Death by Dragonfly Read online

  She took another chunk of pie. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”

  Vermillion forgot about a lot of things. I got up, my hands full of dishes. “More tea, anyone?”

  Kary stacked her empty plate on top of mine. “None for me, thanks. I’m heading upstairs.”

  Ellin gathered the napkins. “No, thank you. I’ve had a long day. I’m going out on the porch for a while to rock and relax.”

  Camden got up to hold her chair. “I’ll come with you.”

  Vermillion gazed into the distance. “I must sit in the sunset. The rays are far more beneficial.”

  That meant she was going to the backyard. Fine by me. I put the empty dishes in the sink and ran the hot water, hearing an ominous groan of old pipes. When I came back to the table for what was left of the chicken pie, Vermillion was counting out a row of tiny pills.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, they’re legit. I got high blood pressure.”

  She showed me the bottle. The label had the jaw-breaking name of hydrochlorothiazide. “Are you taking all of them?”

  “No, man, counting them out for the week. I want to have enough. Kary gave me this plastic box to keep them in. See? It’s got a little compartment for every day of the week. Cool, huh?”

  “Very cool. How many people hang out in the park with you?”

  “We got quite a few. Time to bring back the Summer of Love, you know? Man, I wish I’d been around then. We all do.”

  There were worse things to do than imitate the flower child culture of the Sixties. Looking at Vermillion’s peace sign tee-shirt and tattered skirt reminded me of another retro hippie. “You ever meet a young woman named Rainbow?”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s around. Knows all the words to every Janis Joplin song.”

  “She ever mention her uncle, Samuel Gallant?”

  “Don’t remember that.”

  “Ask her about him the next time you see her.”

  “Sure, man.”

  I didn’t have much faith in Vermillion’s memory, but it was worth a shot. I was also curious about Rainbow’s reaction to Gallant’s death. After I cleaned up the kitchen, I gave her a call. When she answered the phone, she sounded more resigned than upset.

  “Thanks for calling, Mr. Randall. I suppose you heard the news.”

  “Yes, I’m very sorry about your uncle.”

  “Yeah, well, that was sort of a surprise, but not really. He had a weak heart, and his pacemaker gave out on him.”

  “Is that what the police told you?”

  “They said it looked like the pacemaker failed and he had a heart attack, so what else could it be?”

  Lots of things, I wanted to say. A rare poison. An air bubble injected into his bloodstream. A sudden shock. People don’t go into empty closets and have heart attacks. Or maybe they do.

  “It’s really too bad,” Rainbow said with a sigh. “He always said the house would be mine, and he did leave a will, as hard as that is for me to believe. While I’m cleaning out his stuff, I’ll look for that artwork.”

  I thanked her and then called Pierson. My call went right to voicemail. Were the police still questioning him? That didn’t seem likely. Maybe he’d been charged with the murder and used his one phone call to call a lawyer. While I waited to hear from him, Camden and I decided to forgo our usual science fiction movie to watch Cosmic Healing.

  I went to the island and sat down in the worn blue armchair. Camden took his usual seat on the green corduroy sofa, reached for the remote, and clicked on the TV. He found the right channel, and Matt Graber appeared in the middle of an impressive set decorated with stars, moons, and comets. Graber was an ordinary-looking man in his mid-forties, medium height and build, with short brown hair and a slightly pinched look around dark eyes. His mouth turned down at the corners.

  Camden set the remote on the coffee table. “Looks serious.”

  “Communing with the cosmos is hard work. You oughta know that.”

  Graber moved along the first row of the audience, keeping up a steady stream of talk.

  “Someone here with chest pain or pain along the left side, possibly the ribcage or stomach.”

  “That covers the entire body,” I said.

  “Someone with an ‘S’ in his or her name. Steven or Sam or Sidney. Or an ‘S’ sound, like Phyllis, Doris, Agnes.”

  A dumpy woman with fried hair suddenly came to attention. “Agnes.”

  Graber paused before the woman. “Is that your name, or the name of someone who needs psychic healing?”

  “My grandmother.”

  “Is she with you today, or has she passed on?”

  I was interested now. “Camden, is he planning to heal from beyond the grave?”

  “That’s something I’d like to see.”

  The woman answered, “She’s in a rest home in Asheville.”

  Graber hadn’t changed expression. “Your grandmother suffers from some sort of chest or stomach pain?”

  I gave Camden an expression of my own. “What are the chances of that?”

  “Pretty good, I’d say.”

  “And you don’t even do psychic healing.”

  The woman was watching Graber with almost pathetic eagerness. “She has stomach cancer. If there’s anything you can do to help—”

  Graber held out his hands, palms forward. “What is your name?”

  “Arlene.”

  “Place your hands on mine, Arlene. I’m going to summon all my healing power and send it into you. When you go to your grandmother, put your hands on hers like this, and the power will be transferred to her. You’ll see remarkable results.”

  He breathed in deeply and pressed his hands to Arlene’s. She shook and fell back into her seat.

  Camden was delighted. “You are now heeeeled! Go and sin no more.”

  To me, Graber was only an entertainer and more likely a con artist. “What do you think? Should Ellin be worried about this guy?”

  “Ellie worries about everything.”

  On screen, Graber continued his spiel. “Anyone suffering from headaches, migraines. Someone with a ‘B.’ Bobby, Billy, Betty—”

  “Bobby,” someone called from the audience.

  “They’re giving him the answers,” I said. “He’s got this cold reading thing down cold.”

  Camden agreed. “Throw out enough suggestions and something’s bound to be right.”

  Graber cured a headache, a toothache, and a bad case of nerves. Then he moved back to a table. On the table was a glass case. Inside the case were two large snakes.

  “Oh, wow, are we in luck,” I said. “Not only does he heal, he handles snakes.”

  Camden was looking everywhere except at the TV. “You can turn it off now.”

  “Can you stand it for five minutes? I want to see how snakes fit in.”

  “No snakes.”

  “Go in the kitchen.”

  He retreated. I don’t mind snakes, but they make Camden jumpy. He says he can trace this fear to a night he slept in someone’s barn and a huge king snake decided to snuggle up next to him where it was nice and warm. As he ran screaming into the dark, he fell and upset a nest of baby snakes that slithered like water all around and over him. He said he practically turned inside out getting away.

  On screen, Graber picked the larger of the two pythons out of the case and wound it around his neck. As he approached the audience, some people drew back. Graber smiled his first smile of the day, a thin, tight smile that was more of a grimace. “There’s no need to be afraid. I rescued these two beautiful animals from a pet shop where they were crammed into a small dark cage with barely enough room to turn around. Now they are healthy and happy. Another amazing example of the healing power of the cosmos.” He turned to address his viewers. “If I can bring health
and wellness to the lowest of nature’s creatures, think what I can do for you. Don’t forget your health is a gift that should never be wasted or taken for granted. I’m Matt Graber, and I wish you wellness.”

  I changed the channel to Mission to Mars. “All clear.”

  Camden came back to the island. “If he wants me to have health and wellness, he’ll keep the snakes in their cage.”

  “Have to admit it’s kinda eye-catching. Maybe Ellin needs to get a cobra or something.”

  He flopped back on the sofa. “Ellie needs to relax. I don’t think Graber’s a threat. He has a completely different approach, that’s all.”

  “You know she won’t be happy until we go over there.”

  “Maybe I could wait in the car.” He reached for the remote and muted the sound. “Have you noticed the pipes making a grumbling noise?”

  “Yeah, you might want to get them checked—unless that’s something you can fix.”

  “I’m going to give it my best shot.”

  I decided I needed to know something. “Are Rufus and Angie going to keep Mary Rose?”

  “I hope so.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t know everything.” He gave me one of his intense blue stares. “How do you feel about a baby in the house?”

  “I’m okay with it.” I turned my attention to the TV. The screen had dissolved into wavering gray lines. “Oh, brother. Here’s something else for you to repair.”

  Camden’s eyes reflected the gray light. “It’s not broken. Someone’s trying to come through.”

  “Someone or something? If you say, ‘They’re heeere’ in a spooky voice, I’m leaving.”

  He turned up the volume. “It’s for you.”

  “Must be Delores.”

  Words appeared on the screen. I had just enough time to read my name before the TV crackled with static and the movie popped back on screen.

  Camden looked puzzled. “That’s odd.”

  Odd! “Which part?”

  “I thought—”

  He paused for such a long moment, I wondered if he’d fallen into another vision. I turned down the TV. “You thought what?”

  “It was a message for you, but it stopped.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that. If it’s really important, she’ll call back, right?”

  “Right.” He didn’t sound convinced, and he didn’t say much during the rest of the movie and went to bed as soon as it ended.

  I thought Kary had gone to bed, too, but she was awake, propped up on the pillows, her face glowing by the light from her laptop.

  “David, I’ve signed up for online classes in guidance counseling through the college.”

  I sat down next to her. “Not wasting any time, are you?”

  “The only problem is how to pay for these classes. I can afford two each semester, but that means it’ll take me longer to finish. The other option is to use my adoption fund money. I’m going to have to think long and hard about that.”

  One silky strap of her short nightgown had fallen off her shoulder. I slid it back on. “I can help you out if you’ll let me.”

  “I’ll have to think about that, too.” She closed the laptop, set it on the nightstand, and began undoing my shirt. “What were you and Cam watching?”

  “Cosmic Healing. But I am much more interested in watching what you’re doing.”

  The shirt was off and tossed aside. Kary tugged at my belt. “How was it?”

  “Graber is your usual phony psychic. His snakes are the real stars of the show. Good heavens, woman, slow down. Have you no shame?”

  She chuckled. “Try and stop me.”

  Two quick pulls and her nightgown was history. “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter Six

  “If You Die of My Death”

  My dreams were nice and steamy until around three a.m. After a blurry glance at my digital clock, I went back to sleep and dreamed of Lindsey. She had been on the swing set in the playground and slipped off her swing to walk toward the edge. As usual, she wore her white lace dress and a ribbon in her long brown curls. Flowers swayed at the border to the playground, and I could hear the far-off calls and laughter of other children. Lindsey waved and smiled.

  Hello, Daddy.

  “Hello, baby,” I said. “Were you or Delores trying to reach me?”

  No. It was someone else. She couldn’t get through. It would be easier if Cam could see her, but I think I can show her the way.

  “Why can’t he see her?”

  He needs your help, Daddy. He’s going to do something he shouldn’t do.

  Oh, I didn’t like the sound of this. “Can you tell me what it is? What’s causing the problem?”

  The Dragonfly, she said and abruptly faded away.

  The Dragonfly? Pierson’s dragonfly? What did that mean?

  The odd dream made me oversleep, so the next morning, I missed the chance to talk to Kit about the TV message. I still hadn’t heard from Pierson. Camden was under the sink in the downstairs bathroom looking at the pipes, and I asked him if he’d heard from Lindsey. He can always tell if I’ve had a dream of her.

  He climbed out of the cabinet. “She started to come through, and then things got blurry. Could you hear her? What did she say?”

  “She said someone else was trying to reach me. She also said you were going to do something you shouldn’t. What aspect of your wild secret life haven’t you told me?”

  He opened his toolbox, which was on the floor beside him. “Something I shouldn’t do? I have no idea.”

  “It has to do with Pierson’s dragonfly.”

  “That makes even less sense.”

  “I would certainly like to hear from him.”

  I left Camden deciding whether or not to tackle the plumbing and drove to the City Cab office downtown. Cab driver Terrance “Toad” Hall, another good source, had heard of Gallant’s death, but only what he’d read in the Parkland Herald. He was also familiar with Art Nouveau.

  He leaned against his green-and-white cab, lit a short black cigar, and took another look at the photos Pierson had given me. Toad’s a tall elegant man who favors long-sleeved shirts and ties even on the hottest days, but he drives like that crazy frog in Wind in the Willows, hence the nickname. “There isn’t a gallery in town showing Art Nouveau this season, and Baseford hasn’t said a word about any traveling exhibits.”

  Besides the regular museums, the city had a fairly large art gallery adjacent to the university, plus many smaller galleries, and Baseford knew everything that was in them or likely to be purchased. “I might have a word with him, then.” A couple of words, including, why would you travel to Gallant’s museum when a phone call would’ve answered his questions?

  “Yeah, sure. Can’t be too many people around interested in this. I’m an Art Deco man, myself. Not as sissy. But you could get some real money out of these things.” He pointed to the photo of the leaf spoons. “Now this set of spoons is worth a quarter million, easy.”

  “Yes, Pierson said around two hundred thousand.”

  “And this poster by Mucha. He was one of the premier artists of the Art Nouveau movement. At least ten thousand.” He indicated another photo. “This dragonfly, for instance. It’s a hood ornament, if you can believe it, real classy. Designed by Rene Lalique. As your car moves, that disc underneath the dragonfly revolves and sends colors though the wings. The faster you go, the faster the colors change. Lalique created lots of different ones. Called them car mascots.”

  “Yeah, so who’d want to steal it? Who knew it was in Parkland?”

  Toad shrugged. He handed me the photos. “Your best bet is an APB to all museums in the country.”

  I took out my list. “Know anything about these folks?”

  Toad took a fe
w puffs on the cigar. “Lawrence Stein’s no saint. Stepped over quite a few people on his way up the corporate ladder, so he’s got plenty of enemies. Mason’s an electronics whiz and makes really strange sculptures. I don’t know much about Nancy Piper, except she was recently hired on at the museum.”

  “Thanks. Keep an ear out, will you?”

  “Sure. Let me see the pictures again.” He looked through the photos, a slight frown creasing his face. “Seems like I heard something about these particular things. Did they all belong to the same person?”

  “Pierson’s distant relative, Isabelle Duvall.”

  “Duvall,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Nope, not coming to me. If I think of it, I’ll let you know.” He glanced at my car. “Still driving the Fury? I thought after you solved that last big case, you’d get yourself some real wheels.”

  That’s what I thought, too. “Can’t give up the Fury. She’s my inheritance.”

  “Yeah, well, you get attached.” He patted the cab’s fender. “Let me know when you find that dragonfly. I could use it on old Betsy here. Make her Cab Nouveau.”

  Old Betsy already had three sets of Mardi Gras beads, feathers, and wind chimes dangling from her rearview mirror, swaying hula girls in the back window, and a plastic statue of Snoopy playing golf on the dashboard. “The finishing touch,” I said.

  My next stop was the Parkland Herald office.

  Wasn’t I lucky? Chance Baseford was willing to give me a few minutes of his precious time. I’d forgotten how I can’t stand the supercilious jerk. He was properly shocked about the theft, but there was also a disgusting gleam in his eye that made me feel he and Leo Pierson had gone a few rounds before, and Baseford was all too happy about his rival’s misfortune. Then again, Baseford thought of everyone in Parkland as his rival.

  When I asked him about Samuel Gallant and the theft of Leo Pierson’s Art Nouveau pieces, Baseford’s broad fleshy face went all crinkly with fake distress. “My, this really is too sad.” He sat back in his swivel chair, his full head of white hair a stark contrast to the rows of colorful books on the shelf behind him. Even though he was now editor of the paper, he hadn’t given up his position as art critic. I caught a glimpse of collections of movie and TV reviews by a nationally known critic, as well as commentaries on How The Media Affects Our Lives, and a couple of thick biographies on artists and musicians. Framed certificates and plaques decorated the walls of the narrow office. Over the door hung a grinning caricature of Baseford gleefully skewering a hapless dancer on his pen.