A Ghost to Die For (6 page)

“Wonderful, what are your plans for the day?” I asked.

“I’ll come over and fetch Atlas, in about an hour. He’s got a veterinary appointment today, just an annual, no problems. Then I’m taking him over to a friend’s house to spend the night there. She has two young teenage daughters who adore Atlas and they agreed to have him over for a night while I, uh, we, go to the party tonight. And you?”

“Hmm, I have an appointment to have my hair done in about thirty minutes. Should I leave Atlas in the backyard, is that okay?”

“Yes, do that. Then I’ll see you this evening, I’ll be there at about seven-thirty.”

“It’s a date.”

By late morning my hair appointment was over and I spent the rest of the day shopping for a few odds and ends. I grabbed a quick lunner, what Rosario calls a late lunch and early dinner rolled into one meal, and then headed back home. After spending about two hours going over all my notes about the Museum of Mystery, I felt prepared and well versed for any question or spontaneous conversation that might pop up. Then I got ready.

The green dress I chose was a favorite. Its emerald hue not only brought out the coppery highlights of my hair but this particular shade of green enhanced my green eyes. I should never have had my hair trimmed on a day I wanted it to look perfect. It just would not mind. In total aggravation with it, I gathered it up into a French roll, and allowed some loose tendrils to spill down. It would have to do. Alex called to say he was around the corner and did not want to alarm me, as he would come in through the kitchen door. I heard his car drive in. I popped in a pair of dangling pearl earrings, spritzed a spray of
Magie Noire
perfume and grabbed my evening purse. As I descended the stairs, I saw Alex at the bottom landing in the foyer.

“You are exquisite.”

I smiled as coyly as I could manage. Gave Alex a once over and said, “Not so bad yourself.”

“Shall we go?”

Within twenty minutes we were parked and walking up to the museum. A young man was standing out front greeting people and allowing only the select few in. Once inside we were greeted by Greg Winslow and asked to gather in the local history room. After a few announcements the big reveal was to take place. Evidently, even though we were right on time, we were among the last to arrive. Alex introduced me to a few people, one of whom was a friend of his named Chloe Mason, a tall brunette with a short pixie hair style. Chloe had a most unusual occupation, she was a crime prevention analyst whose expertise was facial and body language, and she worked at a casino in Las Vegas. I was totally impressed with her.

“Okay, so I have to ask, is there any chance I can pick your brain about an incident that happened to me today?” I smiled, hoping to convey that what I was asking would not be troublesome.

Chloe laughed. “Let me guess, some guy hit on you and you want to know if he’s a criminal?”

“Oh, no, not at all, but if that happens, you’ll be the first person to know.” We giggled at that. “Actually it’s about an elderly neighbor, really nice man, in fact Alex can vouch for my opinion. He expressed what I consider to be an odd concern for me.” I very carefully, and with as much objectivity I could manage, explained about the behavior of Otis Van Wyck.

Chloe listened carefully to my explanation and then sa
id, “If you are certain that he was scratching or rubbing his neck, right behind his ear, that is an indication of uncertainty about what is being said or heard. I’d say his concern for you being alone nagged at him. Perhaps he has misgivings about Blackthorne House. Longtime residents in a neighborhood often develop a skewed perception about historic homes and the history of particular places. The fact that he continued to watch you as you walked away and did not change his expression after you waved to him could indicate a stone face reaction. In other words, he displayed a frozen facial expression that is indicative of withholding the truth. M
eaning, the truth as he believes it to be. Really, Shannon, don’t let it bother
you. Obviously he is not a criminal and he and his wife are fond of you, he was expressing concern. That’s my take.”

“Your take on what?” Alex asked. He stood beside me.

“Oh, just girl talk. I was giving Shannon all the background information on you that I’ve dug up over the years.” Chloe grinned and then I laughed, at Alex’s expense.

“That’s not very interesting. However, this is by far more interesting.” Alex held a small tray of filled champagne glasses. We each took a glass and Alex set aside the tray. “The toast is about to begin.”

Greg Winslow stood next to the draped mystery display. He lightly tapped a pen on the edge of his glass, cleared his throat and announced, “Before I reveal this most provocative display, I have a few words of gratitude to acknowledge. First, the Museum of Mystery would like to acknowledge the work of the writer and photographer who are responsible for the stunning brochure you hold in your hands. Unfortunately the photographer, Mr. Robert Saenz could not be here tonight. However, the writer, Miss Shannon Delaney is, Shannon, if you please.” He gestured me to the front and handed me a sealed envelope. I knew this was going to happen, this was my paycheck. I accepted it with gratitude and returned to Alex.

Next, Greg read from a list the names of people who had donated time and financial backing to make the museum a reality. Then, holding his glass of champagne up for all to see, he proposed a toast, “May there always be the intrigue and fascination of mystery in our lives.” Everyone applauded.

After the applause died down, Greg announced, “Now the reveal.” He stood in front of the covered display. It appeared to be a large rectangular item, the size of an old-fashioned telephone booth. Right away my imagination jumped to the image of the infamous Dr. Who’s British Police Public Call Box, that is, in actuality the space and time travel ship used in the
Doctor Who
British TV series. At least that was my best guess, though, my best guess had nothing to do with Cleopatra.

In a flourish, Greg pulled off the fabric drape to expose the display. There were oohs and ahs from the crowd and then a round of clapping.

I gawked in disbelief and then tugged at Alex’s sleeve and made him look me in the face. “That is not Cleopatra,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

Chapter 11

Alex gave me a look, the one he has that means,
later Shannon, I’ll explain later
. “Uh-uh, Alex why did you lie to me?”

“I fibbed and you know why. Had I told you what the display really is, would you have left it at that?”

I glared at him and then withdrew, leaving Alex where he stood. I quietly walked around the perimeter of the crowd of people to get a closer look. I stepped up closer to hear Greg give an explanation of the display.

“The display is of exquisite quality. The exterior measures 85 inches tall, 34 inches wide and as deep. The exterior woods are solid oak while the beveled glass top half was replaced with glass of precise authenticity. Of most importance, this display is fully functional. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Greg stepped up to the coin-operated display and inserted a dime. “Ladies and gentlemen, after the dime is deposited, notice what happens next. Madame Laveau nods her head up and down once, then she waves both hands over the crystal ball, the crystal ball glows from illumination within the sphere, next she reaches into the small jeweled box, extracts a card and places it in the shoot.” Greg reached into the card receptacle and extracted the card. “Ah-ha, my prophecy. It reads: Do not ask, do not say. Everything lies in silence.”

“Uh? Greg, what does that mean, exactly?” Asked a man, unknown to me, but obviously familiar with Greg.

I could see people were puzzled and were looking at Greg waiting for his explanation.

“Well, I suppose what it could mean is that sometimes a person may react too quickly, without giving due consideration before acting or commenting. Oh, whatever. Let’s not be concerned about it for now, remember this is an amusement and we should not take it seriously. Are there questions?”

I spoke up. “You may be aware that I have resided in New Orleans, so I am curious as to what a coin-operated fortune telling machine with a mannequin in the likeness of Marie Laveau, the most famous voodoo queen in America, has to do with local mysteries in San Diego?” It was all I could do to phrase my query as politely as possible, inside I was seething. This mockery of Marie Laveau would not be tolerated in New Orleans.

“Excellent question Miss Delaney. A famous San Diegan, none other than the notorious entertainer, Miss Ruby Red, once owned this display. Reports from the heyday of Ruby’s time indicate that she kept this display in her front parlor and that anyone who was so bold as not to approve of it, Ruby would invite them to drop in a dime and receive their fortune. Not too many people had the courage to do this. Especially after the first three who received unfavorable prophecies, were soon after found dead.” Greg stepped behind the display and brought forth a standing sign, “This sign explains in detail the story of this display.”

Another hand was raised and Greg called upon a lady, about my age who asked, “Do all of us get a chance?”

This was the question Greg had been waiting for. “Oh, most certainly. However, this evening is the only time the display will be kept plugged in. In order to discourage museum patrons from misusing it, we will keep it unplugged. That said, I will step out of the way and I invite you to come up and allow the voodoo queen to tell your fortune.”

Oh, boy, was that a crowd-pleaser. You’d have thought this was a group of small children who were told to stand in line for a free ice cream cone. I left the display and walked away from the room and into the hall. For all intent and purpose, I was ready to leave.

From the hall I could hear people joking and laughing about their fortune cards. And I wondered how many of these people would go home this evening and after crawling into bed would give a last thought to their fate. I shivered at that scenario playing out in my imagination. These people had no idea who Marie Laveau was or that in the State of Louisiana’s official biography of her, as a voodoo queen, it plainly stated she was one of the greatest clairvoyants of all time. I had my eyes closed pondering various scenarios when Alex tapped me on my shoulder.

“Shannon, please try to understand, I had no say-so in the acquisition of the Marie Laveau fortune teller machine and I did not want you to become upset.”

Alex was sincere and I had to grudgingly give him credit. Had I known, I would have probably voiced my opinion and all things considered, my opinion would not have made a difference. The show would go on.

“I know and Alex, really I do not fault you. At least I am finished with this assignment.” I waved my pay envelope in front of him. “And I certainly have no complaints about the pay I received.”

Alex nodded his head in agreement and then handed a flyer to me. “Here, you might find the story of Ruby Red and the fortune telling machine interesting. It is a true story and the way the three people died is weird. It was as if their fortune cards came true.”

“Not right now. But I will read it later.” I folded the flyer and stashed it in my evening bag.

“Then, do you care to stay or leave?” Alex asked.

“I would like to see the machine, but not with that crowd of onlookers in there. Maybe we could hide out for awhile in one of the other rooms and then come back after people have left?”

“That won’t take long. Greg has mustered up every ounce of diplomacy he has and is going around to small clusters of people, politely reminding them that the museum will close in a few minutes. If we wait here, we can go back in as soon as the last guest leaves.”

Alex was right, even as we stood there, people began to leave and they took no notice of us. Within ten minutes Alex and I were alone in the room with the display. Greg had excused himself to the museum’s office. He said we had about twenty minutes.

I scrutinized the mannequin of Marie Laveau. Unlike cheap fortune teller mannequins composed of wood or plastic, this one was created from the finest doll quality bisque porcelain and highly detailed. Marie wore a long blue dress with a full skirt that reached to her ankles. She was life size and was standing, as one would behind a counter. Her dark hair was arranged up and secured by a seven-point knotted yellow silk
tignon
, the kerchief typically worn by African women of color in New Orleans of the 1800s. Warm brown glass eyes gazed out from thick dark lashes. Her skin was a hue of dark golden honey that historians claimed was the true complexion of the real Marie Laveau, otherwise known as the one and only
Widow Paris
. This Marie Laveau was an unmistakable representation of the portrait painted by renowned artist George W. Catlin in the 1830s. Behind her on a shelf stood small baskets filled with small colored candles crafted in wood, and made to appear as wax. Mentally I ticked off the colors and their symbolism: pink for love, green for money, blue as an appeal to Saint Peter for entrance into heaven and as a protection from harm, red for victory over enemies, yellow to drive off enemies, lavender to bring harm to, or remove, an unwanted person, brown for luck in gambling, white for peace and to uncross a curse; and of course, black for disease and death.