Herculeah Jones Tarot Says Beware (8 page)

“Maybe there was something on that page that would give us a clue to the murderer.”

Meat could hear the sound of the heavy book being opened, then the rustling of pages being turned.

This was the one thing he didn't like about Herculeah: that she was completely unaware of the fact that other people—perfectly normal people like himself—had perfectly normal fears. Here they were in a house where a woman had been murdered—brutally murdered, the TV newscaster had said. The stains were probably still on the floor and—

At that moment he heard something. The sound of a footstep on the stairs above.

Meat couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. His heart began to thud unhealthily in his chest.

His head had been slumped forward over his knees, and he now found he was unable to lift it. He was frozen with fear. The best he could do was to roll his eyes upward and watch the stairs.

He saw nothing. This made him more afraid. And he found, as the seconds passed, that the longer he saw nothing, the more afraid he became.

Silence.

Silence.

Step.

Silence.

Silence.

Meat knew he should warn Herculeah, but his voice had departed with his ability to move. He understood how deer and rabbits became frozen with fear, even when they might get away if they ran.

Step.

From the parlor, Herculeah called, “It's too bad I didn't notice what page the book was opened to when I first came in the room. That would really help. I know it was in the middle, and I know there was a picture on it. The trouble is, there's a picture on almost every page.”

Step.

“I don't know why,” Herculeah continued, happily unaware of the danger, “but I just have the feeling I'll know it when I come to it. Maybe my amulet is bringing me luck. I still have it on, by the way. And you know what I've decided? That I'm never going to open it. I'm going to keep the good luck inside. Because what if I did open it and a piece of old, chewed chewing gum or something equally gross fell out? Believe me, Meat, a lot of luck comes from just feeling lucky. And right now I feel lucky.” This was followed by the sound of vigorous page turning.

Meat had never felt less lucky in his life. His eyes were rolled up so far into his head they might never come down.

Now he saw it: a foot.

He couldn't tell in the faint moonlight whether it was a man's foot or a woman's. It didn't matter. It was the scariest foot he had ever seen in his life. He had not known a foot could be so terrifying.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run for his life. He wanted to disappear.

He did the next best thing. His eyes continued their painful roll up into his head.

Meat fainted.

“Well, this is really frustrating,” Herculeah continued as she studied the book. “I know there's something important on one of these two pages, and I cannot figure out what it is.”

There was no answer from the hallway.

“I held the book up, and I let it fall open on its own. Sometimes, Meat, books open to the exact place you want them to. It's like the book has its own intelligence. It knows what you want and it helps you.” She gave a little laugh at herself. “Maybe I think that because I love books so much, but I really feel that's what has happened here.”

Still no answer from the hallway.

“But you know what else I'm wondering? Maybe the book was closed for another reason, something I haven't even considered. Did you ever think of that?” When he still didn't answer, she called, “Meat, are you listening to me?”

She heard the sound of a footstep in the hall.

“Well, at least I know you're alive.”

Again no answer.

“I wish you'd come look at this page and see if anything rings a bell. It's a page about, well, voodoo dolls and fetishes and all that jazz. You know the stuff I'm talking about. A doll stands for a person and, like, you stick a pin in it and the person dies.” She paused. “Are you listening to me, or what?”

This time when there was no answer, Herculeah turned from the table. “Meat?”

Herculeah gasped. She gripped the edge of the table for support. The flashlight slipped from her hand and fell with a thud to the carpet.

Madame Rosa stood in the doorway in her black cloak. The hood was pulled over her head, hiding her face.

Outwardly Herculeah did not move. Inwardly she shrank back in horror.

There was a long moment while they faced each other in the darkness. The only light was from the moonlit window behind the figure and from the flashlight at Herculeah's feet.

The nightmare seemed to stretch and grow. It became almost a living thing.

Herculeah blinked, and the moment snapped. She knew what had happened. Herculeah exploded.

“Meat, now that is not one bit funny! You actually scared me. I'm spooked enough being right here where Madame Rosa died without you adding to it by pretending to be her. Now, take that cape off. I mean it. Now!”

From the hood of the cloak came one word. “Herculeah.”

The voice was faint, and somehow faraway, but it was Madame Rosa's voice. Other people could imitate the way she spoke, but this was Madame Rosa's voice.

Herculeah swallowed, and the sound was louder than the voice had been.

“But, but—you're dead.”

Again, just her name. “Herculeah.”

“What are you doing here? What do you want? Who are you?”

There was another pause, and then the voice said one more word. “Tarot.”

The figure took one step backward. “Tarot.” The cloak fluttered as if in a breeze.

Herculeah felt that the figure was leaving, and it seemed important to keep her there, to find out who she was. Herculeah said, “Wait. I've got Tarot. He's at my house. I can go get him. Wait!”

She remembered the flashlight and bent quickly to retrieve it. When she looked up, the figure had disappeared.

Herculeah stood for a moment without moving. She sank into Madame Rosa's chair. She set the flashlight down on the table and pressed her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes as if she had seen something that could not be real.

She remembered Meat. She got up and walked as if in a dream toward the hall.

“Meat?” she asked. Her voice was too weak to be heard.

 

 

Meat was regaining consciousness.

He was still slumped forward, and his head had dropped between his knees, in the classic position for regaining consciousness, although that was not something Meat particularly wanted to do.

His eyes opened. They focused slowly on the old moonlit rug at his feet. It was not a familiar pattern, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. He felt dizzy again.

Then his mind began to clear. He remembered the terrible truth.

He was on a chair in Madame Rosa's hallway, and someone was slowly coming down the stairs.

He lifted his head. The person was no longer coming down the stairs. Where was he? Where was he?

His eyes shifted. Meat was proud that he did not gasp with horror. The person was now in the hallway! The person was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The person was by the coatrack!

Perhaps the fainting spell had refreshed him, for Meat suddenly got noiselessly to his feet. Even his knees didn't give their usual protesting pop.

He crouched forward, one hand on the floor. Then in a rush, head down, arms up, Meat started forward. It felt like a move Meat had seen in professional football, something he had never thought he himself could execute.

He caught the intruder unawares and had the pleasure of hearing him hit the floor and let out a tremendous grunt of shock and pain.

His sense of satisfaction lasted two seconds. After that came the realization that the intruder might get up, and Meat knew he did not have another professional football move in his body.

After that, came an even worse realization. The tremendous grunt of shock and pain that had given him such satisfaction had sounded a lot like Herculeah.

“Look, I didn't do it on purpose,” Meat said for the third time.

He and Herculeah were in Madame Rosa's hallway. Herculeah was still sitting on the floor, shining the flashlight on her arms and legs, checking for bruises. The jolt of being shoved headlong into a wall had temporarily put Madame Rosa out of Herculeah's mind.

“Then why did you do it?”

Now she shone the light up into Meat's face.

Meat shielded his eyes. “Don't do that, please. I have sensitive eyes.”

“I have sensitive arms and legs, too, you know.”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Then tell me why you did it.”

“I told you. Why do I have to keep going over it? I was sitting here, and I heard a footstep overhead.”

He swallowed thickly, remembering.

“Then I heard another footstep.”

Again he had to swallow to continue.

“Then I saw a foot. It was the most terrible, the most frightening foot in the world. You probably don't think a single foot could be that terrifying—”

“I saw Madame Rosa's foot sticking out from under the table, remember?”

“Well, yes, but that foot was dead, and this one was living.”

He closed his eyes, remembering, and mercifully Herculeah turned the flashlight away from his face. Possibly his face was too twisted with pain and fright to watch for any length of time.

“That's all I remember. I must have fainted from shock.”

Herculeah was silent, and her silence, as usual, made Meat feel the need to defend himself.

“It was not a dream, Herculeah. I know you're going to say it was a dream. I know you're going to claim I fell asleep as usual. And I admit I have been known to fall asleep, but this was no dream. This was the realest thing that ever happened to me in my life. I will remember that foot until the day I die. I will have nightmares about that foot.”

“Nightmares can seem very real,” she said.

“Then when I came to”—Meat went on as if she had not spoken—“I was somehow filled with strength and purpose and I rushed forward and—I don't have to tell you what I did then.”

“No, you don't. Help me up.”

Meat pulled her to her feet. She brushed off the seat of her jeans.

“So did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

“Not in the book.”

“Well, at least you found out about the pictures.”

“A very strange thing happened to me, Meat.”

The tone of her voice sent shivers up his neck. He turned up the collar of his jacket.

“I'm not sure I want to hear this.”

“You have to. This is how I know you're telling me the truth about someone coming down the stairs.”

Now he was sure he was about to hear something he did not want to hear. But he couldn't stop his mouth from saying, “How?”

“I saw someone in the hall.”

“Who?” There was such a long pause that he thought he hadn't been heard. He shouted, “Who?”

“Madame Rosa.”

For a moment Meat thought he hadn't heard right. “Madame Rosa is dead!”

“Meat, she was standing right there where you are standing now.”

Meat took an involuntary side step.

“I thought it was you playing a joke.”

The thought of putting on Madame Rosa's cloak, even for a joke, caused Meat to shudder as if he had a chill.

“And I yelled at you that it wasn't funny and to stop it, and then she spoke.”

“She said something?” This was an awed whisper. “She spoke?”

“She said my name. And you know how people are always imitating Madame Rosa? She has an easy voice to imitate. But this was her voice. It wasn't an imitation. It was her voice.”

“Did she say anybody else's name?” Meat asked after a brief hesitation.

“Yes.”

Another hesitation. “Mine?”

“No, she said, ‘Tarot.' I even offered to go get him. I didn't want her to get away. Then I reached down for my flashlight—I wanted to see her—and when I stood up, she was gone.”

Suddenly Meat's eyes widened.

“Give me that flashlight,” he said.

Something in his voice made Herculeah hand him the light at once.

He turned the beam on the coatrack in the corner.

“Look,” he said.

“At what?”

“Madame Rosa's cloak was there when I sat down and now—now it's gone.”

Herculeah looked at Meat. “This was no dream.”

“I know.”

“Someone was here.”

“But it couldn't have been Madame Rosa. You saw her body.”

“You know what, Meat?” she said thoughtfully. “I saw her body, that's true. But I didn't actually see her face. That's what's making me wonder. Her hair had come loose and had fallen over her face. What if—”

There was a loud knock at the door. Herculeah and Meat instinctively drew closer together.

“Madame Rosa,” Meat whispered, his voice deep with dread.

“More likely the police,” Herculeah said.

Meat gasped, although only ten minutes ago he would have welcomed them.

“Herculeah, open this door,” a voice demanded. “I know you're in there.”

“It's my mom,” Herculeah said. Now there was dread in her voice as well.

“I know you're in there. Open this door.”