Murder on Waverly Place (2 page)

“Well, not directly, you understand. She apparently has a spirit guide who speaks to those who have passed to the other side.”

Sarah rubbed her forehead where a knifelike pain was pulsing. How she wished her mother had chosen to have this conversation on a day when Sarah had had a full night’s sleep beforehand. “Mother,” she tried patiently, “this isn’t possible. We can’t speak to the dead.”

“Of course we can’t,” her mother readily agreed. “That’s why you need a spirit guide to do it for you.”

Sarah stared at her mother in disbelief. Had she lost her senses? “Why on earth would you want to talk to the dead in any case?”

“Because,” her mother said, and to Sarah’s horror, Mrs. Decker’s eyes filled with tears. “I want to talk to Maggie.”

At the mention of her sister’s name, Sarah’s own eyes stung as a pain so great she could hardly bear it filled her chest. Of course. Why hadn’t she realized it immediately? “Oh, Mother,” Sarah said, reaching across the table to take her mother’s hand.

“No,” Mrs. Decker said, snatching her hand away and blinking fiercely at her tears. “Don’t give me sympathy. I don’t deserve sympathy. I don’t deserve forgiveness either, but I want to ask for it anyway.”

“Maggie forgave you long ago,” Sarah assured her.

“No, she didn’t,” her mother insisted. “How could she? She died before she even knew I was sorry for what I did to her.”

“Mother, listen to me—”

“Kathy spoke to her sister,” Mrs. Decker insisted, the pain like a flame burning in her eyes. “She hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for months, and then she spoke to her sister and apologized, and her sister forgave her.”

Sarah’s heart was breaking over her mother’s anguish. “Mother, these people who do this, they’re charlatans. They trick gullible people just to get their money.”

“I know many of them are,” Mrs. Decker agreed too easily. “But not this one. Kathy said she knew things about her and her sister that no one else could have known. She’s done this for other people, too. She’s amazing, and she’s developing quite a following.”

Sarah asked the only other question she could think of that might discourage her mother. “What does Father think of all this?”

Mrs. Decker stiffened defensively. “He knows nothing about it, and there’s no reason he should.”

“He would never allow you to go to a spiritualist,” Sarah reminded her.

“He will never find out. Unless you tell him, of course,” she added.

Sarah couldn’t imagine doing any such thing, and she was sure her mother knew it. She’d have to try a different tack. “Why have you started thinking about all this now?”

“You mean why have I suddenly started thinking about Maggie?” she asked with a trace of sarcasm that Sarah hadn’t expected.

“Well, yes,” Sarah admitted.

Her mother’s lovely face twisted with the pain of loss that Sarah would have sworn she no longer felt. “I never
stopped
thinking about her, Sarah. She’s my daughter. I think about her every morning, when I wake up, in that one blissful moment when I emerge from the sweet oblivion of sleep, and for one second, one single second, I don’t remember that she’s dead. For that one second, there’s the possibility that she’s still in the world and I might see her happy for one more day. And then I remember. I remember that she’s dead and that I’ll never see her again, not in this life at least. And I feel that pain all over again, the pain of losing her and knowing it was my fault that she died.”

“It wasn’t your fault!” Sarah cried, tears streaming down her cheeks now.

“Whom should we blame then?” her mother asked bitterly. “Your father?”

Sarah had always blamed him the most, but she wasn’t going to say that now. “Mother, Maggie made her own choices—”

“The only choices we left her,” Mrs. Decker reminded her. “And don’t think for one moment your father made any decisions without my approval. We are equally damned for what we did to her.”

“Mother, please!” Sarah reached out again, alarmed to see that all the color had drained from her mother’s face. She looked as if she might faint.

This time Mrs. Decker let Sarah take her hand, and she clasped it tightly, nearly bruising Sarah’s fingers. “I know it’s not possible to talk to the dead,” she said, shocking Sarah. “At least I’ve always believed it is, but suppose I’m wrong? Suppose we’re both wrong? Suppose someone
can
reach Maggie? Suppose it’s possible to make my peace with her here and now instead of waiting for some fragile hope of eternal forgiveness? I have to find out, Sarah. I have to at least try!”

Sarah stared at her mother, reading the desperate hope and the anguished need. She’d suffered this guilt for years and suffered far more than Sarah could have imagined. How could she deny her mother this one chance to end it? “All right,” Sarah said, defeated. “If it’s so important to you, I won’t try to talk you out of it.”

“And you’ll come with me?” she asked, her eyes lighting with renewed hope.

“I can’t do that,” Sarah said without apology. “I don’t suppose they allow nonbelievers to attend in any case.”

“But you have to go, Sarah. You must!”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” Mrs. Decker had to swallow the tears from her voice. “Because Maggie may not want to speak to me at all, but she’d speak to you. If she’ll come back for anyone, it will be you.”

Sarah stared at her mother in wide-eyed astonishment, having no idea how to respond. Fortunately, Maeve appeared at that moment, saving her from having to decide.

“Catherine is ready for bed and . . . Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, sensing the tension in the room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s all right, Maeve,” Sarah said, jumping up in her desperate need to escape. “I suppose she wants me to tuck her in.”

“Yes, she always misses you when you’ve been gone awhile.” Maeve’s shrewd glance was flicking back and forth between Sarah and her mother, trying to gauge the situation. Were they quarreling? Disagreeing about something? Sarah wasn’t about to explain.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Sarah said, not daring to meet her mother’s eye.

Catherine was more demanding than usual, begging Sarah for just one more good-night kiss and asking question after question. She knew Sarah’s attention was focused elsewhere and tried every trick she knew to draw it back. Hating herself for giving the child less than her due, Sarah finally managed to break away. She found her mother still sitting at the kitchen table. Maeve had made herself scarce.

“I’m sure this was a shock to you,” her mother said before Sarah could open her mouth. “I shouldn’t have asked you so soon. I should have given you time to get used to the idea. It’s just . . .”

“How long will Father be out of town?” Sarah asked, having figured out the rush.

“Only three more days. It’s not really necessary that he be out of town, of course, but I thought—”

“You thought it would be easier if he were,” Sarah supplied for her. “I just don’t know . . .”

“Sarah,” Mrs. Decker said, her blue eyes clear now, and full of determination. “You’ve finally been able to lay your own ghosts to rest. Please, help me with mine.”

Sarah knew she was referring to Sarah’s husband, Tom. She hadn’t even realized how haunted she had been by his tragic murder almost four years ago until her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy had finally tracked down his killer. While Sarah would still miss Tom until the day she died, at least she understood why he had died and had seen his killer punished. While nothing would ever ease the pain of losing him, she did have some measure of peace now. Could she deny her mother the chance at some peace for herself?

“I’ll go with you, Mother,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Decker’s relief was palpable. “Oh, Sarah, thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not promising to support you in this or believe for one second that it’s possible. I’m just going to make sure no one takes advantage of you.”

“It
is
possible,” her mother said, her voice almost breaking from the strength of her emotions. “It
has
to be.”

For her mother’s sake, Sarah could almost hope it was.

 

 

 

A
FTER SEEING HER MOTHER OFF, SARAH CLOSED THE front door to find Maeve standing on the stairs that led upstairs to the girls’ bedrooms. “Is everything all right?” the girl asked with genuine concern. “Mrs. Decker seemed upset.”

Sarah looked at the young woman who, like Catherine, had also come from the Prodigal Son Mission. Maeve had sought refuge there to escape a life Sarah knew little about. She had recently learned some important facts about that life, though, and about Maeve’s special talents.

“Do you know anything about spiritualists?” Sarah asked.

“Spiritualists?” Maeve repeated with a frown. “What kind?”

“Are there different kinds?”

Maeve shrugged, telling Sarah more than she wanted to know.

“My mother wants to go to a séance.”

Maeve’s eyes widened with surprise. “Mrs. Decker? I wouldn’t’ve thought she’s the type.”

Sarah’s head began to throb again. “Would you come into the kitchen and tell me everything you know about it?”

“Are you sure?” Maeve asked with unfeigned concern. “You’re awful tired. Maybe tomorrow . . . ?”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” Sarah assured her. “At least not until I know more about this.”

Maeve nodded and led the way back to the kitchen. When they were seated at the table, Maeve folded her hands expectantly.

“What do you know about people who do séances?” Sarah asked.

Recently, Sarah had learned that in her former life, Maeve had been a grifter, or at least that she’d come from a family of grifters, people who made their living by conning people in elaborate schemes. Although Maeve had never given Sarah any reason to suspect she was dishonest, Sarah’s friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy had recognized her abilities immediately when Maeve had employed them to help him solve the murder of Sarah’s husband, Dr. Tom Brandt.

“I never knew anybody who did that kind of thing,” Maeve replied. “You need a house in a respectable neighborhood, and most of all, you need some way to get people with money to come to you. You know, classy people who can vouch for you.” She smiled apologetically. “My family never could even have managed the house part of it.”

“But you know that it’s all fake, don’t you?”

“I always figured it was. People talk, so I heard about it. There’s a lot of money in it, I guess.”

“How do they get money from people?”

“Not by stealing or anything,” Maeve hastened to assure her. “The marks . . . I mean, the customers, they come back of their own free will. The trick is to make them want to. You tell them some little thing the first time, just enough to make them believe it’s on the up and up. Then they have to come back again to hear more. Next time you tell them a little more and promise that the next time there’ll be even more. There’s no end to it, and they’ll pay more and more each time to hear what they think the spirits are telling them.”

Sarah sighed wearily. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Mrs. Decker wouldn’t let herself get taken in, though,” Maeve said.

“What makes you say that?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“She’s smart. She’s . . .”

“Rich?” Sarah guessed when Maeve hesitated. “That’s no guarantee you won’t be gullible. In fact, she’s probably much more innocent about these things than you are. She’s led a very sheltered life.”

Maeve frowned, considering this. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s made her want to do this in the first place?”

Sarah sighed again, absently rubbing the ache in her forehead. “She wants to contact my sister, Maggie.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Maeve said in surprise.

“There’s no reason you should. She died a long time ago, and we don’t talk about her,” Sarah admitted. “We’re too ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” Maeve couldn’t believe it. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to be ashamed about, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah only wished that were true. “Guilty then,” she said. “We’ve got more than enough guilt to go around.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Then I’ll have to convince you, won’t I?” Sarah said with another sigh. “Maggie was my older sister. I suppose she was a bit of a rebel. She didn’t think it was fair that our family had so much when many other people had nothing. She wanted to do something to help.”

“Like the ladies who volunteer at the Mission,” Maeve guessed.

Oh, if only Maggie had confined herself to such conventional good works. “No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to convince businessmen like my father to treat their workers more fairly.”

“Did she?” Maeve asked doubtfully.

“Not at all. She tried to convince our father first, of course, but he completely dismissed her, which only made her more determined.”

“I can understand that.”

“I’m sure you can,” Sarah said with a small smile. “Telling Maggie no was always the surest way to make her dig in her heels. And then she fell in love.”

Maeve’s eyes lit up, thrilled to hear about a romance. “With who?”

“A man who worked for my father. He was young, just a clerk, but he probably had a bright future. He would never be good enough for Felix Decker’s daughter, though.”

Maeve’s face fell with disappointment. “So Mr. Decker wouldn’t let them get married,” she guessed.

“Of course not. Not even when she told them she was with child.”

“Oh, no! But wouldn’t she
have
to get married? With the baby and everything?”

“No. My father was determined she wouldn’t waste herself on a nobody, so my parents arranged for her to take a trip to Europe. She would have the baby there, give it to some orphanage, and return home with no one the wiser.”