Smoke and Mirrors (15 page)

The idea that struck Erin was so ugly she stopped short, letting go of the vacuum handle. Surely not. Surely no one—not
even Joe, who had been heard to say that no trick was too underhanded, no publicity stunt too low ...

The vacuum cleaner buzzed angrily, and she began pushing again. No. Rosemary wouldn't tolerate anything so disgusting as desecrating her husband's grave.

Then who had done it, and for what unimaginable reason? Rosemary had denied there could be a political motive. Naturally she would; they all played that game. "I am certain my opponent would never stoop. . . ."In this case she was probably right. Bennett was too seasoned a campaigner not to know such a trick would only rebound to Rosemary's advantage.

The perpetrator had to be some anonymous lunatic. That was the only sensible explanation.

She didn't stop working until the room was spotless and the papers had been neatly stacked. The rest of the afternoon dragged. She was afraid to leave the house, for fear some enterprising newsman might be lurking; the sight of the knitting bags made her shudder, as she remembered the ugly little doll.

There was another bizarre incident. Two of them, seemingly pointless, apparently meaningless, in twenty-four hours? They seemed to have nothing in common, though, except their very lack of purpose. The only result of the first episode had been Kay's fainting spell, and she had denied there was any causal relationship, had insisted a child must have hidden the little bundle of rags in her yarn. Children, playing games. . . . Sam's grandchildren visited him occasionally; Mary Ann, one of the cleaning women, had a little girl. Possible, but unconvincing. Yet the alternatives were literally unimaginable. She couldn't think of any.

It was late in the day when the others began to drift in, Rosemary and Joe from her office, Kay from her room, Jeff from wherever he had been, and Nick from outside. He was in shirt-sleeves, tieless and windblown; his flushed face and quick breathing suggested he had been working off the frustrations of the day in violent physical exercise. It wasn't until he went to the television that Erin realized why they had come together. On Sunday the news began at six, an hour later than was the case on weekdays.

Nick switched on all four sets. An old movie on one channel, football games on two of the others, golf on the fourth.

"Not on yet," Nick announced unnecessarily.

"What's the score?" Joe planted himself in front of one of the sets. A pile of writhing bodies broke up into individual players mouthing obscenities at each other and the referee.

"Dunno." Nick didn't have to ask which game he was concerned about. "They're playing in San Diego, aren't they? Damn!" A score had flashed on the screen. "Down by ten."

Rosemary had collapsed onto the couch. She had changed into slacks and an oversized white shirt, and her lipstick had worn off, except for a rim of red around her full lower lip. "Who's the good fairy who cleaned up the mess?" she asked.

"Had to be Erin," said Jeff, smiling. "I think she deserves a drink, don't you?"

"We all do, " Joe announced, eyes glued to the screen. "Damn it, Gibbs, what kind of call is that, running the ball on third and five?"

"He made it," Nick said. "First down."

"Still a stupid call."

Nick passed out cans of beer to everyone but Kay, who accepted sherry. The Skins tied it up with a last-minute field goal, and the game went into overtime. But nobody watched. The six-o'clock news had begun on Channels 5 and 7.

Erin had hoped and believed Nick's judgment was in error; she gasped with surprise when her own face appeared on the nineteen-inch screen. The sound of her voice made her wince, and the content of what she had said made her cringe, but when she murmured distressfully Nick only laughed, and Joe said approvingly, "Cute as a tick and sweet as sugar. Adds a nice—" At that point Rosemary hit him with a rolled-up newspaper, and he shut up.

"Well," Joe said, when it was all over. "Not bad. Pretty good, in fact. You can't—"

"If you say, 'You can't buy publicity like that,' I'll scream," Rosemary said through clenched teeth.

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Then what . . . Oh, never mind. Erin, you handled yourself very well. You have real talent for this sort of thing. Though I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"I'll take it as such, " Erin said with a smile. How could she have suspected Rosemary of setting up such a disgusting story? She added, "Watching you, I realize how much I have yet to learn. You were superb."

"She should be, she's the pro" was Joe's comment.

"I liked that touch about offering a reward," said Jeff

"Joe's idea," Rosemary said briefly. "Is anyone else hungry? I could eat a horse on the hoof."

"I'll go and see—" Erin started to get up. Rosemary waved her back into her chair.

"You've done more than your share already. Why don't we send out for pizza or Chinese or something?"

After some wrangling they decided on Chinese, and Nick called the restaurant to place the order. As soon as he put it down, the phone rang. It was a private line, never used for business purposes, and when Nick heard the voice on the other end he looked both surprised and annoyed. "It's for you," he said, handing the phone to Erin.

"You looked great on TV," Fran said. "How does it feel to be a celebrity?"

"How did you get this number?" Erin demanded. "It's private and unlisted."

"Oh, I copied the number when I was there," Fran said without shame. "Don't worry, I won't bug you, but this is an unusual occasion. I mean, what an awful thing! How is she? What do you think. ..."

Erin was painfully conscious of the listeners as Fran rambled on. Rosemary had picked up a paper and was politely pretending to read it, but Joe and Nick stared in critical silence. Finally she cut Fran off with a brusque "That's crazy, Fran. I have to hang up now. Don't call me, I'll call you. Good-bye."

Obviously an apology was called for, but it infuriated her to have to make it on behalf of Fran, who wasn't in the least repentant.

I m sorry about that. It was my roommate, the one who was here yesterday. I'll warn her about using that number again. She's such a fan of Rosemary's—"

"Not your fault," Nick said. "What's crazy?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said, 'That's crazy.' '

"Oh, that." Erin laughed. "She thinks we—you—have a poltergeist. "

"Poltergeist?" Kay repeated blankly.

Evidently she was the only one who didn't know what the word meant. "Doesn't fit," Joe said, masticating his cigar. Nick grinned and shook his head. Rosemary frowned and shook her head. Jeff rolled his eyes in sardonic, silent commentary; and from Will's lair in the corner came a soft, pedantic voice that made Erin turn and stare. How long had Will been there? She hadn't seen him come in.

"The word means 'racketing spirit' in German. Phenomena include objects flying around the room without visible means of locomotion, fires starting without apparent cause, raps and knocks, furniture moving—"

"Doesn't fit," Joe repeated. "The fire in the graveyard was caused by a weirdo with a match. And nobody except us knows about ..." His eyes focused on Erin.

She knew she was suspected of something, but she didn't understand what it could be until Nick spoke up in her defense.

"Don't glare at Erin, Joe. I was the one who told Fran about the other fires. I don't even remember how the subject came up, but I didn't think it was important."

"Were there other fires?" Erin asked.

"Two," Jeff said. "Nothing major. The first one occurred— when was it, Nick? A week ago, Saturday, I think. A wastebasket. We thought it was started by one of Joe's filthy cigars."

"It wasn't," Joe said. "But it wasn't a goddamn poltergeist either. Your roommate sounds a little loony, kiddo."

There was a general murmur of agreement. Then Jeff said, "Actually, the great majority of the poltergeist cases that have come under investigation were proved to have been caused by human agents. Children playing tricks."

"Correct," said Will. "The little dears were incredibly skilled at sleight of hand. Like any good stage magician, they knew how to distract the audience's attention from what they were doing— pointing with one hand while they used the other to tug on a thread or strike a match."

"Kids," Joe muttered. "Can't stand em myself."

"Not always kids," Jeff said. "Sometimes the perpetrator was an adolescent or young adult. Emotionally disturbed, of course."

The silence that followed was distinctly uncomfortable. Erin had the feeling that they were all carefully not looking at her.

Then Nick said briskly, "I'll go pick up the food. Want to come along for the ride, Erin?"

The dogs were out. They fell on Erin with howls of rapture, and when Nick opened the car door, Tiny shoved past him and climbed into the passenger seat. He had to be hauled out, protesting vehemently, and he made another attempt, this time on the driver's side, when Nick got out to open the gate. After he had closed the gate both dogs sat in the drive baying dismally as they drove away.

The dogs' antics amused Erin, but not enough to make her forget what was on her mind. She was trying to think how to introduce the subject—and whether to mention it at all—when Nick said suddenly, "Damn that bastard Joe. Did you see him leer when I asked you to come with me?"

"I didn't notice."

"Maybe I'm too self-conscious. But I'm getting tired of all the jokes about me and the women on the staff, and what a stud I am— or think I am. I mean, hell, this is a job. I'm not about to risk my professional status by fooling around."

Distracted though she was, Erin couldn't let that pass. "Then you'd better stop grabbing people and nuzzling them on the ear."

"That was precisely the incident to which I was indirectly referring," Nick said, with freezing dignity. "Fear not, it won't happen again."

"Oh?"

No. From now on you'll have to eat your heart out and soak your lonely pillow with tears of remorse, unless, of course, you come groveling to me and plead with me to reconsider."

"Nick, can't you ever be serious?"

Admit it," Nick said, laughter lightening his voice. "I'm not so bad. You could probably learn to like me if you gave yourself half a chance."

"Mmmm."

"What's the matter?"

"What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else."

"I noticed. What is it? Tell Uncle Nick."

"You'll think I'm paranoid."

"Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know unless you spit it out. "

"They think I'm the poltergeist."

"Who thinks?"

"Don't tell me it didn't occur to you."

"No," Nick said. "It didn't."

The moon had not yet risen; the only light came from the car's headlights casting twin spears of brightness through the dark. Erin shivered, and Nick said, "You should have brought a sweater. My heater doesn't work too well; I was going to replace it, but—"

"You don't have to change the subject. I need to talk about it. Face it, Nick; I was here a week ago Saturday. Was that the first time anything odd happened?"

"Are you kidding? Odd is the norm in this business. ' After a moment he went on, "Put it out of your mind, Erin. Last night's fire couldn't have anything to do with the others. The cemetery isn't guarded, any one of a million people could have done the job. You read, every now and then, about some weird cult holding ceremonies in a cemetery—"

"By itself it doesn't mean anything. " Erin was determined to play devil's advocate. "But add it to the other things. That awful little doll, for instance. Why won't anyone talk about it? A child didn't put it in the knitting bag; I've seen kids around, but they don't come in the house."

"What other explanation can there be?"

"I don't know. Too many accidents.' That's what she said. Kay. Not to me, it was as if she were talking to herself.

"Kay said that?" Nick came to an abrupt stop as an octagonal red sign loomed up ahead. His outflung arm caught Erin painfully across the chest, and she let out a yelp. "You didn't have to do that! I had my seat belt fastened!"

"Well, see, my seat belts aren't exactly. . . . Sorry about that. I was thinking about what you said, and forgot about the stop sign. The traffic cops around here lie in wait for me, I swear they do. I sure don't want to be stopped tonight after drinking that beer.

Can't you see the headlines? 'Marshall Aide Ticketed for DWI, Beautiful Redheaded Passenger Unable to Walk Straight Line. . . .'
“

Erin thought he was trying to change the subject, but after they had turned onto the highway and were proceeding at a discreet speed toward town, he said, " 'Too many accidents.' I suppose you could call the wastebasket fire an accident; the other one was in the stableyard, day before yesterday. Another accident, but a minor one—no damage done, just a pile of dried weeds. The only serious accident that's happened recently was Kay's, when she hurt her hand. From her point of view that was one too many, I guess."

"She sounded really strange, Nick," Erin insisted. "It was the day I moved in. Day before yesterday. 'Too many accidents,' and something about things coming in threes . . . She was out of it, groggy with painkillers, it was like her mind was somewhere else. Off in outer space, or wandering in the past—"