Haunting Refrain (6 page)

As soon as she got inside the house, the momentary weakness passed. It was her life, and she was enjoying it. At least, most of it, she muttered, recalling the police presence at tonight's meeting.

Unbuttoning her shirt as she ran upstairs, Kate hurriedly shed her clothes and hopped in the shower.
Venice
's remark about the smell of rotten eggs the other morning had hit home. She hoped her hair didn't smell; she didn't have time to wash it. Checking her closet, she selected a neat gray suit and a white silk shirt, leftovers from her former life as a marketing account rep and Teflon wife.

She brushed the mass of red hair and pulled it back into a soft chignon at the nape of her neck, spraying it into submission. In the mirror, she checked her makeup carefully,
then
added discrete gold earrings and low black heels. She took a pair of clear glasses from the night stand to complete the effect. Ignoring a spreading ripple in the glass about hip-high—the mirror had cost two dollars at a rummage sale—she inspected herself and laughed. She had wanted to appear sober, conservative,
sensible
; she figured she could pass for a Young Republican. She sent up a silent prayer for
Venice
to hold it down, but didn't have much hope. Ready. After retracing her steps in a frantic search for her car keys, she left.

Kate waited until a beat-up
Toyota
passed and then backed out of her crumbling driveway. Using her rearview mirror, she maneuvered around a van angled into the curb across the street and shifted quickly into first gear as a blue pickup pulled away from the curb down the block. A gray Buick—the one she’d been seeing at lunch?—eased into the street behind her. The gray car turned left at the corner, and she saw that it wasn’t the one that had been behind her at lunch. She sighed and relaxed. She wasn’t usually so jumpy—it must be this business with Kelly Landrum.

Glancing at her watch, she turned off the traffic-clogged main road and took a right up
Paris
Mountain
, a two-thousand foot peak wedged into the north side of
Greenville
. The way ahead was clear, and she increased her speed, holding the tight curves easily. She came to an open stretch where she could see the road behind her and checked it automatically. No police cars, just a red convertible with two passengers and a glimpse of something blue—she wasn’t sure what, but it definitely wasn't a patrol car. She was more cautious than she used to be—the urban developers were gradually devouring the wooded mountain, and crossroads and driveways intersected the twisting two-lane more and more frequently. This way might no longer be faster, but it was still more fun.

She got to the meeting a couple of minutes early and saw that the entire group was present tonight. She guessed the word had spread. Choosing a desk in the semicircular arrangement, she took a small notepad from her purse, determined to be calm and dignified.

An awkward young man in a blue uniform represented the police. Detective Waite wasn't wasting her time with the lunatic fringe, Kate thought. She knew the only reason the police sent even this man was because Martin insisted that the university was upset.

Martin, taking in Kate's appearance with a raised eyebrow, introduced Officer Paul
Wolynski
to her.

“You're not quite what I expected, Ms. McGuire,”
Wolynski
said.

Kate, hoping none of the students would comment on her unusual attire, remained seated and offered her hand. The officer shook it politely. “Please,” she said. “Call me Kate.”

 
All conversation came to an abrupt halt with the entrance of
Venice
. It could only be called an entrance.
 
Kate covered her eyes and groaned. A full-length, wine-colored cape swirled over her flowing skirt. Tinkling bracelets lined her arms and a cascade of gold hoops fell from her ears to her shoulders, but it was the gold
lamé
turban, hiding all but a few hennaed
curls, that
held everyone’s attention. She sailed into the room like a gypsy queen, fixing them all with a dark stare. Kate wondered at that until
Venice
got closer, and she realized that a thick layer of false eyelashes kept the woman's eyes half closed. She resolved to kill
Venice
after the meeting.

The group, still silent, focused on
Venice
as she extended her hand, heavy with jeweled rings, to the policeman. He looked as if he didn't know whether to shake it or fall on his knees and kiss it. Martin blinked several times as if clearing his vision.

Kate, taking pity on the speechless men, stood and introduced them. “
Venice
, this is Paul
Wolynski
, obviously from the police force. Paul, this is Venice Ashburton, a harmless lunatic we've taken in.”

Smiling at
Venice
's indignant glare, Kate added, “She's also a gifted psychic.”

It wasn't until Kate turned to sit back down that she saw John sitting quietly in a corner. He smiled and shrugged toward
Venice
, who had taken the seat beside Kate. So that's what this show is about, Kate thought. That old witch let the reporter slip in without being noticed. She’s probably hoping he’ll put her picture in with his next article.

Kate nodded curtly in his direction but didn’t denounce him. Instead she turned her back and concentrated on what Martin was saying.

“By now you've all read or heard about Kelly Landrum and know that the white sweatband belongs to her. Officer
Wolynski
is here on behalf of the police to observe our tests. But under the circumstances, I don't think we would get very far with our usual experiments, so I'll let him explain what he wants first.” He nodded to the policeman and then sat down.

The young officer coughed, cleared his throat, and said, “Uh, I brought some things that belong to Kelly Landrum, and I would like for the two, that is, for Ms. Ashburton and Ms. McGuire to take a look at them and see if they, uh, can tell us anything.”

Venice
immediately rose in a swirl of color and stepped up to the table beside him.
“Certainly.
What did you bring?”

Wolynski
looked helplessly at the professor, who said, “
Venice
, if you don't mind, I would like for Kate to go first. You will have a different article, and we'll see what happens.”

Venice
, miffed, swept her skirt around and returned to her seat.

Kate, resigned to her role in the fiasco, said nothing and stayed at her desk. She held out her open hand to the officer.

He opened a plastic bag on the table, pulled out a small scarf patterned with coins, and laid it carefully across her palm.

Like crossing it with silver
, she thought. But her hand trembled as her fingers tightened around the wisp of silk. She closed her eyes. No one made a sound. After a couple of seconds she let out a relieved sigh and looked up at
Wolynski
, puzzled. “I sense someone happy, laughing. A very young girl, I think. Sorry, it's not the same girl as before. I don't know why.”

Wolynski
took the scarf back and held out the bag to her. “Would you try something else?”

She reached in and pulled out a comb. Lulled by the scarf, she was off guard. Like a stone, she sank straight into the dream. “Water,” she gasped.
“A lot of water.
Dark, cold.
I'm—she's standing in water.
No, under the water.”
Kate, unaware of her actions, raised her arms, palms down, in a high, loose gesture, her eyes wide and staring. “Her hair's floating around her face.” She paused,
then
whispered, “She's dead.”

This time she was shivering, but not terrified as before. She dropped the comb on the desk, curbing a desire to wipe off her hand. “Take it,” she whispered.

Martin asked, “Are you sure she's dead? Describe everything very carefully.”

Wolynski
retrieved the comb; Kate's shoulders sagged. She had been holding herself stiffly, watching the comb. She breathed more easily when the officer took it away. “Mostly water—a lake, I think. There were trees around her, sort of shimmering. Maybe I was seeing their reflection. That's all.
Just her, staring, dead.
I'm
sorry,
I can't help you any more.”

“Could you see what she's wearing?”
Wolynski
asked.

“It's too dark. But maybe her clothes are dark, too, because I can see her face and hands.” Kate slumped in the desk, her face in her hands. Then she added, “And more trees.
Dead, lifeless.
Different.”

“Different?
Dead?
Like in the winter?”
Martin asked.

“No, just dead trees around her.
The impression is vague, but the feeling of death is very strong.” The feeling of sadness was also very strong; she felt like crying. She realized then that she had accepted that the dead woman was Kelly Landrum.

“Thank you, Ms—Kate.”
Wolynski
looked uncertainly at Kate, fumbled awkwardly with the bag, and then turned to
Venice
. “Now, would you try something, Ms. Ashburton?”

“
Mrs
. Ashburton. But you may call me
Venice
, young man.”
Venice
shielded her eyes with one gracefully arched hand and delicately lifted a red ribbon from his outstretched hand with the other. Abruptly, she uncovered her eyes and glared. “Paul! This belongs to a child. If this is a test,
you
have failed it. This ribbon does not belong to Miss Landrum.”

The ribbon slid from her extended hand and
drifted
to the floor.

The blushing officer picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please, take something else and try one more time.”

Venice
looked down her nose at him for a second, then smiled and nodded at him, a queen bestowing forgiveness. “I'm sure you are acting on your instructions. Give me the bag.”

She took a small makeup brush this time, closing her eyes as before. “I feel the dark, cold water. Night surrounds a pale face.
Hair.
Dark, floating hair.
Her eyes stare blindly at the moon.
Dead, all dead . . . “

Kate, still shaken from her own vision, couldn't tell whether
Venice
was seeing through her own eyes or through Kate's. She knew
Venice
was very suggestible. It probably didn't matter—if the police had been serious about testing them, they would have seen the two of them separately. Watching the policeman's face, Kate could tell he was skeptical. Even if he had been inclined to believe them,
Venice
's dramatics would have made him think they were either crazy or desperate for attention.

“That is all,”
Venice
intoned, spreading her arms wide.

“Well, um, thank you all for your time.”
Wolynski
dropped the comb and makeup brush into the bag, sealing it on his way to the door. Clearly anxious to get away, he said as he passed, “Thank you, Professor Carver. I'll leave you to your experiments while I make my report. We'll be in touch if we need more information.”

Martin took a few steps after him,
then
gave up when the young man disappeared from view. The professor shrugged, his disappointment evident, and turned back toward the front of the classroom. Kate, watching the policeman’s exit, was startled to see John slip out after
Wolynski
.
Damn!
After she had touched the comb, she'd forgotten he was there. She hoped he had enjoyed the show.

Putting away the recorder, Martin said, “I think we've had enough for tonight. We'll go on with the regular experiments next week.”

The other students gathered around Martin and walked him out the door, talking quietly among themselves. They avoided the area where Kate and
Venice
still sat.