Chapter 14

I wrapped things up with Tommy soon after Trixie appeared. Not because he could see her, but because I was too tired and too frayed to continue a conversation with him while Trixie was around. Especially when I could tell she was bursting to talk to me.

I walked Tommy down to the lobby and sent him home with instructions to let me know what his lawyers thought of his new defense.

“I will, and…” He struggled with the next bit. “Thanks, Nora.”

A thank you? From him? I was too shocked to respond.

The minute the doors closed behind him Trixie launched into an excited report of the plans she’d overheard for the séance.

Oh, right. I’d agreed to hold a séance.

“Lillian will be there and Monica and those two other gals who were with her—I didn’t catch their names—”

“Probably Abby and Kristy,” I said.

“Sure,” she nodded, curls bouncing. “And Albert, and Hector and his cousin—”

“Gabriela,” I supplied. I wondered how they’d even heard this thing was happening. Had Callie heard about it yet? Because I really wanted to see the look on her face when she did.

“Don’t you think it’s awfully nice of them to go to so much trouble to meet me when they don’t even know me?” Trixie asked. “I mean—oh, you know what I mean. They know about me ’cause of the way I died and all, but they don’t know me.”

“It’s awfully nice,” I agreed.

“They don’t even know I’m the only one. They think there are other ghosts hanging around, too. Like that showgirl everyone’s always talking about from the old Vaudeville days, and even that fella who died right when you got here, remember him?”

“Vividly.” I’d found the body of Hector’s brother on my first day at the Palace. It wasn’t something I was likely to forget.

Did Hector really think he’d be able to contact his brother from the misty beyond? Did Hector believe in ghosts? Because if he did…

“I hope they’re not disappointed that it’s just me,” Trixie said, looking doubtful. Then she brightened. “Gee, I can’t wait!”

“Trixie,” I said. “I know you’re excited, but maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up too much.”

She waved her hands. “I know. Nobody else might be able to see me, no matter what kind of hocus pocus they do.”

That raised some alarming questions in my mind. “What kind of hocus pocus are they planning?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Oh, candles and things. Between Lillian and Monica they had all sorts of ideas.”

“I bet they did. Still…”

“I know, Nora.” She sobered. “They probably won’t be able to see me, and that’s all right. It would be wonderful if they could, but just the fact that they want to is pretty darn great.”

“It is,” I agreed, wishing, not for the first time, that I could hug my friend.

  

As I finally walked home I gave thanks that Trixie hadn’t shown up in the break room a few seconds earlier and heard me arguing with Tommy about closing the Palace for good. I couldn’t imagine what the thought of that might do to Trixie, who seemed destined to spend the rest of eternity in the theater where she’d died.

I considered myself Trixie’s caretaker. As long as I was able, I’d keep the Palace safe for her. But how long would I be able? The thing about eternity is that it’s longer than one lifetime.

I didn’t believe in séances, but I hadn’t believed in ghosts before I’d met one. I wondered if Lillian, in all her metaphysical explorations, had ever come across a way to help a stranded ghost move on. It was something I hadn’t really considered before. Trixie assumed she’d missed her one chance to go when she’d chosen to stay behind after her death. But what if there was another way?

I looked up at the sky, the stars dim in the dear-dawn light, and I did what I do best. I worried.

  

After a solid three hours sleep I woke to worry about something else. A text from Tommy.

 

The lawyers think the thing about S holding me hostage over the game is a good start for a defense. But what they really want is a plausible alternate theory. That means I need to point the finger at someone else. Meet me for breakfast. I got a suite at the Four Seasons. Let’s brainstorm.

 

Typical. I’d handed him a nice little get-out-of-jail-free theory and now he wanted more. No, he expected more.

I did not reply. Instead I threw the covers off and fumed. Once again he expected me to drop whatever I was doing and come to him. At the Four Seasons, no less. Tommy and I had very different definitions of what it meant to be broke.

But as I showered and dressed, fuming gave way to thinking. And I thought the lawyers were right. The police were unlikely to give up on Tommy as a suspect unless they had a more promising line of enquiry. So I was back to the question I’d asked Callie the day before—if Tommy hadn’t killed S, who had?

This was the kind of question best mulled over coffee. I was halfway to the kitchen before I remembered I was out. I cursed cruel fate and sent a text to Tommy.

 

I’ll be at Café Madeline in ten minutes.

 

He could come to me.

  

“Coffee,” I said pleadingly to Lisa when I got to the Café’s counter. “Much, much coffee.”

“Sit,” she ordered, assessing me with a professional’s eye. “I know how tired I am after last night, and you were still at it after I left. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. Why are you up so early?”

I didn’t mind her question, since it was accompanied by her filling a giant cup and grabbing a chocolate croissant before steering me toward a window table.

I sat and took a restorative sip. “You are a goddess and I worship you,” I informed Lisa.

“Sure. You and everyone else.” She joined me at the table. “What’s up?”

I took a deep drink before answering her. “I’m meeting Tommy for breakfast and brainstorming.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Tommy who? Tommy May?” She lowered her voice, darting a look at the customers around us. “The guy who murdered his business partner?”

I took a bite of croissant and started to feel the tiniest bit awake. “He didn’t do it,” I said. “At least I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”

“Why are you even talking to him?” she asked. “I seem to recall you and Monica wanting to kill him a few days ago over something he said in a meeting.”

Oh. Right. We’d talked about that at the very table where I now sat. “That may have been a misunderstanding,” I told Lisa. “Either that or he’s realized he has to change his mind about the Palace if he wants me to help him.” I’m not an idiot—this thought had occurred to me. Was Tommy just manipulating me—telling me what I wanted to hear—to get my help now that he needed it? And if that were true, would I be able to count on him not changing his mind again once he was cleared?

I downed the rest of the coffee. “There’s a lot I need to figure out,” I told Lisa. “Thus, a breakfast meeting.”

She nodded, then glanced at something out the window. “That has to be him now.”

I looked out and saw a low-slung sportscar in the process of parking across the street. The car looked like the one James Bond drives, and it was parking illegally in the loading zone in front of the Palace, so I agreed with Lisa. That had to be Tommy.

I saw his silhouette in the driver’s seat as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He took a long drink of something before opening the door. Probably an energy drink, but I’d bet anything it wasn’t the brand S had endorsed.

“Why do people drink those energy drinks when there’s coffee in the world?” I asked Lisa.

“Branding,” she said. “I’ll get you a refill and some menus.” She left with a grin.

Tommy extracted himself from the car, and I noticed he didn’t look for oncoming traffic before stepping into the street. I was mentally calling him an idiot when he staggered. He stopped in the middle of the street and shook his head, as if to clear it. Then he looked toward the café window, and our eyes met as he put a hand to his throat. An expression of panic flooded his face. He opened his mouth and said something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Then he fell to the street in a heap.