Died Blonde (17 page)

“It’s all right, I have an appointment available at three o’clock. Would that be suitable?”

Marla glanced at her watch. An hour to spare. “That’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “How much do you charge, and will you take a check?”

“It’s forty dollars for a half hour. A check will do.”

“Okay. Where do I go? I’m calling from the bookstore.”

“Take a right turn at Stevens Street, continue along until you get to Lake Street. Hang another right.” Hazel gave her house number. “I’m just opposite the park.”

Marla hung up, then wiped her sweaty palms on her coral polo shirt. Hopefully, she’d made a good choice and her interview with the spiritualist would prove illuminating.

“I have some time to spare before my reading,” she told Tally, who was examining an amethyst pendant. “I’ll talk to people to see if anyone has heard of Wilda.”

“Did you know you can ask the crystal questions and it will give you an answer? It has to be a yes-or-no answer,” Tally said, her expression serious.

“Is that right? Why don’t you ask if Wilda’s prediction is true?” When Tally dangled the crystal as though to comply, Marla grasped her wrist. “Just kidding. Do you want to come with me?”

“No, do you see that place across the street? The Spiritualist Psychic Therapy center? It says they have mediums on duty. I’d rather go in there than call a stranger on the telephone. We’ll compare notes later.”

Parting from her friend, Marla headed outside and across the street to the Purple Rose gift shop, where crystals, tarot cards, and dream-catchers were sold along with readings for thirty dollars apiece. When she mentioned Wilda’s name, the proprietor gave her a strange look along with a firm denial. The closest she came to an affirmation was in the post office, where a clerk informed her, in a hushed tone, that Wilda had once been a resident of Cassadaga.

Marla glanced behind her, wondering why he kept giving furtive glimpses toward the door. This was the tiniest post office she’d ever been in, consisting of rows of rental boxes lining the wall and a single sales counter.

“So is Wilda known as a certified medium?” Marla said.

“Oh, she’s known, all right,” replied the thin young man. “Folks around here have long memories.”

“What does that mean?”

The postal clerk leaned forward. “It means if you’re smart, you’ll steer clear of her.”

A startled expression crossed his face when another customer entered. Marla debated waiting until the woman left, but then Tally stuck her face in the door, gesturing wildly.

Reluctantly, Marla gave up her place in front of the counter. “What is it?” she asked her friend.

Tally’s eyes were lit with excitement. “Look at this.” She waved her copy of
Horizons
. “They’re having a Sweat Lodge Ceremony tonight.”

“And that is?”

“It’s awesome, Marla. You’ll like it.”

Envisioning herself sweating inside some hot, close building with a bunch of believers, Marla shook her head. “No, thanks. Maybe I can find a healing program. I need to calm my nerves. Let me see the schedule.”

Classes on meditation, feng shui, past-life regression, transfiguration, and animal spirits might appeal to Tally, but not her. Or maybe she’d give that last one a try. Then she could communicate with Spooks after he was gone.

“I have to head over toward my psychic’s house. We’ll hook up later,” Marla said to Tally, taking her leave.

Outside, she squinted in the bright sunlight. She could probably walk the distance and would be glad for the opportunity to observe the town. Passing by the bookstore, she continued along Stevens Street to a small meditation garden. Two wooden benches, painted faded red, sat on a concrete slab overlooking a gushing fountain where water squirted from a gold statue of a goddess. Her ears picked up the hum of an air-conditioning unit competing with birdsong and crickets. Occasionally, a car rumbled past, but traffic remained light.

Across the street stood Brigham Hall, an impressive two-story white house with a sign out front advertising metaphysics. Since the sidewalk ran along that side of the street, Marla crossed over. Chimes hung on the front porch, screened at ground level. Planters decorated the steps, ferns and another greenery spilling out. The sweet scent of jasmine filled her nostrils. She noticed purple morning glories and other flowering plants decorating the residences as she strolled along the pavement.

Some of these homeowners need to remember they are still alive
, Marla thought, surveying the peeling paint, plastic-covered windows, tin roofs, dented doors, and overgrown weeds. The neighborhood gave her the impression the inhabitants communed more with spirits than reality. Either they were extremely unma-terialistic, or else they didn’t make enough money offering psychic counseling to cover basic living expenses.
You’d think they would maintain their property for safety’s sake, if nothing else
.

She halted in front of Colby Memorial Temple, where a sign said, GET IN TOUCH WITH LOVED ONES WHO HAVE PASSED TO SPIRIT. On the left, a pavilion labeled Caesar Forman Healing Center posted its hours on a closed door.

Marla followed the Reverend Hazel Sherman’s instructions and found Seneca Park, with a pond glistening in the near distance. At the end of Stevens Street, a house rose on a hill like the Haunted Mansion at Walt Disney World. Getting the creeps from the deserted road and dilapidated houses, Marla trudged up Lake Street toward the address Hazel had given her.

A gray cat scooted in front of her when she arrived at the quaint blue cottage on a quiet side street. Sweating and thirsty, Marla licked dry lips as she knocked on the door.

Her eyes widened when the door swung open and an attractive brunette smiled at her. “Please come in,” the woman said, standing aside. She wore an apricot blouse, white pedal pushers, and tennis shoes. Marla couldn’t have been more surprised at her appearance. She’d expected an older, heavier-set woman in flowing garments. The image probably came from movies with gypsy fortune-tellers, but then again, Wilda favored caftans.

Marla got a quick glimpse of an appealing living room before she was led into an office.

“I’m set up here to do a tape recording, if you would like one,” the Reverend Sherman said, indicating Marla should take a seat opposite her desk chair. Cradling her purse in her lap, Marla complied, studying the papers strewn over the desk and the computer with its screensaver in motion. What, no crystal ball? An edge of disappointment teased her.

“Yes, I’d love to have a backup tape,” she replied, wishing for a cold can of Coke instead.

The other woman seated herself, then regarded Marla with a friendly expression. She looked to be in her forties, Marla surmised, noting a wedding ring on her finger. “It helps if I hold something that belongs to you,” Hazel said with a smile.

“Oh.” Fumbling in her handbag, Marla withdrew her sunglass case. “Will this work?”

“That’s fine.” Hazel took the case, turning it in her hands while staring forward. A long pause ensued, then she began speaking rapidly. “There’s a change of residence coming up around you before one year from today, and the change of residence is very positive. It’s kind of like a local change and not a long-distance change. You’re also in the process, before the end of this year, of doing more stuff as far as relationship is concerned. You need to make some relationship changes around you. Both people are kind of like very independent of each other, and now you’re in the process where you want to cement things together.”

Is that how I feel about Dalton
? Marla asked herself. What about a change of residence? Did that mean she’d finally move in with him?

“You’ve had, like, bad things happen to you in the past, and for a long time you blamed yourself, but you were able to put them behind you and move on,” Hazel continued. “It’s made you a stronger person, and, don’t take this wrong, but you still tend to get into, like, self-imposed guilt trips. You’ll be making some major changes to rid yourself of this anchor weighing you down.”

Marla swallowed. The psychic’s words hit close to the mark.

“You also need to do something about a career aspect, and that’s coming to you within the next few months. You’re getting your self-esteem back, and you’re not so scared to make changes. Before this, you were frozen in one spot, and that’s totally unlike you. You used to be a person, like, you’d make up your mind to do something and come hell or high water, you would do it. But lately, I don’t know, you’re just stuck. You don’t give yourself enough credit to go forward. You’ve been, like, in a limbo stage for a while, and you have to make some major changes to get out of the limbo stage and move on. Some opportunities have come up around you”—Hazel caught Marla’s gaze with her own—“but you didn’t take these opportunities. You had to get your heart and your self-esteem to where you needed to be, so you can move yourself into a good place. You’ve avoided any kind of change for a while, and now change is, like, very, very positive for you.”

That could apply to anyone
. “Are you referring to my business or my personal life?” Marla asked with a note of skepticism.

Hazel gave a small smile. “That’s for you to decide. You have a natural, God-given talent. I mean, God gives everyone a talent, but you’ve kind of been, um, walking away from yours for the past couple of years. He’s given you a message, and your talent is even stronger. You can’t walk away from it anymore. You’re creating your own destiny. Not everything is going to be a cakewalk in life. You can be your own worst enemy, and it’s, like, you have to change that. You want to get to a point where you can accept yourself.”

What? Marla realized she’d had problems accepting herself over past misdeeds, but she had gotten over that, hadn’t she? Or was this holding her back from committing to a lasting relationship with Dalton? Could it also be keeping her behind the salon chair when she had the potential—yes, and the talent—for doing more?

“There is someone unsettled around you,” Hazel intoned. “You have to finish the task you’ve set yourself to help that person, but then you should put more energy into yourself. You’re doing too many things for other people.”

You sound like my mother, although she’s the one who talked me into helping Aunt Polly
. Or did Hazel mean Carolyn? Marla’s task, according to Wilda, involved solving her rival’s murder. She fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with how accurately the medium was reading her. What happened to the ghostly visitations she’d anticipated? This wasn’t how she’d expected the session to go. She’d thought Hazel would be in contact with a spirit from the world beyond.

“You’re also going to be involved in, like, taking care of or mentoring a child, but this child is not your child,” Hazel said. “It’s not something you have to do, but you volunteer to do it.”

You’re right
, Marla thought, envisioning Brianna.

Hazel’s face sobered. “You’re going to take a trip, and it involves family issues. Something bad is coming up around this trip. Not for you; your health is good. But someone else…there may be a death before the end of the year.”

Marla’s spine stiffened. “I consulted a medium at home, Wilda Cleaver, who said someone close to me may be ill. She claimed that a late friend sent this message. Now you’re telling me someone in my family’s going to die?” Her pulse throbbed in her throat.

Hazel raised a hand. “There’s something bad coming up around this trip you’re going to take, and it involves a family member. I can’t see exact details. It’s just a feeling I get.”

So Wilda was on the level
. Yet Marla’s skepticism kicked in. “Could a dead person really send such a warning?”

“It’s possible.”

“Can you contact the spirit to ask who gets sick?”

“It doesn’t happen that way.”

“Why didn’t Carolyn send her message directly to me?”

“You have the gift, if you listen to your intuition. Did this person cross over recently?” At Marla’s nod, she said, “You may start seeing things going on around you that are associated with your friend, little signs, and you’ll know those are signs she’s giving you. When a person passes away, there’s a time frame where you won’t have dreams, you won’t have anything. It’s kind of like they’re going through an orientation process, and it’s different for each individual when they cross over. But once that’s done, you’ll see a lot of signs, many things happening. But it’s you, too. You have to get rid of your self-imposed pressure first.”

Hazel fingered the eyeglass case in her lap. “Do you have a brother? You have an emotional aspect around him. It’s been brewing for a while, and you need to resolve the issue. There’s still a lot of water underneath the bridge, and you, like, have to let go of the past.”

Marla bit her lower lip. Hadn’t she fully reconciled with Michael regarding old history between them?

“He has some health issues coming up around him in the next six to eight months. Does he have a heart problem or chest pain or something? Is he a very stressed-out person? Either he’s doing it to himself or…Nothing bad is going to happen; I just see this coming up around him.”

Holy highlights, Marla wondered if Michael was the family member who needed medical aid.

“Your father’s been a very strong presence nearby you for the past two years. He’s moving around your brother now, because your brother is experiencing some kind of, like, tremendous, I would say, emotional difficulties that he’s, um, created for himself. It’s producing a snowball effect, and so he’s having to make some major changes in his lifestyle, I want to say this year.”

Marla leaned forward. Truthfully, despite her mother’s admonitions, she rarely called Michael. Living in Boca Raton with his wife and two children, he seemed to have the perfect family. Was Hazel hinting at undercurrents Marla hadn’t detected? Guilt rushed through her for not paying more attention.

“I don’t know if he’s overextended himself or something,” the psychic said, “but a lot of it has to do with his finances. He’s kind of gone off the edge, and now he’s in the process where he’s getting himself back to a conservative place.”

Hazel cleared her throat. “For some reason, before your dad passed away, he had some unresolved issues concerning your brother. Your dad wanted to take steps to resolve it, but your brother couldn’t go in that direction. Maybe he thought he was going to have more time, and he didn’t, and I think that’s, like, a major burden around him. Your dad is worried whether your brother can get past that, because it’s weighing him down. He can’t emotionally beat himself up about it anymore. Your father has accepted everything, and your brother has to move on.”

What unresolved issues? Marla would have to ask Michael if any of this applied. She’d had her own problems with her brother, but that was something different.

“Your dad is very happy where he is,” Hazel continued, her eyes glazed. “He looks forward to the day when he can meet you again. Meanwhile, he wants you to go forward. He knows that no matter what, you bounce back, you can make it. Also, he feels bad because you’re putting a lot of your energy into someone else. He wants to tell you not to worry about that person and to start doing more for yourself. You have some family business you’re going to finish, and that’s good, because it will take the emotional headache off you.”

Did this mean one of her cousins would share the burden in caring for Aunt Polly? That would certainly relieve an extra responsibility she didn’t need.

“Is anyone in the legal field, or something to do with the law?” Hazel asked, startling her. “Some kind of family issue is coming up for them. It’s nothing bad, but it may cause problems. They’ll have to deal with it.”

Oh no. The psychic must mean Dalton Vail.

“There’s something around you that involves a piece of property that’ll help you out with the financial aspects. In the past year, there’s been a lot of unexpected high expenses around you, but it’s, like, whatever it is you’ve spent money on, things are coming back around you.”

That could be the rental property I bought from Stan
. “When did you get started doing this?” Marla asked in unabashed awe.

“Oh, probably close to twenty-five years ago.”

“How did you know it was your calling?”

“My intuition…I pick up on people all the time, things going around, and dreams.”

“Did you go for training?”

“I went to classes in parapsychology and meditation, but everybody has their own way of doing it.”

“How do you sense this stuff?”

“Sometimes it’s symbols, sometimes words or colors.”

“What about negative energy and all those crystals and talismans other people talk about?”

“You don’t need that. What’s in your heart is what counts. Rocks, candles, and incense won’t do anything for you. If it helps you relax, that’s fine, but you shouldn’t put all your hopes, dreams, and wishes into a rock, candle, or crystal. If you look at everything in life, God’s hand is everywhere. You have to have faith; it keeps you going. There most definitely is an afterlife. You’ll understand one day.”

The medium’s eyelids fluttered. “Right now, you’re obsessed with completing your task. You feel the need to pursue justice. Learning the truth will bring you peace.”

A chill captured Marla all the way to her toes. She’d pronounced similar words as part of her bat mitzvah speech:
Justice, justice, shall you pursue
. How could they form on Hazel’s lips?

“Treat yourself as fairly as you treat others,” the medium went on. “Accept who you are, and you’ll find the power within you to move forward. Above all, don’t give up. The truth is just around the horizon.”

Then let’s find it
. “How about Wilda Cleaver, does her name ring a bell? I imagine a lot of you practitioners know each other.”

“Sorry, I never heard of her, but that doesn’t mean anything. You have to let intuition guide you in choosing someone.”

Suspending any further inquiries, Marla paid her bill and left. Her head reeled with all the revelations. How much of it was valid? So many insights seemed accurate that Marla was inclined to believe Hazel. Then again, how many people could rightfully be told they needed to make changes in their life?

“You won’t believe the things I heard at my reading,” Marla said to Tally in the hotel lobby about fifteen minutes later. She’d found the blonde poring over a stack of New Age books. “Did you buy all of those?”

“These are great topics. How did your session go? Hey, listen to this article. It says you should do a life-purpose inventory to discover your special mission. Ignore any negative self-talk, and eliminate the clutter in your life. That will help you create a solid foundation for daily living.”

“No kidding. Like who doesn’t know that? It’s common sense.”

Tally pursed her lips. “It’s the first step toward discovering your higher purpose.”

“Good, you clean out your closet to dispose of clutter, and I’ll find Carolyn’s killer.” She paused. “The medium mentioned some words similar to my bat mitzvah speech,” she confessed. “The section I read provided for a judicial system during the old days. There’s no way Hazel could have known my Torah portion unless she received a message from my father.”

“Start at the beginning, Marla.”

“Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want anyone else to hear us.”

At the second level, Marla unlocked their door and entered the room. Tossing her purse onto her bed, she flopped down beside it, then proceeded to relate everything to Tally.

“Tell me more about your speech,” Tally said when she’d finished.

“Back in biblical times, the Torah provided laws. One of them was that no one should be found guilty unless two or more witnesses provided evidence. Innocent until proven guilty, right? If an appointed judge had trouble making a decision, he was referred to a higher authority, like our Supreme Court. But in my speech, I said that not all God intended has come to pass. Witnesses make mistakes. Juries don’t always judge fairly. Often criminals are released and become a threat to society. As individuals, we can’t always affect these issues, so we have to focus on treating others with fairness. This is how we move closer to God.”

“So what’s the relevance?”

“Hazel said if I treat myself as fairly as I treat others, I’ll accept myself, and I can move on.” Examining her fingernails, Marla noticed where her polish needed repair.

Tally eyed her. “She may have a point. Hazel also mentioned relationship changes, and it’s time you decided where you’re heading with Dalton.”

“Maybe my purpose in life is to seek justice, and that’s why I help him with his cases.”

“Nonsense. You’ve always felt guilty about Tammy’s death, and that’s been your driving force. Now it’s time to put the past behind you and go forward. Dalton needs you, and so does Brianna. You should listen to the psychic’s advice. Maybe the unsettled soul Hazel told you about isn’t Carolyn; it’s you.”

“I’m more inclined to worry about one of my relatives falling ill during an upcoming trip.”

“That still gives you some time to discover who’s sick.” Pacing the room, Tally glanced at her. “What would Wilda gain by urging you to find Carolyn’s killer?”

“How should I know?” Marla tilted her head. “Tell me about your session. Who did you see?”

A knock on the door startled them both. Marla opened it to see the desk clerk holding a sealed envelope.

“This message was delivered for you.”

“Thanks.” Waiting until the woman left, she tore it open. “I have information about Wilda Cleaver,” Marla read to Tally. “Meet me tonight at ten o’clock by the picnic table at Lake Colby Park. Come alone.” Marla stared at her friend. “We’re finally hitting pay dirt.”

Tally’s alarmed blue eyes regarded hers. “It could be a trick. I’ll go with you.”

“No, I’d better do this by myself. I have my cell phone. If I don’t call you by ten-fifteen, you can get help.”

Following the directions in the note, Marla turned right from the main hotel entrance toward an intersection where she could either turn left onto Marion Street or go straight downhill toward the park, which was bound to be deserted this time of night. Having decided to walk the short distance, she brushed a mosquito off her neck as she trudged down the decline, watching her footing with the help of a flashlight from her glove compartment. At the bottom, a dirt road looped around the lake. Her light source pinpointed a lone picnic table under a shady canopy.

Advancing a few hundred feet, Marla halted when a sticklike figure emerged from the shadows. Moonlight illuminated the features of the postal clerk she’d encountered earlier that day. His grinning expression didn’t indicate a threat, so Marla moved toward him cautiously.

“I’m glad you decided to share some information,” she began, feeling a crawling sensation on her arm. Suppressing a shudder, she brushed away whatever insect had landed there to taste her flesh.

“I couldn’t talk to you where anyone else could hear,” he said with a nervous tick on his thin face. “I’m not one of them, so their code of silence doesn’t affect me. I think you should know that Wilda Cleaver is a thief.”

Marla’s heartbeat accelerated. “Really?”

“She belonged to the spiritual camp once. When she lived here, Wilda set up a phony psychic hot line and duped thousands of victims, sending collection letters to those who didn’t pay for her services. The association expelled her. She was an embarrassment, a blemish on their reputation.”

Wow, she’d stumbled upon a gold mine of disclosure. “Are you saying that Wilda does not have any true psychic power? Everything she says is false?”

His eyes hinted at old wounds. “I’m not qualified to make that judgment, but I wouldn’t trust her, and I certainly wouldn’t give her any money. She claimed to have studied with a shaman in Brazil, but that’s garbage. Wilda is a butcher’s daughter from the Bronx.”

Withdrawing a folded envelope from his pocket, he offered it to her. “Here, I made copies for you. You’ll find more information in there.”

“I owe you, friend.”

“Doug Rosenfeld. I just hope this has been helpful.”

“More than you know. Thanks a bunch.” Stumbling up the road, Marla resisted the urge to tear open the envelope right away. Knowing Wilda was a fake eased concerns about her family, at least until she remembered Hazel’s pronouncements.

“Maybe Wilda fleeced a lot of people and got kicked out of camp, but she still may be a viable medium,” Tally told her while they readied for bed in their room. “What’s in that envelope?”

Dressed in her cotton nightshirt, Mark sat beside a round table covered with a lacy cloth and pulled out a pile of folded papers from the crinkled envelope. “They’re all about Wilda.”

Standing, Tally pulled a brush through her long hair. “What do they say?”

Marla scanned the materials, mostly copies of news clippings. “She ran a two-dollars-and-fifty-cents-per-minute psychic hotline, with nearly four million people calling who were charged an average of fifty bucks. She tried to collect millions in overdue charges.”

“How did she get away with this?”

Marla choked back a cry of incredulity. “Wilda put on a phony accent, called herself Sequina the Seer, and claimed she’d been trained by Brazilian shamans. She also earned money from television advertising and a Web site.” Marla shuffled through the articles, filtering more details. “Consumer complaints started the investigation. Once the members of this community learned the extent of her activities, they kicked her out.