Stolen Hearts

by Jane Tesh

  Heavy stuff, but Kary was not distracted. “What are you doing in Cam?”

  “I took the only channel available.”

  “Well, you’re not going to stay there!”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s leaving, right, Ashford?”

  Of course he decided to be difficult. “Why should I? Isn’t anyone interested in my side of this?”

  “I am,” Angie said. “This sure beats the hell out of any tabloid TV I’ve seen lately.” She slumped into a chair in the island while Kary remained perched on the piano bench, her eyes on Camden. Rufus filled the doorway.

  Ashford surveyed his audience and found it satisfactory. He glanced at me for the go-ahead, and I shrugged. “They’re all yours.”

  “Very well.” He took a lecturer’s stance and launched into everything I already knew so far. Rufus, Angie, and Kary hung on his every word.

  I hated him. The more Ashford popped in, the less Camden was in control. This guy was the worst sponge of all. But I couldn’t do anything about it, unless I wanted to channel somebody bigger and meaner who could beat the crap out of him on another astral plane.

  He told about loving Laura more than life itself and about her accident the night of the storm, about taking his own life, and about Melanie Gentry’s dastardly plans to discredit him.

  “So there’s some sort of proof you’re looking for,” Rufus said, once again confounding me by catching on so quickly.

  “Yes,” Ashford said. “It’s sad but true I must have tangible proof of my own work. My letters contain none of my original notation, as Randall has seen.” He looked around. “Don’t you see? The music is mine. That’s why I’m here. You must find proof.”

  For the moment, it was hard to ignore Ashford’s appeal, especially when he was using Camden’s face. “It would help if you knew what this proof looks like,” I said. “A letter? A piece of music? Someone still alive who knew you? Lassiter is my best lead, and all he had was this notebook of his own tunes and some of Laura’s.”

  “And mine,” Ashford said. “The man had no right to copy ‘Two Hearts Singing.’”

  “He was just using the tunes as examples.” I was tired of the way Ashford took offense as easily as he took Camden’s breath. “I’m going to return the book tomorrow. I’ll ask him some more questions.”

  “I shall come with you.”

  “No, you shall not. You want Lassiter to think I’m crazy, bringing along somebody who thinks he’s John Ashford?”

  Ashford indicated the group with a sweep of his hand. “They understand!”

  “Rufus and Kary live here. This kind of stuff’s old hat to them, and Angie’s got an open mind. You won’t find this kind of reception out in the real world. That’s why you couldn’t be on television. If you don’t do this my way, you’ll never find out the truth. And I think we’ve had enough of you for now, so beat it.”

  He scowled. “Your manners are barbaric.”

  “I work hard at it. Go on. Get out.”

  Another scowl, and then Camden’s features went slack. This time, he didn’t just stand in a daze. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed. The four of us almost bumped heads trying to reach him. Rufus got there first. He picked Camden up and put him on the sofa. In a few minutes, his eyes opened.

  “Ashford again,” I said. “He bored us all rigid with his tale of woe. You remember anything?”

  “Oh, my God. Again?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “No, not a thing.”

  Angie leaned her meaty forearms over the sofa. I waited for it to tip over. “Seems to me this Ashford is getting stronger. What’s his game?”

  “He says he’ll leave once the case is solved.” But I was beginning to have my doubts. Ashford could have a pretty good life, using Camden’s body, stealing Camden’s girl. What if he decided not to go?

  Camden slowly sat up and looked at the circle of concerned faces. “Any suggestions?”

  “I’ve got a few more leads to follow,” I said. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  The evening only got worse. Once we were sure Camden was okay, Kary modeled her evening gown for us, and it took all my resolve not to run screaming into the night with her across my shoulder. She and Rufus and Angie went out to the movies. Camden, still dazed from his latest close encounter, went upstairs. After a while, I could hear him singing something called “The Lovers’ Quarrel,” which I found more than appropriate. That left me with Ashford’s biography, Lassiter’s notebook, and a bad case of the blues.

  I looked around my office, wondering if somehow I’d gotten into a rogue time machine somebody left lying around the house. Hadn’t I just been sitting here, staring at my computer screen? Was I any further along with anything? Was there any connection between Bennett’s notebook and Lassiter’s and this murder in Washington? Was I trying to make a case out of nothing?

  And still no reply from Denise Baker Number Four. I tried her number again. Still not home or possibly not picking up. Maybe I’d scared her off. Maybe she thought I was crazy. Maybe I’d have better luck with Denise Number Six.

  I’d just closed my phone when it rang. Hoping it was Denise, I was surprised to see the caller ID said, “Ellin Belton.” Good grief, what did she want? I prepared myself for another lecture, but her voice was calm.

  “Randall, I’d like to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “I was a little harsh, sorry.’

  “No, I mean when you said one of these days I’m going to push too hard. You probably don’t believe me, but I have Cam’s best interests at heart.”

  I didn’t believe her, but I said, “Okay.”

  “I know he loves that big old white elephant of a house. I’m just trying to help him make some more money. Are you planning to pay rent? I know most of those people living there don’t contribute a dime.”

  “I’m not staying. This is just temporary until I can find an apartment and an office.” Every time I said this, I felt I was fighting a losing battle to convince myself. “But if by some chance I decided to stay, I’d pay my fair share.” It occurred to me she might know something that could help me. “Do you know Melanie Gentry or Byron Ashford?”

  “I don’t know Melanie, but I’ve seen Byron at the club.”

  “The club?”

  “The Parkland Country Club.”

  I didn’t know Camden was dating a society gal. “Know anything about him?”

  “He’s very arrogant, very careless with his money, likes to gamble. I hear he’s in a bit of financial trouble. His private jet and his house in Washington are both up for sale.”

  “Washington as in D.C.?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know if he was in Washington this week?”

  “I don’t know. I could ask Mother. She hears everything that goes on at the club.”

  “Would you do that? It could be important.”

  There was a moment of silence as if she was debating whether or not to help me. “If you solve your case, you’re moving out, right?”

  “Right.” That was my plan, anyway.

  “Then I’m going to help you any way I can.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The Fortune Teller”

  The next morning when I came down to the kitchen, Kary was fixing coffee and toast. Her hair was tangled, and she was wearing her overlarge white terrycloth robe.

  “Hi,” she said. “Want some toast?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I was glad I had pulled on a clean tee shirt and shorts instead of wandering downstairs in my pajama shorts. I poured myself a cup of coffee. As I sat down on one of the stools, I noticed several fat textbooks on the counter: Elements of Education, Curriculum Development, Science and Society. When I thumbed through the education book, what I tho
ught was a bookmark turned out to be a brochure with “Adoption: Is It Right For You?” on the front, surrounded by pictures of smiling children. Kary was busy at the toaster, so before she turned around to me, I quickly shoved the brochure back into the book.

  She handed me two pieces of toast on a plate. “You want butter? Jelly?”

  “Both, please.” Her robe had slipped down over one perfect shoulder. She passed the butter dish and handed me a jar of strawberry jelly. She got her toast and sat down across from me at the counter. For a moment, I imagined we were married and sharing a tender breakfast moment. Unfortunately, the light from the little diamond ring kept stabbing me in the eye.

  Kary readjusted her robe, a serious gaze in her big brown eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t had much sleep.

  “David, about that incident yesterday. I’ve seen Cam have some strong visions, but nothing like that. It was almost as if he couldn’t control this spirit. John Ashford said you had to find proof he wrote his music. Can you do that? Then will he go away? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and I wish he’d stayed dead, but something stirred him up. I think it’s this new documentary and the sudden interest in American folk music, plus Ashford thinks he’s a big name like Stephen Foster and wants more screen time. Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of him.”

  “I want to help.”

  “Check all your sources and references for any connection between him and Ashford.”

  “All right.” She started to spread butter on her toast and set her knife down. She pushed her plate aside. “I know Cam’s receptive to spirits, but usually he’s himself and just tells people what they say. Have you ever seen him taken over like this?”

  “No, this is a new one on me.”

  “How did you meet? I don’t think he ever told me.”

  We were both roaring drunk down at the Crow Bar. Camden was up on a table singing something operatic and trying not to be psychic, and I was trying to drown myself in grief. Neither of us was successful. “Oh, we met at a bar downtown. Just struck up a conversation. How about you?”

  “We met at Cam’s church. They don’t demand anything of you. If you want to sing, okay. If you don’t, okay. If you want to take Communion, that’s fine. If you don’t, you aren’t condemned. Maybe you don’t really believe. Maybe you just need a quiet place to sit and think. You’re still welcome. You’re not shunned or kicked out or—sorry. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

  I would have given anything to brush away the sudden stray tear that rolled down her cheek. “Sounds like you knew what you needed and found it.”

  Kary blotted her face with her napkin. “Cam knew.” She reached for her coffee cup. “If we work together, we can help Cam get rid of John Ashford.”

  I’d stopped listening after “if we work together,” but tuned in for the last part.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  She took a sip of coffee and seemed to be back in control. “You’re easy to talk to, David. Maybe you shouldn’t have given up that bartending dream.”

  “I inherited my dad’s Tell Me All Face.”

  “Would you pass me another napkin, please?”

  The napkins were on the other side of the stack of textbooks. Underneath the textbooks was a garish-looking newspaper. At first, I thought it was the National Inquirer. “Are you studying tabloids, too?”

  “Oh, that’s the Psychic Service newspaper. Ellin must have left it here.”

  On the front, the headline blared: “Crystal Psychics—Your Chance to Shine.” Inside, there were listings for dozens of psychics and advisors, some specializing in lost objects, some in numerology, some in relationships. There were soul searchers, ghost busters, spiritual ministers, past life researchers, even animal psychics. I turned to the back where an ad promised love, happiness, and success if you called the special psychic hotline.

  “I should throw it away,” Kary said. “Cam doesn’t work for the service anymore.”

  I turned through the rest of the paper. Glowing testimonials from satisfied customers. Lucky numbers to call for celebrity forecasts. The monthly horoscope. A quiz to test your psychic ability. “He just worked on the real cases, though, right? Like the missing girl he found in the drainpipe.”

  Kary shuddered. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

  Squeals and giggles sounded from the front of the house. I closed the paper. “Ol’ Fred sounds cheerful this morning.”

  My remark made Kary laugh. “That’s Rufus’ niece. She likes to play on the porch swing.”

  I felt my smile freeze on my face. “Great. Is she going to be here all day?”

  “Just till Sunday School.” She got up. “I’ll go see if she’d like some cereal or something.”

  I made my escape to the backyard. I took the US Psychic World News and Report and sat in one of the blue-and-white striped lounge chairs under the trees. I was absorbed in a woman’s gushing story of how she’d found true love and won the lottery, thanks to the Service, when I became aware I was being watched. I slowly lowered the paper. My heart gave a thud. There stood Rufus’ niece, a little girl with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a pink outfit, tiny gold earrings shaped like teddy bears, and “Beauty and the Beast” sneakers. She was absolutely perfect.

  “Go away,” I said.

  She regarded me thoughtfully and then decided I wasn’t worth the effort. She skipped back to the house, ponytail swinging gracefully. My throat ached, wanting to call her back.

  I sat still for a long time, the words of the psychic newspaper blurring. Damn. Damn! Wasn’t I ever going to get over it?

  After a while, Camden came out. “She’s gone,” he said quietly.

  “About time.” I did a double take. He had on a dark gray suit, a white shirt with thin gray stripes, gray socks, dark shoes, a burgundy tie, and his hair was actually combed. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Church. Can you give me a ride?”

  I had forgotten it was Sunday. “Yeah, sure.”

  “We’re all going. Why don’t you come along?”

  “I haven’t finished reading this intriguing little tabloid.”

  “Kary needs a ride, too.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Kary waved from the kitchen door. She had put on a royal blue dress that made her hair look even more like spun gold.

  “Does she sing in the choir, too?” She certainly looked like an angel.

  “No.”

  “So we could share a pew?”

  “Yep.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  I put on my suit and tie, and we went to Victory Holiness Church.

  Kary and I sat about four pews from the back next to an elderly Korean couple and two dark-skinned teenage girls who whispered congratulations to Kary over her engagement. She introduced me to the people around us and handed me a hymnbook. I looked around at the stained glass windows with names and dates underneath, indicating the church members who had donated each window. My feet sank into thick-deep red carpet. Two tall candlesticks and four collection plates sat on a long table at the front. Above the alter shone a larger stained glass window depicting angels in flight and light coming from the clouds in long streamers of gold. I could hear the hum of air conditioning, but some people used paper fans to keep cool.

  The church filled up and the choir filed in, rows of smiling men and women in red robes, including Camden on the end of the first row. After the first hymn and several Bible readings, the choir stood. I noticed they didn’t use any music, and instead of an organ, a small gray-haired black woman came around to a piano, flexed her little fingers, and charged in.

  The choir began with a deep rich hum, and then Camden’s clear tenor took off with the melody. He would sing a line, and the choir would respond.
It was uplifting. That’s the only word I could think of to describe it. I’d never heard the song. It was all about standing on the solid rock and needing a safe place and all that kind of thing. In some places, the congregation sang along. The song swooped up to a clear high note that rang long after the song ended. The choir sat down as several people said, “Amen!” right out loud. One of the choir ladies reached over and patted Camden’s knee. His hair was back in his eyes. He loosened his tie and turned his attention to the minister.

  “Thank you, choir, for that splendid number,” the minister said. “A fitting beginning to our revival week. Now, if everyone would turn in your Bibles to Psalm Thirty-Four.”

  I managed to make it through the rest of the service. I hadn’t been to church in a while, and the last time had been for something I never want to think about again. The song had stirred up unwanted emotions and by the time we sang the last hymn, I was pretty edgy. The beautiful little church, the emotion-filled anthem, the angels in the golden clouds, all the talk about revival and renewal—I just couldn’t take it.

  I waited out by the Fury until Camden waded through the appreciative crowd. I saw Kary talking with a group of excited women, oohing and ahhing over her hand, so I figured we’d be here a while. No doubt they were discussing every little detail of her impending wedding.

  Like me, Camden had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. It was a particularly warm day.

  “Sounded good,” I said as he walked up.

  “Thanks.”

  I opened the car door. “Get in, and I’ll crank up the air.”

  The car was beginning to get out of the blast furnace stage when Camden said, “My offer still stands.”

  “And I’ve told you I don’t want to know. Don’t start with me.”

  “I think you’d feel better.”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel.” I kept my eyes on the little church and the group of brightly dressed women, but I could tell he was giving me one of those power stares.