I put the receiver in its cradle and went to the kitchen door to let Zenora in. The sky had gone from murky gray to pitch black in a matter of minutes. The second she set foot in the door, she recoiled and pulled a small vial of who knows what from the pocket of her black gauchos.
“Hyssop oil for combating negativity. I ran out of myrrh.”
She said it matter-of-factly, as if she had run out of milk or sugar.
I held up my palm and widened my eyes. “Don’t drip it anywhere. Um, maybe you’d like to put your cape over one of the chairs.”
“Good idea. Don’t worry, all I plan to do is wave the vial of oil in my immediate vicinity until a sense of calmness takes over and I can begin the interior chant.”
With that, Zenora removed what was left of the turban and flung the solar system cape, for lack of a better description, over one of the kitchen chairs. She proceeded to wave the glass vial across her chest. Her long grayish black hair fell in waves across her back and shoulders. Up close, I could see small crow’s-feet and the start of marionette lines around her mouth. With the dark hair against her pale skin, I guessed her age to be late forties or maybe even early fifties. I was pretty certain the contrast in coloring made her look older and more severe.
“I can begin now,” she said.
“Um, sure. You can—”
“Yeeowl! Yeeaw! Yeeyee habamana, habamana.” The words flew out of her mouth like a primordial scream. Charlie raced up the stairs and most likely hid under the nearest bed. Zenora continued her protective chant while I stood speechless in the middle of the kitchen before venturing into the other rooms to watch. She moved about the house, staying close to the exterior walls. Occasionally she’d pause, take out that vial of hers, wave it around, and then continue with her mantra.
It was hard to believe that the woman I watched was formerly known as Mabel Ann and still made her living as a file clerk for one of the university libraries. Most likely in a remote part of the building.
Finally, I took a seat at the kitchen table, leaned my elbow on the flat surface, and rested my head in the palm of my hand. The loud screeching, grinding noise penetrated my eardrums and I wondered if I’d ever be able to decipher human speech again. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Zenora walked into the kitchen and said, “I used an elemental dispersion technique to send the cleansing spirits to the upper level of your house.”
“Dispersion technique?”
“A special waving motion to capture the energy in the air.”
I swallowed. “Good. Very good.” I figured if nothing else, the dog would appreciate her remaining on the ground floor.
“I need to do the same thing with your basement. Can you point me to the door?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing to the latched door. “If you need the light, there’s a switch on the other side of the door.”
“No light needed. Only energy.”
I watched from my seat at the table as Zenora opened the door, waved her arms and mumbled something that sounded like “habanero peppers.” When she completed her ritual chant, she returned to the table and sat down.
“I’m exhausted,” she said. “Cleansing a house takes so much spiritual and physical energy.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Or some tea? I’ve got peppermint and green tea.”
“Green tea would be lovely.”
I walked to the Keurig, selected the appropriate K-Cup pod and plopped it in.
“Automatic tea?” Zenora gasped. “You’re making automatic tea?”
I nodded. “Is something wrong? It tastes fine. I think it’s just dehydrated tea leaves compressed into these tiny pods.”
Zenora looked as if she’d dropped a priceless heirloom. “But there won’t be any tea leaves to read.”
Suddenly I had my moment. My opportunity to request the favor of all time from her. I added bottled water to the Keurig and turned on the machine. “Zenora, would you be willing to read Priscilla McCoy’s tea leaves?”
“The actress? The one who was filming in your vineyard? Glenda told me all about her. Does she want her tea leaves read?”
“No. I do.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
The blue light came on the Keurig and I plopped the green tea pod into position. “Okay. I’m not sure how much Glenda’s told you exactly, but Priscilla might have been coerced into sneaking in here to leave the victim’s eyeglasses in my nightstand.”
“Glenda mentioned the glasses. Thought it was Devora’s doing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m more inclined to believe it was someone who could actually hold them, as opposed to . . . oh, I don’t know. Teleporting them?”
“Glenda and I understand the powers that the restless dead may have. It’s a gift.”
I tried not to roll my eyes but it was tough. “If it wasn’t Devora’s doing, it might have been Priscilla. I thought maybe if you read her tea leaves, you could say something that would convince her to tell the truth. Priscilla’s kind of high strung and one Kleenex away from a full- blown sobfest.”
The machine stopped its chortling noises and I handed Zenora the cup of tea. “I have sugar and honey.”
“I like my tea as is.” She took a sip and held the cup in her hand. “You know, reading someone’s tea leaves could take hours. And from what I sense, having cleansed your house, Priscilla might not have acted alone. I felt more than one undesirable presence in here.”
Most likely Deputy Hickman.
“So you won’t do it?”
“Not the tea leaves, something more profound. If you really want to find out who was in your house, you’ll have to accept the fact that it may have been the murderer. In order to do that, I will need to read everyone’s auras.”
Auras. At least I won’t have to go to Wegmans to buy loose-leaf tea.
“The entire film crew? All seven of them?” I swore I could hear my voice crack.
Zenora placed the cup on the table and covered her mouth. For a moment I thought she was going to be sick. “Seven. The number seven. Glenda didn’t prepare me for this.”
“What’s wrong with the number seven? It’s a prime number, sure, but there are lots of those.”
Zenora pressed her fingertips into her temples and took a breath. “Seven is a biblical number and a mystical number. Its associations are far-reaching and incomprehensible.”
“So I guess the answer is no?”
“On the contrary. One murder victim and seven auras is a sign I can’t ignore.”
“Great. Auras. Um, not to sound dismissive, but isn’t aura reading about personality traits? How’s that going to help me find out the truth?”
“Auras can change with a person’s current circumstance. Think of them like flickering lights. And some colors cannot be ignored. Brown for confusion. Deep red or purple for sudden change, and black, the most toxic of all. A black aura can mean someone is harboring anger, or worse yet, hatred. Once revealed, the puzzle pieces you’ve toiled over will suddenly fit. Names and information will be like tiny pieces of metal drawn to a powerful magnet.”
For a minute, all I could think of were those silly magnetic games we played as kids, putting hair on a cartoon character’s face. I knew Zenora didn’t go into the guest bathroom because I watched her as she did her chant. And yet, I had the most unsettling feeling she knew exactly what was on the oval mirror.
Like it or not, Zenora had given me the plan I needed. Granted, it was loosely woven and would take some solid planning to put it in place, but still, it was better than anything I could come up with.
“That’s wonderful, Zenora. Give me a few days to work things out.”
“You won’t have a few days.”
“What do you mean?”
“The storm that’s coming isn’t like the other spring storms we’ve had.”
“It’s media hype. Probably to get everyone to spend money at the supermarkets.”
“Not this time. My bones can feel the difference in the air. Heavier pressure. Like a force grounding all of us to the center of the earth until it passes.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She shook her head. “I have no control over the forces of nature, but I’d make it early in the week if I were you.”
“Fine. Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll let you know when we can meet at the winery.”
“Oh, no. Not the winery. It has to be here. In your house. I have everything cleansed. We can’t take a chance holding it elsewhere.”
I looked around the kitchen and living room, mentally trying to figure out where to place everyone. With the seven-member film crew, not to mention Theo and Don because I wouldn’t dare do this hocus-pocus without them, that would be nine. Then Zenora and I would make it eleven. Of course, I’d have to have Glenda here, not to mention Cammy, and I couldn’t very well leave Godfrey out of the mix, so all in all, I’d need to squeeze fourteen. And what about Bradley? Would he really feel like doing this after work? Or any other time?
While I rearranged furniture in my head, I wondered how I’d break the news to him. The guy was about as straight as could be, and even though my plan was destined to get results, I wasn’t convinced he’d go for my approach. Then there was the film crew. I couldn’t very well tell them I was having a psychic dabbler read their auras. Aargh. Words like manipulation and coercion came to mind but I wasn’t that sneaky. Or skilled, for that matter. And if Neville was going to make an appearance, then time was running out.
“Um, one more thing, Zenora. You’ll have to read the auras without them knowing it. Mill around. Be inconspicuous.”
Who was I kidding?
Zenora clasped the palms of her hands together. “I can’t read auras while people are in motion. They have to be still. Calm. As if they were meditating or enjoying Savasana, the yoga corpse pose.”
Terrific. How am I going to get a room full of people in corpse poses? They’d have to be—
“I think I have a way. I’ll let you know.”
I thanked Zenora and told her I’d call the next day. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the only person who could force the film crew to come to my house and to sit perfectly still—Renee.
Unfortunately, the call went to voicemail, but I left her a very compelling message:
“If you want your film crew to return to Toronto instead of lingering in Yates County Sheriff’s limbo, you need to insist they come to my house for a film screening on Wednesday. I think I can root out the killer. Call me.”
No way was I going to tell her it was for an aura reading with a would-be mystic who also categorized academic files in order to pay the rent. Renee had enough to worry about. Since I knew film directors always reviewed the footage before sending it off to the editing department, I figured if Renee could convince Gordon Wable that the screenwriter needed to see it as well, it would be the perfect ploy to get him, the actors, and his crew into the house. Then Zenora and I could take it from there.