scenes and maintenance people, who didn't on the whole have much contact with guests.
There was, however, one trance medium who couldn't have been more than thirty, but he was the exception. And he was talented. His seances involved a luminous tin trumpet that floated in the dark and through which spirit voices spoke. Occasionally billowing clouds of ectoplasm spewed forth from his body, taking on the forms of dead departed loved ones of the sitters, while glittering points of light skipped and shimmered over people's heads. That it was all just some gigantic conjuring trick was obvious to Joanna. The only thing that amazed her was other people's inability to see what they didn't want to see, and their willingness to believe what they wanted to believe. Or needed to.
That was what got to her. On one level it was just silly but relatively harmless. On another it was the merciless exploitation of people who had suffered loss and tragedy and who needed help. Instead they had been tagged as suckers and taken on a cynical ride that, more often than not, would leave them penniless. That was why Joanna was going to put Ellie and Murray Ray where they belonged: in jail if she could, but at the very least she meant to expose and ruin them as a warning to others of their kind.
And there was no shortage of others like them. Since she had started researching these articles for the magazine, Joanna had been amazed at the size of the psychic industry. From the corner clairvoyant and palm reader to organized compounds like this, it was a business that turned over millions, maybe billions of dollars every year-most of it in cash, with the rest largely sheltered by well-meaning but misguided legislation that allowed any fraud to pose as the founder of some church and claim charitable status. That was no doubt why the auditorium in which Joanna now sat was referred to on the plan of the Camp Star-burst compound as “The Cathedral.”
Her gaze drifted from one to the other of the glittering glass and mirror structures on the walls at each side of the stage. They were, in all their vulgar ghastliness, an obvious reflection of the “starburst” theme. And behind one of them, Joanna knew, was the place from where Ellie Ray was able to look out, as she was probably doing now, and control the proceedings.
Joanna looked down at her watch. It would be starting soon. With any luck, for sure if she had her way, it would be the last seance that would ever be held in this place.
The pattern of swimming fish and drifting sea anemones disappeared from Ellie's computer screen as she hit a key. She called up the file that she'd assembled earlier in the day when she got the list of who'd be coming. They were mostly first- or second-timers who'd heard about the place from friends. Handled right, most of them would be good for several visits, and some of them represented potentially rich pickings. These latter would be singled out for longer individual seances with key mediums in the next day or two.
Ellie scrolled the information up the screen. Everything was there, all the information she needed, ordered, concise, and detailed-and duplicated in the box files that she kept for backup. Of course, she would have to put the right names to the hundred-fifty-odd faces out there, most of them belonging to people she had only spoken to for ten or fifteen minutes at the most. But she had a mnemonic for that, a trick she'd learned from a memory act years ago.
A sound behind her made her turn. Murray came in wiping his nose with a huge white handkerchief. He'd had a chill and she'd been quite concerned about him this past week, but he'd worked through it and never missed a seance. He seemed to be picking up now, though he was still unhealthily red in the face. She absolutely had to get him on a diet soon. He was carrying far too much weight for a man of his age. All his suits had been let out to the limit, and half of them he couldn't get into at all anymore.
“Ready to rock ‚n‚ roll,” he said, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket. He picked up the slim battery pack by the computer and sat down with his back to Ellie. It was their usual routine. He fixed his earpiece securely in place, then sat still as she fed the threadlike filament that ran from it down the inside of his shirt collar and out through the little opening cut just below the shoulder blade. She pulled the end of it around and under his arm and plugged it into the battery pack, which he slipped into the special pocket in the lining of his jacket. She tapped the microphone in front of her, and he nodded. The connection was live.
Ellie waited a moment, checked once more through the rectangle of glass that everyone was ready, then cued Mark, their stage manager, to get the show under way.
Mark's stage-trained voice resonated impressively over the big speakers in the auditorium. “Ladies and gentlemen, the seance is about to commence. Mrs. Ellie Ray is here to welcome you with a few words of introduction.”
The curtain rose on a stage that was empty except for a massive straight-backed chair placed dead center-a throne in red velvet and mahogany. A rainbow of pale pastels moved constantly though all but imperceptibly across the ornate drapery behind. Ellie strode out from the wings, all smiles and holding up her hands to both acknowledge and arrest the ripple of applause that greeted her appearance.
“Now then, my dears,” she began, “we're all friends here, so just relax and let yourselves enter that quiet frame of mind that will help you touch your loved ones on the other side. The vibrations are very good in here. Very good. I can feel the spirits are drawn here and to all of us gathered here today. Always remember, the spirits want to make contact. They're just waiting for you to open your hearts and your minds, as I know you are doing at this minute, and they will come to you. My husband, Murray. You all know Murray…”
Murray waddled out, beaming over the assembled faces, took the hand that his wife held out to him, and gave a little bow, but not too much of one: the last thing he and Ellie wanted people to think was that they might once have been in show business.
“Murray will be with you on your journey to the spirit world today,” Ellie continued, “and for those of you with us for the very first time, let me explain what's going to happen…”
As she spoke, Murray seated himself on the throne and Ellie produced a black silk scarf which she made a big show of tying securely over his eyes.
“If you want to make contact with anybody on the other side, all you have to do is raise your hand and one of our two volunteers-that's Merle and Minnie, there they are, on either side of you, giving you a little wave-will bring you a microphone. Now the microphone is only so the rest of us can hear you. If you don't want to speak your question out loud, the spirits will understand. They'll know what's in your heart, and they will respond through the medium, through Murray here. All you have to do if Merle or Minnie points you out is direct your thoughts to the spirit world, and your loved ones will respond through the medium. Alternatively, if you prefer, you can hand over some personal object, a watch or a key ring or a piece of jewelry or whatever, either your own or belonging to a loved one who's passed on. The vibrations will pass through the medium to the spirit world, and to whoever it is that you wish to make contact with.”
Finally satisfying herself that the blindfold was secure, Ellie stepped back a few paces.
“Now I'm going to leave you, but before I do I'm going to ask you all to remain very quiet for a short time while the medium enters the spirit world. After that you'll hear an announcement asking those of you with a question to raise your hands. Now very quiet, please, ladies and gentlemen…very, very quiet…”
The lights dimmed as Ellie slipped into the wings and Murray assumed the pre-trance position-head down, chest heaving with slow, deep breaths. Gradually a white spotlight opened up on him from directly overhead, glowing like a ray of heavenly light. After about a minute Murray slowly raised his head as though listening to something above and slightly to one side. Then he nodded as though in acknowledgment of some unseen presence.
Mark's voice came softly once again from the speakers over the expectant, waiting heads. “Ladies and gentlemen, the medium is ready. Please hold up your hands to indicate you have a question.”
From her vantage point at the computer, Ellie watched as Merle appeared uncertain which of the sea of waving hands to give the microphone to first. In an acting job of the first magnitude, she seemed to make a random choice-but it was no mistake when she handed the mike, as instructed earlier by Ellie, to a plump woman in her sixties whose husband had recently died, leaving her a high, seven-figure fortune in securities and gilt-edged stock…
Very smooth, thought Joanna, admiring the performance despite her contempt for it. Murray had answered several unspoken as well as, spoken questions, each time drawing murmurs of amazement from his audience. Now he was giving a demonstration of psychometry, turning over in his stubby fingers a brooch that a woman near the front had sent up. He mentioned names and places, cleverly playing out and embellishing the information that Ellie was whispering in his ear. It was impressive, but only if you didn't know how it was done. And Joanna knew.
Nobody showing up cold at the gate of Camp Starburst would ever be admitted then and there-not even if they waved a wad of hard cash under Ellie's acquisitive nose. If the wad was big enough they might be given tea in
