“I’ve thought about it most of the night, and this is what I think happened,” she said after she’d taken a sip. “I’ve looked back over the news coverage of the deaths at Vespers, including Rachel’s. Of course I stayed out of sight when the police and press arrived at first about the Devlins. But I think I was in the background of one of the news stories about Rachel’s death, because there were several reporters there already to cover the double murder.” She said this without the least trace of self-consciousness, as if she had nothing to do with the deaths of the man and his wife. “I think that I was spotted—maybe by facial recognition software. Since the story was about the huge coincidence that the same hotel had had a murder/suicide and a sudden death in the same twenty-four hours, the people looking for me covered all the bases.”
“You think they’re somehow hanging around the Devlin house, too?” Manfred said. He didn’t know what to think. Maybe Olivia had worried herself into a mental corner.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “I wondered if they’d staked out the Goldthorpe house, but after I thought about it, I decided the man, Falco, asked Lewis, or the maid, some questions about anyone who’d come by the house lately. Lewis would definitely have blabbed about the stranger who’d been there that day, the blonde who’d been asking about Rachel’s application for home health care. So I think this guy was posted there just in case, and he got lucky.” She smiled. “Or so he thought.”
“I kind of followed that,” Manfred said, after working it through. “So you have a long-standing enemy who has a lot, a lot, of money and persistence.”
“Yeah. My dad. And most specifically, my dad’s shadow, Ellery McGuire.”
“Didn’t see that coming,” Manfred said after a moment’s silence. He knew that Olivia would be angry when she realized how much she had told him; he could only blame her talkative bout on the lack of sleep and the shock.
He had no idea who his own father had been, but that had left him at liberty to imagine his father loved him and had had to be absent for some fabulous reason. At least his father had never sent a henchman to capture him. “And you told me this because?”
“Because you were able to tell I was in trouble last night. You somehow knew. How’d you do that?”
“The piece of paper with the phone number on it. You told me not to enter it in my phone. And you’d written on the paper yourself, which made it a personal object. When I held it, I knew you were in trouble.”
She nodded, just a quick jerk of her head. “Okay. I won’t doubt you again.”
“I only get a true reading now and then,” he admitted. “But I got one for you. So treasure it.”
Manfred had a hundred questions he would have liked to ask Olivia, but now was not the time. There might never be a time. Somehow, he felt weirdly fonder of Olivia now, though he knew she was a killer. It was an unsettling feeling, somewhat like wanting to scratch a Bengal tiger behind the ears.
“Here’s what happened at the house,” Olivia said abruptly. “And by the way, good job on the floor plan.”
Manfred felt absurdly pleased at the compliment. He nodded. “I have a pretty good memory,” he said. “So you made it up to the second floor?”
Olivia told him about her first venture into the Goldthorpe mansion and her return trip that night.
“The guy was there to bring you to your dad? Or this McGuire?”
“He called Ellery McGuire, not my dad. It’s possible my dad said something like, ‘Find my daughter and bring her to me.’ My dad is the man who causes things to be done. He’s not picky about the method. Everyone takes cues from that. So I guess those were Ellery’s orders. Otherwise, the guy could have killed me right off, and no one would have known. Being dead would be better than going back to my father.”
“To you, being captured is the equivalent of being killed?”
She looked at him, surprised. Then she gave a short jerk of the head. “You’re right,” she said. “Or close enough.”
“And Lemuel found you?”
“He’d already been to the house and back by the time I got to the motel,” she said. “He rearranged the body, rather than trying to get rid of it. There was no way I could have taken the time to do that. For one thing, I wasn’t sure Falco was alone.”
“You thought there might be more than one guy there?”
“He was alone, but he could have had a team circling the block or parked nearby.”
“So we’re back where we started, at least as far as finding the jewelry I supposedly stole.”
“Yeah.” Olivia slumped in her chair, which made her look younger and less in control. Manfred much preferred Olivia the other way. He knew that competent, cold Olivia better.
After a moment or two, she said, “I think this means that sooner or later they’re going to come check you out. They don’t know why I was at the Goldthorpes’, they just know I was at the hotel, but sooner or later my father’ll think of looking at you.”
“Should I be worried about that?” Manfred asked, trying to sound like he wasn’t anxious already.
“Yes,” she said. “We all should. If the Rev is flipping out about there being reporters here to cover the story you’re a part of . . . he’ll go ballistic if my father’s people come around.”
“Because they’re much more scary?”
“So much more,” she said, simply stating a fact. “We’ve got to figure out another way to get at this problem. I don’t know that it’ll draw them off, but we have to make progress. It’s too bad we can’t just . . .”
Manfred, who’d been refilling Olivia’s coffee cup, looked up to find out why she’d stopped. She was staring at Manfred as though he’d sprouted a horn.
“What?” he said.
“Get her husband to tell you,” Olivia said.
“What?”
“Where the damn jewelry is, of course! You’re a medium. Call Rachel up, however you do it. Or her husband, what’s his name?”
“Morton. I can try,” Manfred said. He felt like smacking himself on the forehead. “It would help if we could get someone near to her to cooperate, but I’m sure her daughters wouldn’t want anything to do with a séance. And Lewis is out of the question.”
“So maybe just you and me could do it?”
“I think we need someone a little more . . . in tune,” Manfred said, not quite sure how to put it.
“Someone more spiritual,” Olivia said evenly.
He nodded. “Joe or Chuy,” he said.
“What’s spiritual about those two?” she said.
“I’m not sure what they are . . .”
“Two nice gay guys,” she said.
“More than that.”
She threw up her hands. “All right, then! I’ll call them! Tonight, okay? Or do you have something more important to do?” Heavy on the sarcasm.
“Tonight would be fine, and we can have it here,” he said, deliberately keeping his voice relaxed.
“See you then, and I’m having a nap in between,” she snapped, and left as suddenly as she’d come.
13
Joe put his cell phone in his pocket and turned to Chuy. “We’ve been invited to a séance tonight,” he said.
Chuy, who was making a salad for their lunch, finished chopping the chicken and added it to the raw spinach and the toasted pecans. He began halving the grapes. “That’s a first,” he said. “What do you think? Is this really something we should do?”
Joe considered it. “It’s not like we didn’t know there are ghosts all around us,” he said. “We see them every day.”
Chuy tilted the cutting board to add the grapes. “Bacos?” he asked. “I’m assuming it was Manfred who called?”
“Yes to the Bacos, and no to Manfred,” Joe said. “Here’s the surprise. It was Olivia.” He gave Chuy his amazed face, and Chuy laughed.
But then he said, “Poor Olivia.”
Joe nodded. “I think we should help them out. It’s not like they ever asked us for anything.”
Chuy began drizzling on a honey-based dressing. “All right, sweetie. By the way, have you been over to the hotel yet?”
“Not since you and I took the tour with Ms. Whatever.”
“There are three old people in there, and two geek-type people doing contract work with Magic Portal. There’s one man whose purpose I can’t discern.”
They sat down at the table and Joe served himself from the bowl. “This looks great, Chuy. Do you think we need to do anything about this one man?”
“I think we need to find out what he’s up to. We have to protect the boy.”
“We do,” Joe agreed. “Okay, I’ll see what’s up at the hotel.”
“Good. I have an appointment this afternoon, Myra Shellenbarger.”
“She’s fun,” Joe said, smiling. “She knows everything going on in a twenty-mile radius.”
“Or farther. And she’s not afraid to name names.” Chuy smiled back. “I like her. What you see is what you get.”
“It can be tiring knowing so many people with hidden depths,” Joe said. “Some days, shallow is good. This salad is great, by the way.”
“Got it out of Southwest Cooking,” Chuy said. “I left out the roasted corn.”
After that, the talk turned to cooking, and whether the U.S. Postal Service would stop delivering on Saturdays, and where Lemuel might be in his research project to discover more about the magic books he’d finally found, the ones that Bobo had hidden without meaning to.
There was not a reporter in sight when they strolled down to Manfred’s house just after dark. They glanced over at the newly rechristened Midnight Hotel.
“It’s still strange to see it lit up,” Chuy said. He was holding Joe’s hand. This was one of the good things about living in Midnight.
“But kind of nice. Sometimes when I look into the past, I can see all the stores here, busy and bustling. People all around.”
“Horses in the streets.” Chuy chuckled. “And the smell of them. And people who don’t bathe.”
“Do you ever wish we could see the future?” Joe asked. “There’s so much of the past that lives with us still.”
“No,” Chuy said instantly. He stopped walking and faced Joe, taking Joe’s free hand. “I would go mad,” he said, meaning every word.
Joe’s eyes met Chuy’s. “Then that won’t ever happen,” he said quietly. “The past is burden enough.” After a second, they began walking again. “I saw Mildred today,” Joe said, clearly changing the subject. “She was letting Hattie Barnes in the back door.”
“Mildred,” Chuy said, a wealth of rueful comments in the one word. “What a woman, so mistaken in some ways and so ahead of her time in others.”
“She certainly left her house to the right person, though I doubt she ever imagined Fiji would be stronger than Mildred herself ever was. If I remember correctly, Mildred considered Fiji the best of a weak lot.”
Chuy shook his head. “Mildred couldn’t imagine the scope of Fiji’s power.”
“And Fiji herself doesn’t know it yet.” The two were both smiling when Manfred answered the door.
“Glad you all were able to make it,” he said. “Please, come in. You want some water or lemonade? I’ve got some wine, but I don’t advocate drinking any alcohol before an attempt to get in touch with those who’ve gone ahead.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Joe said, trying not to cast a sideways glance at Chuy, with whom he’d split a bottle of wine at dinner. “I don’t believe I need anything. Chuy?”
Chuy shook his head. “Is Olivia here yet?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her today.”
“I’m here,” she called from the kitchen, and Joe followed Manfred into his alleged kitchen. Joe looked around, trying to suppress his dismay. He couldn’t imagine cooking in the depressing and outdated little room.
“Do you cook much, Manfred?” Chuy said, managing to make his tone only inquisitive.
“No, I’m a microwave kind of guy,” Manfred said. “You cook, Olivia?”
“No,” she said, with a little astonishment in her voice. As if she couldn’t believe they were talking about something so unimportant when there was business to be done.
Joe sighed. He realized that once again, he was being reminded to be grateful for the love and nurturing of Chuy, who loved to cook and considered the preparation of good food to be an important part of his day. “So, we’re here to contact the dead,” he said. “Mrs. Goldthorpe, I assume?”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. Joe drew near enough to see that Olivia’s face was bruised.
“You’re okay?” he asked.
“You should see the other guy,” she said, without a smile.
Chuy put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, and she did not pull away. She even seemed, after a moment, to relax just a little.
“So what’s the procedure?” Joe asked.
“You sound interested,” Manfred said.
“I am. I’ve never done this before,” Joe said. He didn’t need to contact the dead, since he could see them all the time, but he didn’t add that.
“I’m glad you’re open to the experience,” Manfred said briskly. “I’ve pulled this table out so there’s room for all of us.”
So at least the kitchen doesn’t always look this crammed, Joe thought.
“We all sit around it and hold hands. I’ll try to summon Rachel. If she won’t come, I’ll try to reach her husband, Morton. He may not be willing since I don’t have Rachel to use as an attraction, but I can try.”
“The son accuses you of theft?” Chuy said.
Manfred nodded.
“Then we’ll do our best,” Joe said, and took Olivia’s left hand with his right, and Manfred’s right hand with his own left. Across the table, Chuy linked hands, too. Their eyes met, and in his partner’s, Joe saw almost infinite patience.
Olivia did not look excited or interested. She looked intent. And deep past that intensity and committal to move forward, Joe saw pain and suffering and rage. He sighed. One day Olivia would explode from this volatile combination, like a bomb. She was dealing out pain and violence to get rid of the rage, and probably Lemuel’s energy leeching helped. But the more violence Olivia dealt, the less effective it was in controlling the rage.
Manfred said, “Olivia, you need to relax.”
She took some deep breaths and managed to contain herself. “All right,” she said. “All right.” The tension dropped a few degrees, and Manfred’s power began to flow between their linked hands. It was strong and pure, and it glistened. Joe could see it, almost taste it. Joe began to see faces in that power, spirits drawn close by it. It seemed funny to him that Manfred could only sense the presence of the dead, when they were so visible to him and Chuy.
Not everyone came back, of course. Bobo’s girlfriend Aubrey hadn’t, and she’d been a murder victim. It was a fact that those who’d met violent deaths were much more likely to walk forever as ghosts. Joe had figured he’d see Aubrey striding across the barren land to reach the river or coming into the shop to play her irritating flirtation games.
But meeting up with the ghost of her murderer had been a much more painful prospect. Luckily Joe hadn’t seen that one, either.
Joe made himself look at the faces forming nearby. Mildred, well, that made sense. And he recognized the homeless man who’d roamed around Midnight for ten years, attracted by the town but scared of it, too. He saw a Native American woman who had something urgent to say, and she muttered it through Manfred’s lips . . . but in a language they couldn’t understand. Olivia’s eyes showed white all around at hearing Manfred speak in tongues, as it must have seemed to her.
Then Rachel Goldthorpe said, “I’m sorry he’s giving yo
u trouble.” The other three hadn’t ever heard her voice, but they never doubted this was the dead woman.
Manfred was even sitting like someone else, Joe realized. His shoulders were slumped with age and illness, and he was a little back from the table as though there were more of him to accommodate. She must have been a heavy woman, Joe thought.
Silence reigned, and Joe thought, None of us know what to do. We all thought Manfred would question the spirit, if she appeared. They hadn’t foreseen it was possible that Rachel might inhabit the psychic.
Joe said, “Rachel, where did you hide the jewelry?” He was not frightened of the dead, but he was uncertain how to handle the situation, which was a first for him.
Rachel said, via Manfred, “In Morton’s study. Where Lewis will never look. He and his dad never got along.” She shook Manfred’s head sadly.
“Where in the study?” Joe asked, trying not to sound impatient.
“Inside . . .” It was like a cell phone had dropped the call.
“Inside what?” Olivia snapped.
“I see the world . . .” Rachel whispered, and then Manfred was back in his body. His eyes opened. He looked from one of them to another. “I feel like something happened,” he said. “Tell me what it was.”
“Are ghosts always irritating and vague? Is that part of dying?” Olivia said.
Chuy released her hand. “Olivia,” he said reprovingly.
“Well, it was exasperating,” she said. “At least now we know which room.”
“Could someone tell me what happened?” Manfred looked from face to face.
Joe said, “Rachel paid us a visit. She said she’d put the jewelry in Morton’s study, because Lewis and Morton didn’t get along. Inside something.”
“Inside what?”
“She didn’t tell us that. We lost the connection before she could specify. She said something about the world. How do you feel?”
Day Shift Page 11