Caught Dead Handed (27 page)

By that time Aunt Ibby had waited long enough to tell me about the telephone call from Nigel, her detective friend from New Scotland Yard.

“First of all,” she said, “none of the Janices on that plane could have been
our
Janice.” She counted off on her fingers. “One was an infant, and the other two were women over fifty. So the only Valens on that particular flight from London were George and William Jr.”

“You know, I halfway expected that.”

“Uh-huh. Me too. But Nigel did get some more information on the Billie Jo Vale who worked at the Purple Dragon.”

“No kidding? What?”

“He interviewed some of the performers who'd worked there with Billie Jo, and they remembered quite a few details about goings-on at that club.”

“Is Nigel pretty sure Billie Jo Vale is related to our Valens?”

“He believes Billie Jo
is
one of our Valens.”

“Who? Which one?”

“I'm not sure, but according to Nigel, one of the dancers at the club, a fellow named Alfred, remembers Billie Jo, who he called B.J., as kind of a loner.”

“A loner in a nightclub?”

“Yes. B.J. didn't date the patrons, didn't hang around with the others after work, and was always escorted home by a man who claimed to be an older brother.”

“I guess that would be George. So that would mean B.J. is either Janice or Willie. Did this guy have a good description?”

“Better than that. This Alfred's going to give Nigel a picture. He'll e-mail it to me as soon as he gets it, and if he learns anything more, he'll call right away.”

“Good work, Aunt Ibby. Between us we'll figure this out.”

“I think eventually we will. But for right now, if we're going to have a session with your witch friend this evening, we'd better grab a bite to eat and then start getting ready.”

She was right. The day was moving much too fast, and I was looking forward to seeing River. I'd already decided to share with her the secret of the images I'd seen in the black ball. I was sure she'd understand better than anyone else I could think of. By five o'-clock we were fed, showered, appropriately dressed, and on our way to the candlelight tea-leaf reading. I'd asked Aunt Ibby if we could leave a little early, because I hoped to get a few minutes alone with River before the event began.

There was a line of people, mostly women, waiting in front of the lovely old hall on Church Street. There was one space left on the bench next to the door, and I led Aunt Ibby to it. I guessed I wouldn't get to see River before the readings began, after all. Disappointed, I walked the short distance to the corner of the building. I heard a tapping sound and, shading my eyes, peered into an arched window. A smiling River North looked back at me, gesturing toward the side of the building. She mouthed the words “Around back.”

I nodded understanding, told Aunt Ibby I'd be back in a few minutes, and walked down a narrow path to the kitchen entrance, where River waited, shivering in flowing midnight-blue taffeta. Her single thick braid of black hair was dotted with silver moons and gold stars.

“You look lovely, River,” I said, meaning it. “The hair accents remind me of Ariel.”

“Thanks, Crystal,” she said. “Actually, they
were
Ariel's. The coven invited me to help them clean out Ariel's apartment, and they said it would be all right for me to have these.”

“Cleaning out her apartment already?”

“Yeah. End of the month, you know, and the landlord is anxious to rent it. Anyway, it's a tiny place. We all pitched in to rent a storage locker. We'll go through the stuff later.”

“The TV said she didn't have any relatives around here. What will become of her things?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Come on in, will you? I'm freezing out here. Anyway, I want to talk to you before they open the doors. My teapot is ready, so I have a few minutes.”

“I wanted to talk to you, too, River.”

She held the door open, and good kitchen smells warmed the chill air. “Oh. Crystal, as long as we're back here, look over there at that square patch of land with nothing on it.”

“I noticed that,” I said. “What's it for?”

“It isn't for anything. Nothing will grow on it. Ariel said it was the spot where Bridget Bishop's house once stood.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Maybe that's why the legend says her ghost appears here. By the way, that reminds me. One of the things I wanted to ask you about is Bridget Bishop's spell book. Do you happen to have a copy I could borrow?”

River's look was one of disbelief. She stopped abruptly, facing me, hands on her hips. “How do you know about that?” she demanded. “Damn it! The twelve of us spent all day tearing that stupid apartment to pieces, looking for it!”

It didn't take long to explain about Ariel's margin notes. “I thought it must be just a souvenir book, something I'd find easily in a shop. What's so special about it?”

“Don't you get it?” She dropped her voice. “It's Bridget Bishop's
real
spell book! From back in sixteen ninety-two!”

“You mean you think Ariel had a three-hundred-year-old book? Written by a witch?” I didn't believe it.

“Oh, Ariel had it, all right. She'd started using it, too. All of a sudden she could do amazing things. Impossible things.” She led the way to a table in the corner of the dining room. “So naturally, everyone wants that book.”

I remembered what Marty had told me about Ariel's sudden ability to make things disappear, to start cars without keys, and to literally see the callers. What River said seemed to confirm those strange events.

The lights were dim, and candles in pewter candlestick holders gave the room a pretty glow. “Here. Sit down,” River ordered. “Before your aunt and the others come in, I need to tell you something. I read your cards again. Something new showed up.”

“I guess it isn't anything good.”

“It may or may not be. The cards tell the truth, but some things might look bad at first and then turn out to be okay, you know?”

“I think you're trying to make me feel better, and I hope you're right.” I sat at the table and watched the candle flame before me. “I need to tell you about something that's been happening to me lately, and I have no idea whether it's bad or okay.”

“The cards will help you to understand,” she promised. “Here's what I saw. The Ten of Cups is reversed between the Queen of Wands, which is you, and the Queen of Cups, which is your aunt. This usually means that one of you is facing a loss of a friendship or even a betrayal. And here's the part I've been worried about. There can be damage coming to your home.” She leaned forward, looking into my eyes. “Be careful, Crystal. And here's another thing. The Enchantress card, with the number eight, is between you and the bad guy now. . . . Remember that reversed King of Cups I told you about? The eight means balance. I think you are going to be able to bring two sides of your nature into harmony. Does that make sense?”

I thought of the side of my nature I'd long ago forgotten about—the side of me with the ability to see disturbing pictures in a black ball.

“Maybe. A little bit. Listen, River. Do you know what a scryer is?”

There was a little commotion near the front door of the restaurant as the first of the patrons filed in.

“Sure. It's a person who sees things in mirrors or hubcaps or something.”

I had to smile at the hubcap idea.

Why not? Especially if they're black and shiny.

Aunt Ibby, looking relaxed and happy, approached us. I was surprised to see that behind her, heading for a nearby table, was Mrs. Doan, resplendent in purple and lavender plaid with a matching fedora.

“Apparently, I am one,” I whispered, “and I've been seeing some scary things. I'll tell you later. Here comes my aunt.”

If River was surprised by my revelation, she controlled it well. She stood and greeted Aunt Ibby with a handshake. “Good evening. Thank you for coming.”

I made a quick introduction, and we all sat down, my aunt and I side by side, facing River across the table. A chintz-patterned teapot on an electric warmer stood at the table's center, next to the candle, and a matching pair of dainty china cups and saucers were arranged in front of us.

“Excuse me. Aren't you Lee Barrett?” came a voice from behind me. I knew without turning that it came from Mrs. Doan.

I stood and extended my hand. “I am,” I said. “How do you do?”

“I recognized you from the television,” she said. “I'm Buffy Doan.”

Buffy?

“I'm so happy to meet you, Mrs. Doan,” I said. “This is my aunt, Isobel Russell, and my friend River North.”

Oh boy. Will River and Mrs. Doan recognize one another from that unfortunate telecast on the day of Ariel's “crossing over” ceremony? I hope not.

If they did, neither one acknowledged it, but instead nodded politely and murmured the usual pleasantries.

“Would it be all right if I joined you?” asked the station manager's wife. “They seem to have overbooked the event, and all the other tables are full.”

“Oh, please do,” Aunt Ibby said. “Here. Have my chair, Buffy. River, could you find someone to bring another, along with a teacup?”

In minutes, the four of us were gathered around our table. Four of us in the semidarkness, a flickering candle and a steaming teapot reflected in the tall arched window overlooking a vacant patch of ground.

River filled our cups. Loose tea leaves floated in the fragrant, hot liquid. The room grew quiet as the guests sipped their tea and studied the tea leaf readers they'd chosen, hoping perhaps to learn of coming good fortune or love or riches.

“Leave a tiny amount of tea at the bottom of your cup,” River advised. “Then swirl it around three times and turn the cup upside down on the saucer.”

There was a chorus of clinking sounds around the room as each of the guests obeyed the instructions of his or her reader. A few self-conscious giggles sounded here and there as all of us prepared to hear what the tea leaves might foretell.

River read Aunt Ibby's cup first. “Look, here's a kettle. An old friend will call. And here I see a bird. That means important news is coming toward you.” She pointed to a pear-shaped leaf. “A closed bag,” she said. “That can mean a trap. Be careful.”

Aunt Ibby looked skeptical. “I like the old friend part.”

River nodded. “Here's a little broom. See it? It shows a new era in your life. Be happy. But be careful.”

Mrs. Doan was next. River frowned as she peered into the cup. “I see a broken necklace. It can mean a broken friendship.” She looked up at the woman. “Have you broken with a friend? Someone you trusted?”

“Why, you're right! I have. But she wronged me. I'm sure she did.”

River shook her head. “No. See the question mark here?”

We all looked into Buffy Doan's cup. The question mark was clear, unlike some of the other symbols River had described so far.

“Does that mean I was mistaken? She didn't do . . . the thing I accused her of?”

“'Fraid not,” said River. “You might need to apologize.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Doan wiped a teary eye. “It's too late. She died.”

River patted the woman's hand. “It's never too late. She will hear your apology.”

“She will? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” River promised and reached for my cup.

It held an assortment of pictures inside its chintz-patterned shell. At least River seemed to think so. She saw a man with an umbrella, which she interpreted as protection for me.

Pete Mondello?

There was a lion on the edge of the cup. “An important male,” River declared, “or maybe someone born under the sign of Leo.”

Or maybe just a big yellow cat.

“Look,” she said, pointing. “There's a hat. Means a change of roles for you.”

From what to what? Fake psychic to news anchor? I wish!

“The leaves act like an Earl Grey Rorschach test, don't they?” my aunt asked. “Like tasty little inkblots.”

“Pretty much,” River agreed. “But did you all enjoy the readings?”

Aunt Ibby and I assured her that we had. The sounds of chairs being pushed back indicated that the evening's entertainment had come to an end. We stood there together for a moment, chatting about the bookmobile program, which would benefit from the proceeds of the event. That is, Aunt Ibby and I chatted about it. Mrs. Doan had been silent since River had told her that whoever she had wrongfully accused would forgive her. She'd accused Ariel of interfering with her love life. Tampering with Mr. Doan's whatsit. I wondered if that was the person River had been referring to.

As I pushed my chair up to the table's edge, I glanced out the window beside me. It was dark outside, and the glass reflected only blackness. Too swiftly to look away, I saw the pinpoints of light, the swirling colors. The empty patch of land behind the restaurant came into focus. But it wasn't empty anymore. Ariel Constellation stood there, blond beehive perfectly stiff despite the wind whipping at her satin gown. She smiled, lifting a hand in greeting, then disappeared.

I felt, rather than saw, the slight motion behind me as Mrs. Doan waved toward the window.

Her voice was calm. Controlled.

“Oh, isn't that nice. She forgives me. But she must be cold. She should have worn her cape.”

I whirled and stood face-to-face with Buffy Doan. Her expression was almost what you might call serene. A far cry from the angry, distorted face the viewers of WICH-TV had seen when she stood with the witch protestors.

I found my voice. “Did you say something, Mrs. Doan?”

“Oh, Lee. Did I speak out loud? You must think I'm a loon.” She smiled. “I imagined that I saw Ariel out in the yard there, waving to me. I think it was a sign that River is right. Ariel forgives me. She accepts my apology.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lavender hankie. “Maybe I need to apologize to the witches, too,” she said. “Perhaps I was wrong about all of them. Good-bye now. I so enjoyed meeting all of you.” She moved, trancelike, toward the exit.

River tugged at my sleeve and whispered, “Did you hear that? She saw Ariel.”

“Oh, dear.” Aunt Ibby frowned. “Do you think she's all right? I'll walk with her to the door.” She hurried to catch up with the plaid-suited woman.

“River,” I said, “if she's loony, I am, too. I saw Ariel out there. I thought she was waving to me.”

“Wow. I wish I could have seen her. But I guess if she wanted me to, I would have.”

“You mean, you think Ariel can cause these . . . apparitions . . . or whatever they are . . . from the grave?”

“I don't see why not. I told you. She has the spell book, wherever she is. But what's this about you being a scryer?”

I gave her a brief rundown on what had been happening to me ever since I first looked at the obsidian ball. I told her about the pictures in the Mary Janes, too, and how I'd forgotten about that childhood trauma until it had all come crashing back in the attic.

Had that just been a couple of weeks ago?

“Hmmm.” River put her hand to her forehead, much the way Ariel used to. “I'm just wondering. Do you think it's possible, just maybe, that your scryer thing hasn't really come back? That maybe you're just seeing what Ariel wants you to see? After all, it's
her
black ball. And you
did
find the body .And if you have a background of seeing stuff, why, you'd be just a perfect receiver!”

What was it that Marty had said when I found that woman's watch? “Maybe you're channeling Ariel,” she'd said. “Ever think of that?”

Aunt Ibby had come back to the table in time to hear River's theory. Her expression mirrored her skepticism. “Shall we get along home now, Maralee? Thank you for an interesting evening, River. I've thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, Miss Russell,” River said. “I hope to see you again. Crystal, is your real name Maralee? Would you prefer that I call you that?”

“It is my real name,” I said. “But I'm becoming quite comfortable with Crystal.”

“Okay, then, Crystal. We'll talk again soon. Think about what I've told you.”

Sure. Why not? I'll add ghostly apparitions, a change of roles, damage to the house, and Aunt Ibby falling into a tea leaf trap to all the other things I'm supposed to be thinking about.

I picked up my purse, took my aunt's arm, and headed outdoors, into the darkness.