surroundings as if finally realizing where she was. She took the glass from Meg's fingers and gulped greedily.
We stayed in the dining room until Hertha's color had returned and she was able to stand, somewhat shakily. She gave us a small, apologetic smile, and then we all moved back to the living room.
Frank had the decency to bring us ponies of brandy, and since Meg wouldn't touch hers, I had a double-and needed it. I sat in one corner with Irma and Frank. Across the room, on the couch, Meg Trumble comforted the medium, her muscled arm around the other woman's shoulders. She spoke to her and stroked her hair.
'What on earth happened?' I asked Irma.
She shrugged. 'Hertha heard or saw something that terrified her. And she became hysterical. It's happened a few times before. I told you she is a very sensitive and vulnerable spirit.'
'Caprice,' Frank said, looking at me. 'That's what she was screaming. Does that mean anything to you, Mr. McNally?'
I shook my head. 'A caprice is a whim, an unplanned action. Perhaps Lydia Gillsworth was trying to tell us that the killer acted on a sudden impulse, and her murder was totally unpremeditated.'
'Yes,' Irma said, 'I'm sure that was it.'
'I'm sorry now that I asked the question,' I said.
'I didn't mean to frighten Hertha. But I did inform you that I intended to ask.'
'No one blames you,' Irma said. 'There are many things in this world and the next that are beyond our understanding.'
Hamlet said it better, but I didn't remind her of that. 'You're so right, Mrs. Gloriana,' I said.
She nodded. 'Did you bring your credit card, Mr. McNally?'
I handed it over; she and Frank left the room to prepare my bill. I remained seated, finishing Meg's brandy and watching the two women on the couch. Hertha seemed fully recovered now. She and Meg were close together, holding hands and giggling like schoolgirls. I found it a bit off-putting.
Irma returned with my bill. I signed it, reclaimed my plastic, and took my receipt.
'I'm sorry the seance ended the way it did,' she said. 'But I would not call it a total failure, would you?'
'Far from it,' I said. 'Meg was able to speak to her father and I made contact with Mrs. Gillsworth. I'm perfectly satisfied.'
'Good,' she said. 'Then perhaps you'd like to arrange another private session.'
'Of course I would. Let me check my schedule and speak to Meg about a date that will be suitable for her. You'll be here all summer?'
'Oh yes. We have many activities to keep us busy.'
'Then you'll be hearing from me.'
'When?' she asked.
A demon saleswoman, this one.
'Soon,' I said, stood up, and motioned to Meg.
I shook hands with all the Glorianas before we left. Meg did the same, but then Hertha embraced her, kissed her on the lips, clung to her a moment. In gratitude for Meg's sympathetic ministrations. No doubt.
On the drive back to Riviera Beach Meg was so voluble that I could scarcely believe this was the same woman who had been so reticent on our first ride together.
'What a wonderful medium she is, Archy,' she burbled. 'So gifted. She knew so many things about me. And it was so great to talk to dad. Wasn't it incredible to hear all those voices coming from her? And guess what: I told her I hope to become a personal trainer, and she insisted on being my first client. Isn't that marvelous
'Yes.'
'And she's going to do my horoscope-for free! It must be scary having the talent to see into the beyond. She said she usually refuses to predict the future, but after she does my horoscope she'll tell me what she sees ahead for me. Isn't that fantastic? '
I didn't want to rain on her parade, so I neither voiced my doubts nor cautioned her against relying on the predictions of a seer. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to tell her my own reactions to what we had just experienced. Being essentially without faith myself, I think it rather infra dig to mock the faith of others.
We arrived outside Meg's apartment, and now her initial ebullience had faded and she was speaking calmly and seriously of spirituality and how she had neglected that side of her nature and really should start seeking answers to what she termed the 'big questions.' I presumed they included Life, Death, and why only one sock got lost in the laundry.
Somehow it didn't seem the right moment to remind her of her carnal promise of the previous evening. So, rather than risk rejection, I said:
'Meg, would you mind awfully if I didn't come in? I feel totally shattered by what happened tonight- hearing Lydia Gillsworth's voice and all that. I think I better go home and try to figure things out.'
She promptly agreed-so promptly that she severely bruised the ego of A. McNally, who may or may not be suffering from a Don Juan complex.
'I think that would be best, dear,' she said in the kindliest way imaginable, patting my hand. 'I'm as emotionally wired as you. We'll make it another time, Archy.'
So I drove home alone, howling curses at a full moon and wondering why Hertha Gloriana had granted Meg a farewell kiss and not the laughing cavalier who had picked up the tab. Did the medium bestow her osculations freely without regard for sex, age, race, color, or national origin? Was she, in fact, an Equal Opportunity kisser?
I went directly to my rooms when I arrived home. I stripped off the dull costume I was wearing and donned my favorite kimono, a jaunty silk number printed with an overall pattern of leaping gazelles. Then I put on reading glasses, sat at my desk, and went to work.
I was determined to play the devil's advocate, to view the evening's events as a cynic who completely disbelieved in alleged manifestations of the occult and had a perfectly rational explanation for what others might consider evidence of the supernatural.
I scribbled furiously, and this is what I came up with:
Hertha's knowledge of Meg Trumble:
Meg's sister, Laverne, was a client of the Glorianas and quite likely had her horoscope prepared by the medium. Hertha could easily be aware of Meg's birthdate, the death of her parents, Meg's interest in physical exercise.
The voices:
Of course no one was familiar with the voice of Xatyl, the Mayan shaman, and it would be relatively simple for an actress with a gift of mimicry to imitate the speech of an old man. The voice of John Trumble might offer a problem, but the man had been dead for eight years, and it was doubtful if Meg remembered the exact sound of his voice. More importantly, she wanted to believe and was eager to accept any masculine voice as that of her departed father.
Lydia Gillsworth's voice would be easy for Hertha to reproduce since Lydia had been present at several seances and was well known to the medium.
Hertha's knowledge of Archy McNally:
I have already speculated on how my date of birth might have been learned by the Glorianas. And I had mentioned to Irma at our first meeting that I had been reading books on spiritualism. I hadn't revealed that they had been loaned to me by Mrs. Gillsworth, but Lydia had attended her final seance after lending me the books and could have casually mentioned that she was assisting me.
I read over what I had written. I didn't claim that all my explanations and suppositions were one hundred percent accurate. But they could be. And they certainly had as much or more claim to the truth than ascribing all the revelations made by the medium to paranormal powers. If you had to bet, where would you put your money?
But acting the disbeliever and applying cold logic to the occurrences at the seance failed in one vital and bewildering instance. That was the medium's screams 'Caprice! Caprice!' in answer to my query as to the identity of the murderer of Lydia Gillsworth. Those shocking screams had been uttered in the voices of both Lydia and Hertha.
I had told Irma and Frank Gloriana that the outburst probably meant that the killer had acted on a whim, a sudden impulse, and the murder was unpremeditated. That was pure malarkey, of course. I thought I knew what that shrieked 'Caprice! Caprice!' really signified.
