“Very well, Miss O’Neill. Let’s take our first guest, shall we? Mrs. Charles Rutherford, I believe you have something you wish to share?”
“Yes, I do!” Mrs. Rutherford rose from her seat, smoothing her dress on her way to Evie, though there was no one to see it beyond those in the small room. “I’ve brought this money clip.”
“Welcome, Mrs. Rutherford. Thank you for coming on the Pears Soap Hour with the Sweetheart Seer—Pears, the soap of purity. Now, Mrs. Rutherford, tell Miss O’Neill nothing of your object. She will divine your secrets using her talents from beyond the veil.”
“So if there’s anything you haven’t told Mr. Rutherford, you might want to let him know now,” Evie joked. It was a little naughty, but naughty kept people listening.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Rutherford tittered.
“And to whom does that money clip belong?” Evie asked.
Mrs. Rutherford blushed. “This… well, it… it’s my husband’s.”
Evie didn’t have to be a Diviner to know that. Married women almost always wanted to know about their husbands and whether they were stepping out.
“Now, Mrs. Rutherford, one doll to another: What’s the story?”
“Well, you see, Charles has been so very busy lately, at the office every night with only his secretary for company, and I, I worry that…”
Evie nodded sympathetically. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Rutherford. We’ll soon get to the bottom of this. If you would place the object in the center of my right palm, please. Thank you.” With a magician’s flair, Evie placed her left hand on top of her right and pressed down, allowing the money clip to yield its secrets to her.
“Oh, dear me,” Evie said, coming out of her light trance.
“What is it? What do you see?” Mrs. Rutherford fretted.
“I don’t know if I should say, Mrs. Rutherford,” Evie said, drawing out the tension for the radio audience.
“Please, Miss O’Neill, if there’s something I should know…”
“Well…” Evie’s tone was grave. “You do know that the objects never lie.”
An anticipatory murmur spread through the studio audience. I’ve got them! Evie thought. She lowered her head as if she were a doctor delivering grim news. “Your husband and his secretary are in cahoots, all right.…” Head still bowed, Evie waited, counting off silently—two, three—and then she looked up, grinning triumphantly. “To plan your birthday party!”
The audience responded with relieved laughter and thunderous applause.
“Now it won’t be a surprise any longer, I’m afraid,” Evie said. “You’ll have to act like a Dumb Dora about it. And that goes for all of you folks listening in, too!”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you, Miss O’Neill!”
The announcer stepped up to his microphone again as Mrs. Rutherford was escorted back to her seat. “Let’s give a warm round of applause to the brave Mrs. Rutherford.”
When the noise died down, Evie welcomed her second guest. When she’d finished with him, telling him where to find a cache of old war bonds his grandfather had hidden in the house, Evie waited for the Seer Singers to croon the Pears soap jingle, then stepped again to the microphone, the studio lights blazing in her eyes. Even though the home audience couldn’t see her, she knew from her daily elocution lessons that a smile could be communicated through the wires, so she kept hers bright.
“Ladies and gentlemen, when I finish my radio show, I love nothing more than to relax with a nice hot bath. But when I bathe, I’m not alone.”
“You’re not?” the announcer shot back, shock in his tone.
“Oh, no! I have company in my tub.”
“Why, Miss O’Neill!”
“Dear me, Mr. Forman! It’s Pears soap, of course! Pears keeps a girl’s complexion smooth and lovely even when the winter winds are howling like a jazz band. Why, it’s so pure, even I can’t see anything in it!”