A furious scowl twisted Jimmy’s face. He glared at Ronald, awkwardly patted his mother’s shoulder.
Ronald waited a moment more, then returned to his station behind Laverne. She twisted and turned, her dress rustling with the jerky movements. He murmured, his voice low and soothing, “All is well. Be at peace. Welcome James, bring him back.”
I would have liked to yank his dandy little beard, an inexplicable, unnerving, jolting out-of-the-ordinary tug, a little one-on-one with a spirit who despised sappy. All is well. Be at peace. What appalling nonsense. I folded my hands together, the better to resist temptation.
Ronald continued to murmur.
I wondered how long he would hold the stage. But he revealed a showman’s sense of timing. His words came ever more softly, then he fell silent.
Gradually, Laverne quieted. She gave a low moan. “…Jimmy’s ninth birthday…the calliope and the merry-go-round…”
Adelaide was a small town. I was willing to bet the Gazette ran a sweet little story on the society page about Jimmy Hume’s ninth birthday party.
“…the good times…darkness now at The Castle…trouble draws me back…hear me and do as I wish…jealousy and resentment growing over the years…family secrets…the father…handsome boy…desperate mother…”
Gwen Dunham was utterly still, her pale face stone hard as she watched Laverne.
Her husband remained rigid next to her. There might have been a gulf as wide as a canyon between them.
“…stolen photograph…”
Margo’s eyes flared in alarm. She had made no answer when Francie de Sales accused her of slipping the photograph of Ryan Dunham beneath Jack’s door. Now she stared in shock toward that mumbling figure dimly seen on the chaise longue.
“…Jack upset…young love spurned…”
Shannon drew in a sharp breath. She began to shake her head. Her mouth opened.
Before Shannon could speak, Margo reached over and gripped her arm.
“…oh, Jimmy…desperate measures…”
Jimmy’s head jerked up.
Diane made a desperate sound deep in her throat. “James, what are you doing?”
Laverne sagged against the chaise longue. “…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass…” Laverne pushed to a sitting position, clapped shaking hands to her temples. “…someone on the balcony with Jack…a quick blow to his back…down the steps, down the steps, down the steps…murder…”
“Murder.” Margo breathed the word in a shaky whisper.
“Nonsense.” Evelyn’s deep voice was harsh. “I demand to know what’s behind this highly contrived exhibition.” She turned a reproachful face toward Diane. “What are you trying to do? Destroy the family?”
“Murder?” Shannon’s cry was high and piercing.
Alison pushed back a thick strand of white-gold hair, gleaming in the dim light of a sconce. “Hey, wait a minute. Don’t the spirits have anything for me?” She feigned disappointment, clutching her throat. “Oh, woe, when will I know what the spirits foretell?”
“This is stupid.” Clint’s voice was gruff. He shoved back his chair. “Come on, Gwen. That’s enough of this woman’s idiocy.” He stood and reached for his wife’s arm, pulled her to her feet. “This has nothing to do with us.” But his voice was hollow.
Laverne buried her head in her hands. “…pain, so much pain…”
The overhead lights came on. Ronald stood by the light switch. “I’m sorry. Vocal outbreaks destroy the link to the other world.” He didn’t sound disturbed. In fact, his tone was bland. “The séance is over.”
I felt sure Laverne had completed her assignment.
Alison’s cool blond elegance was unruffled, her expression amused. “Hey, how about an encore? Let’s have an out-out-damned-spot moment.”
Shannon stood and pushed back her chair. “Who was on the balcony with Jack?” Her cry was shrill. “Laverne, you have to tell us. What do you know about Jack? Are you saying someone pushed him down the stairs?”
Laverne looked up with a glazed, blank expression. She shuddered. “I don’t know anything. I never remember what has been said. I don’t know what happens. The spirits come through me, but I am not aware.”
Jimmy strode toward Laverne. “Don’t give us that I-don’t-know-a-thing claim.” His voice was rough. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, totally phony. You make stuff up to get money out of my mom.”
Diane rushed unsteadily to Jimmy, clutched his arm. “Oh, no, Jimmy. Laverne doesn’t control the spirits. Everything at the séances is true.” Her face shone with a believer’s intensity. “There are so many things your daddy has talked about at séances that only he and I knew. Some notes he wrote to me…I still have them, but no one else has ever seen them…”
Apparently Ronald not only did excellent research at the historical society, he or Laverne had snooped among Diane’s most private and personal mementos, much as they’d filched information from the family albums of Laverne’s victim in Gainesville. Yet Diane hadn’t made that connection when Kay told her what she’d discovered. Diane would not, perhaps emotionally she could not, believe any fact that destroyed Laverne’s credibility.
Diane was nearing hysteria. “Everything in the séances comes from the beyond. You mustn’t drive Laverne away. I need your daddy. Oh, Jimmy, I have to have your daddy.”
“Mom…” His voice was anguished.
Shannon darted toward Laverne. “Who was on the balcony with Jack?”
Ronald moved swiftly to stand between Laverne and Shannon. He gently helped Laverne rise, smoothly placed her on the opposite side from Shannon, and began to walk toward the door, speaking softly. “You can rest now, Laverne. Your task is done. The spirits came. They have spoken through you.”
“That’s absurd.” Evelyn held tight to the back of a chair. “I insist you explain this charade.”
Clint Dunham banged the door against the wall. His hand on his wife’s elbow, he pushed her a little ahead of him and they were in the hallway.
Alison picked up her purse from the floor. “It looks like the party’s over. I never knew séances could be so much fun.” She moved purposefully toward the door.
Near the door, Laverne leaned against Ronald, her face pale and drawn. He looked calm, but there was a gleam of malicious satisfaction in his cold blue eyes as he cockily stared at Evelyn. “Laverne is nothing more than a conduit. If there are questions, perhaps you can answer them among yourselves. As James said, there appears to be trouble in the family.” He slid an arm around Laverne and guided her into the hall.
Shannon flung out her hands. “Did you hear what she said? That was supposed to be James’s voice saying someone murdered Jack.” Shannon stared at Diane. “Do you think that was James?”
Diane’s face crumpled. “Oh. If James said so…”
Evelyn clapped her hands. “Diane, you are the world’s biggest fool. The dead do not communicate.”
Hmm. That all depends. Generally speaking, Evelyn was right. Certainly in this instance she understood a scam when she saw it.
Evelyn folded her arms, her gaunt face grim. “James is not speaking through that absurd woman. In between those fake heavy breaths, she spewed disconnected, senseless phrases. James was never imprecise in his life. Or, I imagine, in death. Your dear friend Laverne and her smooth-tongued husband used the cover of a séance to allege that Jack was murdered. If they had proof, the responsible action would be to notify the police. However, they obviously have no proof. I fail to understand their objective. Possibly they simply wish to create unpleasantness. My advice to everyone present is to dismiss this evening’s performance and remember that Jack died in an accidental fall.” She moved majestically toward the door.
There was an instant of silence, then Alison nodded approvingly. “I’m with Evelyn. And now good night all. I won’t claim this was the most enjoyable evening I’ve ever spent here, but it certainly has been one of the most interesting.”