Checked Out (6 page)

“I
t’s bad enough I had to get rid of the damned dead rattlesnake,” Jared said. “But Blair didn’t even thank me.”

The library janitor was pacing the dusty Kingsley collection room. He’d helped Helen shift the tallest box tower, so she could examine the elephant folios on the table.

Jared might be seventy-two, but he was tough, wiry and strong, she thought. His liver-spotted arms were knotted with muscle.

“Now I’m supposed to haul a G-D mahogany table from upstairs and set it up under Flora’s portrait in the lobby. That table weighs a ton.”

“I can help you with that,” Helen said.

“Ha! I’m not so weak I need help from a woman,” he said, and scratched the scraps of white hair on his balding head. “I appreciate the offer, though.” His grin showed square yellow teeth.

Jared isn’t too old to flirt, Helen thought.

“Then, after I set up that table and seven chairs, I’m supposed to stick around until nine o’clock for a séance. I won’t do it. Don’t believe in ghosts and hoodoo. It’s not right and it’s not my job.”

Helen needed Jared at the séance. “I do hope you’ll stay,” she said. “I think this medium is a fraud and I’d like to have a smart observer.”

“I love flattery,” he said. “But I work for money, not promises.”

He didn’t bother to smile. So much for my irresistible charm, Helen thought.

“I made that mistake once,” Jared said, “and it was a big one. I believed that old buzzard Davis Kingsley when he said I was his best worker and he’d take care of me in his will. You know what he left me? A lousy five thousand bucks. When he was young, that was a lot of money, but it won’t buy nothing now. My brother owns a repair shop and I wanted to work as a grease monkey, but he couldn’t afford to take me on. That’s how I wound up a janitor when I should be retired.”

“Maybe I can get you some overtime,” Helen said. “May I ask what you make?”

“Minimum wage,” he said.

That’s $8.05 an hour in Florida, Helen thought. She’d worked enough minimum wage jobs to know.

“What if you were paid nine dollars an hour overtime?” she said. “In cash?”

“Now, that would be real sweet,” he said. “I get off work at six.”

“Six to eleven is five hours. Let’s say fifty dollars even,” Helen said. “That would include an hour afterward to put away the table and chairs, plus a small bonus. I’ll ask Alexa for the money, so you won’t have to.”

“Now, that’s right nice of you,” he said. “You know about working for a living. A day’s work would kill most people here. Alexa’s okay, but the others don’t know a damn thing about the real world.

“Like that Blair. Told me to drop that dead rattlesnake in the Dumpster, like I was emptying a wastebasket. You don’t do that.”

“Why not?” Helen asked.

“Because it can still bite. Even a headless rattlesnake can nail you. I learned that on my granddaddy’s ranch in Ocala.”

“That’s Florida horse country,” Helen said.

“See? You know things. These horses’ rear ends think horses come from Kentucky, but Florida could put them to shame. We had our share of rattlesnakes on the ranch.

“My granddaddy taught me how to cut off a rattler’s head with a shovel, and then the old man gave me a demonstration of what a dead rattler can do, using his cowboy hat. He showed me that a cut-off snake head could still bite all the way through the hat, too. Evil creatures, snakes.”

“I won’t argue with you on that,” Helen said. “What did you do with the snake I killed?”

“Dropped it in an old paint can on my workbench. It will stay there until it’s good and dead. Ted, our homeless man, goes through our Dumpster looking for things. Can’t risk him getting hurt.

“Lisa, the board president, is just plain silly with her ghost, but at least she offered to buy us all dinner. She’s having it delivered at seven.”

“That’s nice,” Helen said.

“Not for me. It’s Chinese. Hash with weird gravy. I don’t eat what I can’t pronounce. Who knows what those foreigners are chopping up? Could be cats, for all I know.”

Paris, the library cat, appeared on cue. The calico jumped up on the elephant folio table, and Jared absently scratched her ears. Paris had one black ear, one pale brown ear, yellow eyes and a round, sweet face.

“Can’t risk having you served as dinner, can we, girl?” Jared said.

The cat twirled on the tabletop and bumped Jared’s hand with her head.

Helen reached for the bag of cat treats and put a handful on the floor. Paris abandoned Jared and crunched the treats.

“See?” Jared said. “You’re naturally thoughtful. You understand that even with overtime, I’m gonna lose money. I’ll have to buy dinner.”

Helen felt her initial admiration for Jared seeping away, but she still needed an ally. “What if I get us a couple of burgers for dinner?” she said.

“With cheese fries?” he asked. “You got yourself a deal.” He grinned.

Helen smiled back at the old con artist.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said.

After Jared left, Helen called Phil. “You sound tired,” she said.

“I was taking a nap,” he said. “This was my first day undercover as a gardener at the Coakley estate. It’s hot and I’m sunburned.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Helen said. “You go back to sleep. Did you find out who took the Coakleys’ ruby necklace and golf cart?”

“I’m getting closer,” he said. “How’s your investigation? What do you need?”

Helen didn’t mention the snake. “I’m going to have to be at the library until after eleven o’clock tonight. The board president wants to hold a séance and talk to Flora Portland.”

“What a waste of time,” Phil said.

“Maybe not,” Helen said. “I want to see if anyone connected with the library is involved in this ghost hoax. Jared the janitor is helping me. He didn’t want to stay, but I said the library would pay his overtime. They won’t, but I’ll give him fifty bucks cash and charge it to expenses. I need to get cash and two burgers for dinner.”

“I’ll deliver the burgers and cash to the library,” Phil said. “And don’t say I need my sleep.”

“Thanks,” Helen said. “I’ll meet you at the staff entrance at seven. Don’t forget Jared’s cheese fries. Would you bring me a fresh blouse, please? Mine is dusty.”

Helen spent the rest of the afternoon searching the Kingsley collection. Paris abandoned her mousing duties to curl up at Helen’s feet and eat treats.

Helen thought the elephant folios would be the logical place to stash a watercolor, but they held nothing. By six fifty that night, she was ready for dinner. Her back and arms ached and she felt grubby. She washed the grime off her face and hands in the restroom.

Phil met her at the staff entrance with a kiss, a clean blouse and the carryout. “You’re sunburned,” she said, and hugged him. He winced in pain. “I can’t wait to find out what you learned today. Thanks for everything.”

Helen and Jared sat in the Kingsley book room, munching burgers.

“You find the painting that crazy old coot left in those old books?” he asked, squeezing more ketchup on his burger. “Don’t look so surprised. I heard the family talking to Alexa. I can keep it under my hat.”

Helen looked doubtfully at his ragged Miami Heat cap. It had more holes than a colander.

“Good burger,” he said.

“I’ve been through thirty-two boxes of books, mostly mysteries,” Helen said, “and all I’ve found is a paid tax bill from 1967.”

“Only two hundred seventy-eight boxes to go,” he said.

“Give or take a box,” she said, giving Paris a bit of her burger.

“You feed her like that and she’ll quit catching mice,” he said. “Blair will get rid of her for sure.”

“Paris is part of the library’s image,” Helen said. “Does she really look like Flora Portland’s cat?”

“Don’t look at me,” Jared said. “Flora died before I was born. But there’s a photo in the hall that shows Flora as an old woman with her cat. It’s hand-colored and the cat looks just like this one. They say Flora named the cat Paris because that’s where she and
Lucian lived when they were first married. This Paris turned up in the parking lot one day and made herself useful catching mice.”

He checked his watch. “One hour till showtime,” he said. “I’ve got the lobby set up for the séance tonight. The medium wanted that table because Flora touched it.”

“She lived in this whole building,” Helen said.

“But it’s been remodeled. The medium wants an object Flora personally touched, and the séance has to be at a round table. The medium even sent a pale purple tablecloth and seven red candles in brass holders for this shindig.” He snorted. “She said the light cloth would attract friendly spirits. What a fraud. Even her name belongs to a fraud—Melisandra.”

“What do you bet she wears a turban?” Helen said.

“We’ll find out in an hour,” Jared said.

I
don’t believe in ghosts, Helen thought, as she carefully slit open another carton of the Kingsley books with a box cutter. But I don’t like dabbling in the supernatural. It unleashes strange forces. I wish I didn’t have to go to that séance tonight, but I wanted it.

The Kingsley collection room was lit by a single bare bulb, and the ancient water leak on the faded flowered wallpaper looked like a map of Asia. The remodeling had never reached back here.

Helen heard a
crack!
and ran out into the dingy back hall. Nothing.

You have boxes to empty, she thought.

Helen opened another six book boxes after her burger with Jared, and found nothing except a used tissue. Paris prowled the collection, jumping from box to box. When the calico toppled a stack near the door, Helen jumped.

Merr!
the cat said.

Helen scratched the calico’s ears, and said, “I thought cats were supposed to be graceful. What time is it?” She checked her watch: eight forty-five. “Showtime, cat,” she said. She slipped on the
fresh blouse Phil had brought her, locked the door and headed for the séance. Paris disappeared down the hall.

Helen had just entered the library lobby when a brunette in a severe charcoal pantsuit knocked on the front door. Alexa unlocked it, while the séance attendees wandered around the lobby. Helen stayed in the shadows and watched the scene like a play.

“I’m Melisandra,” the dark-haired woman said. “The medium.”

“Alexa Andrews, Flora Park Library director.” The two women shook hands like business rivals in a boardroom.

Melisandra, slim, short-haired and stylish, could have been a bank president. The library director, with her fine-boned face and exotic white-streaked hair, looked more like Helen’s idea of a medium. All Alexa needed was a gypsy skirt and a turban, Helen decided.

“You already know Lisa, our board president,” Alexa said.

“Lisa told me about you,” the medium said.

I’ll bet, Helen thought. I’ll also bet she told you what to say.

Alexa introduced the other participants: Blair Hoagland looked ready to go into a swoon. Gladys Gillman, the hot librarian in the cool yellow suit, said, “This is cool. I’ve always wanted to go to a séance.”

“Are you a spiritualist, Ms. Gillman?” Melisandra asked.

“I have an open mind,” she said.

“That’s all I ask,” Melisandra said.

Jared silently shook the medium’s hand as if she’d handed him a rotten fish.

“And this is Helen Hawthorne, our newest volunteer,” Alexa said.

Helen stepped out of the shadows.

“You’re more than a library volunteer,” Melisandra said.

Helen looked startled, then figured Melisandra must have heard about Coronado Investigations on TV after she and Phil had cracked a tough case. She’d read that smart mediums had good memories and scoured the papers and the Internet for information.

Helen was relieved that the other attendees seemed puzzled by the remark.

Melisandra cocked her head slightly and smiled. “What?” she said. “You seem surprised. Did you think I’d wear a turban, Ms. Hawthorne?”

Helen turned red with embarrassment.

“I’m not a mind reader,” Melisandra said, “but I know what skeptics think of mediums.”

I’d better not underestimate this woman, Helen thought.

“Now it’s almost nine o’clock,” Melisandra said. “Let’s get ready, shall we? Take a bathroom break if you need to, and please turn off your cell phones.”

She marched briskly to the round table under the portrait of Flora Portland. The table was covered with a long, fringed lavender cloth. Seven heavy, oak, lion-pawed chairs surrounded the table. At each place was a thick, red, six-inch-tall candle in a brass holder.

Melisandra pulled a purple-handled barbecue lighter from her briefcase, and lit the candles. Next, she removed a small alabaster bowl, filled it with pink pebbles and placed it in the center of the table.

“Himalayan sea salt,” she said. “From the highest mountains in the world. Salt is a ritual purifier.

“We have seven people here tonight, a good number. But the conditions are not optimal. I sense negative energy, but we will overcome it with love and strength.

“Blair and Lisa, I need you seated at my left and right hands. Ms. Hawthorne, I’d like you next to Lisa. Alexa, please sit next to Blair.”

Jared tried to take the chair next to Helen, but Melisandra said, “No, no, I need Gladys in that chair. The male force is stronger than the female.”

Sexism in the spirit world? Helen wondered.

“Jared, you’ll sit next to Alexa. I’m still linking two negative forces, but I will draw strength from Blair and Lisa, and neutral
Gladys will help counteract the two skeptics. I will say again, these conditions are not optimal, but this is the best I can do.”

Paris the cat trotted into the lobby, jumped on the table and settled in next to Helen.
Merp!
the calico said.

“Get that cat out of here,” Blair said. “She’ll ruin everything.”

“Pets don’t disrupt spirit activity,” Melisandra said. “This one may help. She looks exactly like Flora Portland’s animal companion.”

“How did you know?” Lisa said. The library board president looked impressed by the pronouncement.

Because our medium saw the colorized photo in the hall, Helen thought. Across the table, Jared rolled his eyes at her.

“That’s why we named this cat Paris,” Gladys said. “She showed up at the library one day and she’s stayed ever since, catching mice for us.”

“Excellent,” Melisandra said. “She’s part of the spirit of the house.” She took a flat, round CD player from her briefcase, and said, “I’ll play something relaxing while we discuss the goals of this spirit encounter.”

Helen heard the sort of semi-Asian music that reminded her of massage therapy.

Finally, the medium brought out a pocket-sized video recorder and set it up on a stand behind Jared.

“I want to record this session,” she said, “for reasons I will explain. Please turn off all the other lights and dim the chandelier to the lowest level. I want it just light enough so I can see your faces.”

Alexa got up, turned off the lights and turned down the sparkling chandelier until it looked like a distant burned-out sun.

In the flickering candlelight, the seven faces were Halloween masks. Flora seemed to dance in her portrait. Paris sat on the table by Helen, ears back, yellow eyes alert.

“Now, I need you to grasp each other’s hands to raise the energy level,” the medium said. Lisa placed her dry, skeleton hand on top of Helen’s. Helen reached for Gladys’s small hand with the
cheerful green nails. That stylish touch helped counteract Helen’s case of the creeps.

“We will take a moment to say a private prayer,” the medium said.

Helen prayed this séance wouldn’t take all night. Lisa’s bony hand was tight with tension.

“We are here this evening to call upon the spirit of Flora Portland and end her restless wanderings on the earthly plane,” Melisandra said. As she talked, her voice grew lower and husky, almost hypnotic.

“I am an experienced conducting medium. Flora will speak through me. Do not be alarmed by what you see when I invite her to talk. My body may contort and move as my spirit is liberated and leaves my body, and Flora’s spirit enters my physical form.

“Although it looks like a death struggle, I will be going into a deep trance. When I reach the full trance stage, I will be unaware of what the spirit is saying or doing. Hence, the video camera to record this session.

“Are we ready?”

A chorus of yeses and nods.
Merp!
Paris said. Helen noticed the soothing music had stopped.

“Good. Let’s begin.” Melisandra intoned, “Flora Portland, we call upon you to visit us in your beloved earthly home and tell us what is troubling your spirit. Come to us, Flora. Come.”

Silence. Helen heard the
plop
of wax dripping from the seven candles. Someone’s stomach gurgled.

Then Melisandra moaned and threw her head back. Her body bucked, her back arched and her head whipped from side to side, but she never let go of Blair’s and Lisa’s hands. The medium squeezed them so hard their fingertips were white, but neither woman said anything.

Helen thought the performance was most unspiritual, more like an amateur porno film than a spirit session.

The medium groaned as if she were in labor, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Paris jumped into Helen’s lap and buried her head in Helen’s blouse. Helen wanted to comfort the cat, but didn’t dare break the circle.

Suddenly Melisandra sat up, shoulders straight, head cocked at the same angle as Flora’s in the portrait, as if she were wearing that jaunty lavender hat. But the medium’s eyes seemed sightless in the dim light.

“You’ve called me from my heavenly home.” Helen heard a different voice now, lighter, with an upper-class lockjaw accent, coming from Melisandra.

“I feel cold,” gullible Lisa said, and shivered dramatically. “Flora’s spirit is with us.” Helen heard the awe in her voice—and the air conditioner switching on.

The medium’s blank eyes turned toward Helen, who was sheltering the calico in her lap. The playful voice sounded eerie. “Is that my cat, Paris?” the medium said. “No, of course not. Paris is with me. It’s one of her descendants, continuing her work of caring for the library.” Her blank smile was terrifying.

“I named her Paris because of the romantic honeymoon Lucian and I had in the City of Light. We lived there happily for so many years. Lucian is with me now.” The medium sighed. “Now we are in the light forever.

“We never had any children, except for this library, my spiritual child, my life’s work. I’ve left my eternal rest because my child is in danger. I need you to save it. You must save my precious baby.”

Tears ran down the medium’s face.

“She’s crying,” Lisa said. She sounded like she might weep with her.

“You understand my heartbreak,” the medium said, and stared at Lisa with unseeing eyes.

“She touched my arm,” Lisa shrieked. “I felt it. Her hand is cold.”

Helen saw that the medium was still clutching Lisa’s hand. She also felt the long, heavy tablecloth move slightly.

“I know you are burdened with earthly concerns,” the medium said, “but you must find the money to save my baby. My life cannot be in vain.”

The medium’s heartrending howls raised the hair on Helen’s neck. Paris jumped out of her lap and ran out of the room. Helen wished she could join the cat.

“Save her! Save her, please! I beg you, so I can rest again!” Melisandra’s eyes rolled crazily and she slumped back against her chair.

“She’s fainted,” Blair said.

“Don’t let go of her hand,” Lisa said. “If you break the circle, the evil ones will join us. Remember Melisandra’s warning. A séance can be traumatic for a conducting medium. We must give her spirit time to return to her body. She will soon be with us.”

Helen studied the faces in the candlelit circle. Gladys looked as if she had a front-row seat at a riveting play. Lisa was concerned, and so tired she looked like a ghost herself. Blair was awed and alert. Alexa seemed skeptical and Jared looked bored.

The candle in front of Melisandra suddenly snuffed itself out. The medium’s eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. Then she sat up, ran her fingers through her well-cut dark hair and said, “Hello. Did anything happen?”

“Oh, yes,” Lisa said. “Flora was here and revealed her true wishes.”

“Good,” the medium said. “I’ll review the tape later. Right now, I’d like to close the session with a prayer. Continue to hold hands, please.”

Melisandra joined hands again with Blair and Lisa.

“Thank you, Flora, for visiting us tonight from the spirit world,” she intoned. “May you now be free from worldly cares, and may we come to know the truth about tonight.”

“Amen,” Helen said.