Caught Dead Handed (16 page)

Scott appeared on the screen. He promised to keep the WICH-TV audience posted on any breaks in the case and signed off, returning the viewers to the anchor desk at the studio. I turned off the set, leaned back onto my fluffy pillows, and wondered how Scott might look dressed as a Gypsy king at the Witches Ball. I dozed off smiling, picturing Scott in a white balloon-sleeved shirt open to the waist, with gold chains draped across a perfectly sculpted chest.

Within moments, my eyes flew open as another image intruded on those pleasant thoughts.

The televised portrait of Yvette Pelletier bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the photo in George Valen's album.

I am always surprised by how much good a few hours of sound sleep can do. When Aunt Ibby woke me at around seven, I felt just fine. Shaking aside disturbing, but completely unfounded comparisons between the murdered woman and Janice's mother, I was wide awake and ready to get on with my
Nightshades
show prep. I'd already decided to open with the meditation advice I'd gleaned from one of Ariel's books. Then I'd introduce the 1961 version of
The Pit and the Pendulum,
with Vincent Price in the starring role. There were surely enough horrific revelations, ghostly appearances, and violent deaths packed into the old thriller to satisfy the late-show audience.

One of the attic outfits, a pink boatneck blouse and a ruffled blue square-dance skirt, would do for now, and I'd go costume shopping soon. Trying not to wake O'Ryan, I slipped out of bed and headed back to the study to print out my notes for the show.

It took only a few minutes for the cat to catch up with me. He hopped onto the desk, watching as I worked for an hour. Then, notes finished, we went downstairs together.

Aunt Ibby called from the kitchen. “I think you have time for a bite of supper. There's a nice pot roast simmering in the slow cooker.”

“Sounds good. Smells good, too. I'll try to get to the station around nine thirty. That'll give me plenty of time to dress, do makeup, and look over the commercials,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. “And to see who's screening my calls.”

“That's turned out to be quite important,” my aunt said as she filled my plate with a slice of tender roast, along with carrots and potatoes. “Considering last night's unfortunate editing error.”

“That was awful. I was so relieved when George took over the board.”

“This George seems to be a nice fellow. You say he isn't married?”

I shook a finger at her, the way she used to do to me when I was little. “Don't even go there!” I warned. “And as delicious as this food is, I'll have to eat and run.”

I hurried back upstairs and dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, hung the skirt and blouse in a garment bag, tossed in the gold sandals and a few strings of beads. O'Ryan had remained in the kitchen, finishing the scraps of my pot roast. I put on my NASCAR jacket, picked up my purse, makeup kit, and the costume, and headed for the garage.

“I'll be home right after the show,” I told my aunt. “You don't have to wait up. You must be tired.... And, Aunt Ibby, you be careful,” I said, thinking of River's message. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Don't worry about me. I'll see you when you get home. Anyway, I love Vincent Price!”

It was an easy drive to the station. The tent on the common was closed, and the lines at the Salem Witch Museum had disappeared. Traffic moved smoothly along Hawthorne Boulevard. I parked the Buick, choosing the spot closest to the station's front door.

Marty was already busy on the
Nightshades
set. “Hey, Moon,” she called. “Check out the cool autumn flower arrangement. It's from the Doans. I guess you passed muster with the missus.”

“Mrs. Doan? I've never even met her. Do they send flowers to every new hire?”

“Nope. Palmer didn't get any. Rhonda and Janice get them on their birthdays. That's about it. I don't get 'em. And Ariel sure didn't.”

“Then, why me?” I admired the fall flowers in the tall copper-colored vase. Marty had placed the arrangement on the table, removing the obsidian ball to make room for it. I didn't ask where she'd put it. I was just glad it wasn't there.

“Dunno. But you must have made a good impression on her somehow. He doesn't do stuff like that without her say-so. Actually, he doesn't do much of anything without her say-so.”

“Really? He seems so . . . in charge.”

“It's just that he's so crazy about her. Spends every minute with her that he can.” She gave a broad wink. “You know about the secret staircase?”

I nodded.

“He sneaks home sometimes in the afternoon. Thinks we don't notice.”

“That's kind of sweet.”

“Yep. We all think it's sorta cute. Otherwise, he's a pain in the ass.”

I decided it was best not to comment. I tried to erase the mental picture of the Doans in bed, she in her purple hat.

“I didn't see Rhonda when I came in,” I said. “Does that mean she's not screening my calls tonight?”

“Yeah. You're in luck. Janice is coming in.”

“That's good,” I said, not really sure whether it was or not. “I'd better get started turning myself into Crystal Moon.” I headed for the dressing room, thinking maybe I needed to revise my first impressions of some of my fellow employees.

I'd thought George Valen was friendly and talented, but now he seemed a bit creepy. Bruce Doan came off as a rude, unpleasant bully. It turned out that he had a softer side. Loved his wife, was a generous tipper, and sent flowers to his employees. I'd figured Mrs. Doan for an eccentric busybody, but that may have been too hasty. Janice was still a puzzle. Was she the cool, confident program director or a nosy, pill-popping spoiled brat with a drinking problem? And I still wasn't sure about Scott Palmer.

I'd just put one last sweep of black mascara on my false eyelashes when Marty knocked on the dressing room door.

“Moon? You decent?”

“Sure. Come on in.” I pulled the door open. “What's up?”

“You've got a call on the studio phone.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“Oh, yeah.” She smiled broadly. “It's Doan. You know how he likes for everyone here to do more than one job?”

I nodded, following as she hurried toward the set.

“Well, honey, he's got a doozy for you!” She pointed to the console. “Line one.”

I pressed the flashing button. “Yes, Mr. Doan. Can I help you?”

“Indeed you can, Lee. Indeed you can. I need a favor.”

This probably explains the flowers.

“Yes, sir?”

“You may have observed that I like my employees to . . . wear more than one hat, so to speak.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“They're quite well compensated for their efforts. Have you and I discussed your salary yet?”

“Not yet.”

He mentioned a figure far exceeding what I'd expected a newly hired fake psychic might reasonably earn.

“That seems fair,” I said, trying hard to keep the surprise out of my voice. “And I do want to thank you and Mrs. Doan for the lovely flowers.”

“Good. Glad you like them. And, my dear, in addition to your nightly duties, I'm going to ask you to do a little traveling on behalf of the station.”

Uh-oh. Here it comes.

“Traveling?”

“Do I understand that you recently lived in St. Petersburg?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you familiar with the veterans' hospital there?”

“I know it well.” I really did. Johnny and I used to visit the patients there whenever we could. A lot of them are big NASCAR fans, and they loved talking to Johnny.

“Fine. Fine. I guess you know the police have the straight razor that killed the Pelletier woman. They've traced the numbers scratched on it to an old gentleman who's a patient in that hospital.”

“Yes, I heard about that.”

“They're not giving the man's name out yet, but we're pretty sure we can get it before noon tomorrow. Here's the plan. You'll fly down there on the early bird flight. So as soon as we get the name, you'll already be in place to get yourself in to see him, talk to him, get some video, and send everything back to us before anybody else around here has a shot at it.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You can handle a little assignment like this! I believe you applied for a reporter's job in the first place?”

“I did. I mean, I can. But what about
Nightshades?
I don't see how I can go to Florida, do all that, and be back in time to do the show. And you already have a field reporter. Why not send Scott . . . Mr. Palmer?”

“He's got too much to do here. Anyway, you'd have better luck getting past the medical staff to see the old fellow. And we'll schedule a special event for
Nightshades.
A
Twilight Zone
marathon, or maybe we'll even show
Ghost
again, uninterrupted. They love that one. And you'll be back in time for the next night's show. Any questions?”

Yeah. Plenty. Like, how the hell am I going to pull this off ?
But all I said was, “What about a camera? Sound equipment?”

“Honey, we've got state-of-the-art high-res camcorders that will fit in your handbag.”

“I see.”

“We can count on you, then?”

If I was ever planning to become a full-fledged TV reporter, I'd have to be prepared to take on last-minute assignments, however weird they might be.

“Absolutely,” I heard myself say. “What time does my plane leave?”

“Six fifteen tomorrow morning. Janice has already printed out your boarding pass, and you have your company credit card. A limo will pick you up at TPA and drive you directly to the VA hospital. You'll wait there for our call. Then it's up to you to get yourself in to see the old fellow.”

“You must have been pretty sure I'd be up for this.”

“Oh, we all agreed on it.”

“All?”

“All of us. Mrs. Doan, of course, and Janice and George. Marty too. So, Lee, while tonight's movie is running, you just run up to the control room and Janice will fill you in on the details.”

“Okay,” I said as my mind raced.

When am I supposed to sleep? It'll be after two when I get home. I'll barely have time to throw a couple of outfits and a toothbrush into a bag. If Aunt Ibby can't drive me to the airport, I'm pretty sure I can get Jim Litka to do it.

The thoughts flew by so fast, I barely heard Doan's next proclamation.

“And don't worry about getting to the airport. George Valen has volunteered to take you. He'll pick you up at your house at four thirty tomorrow morning. Have a good trip!”

Time seemed compressed as I made the short walk back to the dressing room. By the time I was seated at the vanity, I'd mentally selected the clothes for the trip, packed my bag, and figured out how I might handle a half-hour early morning ride with George Valen.

I was glad I'd made index card notes for the show. It was going to be difficult to stay focused on Edgar Allen Poe, callers with lost dogs, and broken hearts while visions of straight razors and aged veterans, like sinister sugarplums, danced in my head. I tucked the stack of little cheat sheets into the pocket of the blue skirt and returned to the
Nightshades
set.

“Whataya think, kid? Going to take the Florida gig?” Marty wanted to know.

“Sure I am,” I said, sitting on the turquoise couch and arranging my skirt for easy access to the pocket. “You never know where an assignment like that might lead.”

“Damn right. Especially if the rumors are true about old Phil Archer retiring.” She winked. “Guess you wouldn't mind leapfrogging over that guy who took your job if it means you get to be an anchor!”

I wanted to protest that Scott hadn't actually
taken
my job. It had been handed to him. I wanted to say that I hadn't even thought about the leapfrogging thing. But I had. And I definitely planned to take this assignment, this opportunity, and, to use one of Scott's sports-related expressions, knock one out of the park!

“Well,” I said again, “you just never know.”

“Yeah. Like Ariel used to say, ‘If it's in the cards . . .'”

Cards! Tarot cards! I had an appointment with River I needed to break.

I interrupted Marty's reminiscence. “Marty, excuse me. I need to make a quick phone call. Be right back.”

I dashed back to the dressing room, grabbed my phone, glad I'd put River's number in my cell phone's memory and hoping it wasn't too late to call. She answered on the first ring.

“Look, River. I don't have much time right now. The show starts in a few minutes.” I explained as quickly as I could about the trip to Florida. “I'll be back the day after tomorrow. Can I see you then?”

“Of course you can.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Be careful, Crystal. Promise you'll be very careful. And please tell your aunt to do the same.”

I promised. Then tucked her warnings into the very back of my mind, along with straight razors and old soldiers. It was showtime.

Marty lit a candle in George's old papier-mâché jack-o'-lantern and placed it next to the fall flowers for an opening shot. Doppler's
Fantaisie
played in the background. The blue skirt was again carefully arranged, index cards for my intro handy but out of camera range. I opened the show, as I had planned, with meditation tips cribbed straight from Ariel's copy of
Meditation—The Road to Self-Discovery.

“Welcome, dear friends of the dark, to
Nightshades.
My name is Crystal Moon, and I'll be your guide on our journey through life's mysteries, on film, in the imagination, and most of all, in our own everyday magical lives. I know that some of you meditate regularly. Good for you!” I dropped my voice for emphasis. “As our dear departed friend Ariel taught us, meditation will tune and train the mind, just as an athlete tunes and trains the body.”

I gave a quick explanation of the breath-counting technique, favored by many experts. Breath counting sounds easy, but it's really fairly difficult to master. I'd learned it as a drama student to help with script memorization.

Maybe I should take my own advice and brush up on it.

“The goal is to do simply this,” I told my audience. “Count breaths and nothing more. Next time we visit, I'll share some more tips on this ancient practice. But first, a word from one of our wonderful sponsors.”

An ad from a local chiropractor appeared on the monitor. I flipped my cards to the notes I'd made on
The Pit and the Pendulum.
The light on Marty's camera signaled, and I launched into a tribute to Vincent Price, quoted some raves about the movie from Stephen King, and promised to return mid-film to take calls.

I watched the monitor as the credits rolled over the prologue scene of Francis Bernard's carriage arriving at the gloomy stone castle. In the background was the dismal, roiling ocean. For a fleeting moment, it reminded me of the news footage of the lone Buick parked next to the rough granite wall as storm clouds gathered over Salem Harbor.

Could it really have been only a few days ago?

Janice's voice came over the speaker. “You've got time for a cup of coffee, Lee. Come on up and we'll get the details of your trip worked out.”

I pushed the control-room door open. The glow from multiple screens lit the room, and the coffee smelled good.

“Come on in.” Janice waved a mug in my direction. “Coffee's ready, if Scotty here hasn't guzzled it all.”

Seeing Scott was a surprise. I hadn't seen him, except on TV, since that strange lunch at the Lyceum.

“Hi, Janice. Hi, Scott.”

Scott handed me a steaming yellow mug. “Here you go, Moon. Good show. You make being a psychic look easy.”

“Thanks. You make doing live news look easy.” I took a sip of the coffee. He'd remembered that I liked mine with cream, no sugar. “And the news around Salem is getting scarier than my old movies.”

“It's kind of weird, all right,” he agreed. “Janice says you'll be doing a little investigative reporting of your own down in Florida.”

“Yes. I know the area pretty well.”

What a lame answer!

“Home field advantage is always important.” His expression was serious. “Well, you girls have some business to talk about. I'll see you later. Say, Moon. If you need a ride home, I could hang around until after the show.”

“Thanks, Scott. That's awfully nice of you, but I have my car tonight.”

“Oh, okay. See you when you get back. Have a good trip.” He paused. “Say, Moon. You'll be home in time for that witches thing, won't you?”

“Witches thing?”

“That Witches Ball they have here every Halloween.”

“Oh, that. Sure. That's not until Friday. Why?”

“I'm supposed to go over and do a couple of live shots for the news. Want to come along? I've got press passes.”

And I'd been thinking about asking him!

“Thanks. Sounds like fun. I'll have to leave before midnight, though, for the show.”

“Like Cinderella.” He smiled. “No problem. See you when you get back from Florida.”

“See you later, Scotty.” Janice waved in his direction, not looking away from the bank of screens she faced.

The door closed behind him. “Good for you, Lee. Looks like you've scored a date with our cute new guy.”

“Sure surprised me,” I admitted. “And I have a couple of free tickets for the thing. Guess I won't need them. Say, can you use them?”

“Thanks. Maybe Georgie and I will get dressed up and go.”

She's thinking of going with George? Why doesn't this beautiful woman have a man in her life besides her brother?

“I have the tickets in my purse. I'll bring them up after the show.”

“Great. I have a few things for you, too. Look here.”

Spread before Janice on the counter were a couple of envelopes and a small camcorder.

“Here you go, Lee. Your top-of-the-line HD camcorder with surround sound, your boarding pass for the flight to Tampa, and a nice eight-by-ten glossy of the murder weapon. You know how to use the camera?”

“I've used a similar one. This looks a little more complicated.”

“The directions are in the box. George can answer any questions about it. Just shoot as much as you can of the old guy. Show him the picture and ask questions about the damned old razor. Then just upload it and send it to George. He'll edit and get it on the air. We'll scoop everybody.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Janice faced me. “You can do this. You can do this and more. We believe in you.”

We? Who is we? The Doans? Janice and George?

I didn't ask. Maybe I didn't want to know the answer. I looked away from Janice's earnest expression and focused on the screens. The
Nightshades
movie was there, along with a couple of government alert channels. The local stations and Boston stations were there, too, and several black-and-white screens showing various parts of the WICH-TV building, inside and out.

“What's wrong with the two blank screens there?” I pointed.

“Oh, those. George hasn't gotten around to fixing a couple of the outdoor security camera connections. There's something wrong in there.” She gestured toward a cabinet where a partly open door revealed a tangle of wires.

“I guess that's part of the job up here,” I said.

“I know. I know. I should be able to handle it myself.” She stretched out her long fingers and inspected a perfect manicure. “I don't even know when they stopped working. But it's more of a guy thing, you know, grubbing around down there with all that electrical mess.”

“Uh-huh.” I thought about all the hurry-up nail repairs I'd had after helping Johnny tear down an engine. I peered more closely at the screens. “Those must be the cameras that cover the parking lot and the back of the building.”

She shrugged and pressed a button. A commercial for a vegan restaurant began to roll. “I guess. Oops. There's your cue. Take your camera and stuff and go do your Gypsy thing.”

A mad dash down the corridor to the set, a quick fluffing of hair, arranging of index cards, and I was ready to do my gypsy thing. I shared a little more trivia about Edgar Allen Poe and the making of the movie, then announced that the lines were open for callers. The console flasher began to blink.

“Hello, caller. Your first name and your question please.”

“Hello, Crystal. Thanks so much for taking my call.” The woman sounded delighted.

“You're welcome.” I smiled into the camera. “Your first name and your question?”

“My name is Beverly,” was the breathless reply, “and I want to know if Ariel's cat is okay. I'm used to seeing him on the couch with her, and, well, I just hope he's all right.”

Easy question.

“He's just fine, Beverly. He has a new home, and he seems to be very happy there,” I said. “Of course,” I added, “I'm sure he misses Ariel very much, as we all do.”

“Oh, I know. It was all so sudden. We miss her so much. And we miss the cat. And we miss Evie's calls, too. She was one of Ariel's regulars.”

“Evie?”

“Sure. Evie. You know, Yvette Pelletier. The woman who died the same night as Ariel.”

No, Beverly. I did not know that.

I glanced in Marty's direction. Her palms-up shoulder shrug indicated she'd never made the connection between the caller named Evie and Yvette, the dead woman. Had anyone at the station? Had the police?

“Of course, Beverly,” I said, pretending I knew all about it. “Change can be so very difficult in so many ways.”

“Thanks, Crystal. You're doing a good job. I love your red hair, and I love tonight's movie.”

“Glad to hear it. Keep watching
Nightshades,
won't you?”

She promised she would, and I moved on to the next call.

“Hi, Crystal. This is Pamela.”

“Do you have a question for me, Pamela?”

“I do. I've lost my watch. It was a gift from my husband.” Her voice broke, and she sounded near tears. “I can't believe I was so careless. Please help me find it.”

This one needs an answer from a real psychic. What would Ariel do?

I stalled for time. “Can you describe your watch?”

“It's gold, with some diamonds on the face.”

I used the “eyes closed, forefinger and thumb on the forehead” pose I'd copied from Ariel.

“Think about the last time you wore it. Were you in the house or outside?”

“In the house, I'm pretty sure.”

That helps narrow it down. Where do I take my watch off ?

Eyes squeezed shut, I thought about that gold watch with its diamond face. And in my mind, suddenly I saw it! I sat up straight, eyes wide open, and leaned into the camera. I knew where the damned watch was! No doubt. Should I tell the woman what I was thinking? Sure. Why not?

“Do you have a place in your house where there's a bowl of little soaps, miniature shampoos, that sort of thing?”

“The guest bathroom. There's a glass bowl full of those little samples, like you get in hotels.”

“That's it. Look in that bowl for your watch.”

“I'm on the cordless phone. Wait a sec. I'll go in there and look.”

No, don't do that. What if I'm wrong? My psychic cover will be blown.

“Just call me back sometime, Pamela.” I prepared to end the call. Too late.

“Oh, my God! There it is. I must have taken it off when I cleaned the sink. Thank you, Crystal. You're amazing.”

Yes, I am. And you're not half as amazed as I am.

Marty's sharp intake of breath indicated that she was surprised, as well. Pamela hung up, and the flasher blinked again. I seemed to be on a roll. I pressed the green button. “Hello, caller. Your first name and question please.”

None of the other callers could compare with the surprise of Beverly's revelation that Evie was Yvette or with the “Oh my God, how did I do that?” shock of finding Pamela's watch.

A young widow was considering dating again. I could relate. I told her some of the things I'd been telling myself.

“Starting a new relationship scares you, doesn't it? There's no need to rush into anything serious right away. If you can get comfortable in a friendship with a man without feeling pressure, that may be enough for now.”

I was relieved when the second half of
The Pit and the Pendulum
began to roll.

“That was a workout, kid,” Marty said. “You did good, though.”

“Thanks. Do I have to take more calls at the end?”

“Nope. This one's a tad longer than last night's flick. You have two more commercials to read, and you need to announce tomorrow night's movie. Someone said something about
Ghost.
”

“
Ghost
is good. Do we have some notes I can look at?”

“Sure. Ariel kept notes on all the favorites. I'll print them out. Hey, Janice wants you to do an intro to run tomorrow. Tell 'em it's a special event. Uninterrupted movie. No calls. We'll load 'er up with a bunch of canned ads at the beginning and the end. Don't worry. It'll be all right.”

“Okay. I wish I'd brought a change of clothes, though. It'll look like I'm wearing the same thing two days in a row.”

“Oh, just grab one of Ariel's big velvet capes. She had a bunch of 'em. Good cover-up.”

I remembered seeing some of the capes in Ariel's DVDs. “That'll work, I guess.”

“You'll be fine. That was a surprise about Evie being Yvette, wasn't it? Evie used to call for advice all the time. Bad marriage, I guess.”

I thought about what Jim Litka had said about the police looking for her ex. “I wonder if the police have located the husband yet.”

“They did. Guess he has an alibi. Out of town all night.”

“Quite a mystery.”

“Not as mysterious as you finding that chick's watch. How the hell did you do that? I'm used to Ariel pulling off that stuff once in a while, but she was a friggin' witch.”

“I tried to think of where a woman would take her watch off, and I know I take mine off if my hands are going to get wet. That means bathroom or kitchen to me. So I just closed my eyes and tried to visualize that watch in a bathroom. And darned if I didn't really
see
that little bowl with the watch in it. Freaked me out!”

“I'll bet. I'll go get those movie notes for you.” She looked back at me over her shoulder. “Hey. Maybe you're channeling Ariel. Ever think of that?”

No. And I'll try not to think of it, thank you.

Another sprint between the set and the dressing room. I knew Aunt Ibby would be awake, watching the movie. I called her and caught her up on what was happening at the station and asked her to dig out a carry-on bag for me. I knew not only that she'd find the right-size bag, but also that the perfect clothes for me to pack, along with travel-size toothpaste and shampoo, would probably be neatly laid out on my bed when I got home.