“I thought you couldn’t read minds,” I said, my gloved hands massaging her scalp.
“I can feel things and you are…” She twisted a bit to look at me.
“So horny I could screw the crack of dawn?”
“That’s about it,” she said, smiling.
“This kid better be worth it,” I muttered. “By the way, this private plane that’s picking us up, is it a jet? With a flight attendant or two?”
“Sorry to disappoint you but it’s an old fishing plane. Smelly, dirty, slow and loud. We can’t arrive in anything with the Montgomery name on it.”
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Okay, stand up. You have to leave it on for twenty minutes. Here, let me do your eyebrows.”
“Yuck. I’ll look horrible.”
“Not to me,” I said, then smacked her on the fanny. For a moment I held my breath. Was she going to give me another nosebleed?
She rubbed her rear end and said, “Save it for somebody who’s interested, and touch me again and I’ll show you what I did to those four witches in Connecticut.”
With that, she left the bathroom to go to her closet to start pulling out clothes.
Damn! I thought, but she was a weird little character. And damn me, but I was more intrigued by the minute.
Darci
Chapter Seven
ALL THE WAY TO ALABAMA ON THAT DREADFUL PLANE Mike Taggert had sent, I thought about my mother—and tried hard not to think about her.
Mike hadn’t asked me too many questions except whether or not I might be in danger. “None whatever,” I said, lying while using my mind to make him believe me. I think he did, but I wasn’t sure. On the other hand, I’m sure he knew he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Yes, he’d contacted someone he knew and got me a plane down to Alabama. He asked me some questions, but I didn’t answer him, because the truth was I didn’t know what was ahead.
As the day progressed, I kept feeling that something was calling me to this place in Alabama. If I weren’t such a lily-livered coward I would have called my mother and asked her what she knew. But I was like those women—and men—who ran corporations but turned into weaklings in front of their mothers. I’d walk into fire for those I loved, but just the thought of calling my mother made me want to sit down and take some long, deep breaths.
The plane ride was so noisy that there could be no conversation so I tried to concentrate on what I was feeling. “An object” was all that was in my mind. Some magic object was pulling me to it. Was it an object or was it a person? If it was a person, did it have a body? And if it was an object, what did it do? For a moment I closed my eyes and fantasized about finding Aladdin’s lamp. If the Mirror of Nostradamus existed, why not the magic lamp? I certainly knew what I’d wish for!
The plane suddenly dropped in altitude and jarred me back to reality. I looked across at Linc and saw him cross himself. I could feel that he expected to die at any moment.
It wasn’t long before we landed on a private landing strip where a long black limo was waiting for us. I’d told Mike that I needed to look rich when I arrived so he’d arranged it.
We drove for over an hour before we reached 13 Elms, the place where the mother of Linc’s son was last known to work. Officially, she’d been a masseuse, but I felt that she’d done something else, something that involved the child.
Maybe I was being paranoid but I wouldn’t talk to Linc inside the limo. I knew Mike had sent the limo, and the driver wasn’t from the plantation, but, still, I had the feeling we were being watched. Watched and listened to—and scrutinized.
“What’s wrong with you?” Linc asked. “You’ve turned whiter—if that’s possible.”
I smiled at him. Poor man. He was totally unable to suppress his sexual desires. Perhaps I should give him a talk about self-denial.
As soon as I figured out how to suppress my own longings I was going to talk to him.
“Holy Mother of—” Linc said under his breath.
“Please don’t curse,” I said, but there was no conviction in my voice because I was seeing what he was seeing.
The brochure about the place, 13 Elms, had been crazy. They hadn’t stated outright that they were a group of spiritualists, or that they held séances, or that anyone told futures. In the brochure they’d said they were “a place of rejuvenation.” They said that your worries would be taken away at 13 Elms. I’d felt the truth of what went on there.
However, I’d not seen the actual, physical place as my visions aren’t perfectly clear. Sometimes they are, but most often it’s just glimpses of images. I’d seen bricks and trees, and I’d seen white columns. From this I’d drawn the conclusion that 13 Elms was an old plantation-type house, like something out of Gone With the Wind. The brochures had carefully shown only interiors and a cute herb garden with a sundial in the middle of it.
But what Linc and I were seeing wasn’t cute, wasn’t little, and didn’t look very southern. It looked like a fortress more than a house, with two towers sticking up from it, one tall, one short. The whole thing was made out of bricks that I was sure were handmade. In front were the white columns I’d seen in my vision supporting a second story porch, but the porch area was narrow and looked as though it had been an afterthought.
Turrets, a cone-shaped roof, and small round-topped windows were all over the sprawling façade.
“Whoever built this was crazy,” Linc said.
“I agree completely.”
“Want to leave?” he said quietly so the driver wouldn’t hear.
“Can’t,” I said and meant it. There was something in that house that was pulling me to it.
“Darci,” Linc asked, making me look at him. “If you’re going to do things that are scary, I think we should leave now.”
“You mean like wander around outside at night even though we hear wolves howling?”
Linc didn’t smile. “There aren’t werewolves, are there? What about vampires?”
“Not that I know of,” I said, trying to sound as though I really knew.
I didn’t try to explain to Linc what I was feeling. All I knew was that the first second I had I was going to start searching that old place and see what I could find.
The driver of the limo stopped in front of the porch and Linc and I got out, both of us craning our necks to look around. I wasn’t feeling evil from the place but it was definitely eerie. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see bats flying out of a tower—bats with little people faces on them.
“This place gives me the creeps.”
“Me, too,” I whispered back to him. The driver was unloading our bags and, as my assistant, Linc should have been helping him, but I didn’t think Linc would ever get the hang of being an employee. When the driver finished unloading, he jumped into the car and sped off, leaving us standing there. He was a local so maybe he knew things about the house.
“Now that is scary,” Linc said, looking after the car.
“That man didn’t even wait for a tip.”
“Maybe my husband’s cousin took care of it,” I said, still looking at the house.
As I reached for the doorbell, Linc said, “If that thing rings like a howling wolf, I’m outta here.”
“Me, too.”
“You’re supposed to tell me you feel this place is safe.”
“But I don’t. I’m sure someone’s watching us.”
“Usually, when I feel that way I like it,” he said. “But not now.”
When I pressed the doorbell, we heard a pleasant chiming inside. A woman wearing a black dress and a white collar opened the door. She didn’t smile or greet us in any way. We stepped inside, she closed the door behind us, then she quietly left the room.
Linc and I stood together, silently looking about the entrance hall. It was large, but not like the vast spaces Adam had shown me in the castles in England and Scotland. In fact, this room was rather nice. It was paneled in oak that had aged to a soft brown. A fir
eplace complete with cheerful, crackling fire was to our right and a wide staircase was on our left. It led up to a railing that went around the whole second floor. On the back wall were bookcases and in front of them was a big rolltop desk.
There were at least four doors leading out of this room and through one of them came two women who I was sure were the sisters who owned the house and grounds. I took one look at them and decided I didn’t trust them. One was short, fat and sweet-looking; the other one was dark and thin. I could feel that both of them were up to no good. When they looked at me and all my jewelry—Linc had made me empty my jewelry box—they looked like cartoon characters, with dollar signs in their eyes.
“There you are,” the plump one said, taking both my hands in hers, and when she touched me I felt a weak current of electricity go up my arm.
My goodness, I thought, the woman has some power and she’s trying to read my mind. I sent her the thought I wanted her to feel, that I was greedy and angry, and that I wanted to get what I felt was mine. At least I hoped that’s what I was sending. Ever since I’d walked inside I’d been feeling a little odd, not quite stable.
“I’m Narcissa Barrister and this is my sister Delphia, as in Philadelphia,” she said. Narcissa had blue eyes and pink cheeks and she was smiling sweetly at me. “And you are Darci Nicodemus, is that right?”
Linc had made up the name. I didn’t like it but considering that my life seemed to revolve around that horrid mirror, Nicodemus was close enough to Nostradamus to be almost the same.
“Miss Nicki,” Linc said before I could speak. He swished over to Narcissa, took her plump shoulders in his big strong hands and kissed both her cheeks. I held my breath. No men were allowed here so what would she think?
I needn’t have worried, for Narcissa giggled like a preteen. I watched in amazement as her body shimmied like Jell-O.
“Aren’t you adorable?” Narcissa said.
Linc smiled at me, then approached Delphia, who was standing apart and silent. I’m sure his intention was to kiss Delphia and charm her, too—but one look from the woman halted him.
“No, dear,” Narcissa said sharply. “No one must touch Delphia. She’s a psychic and she feels things. We mustn’t overburden her.”
“Isn’t that the most exciting thing you’ve ever heard, Miss Nicki?” Linc said to me, but I was looking at Delphia to see what I could feel from her. Not much. I was willing to bet that plump little Narcissa had more power than her sister did. If people hadn’t been killed who I thought were connected to them, I would have sworn there was no harm in either of them—no real harm, just greed.
Narcissa was staring at Linc. “You look just like that boy on that TV show. What is his name?”
“Lincoln Aimes,” Linc said quickly. “And don’t I look just like him? But, honey, he’s too butch for me. I couldn’t possibly play a role as well as he does. By golly, if he were on the big screen, there’s no telling what that man could accomplish. Honestly, I think he’s one of the best—”
“What can you do?” He was cut off by the gravelly voice of Delphia. A voice that had been acquired from too many cigarettes—or an injury. I looked at her throat but it was covered by the high collar of a dress that was buttoned all the way up to her chin.
“I beg your pardon?” Linc asked, as startled as I was by the woman’s voice.
“My sister wants to know if you can do anything, like read palms, tarot cards, that sort of thing.”
I had to look away so my smile wouldn’t be seen. I think they were offering Linc a job to supplement whatever he was supposed to be doing for me. So far, all he’d done was bully me. “Masseur,” I said. Maybe he could find out something from the other guests and maybe a job would keep him busy. “Linc can give massages. He’s quite good at it.”
Linc narrowed his eyes at me and I knew he was sending me the message that he was going to kill me.
“How wonderful,” Narcissa said. “We had two people who gave massages but one of them…one of them…Oh dear. Perhaps, Mr…. What was your name again?”
“Forbes,” Linc said. “Jason Forbes.”
I hadn’t liked the name Linc had made up for himself, but he said Forbes sounded rich and Jason sounded strong. I said the name sounded phony. Linc said, “You think Lincoln Aimes is real?”
At that moment a woman hurried into the room. She was about sixty, very overweight, wearing just a towel and a shower cap, and she was angry. “Narcissa! That Maria has disappeared again. I was scheduled for a massage at four o’clock, it is now four oh seven and she is nowhere to be found. I demand a refund.”
“Dear Mrs. Hemmings,” Narcissa soothed. “We’ve just hired a new masseur and he’ll take care of you right now.”
“He?” Mrs. Hemmings asked angrily. “I was told that no men—” She broke off when she saw Linc. Six feet of muscle, all of it covered in caféau lait–colored skin. I thought the woman was going to swoon—or worse, drop her towel.
“Oh,” was all the woman could say. “Oh.”
Linc, who I’d already learned would pretty much roll onto his back and purr for a compliment, gave the woman a look Paul Travis would use on murder suspects to get them to confess.
Both Narcissa and I grabbed Mrs. Hemmings’s towel before it fell.
“He’s not a real man,” I heard Narcissa whisper to the woman. “If you know what I mean. Your virtue will be safe with him.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hemmings said again. “Oh.”
Narcissa looked at me. “Perhaps I should show Mrs. Hemmings and Jason where the massage rooms are. Delphi will take you, Miss Nicki, to your rooms. Don’t worry about your bags, they will be delivered to your room. And remember that dinner is at six tonight. We want our food to be well digested before Delphi’s séance tonight. You will be there, won’t you?”
“Only death would keep me from it,” I said, then wished I hadn’t because Narcissa looked at me oddly. I ignored Linc’s expression of terror as he looked at Mrs. Hemmings’s huge white body.
I turned back to Delphia, smiling, and thinking that I had two whole hours to explore before dinner. Even if I didn’t explore, I didn’t want to be around Linc after he got through with Mrs. Hemmings.
Delphia didn’t say a word as she went up the stairs, then down the hall. From the way she moved I could tell that she was in fairly good shape physically. I wondered if there was a gym in the house.
“This is your room,” she said, opening a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
It was beautiful: high ceilings, tall windows, a bed big enough for half a dozen people, a couch, chairs, desk. One wall had an enormous fireplace with two carved marble sculptures of bare-breasted mermaids, their tails spilling down onto the hearth. The mantel was level with the top of my head and held enormous pewter jugs. A portrait of a man wearing a Confederate uniform was high up on the wall.
In front of the fireplace was a sitting area filled with fat furniture on a beautiful rug of green and rose tones. The bed was on the far side of the room and next to it was a door leading into a bathroom the size of the average master bedroom. Thick white towels were draped across heated bars.
“Is it all right?” Delphia asked in her gravelly voice. I could feel she had pain associated with her neck but I wasn’t clear on what was wrong. There was something odd in this house. I felt like a compass placed on top of a magnet. My perceptions were going round and round like a compass needle gone crazy.
“May I see your palm?” she asked.
For some reason, I was hesitant. If I touched her, what would I see? Would my senses settle down or go more askew? “I thought we weren’t to touch you,” I said, smiling, my hands behind my back.
“I wish to know about you,” she said, holding out her hand for me to put mine in her palm.
The instant I touched her I knew she was a charlatan. No psychic ability at all, but I was willing to bet she didn’t let her sister know that. In fact, I got the idea that Delphia lorded it over her sister pr
etty strongly.
“You have a long lifeline,” she said, “and you’ve had many experiences in your life. I see a man, very tall and dark.”
“Good!” I said, “since my husband was blond. I’m missing something and I want to know where he put it—them.”
She gave me what I’m sure was a much-rehearsed look, supposed to make me feel as though she “knew” things, and said, “All will be made known to you in due time.”
It wasn’t easy but I didn’t laugh. If she were a real psychic, she would have seen that the only things I wanted to find were my husband and his sister. She dropped my hand and I stepped away from her. I didn’t like being too close to her as greed beamed forth from her like a big green floodlight. Her aura was an ugly brownish red.
“I’ve never been to a séance before,” I said honestly.
“What’s it like?”
She was looking at me as though I’d done something strange. Story of my life, I thought. I never seemed to act or react the way other people did. I sent a message to her mind that I wanted her to like me but I don’t think she “heard” me.
“Do you conduct the séance?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said slowly, looking at me. “I’ve seen you before.”
I’d prepared for this and had my story ready. “Yes. I look like that woman, the Hillbilly Honey, the one who was in the news so much. Actually, she’s a distant cousin of mine.” I tried to put bitterness in my voice. “It’s because of her that I’m here. My dead husband hid some things that I knew he owned, but if I went to normal sources to help me find them, I was afraid the media would pick up on it. I’d jump off a building rather than have the papers call me a hillbilly anything.”
“So you came to us.”
“Yes,” I said, trying to look helpless and needy. “Do you think you can help me? Do you think your spirit guide can locate the jewelry that husband of mine hid?”
At just the mention of jewels I saw a tiny flame ignite in her eyes.
“We will do our best. Now I think you should rest from your journey. I’ll see you in the dining room at six, then we will all meet in the library for the séance. If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”