Spirit Seeker (8 page)

My face burned. “Cody’s innocent. I’m trying to prove it. And he does have an attorney.”

“May I ask who is representing Cody?”

“Paul Ormond. He’s a friend of Cody’s uncle.”

One eyebrow rose again. “I know Mr. Ormond,” the man said. “In this case I suppose he’ll do.”

“Are you an attorney too?”

“Civil cases only, not criminal.” He began to shut the door, but I fought back my anger and begged, “Please, just answer two questions for me? Were you home last night between eight and ten?”

“The estimated time of the murder? Yes. My wife and I were at home.”

“Did you hear anything at the Garnetts’ house? Like loud music?”

“We didn’t hear a thing. The air-conditioning units serve to insulate us from most outside noises.”

“Did you see anyone come to the Garnetts’ house during that time?”

“You said
two
questions. I answered them.” The man shut the door quietly but firmly.

I turned and walked to the sidewalk, discouragement settling like a hard lump in my stomach. I stopped long enough to take a deep breath and
stand up a little straighter before I approached the next house. So the first person I’d met was rude. So what? Maybe the people in this house would want to help.

But a woman dressed in a white uniform peered at me through the lead-glass pane, then opened the huge front door. The marble-tiled entry hall smelled of stale flowers and antiseptic soap.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said when I told her what I wanted. “There’s only Mr. Plotz here. He’s not only bedridden; he’s practically stone-deaf.”

“Were you here? Did you see anyone come to the Garnetts’ house? Did you hear anything?”

“No. I was watching the TV in Mr. Plotz’s room until close to midnight. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“Thanks,” I said and walked back to the sidewalk, trying to think. The rest of the block on this side of the street consisted of three more of the elegant houses, which sat smugly in a row as though knowing they were special. The people who lived in them weren’t likely to have seen or heard anything. The people who lived across the street, who could see the Garnetts’ house from their front windows—they would be the ones to ask. Mrs. Marsh lived directly across from the Garnetts, but I’d already heard what she had to say about seeing Cody leave the house twice. I didn’t want to hear it again.

Next to Mrs. Marsh’s house was a lot shaded by at least a dozen pines and oaks, and tucked into this well of coolness was a neat little yellow brick house. With its blue front door and scrolled trim
bordering the windows, it could have passed for the witch’s house in “Hansel and Gretel.” All it needed was a row of candy canes marching up to the doorway.

But how much could the people who lived there see from behind all those trees? I’d probably do better trying the house on the other side of the Marsh home—one of the “large lovelies,” as I was beginning to think of them. My mind made up, I took a few steps, then stopped, my gaze pulled again to the “Hansel and Gretel” house.

No
, I thought, and started down the block, but stopped again, drawn toward the little house under the trees. Okay. I was here, so I’d try the little house first. Even if the occupants of the house hadn’t seen or heard anything, it made sense not to leave them out.

The walk wasn’t another straight line from sidewalk to front steps. It wound back and forth in curves as round as a garden snake’s, carrying me into a silent, sheltered, green-spun world that was perfumed with a damp, earthy, mossy fragrance.

As I reached the front door, it opened, and the woman who stood there in the dusky light smiled. It wasn’t a smile of welcome but a satisfied smile she had saved for herself.

“The girl with amber in her hair,” she murmured. “I knew you would come.”

H
er hair was as jet black as I remembered it, her skin pearly, even in the greenish light. She was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, but around her neck, on a chain, hung an orb of amber, glimmering with golden lights.

As I stood there, gaping, the woman stepped aside and said, “Please come in.”

“Oh … thanks, but I can’t,” I answered. “I just want …”

“You want to ask me some questions. Come in. I may be able to answer them for you.”

She beckoned and, feeling as though I had no choice, I followed her into the living room. It was decorated in soft blues and greens, touched here and there with the subdued sunlight that filtered through the trees. As the door closed behind me, sealing off this underwaterlike aquarium, I settled
into a chair. The rippling colors washed over and through me.

“My name is Glenda Jordan,” the woman said as she sat on a hassock opposite me. “Please call me Glenda.”

“I’m Holly Campbell.”

“You sought me out, Holly, so that I—”

“Actually,” I cut in, “I’m going to as many houses as I can on the street, trying to find someone who might have seen or heard something at the Garnetts’ last night.”

“You sought me out,” she repeated.

There was no point in arguing, so I asked, “Did you see anyone besides Cody come or go from the Garnetts’ house?”

“Physically,” she said, “I did not see anyone.”

I must have looked as bewildered as I felt, because Glenda leaned forward, stared into my eyes with those deep pools of black, and murmured, “Let me explain. I see what others may not see, Holly. I am a clairvoyant.”

“What’s a clairvoyant? Is it like a psychic?” I asked nervously. I wasn’t too sure what a psychic was either.

Glenda gave a little shake of her head. “No, no.” She picked up an egg-shaped polished stone that lay on her coffee table and held it out. “A psychic might take an object like this, something that belonged to an individual, and try to make mental contact with that person.”

Suddenly remembering, I said, “I’ve read about that. A psychic in Dallas goes through this routine
when she works with the police in finding missing bodies.”

“I’m aware of her work.”

“And some psychics claim to tell the future, don’t they?”

Glenda frowned. “No matter what anyone claims, no one can foretell the future. It is not for us to know.”

“You don’t believe in horoscopes?”

“No. I do not.”

Puzzled, I said, “You haven’t told me yet what a clairvoyant is.”

“A clairvoyant is someone who has the power to see objects, people, or actions removed from natural viewing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A clairvoyant deals directly with the spirits, through visions. A clairvoyant is a spirit seeker.” When I didn’t respond, she said, “At times I get a direct picture of an event taking place. It’s like a motion picture in my mind. This is why we need to talk about the Garnetts’ murder.”

A shiver ran up my backbone. “What are you telling me? That you saw …” I gulped and started over, my voice quivering. “Are you saying that you
saw
the murder across the street in your mind?”

“Some of it,” she said. “Only that which I was allowed to see.”

I stood up, my knees so wobbly I could hardly stand. What was I doing in this house with this strange woman? “Uh … maybe you should tell the police,” I said.

Glenda stood and put a hand on my arm. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t even move. “As I told you, I saw only some of what took place in the house that night,” she said. A look of horror shivered across her face, and I waited, unable to breathe, until she composed herself. “Unfortunately,” she added, “I did not see the face of the murderer.”

Frantically I pulled away and edged toward the front door. “Well, maybe,” I suggested, wishing I were anyplace but there, “you should think some more about it and …”

“I have thought about it,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have captured the entire scene in my mind, even though it would be excruciatingly hard to bear. But there is another route to discovery. To succeed, I would need to visit the Garnetts’ house.”

I stumbled backward, toward the front door. “Uh … you’ll have to talk to Cody or his uncle or maybe the police about that.”

Her dark eyes drilled into mine as she said, “I would like to visit the house with
you.
”

My elbow banged against the door, and I winced as I groped for the knob. “No. Not with me,” I said.

“Yes,” she insisted. “With you, because you are an amber person. Because you have the power and the gifts.”

My fingers reached the knob, and I tugged, but it wouldn’t open. Desperately I said, “I don’t! Really, I don’t!”

“Hush,” Glenda said. “Listen. Relax. Just open
your mind and listen. I have something to tell you.”

Maybe it was the depth of her dark eyes, maybe I was just so frightened I couldn’t fight another minute, or maybe it was the musical softness of her voice. I leaned against the door, shut out the jumble of thoughts that had been jolting like electric sparks through my mind, and listened.

Don’t be afraid of what you can do
, Glenda said.

“I’m not afraid,” I answered defensively.

“I didn’t speak aloud,” Glenda told me, and I realized with a shock that she was right. I’d been looking right at her, and her lips hadn’t moved.

“I heard the words in my mind. How did that happen?”

“Telepathy,” Glenda answered my question. “Amber girl, we were able to communicate through our minds.”

“No!” Suddenly the world jerked back into focus. I turned my back on Glenda, flipped the dead bolt away from the door, and threw it open.

As I pulled off my amber barrette, my hair tumbled across my forehead. The barrette burned my fingers, and I wished I could throw it away, but I couldn’t. It was my most valuable possession—a smooth, gleaming oval of amber set in a silver filigree frame—and I treasured it because Mom had given it to me.

“It doesn’t matter if you wear the amber or not,” Glenda said. “The amber has already recognized your power. As I told you, the stone is mystical and calls to those who can respond.”

“Look … I didn’t buy the barrette. My mom did.”

“No matter how it came into your possession, it was meant to be yours,” Glenda said. “Come back when you’re ready, Holly. I’ll be here waiting.”

Gasping for breath, I ran as fast as I could down the twisting path and across the street. I jumped into Mom’s car, turned on the ignition with fingers so shaky they could hardly hold on to the key, and drove away fast.

I drove straight home. Glenda Jordan scared me to death!

When I burst into the house, I found Mom in the den, correcting her fourth-graders’ math papers. She looked up in surprise as I flopped into the nearest chair.

“Good heavens, Holly! What happened to your hair?”

“I took out my barrette.”

“You didn’t lose it, did you?”

In answer I held out the barrette so Mom could see it. The amber glowed with a warm, soft light, and the silver filigree glittered in the light from Mom’s reading lamp.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Mom said and smiled.

“It’s gorgeous.” As I stared at it, I told myself,
It’s nothing more than a barrette. What am I afraid of?
Calmly I pulled back the tangle of hair that was hanging in front of my eyes and tucked it firmly into the barrette. “How’d you happen to buy it, Mom?” I asked, trying to make my question sound casual.

“As a matter of fact,” Mom said, “I had planned to buy you a beautiful gold-colored sweater that would have really set off your red hair. For some reason, while I was waiting my turn for a saleswoman, I spotted a display of jewelry on a nearby counter. I have no idea what made me walk across the aisle to look at the jewelry, but when I saw that barrette … well, it almost jumped into my hand. I knew it would be perfect for you.”

“It called to you,” I whispered, shaken again.

“Well, I suppose if you want to be whimsical, you could say that.” She bent to her papers, then looked up again. “You do like the barrette, don’t you, Holly?”

“I love it,” I answered. So-called mystical powers or not, I really, truly did.

T
en minutes after I telephoned, Sara came over. After we were squirreled away in my bedroom, I really let it all out.

Sara tried to comfort me. “In this country you’re innocent until proven guilty. I told my dad the same thing. It’s going to be okay, Holly.”

“You’re saying that your dad thinks Cody did it?”

“He’s just going by what’s on the TV news and in the papers.”

“It’s not fair!” I punched at the bed pillow I was holding on my lap. “Reporters are making everyone think the wrong thing.”

“They’re just giving the facts,” Sara said calmly, “and face it, Holly, the facts don’t look good. Cody left his house twice, the second time close to when the murder probably took place. He said he was going to stay at the lake house, but when the police looked for him there, they couldn’t find him.”

“Cody told them why. He gave them perfectly good reasons.” I didn’t tell Sara that Cody had changed his story, and I hadn’t told her about his argument with his parents. I didn’t want to add anything that would make her question Cody’s innocence.

I hugged the pillow to my chest and rested my chin on the edge. “Dad said in most family murders where there’s one member left alive, the police find that remaining member committed the murder. He’s prejudiced against Cody, just because of some dumb statistics.”

“Don’t get mad at your dad. He’s a good detective. He’ll be fair.”

I sighed. “Sara, I told Dad I was going to prove that Cody didn’t do it. I talked to some neighbors, and that didn’t help. Two of them said they didn’t see or hear anything. The third—are you ready for this?—said she was clairvoyant and saw the murders take place in her mind. It was really weird.” I shivered as I pictured Glenda’s face. When I was at her house, she had picked up my thoughts. What if she were tuning in to them now? I felt myself blush.

Sara didn’t notice. She frowned. “If she’s a clairvoyant who really saw what happened, as she
claims, she should be able to identify the murderer.”

“She said she didn’t see that part.”

“Then you’re right. She’s weird and a fake and just wants people to think she’s important. Or maybe she wants publicity.”