Deadline (11 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Deadline
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She had lost eight husbands. She did not want to experience the loss of a child. It would be devastating, worse than any kind of grief in the world.
Toots could not go there.
Chapter 11
S
ophie arrived at the Huntley Hotel with two minutes to spare. She'd dropped Ida and Mavis off at Evergreen's, which was on the way, but still didn't have much time to prepare for her new client, Angela Leigh, mother of missing actress Laura Leigh.
Inside the hotel, the lobby was modern—lots of white walls and aquariums filled with odd-looking white fish, swimming as though they were in their natural habitat. Ultramodern furniture in earth tones, and sea-colored sofas lined the wall opposite the aquariums. Briefly, she wondered how much a room like that would set her back, then gave a shrug. Who cared? She wasn't staying there, and if she wanted to, she could sure as hell afford it.
She'd been instructed to see the hotel concierge upon arriving, so spying the desk, she hurried to ask where she was to meet her client. She knew the meeting was on the QT, big-time.
Sophie spotted the alcove leading to the birdcage elevator, which she had been instructed to take to the fifth floor. The enclosed glass elevator on the outside of the hotel offered a spectacular view of Santa Monica Beach. A smattering of lights touched the horizon, and tips of white sails bobbed in the glow of the red-orange setting sun. Something told her Goebel would admire the view as much as she did.
When she reached the fifth floor, the elevator doors swished open. Plush white chairs faced one another, teak side tables topped with sculptures of sea life formed a sort of urban-chic lounge. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the ocean and the sunset's golden glow brought added warmth to the space.
A woman in her late forties, with short blond hair, a fake tan, and silver earrings the size of a bracelet was waiting for her in the lounge. She wore a short black sundress and shiny red heels at least four inches high.
Cheap
came to mind as Sophie followed her. Their shoes made soft mushy sounds in the grasslike carpet. When they arrived at the room, Angela Leigh used a keycard to open the door. She stepped inside, not bothering to speak, offering nothing in the way of an invitation or a greeting. Sophie disliked the woman already.
“You can sit there,” the woman instructed brusquely, speaking to Sophie as she might to a beggar from the streets asking for a handout. She pointed to a chair that matched those in the lounge area.
“I'll need a table,” Sophie said. When the woman looked at her like she'd lost her mind, Sophie wanted to bitch slap her, but refrained. “You want me to read for you, I'll need a table on which to place the cards,” she explained as she remained standing behind the large white chair.
“Here. Use this.” The rude woman slid a cloth-covered ottoman between them.
Sophie removed her tarot cards from her tote bag but didn't bother spreading them out on the ottoman. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, the room becoming a blur of white. Reaching for the back of the chair to steady herself, she closed her eyes, hoping the waves of light-headedness would pass.
“Are you all right?” Angela Leigh asked her.
Sophie heard her, but felt like the voice was coming through a tunnel. She nodded that she was okay, but she wasn't. Carefully, she made her way to the front of the chair and sat down. Opening her eyes, she saw that the room was no longer spinning. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she tried to clear her head. She'd never experienced anything like that before. Never. And it frightened her.
“I can't do this now. I'm sorry,” Sophie said in a voice she hardly recognized.
“You want a glass of water or something?”
“No. I just need to sit here for a minute. I'll be fine.” Sophie was unsure of anything at the moment.
“Does this have anything to do with my daughter's disappearance? Your behavior?”
Sophie felt like she'd been knocked in the head. She wasn't sure what to say because she didn't know. In her sixty-six years, she'd never experienced this ... spaced-out feeling. The image she'd seen was as clear as the room she was in. But it was not this room. No, it was a scene she'd never witnessed in her life—unless it was in some past life.
As though she was viewing a movie, an image of a snow-covered mountain filled her vision. And something red and so bright it hurt her eyes.
Sophie was one hundred percent sure she'd just experienced her first true clairvoyant vision.
Trying to act like nothing had happened wasn't going to work. “Uh, no, I'm just a little dizzy. Look, I know you wanted me to read for you, but I can't. Not now. I'm sorry.”
Angela Leigh sat in the chair across from Sophie. “I know I'm not the friendliest person in the world right now.” She blotted her eyes with a tissue. “Laura always calls me; she would never just take off and not let me know where she was going. I'm afraid something terrible has happened to her.”
Sophie felt bad for her earlier thoughts. Of course, the woman was suffering. Her child was missing. Forget the fact the daughter was a B-grade actress, and the mother dressed like a social-climbing high-school student. This was serious.
“I don't know if this will help you, but when I heard about your daughter's disappearance, I didn't get a bad feeling. I'm rarely wrong.” Sophie knew it wasn't much, but at that moment it was all she could offer. She felt weak, as though she needed to lie down.
“No, it doesn't help. I was told you read tarot and held an occasional séance. I was expecting something that would help me locate my daughter.”
Sophie just wanted to leave, get the hell out of there. She needed to think, needed to try to decipher the image she'd seen. “Again, I apologize. I'm not feeling well. It must be the fish I ate earlier. I can call you, reschedule this when I'm feeling better.”
“I don't think there's time for that,” Angela said. “Do you want me to call downstairs for someone to assist you?”
“No, I will be fine.” Slowly, Sophie stood up. Other than being a little shaky, she was sure the worst of the dizziness had passed.
“Of course. I'll get the door.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said briskly. She hoofed it to the door as fast as possible. She needed to get the hell out of there and quickly.
Inside the elevator, she punched the button for the lobby. The second the doors swooshed open, she headed for the exit, and the car. Inside the Escalade, she tossed her tote bag in the passenger seat, but didn't insert the key in the ignition. She wasn't in any hurry to start driving. Mavis and Ida would be with their stiff for at least two more hours. That should give her enough time to recover from her ... vision.
Suddenly, Sophie wished her old friend Madam Butterfly was still alive. Living in New York City, Madam Butterfly had been a mentor of sorts. Sophie had gone to her for readings off and on for years, and it was she who'd discovered Sophie's psychic abilities. At the time, Sophie had laughed at her, but as the years passed, Sophie knew that the “feelings” she had were more than normal intuition. It had frightened her, but she'd always remained interested in the world beyond, an after place. When the spirits decided to pay Toots a visit, Sophie's abilities had been reawakened. Calling those from beyond was as normal to her now as picking up the phone. Almost. But she didn't recall ever having such a clear and vivid vision. If she could figure out what it meant, it would be worth the physical agony she'd gone through.
She closed her eyes, trying to call up the vision. Snow, fresh and powdery—she could almost feel its iciness. Concentrating, she focused on the blinding white. It was endless. As she focused on the image, the flash of bright red appeared. It was slick and flat. The object was surrounded by snow. Her expression froze when it hit her.
Suddenly, Sophie's vision became quite clear to her. What she had seen was a vehicle, a bright red vehicle covered in snow.
 
The heady scent of roses and carnations filled the small viewing area at the Evergreen Funeral Home. Four rooms were used for viewing dearly departed loved ones. One room held seating for only twenty-four. Half of the seats were empty.
Mavis and Ida arrived just as the deceased's ceremony began. Out of respect, they joined the ten mourners as Lula Mae Travis made her last earthly appearance.
Friends and relatives each took a turn at the lectern, remembering Lula Mae. Each eulogized her at great length.
Ida looked at her watch, then leaned over to whisper to Mavis. “The woman was ninety-seven years old. Do you imagine they're going to rehash her entire life?”
“Shhh,” Mavis said. “Give them a couple minutes.”
Ida rolled her eyes, but kept silent. If they didn't get started on their client soon, they'd be there all night.
Tapping her high-heel-clad foot against the chair in front of her, Ida had a flash of the mourners mourning themselves. She spoke up, though this time she didn't bother lowering her voice as she doubted half the mourners could hear her anyway. “Let's just leave. We'll be here all night.”
Mavis took her bag from the floor and quietly escaped through the dark green drapes that separated the viewing rooms. Once they were out of earshot Ida swore. “Damn, Mavis, we can't let ourselves get involved this way again. Remember, we're professionals.”
“Yes, but we must always show compassion,” Mavis said sweetly. “Remember Pearl.”
Pearl May Atkins was the reason they were there in the first place. Mavis had attended the poor woman's funeral. When she saw there was no one to give Pearl a proper send-off, Mavis made it her mission to see to it that no one went to the hereafter without a decent farewell.
Mavis and Ida had trained in San Francisco, and now both were in demand. Mavis, for her unique clothes designed for easy dressing of the dead, and Ida, for her skill with makeup. Many had commented on her work, saying the deceased looked much better dead than they had alive. Ida was quite proud of her accomplishments.
The e-mail she had received from the owner of the funeral parlor said he was vacationing in Europe. Their services had come highly recommended. from morticians across the country who were raving over her cosmetics. He promised to refer them to other funeral parlors throughout the state.
They traveled down a long, dark hallway, where a sign pointed to the administrator's office. “Here,” Ida said, stepping inside the office that consisted of a small dark green love seat with two matching wing chairs and a round coffee table in the center. Matching tables on either side of the love seat held imitation Tiffany lamps. Behind the love seat, a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the wall. Each shelf held an urn, several small floral arrangements, and what appeared to be samples of materials for the inside and outside of the many choices of caskets Evergreen offered. Ida thought the entire setup exceedingly tacky.
“Who is our contact, and why isn't he here?” Mavis asked as she looked around the empty office.
Ida removed her BlackBerry from her purse and scrolled through her e-mail. When she found the original e-mail, she clicked on it. “His name is Barry Higginbotham. He's filling in for Mr. Greenfield, the owner, who's in Europe.”
They each sat in one of the wing chairs. Ida looked at her watch. “He probably thinks we weren't coming since we spent so much time attending that service.” Ida stood up and went to the door, where she peered out into the hallway.
A short man with a terrible toupee raced down the hall toward the office. He stopped and openly stared at Ida's bright pink hair. Stuttering, he said, “I'm s-s-sorry if I kept you w-w-waiting. The Travis family n-n-needed my attention. I'm Mr. Higginbotham. You must be Ms. M-M-McGullicutty.” He held out a plump hand.
Ida instantly thought of germs. She did not want to touch the little man's hands. They looked greasy, like he'd raked them through his oily black toupee. She forced herself to touch the top of his hand with hers, then inched away from him.
“Now about M-M-Mr. Frank.” Mr. Higginbotham scooted behind the desk. He slid to the edge of the chair and placed both elbows on the desk. “It's a very s-s-sad case. As you know, the m-m-man took his own life. The family did not g-g-give me all the details, nonetheless there are some ... uh, p-p-problems.”
Mavis, who had remained silent, spoke up. “We are quite used to dealing with problem cases. As a matter of fact, we sort of specialize in difficult dressings.”
Ida knew she was referring to Martha Wilkinson, their first client. The poor old woman's last request was to make sure she was buried with dentures in place, and she had been, just not the ones that belonged to her. The husband, in his late nineties, had mistakenly given the funeral director his teeth instead of his wife's. They'd almost had to break the poor woman's jaw to insert the extra-large dentures, but she had gone to the other side with a complete set of false teeth.
“T-T-That's encouraging, b-b-because ... well, j-j-just follow m-m-me to the emb-b-balming room, and you can s-s-see for yourself.”
Mr. Higginbotham scurried out of the office like a roach caught in the light. Ida and Mavis practically had to run to keep up with him. As they raced behind the little man to the embalming room, Ida suddenly had a feeling she'd made a serious error in accepting the assignment. She was beginning to think like Sophie.

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