Caught Dead Handed (4 page)

With blouse and skirt spinning in the washing machine and my great-grandmother's shawl fluffing in the dryer, Aunt Ibby and I returned to the den. I popped one of the disks Janice had given me into the DVD player. The image of a large blond woman in flowing purple satin filled the TV screen. I listened carefully as Ariel delivered a commercial for a local New Age bookstore. The psychic had good diction and a soothing voice.

“She'll take some calls after this commercial,” Aunt Ibby promised. “Watch.”

“Go ahead, caller,” said Ariel. “You're on the air.” She leaned forward, looking directly into the camera. “Go ahead,” she repeated. “You're on the air with Ariel. Your first name and your question please.”

“Ariel?” came the hesitant reply.

The psychic nodded, hair decorations bobbing and shimmering.

“Your first name and your question please. We have to move right along. There are other callers waiting.”

“She sounds a little testy,” I said.

Aunt Ibby grinned. “That's half the fun of watching her. Some nights she's sweet as cream, but other times she's downright bitchy.”

“My name is Donna.” The girl sounded very young. “Will my boyfriend and I get married?”

“His first name?” Ariel pressed the middle finger of her left hand to the center of her forehead, closing purple-lidded eyes.

“Mark. His name is Mark.”

Ariel's eyes remained closed, heavily blackened false eyelashes dark against plump cheeks. “I feel that Mark may be a good friend for you, but nothing more. There will be a number of other men in your life before you find your true soul mate.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Ariel.”

“Just a moment.” Ariel tilted her head back dramatically.

“I see another man,” she said. “A very handsome, tall man. He is coming to you from a . . . It seems to be a large building. It's a . . . yes, it's a school. Perhaps a college. Are you planning to go to college, Donna?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Try to, if you possibly can,” Ariel counseled. “There you will find the metaphysical key to your best future.”

“She always does that,” Aunt Ibby said.

“Does what?”

“Finds some way to tell the young-sounding ones to stay in school or to get jobs or look for other relationships.”

“Good idea. I could do that.”

Ariel gazed into the camera. “Do we have another caller on the line? Hello, caller?”

There was an audible buzzing sound. Ariel's brows knotted. “We've apparently lost that one. Could you people in the control room stay awake?” There was a decidedly unpleasant edge to her voice. “My calls are important.”

“Oh, good.” Aunt Ibby leaned closer to the screen. “She's going to be nasty.”

“Shall we try again?” The tone showed barely concealed exasperation. “Hello, caller. Your first name and your question please.”

The voice was thin, almost a whisper.

“I . . . I don't know what to do about my husband. I think I want to leave him. I'm not sure what I should do.”

“Your first name, please?”

“Oh. It's Mavis.”

“Your birthday?”

The woman gave a December date.

“And your husband's name and date of birth?”

“Do I have to tell? If he found out . . . he wouldn't like it.”

“No. You don't have to tell, Mavis.” Ariel's voice was softer. “I sense that he has mistreated you.”

“Yes.”

“Physically hurt you. I can feel your pain.” Ariel's forehead furrowed, and she pressed the fingers of both hands against her temples.

She's good. I'll try to learn some of those moves.

Again came the caller's answer. “Yes.”

“I see you putting great distance between yourself and this man.” Ariel moved her hands apart.

“Then you think that I should leave him?”

“That's not for me to say.” Ariel's eyes were closed again. “I can only tell you about impressions that I receive. You are a child of the universe, Mavis. You will determine your own path.”

“But you said—”

“I see you moving away from this man. I see you becoming stronger as the distance becomes greater. Are there children involved, Mavis?”

“No. No kids. Thank you, Ariel. You've helped a lot.”

“Love and light to you, Mavis.”

“Love and light to you, Ariel.”

“Does she do much marriage counseling over the phone? I mean, did she?” It was hard to speak of her in the past tense. The TV image was so alive.

“Yes. She often did it. And quite well, don't you think? If it seems as though the woman is being abused, as this poor soul obviously was, Ariel usually ‘sees' her leaving. If it's just a whiner, she might suggest counseling.”

The next caller was Bill, a Gemini worried about his relationship with his sister. Ariel advised him to meditate with rose quartz crystals—providing a neat segue into a promo for a sale on healing crystals at an Essex Street shop. A woman thinking of moving and another contemplating the sale of property followed. Ariel advised each of them to wait until after the full moon to make any decisions regarding real estate. Then she announced the next night's movie, read a commercial for natural vitamins, and wished her audience pleasant dreams.

“Want to watch another? I have those
Dark Shadows
episodes,” my aunt said. “Or should we stop for lunch?”

“Lunch please.” I realized that I was really hungry. “And I think I'll do a little basic research. Do we still have a copy of
Linda Goodman's Sun Signs?
”

“Nonfiction. One-thirty-three point five,” said my librarian aunt.

Not too many home bookshelves are organized by the Dewey decimal system, but ours was.

As Aunt Ibby pointed the remote toward the TV set, a close-up of Ariel's face filled the screen. She nodded slightly, and the image was gone. It seemed to me just then that the little nod might be one of approval.

For Crystal Moon.

I made a quick trip to the upstairs study while Aunt Ibby busied herself with lunch preparations. Then, pulling a stool up to the kitchen counter, I propped the copy of
Linda Goodman's Sun Signs
against an apple-shaped cookie jar. A grilled cheese sandwich and a steaming mug of tomato soup, my favorite childhood comfort foods, appeared beside me.

“Thanks, Aunt Ibby. You're going to spoil me.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “Why the astrology book?”

“I noticed that Ariel sometimes asked for a caller's birth date. This is a crash course.”

She reached over and touched my hand. “You know, Maralee, you don't have to rush into this job. You could wait a bit and find something a bit more . . . mainstream.”

“I know.” I closed the book. “I need to work, Aunt Ibby. I need to keep busy. It's been almost a year since Johnny . . .”

“I wish I'd had a chance to know him better.” She spoke softly. “I wish now I'd visited you in Florida more often. And I always enjoyed so much the times the two of you stayed here when Johnny raced up in New Hampshire .But we just don't think about how fragile life is, do we? First, your parents, too young. Then your Johnny. And now poor Ariel. It's all so sad.”

“Sometimes, when I first wake up, I forget that he's not there beside me.” I blinked back tears.

“It's still hard for you to talk about, isn't it? Such a tragic accident. But it
was
an accident, Maralee! It wasn't your fault. Not one bit your fault!”

“I know. Everyone says that. But I was driving. I was the one behind the wheel. I can't help thinking if my reflexes had been faster . . . if I had been more alert . . .”

“My dear child.” Aunt Ibby looked into my eyes. “It was a black car . . . on a pitch-black night. Traveling without lights. Speeding. The driver was drunk. There was nothing anyone could do.”

I tried to blot out the vision of that terrible moment. “I know. And I'm lucky to be alive.”

“Indeed you are.” Aunt Ibby squeezed my hand, then abruptly, and wisely, changed the subject. “Now, about this horoscope nonsense. Naturally it's all bunk. You agree?”

“Sure I do. See?” I flipped the book open. “It says here I'm a very agreeable person.”

“Very funny.” She peered over my shoulder. “And it does not.”

“I know. But I do need to do some studying. I wonder if they'd let me borrow some of those books and things Ariel had displayed on the
Nightshades
set.”

“I don't see why not.”

“I think I'll go back over this afternoon. I need to get everything done by Monday night.”

“I have to put in a few hours at the library today,” Aunt Ibby said. “I can drop you off if you like.”

“No. Thanks just the same. I'll just grab a cab. I'll probably be back before you are.”

Before long, lunch finished, dishes washed, hair combed, and clothes changed, I was on the front steps as a green-and-white cab pulled up. The driver raced around the vehicle and held the door for me. “Thanks,” I said and gave him the TV station's address as I climbed into the backseat. It smelled of cigarette smoke and air freshener. I rolled the window down, and we headed east on Winter Street. Within seconds sirens sounded, and we pulled over as two police cars, lights flashing, sped past.

“Uh-oh,” the cabbie muttered. “I should have gone the other way. Cops are keeping busy. They don't usually get two stiffs in one day.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Well, there was that floater this morning over by the TV station.... Say, that's where you're headed, ain't it?”

“Yes. What do you mean, two?”

“Oh, some dame down the other end of Derby Street went and got herself iced. Landlady found the body. Hope you ain't in a big hurry. Two dead bodies in one day, both on the same street, makes kind of a mess for drivin'.”

Traffic had slowed to a near halt as we approached the lights at the intersection of Derby Street.

“When did this happen?” I asked. “I was watching TV only a little while ago. They didn't mention any second death.”

“Just came over the police scanner. Our dispatcher listens to it all day. Loves all that cop stuff.”

I saw the WICH-TV remote unit move into the line of traffic heading north. The new field reporter was having a busy day for himself.
I wonder if his new boss will want him to cover a high school football game later.

I couldn't help smiling at the thought.

Some cars had pulled over and were double-parked for a better look at whatever was going on. Figuring that I might as well join the lookie-loos, I moved over to the left side of the cab and rolled down that window, too, giving me a better view of the old street.

“What did the dispatcher say happened to the lady who was . . . Did you say she was murdered?”

The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror and slowly drew his finger across his throat.

“One of our drivers is a part-time deputy. Says she got her throat cut. They're looking for her old man. Had a bunch of domestic violence calls from that address before.”

“Uh-oh. Guess that happens everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, here we are at the station. Looks like the excitement has died down some.”

“Seems like it.” I added a generous tip to the amount shown on the meter. “Well, thanks.” I glanced at the identification card posted on the visor. “Thanks, Mr. Litka. I'll probably call back soon for a ride back home.”

“You do that. Just ask for Jim Litka.”

I hurried along the sidewalk toward the front door. A row of seagulls stood motionless on the roof, watching with small bright eyes as I passed.

“Mind your own business,” I muttered, stepping inside and punching the elevator's UP button.

Rhonda registered mild surprise at seeing me again so soon.

“Janice says you're going to start working here Monday night. That's cool.”

“Thanks. Is she here?”

“Janice? Nope. She left already.”

“She said I should check with you about times for a test video and a rehearsal.”

“Okay. Sure. Wait a sec.”

Rhonda pulled a notebook from a drawer and consulted a laptop computer on her desk.

“Would it be all right if I borrow some of Ariel's props from the
Nightshades
set? Especially the books?”

“Fine with me. I'll check the schedules and see who can do the test and stuff. You know your way?”

“Sorry. No.”

“Come on. I'll show you.”

I followed the swaying hips of the brunette down a short corridor and through a set of double doors.

“Newsroom,” Rhonda said, deadpan expression in place. She pointed past a huge glass window to a cluster of desks. A bank of color monitors on one wall showed the current WICH-TV programming, a film on whales. A wire-service printer clicked loudly, and somewhere a phone rang. In the far corner of the room two men and a woman were gathered around a glowing screen.

An image of the three witches from
Macbeth
popped into my mind.

I followed Rhonda through another scarred metal door. The walls of the studio were painted black. It was a long room with high ceilings and no windows that I could see. Several sets were positioned around the perimeter of the place. I recognized Ariel's
Nightshades
background right away. Blue curtains with silvery outlines of several constellations hung behind a curved turquoise couch. A long, low table held some of the psychic's props.

A giant cluster of quartz crystals rested on a wooden base. A deck of tarot cards lay facedown, and a stack of books displayed such titles as
The Art and Practice of Astral Projection
and
Past-Life Therapy in Action.
In the center of the table was a large black ball mounted on an ornate brass stand.

“Well, this is it.” Rhonda spread her arms. “All Ariel's stuff.”

“Impressive,” I said, glancing around the set. “What? No crystal ball?”

“Oh, she used to have one of those, too, but George said it reflected the lights too much. So she got that black one. Say, I gotta get back. You okay down here alone?”

“I'm fine. I won't be long. Thanks, Rhonda.”

I heard the door swing shut as I picked a card from the top of the tarot deck and turned it faceup.

The Nine of Cups.

I was just beginning to realize how truly clueless I was about the psychic business. Studying the titles on Ariel's stack of books, I reached for
The Complete Guide to the Tarot.
I flipped through the colorful pages. The cups were apparently, a suit of cards, like diamonds or clubs or spades. I found only one meaning for the nine.

You get your wish.

I'd made so many wishes lately, I didn't know which one that might be, but at least it sounded positive. I put the tarot book back and checked out some of the other titles. There were several books on crystals that looked interesting, and even one on cats. I wondered where Ariel's cat was, and hoped he'd be taken care of now that she was gone.

I reached across the table and gingerly touched the black sphere.

This has to go. I hate black.

The surface reflected tiny pinpoints of brightness from the few lights illuminating the studio. I leaned closer to the thing and saw that it seemed to have misty colors swirling around inside it. An instant later I pushed the table away from the couch and jumped to my feet.

“Who did that?” I screamed, my voice echoing in the empty studio. Then, feeling foolish, I sat down, took a deep breath, and forced myself to look at the ball again.

The pinpoints of light were still reflected there. Nothing more. Yet I knew that seconds earlier I had looked into that glistening blackness and had plainly seen the form of a woman. She lay facedown on a kitchen floor. A bright spray of red splattered the floor, the range, and the refrigerator.

“What the hell is going on in here? And who the Christ are you?” The speaker was one of the people I'd just passed in the newsroom. The gray-haired woman pushed the door open.

“I . . . I'm sorry,” I stammered. “I thought I saw something. . . .”

“Probably just a rat.” Gray curls bobbing, she approached the couch and sat beside me. “Place is full of 'em. So close to the water, you know.”

A man appeared in the doorway. I recognized Phil Archer, one of the news anchors. “Everything okay in here?” He squinted in the dim light. “Oh, you must be the new psychic. Janice said you'd be stopping by. What's all the screaming about?”

My newfound companion gave a dismissive wave. “Just saw a rat, is all.”

As the newsman left, she turned to face me. “That right? You the new psychic? The one that found Ariel?”

“I am,” I admitted, extending my hand. “Lee Barrett.”

“Marty McCarthy,” she said. Her grip was firm. “Camerawoman. I'll be doing your show.”

“Good to meet you,” I said. “Sorry about the interruption.”

“No problem. Damn rats.” She glanced around the studio, as though expecting to see rodents in the shadows. “But we keep a cat around. He keeps them in check pretty well.”

“I didn't actually see a rat. It was something else.”

“What do you mean?”

Hesitantly, and without going into detail, I explained as well as I could that I'd seen something disturbing in the black ball.

“Oh, that. It must have been a reflection from the overhead monitor.” She pointed to a blank screen above the
Nightshades
set and jerked a thumb toward the newsroom. “We were next door editing a live feed from the murder down the street. You heard about that?” She didn't wait for an answer. “Someone must have transmitted to your set by mistake.”

I felt relieved and a bit foolish. “It just startled me for a minute.”

“I'll bet it did!” Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “You must have thought that old bowling ball of Ariel's really worked.”

Still a little shaken, I returned her smile. “You say you'll be working on
Nightshades?
”

“Yep. I've been camera on that show since the very first one.”

“Then you were here when . . .”

“When poor Ariel took a header into the drink? I sure was. See, whenever she went out for a smoke, I'd call her cell when it was time for a commercial break. Oh, I knew something was wrong when she didn't answer. Everyone around here said she probably just walked. She'd had a fight with Doan. Nothing new there. She had a fight with Doan at least once a week. I knew there was something wrong when she didn't come back in.” The gray curls quivered as she shook her head. “I put her number on redial and tried it all night. This morning, too.”

“I suppose someone checked to see if her car was still there?”

“Nope. See, that's a problem. Ariel didn't drive. Had a couple of DUIs and never got her license back. She used to take a cab or bum a ride.”

“I see. That confuses things.”

Marty shrugged. “Ariel was a confusing person.”

“She'll be missed around here, I'm sure,” I said.

“Yeah. Well, I guess so. The audience loved her.” She looked me up and down. “But you'll do all right. Weird, isn't it? This morning you find her body, and in a couple of days you'll be doing her job.”

“It's awfully strange to me.”

“Ariel would say it's karma. You thought up a name yet? Or are you going to use your own?”

“I'm going to be Crystal Moon.”

“Crystal Moon!” Her laugh was hearty. “Christ, what a moniker. Worse than Ariel Constellation. Crystal Moon. It's perfect!”

“I kind of like it. Janice said I could do some kind of on-camera dress rehearsal this weekend. Will you be here for that?”

“I guess. Probably tomorrow. You can set it up with Rhonda. You've had a pretty full day for yourself, haven't you? Finding Ariel and all.” She gave me a sideways glance. “How did you happen to, uh, find the body?”

“I heard her phone ringing, and when I followed the sound, I saw her in the water.”

“Probably me calling.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “Say, you haven't been here all night, have you?”

“Yeah. See, I thought she might come back. Thought she might have started drinking again and wandered off. Thought all kinds of things. But I never thought she'd drowned.”

She looked so sad, I almost wanted to put my arm around her slim shoulders. Instead, I said, “Where did you sleep?”

“I dozed off right here on this couch. Woke up about a hundred times, every time I heard a footstep or a bump or a thump or a creak. Washed up this morning in the john, grabbed a clean WICH-TV T-shirt out of George's locker, and made a pot of coffee in the break room, just in time for the cops to barge in and ask me a bunch of stupid questions.”

“Talk about a full day! You must be exhausted.”

“I'm fine. And if you're okay, I've still got to get next door and help those guys get that video in shape to go on the air in . . .” She looked at her watch. “Cripes! Five minutes!”

“I'm good. You go right ahead.”

“If you want, I'll turn your monitor back on so you can see the story they just filed from down the street.”

“Sure. And thanks for warning me this time.”

“Okay.” She headed for the door, then turned with a mischievous grin. “But watch out for those rats.”

“I'll trust the big yellow cat to catch them.”

She paused in the doorway and frowned slightly. “Funny thing about that cat. He refuses to come back inside. He lives here at the station, you know. Walks around like he owns the place. I tried to call him in this morning, but he won't set foot in the building.”

The door closed, and once again I was alone in the long, black-walled studio. Alone with Ariel's books and crystals and with my own thoughts and plans.

And maybe with a rat or two.