Case of Imagination (14 page)

“He had some errands to run in town. Why are you here, Olivia?”

“Jerry won’t come to Parkland.”

That wasn’t much of an answer. “Haven’t you given up yet?”

She flicked some imaginary dust from one of the chairs and sat down. “Here’s the thing, Madeline. The more I thought about Jerry, the more I missed him. I know you think all I care about is his money, but I make plenty of money, myself. I don’t really need any more. Of course, it would be nice, but it’s not necessary. What I really want is to see if this relationship can work.”

The scary part about this speech was that I almost believed her.

She readjusted one of her earrings. Her eyes narrowed. “And why are you still here?”

“I have a case. The local pageant director’s having some trouble.”

“Oh, a pageant. Must bring back memories.”

“Not really.”

“Why did you quit, anyway? Weren’t you doing pretty well?”

“Ran out of sequins.”

“I was always too short.”

This surprised me. Olivia rarely revealed anything about herself. “That’s not an issue these days.”

“You had a shot at Miss North Carolina, didn’t you?”

“I did Miss Parkland for the money.”

She gave me a look. “And you think
I’m
desperate for money?” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” She unclipped it to answer. “Hello? Just a second.” She went out to the porch. “Okay, that’s better. What’s up?”

I eavesdropped half-heartedly as Olivia tore into somebody named Barry for not having the proper paperwork done on a case. Ordinarily, I’d be tickled by her problems, but the hard cold fact she was here and scheming to get Jerry back depressed me more than I would’ve believed.

I was further depressed by the greeting Jerry gave her when he returned from town. He bounded up the porch steps, tossed his packages on the nearest chair, and swung her around.

“I’m so glad you’re here! What do you think of the living room?”

Olivia caught her breath. “Well, it’s a good start. Who’s doing the work?”

“I found a really good handyman. Actually, she’s a handywoman. She’s going to fix the plumbing and everything.”

“You should’ve hired Elite Contractors and Service. They’re the best.”

“They’re also the most expensive.”

“Is this handywoman doing it for nothing?”

“No.”

“What are you paying her with, beads?”

He took her hand. “Come see what I’m planning for the kitchen.”

She sighed and gave me a look as if to say, this is nonsense. Any other time, I would’ve agreed, but now I wanted to be on Jerry’s side.

She looked around the kitchen and shook her head. “Jerry, having plans is all well and good if the plans actually amount to something. What are you going to do with this house?”

“What do you mean? It’s perfect for séances.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I can have séances here, palm readings, Tarot card readings, Ouija board, whatever. Let me show you my séance room.”

“Jerry, honestly.”

He pulled her back to the front parlor. “See? It’s perfect.”

“Well, it’s dark. You need to have this room painted, too. Maybe a nice bright yellow.”

He made a face. “The entire Fairweather Mansion is yellow.”

“All right, then, a nice beige.”

“Nope. Did you see all the rooms upstairs? Come on.”

Olivia protested as he tugged her up the stairs. “Jerry, you have to think this through. Is this what you want to do the rest of your life?”

He gave her the complete tour, with her complaining every step of the way. I sat on the porch and wondered about what I wanted to do the rest of my life. Wasn’t it the height of absurdity to be in love with someone who hadn’t a clue? Someone who had the attention span of puppy and whose idea of a good time was to pretend to talk to the dead?

As they came back downstairs, Olivia’s phone beeped and she answered it.

“What? No, no, that’s not what I meant, at all. Of all the stupid—” She put the phone down. “Jerry, I’ve got to go take care of this.”

He looked disappointed. “You’ll miss the séance.”

“I’ve seen you do that. Once is enough.” She spoke into the phone. “Don’t do anything until I get there.” She hung up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “See you later.”

***

At twilight, three older women arrived in a huge Buick sedan and boldly came up the porch steps.

“Good evening,” one said. “Is this where we can communicate with our loved ones from beyond the grave?”

Something about the set of this woman’s jaw told me she was Flossie Mae Snyder, Geoff and Sean’s aunt.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jerry said. For the occasion, he’d put on his dark brown suit and a tie with flaming skulls outlined in gold thread. “Please come in.”

The other women introduced themselves as Anna Lee Mosley and Winnifred Parks. Jerry escorted them to the front parlor and held their chairs as they sat down around the table. I watched from the doorway.

I’ve seen Jerry do this dozens of times, and it always amazes me how people believe something so goofy. Everyone holds hands. Jerry tells the people to concentrate on whatever questions they have for someone on the Other Side. Then he closes his eyes, sits really still, and starts talking in a faraway voice. The stuff he says is so general, you could easily apply it to your own life. Your mother is well and happy. She misses you. She’s watching over you. Nothing specific.

This evening, things went a little differently.

Jerry placed a large candle in the center of the table. He lit the candle and sat down. He asked the women to hold hands. “Now I want each of you to think of a specific question you’d like to ask your loved one. I’ll get in touch with my guide in the spirit realm and ask him to relay your questions and concerns. Don’t be alarmed if I sound different. The guide will speak through me.”

And why can’t people see through you? That’s the question.

Jerry closed his eyes. “Everyone concentrate. You may hear strange noises or see some unexplainable phenomena. Just remain calm and don’t break the circle.”

By this he meant, don’t move your hands under the table where I’m pulling tricks with my toes.

There was a thump from somewhere underneath, but it sounded as if it were underneath the house, not the table. Jerry opened his eyes, clearly surprised by the noise. Then he closed his eyes again.

“I call to the spirit realm. I request your guidance. Come to me. Show me the way.” He opened his eyes, giving them a glazed expression. When he spoke, his voice was distant and rough. “I am here.”

Ooo, the great and powerful Wizard of Oz.

The women looked at each other, shivering with delight.

“Who has a request of me?”

Mrs. Mosley said, “I wish to speak to my grandmother, Eunice Tubbs.”

Jerry took a moment to make some rattling sounds in his throat. “Eunice is well and happy and watching over you, Anna Lee.”

She gave a little gasp. “Ask her if Grandpa Willie is all right.”

“William is also well and happy. He spends many days doing his favorite things.”

He can usually get people to tell him what he needs to know. Mrs. Mosley was agog. “Fishing? There’s fishing in the afterlife?”

I could’ve sworn Jerry winked at me. “Yes, and he always catches the big ones.”

Mrs. Mosley beamed at her friends. “Did you hear that? How wonderful!”

There was another thump from below and a rustling noise. That couldn’t possibly be rats, could it? They’d have to be awfully big. I didn’t believe for a moment Jerry was making that noise.

He looked uneasy. “Who else has a request?”

“I do,” Flossie Mae Snyder said. “I need to speak to my Uncle Henry. He was supposed to leave me the grape platter, and my cousin Louella swiped it. I want him to tell me I’m the rightful owner of that platter.”

“Henry. Henry, are you there?”

A sudden draft of cold air made the candle flame flicker and the women gasp. Jerry gave a start and sat up straight in his chair. His eyes opened even wider. The women stared, open-mouthed, waiting for some grand pronouncement from Beyond.

Flossie Mae Snyder glanced over her shoulder. “Is it Henry?”

A second gust of air blew out the candle. How did Jerry do that? He’d probably rigged the back door to open. I expected Uncle Henry’s platter to land on the table next.

But Jerry jumped up, knocking over his chair. He was breathing hard. “Oh, my God.”

This wasn’t part of the usual performance. I followed his gaze to the hallway. Nothing was there. “What’s going on? What do you see?”

He stared a few more minutes and abruptly came back. “I—I’m sorry. A little glitch in the universe. Sorry. Mac, if you wouldn’t mind—the lights.”

I switched on the lights. He was pale and trembling. The women were awe-struck.

“That was remarkable,” Mrs. Mosley said. “You must have truly crossed over.”

“Yes, I think I did. I mean, I know I did.”

“Well, I for one am most impressed,” Flossie Mae said. “Should we try again, or wait until another time?”

“Another time would be great,” Jerry said. “The spirits are restless tonight. I’m not sure they’ll cooperate. It’s one of those Other World things. You know how it is. Sorry about your platter, Mrs. Snyder.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said. “Henry always was a stubborn old cuss. We’ll get him next time.”

The women nodded. Still talking excitedly about Jerry’s performance, they gathered their pocketbooks. Jerry escorted them to their car and came back to the house.

I met him at the door. “Okay, now what the hell was all that about?”

He hesitated as if he didn’t want to come inside. “Nothing. I’m sure it was nothing.”

I’d never seen him so rattled. “Jerry, I’m not one of your pigeons. What did you see?”

He looked around as if expecting something to jump out and say, “Boo!” “I had a vision, an honest to God vision. And it wasn’t pretty.”

“Okay.”

“Hayden’s ghostly woman. Portia. I saw her again.”

“And you saw her where?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Right here. Inside the house. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“Did you ask Nell to come back tonight?” Nell’s overalls, as I recalled, were white.

“No, it was the same woman I saw before. It was Portia. I recognized her from Hayden’s description. She had black hair and a long white dress.”

“There has to be an explanation.”

“Oh, there’s an explanation, all right. I really am psychic.”

“No, Jerry. A reasonable explanation. She must have gone out the back door. I’ll go have a look.”

“I’d better come with you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but I don’t want to be in the house by myself just now.”

He followed me out the front door and around the house. The fields stretched in all directions, calm and dark.

“Jerry, there’s no way anyone could sneak into the house.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sure it was Portia. A ghost wouldn’t have any trouble going wherever she wanted.”

We went in the back door and into the kitchen. “You fell and hit your head yesterday,” I said. “You could be seeing all sorts of things.”

I shouldn’t have said that. His eyes widened.

“Oh, my gosh, Mac. Do you suppose that released my psychic potential and made me more receptive to the forces around here?”

“No, I think it made you even goofier than usual.”

He shuddered. “Man, call the Snyders and give them the good news. No more séances for me.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Come on, let’s get a snack.”

After some chips and soda, Jerry felt better.

“I’ve got to get to the theater by 8:30,” I said. “You want to come with me? The sight of pretty girls trying to dance ought to cheer you up.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’d like to get out of the house for a while.”

“Okay. Suit up and let’s go.”

He took his jacket from the hat rack, left lights on all over the house, and locked the door behind us. We got in the car. As we drove down the winding driveway, he glanced back at the house.

“Is she waving good-bye?” I asked.

“All clear.”

***

As usual, another crisis had hit the Baker Auditorium. Benjy’s friend had lasted exactly one rehearsal before leaving in tears.

Evan’s handkerchief was in tatters. “We’re back to square one. The girls have completely forgotten their dance. The pageant is tomorrow night! I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“What kind of dance does it have to be?” Jerry asked.

“At this point, I don’t care.”

“I know a real simple dance.” He hopped up on the stage. “Try this, ladies.”