Heart to Heart: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective (19 page)

I did not find a laboratory despite the fact
that one was specifically mentioned in the abstracts, and I did not
find a conservatory, also mentioned, unless that referred to the
atrium or entry court.

I did not find a hell of a lot of solace
anywhere, to sum it up.

So I was ready for Bob Alvarez.

I just hoped that he was ready for a formal
dinner party at Pointe House. Naw, naw... I knew that he was
not.

I went down early on purpose—dressed
elegantly casual in white slacks and silk shirt, simple red
cummerbund beneath a navy blazer—ready for anything but hoping for
a spectacular entry by the other guests.

I had also set Alvarez up for an early
arrival and I met him outside beneath the carport.

He glanced me up and down
and said, "Shit, man, you didn't tell me it was black
tie."

"No black ties on me, pal," I told him. "But
I'll remove the cummerbund if that would make you more
comfortable."

"If I was getting five bills a day, maybe
I'd come to dinner in a cummerbund too," he replied stiffly. "Never
mind, I'm okay." But obviously he was not okay: he seemed a bit out
of it, nervous.

I said, "Relax, these are come-as-you-are
dinners, I guess. You'd pass my muster anywhere."

He was gazing around the property as he
asked, "Is this ancient man going to be here?"

I said, "Let's hope so. But don't be
offended if he does not take sustenance with us. It's been said
that nobody ever saw him eat."

Alvarez shivered slightly then gave me a
crooked grin. "That's okay. We got people like that in my family
too."

I had to ask him, "Would that be among the
local Indians?"

He replied almost defiantly: "That's right.
My people were on the land when Father Serra came. He took them
away from the most beautiful life-style any human could ever have
and replaced it with sin and sacrifice."

I said, "Well, that's progress."

Alvarez grinned, said, "Yeah. I'm not
bitching. I couldn't go back to the old ways." He chuckled. "I'd
miss television and beer too much."

I said, "There you go," and escorted my
Indian friend in to formal dinner at Pointe House.

I wanted us to be first on
the scene because I had not seen my new friends depart from that
first meeting and I was curious to see how they managed it.
Remember that I had just shaken down the whole joint, and it had
been empty except for Francesca and myself, Hai Tsu and her two
helpers.

I took Alvarez into the
lounge off the dining room and did honors myself at the bar. He was
easy enough to please: half a glass of bourbon lightly diluted with
a squirt of seltzer, and he was ready for anything—he thought. We
had the place to ourselves for all of five minutes. I had steered
Alvarez to a small couch at the wall that afforded us a perfect
view of the entire room, also both entrances to it.

"Is Miss Amalie going to be here?" Alvarez
wanted to know.

I replied, "Let's hope so."

"Who else besides the ancient man?"

I shrugged, told him, "I was told to expect
the same crowd we had last night."

"Who told you that?"

"The housekeeper," I said.

"Miss Ming."

"Yes. But it would distress her to be
addressed that way. Call her Hai Tsu."

"Gotcha. So. When are you going to show me
how to do that total recall thing? That would be a terrific skill
for a police officer."

I said, "Come on. You guys
come by that naturally. I never met a cop who ever forgot
anything."

He said, "Yes, but
total
—you said even
background sounds and odors. That would—"

Alvarez was arrested at
midsentence by a background sound that probably he would never
forget. We were seated across the room from the piano, situated for
the best possible view of the keyboard area. Even that was not too
great because of the floor-pedestal music stands grouped beside it.
But we could see okay. The big concert grand occupied a corner of
the room. There were but two doorways: one leading to the dining
room, the other to a hallway at the opposite side; to reach the
piano from either one would have to walk directly past our
couch.

No one had walked past
that couch, and we were the first to arrive. But Valentinius was
now at the piano and had just struck up the introductory movement
into
Autumn Nocturne
.

Alvarez gave me a dumb look as he asked,
"Who's that?"

"That's your ancient man," I told him.

"How'd he get there?" The cop was craning
for a discreet look behind the piano.

I said, "Save your eyesight. There are no
doors or trick panels back there. Relax. You're going to enjoy
this."

"Enjoying it already," Alvarez replied,
relaxing back into the cushions with a sigh. "Guy plays like a pro.
That how he makes his money?"

"He makes it easier than that I think," I
told him.

The music must have been a
signal to Hai Tsu and her ladies. The two helpers whisked in and
became very busy at the bar. One of them looked up directly into my
eyes and seemed a bit startled to find us there, but went on with
her chores.

I put a hand on Alvarez and warned him,
"Don't look at the girls. Keep watching the piano."

He was saying, "I don't know what—" when
again his jaw locked, his eyes flared, and his body stiffened
beside me.

In a flash—I mean faster than a
fingersnap—the other guests appeared, and I do mean appeared. They
came in talking a mile a minute, highly energized and having a
great time, as though they'd already been partying some

where else and were instantly transported to
the center of this room without even being aware of the
transport.

Catherine (the Whore) was
the first to spot Alvarez and me. She came swaying over with hand
extended, clad in a gown that began off the shoulders and swooped
to a vee at the belly button, and her eyes could not get enough of
the cop. We stood to greet her and Alvarez stooped to kiss her hand
as I introduced them. Her eyes flashed at me above that kiss and
she cooed, "Heavens, you gave me a start. I did not see you come
in."

Alvarez was stone mute and a little muscle
was flicking in his jaw. I am sure I voiced his sentiments exactly
as I told Catherine, "You could be no more startled than we. That
is a stunning gown, Catherine."

She was looking at Alvarez while replying to
that: "Perfectly befitting a whore, would you say?"

The cop's eyes jerked.

I told Catherine,
"Perfectly, yes."

Rosary (the Nun) joined us before Alvarez
could come unstuck. I introduced them. She squeezed his hand and
sweetly informed him, "Yes, I knew your grandfather well. Wonderful
man, filled with true Christian humility."

The cop croaked, "He worked at the mission
at San Juan Capistrano."

She beamed, replied, "Yes. Dear heart," and
went on to the piano.

Catherine urged, "Come sing with us."

"We'll be there," I assured her.

She swept Alvarez with another warm gaze
then danced off behind the nun.

Then the others crowded around us and the
Chinese

girls were spreading the drinks around as one
and all took their turn at Alvarez. He was beginning to look
definitely green below the ears and obviously working hard to
regulate his breathing—especially when a serving girl placed
another bourbon-seltzer in his hand.

As they all trooped off to regroup around
the piano, Alvarez leaned in closer to me and took a deep breath.
"Jesus Christ!" he whispered.

He was just cussing to release the tension,
but I winked and told him, "You may not be too far off at
that."

What I was really wondering about though was
whether they had been transported to us, or us to them. It was
something worth thinking about.

Chapter Twenty-Five: And the Angels
Sang

This time we had roast
suckling pigs, three of them with Chinese apples stuffed into their
little mouths, something that probably was squid but could have
been anything, several other dishes that looked terrible but
tasted great; all in all enough food on that table set for nine to
easily feed four times that number. I thought about the abundant
life offered by at least one great mystic of the past but still
wondered how celestial beings—if indeed these were such—could
justify such feasting in a largely hungry world. Jesus of Nazareth
always had a ready reply for such criticism of course, so I was not
really too hung up on the idea. Anyway, everyone was enjoying it so
hugely that I would never voice such thoughts; I was, after all, a
guest and eating for free myself.

Even Alvarez found his appetite after the
initial shock had worn off, and surprised me by taking seconds
around the table and joining spiritedly in the free-flowing
conversations. It would be difficult actually to not be drawn in
by these people, so gregariously charming, interested and
interesting, so full of life and the joyful expression of it.

This was the way it should be, I was
thinking, any time people sit down to break bread together; this
kind of spirited communion was a celebration of life and went a
lot further toward thanks than any hastily mumbled prayer or
self-conscious oration to God at the dinner table.

So what the hell—who is to say what angelic
is supposed to be?

If I threw a birthday party for my kid, and
if he and all his guests spent the whole time solemnly thanking me
for my largesse, I'd figure the party was a bust. I'd rather see
those kids laughing and playing, having a good time; that would be
thanks for me.

I guess that was what Jesus meant.

And certainly these kids at Pointe House
wasted no time on solemnity. The banter was equal to anything in
Neil Simon's plays and the brilliant diversity of interests was
sometimes staggering. These were learned people, and they enjoyed
talking about what they knew, but there was no pontificating or
preaching at that table, let me assure you.

Alvarez kept throwing me quick grins and
nodding his head at things said. Sharp guy, quite a bit better
dimensioned than I would have thought, a wide range of
interests.

Hilary (the Priest) said something about the
duties of civilization, and Alvarez chimed in with, "Well sure, we
have to carry the torch—right? When it gees out, it's dark around
here, and maybe nobody'll know where the matches are."

"Exactly!" Hilary cried.
"Enlightment must be ever expanding. When it begins contracting,
watch out—watch out!"

Alvarez tossed me a grin as he replied, "The
balloon blows up slow but it deflates pretty quick."

"Adolf Hitler wanted to put a match to it,"
Karl (the Engineer) declared.

"He was a sexual pervert, you know,"
Catherine remarked.

"But a brilliant mind no less," said John
(the Logician). "The pity is that he got so tangled up in those
scatterbrained occult movements."

"The Germanens," said Hilary, "were probably
responsible for his master race thesis. All that preoccupation
with racial purity was insane."

"Not to mention," chimed
in Catherine, "the
Fraternitas
Saturni
."

"Brotherhood of Saturn," Rosary translated
for Alvarez.

"Yes," Catherine said. "I think sex is
magical enough as just sex; don't you, Rosary?"

The nun scathingly
replied, "Bite your tongue, young lady!" To Alvarez: "The
Brotherhood of Saturn should have been called the Brotherhood of
Satan. They practiced sexual magic."

"Pardon me, Sister, but I have to go with
Catherine," Alvarez told her with a wink at me. "All sex is
magical."

Rosary had no ready reply to that. But
Pierre (the

Chemist) came in on it at that point. He
pointed a finger at Alvarez and said, "I like this man. He says
what he thinks, even in the presence of sacred vestments."

Alvarez grinned and told him, "I'm a
policeman."

"Indeed!" said Pierre. "Did you hear that,
John? A policeman! A weary world cries out for better policemen. I
would venture to say that you are a very good policeman, Bob."

Alvarez smiled with a trace of embarrassment
and replied, "I try to be. What do you folks know about the body
on the beach?"

Apparently no one but me
heard that question.

The conversation abruptly
turned elsewhere. Alvarez gave me a sheepish grin and helped
himself to some more pork, with no effort to get back to the body
on the beach. Francesca came in after everyone else had finished
the main course, filled her plate, and sat eating silently but
attentively as the conversations swirled about her. She gave no
notice whatever to Alvarez or to me.

Valentinius again joined us after dessert.
He had a brandy, and occasionally joined in the conversation, but
spent most of the time in silence, just watching and
listening.

Presently, during a lull in the
conversation, he gazed directly at Alvarez and told him, "Father
Serra did only what he thought was right and holy."

The cop's jaw dropped. He looked at me. I
shrugged and shifted my gaze to Valentinius.

"In the name of God," Valentinius continued,
"errors are often committed." He raised both hands to shoulder

level, smiled at me, dropped them back to the
table. "Even in heaven."

I smiled back, told him, "Then maybe I need
to revise my ideas about perfection."

"Given enough time," he told me, with
twinkling eyes, "all is perfection."