'The Glorianas' residence,' a woman said sharply. A deep voice, very strong, with a rough timbre. Almost a longshoreman's voice.
'This is Archibald McNally,' I said. 'Am I speaking to Mrs. Irma Gloriana?'
'You are, Mr. McNally,' she said, the tone now softened a bit. 'Thank you for returning my call so promptly. Hertha has informed me that you wish to arrange a private seance.'
'That's correct,' I said. 'My understanding is that it would be attended by Hertha, her husband, you, myself, and a friend who accompanies me. Will that be satisfactory?'
'Mr. McNally,' she said, and I marveled at that voice so deep it was almost a rumble, 'I prefer to meet personally with new clients before making plans. You must understand that many people who apply to us simply cannot be helped by Hertha's unique talents. It saves us a great deal of time-and would-be clients a great deal of money, of course-if we might have an interview during which I describe exactly what happens at our seances, what we hope to achieve, and what we cannot do. I must know what you hope to accomplish. I trust this preliminary screening doesn't offend you, Mr. McNally.'
'Not at all,' I said. 'I can understand why-'
'You see,' she interrupted, 'we are sometimes approached by people who seek the impossible or who are motivated by idle curiosity and have no real interest in sharing the truth of spiritualism.'
'That seems to be a-'
'And there are those who come just to mock,' she said darkly. 'My daughter-in-law is much too sensitive and vulnerable to be forced to cope with stupid and arrogant disbelief.'
'I assure you that-'
'When may I expect you, Mr. McNally?' she demanded.
'I can come over now, Mrs. Gloriana,' I said. 'I could be there in a half-hour.'
'That will be satisfactory,' she said crisply. 'Please make a note of this address. You should also be aware that smoking is not permitted in our home.'
So I made a note of her address, hung up, and immediately lighted a cigarette. I smoked it down before venturing out to meet this termagant with the foghorn voice.
On the drive across the bridge to West Palm Beach I tried to make sense of what Mrs. Irma Gloriana had told me. Her insistence on a preliminary screening of would-be clients seemed suspect. Why should the medium and her entourage question the motives of potential customers? Their ability to pay the tariff demanded would seem to be the only necessary requirement.
But then I realized there might indeed be method to this madness. Mrs. Gloriana wanted to know what I hoped to accomplish at the seance. Suppose
I told her I wished to contact the spirit of Sir Thomas Crapper. Thus forewarned, Irma, Frank, and Hertha could easily discover that the gentleman in question was the inventor of the water closet, and they could call up a ghost familiar with the workings of that justly famed device.
Similarly, these preliminary interviews could reveal names, dates, even intimate personal details that would be of value in convincing a seance attendee that the medium possessed extraordinary psychic gifts.
This was, I admit, a very jaundiced view of extrasensory powers. But at that stage of the investigation I believed a healthy dollop of cynicism was justified. 'Innocent until proven guilty' is the cornerstone of our law. But most detectives, myself included, prefer the dictum 'Guilty until proven innocent.' That's how crimes are solved.
The building in which the Glorianas' condo was located was not as 'ratty' as Al Rogoff had described, but it was surely no Trump Plaza either. It had an air of faded elegance, with cooking odors in the hallways and frazzled carpeting.
The matron who opened the door of Apt. 1102 was as I had imagined her: tall, heavy through the hips, but more muscular than plump. There was a solid massiveness about her: a large head held erect on a strong neck. Definitely a dominant woman.
But what I had not been prepared for was her sensuousness, so overt it was almost a scent. It was conveyed, I thought, by her full red lips, glossy black hair as tangled as a basket of snakes, ample bosom, and a certain looseness about the way she moved. It was easy to fantasize that she might be naked beneath her shift, a voluminous gown of flowered nylon.
She shook my hand firmly, got me seated in an armchair covered in a worn brocade. She asked if I would care for an iced tea. I said that would be welcome, and while she was gone I had an opportunity to inspect the apartment-or at least the living room in which I was seated.
It was a dreary place, colors drab, furniture lumpy. It was difficult to believe this was the home of the forthright Irma, the dapper Frank, the delicate Hertha. There was nothing that bespoke luxury, or even comfort. They were ambitious people; this dingy apartment had to be a temporary residence to be endured until something better came along.
Mrs. Gloriana returned with my iced tea-nothing for her-and sat in the middle of a raddled couch, facing me. She wasted no time on preliminaries.
'You believe in spiritualism, Mr. McNally?' she asked.
I took a sip of my tea. It had a hint of mint and was quite good. 'Really more of a student,' I confessed. 'I'm reading as much about it as I can.'
'Oh? And what are you reading?'
I mentioned the titles of two of the books Mrs. Gillsworth had lent me.
'Very good,' Irma Gloriana said approvingly. 'But you must realize they are only instructional. True belief must come from the heart and the soul.'
'I understand that,' I said, fearing I was about to be proselytized and dreading the prospect. But she dropped the subject of my conversion.
'Hertha tells me you have asked her assistance in finding your missing cat.'
'A friend's cat.'
'She may be able to help. My daughter-in-law has amazing psychic powers. And did you wish to ask about the cat during the seance?'
'No,' I said, 'something else. I hope to receive a message from Lydia Gillsworth. I'm sure you knew her and have heard what happened to her.'
Her expression didn't change. 'Of course I knew Lydia. A sensitive soul. She attended a session here the evening she was killed. A brutal, senseless death.'
'Yes,' I said, 'it was. Do you think there's a possibility that Hertha may be able to contact the spirit of Lydia Gillsworth?'
'There is always a possibility,' she said, then added firmly, 'But naturally we can offer no guarantees. You wish to ask Lydia the identity of her murderer?'
'Yes, that is what I intended.'
'It is worth trying,' she said thoughtfully. 'Hertha has assisted in many police investigations in the past. With some success, I might add. Our standard fee for a seance is five hundred dollars, Mr. McNally. But that is usually divided amongst several participants. Since only you and your friend will attend, I believe a fee of two hundred dollars will be more equitable. Is that satisfactory?'
'Completely,' I said. 'And you do accept credit cards?'
'Oh yes. This friend who will accompany you-a man or a woman?'
'A woman.'
'Could you tell me her name, please? Numerology is a particular interest of mine, and I enjoy converting names to numerical equivalents and developing psychic profiles.'
'Her name is Margaret Trumble.'
'A resident of this area?'
Then I was certain she was prying-no doubt about it.
'She is a new resident,' I said.
'So many refugees from the north, aren't there?'
If she expected me to divulge Meg Trumble's hometown, she was disappointed; I merely nodded.
'My son tells me you work for a law firm, Mr. McNally.'
'Yes, McNally and Son. My father is the attorney.'
