“How can we evaluate your argument if we don’t know who you’re talking about?” I asked.
Vi sighed. “Fine. It’s a code name for . . .” She lowered her voice even more and glanced over her shoulder. If the rest of the dining room wasn’t trying to listen in before, they certainly would now. “Kirk. He’s a hunk. And I call him Dory as in hunky-dory. Clever, right? No one will be able to crack my code if my notebook falls into the wrong hands.”
Dad snorted and took a swig of wine.
“Clever,” I said. Her mind worked in such strange ways. I had given up trying to trace the logic long ago.
Vi sat up straight and stopped whispering now that we were in on the code. “One: newest staff member. Two: strong, so he could hit Clarissa hard enough to knock her out. Three: clearly not equipped to”—here she lowered her voice again—“fix anything. Four: I think he has a thing for that pretty housekeeper. I’ve seen them talking in the hallway. And Clarissa was not at all nice to her; maybe he was protecting her from Clarissa’s bullying.” She held up four fingers and went back to her meal.
“That’s one of the weakest cases I’ve ever heard,” Seth said.
“Why are you defending him?” Vi said.
“I’m not defending him, I’m saying your reasons to suspect him are ridiculous.” Seth glanced at Mac and me for backup and we shifted our interest to the conversation at the other end of the table.
Until we realized that Mom and Lucille were talking about tarot cards and the dire messages Mom had been receiving leading up to the weekend.
Dad gave a helpless shrug and tilted his wineglass in my direction. He was caught between Mom and Vi and had no choice but to try to stay out of either conversation.
Mom heard Vi talking about Kirk and leaned across Dad to whisper, “You know my cards say it’s a knitter. I doubt ‘Dory’ is a knitter.”
Vi put her fork down and turned toward Mom. “I’d forgotten about that,” Vi said. “You’re right. This just strengthens my argument that we need more information.”
“Hopefully the séance will help,” said Lucille. “I haven’t been to one in a long time.”
Everyone at the table turned to look at Vi, with the exception of Mom, who was examining her napkin on her lap.
“What?” Vi said.
“Séance?” I said.
“Well, we have to do something! You two are just going around talking to everyone.” She pointed to Mac and me. “I need some answers.”
“Ms. Greer, I really don’t think you should do a séance,” Mac said. The muscles in his jaw jumped.
“You aren’t afraid of a séance, are you?” Lucille said.
“Of course not,” Mac said. “I just don’t think it will be helpful.”
“You never know what you might learn with an open mind,” Lucille said, and sipped her water while holding Mac’s gaze.
“If some of the suspects are there,” Seth said, “you might be able to watch them to see how they react.”
“I’ll keep the dogs company while you all have your séance,” Dad said. He waved his hand at the table.
“Now, Frank, we need some experienced people to keep the energy positive,” Mom said. “Please stay.” She put her hand over his.
Dad was incapable of saying no to Mom. He nodded and pushed his plate away.
“This is going to be great!” Vi said. “We have several of the knitters lined up, plus you guys.”
Mac and I escaped to the hallway as soon as we were able.
“I don’t think we should let them have a séance,” Mac said.
“It’s not going to hurt anything.” I hoped this was true.
“It’s the idea that she’s going to be able to solve a murder by asking ghosts!” Mac said. “It could lead to dangerous and uninformed conjectures. People might begin to suspect just about anyone.”
“And that would be different . . . how?”
Mac leveled one of his stony stares at me, but they had lost their effectiveness over the last several months. It was particularly hard to feel intimidated when I was also being stared at by a couple of smiling snowmen. Mac had worn that sweater so much I was starting to think of it as his.
“I hate séances,” Mac muttered.
“Think of it as an opportunity to observe all the suspects at one time, like Seth said.”
“I could do that if we got them to play charades, and it would be much less creepy. And how am I going to explain to Pete Harris that some of our evidence is based on observations during a séance?”
Mac and I had only made it a few steps away from the entrance to the dining room, so Mavis spotted us immediately when she exited.
She hurried over to us. “Oh, Detective McKenzie,” she said, “do you think we will be able to leave tomorrow as scheduled?”
Mac shook his head. “I don’t think so. The road hasn’t been cleared yet—I think they had trouble with a power line and they’ve been digging everyone out.”
Mavis’s smile faded.