Chapter 8

The following morning, I meditated in the living room. With my back to the window, I let the midday sun warm my head and shoulders as I revisited the facts in my mind. Jared was dead. Amy had been a pawn, a plant by Carlene and Jared to secure his inheritance. Dr. Conroy was beyond consolation and had insisted upon an investigation. The police were biding their time, waiting for an official coroner’s report to write off the entire case as nothing more than an accidental death. And I was uncomfortable, convinced the doctor was right—Jared had been murdered. But by whom?

I had three possible suspects: Raul, Billy, and Matthew, but no evidence. Furthermore, why the luminaries? Why were the doctor’s late wife and his former lover still in the house? What was their mission? I doubted they had anything to do with Jared’s murder. Luminaries, like ghosts, don’t kill. They solicit others to do their bidding. I found it difficult to think a parent, particularly a mother, would seek to murder her own child.

My mind was swirling with possibilities when my cell phone rang. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it would be Amy. I had sensed an anxious energy around her all morning, and while I felt she was troubled, I didn’t feel she was in any danger.

“Hello?”

“Misty, it’s Amy. I wanted to remind you about Jared’s memorial tomorrow. I need you there. Please, tell me you’ll come.”

Amy’s voice was fragile and thin. I pictured her alone inside that big Conroy mansion, in a room the doctor had prepared for her, still fighting back the tears.

“You really want me there? It sounds more like a family affair. I’m not sure I belong.” I didn’t want to disappoint Amy, but convincing me to come was easy. Just not for the reason she thought.

“It’s just—” I heard a catch in Amy’s voice, the tears weren’t far behind. “I don’t have that many friends in town. After we talked, I felt like you understood me. Jared and I were so busy. I never had time to make friends of my own. Only Carlene and Billy.”

“Billy?” Amy hadn’t said anything about a Billy? “Who’s Billy?”

“An old friend. It’s a long story. I’ll explain later, but I really need you at the memorial. Please? Ten o’clock. The Methodist church on Wilshire in Beverly Hills. Promise me you’ll be there.”

I promised and as I hung up the phone, closed my eyes. Amy was hiding something, maybe something of which she wasn’t even conscious. The feeling, like a blanket over my head, hung heavy about me.

Wilson sat opposite me, in the wingback chair with the paper in his lap.

“Still no word from the other side on Jared?” I asked.

I had hoped that among the spirit world news of Jared’s sudden passing might have sparked some chatter. Some clue I might use to prove to Detective Romero that Jared’s death hadn’t been accidental, but the result of something much more sinister.

“You mean other than the poor boy’s officially dead? No.” Wilson folded the paper and placed it back on the coffee table. “In fact, things are oddly quiet on this side of the veil.”

I closed my eyes. Usually, spirits, or newly departed spirits anyway, return for a short spell after passing. Sometimes they’ll even leave some kind of signal to those they’ve left behind to reassure them. I have seen it dozens of times. My own mother flicked the lights off and on in the room where she died when I returned to pay my final respects. It was her way of reassuring me she was still with me. The perfect signal, since she was forever yelling at me to turn off the lights. Thinking about it still brings a smile to my face.

“I find it odd that there’s been no signal,” I said. “Don’t you?”

“Unless there’s no one left behind who Jared felt needed reassuring.”

“There is Amy.”

“Who’s to say Jared hasn’t tried? Perhaps in her grief, Amy’s blocking him.”

“Or maybe it’s more than grief,” I said. “It might be she’s relieved she doesn’t have to marry him after all, and she’s feeling guilty.” I never felt Amy was truly in love. Jared had done everything he could to convince the girl he was in love with her. Travel. Gifts. But was she really in love with him? I had my doubts. “Could be she doesn’t want to hear from him, or she’s afraid to.”

“If there’s no one left for a spirit to reassure, there’s no need to return. I was hardly inclined to do so for my sister.”

There was a knock at the door, a familiar rap, rap, rap, followed by my name.

“Speaking of whom,” I said.

“Again?”

I smiled.

Wilson returned to the study and slammed the door behind him.

  

“Oh good, you’re here.” Denise barged through the door with a bunch of large purple flowering chrysanthemums in her hands. She pressed past me and went directly to the dining room and placed the flowers on the table. “I thought I’d bring these by. A client sent them over. I’ve been sneezing all morning. Look at this, will you?”

Denise held her arms out for me to see. She had red scratchy bumps everywhere. “I’ve got them on my arms. My neck. My chest. I’m either coming down with something, or I’m allergic to these beauties.”

I adjusted the flowers in a vase on the table and centered them so the light hit them just right.

“I made an appointment with an allergist. I have to do something. Whatever this is, it’s ruining what I planned to wear tomorrow for Jared’s memorial.”

“You’re going?” It hadn’t occurred to me Denise might go.

“Of course I’m going. Cesar invited me. I’m to be his cover. He can’t show up at a memorial looking like a cop, not if he’s supposed to be looking for a murderer.”

“I thought Detective Romero wasn’t working the case and didn’t think Jared was murdered.”

“He doesn’t, but Jared’s father does and insisted LAPD keep investigating. The doctor’s convinced whoever murdered Jared will show up at the memorial. You know how money talks in this town. If the doctor wants a detective, the doctor gets a detective. So Romero’s going. Detective Williams asked him to help out. How about you? You going, too?” Denise asked as though Jared’s memorial was going to be the big social event of the year.

“Amy insisted,” I said. “She—”

“Trouble is,” Denise prattled on, “I have this fabulous, frilly, little lavender number I want to wear. Scoop neck. Sleeveless. And now what am I going to do? I can’t go all broken out like this. People won’t want to talk to me. They’ll think I’m contagious or something awful.”

“It’s a memorial, Denise. You really think a sundress is appropriate?”

“Why?” Denise looked at me. “What are you going to wear?”

“Really?” I gestured with my hands open and looked down at my uniform, my tie-dyed t-shirt, long skirt, and Ugg boots.

“You’re missing the point, Misty. It’s Jared Conroy. His memorial. Do you know what that means? The entire Conroy clan will be there, and so will Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Ugh!” Denise tossed her head and looked at the ceiling. “For someone who used to read for some of Hollywood’s biggest names, you amaze me. Elizabeth Conroy?” She looked at me, shaking her head, her hands in the air. “The doctor’s sister? President of CTA? Do I need to spell it out for you? Conroy Talent Agency? One of the largest talent agencies in the world?”

“Ahh, of course.” I sat down. “And you’re hoping to use Jared’s memorial as an opportunity to introduce yourself?”

“Don’t judge me. An actress has to seize the moment. Which, by the way, is escaping me as I speak. And if I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my appointment with my allergist. Cross your fingers that this, whatever it is, is nothing I can’t cover with makeup. See you tomorrow.”