by Laura Childs
“Just give it a shot, Delaine,” Theodosia urged. The sooner we cooperate, the sooner this will be over.
When everyone’s fingertips were gently touching the planchette, Madame Emilia asked in a deep, resonant voice, “Oh, spirit guide, we ask you to please manifest and help us make contact with our dear missing Fawn. Please use your powers for good to locate our lost girl.”
Theodosia glanced around the table. Madame Emilia was definitely into this, Meredith had her eyes squeezed shut, and Delaine just looked bored.
“Spirit guide?” Madame Emilia said again. “We implore your help.”
Nothing happened. The planchette remained sitting stolidly in the middle of the board.
“It’s not working,” Meredith said in a trembling voice.
“Maybe it needs to warm up,” Delaine said. “Like a sports car. I had an Alfa Romeo once that—”
“Maybe if we ask a more direct question?” Theodosia said.
“Yes!” Meredith said. “Like . . . is Fawn still alive?”
That seemed to be the impetus the planchette needed, because it suddenly spun toward the upper left corner of the board to the image of a smiling sun and the word YES.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Meredith rejoiced. “She’s alive! Fawn is still alive!”
“But where is she?” Delaine asked. “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill here, but we need some hard facts.” She took a finger off the planchette and tapped the board insistently.
“I don’t think we should be so demanding,” Meredith said. “Just knowing Fawn is still alive is enough for me right now.”
“So we should move on?” Theodosia asked.
“Absolutely,” Meredith said. She stifled a little hiccup. “There’s the matter of poor Reginald.”
“I guess a dead husband is important, too,” Delaine said.
“Kindly place your fingers on the planchette again,” Madame Emilia instructed. Everyone complied, and then Madame Emilia said, “Go ahead, Meredith, ask your question.”
“I want to know who murdered Reginald!” she spat out. “Who stole my beloved, my soul mate, away from me!”
“That’s a fair question,” Delaine murmured.
But once again, the planchette was reluctant to move.
“Please!” Meredith implored. “Not knowing is killing me!”
The planchette just sat there.
“Again,” Madame Emilia urged.
Meredith repeated her question.
“Nothing’s happening,” Delaine said. “The thing’s dead as a doornail.”
Madame Emilia shook her head. “There’s a blockage in this room. Someone is holding on to a deep, dark secret.”
A look of panic suddenly swept across Delaine’s face. “I hope you’re not going to reveal anything too personal, are you?”
“I feel it is . . . an old secret of the heart,” Madame Emilia said in a low voice.
Now Delaine looked interested. She leaned forward and said, “What’s the secret?” Her eyes roamed the table. “And who’s holding on to it?”
The Ouija board planchette gave a sudden, spasmodic jerk, then began crawling steadily toward the letters in the center of the board.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Delaine said.
Meredith lifted her fingers as if she’d just touched a hot stove. “Who’s doing that?” she asked. “Who’s . . . who’s making it move so fast like that?”
Three hands remained touching the planchette: those of Theodosia, Madame Emilia, and Delaine.
“This is scaring me!” Meredith cried out. “Make it stop!”
Meredith was making such a fuss that even Drayton came over to watch.
There was no stopping the planchette now as it lurched from the letter C to A then R.
“Car?” Delaine said.
“I think it’s spelling out Carl Clewis,” Theodosia said softly. The planchette was moving even faster now, gathering up speed as it tore across the board.
“That’s it! That’s it exactly!” Drayton said. He was suddenly spellbound by the frantic movement of the planchette, the name it was hastily spelling out.
“Carl Clewis,” Madame Emilia said. “This definitely involves . . . a matter of the heart?” She lifted her head and gazed squarely at Meredith.
Meredith’s eyes bulged as she practically exploded out of her chair. Then she threw her hands in the air and screamed, “Carl Clewis! So what if I used to date him! That means absolutely nothing!”
“Whoa,” Drayton said.
“You used to date him?” Theodosia cried. She was incredulous; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“It was years ago!” An edge of pure hysteria had crept into Meredith’s voice. “And then it was only for a few months!”
“How interesting,” Delaine purred.
Holy buckets, Theodosia thought. This was a new revelation that could have given Meredith yet another reason to get rid of Reginald. Maybe Meredith had suddenly, out of the blue, decided to change partners. Yes, it might be perceived as being a little late in the game, but it could have happened that way. On the other hand, Carl Clewis could have murdered Reginald to settle an old score. Maybe Clewis had nursed his hurt and anger all these many years, only to finally explode with rage.
Meredith had backed away from the table, looking like she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Not knowing what to do, embarrassed by her revelation, she cast a pleading glance at Theodosia.
“Theo?” she gasped.
“I think we’re probably done for today,” Theodosia said in an even tone.
Delaine pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “It’s been grand, folks. This séance didn’t turn out exactly the way I thought it would, but it was interesting, to say the least.”
Meredith was still struggling to regain her composure. “I’m sorry everyone. I thought this would . . . help clear . . .”
Her cell phone suddenly shrilled from deep inside her purse.
Meredith gave a soft sigh, dug it out, and said, “This isn’t a good time right now—” Then she stopped abruptly. “Yes, yes,” she said, her body jerking as if she’d been touched by an electric wire. “You have my attention. I’m listening.”
“Now what’s going on?” Delaine hissed.
Meredith threw up a hand to halt any further conversation. And listened for a few more moments, her eyes growing larger and larger. Finally, she screamed, “This is unbelievable! It’s like a voice from the great beyond!”
Everyone, especially Madame Emilia, looked stunned. What was going on? Who had called Meredith and upset her like this?
Theodosia was the first to recover. “Meredith, what’s happening? Who’s on the phone with you?”
Meredith looked as if she’d just seen a ghost. Or at least talked to one. “This call . . . It’s about Fawn!”
Theodosia grabbed the phone from Meredith’s hands, held it to her ear, and said, “Hello? Who is this?”
“Put the old lady back on,” a cold, hollow voice ordered. It sounded as if it were coming from the depths of the earth. But the sound was kind of mechanical, too.
Stunned, Theodosia handed the phone back to Meredith and leaned in to listen.
“What?” Meredith quavered as she held the phone to her ear. “What do you want?” She listened for a few more moments, then her face suddenly crumpled. Her shoulders slumped, and her demeanor became that of a hundred-year-old woman who was barely hanging on by a thread.
“What’s wrong?” Drayton asked. He nodded to the phone, which was still clutched in Meredith’s hand. “Who is it? What do they want?”
But Meredith raised an arm and batted him away. “Shush, will you? I’m trying to listen!”
Meredith nodded, said, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” a couple more times, then sat down and dropped the phone in her lap.
“Who is it?” Theodosia asked. But she had a terrible, nagging feeling that she already knew.
“It’s the man who-who-who ki
dnapped Fawn,” Meredith suddenly babbled. “And he’s demanding five million dollars in ransom!”
26
It was as if someone had let all the air out of the room. Nobody moved, everything remained completely still, as if in suspended animation. Then Theodosia held out her hand and said, “Let me talk to him.”
Meredith practically threw the phone at Theodosia.
“Hello?” Theodosia said. “Who is this and what exactly do you want?”
“Five million dollars,” the mechanical-sounding voice said. “Cash.”
“Sure,” Theodosia said. She tried to fight the rising tide of panic in her voice and sound halfway reasonable. “But that’s an awful lot of money. How do I know this isn’t a scam? You could be any random thug who’s read about Meredith’s trouble in the newspaper and is trying to take advantage of her.”
“I assure you I’m not. I’ve got the old lady’s daughter-in-law, and if her family wants to see her alive, they’ll do exactly as I say,” the cold voice commanded.
Whoever this is, they’re using a voice changer, Theodosia thought. One of those gadgets that pitches your voice to a mechanized, almost monotone level.
“Are you listening?” the voice asked.
“I’m here,” Theodosia said.
“Five million dollars. Cash,” the voice said again. “If my terms aren’t met, I put the girl in a gunnysack and drop her in a swamp.”
If only I could somehow record this conversation. So Riley could hear it for himself.
“But you—” Theodosia began.
“Do not screw around, because you don’t have much time,” the voice interrupted.
“How much time do we have? And where exactly are we supposed to make this exchange?” Theodosia didn’t really believe any money would change hands or that Fawn would be returned; she was stalling for time, trying to think. Trying to come up with a plan.
“Tell the old lady I’ll call her tomorrow,” the voice said.
“Wait a minute,” Theodosia cried. “You can’t just . . . We need more . . .”
But she was talking to dead air. The mysterious caller had hung up.
“What’s happening?” Meredith asked in a hoarse whisper. “What’d they say?” She ran a hand through her short hair, causing it to stick up straight and make her look completely unhinged.
“Whoever it was, they’re gone,” Theodosia said. “They hung up.”
“And this caller really demanded five million dollars for the return of Fawn?” Drayton asked.
Meredith’s chin quivered. “I think that’s what they said.” She stared mournfully at Theodosia. “That’s what you heard, too, right?”
“I’m afraid so,” Theodosia said.
“This has to be the most bizarre thing ever,” Drayton sputtered. “A murder . . . a kidnapping, and now a ransom. Was all of this engineered by the same person? The same . . . mastermind?”
“I wouldn’t categorize it quite that way,” Theodosia said. She figured the perpetrator had to be someone close to Meredith. Which meant they were an inexperienced amateur versus a master criminal. And because they were probably driven by both rage and greed, they were bound to trip up sooner or later. She just hoped it would be sooner.
“Five million dollars,” Meredith muttered. Her eyes fluttered uncontrollably, and her body shook with worry.
Delaine, on the other hand, looked more curious than frightened. “Do you actually have five million dollars?” she asked.
Meredith fought to pull her thoughts and emotions together. “Not in cash, I don’t.” She reached down, grabbed her handbag, and opened it. As if she was expecting to find five million dollars stashed inside. “But . . . I suppose if I met with my personal banker, sold some stocks, and mortgaged Creekmore Plantation and all the land surrounding it, I could come up with that amount.”
“Goodness.” Delaine was clearly impressed.
Theodosia was not.
“We still don’t know if this is a scam,” Theodosia said. “Like I said before, this could be any random dude who knows about Reginald’s murder and Fawn’s disappearance. And is trying to take advantage of you.”
“It sounded real to me,” Meredith said. She was clearly conflicted.
“You should have demanded proof of life,” Delaine said.
Now Meredith looked even more confused. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Like in the movies,” Delaine said. “Where you get a photo of a person holding a newspaper showing the current date. So you know they’re still alive and kicking.”
Theodosia didn’t know about proof of life. Or what Hollywood’s version of a ransom demand would be. What she did know was they were in over their heads and needed serious professional help. As in, Come right away because this is an emergency. Which is why she snatched Meredith’s phone away from her and promptly dialed 911.
* * *
* * *
Tidwell came roaring into the tea shop some ten minutes later, face flushed, his khaki trench coat flapping open over his stomach. Pete Riley followed close on his heels. No trench coat, no stomach.
Tidwell took one look around, studied everyone’s faces, took careful note of Madame Emilia, and said in a sour tone, “What the Sam Hill is going on here?”
Everyone started talking at once. It sounded like a cocktail party full of grackles.
“No, no, no,” Tidwell boomed. “One at a time.”
When nobody ceased talking, Tidwell decided to divide and conquer. He assigned Drayton and Madame Emilia to Detective Riley, while he interviewed Theodosia and Meredith. Delaine was the odd man out, probably because Tidwell knew her contribution would be drivel. Yup, the cheese stands alone.
“It was a ransom demand,” Theodosia told Tidwell. “Five million dollars in exchange for the return of Fawn Doyle.”
“That’s what it was, pure and simple,” Meredith said in a dry voice, nodding her head crazily like a bobblehead doll.
“And this caller did not identify himself?” Tidwell asked.
From the sidelines, Delaine said, “Duh.”
“I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Tidwell shot back at her.
That buttoned Delaine up. For a while.
Tidwell turned back to Theodosia. “No identifiers that either of you could discern?”
“Not possible, since the caller used a voice changer,” Theodosia said.
“Yours for thirty-nine ninety-five via the Internet,” Tidwell said.
“With that horrid, mechanical voice, it could have been anyone,” Meredith whispered. “Man or woman.”
“Quite right,” Tidwell said. “But do you think this call was legitimate? That the caller is actually holding Fawn prisoner somewhere?”
“Yes,” Meredith said.
“Maybe,” Theodosia said.
“What else can you recall?” Tidwell asked. “Was any timeline given?” He held up a hand. “Take your time; try to remember each and every detail. Nothing is too insignificant.” Tidwell could be charming and faux courtly until . . . he wasn’t.
“That horrible voice told me he’d call back tomorrow with instructions,” Meredith said.
“There must be something more you can tell me,” Tidwell said.
Meredith tried again, stumbling along tearfully, trying to recount her exact conversation. Theodosia interjected a few helpful notes here and there until, finally, Meredith dissolved into a puddle of tears. “I-I can’t go on,” she wailed.
Tidwell pursed his lips and frowned.
Theodosia stared at Tidwell. “You’ve pretty much heard the full story. Now what do you think she should do?”
“For now, I would advise pretending to follow the caller’s instructions to the letter,” Tidwell said. “Try to pacify them until we can get a plan in place.” Then, seemingly immune to female hysterics, he swiveled his big head toward a tearful Meredith and said, “Can you get that much money together in the allotted time frame?”
“I th
ink so.” Meredith sniffled. “Probably.”
“Good,” Tidwell said. “Do that. But under no circumstance are you to hand over any of your money to this so-called kidnapper.”
“No?” Meredith squeaked. “But what . . . ?”
“We’re going to play a game of cat and mouse,” Tidwell said. “For starters, we’re going to tap your phones. So if and when the kidnapper calls back, we’ll be privy to the conversation.”
“Whatever you say,” Meredith said. “What . . . what else?”
“Once you gather the funds together, you dare not sit home by yourself. It’s far too dangerous.”
“She’s been staying at the Lady Goodwood Inn,” Theodosia said.
“In their Dream Suite,” Meredith said, trying to be helpful.
“Not secure enough,” Tidwell said. “I’ll have to put a couple men on you. And then tomorrow . . . we’ll need a place where we can keep a careful watch over you.”
“What if I came here tomorrow?” Meredith asked. “Came to Theodosia’s Lavender Lady Tea.”
Theodosia was about to protest—Meredith’s presence would put everyone in danger, wouldn’t it?—when Tidwell said, “Strangely enough, that might work. Miss Browning, I imagine you already have a list of guests who plan to attend?”
“Yes, but—”
Tidwell held up a hand. “And you’re familiar with all of these people? You’ve basically vetted them?”
“Yes, but—”
“This tea party might be the perfect foil,” Tidwell said.
“Will you be here? Lurking among the scones?” Theodosia asked, somewhat acerbically. She felt like she was being railroaded. Well, she was.
“I won’t be present, but several of my men will,” Tidwell said.
“Inside? Outside?” Theodosia didn’t want her Lavender Lady Tea to be ruined by men in black nylon SWAT gear who were brandishing guns and radios.
“Details to be worked out,” Tidwell said.
“Hmm,” Theodosia said. His plan sounded awfully loosey-goosey to her.
Twenty minutes later, interviews concluded, Tidwell and Riley put their heads together while everyone sat waiting with bated breath.