Ghost in Trouble (2010)

“‘I feel danger.’” He mocked her. “Save your performance for the fools, Laverne.”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice rose. “I know—”

“I like that vibrato. It gives Diane chills. It doesn’t do a thing for me. Look”—and he was suddenly good- humored—“you’ve had a long day. You’ll feel better tomorrow. You may have to do some hand-holding with Diane.” He walked to wet bar, splashed water in a glass, carried it to Laverne. “I’ll get you a pill. All you need is a good night’s sleep.”

She sank back against the chair, waited until he returned, handing her two capsules. She swallowed them submissively. “Yes. I’ll go to bed.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She rose and moved heavily into the bath. When she returned in a pale ivory nightgown, she was already drowsy.

I wondered if she often took powerful, quick-acting narcotics.

He placed his drink on a coffee table and strolled to a closet. He returned in a moment in a T-shirt and boxers and settled on the sofa. He picked up the glass and smiled, a man enjoying a nightcap, obviously pleased with a productive day.

I popped to Kay’s room.

No Kay.

I took a deep, steadying breath. She’d promised to stay put. Of course, she very likely had expected me to make a prompt report on the seance. With her door open, she’d have been sure to hear people walking to their rooms.

I wasn’t as fearful now for her safety. I expected the murderer was totally occupied assessing what danger might emerge from the seance. Evelyn Hume’s cold conclusion that nothing could be proved might reassure the murderer. Everything depended upon how much Ronald knew and what he intended to do with the knowledge.

But I didn’t like the idea of Kay roaming around The Castle.

I pressed my fingertips to my temples. Hadn’t I seen Myrna Loy do that in a film? Lo and behold, an answer came. When I didn’t return, Kay must have gone to the library seeking me. I dropped through the ceiling into the library. Such a fun way to maneuver.

Kay sat next to Diane.

Diane was a wreck, her makeup streaked by tears, her nose red from rubbing with a handkerchief, her untidy hair more frazzled than usual. She looked earnestly at Kay. “…you’re very kind to offer to help me make sense of everything.”

Kay spoke soothingly. “Start at the beginning, from the moment you reached the library…”

I hovered next to Kay, whispered in her ear: “I’ll be in your room in half an hour.”

She froze for only an instant, gave a tiny nod.

“After everybody finally came…”

In a marble-walled bathroom, Gwen Dunham sat at a vanity counter. She poured facial cleanser onto a washcloth. Her movements were automatic. Not even the harsh light from theater-dressing- room-style lights diminished the perfection of her features. Whether young or old, she would always be beautiful. She wiped away makeup. Her deep-set violet eyes stared unseeingly into the mirror. Whatever she saw, it was not her image.

A step sounded. Clint stood in the doorway. He was still dressed. He looked toward his wife, his face anguished. “We have to talk.”

She stiffened. “Not tonight, Clint. Tomorrow.” She rose and turned on a spigot, held the cloth beneath the rushing water. Squeezing out the excess, she lifted the wet cloth to her face, covering her eyes and nose and mouth.

Her husband waited a moment, but she made no move, said nothing. Slowly, he turned away.

Her shoulders quivered. She pressed the cloth harder, muffling sobs.

In the bedroom, he gathered up a pillow and a light blanket. He turned and moved out of the bedroom. The sound of the closing door brought Gwen into the room. She saw the pulled-down spread and missing pillow. She turned and leaned against the frame of the door, defeat and misery in every line of her body.

In the den, Clint tossed the pillow onto a leather sofa. He made no move to undress. Instead, he slumped into a chair, massaged knuckles against one temple. His face was hard with anger.

Kay worked at Jack’s desk. She wrote quickly, her face absorbed and intent.

I had much to report, but I was desperately thirsty. I opened the small freezer compartment, scooped ice into a tumbler.

Kay’s head jerked up. She stared toward the wet bar. “Will you please announce when you’re here? An ice scoop dangling in the air bothers me. There’s something awfully weird about it.”

“Certainly,” I murmured agreeably. “Here I am. Almost.” I enjoyed my reflection in the mirror behind the wet bar, the colors wheeling and whirling and solidifying, and there I was. I gave a satisfied nod. The carnelian necklace was very attractive. “I aim to please.” I filled the tumbler to the brink with water and drank it half down.

She raised an inquiring dark eyebrow. “Thirsty work?”

“Very.” I took another drink and described the seance. “Diane was anxious for the seance to begin but obviously afraid of what she might learn. Jimmy…”

Kay wrote furiously to keep up. When I concluded, she flipped back a few pages of her legal pad. “Your account is a good deal more coherent than Diane’s.” She paused. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome. As it played out, no one there, except for Diane, was under any illusion about trafficking with the beyond.”