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Authors: Victoria Thompson
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here with me the first time I came.”
Why was Frank not surprised? “Tell me what happened here,” he said, not feeling at all like smiling.
Mrs. Decker sobered instantly. “We were having a séance in that room where the . . . the . . .”
“The body,” he supplied when she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Yes, where the body is. We were seated around the table, holding hands.”
“Holding hands?” he echoed in surprise. He had seen the room with the table where the body was, but nobody had mentioned holding hands.
“Yes, it increases the bond to help the spirits communicate with us.”
“Maybe we should sit down,” he suggested, feeling a headache starting to form behind his eyes.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Malloy. I’m afraid I’m still suffering from the shock of seeing her lying there—”
“Over here,” Frank said, taking her elbow and directing her to one of two straight-backed chairs that had been placed in front of the desk that sat in the center of the room. The top of the desk was bare and slightly dusty, as if no one ever actually used it. He seated Mrs. Decker and took the other chair, turning it to face hers. “You were sitting around the table holding hands,” he reminded her.
“Well, I guess we weren’t exactly holding hands,” she clarified. “We were holding each other’s wrists, but it has the same effect, doesn’t it? In any event, Madame Serafina—she’s the spiritualist—she was talking with the spirits, or rather Yellow Feather was talking with them—”
“What’s Yellow Feather?” Frank asked, confused already.
“He’s Madame’s spirit guide. He’s an Indian warrior who died in battle over a hundred years ago.”
Frank was having trouble following all this. “Is he some kind of ghost?”
“No, I told you, he’s a spirit guide. He comes when Madame calls him, and then he speaks through her.”
“What do you mean, he speaks through her?”
“He uses her body. It’s his voice, though, very obviously. Her body speaks but a man’s voice comes out.”
Frank had a lot of questions about that, but he decided to save them for later. “All right, so this Indian spirit is talking through her. Then what happened?”
“We were all asking questions, and Yellow Feather was getting very agitated. He was shouting, and there was some music—”
“Music?”
“Yes, we could hear music playing, although I confess I wasn’t paying much attention to it. I was too distracted by what Yellow Feather was saying.”
“But there was a lot of noise in the room?”
“That’s right, so we didn’t notice . . . Or at least I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until Mrs. Burke screamed.”
Frank gaped at her. She had been sitting in a room, practically holding hands with perfect strangers and talking to ghosts, and she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? He was really beginning to understand where Sarah had inherited her intrepid disposition. “Didn’t anybody notice somebody going up behind this woman and sticking a knife into her back?” he asked in amazement.
“How could we? It was pitch dark.”
“All this was going on in the dark?”
“Oh, yes. The room must be dark to decrease distractions when you’re contacting the spirits.”
Frank stared at her for a long moment, trying to judge her sincerity. Plainly, she was telling the absolute truth, no matter how ridiculous it sounded to him. “Then that would explain how someone could sneak into the room.”
“Oh, no, it couldn’t,” Mrs. Decker protested. “There’s only one door to the room, and it was closed tightly the entire time. We would have noticed immediately if someone opened it because light would have come in.”
That was good. The number of suspects would be limited to those in the room. “So one of the . . .” He couldn’t think of what people attending a séance would be called. “One of the other people in the room killed her, then.”
“Oh, no, that’s
Why was Frank not surprised? “Tell me what happened here,” he said, not feeling at all like smiling.
Mrs. Decker sobered instantly. “We were having a séance in that room where the . . . the . . .”
“The body,” he supplied when she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Yes, where the body is. We were seated around the table, holding hands.”
“Holding hands?” he echoed in surprise. He had seen the room with the table where the body was, but nobody had mentioned holding hands.
“Yes, it increases the bond to help the spirits communicate with us.”
“Maybe we should sit down,” he suggested, feeling a headache starting to form behind his eyes.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Malloy. I’m afraid I’m still suffering from the shock of seeing her lying there—”
“Over here,” Frank said, taking her elbow and directing her to one of two straight-backed chairs that had been placed in front of the desk that sat in the center of the room. The top of the desk was bare and slightly dusty, as if no one ever actually used it. He seated Mrs. Decker and took the other chair, turning it to face hers. “You were sitting around the table holding hands,” he reminded her.
“Well, I guess we weren’t exactly holding hands,” she clarified. “We were holding each other’s wrists, but it has the same effect, doesn’t it? In any event, Madame Serafina—she’s the spiritualist—she was talking with the spirits, or rather Yellow Feather was talking with them—”
“What’s Yellow Feather?” Frank asked, confused already.
“He’s Madame’s spirit guide. He’s an Indian warrior who died in battle over a hundred years ago.”
Frank was having trouble following all this. “Is he some kind of ghost?”
“No, I told you, he’s a spirit guide. He comes when Madame calls him, and then he speaks through her.”
“What do you mean, he speaks through her?”
“He uses her body. It’s his voice, though, very obviously. Her body speaks but a man’s voice comes out.”
Frank had a lot of questions about that, but he decided to save them for later. “All right, so this Indian spirit is talking through her. Then what happened?”
“We were all asking questions, and Yellow Feather was getting very agitated. He was shouting, and there was some music—”
“Music?”
“Yes, we could hear music playing, although I confess I wasn’t paying much attention to it. I was too distracted by what Yellow Feather was saying.”
“But there was a lot of noise in the room?”
“That’s right, so we didn’t notice . . . Or at least I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until Mrs. Burke screamed.”
Frank gaped at her. She had been sitting in a room, practically holding hands with perfect strangers and talking to ghosts, and she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? He was really beginning to understand where Sarah had inherited her intrepid disposition. “Didn’t anybody notice somebody going up behind this woman and sticking a knife into her back?” he asked in amazement.
“How could we? It was pitch dark.”
“All this was going on in the dark?”
“Oh, yes. The room must be dark to decrease distractions when you’re contacting the spirits.”
Frank stared at her for a long moment, trying to judge her sincerity. Plainly, she was telling the absolute truth, no matter how ridiculous it sounded to him. “Then that would explain how someone could sneak into the room.”
“Oh, no, it couldn’t,” Mrs. Decker protested. “There’s only one door to the room, and it was closed tightly the entire time. We would have noticed immediately if someone opened it because light would have come in.”
That was good. The number of suspects would be limited to those in the room. “So one of the . . .” He couldn’t think of what people attending a séance would be called. “One of the other people in the room killed her, then.”
“Oh, no, that’s
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