Chapter 11

About thirty minutes after our Ouija-board session started, it ended, and I was intensely glad of it. I still felt shaky as I walked from the drawing room to the kitchen to avail myself of Aunt Vi's promised lunch. My feelings stumbled around inside me like reeling drunkards, and I felt a trifle sickish in my tummy, but I decided what had happened with the Ouija board and Rolly was a mere fluke, prompted by the unpleasant stresses of the last day or so. Not to mention talking to Dr. Benjamin that morning and my deplorable supposition concerning Marianne Grenville and her late, unlamented father.

I only hoped I was right and my life would come to its senses soon, if not instantly. I prayed for instantly.

"Good heavens, Daisy, what happened to you?" said Vi as soon as I'd set foot in her kitchen lair.

"Do I look that bad?" Guess my prayer had gone unanswered. Again. I sighed and sat on one of the chairs placed at the kitchen table against the wall.

"You only look a trifle pale, dear. Are you feeling all right?"

"Um... Yes. I'm fine. I just had a little Ouija-board session with Mrs. Pinkerton."

"Oh, dear. Was she in a state?"

"Oddly enough, she wasn't. It's just... Well, I don't know. Something weird happened."

"Oh, is that all?"

I stared at my aunt. "What do you mean, 'Is that all'? It scared me to death!"

Her eyes narrowed and she gazed upon me with some concern. "I'm sorry. What scared you?"

I shook my head. "It sounds stupid."

"That's all right, dear. If it will help you feel better, please tell me about it."

"Well..." Shoot, I felt like an idiot. "Well, the Ouija board kind of got away from me when Mrs. P and I were using it."

"It got away from you? It ran out the door? I'm not sure what that means, Daisy." Vi, bless her, sat in a chair near mine and took one of my hands, which she squeezed reassuringly. "I don't understand, dear."

"I don't, either. It spelled out things I hadn't intended for it to spell out." Beginning to feel a little more peeved than spooked, I blurted out, "And it sounded just like Sam!"

Peering hard at me and obviously puzzled, Vi said, "Goodness. I thought your Ouija-board antics were all make-believe."

"So did I."

"What did it say? Or does it speak?"

"It doesn't speak. It spells things out. Since I made Rolly up when I was only ten, it's not supposed to be able to spell well, but nobody remembers that part. Anyway, it spells correctly these days."

"If it's you, I expect it does," said Vi, still squinting. "But whatever happened, dear? You really do look a trifle frazzled."

"Frazzled. That's a good word for it." I took in a deep breath and released it. "When Mrs. Pinkerton asked the Ouija board—well, she thought she was asking Rolly, but you know what I—"

"Yes," said Vi, probably not meaning to interrupt, but knowing what I was going to say because I'd said it so often. "I know what you mean."

"Well, when she asked the Ouija board—which she thought was being ruled by Rolly—if it or he—Oh, bother. When she asked it if it knew who'd killed Doctor Wagner, darned if that idiotic planchette didn't just zip right up to the 'Yes' at the top of the board!"

"Oh." Vi let my hand go with a little reassuring pat. "That doesn't sound too terrible, sweetie."

"Maybe not to you. But I hadn't intended it to say it knew who the murderer is. Was. Well, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I do. But I'm still not sure what has you so upset, Daisy. Tell me about it while I fix your lunch."

"Thanks, Vi. Let me see if I can make this make sense. If that makes sense." I heaved a sigh. "Oh, dear."

"You just sit there and relax, sweetie, and think about what happened. Then you can tell me so that I can understand."

I almost heard the unspoken "I hope" she didn't utter. And how could she understand what had happened when I didn't?

Fiddlesticks. I thought hard for a moment or two, watching Vi as she moved around the kitchen. Looked as if I were going to be eating a sandwich for lunch that day. That was all right by me.

"Very well," I said at last, hoping I'd mentally sorted out what had happened and what my feelings were. "The thing is that, even though I know I'm the one doing the thinking during a Ouija-board session, I never consciously direct the planchette to do anything. It just does what I want it to do, because I'm the brains behind it." If brains were involved. I was beginning to think my own personal brain had acquired leaks. "Maybe brains isn't a good word."

"It's a fine word, dear," said Vi with a short laugh.

Well, she could laugh. She hadn't just been involved in an uncanny Ouija-board session. But never mind that.

I went on. "But today, I had aimed to tell Mrs. Pinkerton that Rolly—that is, the Ouija board—didn't have a clue who murdered Doctor Wagner. I sure don't know who did it. But the stupid planchette went to the 'Yes' and just sat there."

Vi turned to peer at me from the stove, where she stirred something in a small saucepan. "That sounds odd," said she.

"It was odd! Ridiculously odd! I don't have a single, solitary notion who the killer is, but the stupid planchette said it did know. What's more, when Mrs. P asked if it knew the killer by name, it stayed on the 'Yes'. But I don't know the murderer's name, so if I don't know, how could the Ouija board know?"

"I don't know," said Vi.

My elbows rested on the table, and I sank my head into my hands. "I don't, either. And then, when Mrs. P asked if it would reveal the name of the killer at Mrs. Frasier's séance tomorrow night, it said it wouldn't."

"Oh?" Vi had commenced ladling out what looked like soup into a pretty flowered bowl. Mrs. Pinkerton had lovely china. Several patterns' worth, according to Vi and my friend Edie Applewood, who worked as Mrs. P's lady's maid. "Why is that? Did it tell you?"

I lifted my head in time to see Vi use a spatula to lift a toasted sandwich from the stove-top grill and on to a flowered plate that matched the flowered bowl. Then she cut the grilled sandwich into two neat triangles. Whatever my lunch was going to be that day, I probably wouldn't be able to it justice.

Or maybe I could. Just because my brain was in a muddle didn't mean I couldn't still enjoy food, right?

Putting the bowl, plate, some silverware—real silver silverware, in Mrs. P's house—onto a tray and adding a napkin, Vi brought it to me and set it out on the table as if she were a waitress.

"Thanks, Vi," said I, looking at what appeared to be a toasted sandwich with cheese, ham and tomatoes on it. The soup was definitely cream of tomato. Vi made the best cream of tomato soup in the entire world. That shouldn't surprise anyone, since she makes the best everything in the entire world. "This looks spectacular."

"I used pumpernickel bread, because I know you like it."

"You're so good to me, Vi."

"But go on with your story. Maybe the séance will solve the murder and Sam will be happy with you."

"For once," I said for her, since she'd never say such a thing.

"Nonsense. Sam loves you to death, Daisy. You know that."

Another sigh. "I know it. And I love him. But that doesn't solve the problem of who killed Doctor Wagner."

"But I don't understand. According to you, the Ouija board said it—or Rolly or... well, I don't know—But you said it said it knew who the killer was and even the killer's name."

"Yes, it claims to know. I don't have a single, solitary clue."

"Well, then, but the Ouija board—or whatever—said it does know. If it knows the killer's name, why won't it say who it is?" She wrinkled her nose. "Not that I believe in that sort of thing, you understand."

"I understand," I said after heaving a sigh.

"Then why won't it say the killer's name?"

"Beats me, but when Mrs. P asked if it would reveal the name at the séance, it said it wouldn't. And then, when she asked why it wouldn't, the stupid thing spelled out 'Not my job'. I swear, Aunt Vi, it sounded just like Sam!"

"Really? Why wouldn't Sam tell you the name of the murderer if he knew?"

"Sam would tell if he knew. But Sam doesn't know."

A moment of silence passed while I bit off the end of my absolutely scrumptious sandwich. While Vi had cut the sandwich in half, she didn't bother removing the crusts, which was all right with me since that seems a terribly wasteful habit. That's probably why rich people did it. To prove they're richer than the rest of us mere mortals and could afford to waste food and money.

I'm sorry. I'm not really crabby most of the time. I hope.

"Um... I don't understand, dear," said Vi.

"Neither do I."

"But... but aren't you and Rolly the same thing? I mean, you made up Rolly, didn't you? So how could he know something you don't know?"

I took a sip of soup. Amazing. It tasted as if Vi had sautéed some onions and maybe some mushrooms and added them to the plain old tomato soup. Not that Vi's tomato soup is ever plain or old.

"That's the thing!" I said, splashing my spoon into my soup by accident. I guess frustration does that to a person. "I'm sorry, Vi," said I, blotting up the spill with my napkin. "I don't know. I never would have said Rolly knows who the murderer is because I don't know who the murderer is!" I set my spoon beside my bowl and gazed sorrowfully down upon my delicious lunch. "I'm so confused, Vi. This has never happened before."

Never mind the time I was at a séance and the ghost of Eddie Hastings suddenly popped out of my mouth. Or the time I was playing a fortune-teller at one of Mrs. Pinkerton's parties to benefit the Pasadena Humane Society and my stupid crystal ball showed me a bunch of trees, thereby leading to the rescue of a kidnapped butler. Those things were disconcerting enough, but I'd never, ever, not once, lost control of the Ouija board's inhuman, inanimate, unconscious, lifeless, carved wooden planchette.

Until that day.

"I'm sorry, dear," said Vi. She was concerned; I could tell. She also had no more idea what to do about my problem than did I. I also got the impression she didn't think the problem was a big deal. Guess it wasn't to her, but her job didn't include spiritualist-medium-ing.

Nerts.

After heaving another heartfelt sigh, I said, "I just don't know what to do. Maybe I won't have to do anything. Maybe Rolly or the Ouija board or the planchette or something will relent and deign to surrender the killer's name at tomorrow night's séance." I didn't believe it.

Neither, evidently, did Vi. She rose from her chair, her face a pattern-card of disbelief. "Well, dear, I don't know if that will be any better."

"What do you mean?" I gazed at my aunt in surprise.

"If that crazy thing spells out a name, who's to say it's right or wrong? I mean, you can't just go around accusing people of murder without proof, can you?"

"But I wouldn't be the one accusing anyone," I said feebly.

"Perhaps not, but who will believe that, dear? You're supposed to be in charge of all those spiritualist... whatever you call thems. Arcana? I'm not sure if that's the right word."

"I think it is," I said, drooping slightly.

"Well, then, aren't you the one who's supposed to be in control of those things?"

"Yes."

"But in this case you aren't?"

"Right."

Vi stood there for a moment or two, peering down at me with concern. We were in agreement there. I was concerned, too.

However, that didn't stop me from finishing and enjoying my delicious lunch.