Deadline, p.20
Deadline, page 20
“She’s right. It’s not too late to change your mind.” Toots wasn’t sure she wanted to participate in the hastily planned performance, but Sophie was more serious than ever about doing it before Bernice came out of surgery. If they were lucky, they’d contact a spirit and maybe it would have an explanation for Sophie’s urgency.
Ida and Mavis placed the candles in the formal dining room. In Charleston, they didn’t have the old wooden table or the purple silk sheet Sophie always used, so they had to make do with an old tablecloth that had horses splashed all over a dark green background. Toots had no clue where it had come from. But it was old, and old worked. She kept extra rocks glasses in the hutch in the kitchen.
Mavis shut the heavy drapes and made sure the air-conditioning vents were closed. “Do you have the glasses?”
“Right here,” Toots assured her. “Let’s hurry it up. Sophie’s getting pencil and paper just in case this spirit decides it wants to communicate by scribbling.”
The props were finally in place. As soon as Sophie flew downstairs with her pencil and paper, they gathered in the dining room and prepared to receive any otherworldly entity that cared to make its presence known.
“Jamie, there are a few things I always say beforehand. We don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to condense what I normally say. Are you sure you’re up for this?” Sophie asked in the voice she always used during the séances. Calm, soothing, nothing like the crass, loud Sophie they all knew.
“Yes. I’m a little nervous, but I’m excited, too. I’m hoping sometime we can try to contact my grandmother,” Jamie whispered.
“She might contact us tonight. We won’t know until someone does visit us. Let’s get started. Remember, we don’t have the luxury of time.”
The dining room was dark except for the candles placed throughout the room. The golden flames danced despite the lack of any air circulating.
Sophie sat at the head of the table, Toots to her left, Mavis to her right. Ida sat next to Mavis, and Jamie took the seat next to Toots.
“Let’s all join hands,” Sophie instructed in her soothing voice. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
“We’re here tonight to make contact with the other side. If there is a presence in the room and you wish to communicate, slide the glass in the center of the table to the right for yes. Slide the glass to the left for no. We ask that you enter peacefully, without evil intent.” Sophie and the others watched the glass.
Nothing.
Taking another deep breath, Sophie closed her eyes. Once again speaking in a soft tone, she tried coaxing the netherworld to the present. “Is there a spirit who is willing to speak through me? I am not frightened. We are not frightened. We want to help you.” Sophie squeezed Toots’s hand. Toots squeezed back.
“Is there a male spirit, perhaps once married to one of us in the room, who wants to make his presence known?”
Toots shot Sophie a dirty look. She knew who Sophie was referring to.
Ida chose that moment to mumble. “Toots, I guess now that Evie Thackeray is dead, you can finally claim the title of living woman with the most ex-husbands.”
“Be quiet, Ida! Now isn’t the time,” Sophie admonished.
Not caring that they were in the middle of contacting the other side, Toots responded to Ida’s taunting. “I’ve always wondered who awaits me in the afterlife. Am I going to have my own harem of husbands waiting for me?”
“Only if they all end up in hell,” Ida stated.
“No, I’m serious. Who is going to be there to greet me, and which one could I end up stuck with for eternity?”
Temporarily giving up on the séance, Sophie chimed in, her crass voice taking the place of the calming one she’d used just minutes before. “Hopefully not the pervert. Which husband was it that used to get off on watching you go to the bathroom?”
“How is it you remember all of this, and I don’t?” Toots asked.
Jamie smiled, but remained silent.
“I’ve always wondered what goes on in the afterlife. I mean, if we were sexual dynamos in life, will we be able to have as much sex as we want, or will we be required to sit around and listen to harp music while everyone tries to keep their white robes clean? I bet Evangelista Thackeray is up there right now trying to figure out which ex-husband she wants for eternity,” Ida said.
“Spoken like a true slut,” Sophie added.
Not wanting to be left out, Mavis added her two cents’ worth. “I wonder if she will look like she did when she died, or like she did forty years ago? I’m guessing that would make a big difference in her ability to pick up a new husband in the afterlife.”
“I wonder if we could find that out? I would sure like to know that for myself. If I have to spend eternity looking the same way I do when I die, I’m going to reconsider my views on plastic surgery. Of course, if I’m lucky enough to have Ida do my final face, I guess I won’t have to worry about it,” Sophie said before turning to Toots.
Before Toots could say anything, Ida said, “I don’t think it would be that hard to get an answer. Maybe we should try and find out for ourselves. What about it, Sophie? Would it be a sin against the paranormal to use your abilities in pursuit of our eternal beauty?”
“It probably is, but I don’t think there’s any harm in finding out. I’m actually a little curious myself. It’s just a matter of trying to channel a spirit who is willing to give up some time from their eternal happiness to provide us with beauty tips. We would have to find someone who had lost her beauty and would be able to tell us if she got it back.” Sophie was herself again, the serious medium gone.
Toots wondered if it was Sophie’s uncanny ability of offering a sort of psychic comic relief.
“I bet Evangelista Thackeray would know the answer to that,” Ida said.
Excited, Mavis asked, “Do you think we have a chance of getting in touch with her? I agree with Ida. If anyone would be able to tell us about regaining her looks, she would be the right person to talk with. So what do you think, Sophie, is it possible?”
“Anything is possible.”
“Then let’s give it a try since I’m dying to find out,” Toots said.
“I bet that’s the exact same thing Evangelista thought right before she passed, so be careful what you wish for, Toots,” Mavis advised.
“Okay, enough with the smart-alecky remarks. We need to get serious and focus if we’re going to be able to channel someone specific at will. What do you think is the best way to go about doing this, Sophie?” Ida asked, overly excited at the prospect.
“We’re not going to need specific answers, just a simple yes or no, so I imagine there really won’t be very much to it. You girls just need to settle down and get serious. Respect the process, or it won’t work.”
Sophie watched as the candlelight flickered. She suddenly got a feeling of trepidation, as if there was a bigger underlying reason behind this séance than what she and the girls had been thinking. Noticing the sudden change in her demeanor, the group gathered around the table suddenly realized something wasn’t right with Sophie. Her fierce, firm, unafraid appearance was gone, replaced with the face of a genuinely frightened woman.
“Is everything okay, Sophie?” Mavis asked. “You don’t look good.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a feeling there is something more to this than we think, and I’m afraid to find out what it is.”
“That’s never stopped us before. If anything, it’s all the more reason for us to go ahead. There might be someone trying to get through, Sophie.” Toots held Sophie’s hand tightly, afraid to let go.
Resigned, Sophie perked up. “This might be the perfect time for me to try out the new toy Goebel gave me.”
At that point, there was no way Ida could help herself. “Really, Sophie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The spirits might get offended once they heard the humming noise coming from between your legs.”
“Jeez, Ida, not that type of toy! Get your sluttish mind out of the gutter and act serious. I’m talking about this.” From her purse under the table Sophie retrieved a small, square black box about the size of an answering machine, adorned with a row of colored lights, with a speaker in the middle.
“What’s that?” Mavis inquired. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s called a ghost box,” Sophie explained, her voice changing as she spoke.
“Exactly what does it do?” Toots asked.
“According to the man who made it, there are different sensors in it that pick up on small changes in the environment around us. Everything from electromagnetic fields to changes in temperature. The processor inside then interprets the changes and calculates a certain word that corresponds to the changes. In essence, a spirit has the ability to manipulate the environment around us, and this device will pick up on the changes and convert them into words so we can hear what the spirit is trying to say. Goebel has a friend who makes them, and he’s gotten some great results with them. The hard part is knowing when and where a spirit will be so you’ll know when to turn it on. In our case, that’s the easy part. We only need to summon a spirit just as we have before, and it will be able to make contact with us through this device.”
“Sounds fishy to me, but then again, two years ago, so did the idea of speaking with the dead, so I guess anything is possible,” Mavis said.
“Let’s give it a shot. At worst, nothing will happen. At best, Evangelista Thackeray herself will show up to answer all our questions. Anyway, we’re running out of time,” Toots said, glancing at her wristwatch. It had been more than two hours since they left the hospital. She said a prayer that Bernice was holding her own.
“Let’s start just like we have in the past. I’ll try to channel a spirit’s thoughts with the pencil and paper, so if this thing doesn’t work, we will not have done this in vain. I’m going to need each of you to clear your mind and focus.”
They held hands, channeling their thoughts together in hopes of reaching the spirit of the woman widely acknowledged to have been the world’s most beautiful woman for well over half a century. Who, they hoped, could advise them from beyond on the ins and outs of beauty in the hereafter.
“We come here in peace, seeking to contact the spirit of the late Evangelista Thackeray, in the hope that she will be able to pass her knowledge on to us. If you’re listening, Evangelista, we would very much like to speak with you.”
Nothing. The candles shone steadily, the room was utterly still, and the air was warm and muggy. That wasn’t good. Cold air always brought forth a spirit. The room was too warm.
Sophie held the pencil in her left hand above the legal pad. She closed her eyes, then began to chant. “Come to me. I mean you no harm. Come to us. Our hearts are open, ready to receive you.” She repeated herself.
Mavis slowly opened her eyes and looked at the legal pad resting underneath Sophie’s hand and noticed that there was nothing there. No handwriting, nothing to indicate that Sophie had or would make contact with a spirit.
“I’m starting to sense something. We request the presence of Evangelista Thackeray. If you can hear us, grant us your company and wisdom.” Sophie spoke in her medium/ psychic voice.
Suddenly, a light from the ghost box started to flicker. Sophie looked at the box, her face going completely void of expression and color.
Looking around, Mavis spied the lights on the box toggle on and off, and before she knew what to think, an electronic voice spoke the word “Actress.”
Sophie almost jumped out of her skin. “Are you an actress? Are you Evangelista Thackeray?”
Their eyes opened simultaneously as they heard the word “Yes” come from the box.
Sophie drew in another cleansing breath. “Can you answer a question for us?”
“No.”
“If you won’t speak with us, then why are you here?”
“Murdered.”
“Oh my God, not another Thomas,” Ida screamed.
“Shhh! Are you saying the word murdered? Are you saying that you were murdered?
“No ... friend.”
“A friend of yours was murdered?”
“Yes ... help.”
“Who was murdered? Can you tell me the name?
“King ... swing. ”
“King swing? Is that your friend’s name?”
Mavis spoke, “I think she means the king of swing. It’s common knowledge that she was very close to Maximillian Jorgenson.”
“Are you trying to tell us that Maximillian Jorgenson was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“We really stepped in it this time,” Toots said.
Taking advantage of the willing spirit, Sophie asked, “Who killed him? What can we do to help you?”
“Doctor ... drugged.”
“His doctor drugged him because he wanted to murder him? That doesn’t make sense. Why did the doctor want to kill him?”
“Money.”
The speaker in the box crackled with static. A chill swept through the room.
“So let me get this straight. We just talked to the spirit of Evangelista Thackeray, and she told us that one of the biggest celebrities of all time was murdered for his money? Is that what you all just heard?” Ida asked.
Jamie finally joined in the conversation. “Do you realize what that ... that box just said? Ohmygosh! This is unbelievable!”
“I’m sure he was murdered for his money. That was precisely what I thought when I first learned he’d died,” Toots said, directing her attention to Jamie.
“What do we do now? Aren’t the police already investigating his doctor for something connected to his death?” Mavis asked.
“Yes, he was charged with negligent homicide. The Informer covered the story. Jorgenson’s doctor gave him an intravenous drug, something one would get in the hospital, a knockout drug. I can’t recall the name.
“I don’t know what this has to do with ... Bernice. She doesn’t even like Evangelista Thackeray or Maximillian Jorgenson. Sophie, is there a connection, and we’re missing it somehow?”
“I don’t know. We can try again if you want,” Sophie said.
“I don’t know. It’s getting late. Bernice will be out of surgery. I plan to be there when she’s wheeled into the recovery room. I say we all call it a night. I’m going to the hospital. You all stay here, get some sleep,” Toots said.
“Are you sure?” Mavis asked. “You said yourself there might be something we’re missing.”
Toots contemplated Mavis’s point. “Sophie, is there a connection? Do you have one of those special feelings about this? Something we can ... work with?”
So fast that no one could have seen the change unless they were looking her squarely in the face, Sophie went from being herself, the crass woman they loved, to a pale, trembling version of herself. Her eyes doubled in size, and her hands shook.
“Paper.” The word came out in a hoarse whisper.
Mavis placed a pencil in Sophie’s right hand, sliding the notepad beneath it. Sophie’s hand moved furiously across the paper, back and forth, as she continued to write one word, over and over. Then, as fast as she began, she stopped, the pencil dropping from her hand. She fell back against the chair, exhausted, as though she’d just completed a marathon.
Toots, Mavis, Ida, and Jamie stared at her, waiting for an explanation, needing to see what she’d written on the paper.
DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL DBL.
Sophie, shaken and pale, stared at the paper. “I’m clueless.”
Toots studied the letters, trying to decipher their meaning. “Yes ... this is ...” Her mouth dropped open and she shook her head from side to side. “DBL.”
“Toots, what?” Sophie asked.
“DBL. Dr. Bruce Lowery. He’s the connection.”
Chapter 27
Chris stared at his cell phone as though he expected it to speak to him and explain why Abby had refused a simple dinner request. If she was working, he could understand her reluctance. But she wasn’t. She was at the beach house, in bed with two dogs, for crying out loud. What’s with that? he asked himself.
Exactly where that placed him on her list of priorities was quite clear.
She’d rather spend the evening in bed with her dog and her dog’s girlfriend, that little yappy Chihuahua, than with him.
Chris looked around at the condo he called home. No place like home? What bunk, he thought. It was so close to his heart that he loaned the place out like an old bicycle he was on the verge of trashing. Hell, he’d had bikes that he’d liked more.
The place wasn’t a home. It was where he slept, showered, and ate mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. Where he allowed his friends a place to stay when they were on vacation. He looked around the living room, walked out to the terrace, where, he had to admit, he did have a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean. But a home would surely make his heart race just at the mention of going there. A home would have evidence of a life, and pictures on the walls. A favorite afghan, made by someone who loved him and he loved in return, tossed carelessly over the back of a much-loved chair. Magazines and books scattered about. Maybe a dirty glass, a plate with cake crumbs left on the countertop.
Nope, he gazed around the condo many people would give their eyeteeth to own. All he saw was a picture-perfect image suitable for a travel magazine hoping to tempt travelers to spend their money somewhere.
Disgusted with his thoughts, Chris became antsy for reasons only he could fathom—meaning Abby Simpson. He plunged through the condo with a mission.
In the master bedroom, he stripped the sheets off the bed and tossed them into a laundry basket he kept in the closet. Inside the master bathroom, he gathered damp towels and washcloths, tossing them in with the sheets. Beneath the bathroom sink was a plastic caddy filled with cleaning supplies. He sprayed bathroom cleaner inside the shower, the bathtub, and the two sinks. With a terry-cloth rag, he buffed and polished until the place sparkled. Grabbing the laundry basket, he headed to the utility room. He stuffed the washing machine with the sheets and towels—figuring what the hell, it’s not as if he were at a Laundromat with a bunch of disapproving housewives watching him—and proceeded to pour a generous amount of liquid detergent in the machine. From there he located the broom and a mop. He scrubbed the bathroom floors until he was out of breath.
