The Dead of Winter (10 page)

Gail glared at him and then remembered where she was. ‘So would
my
lovely assistant like to guess the rest?'

More laughter. Tim bowed mockingly. So I needn't have worried, Rina thought. They've read the room right. She wondered if Gail's intimations of annoyance were also part of the act they had worked out.

Tim closed his eyes and placed his fingers to his temples, massaging gently as though the receipt of knowledge caused him slight discomfort.

‘I'm seeing a four,' he said, opening his eyes again. He wagged a finger at the woman with the lottery numbers. ‘Oh, fie on you madam, trying to fool a poor illusionist like that. She's making me see a four, ladies and gentlemen, when in fact she should be showing me a fourteen, isn't that right, madam?' He reached behind him and picked up a notepad and pencil from a small table Rina had not noticed before. ‘As you can see,' he said, flicking the pages open for the audience to look at, ‘nothing is written on this pad. I will now attempt to ascertain the remaining four lottery numbers and will write them on this pad.'

Rina sensed momentary disappointment. This was a knowledgeable crowd; they would be expecting something like this, for Tim to use a sleight-of-hand gimmick to write the numbers after they had been said.

Tim had finished scribbling now and handed the pad and pencil to Gail. She looked at them and shook her head. ‘You've got one wrong,' she said.

‘Really?' He leaned over to look. ‘I'll bet I haven't.'

‘Oh, how much?' Gail challenged.

Rina smiled. The room was happy now; things had once more taken an unexpected turn. She watched, amused, as Tim dug in his pocket.

‘I'll bet ten pounds, a packet of mints and some fluff,' he said.

‘OK, I'll raise you fifteen pounds, a pack of chewing gum and a lipstick.'

‘What colour?' More laughter. Tim waved them into silence and returned to his grave performance tone. ‘Madam, would you please tell everyone what your favourite lottery numbers are?'

‘Fourteen, ten, twenty-one, seventeen, thirty-six and two.'

‘Two? Are you sure?' Tim looked dismayed, Gail triumphant.

‘I told you so,' Gail said. She held out the notepad to a man in the front row of the audience. ‘Sir, would you mind standing up and reading what is written on the pad?'

A tall man stood, held the notebook up and showed the remainder of the audience, and then read: ‘I predict that the remaining numbers are twenty-one, thirty-six and
twenty
-two.'

‘And if you would read what is underneath that?'

‘It says: and Gail predicts he's got it wrong and the last number is just two.'

Laughter and applause: some of it, Rina could hear, very reluctant. ‘Nicely subverted,' she said to Joy. ‘Did you know what they were going to do?'

‘Not really. They got together for a few minutes before lunch and came up with it. It worked well, didn't it?'

Rina nodded. Tim had joined them now, and the audience, making their way out, offered congratulations.

‘I didn't think she'd do it,' Tim said. ‘She's very defensive of the psychic stuff, but I think she knew how much it would piss David Franklin off if she stood up there with me and performed.'

‘He's an odd man,' Rina mused. ‘The sort of man who likes to be in control, no matter what.'

‘Doesn't happen,' Joy said. ‘Not for anyone. Life has this way of knocking you for six, just when you think you've got it figured out.'

NINE

A
s they waved the buses off, the snow had begun to fall harder. Rina could not see clearly even across the width of the gravel drive.

‘The snow has set in for the night,' Melissa said glumly. ‘I can't see the buses making it back in the morning. I'm going to let the temporary staff go home, just in case.'

Rina nodded. ‘Is that going to be a major problem for you? Financially, I mean.'

Melissa shrugged. ‘The consortium who own this place take out insurance against having to cancel, so I suppose not, but it isn't helpful, not when you're trying to build a business. And you know how it is – even if it's not your fault, you feel responsible.'

Rina patted her arm sympathetically. It seemed odd to see the exuberant Melissa looking so glum. ‘It's all gone very well today,' she said. ‘No one can predict the English weather, not even a houseful of psychics and mentalists.'

Melissa laughed. ‘I guess you're right. You all set for tonight?'

‘Ready as I'll ever be,' Rina told her, then noting the younger woman's worried look she added: ‘Oh, I'm sure it will all be fine. It's just not really my cup of tea, you know?'

Melissa leant towards her and whispered confidentially, ‘Not sure it's mine. In fact, I'm pretty certain it wasn't in the job description – but hey.' She smiled. ‘Best get back to the kitchen. Go and eat, in fact,
please
go and eat. We'll have food coming out of our ears if the buses can't make it back. There's only so much I can freeze down.'

The phone in the hall began to ring, and Melissa went to answer it. Rina was making her way back to the big room when she was called back. ‘Rina, it's for you. Your friend Mac? Tell him if he fancies a free meal, we've got more than enough to spare.' She smiled, handed Rina the phone and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘Mac!' Rina was very pleased to hear his voice. ‘Where are you?'

‘About four or five miles away at the B&B. Is everyone all right? This is mean weather. The landlord says it's going to get a lot worse, so I thought I'd see how bad it was your end.'

‘Blizzarding. You know you have to come up a gated road? One thing: if you do make it here and then get stuck, there's enough food to withstand a siege.'

Mac laughed. ‘Sounds good,' he said. ‘We should be OK on the road. The Volvo is all-wheel drive, and it hasn't let me down yet.'

‘Ha, famous last words. When are you coming over?' she asked, a note of wistfulness creeping into her voice.

‘First thing in the morning, for breakfast. I spoke to – Melissa, is it? She said that would be fine. I talked to her earlier this afternoon, you were still involved in something, but she said we'd be very welcome. I think she was already worried about the weather; she said she didn't know what would be going on tomorrow.'

‘Well, it's got worse since then. We'll be really glad to see you both, Mac. I just hope you don't get stuck. You've got to be in Pinsent on Monday.'

‘About that, yes. Well, I'll tell you all when I see you. Miriam's making hungry noises, apparently dinner is about to arrive. Take care of yourself, Rina, and we'll be there bright and early.'

She felt both relieved and slightly lonely when she put the phone back on its cradle and recrossed the hall. That feeling of claustrophobia – strange in so massive a house – that had assailed her on the upper floors now seemed to have spread to the lower. Smothering quiet had descended, strange after the noise and bustle of the day, and Rina felt as though a warm fog had settled upon the place, the doors too thick and heavy to permit the reassuring kitchen sounds to escape, deadening even the conversation in the big room where the others had gathered.

Joy looked up with a smile as she entered. ‘I've got a plate for you. Hope you like everything.'

‘I'm sure I will.'

‘And I've got a pot of tea. Thought it might be a bit too early for the wine.'

Rina sat down beside her at one of the little tables. ‘Are you on your own?'

‘Only just. Tim's gone off with the camera people to check the set-up – again. Terry went to call his agent from his room. The mobiles don't seem to be working very well. He thinks the bad weather is affecting the signal – not that it was ever great here. I didn't really feel like joining the conversation over there.' She nodded to where Rav, Viv and Professor Franklin were debating something with Edwin Holmes. The old man seemed to be holding his own, his voice quiet and insistent; from time to time objections would be raised before he took control again.

‘Gail?' Rina asked.

‘Oh, gone off to prepare, I think. She took a tray to her room. Ah, there's Terry. He's surprisingly nice, isn't he? I thought he'd be a real diva. You know, I've quite enjoyed today.'

‘So have I,' Rina agreed. She poked at the food on her plate, not sure if she was hungry. ‘It's been unexpectedly interesting. It's made me think, though, about life and so on.'

Joy looked puzzled. ‘Life?'

‘More what I want from it. I think I've just realized how much I miss working, being out doing things. Strange, isn't it, the way ideas suddenly crystallize?'

‘I guess it is. I guess Terry Beal has been more of an influence than I thought.' She smiled, seeing the subject of their conversation approaching them.

‘Influence? What kind of influence? Bad, I hope.' He sat down, then got up again. His restless energy was palpable. ‘You know, I think I'll get more food. Melissa is urging us all to eat, eat, eat, you sort of feel you have to oblige. Can I get you ladies anything?'

‘Chocolate cake, please,' Joy said. ‘It isn't as good as the Montmorencys', but it isn't bad.'

‘I must meet these paragons of the kitchen.' He disappeared for a moment and came back with another tray: food for himself and cake for Joy. ‘In fact, I've just been chatting to my agent about a certain lady detective, and we both feel that the time might be right for a relaunch.'

‘Really?' Joy was clearly impressed.

‘Oh, no,' Rina said. ‘I didn't mean you to—'

‘Nonsense, this would be a great thing to happen. Now, how would you feel about a guest appearance from, well, a semi-famous action hero type? My agent likes it, says she wants to meet when we finish with this, chase some ideas around and maybe start pitching in the next month or so.'

It wasn't often that Rina was stunned, but Terry had managed it.

‘You're serious about this?' Joy was astonished and, Rina could hear, very pleased. ‘Rina, you've got to admit it would be great.'

They turned to look at her. ‘Slow it down,' Rina ordered. ‘Terry. I—'

‘Rina Martin, you are a talented woman as well as being a truly nice one.' Terry took her hand. ‘We both know we're a very long way from making this happen, but let me give it a shot? Yes?'

Rina found she was gaping at him. She shut her mouth with a snap and then nodded. ‘Why not,' she said, ‘and if it doesn't happen, then it doesn't.' But she'd be disappointed, she realized with a sudden shock. She truly would.

TEN

‘
M
r Creedy, if that is you, will you rap the table twice for me?
'

‘
Creedy? The gamekeeper?' Albert was confounded.

‘
Hush, my friend.' Dr Pym's voice was soft but excited. ‘Let the spirits speak.
'

Elizabeth felt a brief pang at involving Pym, a genuine honest soul, and another pang – of fear this time at what her husband would do if this worked against her. She pushed that thought to one side. ‘Mr Creedy, if you would be so kind as to confirm your presence here.
'

‘
Your wife misses you, Mr Creedy,' Elizabeth continued.

‘
Ah, the poor widow,' Spinelli whispered. ‘So alone still.
'

‘
Mr Creedy,' Elizabeth continued. ‘We are told that those in spirit understand the world of the living, can still see and hear those they have left behind, can still feel their grief. Mr Creedy, if that is so, then you will know of the rumours surrounding your untimely death, that persist despite the passing years.
'

‘
Elizabeth!' Albert was clearly not amused. He had indulged her talent, as he saw it, but he preferred Elizabeth's spirit encounters to be unknown, romantic.

‘
Let her continue, Albert,' Pym said. ‘This may help to quiet the rumours.
'

‘
Rumours that have no foundation,' Albert snapped, but he settled reluctantly and allowed Elizabeth to continue.

‘
Mr Creedy, was your death an accident? There are many people still asking this question, and your widow is deeply troubled by it. Please, if you can answer this question, rap once for no and twice to confirm.
'

‘
I say,' Pym said.

‘
Elizabeth, desist now.' Albert was even more annoyed. He had called an investigator, from London, to look into Creedy's death when the vile rumours had begun, two years ago, and the detective had found nothing to support any of them. Matter dealt with.

Elizabeth knew she had very little time before Albert broke the circle. ‘Mr Creedy, do you know who was responsible for your death?
'

‘
And can you identify this person?
'

‘
Elizabeth, enough!
'

‘
Is your killer here?' There should have been more preamble, she thought, but there was no time. Elizabeth gambled everything on one final question.