Superstition (11 page)

“Should I . . . ?” she asked Leonora quietly.

Leonora nodded, and Marisa hurried after the grieving couple. From long experience with her mother’s work, Nicky knew that Marisa would offer to set up an appointment for a private reading, free of charge, at some future date. Presumably, when she was no longer “blocked.”

“That was
great
,” Tina breathed, unclipping the microphone from Nicky’s lapel. Nicky got the feeling that she would have been jumping up and down in her platform shoes if the soles hadn’t been too heavy to allow it. “Your mom
rules
.” She let Nicky go and turned enthusiastically to Leonora. “You are the absolute
bomb
,” she told Leonora as she removed her microphone. “Do you think you could do a séance for me sometime? My grandmother died last year and . . .”

Tina was part of Nicky’s usual team, too, and ordinarily, Nicky loved the tiny blonde to death: Her bubbly enthusiasm could be counted on to inject a note of cheer into any shoot, no matter how nerve-racking the conditions. One glance at her mother’s face, however, confirmed her gut instinct: For Leonora, now was definitely not the moment.

“Maybe next time we’re in town,” Nicky intervened hastily before her mother could answer, and took Leonora’s arm. Her mother didn’t actually pull away, but the resistance—to her daughter’s touch, not to leaving—was there. At least her mother’s annoyance served a purpose: It kept Nicky from dwelling on her uncomfortable conviction that in that icy brush of air across her face, she’d just had her own up-close-and-personal encounter with the resident ghost. “We need to get packed up and out of here pronto, before Barney Fife and company”—she nodded toward the two cops, who were cautiously entering the bedroom at that moment—“really do arrest us.”

“Can they do that?” Tina spotted the newcomers and frowned.

Already tugging her mother toward the door, Nicky shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon not find out.”

The room’s lighting suddenly went from blazing bright to normal overhead fixture bright, and the temperature dropped at least a couple degrees. Nicky blinked and glanced around automatically, but realized even as she did it that the reason had nothing to do with the paranormal: The plug had just been pulled on the TV lights. The gang was already bustling about, doing their jobs. She knew from experience that they’d have the whole house restored to pre-broadcast conditions in less than half an hour.

“Nice show,” a man commented dryly, and Nicky looked up to find Barney Fife in her path. He was good-looking enough to be described as hunky, she discovered now that she got her first real look at him in decent lighting: wavy black hair, bronzed, chiseled features, a broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body that was all muscles and sex appeal. In fact, all the usual clichés applied, and her female radar gave its standard hot-guy-in-the-building heads up, but the dorky shirt coupled with the expression on his face helped her keep things in perspective. This was a small-town cop with a bad attitude. In fact, if she’d had to describe him now, she would have said tall, dark, and
nasty.
There was a glint in his eyes and a twist to his mouth that told her that he believed in what he’d just seen and heard about as much as he believed in Santa Claus. “It sure sent chills down
my
spine.”

“Thanks.” It required considerable effort, but she took the high road and ignored the not-so-subtle sarcasm.
Screw you
was what she felt like saying, but at the moment, she had bigger problems than an ignorant cop. Problems such as her mother, whom she steered carefully around him. She could feel Leonora’s arm stiffening beneath her fingers. If she looked—which she didn’t dare do—she knew she’d see her mother swelling up like a puffer fish.

If he’d asked, she would have warned him that Leonora was not in the mood to suffer fools gladly—fools being him.

Barney Fife turned to follow them with his gaze as they passed him. “You’re not planning on filming any more shows around here, are you? Because if you are, next time I’d check into getting that permit we were talking about.”

“We’re flying out tomorrow, so you can quit worrying.” Nicky resisted the urge to tell him to go stuff himself in favor of getting her mother out of the room before she could explode. She pulled Leonora into the hall and practically pushed her toward the stairs.

“What was
that
?” Leonora hissed a moment later, and Nicky knew she wasn’t talking about the insufferable cop. To give her mother credit, at least she’d waited until they were on the stairs and—relatively—alone. Nicky’s hand tightened on the smooth oak banister. A glance told her that twin spots of hectic color burned in Leonora’s cheeks; her jaw was tight; her eyes flashed. Leonora stopped halfway down the staircase—she was one step ahead—to glare up at Nicky. “How dare you put those screams in there? Didn’t we already have this conversation once tonight? You of all people know I
do not fake it
.”

Fortunately, having sensed the way the wind was blowing, Nicky had already had time to think this one through. There was only one possible answer that wouldn’t result in Leonora blowing sky-high.

“What makes you think they were faked?” Nicky hissed back, nudging her mother with her knee to get her going again. Below them, a small crowd was clustering around the foot of the stairs watching them descend. All eyes—of course—were on Leonora. Nicky was careful to keep a smile on her face and her voice down. “As far as I know, nobody put those screams in there.
We
didn’t fake them.”

Becoming aware of her audience, Leonora smiled, too, and resumed descending with regal grace. But that didn’t mean that things were all better. Nicky could practically hear the snap, crackle, and pop of her mother’s fuse burning toward detonation.

“Bullshit,” Leonora said out of the side of her mouth.

“Truth,” Nicky shot back, just as discreetly.

A smattering of applause distracted them both. A glance down confirmed it: The group waiting for them was applauding. For one of the few times in her life, Nicky was actually glad to see her mother’s public. The good news was that it shut her up and got her the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Ms. James, I have to tell you, I am the
biggest
fan.” The mini-skirted woman stepped forward as Nicky and her mother reached the first-floor hall. “I’m Marsha Browning with the
Coastal Observer.
We cover all the local news for Pawleys Island, Litchfield, and Murrels Inlet. That was just remarkable. Could I possibly get an interview?”

“I’d be honored.” Every inch the gracious diva now, Leonora smiled and shook hands.

“You’ll need to call her assistant and set up an appointment for another time. I’ll get you the number.” Nicky ran interference with the ease of long practice. As her mother accepted congratulations all around, Nicky was relieved to see Livvy, flanked by Uncle Ham and Uncle John, who were each holding one of her arms, slowly approaching. Livvy’s face was pale and puffy, and she was moving as though each step was an effort, but at least she was no longer red-eyed and weepy.

Nicky’s gaze locked with her sister’s. A moment of wordless communication passed between them. During the course of their growing-up years, they’d been the opposite of close, as popular boy-magnet Olivia had queened it over gawky wallflower Nicky. Even as adults, though the three years that separated them seemed to shrink with each passing birthday, they weren’t exactly friends. The fact was, they had very little in common except genes. Livvy had married right out of college, married Ben Hollis of the Charleston Hollises, which in this part of the country was akin to marrying a god, and had spent the last ten years living in Charleston sixty miles from where they’d grown up, queening it over local society just like she had once queened it over Nicky, being the perfect wife as her husband had risen in the family business, volunteering, lunching, doing things that were inexplicable to Nicky, such as serving as president of the Junior League. Nicky, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to shake the dust from this little corner of the South off her feet fast enough. Since college, she’d been doing her best to carve out a career in television, moving frequently, as she’d gotten jobs in bigger TV markets in bigger cities until she’d wound up in Chicago last August on
Twenty-Four Hours Investigates.
It was her big break, she’d thought at the time, but as the show had failed to take off, she finally was forced to amend that thought. She and Livvy saw each other maybe twice a year, and the rest of the time communicated basically through their mother. But sometimes, particularly when their larger-than-life mother was concerned, they found themselves in accord and able to work together, especially when something was to their mutual benefit.

Like now. Livvy wanted to go home; Nicky wanted to get their mother out of her hair. Their needs dovetailed perfectly.

Raising her voice slightly, Nicky called to her sister over the heads of the assembled company, “Oh, Liv, don’t you feel well?”

Everyone turned to look at Livvy, something which Nicky knew her sister, in her present condition, would not appreciate. But to Livvy’s everlasting credit, she kept her game face on.

“I have a headache,” Livvy said in the pathetic little-girl voice that never failed to get their mother’s instant attention—and never failed to set Nicky’s teeth on edge. Now, though, as Leonora looked past her public to frown at her older daughter in concern, Nicky blessed Livvy’s acting ability. “I need to go home.
Now
.”

“You should go with her, Mama,” Nicky said in her mother’s ear. She herself couldn’t leave yet—there were lots of things that had to be finished up before she could call it a night—but getting her mother out of the way before Leonora could blow a gasket was absolutely Job One. “She needs you.”

“Yes. Yes, I will.” Without the turbulence of an upcoming TV appearance to distract her, Leonora was once again ready to concentrate on her elder daughter’s well-being. With a gracious smile and a few more hand-shakes all around, she moved toward Livvy.

“Take my car,” Nicky called after her. Without the bright light that was Leonora to hold them, the little knot of her admirers started to flutter away in various directions. “The keys are in it. There are some things I need to do here, so I’ll just catch a ride with somebody.”

Uncle John acknowledged that with a wave. Nicky watched with relief as the four of them headed in a tight little cluster toward the door. Then Leonora looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes were once again baleful as they met Nicky’s.

“Nicole,” she said.
“Find out.”

Nicky sighed. She should have known that she wasn’t going to get off quite that easily.

“I will,” she promised, knowing that her mother meant find out where the screams had come from.

“And then you come straight home and tell me.”

“I will,” Nicky said again, although her voice was a little fainter. So much for the peaceful solitude of her hotel room in Charleston, she thought, wistfully picturing the airport Holiday Inn accommodation with its two queen-sized beds and a TV. Oh, well, she had never really expected to use it anyway. She’d last seen her mother and sister during a whirlwind Christmas visit, and she’d known even when she’d checked in that the chances that she would actually sleep there were slim. Her mother would never forgive her if Nicky came home and stayed in a hotel. One night of family-centered chaos wouldn’t kill her.

On the other hand, if it turned out that the screams had been faked and somebody on the TV crew was responsible, Leonora might.

As if she could read Nicky’s mind—well, she probably could—Leonora gave her a final sharp look before Livvy and the uncles managed to take her with them out the door.

“Looks like we get to keep our jobs one more day,” Gordon said cheerfully from behind her. Nicky turned around to see that he was winding up cable. A big orange coil of it was looped over his arm, and he was adding more to it by the second as he moved through the downstairs, taking it up from the floor. “I’ve been hearing good things.”

“Yeah?” That was good news.

“That was one hell of an ending.”

“Yeah.” If this time she sounded slightly dispirited, it was because she was. She lowered her voice. No point in letting anybody who wasn’t on the payroll know that there was some question about the authenticity of their blockbuster finale. “Those screams—you were down here. You didn’t happen to see anybody screaming, did you?”

Gordon shook his head. Then, pausing in the doorway between the hall and the dining room, he frowned at her. “It was some kind of ghost or something, wasn’t it?”

Nicky wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. I’d like to think so. They just sounded so . . . real.”

“All I know is, I was right here in the hall, and I didn’t see anybody screaming. I sure heard ’em, though. Made me jump, I don’t mind telling you.”

Nicky made a wry face. “That good, huh?”

“Hey, last time I jumped like that was when my ex-wife walked in while I was scoping out the babysitter.”

Nicky laughed. Gordon grinned and resumed his task. Feeling a little better, Nicky headed for the kitchen, where, she presumed from the sounds that were emanating from it, she would find the rest of the crew. Maybe the screams had been legitimate. After all, she’d certainly thought they were at the time. It could be just that after her negative experience with her own TV show, Leonora was paranoid. And Leonora hadn’t been totally herself tonight. Maybe she was enough off her game not to recognize a ghostly shriek when she scared one up.

A group was coming down the stairs as Nicky went by: Tina, Marisa, the Schultzes, Barney Fife, and his side-kick. Nicky grimaced inwardly at the sight of those last two, and picked up the pace in a bid to avoid any further encounters of the unpleasant kind.

The show was over. Time to get out of Dodge while the getting was good.

When Nicky entered the kitchen, Cassandra and Mario were packing up their supplies and guzzling their favorite cranberry Snapple, while Bob was setting a partially dismantled camera down on the counter near the sink. They suspended their conversation to greet her with high fives, low fives, and a variety of other variations of “Great show!”