Muffin to Fear, page 19
“That’s why you’re going to be the leader,” Janice said, eyeing him sternly.
“Why can’t I ask the questions?” Millicent pleaded.
“We can try that after, if this doesn’t work,” Janice said. “But right now I’d like Hugh to take the lead.”
We had agreed on this in advance. I thought that Hugh asking questions would ensure that whoever was likely to be guiding the planchette could have at it in peace, rather than trying to talk and move the table. This was starting to seem like a waste of time. What did I think we were going to learn? My best hope was going to be in the session after, when we would talk over what had happened, or, more likely, what had not happened. I wanted them to talk.
“Please take your places, ladies and gentlemen.”
They were seated Hugh, Millicent to his left, Arnie to her left, Todd to his left, and finally Rishelle, between her husband and the producer. This was the group I was anticipating, since it held the two women who had planned the prank, the most fervid believers in the board’s powers. But still there was little at first, some faint movement, but nothing definite. Hugh drawled his questions in a bored voice. Rishelle remonstrated with him to at least try to be unbiased.
He sighed, cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. “I’ll do better just for you, Rishelle.” He winked at her.
They all leaned forward, fingers lightly on the planchette. Rishelle’s expression was eager, and Todd’s resigned. I couldn’t see the other two’s expressions, but Millicent appeared rigid with anticipation, while Arnie slumped in apparent boredom.
“Is there any spirit here with us tonight?” Hugh asked.
There was a faint movement, then nothing, then the planchette swayed over to Yes. Millicent gasped, and Rishelle focused all her energy on the board, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Do we know who you are, spirit?” Hugh asked.
Yes.
“Can you spell out your name for us?”
There were a few moments of uncertainty, and nothing much was spelled out but a seemingly random string of letters. It was confusing, but Hugh simply asked again for the spirit to spell out his or her name. This time it slowly and clearly spelled out D-I-R-K.
Millicent was trembling so much I began to wonder if she really believed as she appeared, or if she was faking it. Todd frowned. Rishelle looked spellbound. Arnie was no longer slumping.
“This is the spirit of our friend Dirk?”
Yes.
There was a pause. Hugh looked disconcerted and glanced around at his playmates. He had to know someone was controlling the planchette, as I did, but who? And why? We’d soon know, I hoped.
“Ask him what he wants,” Janice murmured.
“Dirk, we’re very sorry you’re gone,” Hugh said. “Can you tell us . . . we want to know why you are still here.”
You all know, was spelled out next. But there was more . . . who killed me.
Chapter Twenty
MILLICENT CRIED OUT and broke contact, starting violently back in her chair. “What does that mean?” she cried.
“People, don’t quit!” Janice urged. I watched her, and she had a mischievous look on her face, her eyes dancing, but since she didn’t have her fingers on the planchette, she wasn’t the one speaking for Dirk. “Come back and focus. Hugh, why don’t you ask who did it?”
“I won’t take part in this jiggery pokery,” Hugh said, angrily, looking around at those who were with him. In the dim light his eyes were shadowed but his mouth had a grim set to it.
I sympathized; I’d feel the same in his position. But we were close to a revelation, not perhaps of who had done it, but who someone suspected had done it, or who someone wanted us to think had done it.
“But we have to continue,” Rishelle said, trembling. “If we leave it open, his spirit may give us trouble. I’ve heard of things happening before, people being haunted by ghosts upset about Ouija parties. We have to go on, and then close with Good Bye, or he’ll never leave!” There was an edge of hysteria in her voice.
“Why didn’t you say that before?” Millicent said, leaning forward.
Her voice had a panicked edge to it, too, and I wondered if we were going too far. Or if someone at the table had ulterior motives. I glanced around, but everyone seemed serious and intent on those using the board.
“We have to do this,” Millicent pleaded when no one answered. “Come on, guys; let’s do this. Please, Hugh, can we continue?”
“This is not Dirk,” he protested, sitting back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, and eyeing all the participants with mistrust. “This is one of you; I don’t know which one, but someone’s playing games. Don’t you see that Millie, Rishelle? This is a silly board game, not some connection to the spirit of Dirk Phillipe.”
“Come on, Hugh, humor the ladies,” Todd said. “Let whoever is moving the thingie around say what they want to say. Let’s get this over with so we can go to bed. I’m exhausted, and I want to sleep, then get the hell out of this monstrosity tomorrow. Rishelle and I are leaving, and I don’t care what that two-bit Barney Fife has to say about it.”
“Come, my friends, this is disrespectful to Dirk. Can’t you see that?” Hugh glared at me. “Merry, I thought better of you.”
I stayed silent and refrained from pointing out this was not my idea.
“I agree,” Serina said, from the shadows. “This isn’t Dirk, guys. I mean, come on! I didn’t think you were all idiots.”
“I won’t feel comfortable unless we finish this,” Rishelle said, stubbornly. “Even if you don’t believe, some of us do and you should respect that. Isn’t that what all you know-it-alls say, that we should respect everyone’s opinion?”
“This isn’t an opinion, this is antiscience mumbo jumbo crap!” Serina blasted.
I saw Todd give her a quick look and slightly shake his head. She shut up then and sighed. I don’t think anyone else noticed their interchange. It struck me then that Serina had placed herself in the row behind Hugh, where she could see Todd’s face.
“Please, Hugh, even if you don’t believe,” Millicent said, her voice quavering. “Do this for us!”
“Why don’t you five involved take a vote and agree to go with the majority?” I murmured.
They seized on the idea. Rishelle, Millicent, and Todd voted to continue, and Hugh acquiesced. I found it interesting that Arnie wanted to end it. They reestablished their connection with the planchette, but Rishelle took over as speaker. “Dirk, are you still there?”
Nothing. She asked again, and a few moments later the little planchette started to move. She again asked if Dirk was there and it pointed to Yes.
“Dirk, we’re so sorry you’re gone. I hope you know that Millie, Chi, and I set up a prank, never meaning to hurt you. Someone . . .” She trailed off, her voice shaky, took a deep breath, and continued. “Someone used us to hurt you. Do you know who did that?”
Yes.
“Who? Dirk, who did that to you?”
The spelling started, with Rishelle naming the letters. T-O-D-D.
Gasps erupted around the room, including from me.
“Oh, come on,” Todd said, leaping to his feet, sending the board and planchette flying. He looked at his wife and friends. “Who’s doing this?”
“I told you this was ridiculous,” Hugh said. His lean face was twisted in an expression of distaste. “Whoever thinks this is funny, or, or . . .” He shook his head, looking around at the others. “This is a disgrace. Dirk was your friend, not someone to be used in some awful joke. Todd is your friend, not a pawn of whoever thinks this is funny.”
Rishelle was weeping. “I didn’t do it! Todd, it wasn’t me. It was moving on its own!”
Todd glared at his wife. “Like I believe that! You trying to get me arrested for murder? Was that the plan from the beginning?”
I raised my brows, as did Pish. Didn’t see that one coming. But given what I knew about her affair with Arnie . . . Arnie! I looked over at the fellow who hadn’t said a word about the accusation against his friend. The friend whose wife he was having an affair with.
“How can you say that?” Rishelle said, her voice thick and low.
“I think we all need to calm down,” Hugh said, his hand on Todd’s chest. “No one actually thinks you killed Dirk, Todd. It’s an ugly practical joke. We have to stop or we’ll tear each other apart.”
Everyone did shut up, though looks were still passed. Darn Hugh for stopping what was proving to be a very interesting confrontation, I thought.
“It’s just crap, folks,” Serina said. “Let’s call it a night. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m tired. Todd, can you come out to the equipment truck for a moment? I want to show you what’s wrong with that processor. And maybe you have some idea what to do with that malfunctioning control board.”
He mumbled something and followed her out. People heaved a sigh of relief as tension deflated, and gathered in small, tight groups, whispering, motioning, and chattering anxiously. Hugh sank back down in his chair, head in his hands. But I eyed the door in interest. Serina and Todd . . . there was no malfunctioning equipment, of that I was sure. There could be a number of reasons why she’d want to pull him aside. She was having an affair with him and despite her protestations, I thought it was probably ongoing. So she either wanted to canoodle—unlikely, given the dramatic events that had just transpired—or she had something to tell him. Had she noticed something? She was a very perspicacious woman and didn’t believe in any of the Ouija nonsense.
Lizzie grabbed my arm and hauled me out to the great hall.
“What’s up?”
“I saw something. Arnie was acting weird. He ran into the library and then came back a coupla secs later. Then he handed Rishelle a piece of paper. She unfolded it, looked at it, and nodded.”
“Wonder what it said?” Though I had an idea; Arnie probably wanted to talk to her about something . . . maybe their plan to pin Dirk’s murder on Todd? Thus getting rid of him? But even as I formulated the idea in my brain I acknowledged that it seemed far-fetched. Who would make an accusation via Ouija board?
“Well, wonder no longer.” She produced a balled-up scrap from her pocket like some teenage magician. “She dropped it in the trash and I got it.”
“Lizzie! No one saw you, did they?” I was aghast and worried for her safety.
“No, of course not. Do you think I’m a complete doofus? But look at what it says.”
I trotted over to one of the sconces that illuminate the great hall and unfolded the scrap of wadded-up paper. It simply said Tonight? How could I tell Lizzie the truth, that this was probably just two sneaky lovers arranging a clandestine meeting? “Thanks, Lizzie. Good work, kiddo; we’ll figure out what’s up, but right now you’re going to your grandmother’s.”
“Aw! No, it’s just getting interesting. I was supposed to stay the night.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Despite what you witnessed, this is no parlor game, it’s murder and I won’t have you in danger. You’ve stretched your neck out enough. Too much! You can come back tomorrow, since you supposedly have the day off school, but I’m not letting you stay in the castle overnight with this bunch of lunatics.”
Virgil emerged from the parlor. “Janice is asking where you were. She wants to head home, but I think you ought to talk to her first.”
Pish followed my husband and nodded. “Let’s all go into the library.”
“I’ll meet you back here, Lizzie,” I said to my young friend. “Make sure you have everything. And don’t stray into enemy territory!” I gave her a stern look. “Kitchen only!”
She stomped off to the kitchen, where her backpack and laptop were. I followed my friend and my husband back to the library, where Janice awaited us, pacing by the bookshelves.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Janice gave a mysterious look and motioned for us to close the door. We gathered around a low table by the windows where it was quiet and private. My friend glanced around with great mystery while I restrained my impatience. “I was watching during that whole thing, you know,” she said. “I think I know who was controlling the board while they were doing their session.”
“Who?” we chanted, like a trio of owls.
“Hugh.”
Not this again. I felt like it was a repeat from Pish’s earlier thought that Hugh had committed the crime. But I determined to open my mind to the idea that Hugh was the controller. “Why do you think Hugh Langley was controlling the planchette?” I asked, leaning against Virgil in weariness. He put his arm around my shoulders. “I can’t imagine why he would want to single out Todd.”
The others were silent for a long minute. Pish cleared his throat. We all looked at him expectantly.
“I can think of one very good reason.”
We waited.
“If he believes Todd killed Dirk but is afraid to point the finger of blame himself, would he do it this way, given the opportunity? I’m not saying that’s it, but it could be. Maybe he wanted to try to get him to confess.”
It was a rather good thought. “He does seem to be upset about Dirk’s murder . . . I mean, we all are, of course, but this seems to be devastating him.” Maybe I’d have a conversation with Mr. Langley myself to float that theory.
“I felt like there was a lot going on, a lot of simmering tensions,” Pish said.
“That’s what I saw,” Virgil agreed. “There was definitely something wrong between Todd and his wife, for one thing, as we saw by that outburst after Todd was fingered as the killer.”
I shared what I knew about the couples and their square dance partner trade-offs, Rishelle with Arnie and Todd with Serina.
Virgil gave a long, low whistle. “I didn’t get any of that,” he said, hugging me to him. “Maybe Dewayne ought to hire you as an investigator.”
“No thank you,” I retorted. “I have enough on my hands as it is. Besides, I just stumbled into some of that information by opening a door at the wrong time. I had it completely wrong. I thought Rishelle was pining for her husband, not the knitted toque–wearing hulk.”
Virgil’s cell buzzed, and he looked at it. “It’s Dewayne; I have to take this. He was getting back to me about something.” He strode away, out of the library.
The rest of our little group broke up, since no one had any other ideas. Janice was going back to town, so she would drive Lizzie to her grandmother’s. When I walked them out I noticed that Todd and Serina were indeed sitting in the sound van, but it appeared they were just having a conversation, and with a morose expression he waved to me. I returned to the castle while Janice unlocked her car and piled her Ouija board inside and Lizzie petulantly kicked gravel behind the HHN van. Janice’s chauffeuring the teenager home left me free to corner the producer, who was sitting in the library tapping out a text on his phone when I tracked him down.
“Mr. Langley, just the man I want to see.” I took the chair opposite him.
He politely put away his cell and folded his hands together. “How may I help you?”
“I was wondering if the police have told you when you and the others can leave.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“They have interviewed you all, though, some on multiple occasions. How did that go?”
“As could be expected, I suppose. I had little to add. I seem to be sadly out of the loop with my own cast and crew,” he said with a shake of his head. “I had no idea of this little joke Millicent and Rishelle planned.”
“Tragic, as it turns out,” I said.
“They’re so young. I feel the gap especially with all of their philandering and dramas. I am past that agony, thank heavens. I have had a supremely successful career doing what I love, and now my sole wish in life is to have the rest of my career go as profitably.” He straightened the pleats to his slacks, smoothing the fine wool fabric.
“Has it been so profitable?” I asked, doubt creeping into my tone.
“Oh, yes indeed. I have been very fortunate. I’ve won many awards over my career: a Critics’ Choice, a Dallas and Area Culture Award, many more. But I’ve prepared, you know. It didn’t just come to me. I have a Ph.D. in media studies from the University of Texas at Austin.”
“That’s great.”
“I do hope we’ll be leaving in the morning. None of us even lives out of state, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll put it to the sheriff.” He smiled wearily. “You’ve had more legal experience than I, so perhaps you know more than I do.”
It was a gibe, but I didn’t take it amiss. “I guess we’ll know soon. This is truly terrible for you all, but for me it feels like this recurring nightmare I’m caught in. It keeps happening! I wish I knew why.”
He appeared undecided about something, but then shook his head.
“What is it?”
He still hesitated. “I’m worried. I don’t like what happened earlier, at the Ouija board.”
“You mean naming Todd as the killer? I had half a thought you were behind that, trying to out him because you suspected him.”
He looked shocked. “Good grief, no! Todd being Dirk’s killer would be a disaster for me personally—I like Todd and can’t see him as the murderer—and it would be bad for the network if it is him or one of the other cast members. To be blunt, we’d prefer the culprit was one of the crew.” He paused. “As terrible as that sounds,” he added, with a shrug and resigned look.
“You’re not planning to continue the show, are you? Without Dirk?”
He shook his head but more in sadness than denial. “I don’t know anything at this point. It will be up to the network. On the one hand, it’s already getting a lot of media attention.”
I nodded. The landline had been ringing nonstop all day, but by now I knew to ignore it. It was a simple statement of fact that this was bound to stir up lots of publicity for Haunt Hunt.
