“Good afternoon,” I said. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Of course,” she returned, leading the way through the foyer into a living room with bay windows and a large stone fireplace. “You sounded as though the matter was urgent.”
She wore gray slacks and a white blouse and was as perfectly coiffed and groomed as always—or as always barring the occasional fit following a trance.
“Please, sit.” She nodded at the flowered sofa in front of the windows. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee. Thank you.”
She went into the sunny kitchen, and I had a chance to look around the room. There was nothing remarkable about it. It looked like a comfortable room furnished in traditional style. The furniture was old but polished and well kept. The walls were bare of pictures or photos beyond a large portrait hanging over the fireplace. The painting was of four women in turn-of-the-last-century finery.
I was studying the portrait when Roma returned with a tray.
“My great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, and aunt,” she informed me, setting the tray with the glass coffeepot and plate of cake on the low table in front of the sofa.
“They were also psychic?” I returned to the sofa and watched her pour coffee into small china cups.
“We prefer the term spiritualist.”
“It’s an old-fashioned word.”
“Perhaps. However, it’s the correct word. Cream? Sugar?”
“Neither, thank you.” I took the steaming cup of black coffee from Roma.
Roma leaned back on the sofa, watching me over the rim of her cup. She looked cool, calm, collected—and utterly incurious.
That was suspicious right there.
“Are your powers—gifts—limited to contacting the dead?” I asked.
“Are you asking whether I can read minds? I don’t need to be a mind reader to know you want to talk to me about Mrs. Hyde-Kent.”
“That’s right. My aunt and I are very concerned about her.”
Roma permitted herself a dry little smile. “I’m sure you are.”
“Right. Well, I don’t know exactly how to put this, but I don’t think these séances are helping her. If anything, I think they encourage her to wal—er, focus on her grief rather than move on with her life.”
“The grieving process cannot be rushed. We don’t all recover from loss at the same rate.”
“No, I realize that, but it seems to me that perhaps Liana’s recovery has, uh, stalled. And I think that the séances might be partly to blame.”
She said mildly, “Mr. Bancroft, am I correct in my understanding that you’re a theater critic and not a mental-health professional?”
Oh, touché.
I smiled grimly. “Correct, Ms. Loveridge. But Liana’s doctor also seems to think she’s suffering from a morbid obsession.”
She sipped her coffee and considered. “You’re not related to Liana, are you?” she said finally.
“No. Not really. And in the ordinary course of things, Liana’s morbid obsessions are her own business—and possibly yours. The problem here is that Liana’s mental state is starting to affect the entire household. Her unhappiness is making my aunt unhappy—and that is my business.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.” Roma’s face remained impassive, untroubled. “Your aunt has never given any indication that I’m not welcome in her home or that my services are not required.”
By that point I knew I was wasting my breath, so I said nothing.
“It seems to me that our sessions are the only bright spots in Liana’s life,” Roma continued. “When one has suffered a great loss, it’s a comfort to know the veil between this world and the next is so very fine, to know that one can still reach the beloved—”
“Yes, I appreciate all that,” I interrupted. “Are you telling me you don’t see the problem, the potential danger with ‘Ogden’ declaring someone has to pay for what they did—or those hints about not resting until my aunt joins him?”
It’s possible that using finger quotes around Ogden’s name was a bad move because for the first time Roma’s mouth tightened.
“I am merely the vessel. The messenger, not the message. And under the circumstances, that message is not unusual. My understanding is your aunt and uncle quarreled the day he died. Ogden’s confusion and hurt still tether him to this world. And after all, one day your aunt will join him. We all are destined to die eventually.”
I was too shocked and angry to reply. I set the empty china cup down so hard, the handle broke off.
Roma’s cool gaze moved from mine to the broken cup. Her mouth curved into a weird smile.
“Is your fear for Liana or for Halcyone?”
“Both.”
“Liana’s religion prevents suicide.”
“Liana? Liana’s not a religious woman.”
“Perhaps once that was true. But I believe she’s a follower of your local church.”
“My local church? What church? Fisherman’s Chapel? St. Teresa’s?”
“Rational Christians United.”
“RCU? You’re kidding.”
Roma did not bother to answer that. It should have been obvious she had never kidded about anything in her entire life. “I don’t know if Halcyone subscribes to any particular faith. We’ve never discussed her beliefs. She’s always struck me as a sensible woman, but if you believe your aunt is liable to self-harm—”
“What? No. I certainly don’t believe any such thing.”
If I was afraid of anything on those lines, it was of Liana deciding to carry out Ogden’s not-so-subtle wishes.
Roma said, “I know the real purpose of your visit today was to ask me to discontinue my visits to Green Lanterns. I can’t do that. I don’t believe it would be kind or wise to break off the strong connection that now exists between Ogden and his loved ones.”
“I see.”
“No. You don’t. But I do. I have a gift and a vocation. I must be true to my calling. As long as Liana requires my services, I must attend her. If you somehow persuade Halcyone to forbid my visits, then I will conduct the séances here, from my home.”
“That’s plain enough.” I rose.
She unhurriedly set her cup aside and also rose. “I hope so.”
We walked in silence to the front door. It had been a major mistake coming here. A strategical error for sure.
She opened the door, and I said brusquely, “Thank you for your time.”
She did not reply.
I passed through the door into the sunny garden. Some instinct made me glance back.
Roma stood framed in the doorway, her hand on the knob as though she was frozen in place. She stared at me with a stricken expression.
“Second thoughts?” I asked.
She continued to scan my face with that unsettling intensity. “I know you’re not a believer.” Her voice was uncharacteristically strained. “But if I were you, I would leave Green Lanterns. At once.”
I was not amused. “Is that a threat?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “No. Not at all. Call it…a premonition.”
Not what I would have called it. I said sardonically, “Let me guess. There’s something written in my stars?”
Her gaze cleared. She gave me another of those strange smiles. “Yes. There is.” Without another word, she stepped back inside the house and closed the door.
A chill rippled down my spine as I stared at the blue glossy and unrevealing surface of the door.
It’s not that I believed in Roma’s psychic powers—it was the fact that she believed.
Chapter Fourteen
A solitary police car was pulling out of the tall iron gates as I reached the turnoff for Green Lanterns.
As the blue-and-white-marked vehicle passed me, I thought I recognized Police Chief Kingsland, and felt a flash of unease. I remembered what Tarrant had said about local gossip the night I arrived. Did people really believe the investigation into Ogden’s death had been cur
sory because the Kingslands were longtime friends of Aunt H.’s?
And was Kingsland taking another look at Aunt H. because of that gossip? Was he going to reopen the case? After Aunt H.’s vague comments about bearing responsibility in Ogden’s death, the possibility seemed real—and alarming.
I returned Aunt H.’s baby-blue Chevrolet Bel Air to the garage and turned off the engine. Seamus came down the circular staircase as I was climbing out from behind the wheel.
“Hey there,” he called in greeting.
“Hi,” I called back briskly. “Was that Police Chief Kingsland?”
The briskness was because of the annoying way my heart jumped in recognition every time I spotted Seamus. I’d tried with only moderate success to forget all about that kiss we’d shared after the first séance. I did not want to be distracted when I already had so much on my mind—let alone be distracted by someone I didn’t completely trust.
Completely trust? I didn’t trust Seamus at all.
I did believe him when he swore he had not dropped the glove during the séance. And—maybe this was weird, but it was true—I believed him when he said he intended no harm to me. I was less certain about his intending no harm to Aunt H., partly because he hadn’t sounded particularly convinced on that point. Seamus was definitely up to something. And it was enough of a something that he had government agencies like San Francisco’s Parks and Rec Department willing and ready to help him fake his references.
Was he a cop? He didn’t seem like a cop, but beyond Chief Kingsland, I hadn’t had a lot of experience with the police. If he was undercover law enforcement, what the hell was he investigating at Green Lanterns? Ogden’s death? Was he here to try and nab Aunt H. for doing away with Husband #2?
He came to meet me, saying, “She purrs like a kitten, doesn’t she?”
“Who?”
He nodded at the Bel Air.
I appreciate a nice piece of well-oiled machinery, but I’m not what you would call a car guy. Also, I know when I’m being sidetracked. “Was that Chief Kingsland I saw pulling out the front gate when I arrived?” I repeated.
Seamus hesitated. It was fleeting, but it’s my job to pay attention to dramatic beats, and there was most certainly a pause in the dialogue.
“Yeah, it was,” he said very casually, meeting my eyes.
I didn’t think we were having a particularly meaningful conversation, so it was a little disconcerting how hard it was to tear my gaze from his. What the hell were we talking about again?
He wasn’t that good-looking, after all. Even if he was, since when did I go for the brawny, brainless type? Not that Seamus was brainless—or unduly brawny. I had no real idea what he was. It didn’t seem to matter. That tug of attraction got stronger every time I saw him. At this point, it was close to a tractor beam.
Nor was the magnetic field all on one side. I could read awareness, attentiveness in his eyes too. Feel it in the way he crowded just a bit too much into my personal space, the way his hand seemed to reach automatically toward my own and then drop awkwardly back into place at his side.
“What did he want?” I asked, remembering we were supposed to be having a conversation.
“Who? Oh. Chief Kingsland? I— One of your neighbors reported seeing someone lurking outside the gates last night. He was just giving me a heads-up.”
It was a plausible story. But Seamus’s voice was too casual, his gaze too direct. Tiny cues that he was not telling the truth. Or at least not telling the complete truth. But so long as Kingsland had not come out to reinterview Auntie H., I didn’t care. I much preferred prowlers in the night to a possible reopening of the investigation into Ogden’s death.
“Our neighbors? Which neighbors? You mean the RCU?”
Seamus looked blank. “The what?”
“The church that bought the property to the north of here. They’ve set up camp in the old schoolhouse.”
“Um, no. The residents to the south. The Chamberlains. They were coming back late last night from visiting their grandkids and thought they spotted a suspicious-looking character.”
“I see.”
Again, he trotted it out smoothly. It could have even been true. It would be like Kingsland to give the gardener a heads-up rather than worry Aunt H. with vague warnings about suspicious characters loitering. That didn’t change my initial impression Seamus wished I hadn’t spotted Chief Kingsland. Why?
Or maybe I was getting paranoid?
Aunt H.’s semi-confession earlier had shaken me.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” I said and turned away.
Seamus said quickly, almost urgently, “Artemus?”
I turned back.
“Would you want to—” He cleared his throat. “Get together? One night? Maybe have dinner? Or even just drinks. Whatever.” He looked surprisingly serious. Even earnest.
My face warmed. My whole body warmed. My heart got all light and fluttery, like a bird belatedly noticing it was sitting on a tree branch with a cat.
I did want to. That was the problem. I wanted to a lot. I liked him. I found him attractive. Too attractive for comfort, frankly. Even if I hadn’t been suspicious of him, that was a distraction I didn’t need right now. Especially since I should surely feel a little more broken up about the way things had ended with Greg.
I opened my mouth to regretfully decline and was astonished to hear my own equally awkward, “Er, yeah. Maybe. Sure. Why not?”
His eyes lit. “Great! Tonight?”
What am I doing?
“Oh no. No, I can’t tonight,” I lied—and not very well.
He looked disappointed. Doubtful. “Okay. Well…tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Tomorrow night,” my mouth said despite explicit directions from my brain to say otherwise. “I’d like to.”
“Great!” Seamus repeated, cheering instantly. “Okay, then. Let’s say seven?”
“Seven,” I agreed, and I couldn’t help smiling back at him.
* * * * *
“Artie, dear, I’ve been thinking,” Aunt H. began over dinner that night. “Maybe it’s time you returned to New York.”
Liana was still sick in bed, so we were on our own, for once putting the dining room to the use God—or Green Lanterns’ architect, anyway—had originally intended.
Betty fried veal cutlets, which she served with herb salad and mushroom rice. Whatever else had gone wrong at Green Lanterns, our Betty was still the best cook in the county. In a spirit of defiance, I raided Ogden’s sadly neglected wine cellar and chose a bottle of white to go with our meal. I was drinking on my own, though. Aunt H. was not a wine drinker. She either drank sparkling water or cocktails—and that night she was sticking to water.
I put my wineglass down untouched. “Return to New York? With everything that’s happening around here?”
“Yes, dear. I see now that I was wrong to drag you into my problems. You have your own life, and you must be anxious to get back to it.”
“Sure, but you and Green Lanterns are also part of my life. And always will be.”
Aunt H. avoided my gaze. “Yes, but… I’m sure your editor is wondering when you’ll be back to work.”
“Actually, if I showed up before my vacation was over, my editor would suspect I was an imposter.”
Aunt H. did not so much as crack a smile. “All the same, dear. I feel you should book your return flight.”
“Why?”
“I’ve just said—”
“No, the real reason,” I cut in. “Why are you suddenly in a hurry to get rid of me?”
She raised her brows. “Really, Artie. Get rid of you?” She rarely resorted to the Grand Dame, but when she did, she did it well. Her tone—light and ironic—was perfect. As was her expression.
“Come on, Auntie H. What’s changed?” As I studied her troubled face, realization dawned. I remembered Roma’s oblique warning. “Are you worried about me?”
She didn’t speak, but I saw at once I was right. I said, “Eve
n if Ogden is haunting Green Lanterns, I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
“But perhaps you should be,” she burst out.
“What does that mean?”
“After you went out this afternoon, Liana did another reading of her tarot cards.”
I snorted.
She ignored that. “Liana believes there’s danger for you here. That if you stay, something…terrible might happen. I know you don’t believe in any of this, but she wasn’t playacting. She was frightened.”
I didn’t laugh. For one thing, I could see Aunt H. was truly worried. For another, this warning coming so soon on top of Roma’s did make me uneasy.
“What kind of danger?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking. Ogden had his good qualities, but when he didn’t get his way, when he felt thwarted, he could be difficult. Very difficult.”
I thought there was a lot of painful history behind that rather terse comment.
“Okay, but—”
“I think his parents spoiled him terribly. As did his first wife. And Liana always catered to him. He isn’t—wasn’t—used to being told no. He didn’t take well to what he would call obstruction. And if there is an afterlife, why would we be any different in character there than we were in this life?”
That was an interesting perspective. One I’d never considered. If there was such a thing as ghosts, did these shades retain their fundamental human traits? Or were they just shadows? Echoes of the past? Did spirits have free will, or were they simply running on autoplay?
“I see,” I said. “And you think Ogden might feel thwarted by my attempts to keep him from ruining the rest of your life?”
She put her hand to her forehead. “You have such a-a way of putting things, dear.”
“Okay, in your own words, then.”
“I think Liana is right. At least, I think she’s right that Ogden might resent your lack of…sympathy. I don’t know what reprisals he could make—I don’t understand how these things work.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. “But I’m not willing to risk you, my dearest boy.”
I got a little choked up myself, and rose, going around the table to hug her.
“Look, me old darling.” I had to stop and clear my throat. “I appreciate your concern. And I’m willing to concede I don’t know how these things work either. But I’m not leaving you here to spend your days with Liana and her tarot cards and your nights with Roma and her séances. Something is not right in this house. And maybe it is Ogden acting out at finding himself inconveniently dead. But maybe it’s something else.”
Seance on a Summer's Night Page 13