I popped to my feet and disappeared.
In the Phillipses’ suite, Laverne lay on the bed, a damp washcloth on her face. “I can’t do the séance tonight.”
Ronald looked up from a leather chair. His blue eyes were cold. “You will do as I say.” He looked down at a thick travel brochure with a picture of dark blue water and an elegant cruise ship. “This one visits seven ports. We’ll fly to Copenhagen.”
I carefully eased open the drawer to a writing desk. I found a pen and cream-colored stationery with the emblem of a castle.
“I’m frightened.” Laverne’s voice was muffled.
I wrote in block letters:
CANCEL SÉANCE. JACK HUME MURDERED. DANGER!
He turned a page in the brochure. “You don’t have to do anything but be a dandy little parrot tonight. Say your piece and say it right.” His tone was threatening. “You won’t have to do anything more. I’ll take care of everything else.”
I scooted the sheet of paper across the floor, going slowly so a flicker of movement wouldn’t catch Ronald’s eye. I placed the sheet just inside the door, as if it had been slipped beneath the panel.
I flowed into the hall, rapped smartly on the door, returned to their bedroom.
Ronald looked around. His expression was alert with a feral wariness. He flipped the travel brochure to a side table and walked to the door. As he reached for the knob, he saw the sheet of paper. He bent, picked it up. He yanked open the door and looked into the hall.
The hall lay quiet and empty.
Ronald shrugged and closed the door.
Laverne propped up on one elbow. “What was that?”
A swift, exultant smile touched his face. “Oh”—his tone was careless—“just a little confirmation of my theories. Nothing for you to worry about.”
I paced back and forth in Kay’s room.
The door opened and Kay stalked inside, her expression frustrated. “Diane’s always had the backbone of a noodle.”
“Not this time?”
Kay dropped onto the small seat at the dressing table. “I was sure I could finesse an invitation. I knocked on her door and smiled prettily and said I hoped we could have a few minutes after dinner, there were some points in my notes that weren’t clear. She looked frazzled and said we’d get together tomorrow, but tonight there was the séance. I pretended utter, heartfelt fascination and said in a tremulous voice that I wanted to reach out to Jack. Instead of embracing me as a convert to the Hereafter, she got this stricken look and muttered that the evening was only for those who were here when Jack died. She shut the door in my face. So”—she pointed at me—“you have to do your thing and find out what Ronald knows.”
My reply was swift and definite. “Count me out.”
She frowned. “Come on, Bailey Ruth. Tonight will be a gold mine of information. We have to find out what happens.” She looked exasperated. “Why are you staring at me like I’m Dracula?”
I glanced at my reflection. I admired my black jersey dress with a dramatic white floral print. It was perfect for a summer-evening dinner at The Castle. The vivid black was an excellent choice for a redhead. I smoothed back a shining curl. I wasn’t, of course, being prideful. I simply took to heart the charge against hiding a light beneath a bushel. But my normally vivacious (even though I say so myself) expression was gone. In fact, I definitely looked perturbed. “Leviticus 19:31.”
Kay blinked in surprise, then shook her head. “I remember. Summoning the occult is a bad, bad idea.” She drew out the a in the adjective. Her tone was amused. “Chill, dearie. Laverne isn’t summoning the occult. She’ll be working off hubby’s script. And”—she was abruptly serious—“if your spook routine was ever essential, it’s tonight. I can’t be there, ergo you take the baton.”
“I can’t attend a séance.” I wasn’t sure I could make Kay understand. “There will be the trappings of the supernatural. Wiggins wouldn’t want me to be part of that.” I suddenly felt as though I were bathed in a beatific glow. I looked around.
“Uh-oh.” Kay stiffened.
My expression of seeking someone clearly hadn’t escaped Kay.
She made a little shushing motion with one hand. “Is he back? Honestly, one of you is enough. Really and truly. But you have to be at the séance tonight.” She swung around on the cushion, her eyes darting around the room. “Wiggins.” She sounded a little choked at using his name. “Hear me out. We don’t believe in séances. Right? None of us here believe in that kind of thing. Although—but no, no. I remember. You sent Bailey Ruth. I didn’t ask for her to come. Oh, that’s for da—That is definitely true. No request came from me. Anyway, I understand the distinction between an authorized emissary and attempts to make a fraudulent connection with the beyond.”
I nodded in admiration. Kay put the matter very well indeed.
“However, you know and I know and Bailey Ruth knows that our participation—”
Was there a faintly heard rumble?
Kay continued hurriedly. “Actually, her unwilling presence, very unwilling, would in no way signal approval of the fraud perpetrated by Laverne Phillips upon poor Diane. However, since we are well aware the séance is a fraud, that knowledge surely permits Bailey Ruth to attend. Ronald Phillips intends to blackmail Jack Hume’s murderer. Bailey Ruth may gain evidence to avenge Jack. Possibly if we follow those leads, we can prevent Ronald from putting himself in grave danger.”
I shook my head. “A moment ago, I warned him.” I described the note and my knock on the door. “He took the note as a signal that he was right. The séance will proceed.”
“Danger.” Wiggins’s voice was as deep as the lowest timbre of a pipe organ.
Kay’s eyes flared wide.
Wiggins boomed. “Danger indeed for the immortal souls of all who traffic in such nonsense.”
Kay shot me a panicked glance.
Truly, it mystified me that she had come to terms with me, but still found Wiggins’s unseen presence unnerving. “Wiggins.” As always I was respectful. “Possibly we should realize that Precept Six—don’t scare anybody—outweighs Precept Three—stay out of sight. Of course, it is always your intent, nobly so, to work behind the scenes. However, in this instance I believe we can have more civilized discourse if Kay can see you.” He was such a wonderful, reassuring man. In person. A booming voice alone didn’t give the proper impression.
“Hmm.”
Kay stared toward the sound of his voice, hunched her shoulders.
“Oh, very well.” A swirl of colors and Wiggins stood a few feet from us, shining chestnut curls bright above his ruddy face. “Kay Clark, please understand this is not the usual protocol.”
Kay lifted a shaky hand to touch her upper lip.
Wiggins’s walrus mustache was a thing of beauty. His stiffly starched, high-collared white shirt gleamed. He was true to his period in gray wool trousers—thankfully, the air-conditioning in The Castle made the room quite cool—and suspenders as well as a thick black belt with a silver buckle.
He looked at Kay. “Now, now, my dear.” His voice was suddenly gentle. His rubicund face creased in that warm, welcoming smile I had come to love.
The tension eased from Kay’s body.
His dark brown eyes glowed with kindness. “The mission of the Department of Good Intentions”—he spoke with quiet pride—“is to combat evil.”
Kay’s look was imploring. “That’s why Bailey Ruth must be at the séance tonight.”
Wiggins tugged on one end of his mustache. He stood in thought for a long moment. Finally, he spoke in a considering tone. “The intent behind tonight’s gathering is reprehensible in several ways: the spurious offering of contact with the beyond, the deliberate effort to create fear on the part of those present, the nefarious purpose of profiting from evil. However”—his eyes brightened—“I can see that Bailey Ruth’s attendance would in no way offer sanction, but may lead to a successful completion of her mission.” He folded one large hand into a fist, smacked it into his palm. “Very well. I approve.”