Tea-Totally Dead (3 page)

“My daughter, Lori—” Trent began.

I missed the rest of his introduction as Lori enveloped me in a great big fragrant hug. Oh well, I thought, this was Marin after all, home of the hug as the correct gesture of greeting. Even for strangers.

“Are you Kate?” she demanded as she released me, the volume of her demand tempered by the welcoming grin on her face.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t fast enough.

“Wayne’s told us all about you,” she enthused, giving me less than an instant to wonder just what Wayne had told them. “Oh, I can see why he’s in love with you. You have such a wonderful energy! And your aura.” She closed her eyes for a minute. “Let me see,” she commanded, putting her hands on my shoulders.

I took a closer look at Lori’s face while she took a closer look at my aura. I could see a modified version of the Skeritt brow there. And the good bone structure from her mother. She was wearing a long, rainbow-striped woven top over an orange turtleneck and orange stirrup pants. Orange-and-turquoise beaded earrings quivered in her ears.

“Purple,” she announced, opening her eyes. “Purple with hints of aqua and jade. Very higher-chakra. I’m impressed.”

“Uh, thanks—” I began.

“Wayne says you own your own business. That takes a lot of juice, a lot of personal power. I really admire that. It’s so… so…” She waved a hand in the air, jangling her bracelets and coming uncomfortably close to my face with her long red fingernails. “So vibrationally intense,” she concluded. She looked down into my eyes expectantly.

“Do you own your own business?” I asked, feeling like a nosy insurance salesman. I really need to polish my social skills some day.

“I do massage,” she answered, with another wave of her long fingernails.

“Oh,” I said, wincing inwardly. “That’s great.” I could just imagine what a massage would feel like with those nails. Ouch.

“I’m really a healer on a more subtle level, of course. Mind, body, spirit. And the emotional body, of course. I’ve studied Chi-Lei Jung energy massage and holotropic breath work. And neuro-linguistic programming. And—”

“Grandpa says Mom should have a Ph.D. in New Age by now,” commented the dark-skinned girl. Hers would have been a credible Tallulah Bankhead drawl except for the higher pitch of her voice. Her white teeth flashed in a quick grin.

Lori threw her head back and laughed, jangling her bracelets as she did.

“Oh, sweetie—” she began, reaching for her daughter.

“I’m Mandy Oliver,” the girl interrupted. She jerked her head up at Lori. “Mom almost never remembers to tell people who I am.” Her drawl sounded more affectionate than angry, though.

“Glad to meet you, Mandy,” I said. And I was.

She was a pretty girl, already an inch or two taller than me. She had flawless taupe skin, a full mouth and her mother and grandmother’s good bone structure. Her hair was pulled back into a shorter, more textured version of Lori’s braid, revealing the slight heaviness of her brow. The heavy brow didn’t spoil her face, though; it only served to give her liquid brown eyes a more intense look. In a few more years, I thought, she’ll probably be truly beautiful. Not to mention taller.

“Mandy’s an artist,” Ingrid said softly before Lori could start up again. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle smile as she put a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder.

Mandy reached up and stroked the older woman’s hand. My own hands felt warmed by the unconscious sweetness of the gesture.

“My daughter, Lori, would rather go to New Age seminars for the rest of her life than actually work to get a good, solid education,” Trent put in. He smiled as he said it, as if he was only teasing, but the sourness of his smile told me he was serious. The warmth in my hands faded.

“Oh, Dad,” Lori protested, her bright smile wavering. “Please. You know real illumination doesn’t come with a degree attached.”

“Enough of family discussions,” Trent told her quietly.

Lori opened her mouth for an instant, then closed it again, seeming to shrink a little from her magnificent height. I felt my own shoulders contract in sympathy.

Trent turned his polite gaze in my direction. “So, Kate,” he said. “What kind of business do you have?”

“Gag gifts,” I stated briefly, resisting the urge to tell him that it was none of his business what my business was.

I glanced over my shoulder, wishing Wayne or Ace were here with me. But they were standing by the door listening to Vesta and Eric. As I began to turn my head back, Vesta slapped Ace on the shoulder and he fell to the ground with a loud
whumph.

My heart jumped. I turned completely around this time. Did Ace need help? What had Vesta done to him? Whatever it was, she thought it was funny. She was laughing out loud now. I took a step toward them, then felt a tug on my shirt sleeve.

“Don’t worry,” said Mandy. “They’re just fooling around.”

“Fooling around?” I repeated while my heart thudded madly.

Ace jumped up from the floor and put a choke-hold on Vesta. At least it looked like a choke-hold to me. But Vesta’s hoots of laughter were too loud for a woman being strangled.

I turned back to Mandy.

“Uncle Ace pretends to be thrown on the ground,” she explained, her brown eyes holding a look I couldn’t quite identify. “He’s really quite amusing. He used to be a wrestler, you know.”

I nodded, just then remembering what Wayne had told me so many times.

“My little brother,” Trent murmured, shaking his fine silver head. “He’ll never grow up.”

“Isn’t Uncle Ace just splendid?” whispered Mandy. I studied her eyes. Her irises looked like molten Hershey’s chocolate. Now I recognized the gaze she was aiming at Ace. She was in love.

“Too bad his grandson is so hideous,” she added in her usual drawl.

Lori laughed. “Poor Eric,” she said, hugging her daughter. “We can’t all be as lovable as you, sweetie.”

Trent’s face relaxed into what looked like a real smile. Ingrid beamed. The four Skeritts stood there looking like one big happy, extended family.

Then Harmony came walking up to our little group.

“Hi,” she said, her voice off as usual, a little too loud and a little too shrill. “Vesta said I should talk with you guys.”

I looked into her blank, bleached eyes and tried to come up with a conversation starter. Lori beat me to it.

“I love your earrings,” she said brightly. “Did you make them yourself?”

Harmony raised a hand to the cluster of tiny crystals and crosses that hung from her ear lobe. Life came into her eyes.

“Yeah, I made them,” she answered softly. “They’re really cool,” she went on, her voice gaining speed and volume. “They keep the visitors away, right? The visitors are afraid of crosses. And crystals, right?”

“The visitors?” asked Lori, her brow looking almost like Wayne’s as she furrowed it in confusion.

Harmony’s face went blank again.

“Go on,” prompted Vesta. I looked up, startled. I hadn’t heard Vesta join our group. But she had, along with Ace, Wayne and Eric, who all stood a little ways behind her with somber expressions on their faces. Vesta was smiling widely, however, her teeth gleaming. The theme music from
Jaws
began playing in my head.

“Go ahead,” Vesta purred. “Tell them about your visitors.”

Harmony swallowed the bait. Light came into her burned-out eyes again. She even managed a tentative smile as she spoke.

“Visitors from outer space,” she elucidated in an excited whisper. “They took me onto their spaceship three years ago. They only take certain ones of us, right? For testing—”

“You gotta be totally mental to believe that,” Eric interrupted, his voice shrill with protest. And maybe fear. “I’ve read all about UFO’s. They’re totally bogus, you know.”

Vesta laughed raucously. No one joined her. Harmony’s face fell into blankness again. But her hands were alive, nervously touching and rubbing each and every one of the many crosses and crystals woven into the fringe on her leather jacket.

For a moment, no one seemed to have anything more to say, not even Eric. I had become used to Harmony’s talk of UFO’s and midnight visits, but apparently this branch of the Skeritt clan hadn’t been exposed before.

“They’re very nice earrings,” I told Harmony gently.

She didn’t seem to be listening. She was lost in the world of her amulets.

“You shouldn’t let Trent hear you talk about spaceships,” Vesta advised Harmony. Her gleaming shark’s smile had widened. She lowered her voice as she continued. “He had me put away for far less than that,” she said, then turned the gleam of her teeth onto Trent.

“This is neither the time nor the place—” Trent began, his voice quiet and controlled. Maybe it was too quiet, too controlled.

“Shady Willows Mental Health Facility for over twenty fucking years!” Vesta shouted. The incongruous smile was gone from her face now. Anger squeezed her navy blue eyes into slits.

Trent shook his head coolly and calmly, folding his hands behind his back military style. He looked the picture of reason and concern except for the muscle that twitched along the right side of his jaw.

“Trent never meant to hurt you, dear,” Ingrid whispered. Her eyes were wide and earnest. “He was terribly worried about you—”

“And no one came to help me in all those years,” Vesta ground on, ignoring Ingrid entirely. “Not my darling brother Ace…” She paused to glare in Ace’s direction. The color drained from his face on cue. “Or my sister Drusilla…” She pointed to a gray-haired woman across the room. Was that Drusilla?

Finally, Vesta turned to Wayne, her shark’s smile appearing once more. “Or my own son, Waynie,” she finished in a low, dangerous purr.

Wayne’s body collapsed inward in slow motion. First his shoulders rolled forward. Then his chest deflated and his head bowed.

I was at his side in two steps, ready to catch him if his knees buckled. But they didn’t. As I reached him, he took a deep breath and straightened his body.

“Mom,” he said quietly. “You were sick.”

Vesta’s face darkened. Maybe Wayne wasn’t supposed to have a speaking role in this scenario. “I certainly was after they put me on drugs!” she snapped.

“Now, Vessie,” soothed Ace. “Wayne’s always been good to you. Visited you once a week while you were in the hospital. Took care of you when you got out. You know how good he’s been, don’t you?”

“I don’t know any such thing—” she began.

“Did I hear my name spoken in vain?” came a new voice, high-pitched and cheerful.

Vesta whirled on the speaker, the gray-haired woman from across the room. Drusilla, if it was Drusilla, was smiling as she moved to join us, apparently oblivious to the zone of tension she had entered on this side of the room. She motioned forward the two people who had accompanied her. One was a younger woman who wore a deep frown, the other a red-faced man who sported a bland smile.

“Now, Vesta,” Drusilla caroled. “You’ve kept your new guest to yourself for long enough. You must introduce her to the three of us.”

“God damn it, Drusilla—” Vesta began.

“Oh, just call me Dru,” the gray-haired woman trilled. She was tall and slender, dressed in slacks and a gaily embroidered pink blouse. I caught a glimpse of the Skeritt brow under her curly bangs. And a glimpse of humor in the fine network of lines around her blue eyes. “And you must be Kate,” she said, extending a hand.

Vesta crossed her arms with a loud snort, then set her face on glower for the duration.

“Good to meet you, Dru,” I said enthusiastically, grabbing her hand and pumping. I’d shake the hand of anyone who could upstage Vesta.

“And this is my husband, Bill Norton,” Dru went on.

I shook Bill’s hand dutifully. He was probably about fifty or so, like his wife. He was good-looking in a WASP kind of way, with a classic profile and widely spaced blue eyes. But his skin was too ruddy for real good looks. And his expression too conversely colorless.

“And my daughter, Gail,” Dru finished.

Gail didn’t reach out to shake my hand, so I satisfied myself with a nod in her direction. She was as tall as the rest of the Skeritts. And on the plump side. Her face was plain, unremarkable except for the intensity of her brown eyes under aviator-style glasses. She stared at me, the frown deepening on her face. Had she heard Vesta’s earlier remarks? And, unlike her mother, had she taken them seriously?

“Gail is a psychotherapist,” Dru informed me with a giggle. “So you have to watch what you say around her.”

I smiled. I figured it was a joke. Gail just stared. Maybe it wasn’t a joke after all.

“I swear she takes notes,” Dru whispered conspiratorially.

“So what do you do, Dru?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m comptroller of a mid-sized corporation,” she said. Then she crinkled her eyes and added, “That’s really just gobbledygook for a glorified bookkeeper, but it’s sure fun to say.” She let out a peal of laughter, so high and light it seemed to float up to the ceiling. “And my husband, Bill, is a realtor,” she added. “Isn’t that right, dear?” she prompted, turning to him.

He nodded without shifting his bland smile.