Death at a Seance

by Carolyn Marie Wilkins

  “Girl, you have really been through it, haven’t you? I wish I’d known you earlier. I could have warned you about that Kerchal fella. His daddy is a frequent visitor to the Blue Goose, if you follow my meaning. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “No, I guess not,” I said. I felt a surge of bitterness shoot through me like an arrow. “I trusted Sam, and he betrayed me, but Sister Marie’s been teaching me how to let the pain go. She says I was born for better things than grieving.”

  “Amen to that, beautiful,” Ralph said. “Way better things.” Coming from any other man, Ralph’s appraising look would have been offensive, but the boy flirted with such openhearted good humor that I found it impossible to be angry with him.

  “Watch yourself, mister,” I said with a smile. “Stick to the business at hand.”

  “Takin’ care of business is what I am all about,” Ralph said with a wink. “You ever need your particular business taken care of, you call me, hear?” He stood up and offered me his arm. “If The Boss wasn’t waiting for us, I’d take you to Monroe Park and buy you an ice cream cone.”

  “But he is waiting,” I said. “We should get a move on.”

  Ralph and I were smiling as we turned onto Bland Avenue, but when we entered Reverend Robinson’s office, it was clear that neither the reverend, Boss Tisdale, or Mr. Lewis were in any mood for levity.

  “You’re late,” Tisdale said, looking pointedly at his pocket watch. “You should know better than to keep your elders waiting, Ralph. What have you got to say for yourself?”

  In the glare of his employer’s stern gaze, Ralph hung his head.

  “Don’t be upset with Ralph,” I said hastily. “I’m entirely to blame for our tardiness. Sister Marie needed a little extra assistance this morning.”

  “See that it doesn’t happen again,” Tisdale said. As he continued, Ralph and I seated ourselves in rickety folding chairs across from the reverend’s desk. “Miss McFarland, your case is a ticking time bomb. The press is having a field day with it and shows no sign of slowing down. The Chronicle is sponsoring a petition asking Chief Smith to put you back in jail.”

  “But I am innocent,” I said stubbornly. “Surely that counts for something?”

  “Perhaps. But you are also a Negro,” Tisdale said tartly. “There are folks out there just itching to put the torch to our community. The best way for us to settle this thing is to find the real killer and bring them to justice.”

  Reverend Robinson nodded his agreement. “On that front, I’m pleased to announce that new information has come to light. Mr. Lewis, tell Carrie what you shared with us earlier.”

  Mr. Lewis—attired, regardless of the heat, in the formal attire he wore to work—looked exhausted. Despite this, the old man had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  “When I left here last night, I picked Mr. Mason up at the train station. The minute he got home, he and the missus had a huge row, a real corker. He accused Mrs. Mason of being a fool and a dupe.” Noticing the distressed expression on my face, Mr. Lewis added hastily, “He was not talking about you, Carrie. Mr. Mason was talking about Rudy Gillette. He told Mrs. Mason to stop writing checks to fund Gillette’s Spiritualist Temple. He said Gillette was a fake who didn’t care a fig for Spiritualism.”

  Tisdale’s eyes glittered. “Interesting,” he said. “This could add an additional dimension to the case.”

  “Yes, it does,” the reverend said with a decidedly un-ministerial grin. “And there’s more. Tell the people what happened next, Mr. Lewis.”

  “Mrs. Mason accused her husband of being jealous of Gillette because of the affair she had with the man two years ago.”

  As Mr. Lewis spoke, I tried to imagine the imposing Chieftess Mason committing adultery with Rudy Gillette. Did he touch up the dye job on his hair before each tryst? I suppressed a smile as I pictured the two of them in bed together.

  “By this time, Mr. Mason and the missus are both shouting at the top of their lungs,” Mr. Lewis continued. “He says: ‘If you think I am jealous about anything you do, you are crazier than I thought. This man is after your money, not your love. You’ve already given him nearly twenty thousand dollars. If you keep this up, we’ll end up in the poorhouse.’”

  Tisdale whistled softly. “Twenty thousand is a substantial sum, even for a rich man like Mason. What have you got to add, Ralph? Did you find out anything useful about this Gillette fellow?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ralph said, eager to redeem himself. “My Uncle Scott is the night janitor at the Courier. He let me into the newspaper archives last night.” He pulled a small black notebook from his pocket and began to read. “Five years ago, Rudy Gillette was an actor. Did a lot of work for a theatrical producer named Gaylord Wilson.”

  “That fellow up in Claxton?” Mr. Lewis said.

  “The very same,” Ralph said. “Wilson calls himself ‘The P.T. Barnum of Indiana.’ He puts on all kinds of events—minstrel shows, vaudeville, you name it. But unlike P.T. Barnum, Wilson claims to be a Spiritualist. Five years ago, he produced a show called ‘Wilson’s Spectacle of Spirits.’ Rudy Gillette was one of the performers.”

  Boss Tisdale’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “People paid their hard-earned cash money for that nonsense?”

  “The show was a box-office smash,” Ralph said. “Wilson and Gillette were raking in the cash until the Claxton Advocate wrote a story claiming that the so-called spirits in the show were really actors dressed in white gauze. Wilson was arrested for fraud, but never prosecuted.”

  “Fascinating,” Tisdale said quietly. “Well done, Ralph.”

  Reverend Robinson tapped his desk absentmindedly with his index finger. “Mr. Lewis,” he said. “Do you know if Rudy Gillette is in touch with this Wilson character?”

  The old man nodded. “Mr. Mason told the missus that Gillette and Wilson were still in cahoots. He believes they plan to steal the money she’s put up for that Spiritualist Temple Gillette is always talking about.”

  “A pretty sweet humbug,” Tisdale said appreciatively. “I wonder how they plan to pull it off.”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Lewis said. “All I can tell you is that Mason was convinced Gillette was up to something, and he did not like it. Not at all.”

  As Mr. Lewis spoke, Ralph looked as though he would burst with excitement. When Mr. Lewis had finished speaking, Ralph cleared his throat.

  “You have not yet heard the best part of my report,” he said. After a nod from Tisdale, he continued. “Would you like to guess who the lead reporter was on that story about Wilson?”

  “Was it the dead woman?” Reverend Robinson said.

  “None other,” Ralph said with a wicked grin. “Miss Ellen Parker, in the flesh.”

  “Well, that puts a whole new face on this situation,” Tisdale said.

  I could practically see the wheels in his head turn as he calculated the possible advantages to be gained from this information.

  “Has it occurred to you,” Tisdale said, “that Miss Parker was at the séance to follow up on the fraud investigation she started five years ago? If Gillette was stealing money from Mrs. Mason, Miss Parker would have been the last person on earth he’d want to see.”

  Mr. Lewis nodded. “These fraud allegations definitely provide possible motive for murder. Do you think we should tell the police?”

  “Not yet,” Tisdale said. “As long as the newspapers continue to put stories about hoodoo witchery on the front page, Miss McFarland will continue to be a suspect. Don’t forget that Chief Smith is beholden to Mayor Handy, who is up for reelection in two months. Let’s keep this under our hat until we can dig up some additional evidence.”

  For the past several minutes, I had remained quiet, observing from the sidelines as these well-intentioned men discussed my case, but the idea that I should remain a target for Detective Johnson and his minions did not seem right to me. Not at all.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Tisdale,” I said. “Are you saying you do not in
tend to tell Chief Smith about Mr. Gillette being a suspect?”

  The Boss flashed me a patronizing smile. “Don’t you worry. Once we can prove Rudy Gillette is the killer, I promise you I will have a little chat with the mayor.”

  Taking a deep breath, I sat a little straighter in my chair. “I really appreciate how kind you have been, Mr. Tisdale,” I said, “but I just can’t sit by quietly and wait for someone else to save me. Tomorrow I will take the train up to Claxton and do some sleuthing of my own.”

  From the look on the faces of all three men, I could see that I had taken my benefactors by surprise.

  “There is nothing else you can do to help your case right now,” Tisdale said. From the slight hint of annoyance in his voice, it was obvious he had not expected me to take an active role in making any decisions.

  “But there is something I can do,” I said. “I can get myself some kind of job working for Wilson’s outfit.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Mr. Lewis said. “The man is at best a fraud, and at worst, a murderer.”

  “Nonetheless, I shall go,” I insisted. “I’ll audition for his vaudeville show. I think people would pay to see the Notorious Hoodoo Witch tell her gruesome tale of cold-blooded murder. If he doesn’t hire me as a performer, I can certainly get a job as a cleaning woman.”

  Much as he disapproved of my speaking up, I could tell that Tisdale was beginning to see the merits of my plan.

  “Once you’re inside that theater, it would be easy to snoop around,” he said. “Actors love to gossip.”

  “She could also get friendly with the rest of the colored help,” Reverend Robinson said. “If there is any dirt to be uncovered about either Wilson or Gillette, they will know about it.”

  Boss Tisdale and Reverend Robinson exchanged skeptical looks.

  “But what if Mr. Wilson suspects you are there to spy on him?” Tisdale said.

  “Then he won’t hire me,” I said, pretending a nonchalant confidence I did not in fact feel. “But look at things from his perspective. He’s a business man, first and foremost. He will be aware that he could make a lot of money off me.”

  “She does have a point,” Mr. Lewis said. “Ralph could also look for work at the theater, posing as a janitor or a shoeshine boy or some such.”

  Ralph grinned. “I give a mean shoeshine, Mr. Lewis. While I was hanging around backstage picking up tips, I could also keep an eye on our pretty little lady here. Between the two of us, we just might crack this case.”

  “What about the police?” Reverend Robinson said. “They are not going to be happy to learn that their prime suspect has left the city and is promoting herself as an accused murderer.”

  “True,” Tisdale said. He sat quietly for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Carrie could go up to Claxton, talk to Wilson, rehearse with the company for the day, then take sick before the opening performance.”

  “That could work,” Reverend Robinson said thoughtfully. “Wilson would be put out, of course, but if Carrie digs up something useful, he and Gillette would be arrested before they could do her any harm. What do you think, Mr. Lewis?”

  “It might work. But then again, it might not,” the old man said.” Either way, we’d be putting Miss McFarland’s life in serious danger.”

  “My life’s in serious danger already,” I said firmly. “You have all been very kind, but it’s time I took charge of my own destiny.”

  “I admire your courage,” Reverend Robinson said, “but I’d feel terrible if something were to happen to you, Carrie.”

  The minister’s warmth touched me deeply, but I was not about to let anyone else, even someone as handsome and compassionate as Reverend Robinson, keep me from doing what I had to do.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “It better be,” Tisdale said. “I’m not sure I favor this scheme, not at all. If Chief Smith gets wind that you’ve left town, he will have my hide.”

  “He is not going to find out,” I said firmly. “I’ll be back before anyone knows I’m gone.”

  The Boss sighed and shook his head. “I can’t fault your determination, Miss McFarland. Very well. You and Ralph will take the morning train up to Claxton. But only for one day, understand?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  From the moment we boarded the train to Claxton, Ralph kept me amused with story after story of his adventures. He’d moved to Aronsville after his family lost their farm, just like me. And like me, he’d lost both his parents. Unlike me, however, he’d taken to city life like a duck to water, at least in part due to his boundless self-confidence. In every chapter of his life, Ralph Barnes was the conquering hero, defeating villains and winning the day. When I asked him if he thought of himself as cocky, he laughed.

  “Gotta be, honey. Act like you know what you’re doing and people will believe you. If you don’t believe in yourself, no one will. That’s how I made it through the Battle of the Marne. White folks said when the Huns came at us, we Negroes would run the other way. The American Army wouldn’t even let us carry a gun. But when the French gave us a chance, we showed ’em.”

  “You were in the Harlem Hellfighters?” I didn’t want to give Ralph an excuse to swell his head bigger than it already was, but I had to admit, I was impressed. The all-Negro 369th Infantry Division had been decorated by the French government for their heroism during the Great War.

  Ralph grinned and flipped me a mock salute. “Sho ’nuff, pretty girl. No one believed in us, but we made our mark just the same. You gotta have confidence. There’s enough folks out there tryin’ ta bring you down. You sho ’nuff don’t need to help them. Don’t you believe in yourself?”

  I shrugged. “Never really thought about it. Seems kind of vain to me. You know what the Bible says about pride going before a fall.”

  Ralph laughed. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be quoting the Bible at me,” Ralph said. “What with you being a hoodoo woman and all.”

  “I wish people would stop calling me that,” I said. “Sister Marie says that I’m a Seer, that I have a gift. But so far it’s brought me nothing but trouble.”

  Ralph nodded. “I suppose it doesn’t help that you are so Indian-looking,” he said. “People always trying to figure you out. Must be annoying sometimes.”

  “It is,” I said with a sigh. “I probably would not have gotten mixed up with Mrs. Mason at all if I’d looked like an ordinary Negro.”

  “True,” Ralph said. “Sam Kerchal wouldn’t have written you any poems either.”

  “I try not to think about it too much,” I said softly. “But I s’pose you’re right about that one too.”

  “Can you really see the future?”

  “Only sometimes. When I get a buzzing in my ear, I know my spirit is talking to me. And before you ask—yes, I really did see a black cloud around that reporter. As clear as I am seeing you right now.”

  “My, my,” Ralph said, flashing his trademark grin. “You are really something, Miss Carrie. You really are. Easy to talk to and easy on the eye as well. Now that you’ve kicked ol’ Sam Kerchal to the curb, you got anybody special keepin’ you company? A pretty girl like you needs a man in her life.”

  “Go on,” I said, hoping that I was not blushing too much. “I’ll bet you say that to every girl you meet.”

  “Most of ’em,” Ralph admitted with a good-natured smile. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. You’re a beautiful girl—inside and out. I’m tickled as punch we’re gonna be spending the next couple days working together.”

  I turned away and stared at the endless rows of corn passing by my window. Ralph was handsome, charming, and great company, but I didn’t need my psychic senses to know that when it came to women, he was trouble—with a capital T.

  “Just don’t get any ideas, mister,” I said. “I’ve already been through a lot. The last thing I need is another no-account Romeo in my life.”

  Ralph laughed and threw up his
hands in mock surrender. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “I intend to be the perfect gentleman. I will be your knight in shining armor, Carrie McFarland. I’m gonna make sure nothing happens to you in Claxton or anywhere else. You’ll see.”

  Ralph’s good humor was so infectious, I couldn’t help but smile. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be making a plan for what we’re going to do when we arrive? We’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Already got a plan, darlin’.” Ralph tapped his forehead and winked. “Up here in the old noggin. Care to hear it?”

  As Ralph outlined his strategy, I had to admit the young man was not only handsome but intelligent.

  “The minute we get off this train, we’re gonna act like we don’t know each other,” he said. “You go straight to Wilson’s office. It’s on Grundy Street next to the Gaiety Theater. Get yourself hired if at all possible. At the very least, you can snoop around, see what you can learn about his connection to our friend Rudy Gillette.”

  I nodded. “And where will you be?”

  “I’ll be right next door at the Gaiety, shining shoes and running errands for the theatrical types. When you start working in the show, I’ll make an excuse to come and find you.”

  “What if I can’t get a part in the show?” I said. “What then?”

  Ralph grinned and patted my hand. “You really are a worrier, aren’t you.” He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “I will be watching out for you. Every night I’ll wait for you in the alley behind the theater. You run into trouble and don’t show up, I will come looking for you.”

  At the dubious expression on my face, Ralph grinned broadly. “Don’t you understand? We’re a team, Carrie. Between the two of us, we’re gonna get the goods on Wilson and Gillette in short order. Two days from now, we’ll be on our way home.”

  As usual, Ralph’s breezy confidence was hard to resist. When he gave my hand a friendly squeeze as our train pulled into Claxton Depot, I decided not to take offense.