Death by Dragonfly Read online

  Camden started shaking, a bad sign. I’d seen him go off like this before. He wasn’t seeing Pierson’s stuff in a neat row on a shelf marked “Lost and Found.” Whatever he was seeing, it was bad news.

  He gripped the top of the armchair for support. He spoke in an odd voice. “This isn’t the last. This isn’t the life you want.”

  I took him by the arm. “Camden. That’s enough. Come on.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but Pierson’s eyes bulged further out. Camden’s eyes had gone blank. He started to hyperventilate.

  I gave him a little shake. “Come on, come back. Back to Earth. Come on, Camden.”

  Fortunately, this wasn’t one of his really deep trances, the kind that take nitroglycerin and a backhoe to dig him out. He took a few shuddering breaths and then relaxed. His eyes came back into focus.

  Pierson took several steps back, mouth open. “Good heavens! I had no idea I’d cause such a reaction! I apologize.”

  Camden slowly let go of the chair. He rubbed his forehead. “It’s okay. Some visions are stronger than others.”

  “Sorry about that,” Kit said. “I was asleep and thought it was a dream. You okay? Too much death in this one.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I made Camden sit down on the sofa. “I take it you saw Pierson’s stuff?”

  Camden looked up at the man. “I caught only a glimpse. There was a lot of interference. That dragonfly is one hot little item.”

  “It’s cursed,” I said.

  “I got that.”

  Pierson was enthralled. “So the bad vibrations from the dragonfly are blocking your view? This is amazing! Could you pick up anything else? Where are my things? Who has them? What could you see?”

  Camden rubbed his forehead again. His hand was trembling. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “But you were in contact! Could you try again?”

  There was no way in hell he was going to shake hands with this guy again. “Not today.”

  Pierson swirled around to Kit. “What about you, young man? You must be psychic, too.”

  Kit backed away. “Huh-uh, no way, man. I ain’t shaking your hand.”

  Pierson was about to explode. “This is phenomenal! This is exactly like the beginning of Act Three of Spellbinder when the séance goes awry.” He made a sweeping motion as if pushing something aside. “‘Away, evil spirits!’ ‘But you have called us from our tormented sleep! We come with messages you must heed!’”

  It was time for him to go. “Pierson, why don’t I call you later?”

  “But you have not one but two psychics here! Surely one of them can locate my artwork.”

  Kit retreated to the stairs. “I didn’t see anything.”

  Pierson leaned over the back of the sofa. “Cam, perhaps if I brought another item from my collection, something Gallant might have touched and rejected, would that help you focus on the location?”

  “It might.” I could tell Camden wanted to get rid of the man. Just having him in the house was probably a major psychic distraction.

  “I’ll go right away!” Pierson dashed out of the house.

  Kit returned to the island, his thin young face concerned, and perched on the arm of the chair. I sat down on the sofa so I could face Camden. “You don’t have to do this. I can find these things on my own.”

  He sighed as if he’d peered too deeply into Leo Pierson’s soul, and he probably had. “It’s all he has.”

  “Okay, fine, it’s all he has. I’ll find it.” I didn’t like the look in his eyes, shocked and withdrawn, as if he’d witnessed some horrible disaster. “What did you see?”

  He looked past me into some black hole of a vision. “Death. Six times. All violent. One right after another, like six shots from a gun.”

  Six previous owners have died sudden violent deaths, Pierson had said.

  “Yeah, I saw that, too,” Kit said. “Only mine was fainter than yours, Cam. I just saw shadows. I wasn’t going to tell that crazy actor that. Sorry I didn’t get down here sooner.”

  Camden swung his eerie blue gaze my way. “Don’t take this case, Randall.”

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen. “What do you mean, don’t take this case? I’ve already taken it.”

  “There’s too much death involved.”

  “You’re seeing the past. Pierson told me about the curse. It’s already happened. Six deaths. It’s over, right, Kit?”

  He rubbed his spiky hair. “Well, the past ones are over, but there might be new ones.”

  “That’s what you see?”

  “It’s like I told you. Shadows. My vision wasn’t as strong as Cam’s because I didn’t shake that guy’s hand.”

  Camden sat up and reached into the pocket of his jeans. “And mine are too strong.” He brought out a small bottle. He shook two pills out in his hand and took them with a swig of tea from the cup he kept on the coffee table.

  I hadn’t seen those before. “What’s that?”

  “Helps the headaches. That hood ornament caught me right between the eyes.”

  “Did you get those from Vermillion?”

  “It’s only aspirin.” He propped his head down in one hand. “Don’t take this case. Tell Pierson to get someone else.”

  “No, damn it. I can do this.”

  “Randall…” He lifted his head. “I have every faith in your detective skills, but I saw something extremely dangerous in your future. If you continue to search for these things, you’re running into a lot of danger.”

  Camden’s predictions are not to be taken lightly. “I always run into a lot of danger. It’s one of the perks of this job. Your warning is noted, but I’m not giving up now. There are big bucks involved. And don’t say money isn’t everything, Mr. Leaking Pipes. Want me to call Ellin?” Ellin doesn’t even have that mysterious radar called woman’s intuition, something I thought all women were born with, but she can settle him down when he gets like this. He says holding her hand erases all the really tough visions.

  “No, don’t get her started. I’m okay. I just don’t like dying so many times at once.”

  “You felt as if you were dying?”

  He took a long drink. “Yes, and it scared the hell out of me. Something isn’t right, and a big burst of negative energy from a cursed object did not help.” His gaze went beyond me to God-knows-what. “Maybe I’m going crazy.”

  I turned to the only other psychic I knew. “Kit, what do you think it is?”

  He shook his head. “Man, I don’t know. I’m still learning to control my own visions. But I saw it coming. I can do that much, anyway.”

  Not a bad idea. “Okay, so we’ve got the early alarm system in place.”

  Camden thanked him.

  “No problem. I owe you big-time for showing me how to deal with all this stuff.”

  Kit hopped off the chair and went back upstairs. Camden didn’t want any lunch, and by the time I’d fixed a sandwich, he and Cindy were asleep on the sofa, the cat curled on his stomach. Maybe the dragonfly was the cause of his sudden increase in power and shaking Pierson’s hand intensified its strength. All the more reason to find the damned thing.

  Chapter Seven

  “Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part”

  My phone beeped with a message, and I stepped inside my office to answer it. Finally! A message from Ms. Piper at the art gallery, asking me to call, which I did.

  “Ms. Piper? David Randall. Thanks for returning my call. It’s about Leo Pierson’s Art Nouveau.”

  Her voice was crisp, as if I’d interrupted an important meeting. “What sort of information do you need?”

  “I’m trying to locate some pieces that were stolen from his home a few days ago. Any information would be helpful.”

  “I’m very busy right now, but I could see you aroun
d four o’clock, if that’s convenient.”

  I checked my watch. One-fifteen. That would give me plenty of time to check out Matt Graber. “That would be fine, thanks.”

  I did some more work in my office, searching online for any sight of Pierson’s treasures. I discovered that he could buy another dragonfly on eBay for around fourteen thousand dollars, but there was no guarantee this was a real Lalique. He could even buy a complete set of car mascots at auction if he had between eight hundred thousand and a million dollars. I did a little research on Lalique, as well, finding a photo of a surrealistic half woman-half insect pin all blue and gold called “Dragonfly Woman,” that was exhibited at the 1900 Paris Exhibition, and another photo of an amazing gold-and-blue enamel necklace with a design of black swans. Lalique was also a success at the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis and designed stage jewelry for actress Sarah Bernhardt. In 1925, he designed the first car mascots—bouchons de radiateur—if you want to get fancy, for Citroen and made others for Bently, Bugatti, and Rolls Royce, to name a few. Besides the large dragonfly, “Libellule Grande,” Pierson’s treasure, there were twenty- eight other designs, including a small dragonfly, a peacock head, an owl, a rooster, and the largest, called “Spirit of the Wind,” a woman’s head with stylized hair streaming back. I thought the Fury would look pretty spiffy with The Comet on the hood. The Guinea hen, not so much. According to the article, the actual number of existing mascots wasn’t known and most were eagerly sought after and very rare. While the eagle’s head was infamous for being fitted on Nazi officers’ staff cars, there were no curses associated with any of the mascots.

  By two o’clock, Camden was awake and feeling better. I waited while he put on his sneakers, and we were off to tackle some snakes.

  Matt Graber filmed his show at the television studio on the west side of town. The set-up at Cosmic Healing was similar to the PSN. Camden and I took seats on the aisle in the fifth row, as far as possible from the large cage in the corner. The cage was covered with a black cloth sprinkled with glow-in-the-dark stars. Camden kept glancing at it.

  Matt Graber stood off to one side, preening, until it was time for him to take his place center stage and welcome everyone to another exciting episode of Cosmic Healing. Camden and I watched with feigned interest as Graber healed audience members and those of you watching by TV of sprained knees, ingrown toenails, bouts of insomnia, and more serious diseases such as diabetes and arrhythmia.

  But then he started in on something a little too close to home.

  “Someone here has lost a child. A girl. The initial I see is ‘L.’ Lynn, perhaps, or Linda. A tragic accident. The pain is intense. Leeann, Linette, perhaps.”

  If this joker thought he could trick me by pretending to have heard from Lindsey—

  Every now and then during the PSN programs, I have to keep Camden from jumping up and running down to the stage to set somebody straight. The presenters, for the most part, are harmless, but occasionally, one will give dangerously wrong advice. When the wife of a sponsor was hosting the PSN shows, telling diabetics to pile on the sweets and heart patients to scale the Matterhorn, I had to physically keep Camden in his seat. Today, it was his restraining hand on my arm.

  “He’s just fishing. He doesn’t really know.”

  About that time, a woman said, “Lizabeth,” and Graber rushed to her side of the stage.

  “It was a tragic accident, unexpected.”

  The woman’s voice trembled. “She drowned in the swimming pool.”

  “Yes, yes, I see blue waves and bright sun. It was a sunny day.”

  Graber continued to fabricate the tragedy, using the woman’s responses and body language to make the audience believe he’d plucked his information from psychic vibrations. The audience was properly impressed, and Lizabeth’s mother pathetically grateful for the message from beyond.

  “Lizabeth says she is well and happy and with countless other children who have passed on before their time. They have everything they could want. She wishes you health and wellness.” Abruptly, Graber turned away, as if hearing another spirit call. “There’s someone here with a dislocated shoulder, or someone who had a dislocated shoulder. I’m getting an ‘F’ name. Frank, Franklin, Francis, perhaps?”

  “I’ll give you an ‘F’ name,” I said sotto voce.

  At the end of the program, Graber reached for his snakes. Camden got up. “I’ll be at the car.”

  Graber went through his speech again about how he’d rescued the pythons from the evil pet shop owner and how all of nature’s creatures were sacred and deserved health and wellness.

  Afterwards, I went to shake the great man’s hand. “Mr. Graber, I’m with the Herald. Would you have time to answer a few questions for our special Sunday supplement?”

  “Why, yes, of course. Let me put my pets away.” He placed the two snakes carefully into their cage and turned to face me. “Now then. What would your readers like to know?”

  “Everything. How you got your start, when you first discovered your remarkable healing powers, how you rescued the pythons.”

  His thin smile still showed no trace of real humor. “How much time do you have?”

  “I’d be grateful for anything you’d like to share.”

  “Please come have a seat.”

  We sat down on the set for Cosmic Healing. I set my cell phone to record and placed it on the table. Graber launched into what was obviously his Psychic Story.

  “I can’t have been more than eight or nine when I first realized I was different from the other children. If they fell and scraped their knees and elbows, I could put my hands on their wounds and take the pain away. Then I started hearing voices, their voices, their thoughts, scrambled at first, but gradually, as I learned the extent of my powers, I was able to discern threads of memory and dream, visions of the future. Of course, I kept all this to myself, sharing my newfound knowledge only with trusted family members, but it soon became evident I had a talent that cried out to be shared with the world. I now feel it is my mission to help heal as many people as I can, heal them physically, mentally, and spiritually.”

  I did my best to look impressed by this overblown speech. “That’s wonderful. How do the snakes fit into your mission?”

  “Through the most fortunate of chances, I discovered I could empathize with the animal kingdom, as well. Now, I’m not calling myself a pet psychic by any means—I can’t tell you if your cat enjoys a particular brand of litter over another—but I do sense animals’ feelings. It was quite easy to feel the pain and confusion of the pythons trapped in that sub-standard pet shop.”

  “You realize some people may have a slight aversion to your snakes?”

  “Yes, but it does them good to face their fears. It makes them aware that the psychic world does have its dangers. I wouldn’t want just anyone trying to do what I do.”

  I definitely agreed with that. “What are your plans for your program?”

  “I’m glad you asked. I have every intention of expanding my audience. I’m in negotiations right now in the hopes of appearing on another network and reaching a wider audience. Since I’m self-supporting, they lose nothing by having me on their shows.”

  I knew he was talking about the PSN. “Self-supporting?”

  “Cosmic Healing is paid for by the sales of my books and tapes, as well as consultation fees from satisfied customers. I am my own sponsor, and I bring along three companies who enjoy brisk sales: Manville Cleaners, Parks Hardware, and the recently acquired Tinkle Time Ice Cream. Perhaps that’s an odd choice, but I’m hoping to entice more children to the program, and as that old saying goes, ‘We all scream for ice cream.’”

  It was a lame attempt at humor, punctuated by a real scream from one of the stage crew.

  “Mr. Graber, your snakes are out!”

  Graber frowned. “I must not have latched the pen securely. Don
’t worry. They won’t hurt you. Would you excuse me? I’m afraid some stupid person will try to harm my pets.”

  For such large snakes, the pythons moved rapidly toward the exit. Stagehands and cameramen leaped out of their path. When one brave soul bent down to grab a snake’s tail, Graber said, “Don’t touch them! I’m the only one who’s allowed to touch them.”

  Right outside the exit was a Coke machine, and Camden had the misfortune to be thirsty. True to snakes everywhere, the pythons headed right for him. In an attempt to run, he stumbled and fell. One snake slid over his foot. The other went so close to his head, I’m surprised he didn’t implode.

  Graber managed to snag one snake while the other slithered off toward the parking lot. He draped the captured python around his neck and hurried after snake number two. When I got to Camden, his eyes were open and he was taking in quick little panic breaths.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “They’re gone.”

  “I heard them. I heard them.”

  I sat him up. “Yeah? What did they say?”

  He continued to gasp for breath. “Heard them.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that. What did they say?”

  He took a moment as if to assure himself he was safe. “The smaller one said, ‘Excuse me.’”

  “How polite.”

  “And the big one said, ‘Coming through.’”

  “I always like a snake with a sense of humor.”

  He put a hand over his eyes and rubbed his brow, wincing. “That’s not all.”

  It definitely wasn’t all if he was hearing snakes, but as weird and potentially alarming as this was, first I had to get him calm. “Settle down. It’s over.”

  “They said, ‘See you later.’”

  “Oh, they’re dropping by for tea?”

  Camden glanced around nervously as if expecting snakes to burst forth from every side. “I thought, I’ll go out to the car. I’ll be safe there. The snakes are inside. I’m outside. After Graber shows them to the audience, he’ll put them back in their cage. They can’t get out, and even if they did, they’d find a nice dark corner of the studio to hide in. They won’t come out to the Coke machine.”