The Seance
Page 8“It must mean boo, kid,” Mike said. “Boo, like Halloween. Kid, like a trick-or-treater.”
“No,” Dan murmured. “B-E-A-U. Beau, like a man’s name.”
“Like General Beauregard, the Confederate military leader,” Tony offered. “Right?”
“Beau Kidd. The detective who was supposedly the Interstate Killer!” Dan gasped.
“You did that on purpose!” Mike accused Ana.
“The hell I did,” she retorted adamantly.
“The thing moves by the power of suggestion,” Mike said impatiently.
“Ask him what he wants,” Dan said. “Watch—it will spell out, ‘I was framed. I’m innocent.’”
“What do you want?” Ana asked the spirit softly, ignoring Dan.
Christina gritted her teeth, longing to lift her fingers from the planchette, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
The planchette continued to move.
It was Ana, damn her. She had to be forcing it.
But what was really unnerving Christina was that she didn’t think Ana was forcing it.
Dan whispered behind them, “Puh-lease. You’d think we were still teenagers, telling scary stories out in the woods.”
“Be quiet. It’s spelling something,” Ana said impatiently.
“H-E,” Mike began.
“L-P,” Dan finished.
“Help,” Ilona breathed.
“Hang on, it’s not finished,” Christina said.
“They must be moving it,” Tony whispered to Ilona. “But they’re good. Spooky, huh?”
“‘Help,’ again,” Mike said. “It’s getting kind of monotonous, don’t you think?”
What other letters added to “help” would make another word? Christina wondered as the planchette kept moving.
“‘Help me please,’” Dan whispered.
The planchette was practically racing around the board.
Help me please help me please help me please….
Then, suddenly, it came to a definite stop in the middle of the board.
A thunderous knocking broke the silence and brought a scream from Ilona’s lips. As if in response, the planchette seemed to rise and soar straight into the air.
And then they heard the front door burst open.
3
“W hat the hell?” Dan demanded.
Jed stared back at his old family friend, wondering why he looked so spooked. Okay, maybe he’d opened the door a bit more forcefully than necessary, but it hadn’t been locked.
Although even if it had been locked, he would have forced it open, anyway, he had to admit.
He was definitely on edge, he thought, but he’d also heard someone scream.
“You tell me,” Jed said to Dan. “What the hell is going on in here? I heard a scream.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” He stepped back so Jed could come in and closed—and locked—the door after him. “Good to see you, Jed. The screamer was Ilona, Tony’s fiancée. She got spooked after Ana insisted on playing with the Ouija board.”
“That’s why the dim lights, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” Daniel agreed dryly.
By then they had reached the parlor and Ana leapt up and rushed over to meet him, giving him a quick hug. “You made it.”
“I said I’d come,” he told her, looking past her to Christina Hardy, who was slowly rising. She was one of those women with the ability to do normally awkward things with the sinuous grace of curling ivy. She walked over, a small smile on her face, and gave him a quick, friendly hug in greeting. “Welcome. There’s still barbecue in the kitchen.”
“Good. I’m famished.”
“Hi, Jed,” Mike said. “You know Tony, but have you met Ilona?”
Jed nodded toward the woman at Tony’s side. They’d met briefly at the funeral. “Nice to see you again,” he told her.
“You, too,” Ilona said.
“Did you know Jed’s a famous writer?” Mike asked.
“I’m not really famous,” Jed said quickly, embarrassed.
“Speaking of which, guess what name those two—” Mike paused to indicate Ana and Christina “—just dredged up. Beau Kidd.”
Jed frowned. Even if his nerves hadn’t already been on edge, the name would have stung. Damn it, he thought. He hadn’t caused what had happened to the cop. He had just built fiction around the facts of what had already happened.
Yeah. Fiction that clearly skewered the man.
“Beau Kidd?” he said, and he knew that his voice was harsh.
“Oh, Jed, don’t sound so mad. We were just playing with the Ouija board,” Ana said.
“After talking about the recent murder,” Dan explained.
“Hey, blame Ana, not me,” Christina said lightly.
“I’m telling you, it spelled out his name,” Ana said stubbornly.
“Come in the kitchen, I’ll warm up some food for you,” Christina said.
“Don’t bother,” Ana teased. “He used to be a cop. He even eats cold pizza.”
“Well you don’t have to eat cold barbecue,” Christina said firmly, then stared at him with those crystal-blue eyes of hers and smiled slowly. “Thanks for coming.”
He shrugged a little awkwardly. “Sure.”
She strode past him, smooth and sleek. He followed.
She was already reaching into the refrigerator by the time he stepped into the kitchen. She handed him a beer.
“So how’s it going?” she asked after he thanked her, helping herself to one, as well, and leaning back against the counter. A subtle grin curved her lips. “When does your next book come out?”
He arched a brow. “Last month, actually.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“That’s cool.”
“I should have kept up.”
“Amazingly, the entire world doesn’t rush out to the store the minute a book of mine comes out.”
She flushed. “Yeah, well, I’m one of Ana’s best friends. I should have known.”
“Not even all of Ana’s friends rush out the minute I have a book on the shelves,” he assured her.
She smiled and dug into the refrigerator again. He realized with an inner smile that she had planned for his arrival as she pulled out a microwave-ready plate with chicken, ribs and corn on the cob.
He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was hungry. He’d showered, and the smell of the autopsy room no longer seemed to fill his nostrils.
But he couldn’t forget the dead woman or what had happened at the cemetery.
Couldn’t forget that Christina Hardy was a beautiful redhead.
He warned himself to get his thoughts under control. He couldn’t let himself become obsessed with this, couldn’t let it consume him and everyone around him.
“So how’s it going in jingle land?” he asked. “What’s your latest?”
Her smile deepened as she played with the dial on the microwave. “‘Come to the Grand, walk on the sand, hear the steel band, sunsets and glory, the minute you land,’” she sang lightly.
“That was you? I hear it all the time,” he told her.
“It’s a great resort,” she told him. “I was given a comp weekend when I was hired, so I got to check it out for free. It’s one of those all-inclusive places. Really nice. You step out from your private bungalow right onto the beach.”
“As long as I am working.”
“Well, this place is worth a mint,” he told her.
“I’d panhandle before I sold this house,” she assured him passionately, then seemed embarrassed by the emotion she had betrayed. She offered him a wry smile. “Hmm. And are you suggesting I won’t get work?”
He laughed. “Never,” he vowed solemnly.
The microwave beeped. She reached in for his plate, and he walked over to take it from her. The scent of barbecue was strong, but her perfume was more alluring. He remembered how, years ago, he had thought she was a pain in the butt and wished she and Ana would go away.
Things certainly changed, he thought wryly.
She smiled and brushed by on her way to get him a fork, knife and napkin. His muscles tightened. Hell, yes, things changed.
Ana appeared in the kitchen. “Hurry up,” she said to Christina. “You’re the only one who can make that stupid Ouija board work.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Christina protested.
Jed felt his muscles tighten again, and not in a good way.
“Beau Kidd?” he said to Christina.
She flushed. “I swear, I didn’t make it do anything,” she protested.
“Whatever you say,” he said curtly.
He hadn’t meant to be so brusque. She barely moved, but he could feel her stiffen from across the room.
“It’s just that I worry, okay?”
She sighed. “I know. I’m a redhead.”
“A beautiful redhead,” he told her, trying to atone.
“I’m a big kid, and I’ve lived on my own for a long time now. I don’t do stupid things.”
“Don’t assume that all victims are stupid.”
“I’m not. But I am careful,” she told him. “Really.” She was irritated. Why not? It was a good cover-up for being frightened.
She walked out of the kitchen, toward the parlor. He followed her, keeping his distance and stopping in the doorway.
“You made that name—Beau Kidd—appear,” Mike said, staring accusingly at Christina.
“I sure as hell didn’t,” she replied, and her voice betrayed her annoyance. “Twelve years ago, I was thirteen and my mom turned the news off every time something came on TV that she thought I shouldn’t know about. In fact, my parents used to argue about it. My dad thought I needed to be aware of what was going on in the world, but my mom just thought I was too young to know some things—no, a lot of things.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">