Bonefire of the Vanities (23 page)

I ducked into the spa, where Amaryllis Dill—or so I assumed by the yellow towel wrapped around her head and the yellow eye mask—lounged in a mud bath. Okay, not my cup of tea. I could manage dirty on my own.

The two country singers were working out on elliptical trainers. I took a moment to appreciate their athletic abilities. They were no slouches. Maybe they needed the level of fitness to perform onstage. Dancing and singing could be pretty taxing, as I remembered from my days in musicals.

The Addlesons were nowhere to be seen, but there were several attendees working in the spa I’d never met. The staff at Heart’s Desire must cost the Westins a pretty penny.

I backed out and headed for the servants’ stairs to the basement. I wanted a word with the laundress. Stella had worked in the basement for a number of years. I didn’t believe she was ignorant of all of Heart’s Desire’s secrets.

The laundry was empty. No Stella. Even the washers and dryers were quiet. The basement, in fact, ached with silence. Or maybe my nerves were stretched to the point of hypersensitivity. I couldn’t help but think of Amanda.

When something in my pocket buzzed, I jumped so high, I struck my head on the doorframe. It took a moment for me to realize it was the cell phone Coleman had brought me. I’d wisely put it on vibrate.

Stifling the curses that wanted to leap from my lips, I answered.

“Hello, dah-link,” Cece said. “Harold and I have been busy little beavers on your behalf. We have news!”

14

Cece’s voice, low and well modulated, gave me a wealth of details about the property of Heart’s Desire. Her original report contained the sordid gossip. The financial history of Heart’s Desire, acquired thanks to Harold, was equally interesting.

“The house changed hands a number of times,” Cece related. “Three owners defaulted and walked away. The property is rumored to be cursed. Many Layland residents simply won’t go near the place. This has worked to the Westins’ advantage. Most people had forgotten about the old place—until Brandy and Sherry showed up. They’ve kept talk quiet and limited gossip by keeping all of the employees shut up inside. The death of the young chef has changed all that. The old talk of curses has resurfaced.”

“Cursed?” That was a new one. “Not haunted?”

“Both, actually.” Her enthusiasm was hard to miss. Cece was pumped at the prospect of a haunted house that was also cursed. A death—most likely a murder—was the perfect hook to hang the story on. Now, this was good copy. In fact, the whole Heart’s Desire episode was an embarrassment of riches from a journalist’s point of view.

I did believe in ghosts, but I didn’t believe in curses. People were superstitious. They often made their lives much harder than necessary by believing in crazy notions.

“Thanks, Cece. I don’t understand how this fits together, but this is a significant piece of the puzzle. What about the country music singers?”

“Lola Monee and Gretchen Waller—they’re legit. At least they have top hits in the country market. They should be well off, based on the big names who’ve cut their songs.”

Good to know. “And our chef, the mysterious Yumi Kato?”

“She worked in D.C. before coming to Mississippi. She was in the White House in 2003. There’s not much of a trail to follow before that. She defected in the early 2000s. Harold and I don’t have international contacts. At least not in North Korea.”

“North Korea?” Amanda had called her a communist bitch. What had Amanda discovered about the chef?

“Right. Her birth country. Because her life prior to arriving in the U.S. is such a blank, we figure she has a political connection. Maybe granted asylum. She left the White House under a cloud. Seems she chased the president’s dog with a meat cleaver.”

“There couldn’t be two chefs with a fondness for meat cleavers. This has to be her.”

“Seems the dog slipped into the kitchen and stole a roast off the counter. Yumi took it personally and chased the dog, making threats. The First Lady nearly had a heart attack and Yumi was dismissed.”

I had to laugh. Yumi’s heart softened not a whit for man or beast. “Thanks, Cece. Have you talked to Coleman?”

“He’s a hard man to track down. He’s been chewing on some bone he won’t drop long enough to answer a phone call from me.”

There was something in her voice. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but some little something gave me pause. “Are you up to something?”

“Not me. See ya, Sarah Booth. My other line is ringing.”

I put away the cell phone. I’d been away from the second floor too long. Even though I was doing most of the housework, Tinkie had performed the bulk of the babysitting and likely needed rescue from Marjorie, who was a tricky cardsharp.

Marjorie sometimes acted dotty and played the sympathy card, but when she was into rummy, she was cold-blooded and ruthless. She’d already taken Tinkie for close to two hundred bucks.

*   *   *

Marjorie insisted on a nap, but at eight o’clock, she was ready for the séance. Sherry had changed the séance time to nine o’clock, and she’d relocated to the front parlor.

When we arrived, Palk and his minions had brought the round table from the basement. Sherry took her place at the head, Brandy at the foot. The others selected seats, and once again, Tinkie and I stood against a wall behind Marjorie’s chair. Palk would never consider allowing us to sit.

My curiosity was aroused when Chasley was not in attendance. I wondered if he was still in the house. Marjorie, too, searched around the room. Before she could ask a question about her son, Sherry spoke up.

“I know last night we were all dealt a terrible shock. Amanda’s death is an awful, awful loss. I want you to know I won’t contact Amanda. Often a spirit who has just crossed is disoriented and upset. To bring her back here, to Heart’s Desire, after what happened, would be unwise.”

Tinkie and I exchanged a glance. Was Sherry worried about what Amanda might reveal?

The participants at the table held hands. Palk dimmed the lights, and Tinkie and I edged closer together. Earlier, as Marjorie napped, I’d had a moment on the balcony to share Cece’s findings with Tink. Now she was determined to dig up more information. Tinkie, who seemed to be the epitome of a ditzy blonde, had a real head for figures. She could tally up a column of digits in a heartbeat. And she understood how money worked—a body of knowledge I’d never managed to get a grip on.

While I was woolgathering, I failed to listen to what was happening at the table. I figured some new disaster would strike to prevent a séance. I’d come to conclude Sherry was about as much a medium as I was. She could hypnotize with the best of them, but she wasn’t dishing up any dead people.

Against my will, I caught the cadence of Sherry’s voice. She spoke softly but with passion. She called upon the spirits to cooperate, to breach the veil separating the world of mortal and immortal. I was drawn into a state of relaxation despite my resolve not to be tranced by Sherry again. Fight as I did, I saw the scene she described—the golden light, a wooden door, the handle gripped in my hand, the portal opening into bright white light—

Tinkie’s sudden grip on my fingers almost made me cry out. The toe of her shoe in my instep stopped me. Lucky she was wearing her maid brogans with the soft leather toe. She indicated the curtains by the window.

The sheers moved slowly, as if stirred by a gentle wind. No one else seemed to notice. They all sat with their eyes squinched tight, concentrating on the chant Sherry muttered.

But it wasn’t at the window the entity appeared. It was across the room, in the doorway. She wore a brocade gown, and her bearing was regal.

“Who summons me to this plane?” the woman asked in English heavily tinged with a French accent.

I thought the people at the table would stand up and run in all directions.

“Remain seated!” Sherry commanded them. And they obeyed. Amaryllis cowered slightly but didn’t bolt and run.

“With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” Sherry asked.

“You are so common, you don’t recognize your empress?” was the reply.

“It’s Joséphine! It’s Joséphine Bonaparte!” Shimmer Addleson tried to shake free of her husband’s and Sherry’s hands, but they clung harder and kept her in her chair.

“If you break the circle, she will leave!” Brandy whispered savagely. “You’ll never hear the answer to your questions.”

That was as effective as a bolt in the head. Shimmer dropped into her chair.

“Why do you bother me?” the spirit asked again. “The journey here is tiring, and I find the … atmosphere unpleasant.” She glided around the opulent room with a scowl of distaste.

I studied the entity as carefully as I could with Tinkie climbing on me like I was a tree. She was quiet in her panic, but she was about to melt into my skin, she was so close.

“A distant relative is here,” Sherry said softly. “She needs your counsel, Queen … uh, Empress Bonaparte.”

The spirit seemed mollified by Sherry’s obsequious tone. “Does she need to know how to charm her lover? That is my specialty. Napoléon was a man amongst men, but I tamed him. I made him beg for me. Ask me any questions about the art of love, and I will answer.”

Shimmer laughed nervously, but a warning glare from Sherry quelled her. “No, Your Highness. It isn’t advice on love I seek. I want to create a fragrance worthy of your name. I need help with my cosmetic line. I want to call the perfume Joséphine’s Potion … if you don’t mind.”

Rich laughter filled the room, and the entity drew closer. I could see the creaminess of her shoulders and chest, the shine of her hair. Was it really Joséphine Bonaparte, famous wife of an emperor? Or was this a trick? Because I was forbidden to move—by the Westins and because Tinkie was clinging to my waist and shoulders—I couldn’t explore the entity.

Yikes! I didn’t have to. She walked toward me. There was a sense of occlusion, as if she were solid but not. When she glided, light shone through her.

“You want to use my name to sell your perfume, is that right, little strumpet?”

Shimmer almost swallowed her tongue. “Yes.”

Joséphine laughed. “You are a woman I admire. You have a dream and you’re willing to risk extreme measures to see it to fruition. You are like me.”

“Oh, madam!” Shimmer almost collapsed in a puddle of pleasure at the compliment. “I’ve studied you and tried to pattern myself after you. I—”

“Did you have a question for Empress Bonaparte?” Brandy interrupted. For a brief second, boredom seemed to touch her features.

“I, uh, I wanted to know—” Shimmer looked around the table as if a guest would prompt her. “I wanted to know your favorite scent!” She was triumphant.

“The delicate perfume of the narcissus, the flower you call the paperwhite, is perfect for morning. But for the evening, it must be heavier, more sensual. The gardenia is like a white stain in the night. Now I must be off. And if you call the perfume Joséphine’s Potion, it should be Joséphine’s Potion of Amour.”

“Oh, yes! Yes, that’s perfect.” Shimmer was all atwitter.

Joséphine was worse than Jitty. She was there and then she was gone. No chance for more questions. No chance for anyone to discern if the whole thing had been rigged.

Shimmer took a moment to regain her senses, and then she sprang from the chair. “Thank you! Thank you, Sherry. You did it! I have permission to use Joséphine’s name and I know which scent to use. This is everything I need. By this time next year, my cosmetic line will be in every major department store in the United States. Then the world!”

She broke free of the circle. “Come, Roger, we have to budget for
two
perfumes. One for morning and one for the night!”

Roger Addleson sat stunned, as if he couldn’t process what had happened. Slowly he rose to his feet. “Thank you,” he said to the room in general before he went after his wife.

“Well, I never!” Marjorie’s face clouded. “What about the rest of us? Perhaps we’d like a chance to hear from the spirit world. But no, Shimmer has what she needs, and now she’s gone.”

Sherry swayed in her chair. She planted her hands on the table and steadied herself. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted. Let us adjourn until tomorrow evening.”

“I need help,” Amaryllis spoke up first. It was one of the few times I’d heard her open her mouth. “I can’t stay here much longer, and I have to speak with … a departed person. I must. Before I make a fatal mistake.” She appealed to everyone at the table.

“And my daughter. What about Mariam?” Marjorie said, indignant. “I must contact her. You can’t stop now. I’ve been here days and you haven’t brought Mariam to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherry said. “Connecting with the spirits drains me. If I don’t have enough energy, I can’t help them come through.”

“I’ve paid a pretty penny to be here to speak with Mariam.” There was iron in Marjorie’s tone.

“And you will speak with your daughter,” Brandy intervened in a soft, conciliatory voice. “Of course you’ll speak with her. But not tonight. Sherry is exhausted. This takes a toll on her. You have no idea how it pulls the life force from her to bridge the gap between the worlds. You must allow her to recuperate.”

I thought Marjorie would resist, but she settled against the back of her chair. “Where is my son, Chasley?” Marjorie asked. “Why wasn’t he invited?”

“I asked him to join us. He said he wouldn’t participate,” Sherry answered. “He said you were crazy to do this and he refused to get involved.”

Uh-oh. He was probably watching, putting together information for his case against his mother. I didn’t doubt, given the least opportunity, he would question her sanity in court if he thought he could get control of her billions.

“Please! Try to see if Mariam will visit with us,” Marjorie said. The starch had gone out of her. She was a woman in her sixties who looked it. “I implore you. Try.”

Brandy whispered to Sherry, who finally spoke. “I will make one more attempt to contact a spirit. I don’t know who will come through. As weak as I am, I can only cast out a plea and see who responds.” Sherry held out her hands as she talked. She indicated Tinkie and me. “Come and join us. Complete the circle.”