25

Theodosia was sweeping a few errant crumbs from the floor when a red-haired woman in a dark-blue cape rushed into the tea room. It was midafternoon and all her customers had departed. So this had to be . . .

“Hello?” the woman called out in a melodic voice. With her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes, dangly gold earrings, and slightly prominent nose, she looked like central casting’s answer to the perfect psychic.

“Madame Emilia?” Theodosia asked. She wanted to make sure this wasn’t just an exotic visitor looking for her tea fix.

The woman nodded. “That’s right. I was invited here to conduct a séance?”

“Of course you were. Welcome to the Indigo Tea Shop. I’m Theodosia, the owner.”

“Hello, Theodosia, thank you for inviting me.”

At that very same moment, Drayton wandered back from the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, hitched down his vest, and said, “By George, I’ll bet you’re the fortune-teller.”

“Medium,” said Madame Emilia. She let loose a warm, throaty laugh. “But that’s perfectly okay. I’ve been called a great many things in my career.”

“This is our tea sommelier, Drayton, by the way,” Theodosia said. “Now. How can we help you get comfortable?”

“I’ll need a table,” Madame Emilia said. “And can we darken the room?”

Theodosia glanced at the pleasant afternoon sunshine that streamed through her windows, at the chintz curtains that were tied back. “I suppose.”

“Excellent. And then I have to smudge the room.”

“Pardon?” Drayton said.

“I’m going to burn a stick of sage and smudge the room,” Madame Emilia said casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Drayton brushed at his lapel. “For what purpose?”

“Burning sage is a spiritual room cleansing, if you will. A technique I use to cleanse a room’s aura. Sage helps absorb conflict, deflect anger, and chase away evil.”

“It wards off evil? Then smudge away to your heart’s content,” Drayton said. “By all means. And while you’re perfuming the room with sage, do you mind if I continue brewing tea? There won’t be any kind of aromatic conflict, will there?”

“Not at all,” Madame Emilia said. “In fact, the two may be quite complementary.”

Madame Emilia set her large velvet tote bag on the table and pulled out a small stick of sage. She touched a lighter to it and began waving it around. Then she broke into a low chanting.

“Too bad she can’t use lavender instead,” Drayton whispered to Theodosia. “We’ve got buckets.”

While Madame Emilia continued her smudging and chanting ritual, Theodosia set out teacups, napkins, silverware, and plates. She had decided to sit in with Meredith and Delaine, while Drayton, who was séance averse, preferred to keep his distance.

Then, just as Theodosia brought out a tray of scones from the kitchen, Delaine came bustling in.

“What is that weird aroma?” Delaine demanded in her usual bossy manner. She took a sniff and twisted her nose. “It smells like there’s a commune of hippies smoking weed in here. Like the second coming of Woodstock.”

“It’s smudge,” Drayton said with a knowing smile.

Delaine’s face took on a slightly addled expression. “Fudge?”

“Madame Emilia just finished smudging the tea room,” Theodosia explained. “She burned a stick of sage. To cleanse it.”

“Oh.” That explanation stopped Delaine dead in her tracks. She peered around the darkened tea room until she finally spotted Madame Emilia. “There you are!” Delaine hustled toward her table, her black pencil skirt hindering progress and forcing her to take tiny, mincing steps. “I’m Delaine. Remember me from Kitty Roper’s party?”

“Of course,” Madame Emilia said.

Theodosia smiled. She doubted that Madame Emilia had any residual psychic remembrance of Delaine, but she was pretty sure the good madame knew darn well which side her bread was buttered on.

Meredith arrived in a flurry some five minutes later.

“Theodosia, this is extremely kind of you to allow our séance to take place in your tea room. I’m so grateful!” Meredith burbled.

“Not a problem,” Theodosia said. To be honest, she was curious about what sort of questions Meredith planned to ask. And whether they might reveal something critical—such as, did Meredith know more than she was admitting to?

Meredith was introduced to Madame Emilia amid much squealing and fawning. Then, when they were finally all seated, Drayton stepped to the table with a steaming teapot.

“I brewed a special tea for this most interesting occasion. An oolong tea from Nepal. It has a lovely silky texture with sweet honey notes.” He moved around the table, filling everyone’s teacup. “Please do enjoy.”

The ladies took a sip of tea and murmured their approval. All except Meredith. She was anxiously perched on the edge of her chair, obviously waiting for some type of supernatural manifestation.

When nothing magically appeared out of thin air, Meredith said, “I can hardly wait to get started.” Her bright, inquisitive eyes were focused squarely on Madame Emilia. “How exactly does this work? Do you use a crystal ball or read the tarot cards? Or just free your mind to mentally engage with the spirit world?”

Madame Emilia nodded pleasantly. Then she reached into her velvet bag and drew out a Ouija board.

“Oh,” Meredith said. She looked stunned.

Delaine just looked dismayed. “Eyew,” she said, making a lemon face. “I thought those silly things were only used for Halloween parties at sorority houses.”

Unfazed by Delaine’s negativity, Madame Emilia said, “One can learn a great deal through the Ouija board. It can help divine the truth, peer into the future, administer critical advice, find lost objects . . .”

“And lost people?” Meredith asked. “Can it help with that?”

“We can certainly make an attempt,” Madame Emilia said.

“Because my daughter-in-law is missing and . . .”

Madame Emilia inclined her head toward Meredith. “Yes, Delaine told me all about your circumstances.”

“And . . . and you know that my husband was murdered, too,” Meredith said. Now she leaned back in her chair and dug into her pocketbook for a hankie. “Can you believe the dreadful luck I’ve had?” Tears clung to the tips of her false eyelashes, then dribbled down her cheeks. “It’s enough to drive a person completely bonkers.”

“What would you like to try first?” Madame Emilia asked in a kindly voice. “Perhaps we could attempt to connect with your missing daughter-in-law?”

“Yes . . . absolutely,” Meredith said. “My son is . . .” She waved a hand. “He’s beside himself with grief.”

Theodosia’s brows might have raised a half inch at that last statement.

“Will everyone please lean forward and touch their fingers to the planchette?” Madame Emilia asked.

“Really?” Delaine said.

“Please,” Madame Emilia said.

“I suppose,” Delaine huffed. “But this Ouija stuff has never worked for me.” She poked an index finger at the planchette as if it were a dead rat. “I’m more of a tarot card kind of girl.”

“Just give it a shot, Delaine,” Theodosia urged. The sooner we cooperate, the sooner this will be over.

When everyone’s fingertips were gently touching the planchette, Madame Emilia asked in a deep, resonant voice, “Oh, spirit guide, we ask you to please manifest and help us make contact with our dear missing Fawn. Please use your powers for good to locate our lost girl.”

Theodosia glanced around the table. Madame Emilia was definitely into this, Meredith had her eyes squeezed shut, and Delaine just looked bored.

“Spirit guide?” Madame Emilia said again. “We implore your help.”

Nothing happened. The planchette remained sitting stolidly in the middle of the board.

“It’s not working,” Meredith said in a trembling voice.

“Maybe it needs to warm up,” Delaine said. “Like a sports car. I had an Alfa Romeo once that—”

“Maybe if we ask a more direct question?” Theodosia said.

“Yes!” Meredith said. “Like . . . is Fawn still alive?”

That seemed to be the impetus the planchette needed, because it suddenly spun toward the upper left corner of the board to the image of a smiling sun and the word YES.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Meredith rejoiced. “She’s alive! Fawn is still alive!”

“But where is she?” Delaine asked. “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill here, but we need some hard facts.” She took a finger off the planchette and tapped the board insistently.

“I don’t think we should be so demanding,” Meredith said. “Just knowing Fawn is still alive is enough for me right now.”

“So we should move on?” Theodosia asked.

“Absolutely,” Meredith said. She stifled a little hiccup. “There’s the matter of poor Reginald.”

“I guess a dead husband is important, too,” Delaine said.

“Kindly place your fingers on the planchette again,” Madame Emilia instructed. Everyone complied, and then Madame Emilia said, “Go ahead, Meredith, ask your question.”

“I want to know who murdered Reginald!” she spat out. “Who stole my beloved, my soul mate, away from me!”

“That’s a fair question,” Delaine murmured.

But once again, the planchette was reluctant to move.

“Please!” Meredith implored. “Not knowing is killing me!”

The planchette just sat there.

“Again,” Madame Emilia urged.

Meredith repeated her question.

“Nothing’s happening,” Delaine said. “The thing’s dead as a doornail.”

Madame Emilia shook her head. “There’s a blockage in this room. Someone is holding on to a deep, dark secret.”

A look of panic suddenly swept across Delaine’s face. “I hope you’re not going to reveal anything too personal, are you?”

“I feel it is . . . an old secret of the heart,” Madame Emilia said in a low voice.

Now Delaine looked interested. She leaned forward and said, “What’s the secret?” Her eyes roamed the table. “And who’s holding on to it?”

The Ouija board planchette gave a sudden, spasmodic jerk, then began crawling steadily toward the letters in the center of the board.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Delaine said.

Meredith lifted her fingers as if she’d just touched a hot stove. “Who’s doing that?” she asked. “Who’s . . . who’s making it move so fast like that?”

Three hands remained touching the planchette: those of Theodosia, Madame Emilia, and Delaine.

“This is scaring me!” Meredith cried out. “Make it stop!”

Meredith was making such a fuss that even Drayton came over to watch.

There was no stopping the planchette now as it lurched from the letter C to A then R.

“Car?” Delaine said.

“I think it’s spelling out Carl Clewis,” Theodosia said softly. The planchette was moving even faster now, gathering up speed as it tore across the board.

“That’s it! That’s it exactly!” Drayton said. He was suddenly spellbound by the frantic movement of the planchette, the name it was hastily spelling out.

“Carl Clewis,” Madame Emilia said. “This definitely involves . . . a matter of the heart?” She lifted her head and gazed squarely at Meredith.

Meredith’s eyes bulged as she practically exploded out of her chair. Then she threw her hands in the air and screamed, “Carl Clewis! So what if I used to date him! That means absolutely nothing!”

“Whoa,” Drayton said.

“You used to date him?” Theodosia cried. She was incredulous; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“It was years ago!” An edge of pure hysteria had crept into Meredith’s voice. “And then it was only for a few months!”

“How interesting,” Delaine purred.

Holy buckets, Theodosia thought. This was a new revelation that could have given Meredith yet another reason to get rid of Reginald. Maybe Meredith had suddenly, out of the blue, decided to change partners. Yes, it might be perceived as being a little late in the game, but it could have happened that way. On the other hand, Carl Clewis could have murdered Reginald to settle an old score. Maybe Clewis had nursed his hurt and anger all these many years, only to finally explode with rage.

Meredith had backed away from the table, looking like she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Not knowing what to do, embarrassed by her revelation, she cast a pleading glance at Theodosia.

“Theo?” she gasped.

“I think we’re probably done for today,” Theodosia said in an even tone.

Delaine pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “It’s been grand, folks. This séance didn’t turn out exactly the way I thought it would, but it was interesting, to say the least.”

Meredith was still struggling to regain her composure. “I’m sorry everyone. I thought this would . . . help clear . . .”

Her cell phone suddenly shrilled from deep inside her purse.

Meredith gave a soft sigh, dug it out, and said, “This isn’t a good time right now—” Then she stopped abruptly. “Yes, yes,” she said, her body jerking as if she’d been touched by an electric wire. “You have my attention. I’m listening.”

“Now what’s going on?” Delaine hissed.

Meredith threw up a hand to halt any further conversation. And listened for a few more moments, her eyes growing larger and larger. Finally, she screamed, “This is unbelievable! It’s like a voice from the great beyond!”

Everyone, especially Madame Emilia, looked stunned. What was going on? Who had called Meredith and upset her like this?

Theodosia was the first to recover. “Meredith, what’s happening? Who’s on the phone with you?”

Meredith looked as if she’d just seen a ghost. Or at least talked to one. “This call . . . It’s about Fawn!”

Theodosia grabbed the phone from Meredith’s hands, held it to her ear, and said, “Hello? Who is this?”

“Put the old lady back on,” a cold, hollow voice ordered. It sounded as if it were coming from the depths of the earth. But the sound was kind of mechanical, too.

Stunned, Theodosia handed the phone back to Meredith and leaned in to listen.

“What?” Meredith quavered as she held the phone to her ear. “What do you want?” She listened for a few more moments, then her face suddenly crumpled. Her shoulders slumped, and her demeanor became that of a hundred-year-old woman who was barely hanging on by a thread.

“What’s wrong?” Drayton asked. He nodded to the phone, which was still clutched in Meredith’s hand. “Who is it? What do they want?”

But Meredith raised an arm and batted him away. “Shush, will you? I’m trying to listen!”

Meredith nodded, said, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” a couple more times, then sat down and dropped the phone in her lap.

“Who is it?” Theodosia asked. But she had a terrible, nagging feeling that she already knew.

“It’s the man who-who-who kidnapped Fawn,” Meredith suddenly babbled. “And he’s demanding five million dollars in ransom!”