The Mezzo Wore Mink (34 page)

“
I heard you came over to help when I had my accident,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“
There wasn’t much we could do,” I said. “Luckily the ambulance was right around the corner. How are you feeling? We got a hospital report from Cynthia.”

“
I feel okay, but I’ll be in this chair for about a month. What a pain. I can’t drive, I can’t walk. I have to have a nurse with me.”

Nancy looked around. “Is your nurse here?”

“
I sent her out to do some shopping. She’s a very nice woman. I know I’m old, but quite frankly, I’m used to my independence.”

“
Well, we’re glad you’re on the mend,” I said.

“
How are you doing with that murder case?” asked Hyacinth.

I looked over at Nancy and shrugged. “We’re still working on it.”

“
I might be able to help you,” Hyacinth said, a twinkle reappearing in her eye. “I’m a clairvoyant. I do psychic readings for the police. Remember?’

“
How could I forget?” I said, with a laugh. I looked at Nancy. She shrugged.

“
Okay,” I said. “Sure. Why not? It’s Halloween, after all.”

“
I’ll need something from the scene.”

“
How about the krummhorn?” Nancy offered. “It’s back at the office.”

“
Perfect,” said Hyacinth.

“
I’ll get it and be right back.”

“
Don’t shoot Collette,” I called after her.

•••

I wheeled Hyacinth into the back room off the bookstore as soon as Nancy arrived with the krummhorn. Hyacinth took the instrument in both hands and closed her eyes.

“
Don’t you have to light some candles, or something?” I asked.

“
Maybe draw a pentagram on the floor?” suggested Nancy. “Slaughter a goat?”

“
Don’t be ridiculous,” said Hyacinth. “Now, hush up.”

We stood in silence for a couple of minutes, then Hyacinth started talking.

“
I’ve connected with a spirit—a woman. This is a recent spirit. She’s new to the Spirit world.”

“
Probably Thelma,” I whispered to Nancy under my breath. Nancy rolled her eyes.

“
She wants us to know that she’s not happy. Her spirit can’t find peace.”

“
That’s Thelma, all right.”

“
She says she wasn’t murdered, but that there was someone present at her death. Also, she wants her money back on this horn. She says it doesn’t work.”

Nancy and I were paying attention now.

“
I’m seeing a large church—a French church. And the initials LP.”

I looked over at Nancy as Hyacinth opened her eyes and continued.

“
There’s a life insurance policy. Not the one for the Upper Womb. Another one. It’s somewhere like…” Hyacinth closed her eyes again. “A bank. No. A safety deposit box. I’m seeing the numbers six, three and seven.”

We waited for more.

Hyacinth opened her eyes and looked at us with a smile. “That’s all I’ve got. Hope it helps.”

•••

“
What do you think?” asked Nancy as we wended our way across the park. “Is she for real?”

“
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“
Meaning?”

“
Meaning let’s check out the insurance policy. If it’s in a safety deposit box, it’s got to be in Boone somewhere.”

“
What about the French church?”

“
An obvious reference to the cathedral in Chartres.”

“
Not obvious to me!” said Nancy. “Why Chartres?”

“
The painted labyrinth on which Thelma expired is a copy of the one in the Chartres Cathedral.”

“
Would Hyacinth have known that?”

“
I don’t know. But I wouldn’t think that it would be that hard for her to find out.”

“
The krummhorn?”

“
Again, I don’t know. We
have
been asking around. Ian Burch knew it didn’t work. Pete, Meg, probably some others. We didn’t exactly keep the information secret.”

“
What about the initials LP?”

“
That’s what’s interesting,” I said. “How would Hyacinth know about that?”

“
About what?”

“
About Lacie Peckelsham’s real name.”

Chapter 22

Halloween had come and gone without incident and I’d enjoyed a peaceful night at home, safe from the costumed imps that were out in force. Meg had decided that Ruby could use help passing out treats, and elected to stay in town. Nancy went through forty-five pounds of candy in an hour and had to make an emergency run to the Piggly Wiggly. Unfortunately, all the Pig had left were individually wrapped servings of Fig Newtons and, as a result, Nancy’s house was the target of some serious toilet-papering. Collette spent the evening across the street from Nancy’s house in a parked car, praying diligently, and handing out Bible tracts to kids that stopped and looked in the window hoping for something a little more confectionary than the four-step plan of salvation.

The next morning felt different altogether. A cold front had moved in during the night bringing with it low humidity, a stiff breeze and a seasonal snap that made all the suffering of summer seem worthwhile. I buttoned my coat against the wind as I made my way down the street toward the Upper Womb, keeping a wary eye out for Minques. The two tables on the large, covered front porch of the old house were empty. I suspected that the wind and the temperature drove the coffee and tea drinkers indoors. I walked up the four wide steps, opened the front door, and let myself into the hallway. Cynthia and Crayonella Washington were in the coffee shop sitting at a table for two, deep in conversation. They stopped as soon as they saw me. Cynthia got to her feet.

“
Coffee?” she asked.

“
Espresso, please. You guys talking politics?”

“
Yep,” said Crayonella. “We still have a day until the election.”

“
I’ve seen your print ads in
The Tattler
. Very nice.”

“
You should get a circular in the mail this afternoon,” Crayonella said.

“
I look forward to it,” I said, and then turned to Cynthia. She was busying herself behind a large, complicated-looking coffee machine that might have been designed by a NASA scientist. It hissed like a Studebaker as Cynthia turned valves and pulled levers, intent on extracting two ounces of liquid from the gleaming stainless behemoth.

“
Is Chad around?” I asked. Cynthia passed me a tiny cup full of espresso.

“
He went to the farmer’s market in Asheville. He should be back this afternoon. But Lacie’s upstairs. You want me to get her?”

“
That’d be great.”

Cynthia wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared into the hallway and up the staircase.

“
What do you think of your chances?” I asked Crayonella.

“
I don’t know,” she said. “Tell you the truth, it’s a hard town to read. We can’t afford any polling and I’m not sure it’d do any good, anyway.”

“
Well, you’ve run a good campaign. I wish you both all the best.”

Cynthia interrupted my good wishes.

“
Lacie’s in the massage room. She says you should go on up.”

“
Thanks.”

I finished up my two ounces of coffee, put the miniature cup on one of the tables and headed up the stairs. The massage room was on the left as I made the second floor landing. I identified it almost immediately by the sign on the door saying “Massage Room.” I wasn’t a trained detective for nothing. I tried the door, found it unlocked, opened it and walked into the room. It was a room designed to be in perpetual twilight. The windows were covered with blackout drapes and the lighting carefully contrived to show the aromatic candles flickering on the mirrored walls. There was soft, unobtrusive music playing—music with no real melody surrounded by about four chords. Synthesized computer strings. Air pudding. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust.

Lacie was sitting in a blue leather wingback chair, her long legs crossed and the hem of her skirt just a bit higher on her thigh than was prudent. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and she looked at me with large eyes.

“
Why don’t you let me give you a massage?” she offered. “It’s on the house.”

“
No, thanks. I just need to chat, if you don’t mind.”

“
I don’t mind at all.”

“
I just need to clear up a few things about the Thelma Wingler murder.” I watched Lacie’s posture change at the word ‘murder’, but just barely. “We have Chad in custody,” I lied, “so let’s start with what he’s already told us. We know all about the rhubarb tea. He admitted that the spa uses tea brewed from the leaves for some of the patients. You know the leaves are poisonous?” Lacie didn’t answer.

“
He told us that you give the tea to patients and then, when they start to show symptoms—loss of their voice, swelling of the mouth and throat—symptoms brought on by a weak dose of oxalic acid, you simply give them another tea and they’re magically cured. They’re not really, but since they’re not drinking rhubarb tea, the problem clears right up.” Lacie was silent.

“
I don’t know yet if we’re going to charge you and Chad in the murder of Thelma Wingler. We know you poisoned her, of course. But, according to Chad, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Lacie shook her head. “Look, many cultures use rhubarb tea as a remedy for a host of ailments.”

“
Yes. I looked it up. One part rhubarb to forty-five parts other teas.”

“
We certainly didn’t kill Thelma.”

“
Rhubarb tea was only part of it. Chad also told us that he advised her to abandon her OCD medication. It could be argued that she died as a direct result of your spa treatments.”

“
Which
may
make us liable in a civil court when
and if
we’re sued by her survivors. But you’ll never prove anything in criminal court. OCD medication is still in the trial-and-error stage. You’d know that if you read the literature.”

“
Hmm,” I nodded. “Added to that, Upper Womb Ministries will receive five thousand dollars from her will.”

“
As I said before,” said Lacie, “we frequently solicit donations for our ministry. Five thousand dollars is hardly an amount worth killing over.”

“
But, according to Chad, you didn’t actually know the amount before the will was read. It could have been considerably more.”