Stay Tuned for Murder (5 page)

To keep the spirits in? Or the gawkers out?

“Where would you like us to sit?” I asked, motioning to the rows of folding chairs that were arranged in front of a small stage at the far end of the room. Probably thirty people were already seated, fanning themselves with programs, talking quietly. The air-conditioning was either on the fritz or too old to be effective, because the room was sweltering.

Althea hesitated. “Chantel is going to choose a few people to join her onstage tonight. Would any of you be interested?” She kept her voice low and glanced over her shoulder, probably worried that she’d spark a stampede of volunteers. “She wants people who are attuned to the spirit world and will bring positive energy to the group.” She gave a very slight emphasis to the words “spirit world,” and I felt she wanted to give me a tiny eye roll but was too ladylike to really do it.

“Well, holy moley, count me in, Althea,” Vera Mae said. “I have a passel of dead relatives I’d like to contact. I’d like to give a piece of my mind to a few of them, and one or two owe me money.” Vera Mae grinned at Lark. “You want to be part of the séance, too, don’t you, sweetie? I heard you’re into all that heebie-jeebie stuff.”

“I’d be honored, if Chantel will allow me,” Lark said a little breathlessly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Althea wince at Vera Mae’s use of the term “heebie-jeebie.”

“Just make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll let Chantel know that you’d like to participate,” Althea said, hurrying away to meet some latecomers.

We settled into seats in the back row just as Chantel approached a podium at the far end of the parlor. A single spotlight was focused on her from below, giving her face an odd, otherworldly cast, like someone out of
The Blair Witch Project
.

“Good evening, everyone,” Chantel began. “Miss Althea wanted to give me a lovely introduction, but I told her I’m not the focus of the attention tonight.” She gave a long, stagey pause. “The spirits are the real stars tonight. It’s not about
me
. It’s about
them
.”

She gave a mock-humble smile, folded her palms over her chest, and looked skyward for a moment. “I am but a channel, a vessel to hold their psychic energy as it rains down upon us.” She made a fluttery motion with her fingers as if suggesting a spiritual downpour from the heavens.

I nearly looked up at the ceiling but stopped myself just in time.

“The spirits will be lucky if they manage to get a word in edgewise with Chantel running her mouth like this.” Vera Mae nudged me with her elbow. “She’s not fooling anyone with this humble act. Look at that pile of books she’s got stashed on the table up there. You know darn well she expects people will buy them. I doubt she’s handing them out for free.”

Chantel glanced our way, raised one of her plucked-to-death eyebrows, and frowned.

“Shhh,” I cautioned Vera Mae.

“And she’s got more copies scattered on end tables all around the room,” Lola whispered. “You can’t walk two feet without bumping into a copy of her book. She knows how to promote herself, doesn’t she?” she added, an envious note creeping into her voice.

Chantel moved toward a round wooden table, and Althea took her place at the podium. “While Chantel readies herself to receive the spirits, I would like the following people to approach the front of the room.” She called out six names, including Vera Mae’s and Lark’s.

“Wish me luck,” Vera Mae whispered as she made her way up the aisle with Lark.

“Knock ’em dead,” Lola said warmly to Lark.

“I’d like you to join us at the table as well, Althea.” Chantel smiled, motioning for the others to take a seat. “Please sit to the right of me.”

I noticed that Chantel had taken the choice seat, smack-dab in the center, so everyone in the audience would have a good view of her. Mom was right. She was a genius at hogging the limelight.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—,” Althea protested.

“You must.” Chantel spoke in a flat robotic voice, like an android in a bad sci-fi flick, and I wondered whether she was going into some sort of trance. “The spirits are asking that you join us.” She paused, tilting her head on one side, as if listening to a ghostly command. “In fact, they are
insisting
on it.” Althea nodded and quickly took a seat next to Chantel.

“Wow, it’s sort of like a command performance,” Mom felt compelled to explain to me. “I remember the time Princess Diana asked that John Travolta be included in a White House dinner she was attending. She said she’d always wanted to dance with him, and—”

“Mom, please. People are staring at us.”

“Well, I’m just saying that if a spirit asks you to be present, you have to oblige. You can hardly say no to a ghost.”

“Fine,” I said with a resigned sigh. I wondered whether Mom was going to talk throughout the entire séance. She’d jabbered nonstop through the entire three hours of
The Lord of the Rings
, so it wouldn’t surprise me.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re no fun at all,” she whispered as the lights suddenly lowered.

“Either the lights are getting dimmer, or I’ve got a brain tumor,” Vera Mae called from the front of the room, drawing a big laugh from the crowd and a frosty look from Chantel.

“I will require almost complete darkness and total silence”—she shot a hostile look at Vera Mae—“for my work to be successful tonight.” Vera Mae grinned out at the audience, not the least bit embarrassed by Chantel’s reproach.

The lights dimmed a little more until the room was almost completely in shadows. I realized the only lighting was coming from a collection of ornate wall sconces strategically placed throughout the room.

Chantel lit a fat white candle in the center of the round table. She stared at it fixedly for a few moments and then leaned her head back, letting her eyelids flutter shut. There was something hypnotic about the setting, and I wondered whether it was deliberately planned that way. The shadows, the flickering candle light, the airless room—were they all part of an elaborate ruse, designed to make the audience more susceptible to a visit from the beyond?

Then she ordered everyone at the table to join hands. Vera Mae, Lark, and Althea, along with the four women selected from the audience, smiled shyly at one another and complied.

“I’m feeling a familiar presence,” Chantel said softly. “Michael, is that you?”

I knew from Chantel’s appearances on my show that Michael seems to know everyone in the spirit world and Chantel uses him to channel appearances from the dearly departed.

I picture him as a good-natured bouncer, guarding the rope line of Club Underworld. If you want to mingle with the dead, it’s a good idea to be one of Michael’s BFFs.

Suddenly a wisp of white smoke appeared in the air above the table and hovered there, dancing. A gasp went up from the audience. The smoky thread was baffling to me. It was stifling hot in the room, utterly still. So how to explain the smoke? And why was it dancing around above Chantel’s head? I squinted into the darkness, but the smoke was already dissolving into gossamer threads, melting as fast as a snowflake on a windowpane.

“Ah, he’s here,” Chantel said with a deep sigh. “Now our journey can begin.”

I glanced at Mom, who was staring raptly at the stage. It was impossible not to admire Chantel’s stage presence. Charlatan or not, Chantel had the audience in the palm of her hand. She knew how to keep them on the edge of their seats, hanging on her every word.

“Michael is telling me that he has a very important message for someone sitting at this table.”

I couldn’t read Vera Mae’s expression in the dimly lit room, but I noticed the change in her body language. Vera Mae, along with everyone else at the table, suddenly leaned forward, bodies tense, probably wondering whether Michael was speaking directly to them.

“Do you suppose it’s a stock tip?” Mom whispered. “My investments have really tanked, and I could use some insider advice—”

I silenced her with a look.

“Michael says that someone here is in great danger,” Chantel said solemnly, still with her eyes closed.
Great danger?
I could dimly make out Vera Mae’s head whipping around behind her.

I sincerely hoped Barney wasn’t making a return appearance. I’d had enough of that dog to last several lifetimes.

“The danger comes from an unexpected source.” Mom opened her mouth to say something, but I squeezed her wrist. Hard. “There is an unbeliever threatening Cypress Grove. An evil presence is in our midst.”

Another small murmur went up from the audience. Now everyone was getting into the act. Mentioning an “evil presence” was a smart move on Chantel’s part. That’s the kind of thing that gets everyone’s attention.

“And all of us here tonight are in grave danger. There are lies and secrets lying deep beneath the surface. A smiling face holds a dagger.”
Yowsers.
I felt a little tingle go down my spine and willed it away. I knew it was all part of Chantel’s shtick, but I thought I felt the presence of something sinister, an evil spirit lurking in the stuffy parlor.

“Michael,” Chantel said in her rich contralto, “can you tell us anything more about this danger? What can we do to avert a tragedy in our little town?”

At least ten seconds of complete silence. Either Michael didn’t have an answer or he was slow on the uptake. If Michael were an 8-Ball, he could just say,
Ask again later
, but apparently this isn’t an option for spirit guides.

“Michael says that some things should be left alone. Some stones should be left unturned. Some plans must be abandoned.”

Michael, the master of the cryptic remark. He could have been channeling Yoda.

“Huh? Stones left unturned?” Mom said under her breath. “What does that mean? He’s not being very helpful, is he?”

“If we don’t heed his warning, the consequences”—Chantel waited a beat—“will be dire. Michael says that greed and avarice will lead to total annihilation.”

Annihilation?
What she was saying was absolute hocus-pocus, but I have to admit it was effective. It certainly made me sit up and take notice. Annihilation is serious stuff, after all. It’s bound to be a much bigger deal than simply paying a library fine or getting a ticket for jaywalking.

I was still pondering what had just happened when the lights suddenly started coming back up. It was so steady and gradual, I realized they must have been on a dimmer switch all along. Maybe the wall sconces were wired that way, but how did Althea turn them up and down? She’d spent the whole time sitting next to Chantel, so someone else from the society must have dimmed them. I felt myself blinking in the yellowish light, still watching the stage for signs of movement.

So this was it. The séance was over.

Chantel had been slumped back in her chair throughout the séance, but now she suddenly sat bolt upright and stared out at the audience. Her voice was thin and reedy, as if the séance had sucked every ounce of energy out of her. Her skin looked sallow, and even her trademark gypsy curls seemed lifeless, trailing limply down her back.

“Michael has spoken,” she said solemnly. “His message was intended for someone at this table, or maybe for all of you. Look deeply into your heart, and you will know if Michael was speaking directly to you.”

She turned her magnetic gaze on each person at the table, one by one. I noticed that Althea looked uncomfortable and touched her hand to her throat, while Lark appeared fascinated and stared right back at Chantel. Vera Mae, impish as always, flashed a wide grin. I held my breath, hoping Vera Mae wasn’t going to crack a joke.

“We have learned something valuable tonight,” Chantel continued. “The danger Michael spoke of is real. It might affect everyone in our little town.” She made a broad gesture that included the whole audience. “All of us need to be very careful about the choices we make and the people we trust. Evil is afoot in Cypress Grove.”

There was a long moment of silence. It was as if the audience was collectively taking a deep breath, trying to absorb the somber warning.

“If you’d like to hear more of my chats from beyond, be sure to tune in to my visit on WYME later this week,” Chantel said briskly.
Aha.
The old Chantel was back, full of brassy confidence, flaunting her megawatt personality and high-voltage smile.

She was on full power now. “I’ll be taking calls on Maggie Walsh’s show, and if we’re very lucky, Michael might drop by to join us.” She gave a coy smile. “Or who knows? Maybe a few other spirits will show up.”

“Can Michael just chat with Chantel whenever he feels like it? And how does she know he’s going to be available for your show?” A hint of mischief flashed in Lola’s eyes.

“A good point. I’ll be sure to ask her.”

Chantel whipped out a Sharpie and started autographing books for people who’d lined up to buy a copy of
I Talk to Dead People
in the front of the room. Vera Mae and Lark made their way along the edge of the room just then, and Althea joined us a few minutes later as we prepared to leave.

As we were saying good-bye, I spotted a landscape painting hanging in the front hall. It was a rather uninspiring pastoral scene, done in shades of muddy browns and tans, but something about it caught my eye.

Who’s the artist?
I peered to look at the lower right-hand corner more closely. The lighting was dim in the front hall, but I could see that it wasn’t signed.

“I found this in the stockroom downstairs a few years ago,” Althea said, coming up next to me. “Pity it’s not signed. I just hung it here in the hall and forgot about it.”

“There’s something about this painting,” I said. “Something I can’t quite put my finger on. You don’t know anything about it?”

“Well, this is probably wishful thinking, but I wondered if it might be a Joshua Riggs,” Althea said, a little note of hope creeping into her voice. “Wouldn’t that be something?”