A Case of Imagination Page 12

  I could’ve sworn Jerry winked at me. “Yes, and he always catches the big ones.”

  Mrs. Mosley beamed at her friends. “Did you hear that? How wonderful!”

  There was another thump from below and a rustling noise. That couldn’t possibly be rats, could it? They’d have to be awfully big. I didn’t believe for a moment Jerry was making that noise.

  He looked uneasy. “Who else has a request?”

  “I do,” Flossie Mae Snyder said. “I need to speak to my Uncle Henry. He was supposed to leave me the grape platter, and my cousin Louella swiped it. I want him to tell me I’m the rightful owner of that platter.”

  “Henry. Henry, are you there?”

  A sudden draft of cold air made the candle flame flicker and the women gasp. Jerry gave a start and sat up straight in his chair. His eyes opened even wider. The women stared, open-mouthed, waiting for some grand pronouncement from Beyond.

  Flossie Mae Snyder glanced over her shoulder. “Is it Henry?”

  A second gust of air blew out the candle. How did Jerry do that? He’d probably rigged the back door to open. I expected Uncle Henry’s platter to land on the table next.

  But Jerry jumped up, knocking over his chair. He was breathing hard. “Oh, my God.”

  This wasn’t part of the usual performance. I followed his gaze to the hallway. Nothing was there. “What’s going on? What do you see?”

  He stared a few more minutes and abruptly came back. “I—I’m sorry. A little glitch in the universe. Sorry. Mac, if you wouldn’t mind—the lights.”

  I switched on the lights. He was pale and trembling. The women were awe-struck.

  “That was remarkable,” Mrs. Mosley said. “You must have truly crossed over.”

  “Yes, I think I did. I mean, I know I did.”

  “Well, I for one am most impressed,” Flossie Mae said. “Should we try again, or wait until another time?”

  “Another time would be great,” Jerry said. “The spirits are restless tonight. I’m not sure they’ll cooperate. It’s one of those Other World things. You know how it is. Sorry about your platter, Mrs. Snyder.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said. “Henry always was a stubborn old cuss. We’ll get him next time.”

  The women nodded. Still talking excitedly about Jerry’s performance, they gathered their pocketbooks. Jerry escorted them to their car and came back to the house.

  I met him at the door. “Okay, now what the hell was all that about?”

  He hesitated as if he didn’t want to come inside. “Nothing. I’m sure it was nothing.”

  I’d never seen him so rattled. “Jerry, I’m not one of your pigeons. What did you see?”

  He looked around as if expecting something to jump out and say, “Boo!” “I had a vision, an honest to God vision. And it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hayden’s ghostly woman. Portia. I saw her again.”

  “And you saw her where?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Right here. Inside the house. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

  “Did you ask Nell to come back tonight?” Nell’s overalls, as I recalled, were white.

  “No, it was the same woman I saw before. It was Portia. I recognized her from Hayden’s description. She had black hair and a long white dress.”

  “There has to be an explanation.”

  “Oh, there’s an explanation, all right. I really am psychic.”

  “No, Jerry. A reasonable explanation. She must have gone out the back door. I’ll go have a look.”

  “I’d better come with you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I don’t want to be in the house by myself just now.”

  He followed me out the front door and around the house. The fields stretched in all directions, calm and dark.

  “Jerry, there’s no way anyone could sneak into the house.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m sure it was Portia. A ghost wouldn’t have any trouble going wherever she wanted.”

  We went in the back door and into the kitchen. “You fell and hit your head yesterday,” I said. “You could be seeing all sorts of things.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. His eyes widened.

  “Oh, my gosh, Mac. Do you suppose that released my psychic potential and made me more receptive to the forces around here?”

  “No, I think it made you even goofier than usual.”

  He shuddered. “Man, call the Snyders and give them the good news. No more séances for me.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Come on, let’s get a snack.”

  After some chips and soda, Jerry felt better.

  “I’ve got to get to the theater by 8:30,” I said. “You want to come with me? The sight of pretty girls trying to dance ought to cheer you up.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think I’d like to get out of the house for a while.”

  “Okay. Suit up and let’s go.”

  He took his jacket from the hat rack, left lights on all over the house, and locked the door behind us. We got in the car. As we drove down the winding driveway, he glanced back at the house.

  “Is she waving good-bye?” I asked.

  “All clear.”

  ***

  As usual, another crisis had hit the Baker Auditorium. Benjy’s friend had lasted exactly one rehearsal before leaving in tears.

  Evan’s handkerchief was in tatters. “We’re back to square one. The girls have completely forgotten their dance. The pageant is tomorrow night! I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  “What kind of dance does it have to be?” Jerry asked.

  “At this point, I don’t care.”

  “I know a real simple dance.” He hopped up on the stage. “Try this, ladies.”

  The girls gave him their best smiles and all their attention. In about ten minutes, he’d taught them a very basic waltz step.

  Evan stared. “They’re all together!”

  “Percy was trying too hard,” I said.

  “Put on some music.”

  It took the girls a minute or two to adjust, but following Jerry’s lead, they were soon swaying nicely to the beat.

  “When they have on their gowns, this will look wonderful,” Evan said. He motioned Jerry over. “Thank you so much!”

  “I never knew you were a choreographer,” I said.

  “There were lots of dances at the house,” Jerry said.

  I knew he meant the Fairweather Mansion, but he’d never mentioned any sort of festivities before. “Fancy balls? Cotillions?”

  “Something like that.”

  The girls were delighted with their new number. Evan James couldn’t stop beaming. Even dour Cindy cracked a smile.

  “Now if we could just find a piano player,” she said.

  I nudged Jerry.

  “Well, uh, I play a little,” he said.

  Evan was thrilled. “My goodness, of course you do! You’re the concert pianist, aren’t you?”

  “That’s my brother. I’m nowhere near as good.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We need someone, anyone. Please. We’re desperate.”

  “Please,” all the girls said.

  Jerry couldn’t hold out against a pack of beauty queens. “I’ll give it a try.”

  I knew Jerry could play because occasionally in college, he’d sit down at the old piano in the student lounge and knock out some variation of “Chopsticks” or “Maple Leaf Rag.” I didn’t realize he was such a good sight reader. He didn’t have any trouble playing the numbers Evan needed. Afterward, he sat in the front row with me and watched as the girls practiced standing and turning.

  “You sounded pretty good at the keyboard,” I said. “Why don’t you take up music again? It’s a lot safer and more legitimate than holding séances.”

  “But there’s no money in it.”

  “But you don’t care about money.”

  “But I like
to eat.”

  “Seriously, why didn’t you go on?”

  He shrugged. “No need to. Besides, Des was always hogging the piano.”

  “I think you could play just as well as Des.”

  “Nah.”

  “Then next thing I know, you’ll be growing Royal Sunset roses in the backyard.”

  “That’s completely Tucker’s department.”

  “Middle child.”

  “Overachiever.”

  Evan James clapped his hands for attention. “All right, girls. If you’ll put on your evening gowns, please, and we’ll go over the dance once more. Please wear the shoes you’ll be wearing tomorrow night. I don’t want anyone to trip and fall.”

  The contestants left the stage. Evan wiped his face with the remains of his handkerchief. “Thank goodness this is the last rehearsal. Jerry, you’re a lifesaver. When this is all over, I want to talk to you about a possible job here at the theater.”

  I gave Jerry another nudge in the ribs. “A job.”

  “I heard him.”

  Everyone returned in evening gowns. The color of choice was white, although Donna looked stunning in a red beaded number, and Karen Mitman had chosen a light blue that did nothing for her dark complexion. I started to tell Jerry she’d look wonderful in yellow or gold, realized I was slipping into pageant-speak, and shut up.

  “All right, everyone. Places, please.” Evan looked around. “Where is Juliet?”

  Donna made a face. “Making everyone wait, as usual.”

  Randi muttered, “Probably trying to steal someone else’s shoes.”

  “Cindy, will you hurry her along?”

  Cindy disappeared behind the curtains. Evan rearranged the contestants. “Now, ladies, I hope you remember your new dance. It looks absolutely perfect.”

  Cindy ran back, her eyes enormous behind her glasses. “Mister James, there’s been some sort of accident. I think—” She had to stop and gulp for air before she could speak again. “I think Juliet’s dead.”

  The girls gasped, and I thought Evan might faint. I hopped up on stage. “Show me.”

  Cindy led me backstage. Juliet Lovelace lay in a clump of white gown, her black hair in a tangle, her neck bent at an unnatural angle. I leaned down and felt for a pulse in her limp wrist. An extension cord was coiled near her body. I glanced up at the row of cords and ropes.

  “Did you touch anything, Cindy?”

  She shook her head. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

  “Yes. And keep everyone away from this area.”

  Jerry looked over my shoulder. “Oh, my God. What happened?”

  “It looks like someone used an extension cord to strangle her. Don’t let anyone leave.”

  He hurried back to the auditorium. I heard him ask the girls and Evan to please sit down, there’d been an accident, and the police would want to talk to them. Their horrified murmurs mingled with the rustle of their gowns as they left the stage. I heard Evan sobbing.

  I looked around, but the dark backstage area gave me no clues. The floor had been swept, and the other curtains pulled aside for lights and the backdrop. The smell of perfume and hairspray led me to a backstage corner. It looked as if Juliet had made her own little dressing room, complete with makeup and mirror, so she wouldn’t have to share. Her street clothes were on a hanger draped over a chair.

  Juliet’s privacy had cost her. If she’d been in the dressing room with the others, her assailant wouldn’t have had the chance to sneak up in the dark and kill her. Then again, one of the others might be the killer.

  As I walked back, something crunched under my shoe. I bent down to pick up the small pink object. The floor was sprinkled with Juliet’s special silvery one-of-a-kind sequins, but what I’d stepped on looked like a piece of plastic fingernail. I checked Juliet’s hands and saw several broken nails. She must have tried to fight off her attacker. But her fingernails were clear, and the piece I’d found was bright pink. I found another piece of pink fingernail near her arm. I put both pieces in my pocket. I also noticed that the hem of her gown was dirty.

  By the time I returned to the auditorium, the police had arrived. I would’ve recognized Chief Brenner even out of uniform. Nell’s father was big and broad with small features and blond hair exactly like hers, only his hair was a buzz cut of blond fuzz. When he found out the victim was Juliet Lovelace, his small features drew in further.

  “Who found her?”

  Cindy raised her hand. “I went backstage to see what was taking her so long. Then Ms. Maclin came and said she was dead and to call the police.”

  “Ms. Maclin?”

  “I’m Madeline Maclin,” I said. “I touched her only to check for a pulse. Nothing’s been moved.”

  He nodded. “All right. I’ll need to talk to everyone, one at a time, in the foyer.”

  The contestants all had the same alibi. They’d been together in the girls’ dressing room. They hadn’t seen Juliet. Evan had been on stage, talking with me and Jerry. Cindy had been sitting in the auditorium, taking notes. Now she sat by Evan as he wept into his handkerchief.

  “This is horrible. Nothing like this has ever happened. We can’t have the pageant now. It would be too dreadful. We’ll have to cancel.”

  “It’s all right,” Cindy kept saying. “No one’s blaming you.”

  “I know I make a fuss, but I enjoy putting on this program. Who would be cruel enough to murder Juliet just because she was likely to win?”

  That might not have been the reason she was killed, I thought.

  After Chief Brenner talked with Jerry, it was my turn.

  “Nell tells me you’re a private investigator,” he said. “She also tells me Evan hired you to find out who’s behind all the trouble here at the pageant. I don’t think you figured on a murder.”

  “No, sir, and with your permission, I’d like to help.”

  He tapped his pen on his notepad. “Well, as you can imagine, we don’t get many murders in Celosia. We have our share of drug problems and domestic disputes, but this is the first murder in about five years. It’s a damn shame Miss Lovelace got herself killed, but she had plenty of enemies. We just need to figure out which one of them got mad enough to attack her.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And by ‘we,’ I mean the police, Ms. Maclin. You need to stay out of harm’s way, don’t interfere with official police business, and anything you might accidentally find pertinent to the case, you bring right to me.”

  “Sir, I really think I could be useful.”

  “Real murder cases aren’t like the ones you see on TV. You need to let us handle it.”

  He put his pen and notepad in his jacket pocket. He gave me a long, considering look, and I knew he was seeing only an ex-beauty queen who thought she’d play detective. That’s when I made my decision. I handed him one of the pieces of pink plastic. The other I kept in my pocket. “I found this backstage. It may have come off the attacker’s fingers.”

  He turned it in his large, worn fingers. “One of those fake nails?”

  “Yes, sir. Most of the contestants wear them.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  After Chief Brenner had spoken with Donna and Randi, I asked them to sit down with me in a corner of the auditorium. Both young women were pale and shaken. Donna twisted the edge of her gown.

  “What do they think happened, Ms. Maclin? Did someone attack her?”

  “That’s what it looks like. Exactly where were you before you came out on stage?”

  She took a steadying breath. “I was in the dressing room with all the other girls, except Juliet. She had to have her own special place backstage to change clothes.”

  “Did anyone object to this?”

  “No, we were glad she was out of the dressing room.”

  “Randi, where were you?”

  “In the dressing room with everyone else.” She bit her lower lip as if trying not to cry. “We just put on our gowns and came out.”

  “Did you hear or see
anything unusual backstage?” Both girls shook their heads. Evan and Cindy had been out front with me and Jerry. “Was anyone else backstage? A stage manager? Someone to pull the curtains and give you your cues?”

  “Cindy will do all that during the real pageant.” Donna began to cry. “Only now there’s not going to be a pageant, is there?”

  “I’m really scared,” Randi said. “When can we go home?”

  It took about an hour for the coroner to arrive and finish examining Juliet’s body. The paramedics put her in an ambulance. Brenner allowed everyone back to the dressing room to change clothes and go home. The only contestant I didn’t get to speak with was Karen Mitman, who looked more relieved than upset.

  She’d be first on my list tomorrow morning.

  Jerry didn’t look shaken, only apprehensive.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “You’re not a suspect.”

  “Mac, I’m beginning to believe this town is cursed. First my uncle and now Juliet. These things come in threes, you know.”

  “What things?”

  “Deaths. Haven’t you noticed? Whenever somebody famous dies, a few days later, two more famous people die.”

  “Okay, then, according to that theory, you’re next.”

  “I’m not famous.”

  “Neither were Val and Juliet. Get a grip.”

  “There are evil forces at work here. By coming to Celosia, I may have set them in motion. I should never have held that séance. I must have let something loose.”

  “No, you have something loose—in your brain. There are plenty of people who hated Juliet, real, live people, and I’m going to find out who killed her.”

  Chief Brenner had finished with us and said we could leave. Evan, supported by Cindy, came up to me. His face was gray.

  “Madeline, I know Brenner will do all he can, but please say you’ll continue your investigation. We must find out who did this.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Juliet may have been spoiled and a practical joker, but, my God, she was only seventeen.” His voice quit.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I have no intention of stopping now.”

  “Something will have to be done. The girls need to know the pageant is over. We can’t possibly go on.”

  Cindy patted his arm. “I told you I’d call everyone. Let’s get you home.” She guided him out.