Death at a Seance

by Carolyn Marie Wilkins

  “If Miss Parker was investigating Gillette for fraud, Brown may have known about it,” Ralph said.

  “Precisely,” Tisdale said. “And now Brown is dead.”

  “Dead, yes.” Ralph said. “But was he murdered?”

  “It could well have been an accident,” I said. “There’s a lot of tainted gin out there.”

  Tisdale’s smile was enigmatic. “Let’s just say I have reason to believe that someone may have tampered with Brown’s liquor. I intend to do some investigating on that score. In the meantime, the police are looking for you. Do not return to your homes, and do not follow your regular routine.”

  “But where will I go?” As the impact of Tisdale’s words began to sink in, my stomach knotted up in panic. “Sister Marie’s given me the only home I’ve known since my mama died.”

  “Find somewhere else,” Tisdale said brusquely. “The last thing we need is for the police to start poking into Sister Marie’s business. One look at the skull she keeps in that cabinet of hers and they’ll burn us all at the stake.”

  “There’s a brown-skinned gal on the west side who’d be happy to hide me for a while,” Ralph said with a wink. “She’s got a sweet disposition, and a body to match.”

  Though I tried not to show it, a pang of jealousy sliced through my heart. For some crazy reason, I’d begun to hope that Ralph and I might become more than just friends. But Mama had been right all along: men like Ralph were to be avoided. He was nothing but a flirt. Charming, but not to be taken seriously, even though he had just saved my life.

  Oblivious to my internal turmoil, Ralph continued, “Before I disappear, I’ll ask my Uncle Scott to take a look in Miss Parker’s desk. He’s the night janitor down at the Chronicle. After midnight, the place will be deserted. He could look to see if she left any notes behind.”

  “An excellent idea,” Tisdale said, “but tell him to be careful. Edward Lewis got caught listening outside Mason’s bedroom door last night. Mason nearly fired him on the spot.”

  “Maybe I should turn myself in,” I said slowly. “I don’t want anyone else to suffer on my account. Especially not Mr. Lewis.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ralph said. “Even if you do turn yourself in, the police will still come looking for me.”

  “What if I them the truth?” I said. “Detective Johnson is a lowlife, but maybe I can get Chief Smith to believe me.”

  “Absolutely not,” Tisdale said firmly. “You are both going to have to trust me here. Do exactly what I tell you to do and everything will be fine.”

  “We believe you,” Ralph said. When he tried to give my hand a reassuring squeeze, I pulled it away. Appearing not to notice this rebuff, Ralph said, “Do you know what Mr. Lewis found out? Must have been good stuff if Mason got so angry with him for listening to it.”

  Tisdale nodded. “It was, indeed. Mason is nearly bankrupt. When he went to Aronsville Savings Bank for a loan, Sam Kerchal turned him down flat.”

  “Kerchal Senior or Junior?” I blurted out.

  “Junior, of course,” he said with a frown. Boss Tisdale was not used to being interrupted by anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old girl. “The old man keeled over from a heart attack two weeks ago.”

  Quick as lightning, my mind flashed back to my last memory of Old Man Kerchal, his face twisted with hatred as he shoved me out his front door. I couldn’t honestly say I was sorry to hear that he had died. Then again, I wasn’t particularly happy either. Truth was, I was too numb from the events of the past week to feel much of anything.

  “That family has had nothing but problems this year,” Tisdale said, shaking his head. “Cursed, if you ask me. The point is, Mason is nearly broke, which, of course, he wants to keep quiet. Turns out the missus has been writing huge checks to Rudy Gillette, who’s been cashing them at a merry rate.”

  “It all seems to come back to Gillette, doesn’t it,” Ralph said. “Carrie spotted him at Woody Glade.”

  “His maid Lula is an old friend of mine,” Tisdale said. “I will get her to take a look around his apartment. Maybe she will be able to turn something up. Meanwhile, you two are to go into hiding, effective immediately. Is that clear?”

  As we were leaving the Gray Goose, Ralph offered to walk with me.

  “No thanks,” I said. “Looks like I’m gonna have to take care of myself from now on. Might as well start now.”

  “Suit yourself, pretty girl,” Ralph said. He bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “If you need me, get word to The Boss, and I’ll come running.”

  As I watched him walk to the corner and turn onto Elm Street, a single tear slid down my cheek. One by one, my supports were being pulled away. Now I was well and truly on my own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My mind whirled in circles as I stood alone on Lincoln Avenue. What on earth would I do now? Where could I go? I needed to go somewhere quiet, somewhere I could think. Maybe Riverview Park. Pulling my bonnet low over my face, I walked to Main Street and caught the northbound trolley up to Water Street.

  As I got off the trolley, five Negro women, all wearing maid’s uniforms, got on for the return trip to Churchtown. Watching them, I was transported back to the day I’d first gotten off there as a young girl—the day my mother had taken me to find a job. Suddenly, I got an idea. True, it was a crazy idea, but Lord knows I was sufficiently desperate enough to try the craziest of ideas at that point.

  Ten minutes later, I stood outside Sam Kerchal’s back door, watching through the window as Teo stirred the contents of large porcelain bowl on the kitchen counter. Softly, so as not to startle her, I tapped on the screen door.

  “Teo?” I said in a near whisper. “It’s me, Carrie.”

  Still holding the wooden spoon, Teo turned toward the window. When she recognized me, the old woman put down the spoon and flung open the door.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Teo exclaimed, shaking her head. “Carrie McFarland, in the flesh.”

  “Listen, Teo,” I said, “I’m in a bit of trouble right now. The police are looking for me. Is there any way I could sleep down in the basement tonight? I wouldn’t even ask, but the truth is, I have nowhere else to go.”

  Teo’s laugh was a dose of welcome medicine for my flagging spirits. “I’ve never been able to say no to you, Carrie. Lucky for you, Mrs. Kerchal and Sam’s wife, Becky, are up at their summer cottage on Cobble Hill. Sam’s gone up to join ’em for the week. If you stay out of sight down in the basement sewing room, no one will be the wiser. You can go and come as you please through the cellar door. I’ll be sure to keep it unbarred at night.”

  “How will I ever repay you?” I said, my eyes welling up with tears.

  “Don’t be silly,” Teo said. “Be nice to have some company. It’s downright lonely here with everyone else up at the summer place. Come inside and sit a spell.”

  For the next half hour, Teo fed me hot tea and cornbread while I told her of my recent adventures. When I’d finished, she shook her head in amazement.

  “I know you didn’t kill those people, and you know you didn’t kill those people, but how are you going to get other folks to believe it?”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it,” I said. “No one is going to believe me unless I can prove my innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  Teo grinned. “And the best way to do that is to find the real murderer and bring them to justice.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And not get picked up by the police while I’m investigating. This is where I’m hoping you can help me.”

  Pushing my plate aside, I leaned forward and explained what I had in mind.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you wreak havoc wherever you go?” Teo exclaimed. “They’re gonna start calling you Calamity Carrie pretty soon. Bad enough I’ve got you sleeping in the cellar, but snooping around in Sam’s private files? If word ever got out, I’d be fired, sure as you’re born.”

  “If I could think of any other way, I would, Teo. Every day there�
�s a new article in the Chronicle saying I’m a witch and a murderer. They’re putting pressure on the police to bring me in.”

  “The Chronicle is a Klan rag,” Teo said dismissively. “I never read anything they say.”

  “But a lot of other folks do,” I said. “And if the Klan gets hold of me, they won’t bother waiting for the legal system to pronounce me guilty.”

  “That’s for sure,” Teo said. “The Kluxers held a midnight rally in Somerset Park last weekend. All dressed up in white sheets with hoods over their heads, talking ’bout a ‘new reckoning’ for us coloreds. How we need to keep in our place.”

  “Or face the consequences,” I said grimly. As I contemplated the “consequences” the Klan might have in mind for a hoodoo witch, I could feel an imaginary lynch rope tightening around my neck.

  “Look, Teo, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I just have a feeling, a hunch, that Sam knows something that can help me.”

  She sat silently for a moment. I knew this was a big favor, and if I hadn’t been so terribly desperate, I would never have asked her. But my back was up against the wall.

  “All right, Carrie. Against my better judgment, I am going to let you do this thing. But be careful, you hear? Everything must be put back just so. Not one paper turned the wrong way, not one item out of place.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said with a grin. “I promise.”

  “Well then,” Teo said. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed back from the table. “Let’s get started.”

  As I entered the oak-paneled study at the front of the house, bittersweet images flooded my mind. Had it really been less than six months since Sam slipped me a secret love note in this very room? I took a deep breath and allowed my anger to dissipate. The important thing now was to be calm and detached—ready to do whatever was necessary to clear my name.

  Teo and I worked silently, sifting through the large paper stacks on Sam’s desk one at a time. After looking at each item, we returned it carefully to its proper place.

  “It would help if I knew what we were looking for,” Teo said.

  “If I knew, I would tell you,” I replied. “Anything that has Bayard Mason’s name on it. Also, anything about a Spiritualist Temple or a man named Gillette.”

  “Humph,” Teo grunted. Pulling a key from under the blotter on Sam’s desk, she unlocked the bottom right-hand drawer and pulled it open.

  “Here’s something that might be useful,” she said, handing me a small book bound in red leather with the word Diary on the front.

  “It sure might be,” I said with a grin. I carried the book closer to the Tiffany floor lamp in the corner and leafed eagerly through the pages. When I found the entry for July 1, 1920, I knew I’d hit pay dirt: Mason bank records garnished by Dept. of Rev.

  Mason was not only in trouble with his creditors—he was also in trouble with the government, which was taking money out of his account to pay for back taxes. Sam’s journal entry for August 9 was even more interesting: Gillette mtg. Hotel Sunflower 10pm.

  “Teo,” I whispered, “what’s the date today?”

  “It’s the tenth of August,” Teo said in a loud voice. “There’s no need to whisper, chile. Nobody in the house but you an’ me.” When she saw how badly my hands were shaking, Teo doubled over with laughter. “You got yourself so wrapped up with crime detection, you startin’ to spook yourself. You don’t even know what day it is.”

  Teo was right, of course, but I was not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I said with a small smile.

  “Of course you do, what with being wanted by the police and all. Find what you were looking for?”

  “Oh yes,” I said with a grin. Grabbing the bewildered cook by the arm, I waltzed her around the oriental rug in front of Sam’s desk. “What I was looking for and a whole lot more.”

  After we had straightened Sam’s desk and removed all traces of our presence from the room, we returned to the kitchen to celebrate.

  “What’s all the excitement about?” Teo said, settling her considerable bulk into a wooden chair at the far end of the Kerchal’s kitchen table. “What did you find?”

  “The Department of Revenue is deducting money from Mr. Mason’s bank accounts,” I said. “Why, I don’t know, but the man is in serious financial trouble.”

  “Probably that crazy wife of his,” Teo said. “Annie Lewis tells me the woman spends her husband’s hard-earned cash like it was water.”

  “She was giving her money by the fistful to Rudy Gillette,” I said. “Gillette used to work for Gaylord Wilson, the theatrical producer who was killed up at Camp Woody Glade.”

  “I thought rich people were supposed to be smart,” Teo said, shaking her head. “Anybody with half a brain could see right through that Gillette fellow. The man’s spirituality is as phony as his hair color.”

  I put my cup down. “How’d you know that, Teo?”

  “Know what?”

  “About Gillette’s hair. How’d you know?”

  She looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. “Because I’ve seen him, of course. He’s been over here a few times. Imagines himself some kind of fancy man in his tailor-made suit and red vest.”

  “You’re saying Gillette is a friend of the family?”

  “Not really,” Teo said. “More like a pest of the family, to be honest. Mrs. Kerchal has been besotted with the afterlife ever since her husband died. Gillette’s been over a few times to talk to her about it. I don’t think Sam likes him much.”

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but he had an appointment to meet Gillette last night. Drove all the way to Woody Glade to meet him. The question is, why?”

  “How should I know?” Teo said. She sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position on the kitchen chair. “If I tried to puzzle out what made white folks do the things they do, I’d-a gone crazy a long time ago.”

  I frowned and drummed my fingers impatiently on the table. Everywhere I looked, Gillette’s name came up. Was this a coincidence, or was it a clue? The one person who might know for sure was the last person in the world I wanted to ask.

  “I need to talk to Sam,” I said. “Just tell me the best time to catch him alone.”

  “Absolutely not,” Teo said firmly. “If you think I am going to stand by and let you wreck your life over that man all over again, you are very much mistaken.”

  “It’s nothing like that, Teo. Not anymore. But because we were intimate for a time, I think I can get him to tell me what I need to know.”

  The two of us eyed each other across the kitchen table, facing off for a fight.

  “All right,” Teo said finally. “He’ll still be at the summer cottage on Cobble Hill tomorrow. His wife takes Mrs. Kerchal out in her wheelchair for a promenade by the river every afternoon between two and three. That’s the best time to find him alone. And whatever you do, don’t tell him I sent you. I do not want to get caught up in this mess.”

  As Teo and I sipped our tea in silence, the grandfather clock in the dining room chimed midnight. Much as I hated to admit it, I was utterly and completely exhausted. As if reading my mind, Teo patted me gently on the arm.

  “Look, chile, go on downstairs and get some sleep. You’re gonna need to have all your wits about you when you talk to Mr. Sam tomorrow.”

  It felt strange to be in the sewing room again. In this room, Sam had read me poems he’d said were dedicated to me. He’d taken my virginity in this room. And in this very same room, he’d promised to marry me and take me to California. Four months ago, this room had been my magical refuge, but as I looked around at the vintage pedal sewing machine, the piles of scraps and clothes to be mended, I felt the magic fade before my eyes. In that moment the room was just a cellar full of useless scraps of clothing too beat-up to pass on to even the poorest relative.

  With a resigned sigh, I curled up on a pile of old quilts in the corner and fell into a fitful sleep.


  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I awoke the next morning with a renewed sense of purpose. In a strange way that I did not fully understand, spending a restless night in the Kerchal’s cellar had cleared my mind. In that moment, I knew that whatever had happened between Sam and myself would no longer cause me to feel sad or bitter. My feelings about our relationship had become completely neutral. My only interest at that moment was in catching a brutal killer.

  Clear about my purpose, I planned every detail of my upcoming meeting with care. First on the agenda, I would need to look my best. While Sam might take pity on a bedraggled Negro servant girl, he’d be far more likely to share everything he knew with an alluring and mysterious former lover.

  I fished an old bonnet and a summer dress from the pile of clothes waiting to be mended by the sewing table. They were not quite up to the latest fashion, but they would do. Like it or not, I was going to have to get Sam Kerchal to pay attention to me. And nothing said “pay attention” better than sassy straw bonnet and a red silk dress.

  Once the dress was mended and I was suitably attired for my mission, I slipped out the back door into the stifling summer heat and rode the streetcar to Cobble Hill. Few houses had been built on this hilltop, which, unlike the rest of the city, had a nice cooling breeze and a panoramic view of the river beyond. I was not surprised to see that the so-called “cottage” the Kerchals owned was a grand three-story affair with a gabled roof and a wraparound porch that looked out onto the apple orchard across the road. The street was deserted, which suited me just fine.

  At one forty-five, I slipped into the apple orchard and concealed myself behind a large tree located directly across from the Kerchal home. Ten minutes later, Sam Kerchal’s wife, Becky, emerged from the house pushing Mrs. Kerchal in a wheelchair. Becky appeared haggard and careworn as she maneuvered the wheelchair down the sidewalk toward the promenade overlooking the river.

  “Look where you’re going, for heaven’s sake,” the old woman shouted. Her injury may have diminished her ability to move, but it had clearly not affected her lung power. “How many times have I told you to go slowly when you come down the front steps? You nearly spilled me out onto the ground.”