. He's more impressive than most because he can lengthen his own legs, becoming as much as two inches taller right before your eyes. He does this by using his back muscles to stretch apart the bones of his spine.

  "In the same vein, there was an old-time medium who used to grease up, then swallow, yards of cheesecloth. In that way, be able to vomit out 'ghosts' when she needed them.

  "Given the lengths to which some people will go to fool the public, I can understand why you might think I'm here to do the same. Right now, you believe what you'll be seeing tonight is trickery. It's natural to feel that way. Particularly when trying to explain away ... unusual ... phenomena.

  "In my defense," Jamie waved her hand airily, "let me say that I didn't offer my services: Susan asked me to come. Not because she'd seen an ad I'd put in the newspaper. Not because she'd heard I give 'readings.' Which I don't. Not because I was on TV's public access channel, a guest on the 'Psychic Voyages' show. We just happened to meet when I went into the insurance company."

  So far, Jamie was giving an impressive performance: a con artist never more sincere than when setting up the mark. Z wasn't taken in, in part because he had the advantage of knowing exactly why Susan and Jamie "happened to meet."

  "I'm not charging anything," Jamie said, waving off the mere thought of financial remuneration. "Nor am I going to ask for a 'donation' at the end of the evening. Susan told me she has a problem that might -- and let me stress the word might -- be a ... presence ... in the apartment. I'm here as a friend, to see if there's anything I can do about that. Which is why you are here, as Susan's friends -- to help if you can."

  They all nodded. Except Z. So far, so good, was what Z was thinking. It looked like, whatever her game, Jamie was going to play this ghost business straight. As straight as you could play ghost business.

  "Some so called spiritualists work with partners," Jamie explained. "With all the lights off, the medium's accomplice -- dressed in black, face and hands also blacked-out -- can wander about without being detected. In the old days, they used burnt cork to blacken skin. Today, there are water-soluble products that are easier to wash off. Anyway, the 'invisible' partner supplies the tricks of the trade. Touching up cheesecloth with luminous paint was an old-time favorite, then sliding the fluttering 'ghost' a
long on wires. Or, everyone knowing that the presence of ghosts in a house makes 'cold spots,' taking a pitcher filled with dry ice and pouring refrigerated air over people seated around the table, the shock of chilly air sliding down their necks able to convince even bright people that a ghost has just passed by."

  Jamie picked up her glass and took a small sip of wine.

  "And you can forget what you've heard about table rappings. A hundred years ago, two sisters in New England started the spiritualist craze. The Fox sisters. It all began with the girls playing 'ghostly' pranks on their religious mother.

  "And speaking of religion, there's lots of talk in the Bible about spirits, witches, people being raised from the dead," Jamie expounded. "Making religious people particularly vulnerable to supernatural trickery.

  "Getting back to the Fox sisters, they started by making bumping sounds on their upstairs bedroom floor. Sometimes by rolling apples.

  "The mother confiding her fears of "ghostly noises" to friends, people were soon whispering about the strange goings-on at the Fox house, rumor adding that the girls could get in touch with the dead. People began to come over; would sit around the table in the dark, folks eager to believe the girls could put them in touch with dear, dead Uncle George; pry out of George's spirit where he'd hid ... the family jewels." The women laughed at Jamie's little joke.

  Z wasn't laughing.

  Z was sweating.

  "After that," Jamie continued, waving her glass, "turban-wrapped mediums came out of the woodwork to hold 'sittings,' these so-called spiritualists advertising themselves as being able to communicate with the 'other' world.

  "Psychics, first pretending to put themselves in trances, summoned 'spirit guides' -- sometimes Indians, sometimes children -- who 'spoke' through the medium's mouth or answered yes and no questions by 'rapping' on the table.

  "Table-rapping could be pretty impressive. Particularly since it was standard procedure to instruct everyone seated at the table to keep their hands in plain view. Sometimes, palms down on the table. Occasionally, holding each other's hands to form a 'spirit ring.' A confederate of the medium usually did the rapping. In elaborate setups, the shill would be in a false compartment built into the floor below the table. All the accomplice had to do was push open a trap drawer and bang the underside of the table with a stick." Jamie shook her head. "There were a lot of ways to get the desired effect. As for the Fox sisters, one of them admitted late in life that their table rappings came as a result of the girls being able to crack the knuckles of their toes.

  "So much for spirits from beyond the grave," Jamie said, dismissing the whole subject. "Particularly those who rap out messages like Rex the Wonder Horse counting with his hoof." Jamie chuckled, as did the others. "One thing I'd like to establish at the outset is that there's no one working with me. Is that right?"

  "Right," Susan assured the others.

  "And I can say that, too." This, from little Rachel. "Susan showed me her apartment before everybody else came tonight. The closets and everything. And nobody's here but us." She hiccuped prettily, covering her mouth in exaggerated atonement.

  Rachel's last lucid moment, was Z's guess.

  On the other hand, "truth" being in the wine, as the old saying went, Z believed her. Anyway, the Jamie that Z knew was so proud of her occult skills you couldn't force her to use a cohort.

  "One thing that does happen at seances," Jamie cautioned, "is that the table itself sometimes ... moves. And believe me, when that occurs, no one is more surprised than the fakes who've stacked the deck! The trouble is that there's no good explanation for the table-moving phenomena. I'm not the world's greatest expert in these matters. All I know is that there is a possibility of table movement if a poltergeist is present. Which, from what Susan's told me, is what I suspect is wrong in this apartment." Jamie took another, thoughtful sip of wine, the ghost hunter's spiel captivating the others. "I wish I could explain more fully. But I can't." Again, a sip. Again, that introspective look. "Let me put it another way. When we leave this evening to go our separate ways, each of us will put our car key in the steering column and twist, fully expecting that movement to start the engine. If, before we could turn the key, each of us had to explain the process by which rotating the key starts the motor, not too many people would be going anywhere tonight.

  "The facts are, we do many things without understanding the process -- just because doing those things ... works. In like manner ... things ... may happen tonight that I won't be able to explain. Which doesn't mean the experiences are phony. Only that no one understands them."

  "What can we do to help?" Susan. Being ... helpful.

  "I'm glad you asked that. Because that's another thing that's not perfectly clear. I can say that, just by being here, you're making the seance possible. With only one or two people, the poltergeist is in control; the spirit may or may not show itself, just as it chooses. It takes four or more people to force the poltergeist out in the open, so to speak. And though, as I explained to you the other day, Susan, it doesn't matter in what proportion, both sexes must be present."

  Hah! A Jamie-condition that would force Susan to ask Z to the party. Clever little Jamie. Evil, but clever.

  "Poultry guys?" Wine had just about canceled Rachel's evening, the girl reduced to a happy face in a sailor hat.

  "Poltergeist," Jamie emphasized, but without much hope. "A noisy spirit. A ... presence ... that can move objects. In this case, from what Susan's told me, a peaceful one. Some of them have been known to throw dishes, even furniture. But this one is quiet."

  "A ... ghost?" June didn't say much. But when she did ... she didn't say much.

  "Not really. What we have with poltergeists is more like a force. Like lightning. While they sometimes seem to be fun-loving -- like to play pranks -- they have neither form nor personality. They're just one of nature's more unusual and unknown forces.

  "For comparison, at one time, ball lightning was thought to be a figment of the imagination. But that rare electrical phenomena is now known to exist. St. Elmo's fire, an eerie glow that sometimes appeared on the masts and spars of old-time sailing ships, is another uncommon electrical manifestation."

  "So, how do I get rid of it?" Tiring of talk, Susan wanted action.

  "A good question. Generally, a poltergeist, while it can move around, is located in one place. Like one room in the house. Find that room, and the phenomena can be neutralized.

  "But we're getting ahead of ourselves here. First, we have to determine that the problem is a poltergeist. That's where the seance comes in. We have to establish whether or not I'm right about the poltergeist. If I'm not. If it's something ... else ... you'll have to go to an expert. I'm not a professional in this field. Just a talented amateur." Z figured Jamie got "talented amateur" from watching reruns of "The Avengers," "talented amateur," Steed's description of the yummy-looking Emma Peel.

  "So, what do we do?"

  Jamie's unexpected answer was to stand up!

  * * * * *

  Chapter 11

  However many lies Jamie had told tonight, she'd been a dramatic success; there was no question about the impact she was having on the others. As for Z, used to Jamie's tricks, his only fear was that Jamie would get carried away and tell the truth!

  "Do you have a card table. Something like that?"

  Jolted out of her Jamie-induced "trance," Susan now got up, as did June and Z, the three of them holding their places but ready to move at Jamie's command. As for Rachel ... she was lucky to remain seated. "There's the dining room table," Susan suggested.

  "Too ... big," Jamie said, after leaning over to look past the fireplace, the firebox used as a divider between the living room and the small dining room. "Something more ... intimate would be better."

  "OK. It's not that I don't have a folding table. It's just that I thought we might be more comfortable in there."

  Though Z had considered helping Rachel to her feet, to his surprise, the girl popped up, still f
unctional apparently, but with her reactions set on delay. Drinking regularly would numb you to liquor's effects -- working for an insurance company tempting you to drink regularly.

  In the interim, Susan had gone to her utility closet in the hall, was bringing back a rickety card table, Z seeing why Susan hadn't wanted to drag the "less than new" table out for company.

  "Would it be better if I put a cloth on it?" Susan asked, hopefully.

  "It wouldn't matter. On the other hand, I think I prefer a bare table. That way, everyone is assured nothing 'funny' is going on under the tablecloth." Jamie put up her hand to stop Susan's protest. "It's natural for people to be suspicious. Just as it's natural for someone in my position, to want to allay that suspicion."

  While the women were debating tablecloths, Z had taken the rickety wood card table from Susan.

  Unfolding one leg at a time, making sure each locked into place, Z set up the table in the only open space in the snug living room. Men were expected to help out in that way, and do it without being told. In addition, men were required to undertake any project that took standing on frail chairs, climbing shaky ladders, or lifting gut-wrenching weights. (Z wondered why there seemed to be perpetual puzzlement about why women outlived men.)

  The table set up, Z tapping its legs out at the corners to make it less shaky, Z had a "television" thought, the "latest revelation" in car manufacturing putting the wheels near the corners of the car to increase stability. An original idea filed under, "Take that, you sneaky Japanese!"

  Z now fetched the punishingly heavy, chrome steel dining room chairs, placing them around the square table, filling in with one of the straight-backed, living room chairs. Adjusting the five chairs so they were spaced equidistant from each other ... the arrangement looked ... odd.

  Five chairs around a four-sided table.

  Z wondered if, noticing this, Jamie would make some comment that the chair-table combination represented the "mystic sign" of the pentagram. Decided she'd already so mesmerized the others she didn't have to.