Page 25 of The Bride Wore White

Sheila opened the concealed door and stepped out of the narrow passageway behind the wall of the séance chamber.

“I’m so sorry, Ma,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t figure out what answer you wanted me to give her so I turned on the fan again and did a few raps and then the gong.”

“It’s not your fault.” Lorelei straightened away from the door. “It wouldn’t have mattered how we handled the session. Clara Dover is convinced Prudence Ryland, the psychic who used to work as Madame Ariadne, murdered her eldest son. That may be true, but if so, all I can say is she did the world a favor.”

“Was Gilbert Dover so awful?”

“Rumors about his appalling behavior have been circulating for years. No one will miss him.”

“Except Clara Dover. What do you think she’ll do?”

“I don’t know,” Lorelei said. “I just wish I could warn Madame Ariadne, but no one knows where she went after she left San Francisco. Listen to me, Sheila. If the police come around asking about this séance, we must be very clear that we did not hear a clear answer from the Other Side. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Sheila said. “I just hope Mrs.Dover doesn’t book another appointment. That woman is very odd.”

Lorelei shuddered. “There has always been gossip about the strain of eccentricity in the Dover family bloodline, but the problem was said to be on the male side. After meeting Clara, however, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Gilbert Dover got his nasty temperament from both his parents. If Mrs.Dover telephones for another appointment, tell her that I don’t have any openings in my schedule. If that doesn’t work, tell her I’ve left town.”

“All right.” Sheila hesitated. “I wonder where Madame Ariadne went?”

“I don’t know,” Lorelei said. “But wherever she is, I wish her good luck. She’ll need it. I don’t think Clara Dover will stop until Madame Ariadne is dead.”

Chapter 11

House of Shadows should have been a truly impressive example of modern architecture—a stunning combination of glass and wood and stone—but for some inexplicable reason it felt like a mausoleum.

Prudence told herself she was allowing her grim mood to influence her reaction to what was, in reality, a very handsome residence. She had to be practical about the situation. She had contacted Luther Pell for assistance. He had provided it in the form of Jack Wingate, who evidently possessed the investigative—make that analytical—abilities her situation required. That was all that mattered. Jack might lack rudimentary social skills, but that was not important. She needed his professional expertise. She could ignore everything else, including her odd reaction to his beautiful home.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she had much choice. It was just too bad she would have to spend an unknown number of days in a house that was soaked in shadows.

Determined to be mature, she walked across a living room that looked as if it had been decorated by a designer who specialized in lavish Hollywood movie sets, opened the glass doors, and stepped out onto a terrace.

“Mr.Pell was right,” she said. “You’ve got a spectacular view.”

“I know,” Jack said. “The real estate agent talked it up a lot. Said I couldn’t go wrong with waterfront property.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He was standing in the shadows of the living room, watching her as if he was genuinely curious to observe her reaction to his home. She got the feeling that he, too, was trying to restart their rocky relationship. Evidently he had realized they were going to have to find a way to coexist until the investigation was concluded. It would be pointless to snipe at each other. They were both adults.

The drive from the Paradise Club to House of Shadows had been made mostly in silence. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the short trip. Jack drove a maroon Packard convertible, and he drove it very well. She could only hope that he was equally good at conducting murder investigations.

“I’m sure the real estate agent was right,” she said. “About the value of waterfront property, I mean.” She paused, trying to think of something else positive to say. “You certainly have lots of privacy.”

“It’s one of the reasons I bought the place,” Jack said.

She could have sworn that he actually sounded defensive, as if he felt he had to explain something he wasn’t sure he understood himself. Curious, she turned around to face him.

“I take it privacy is important to you,” she said.

“I’m not a complete recluse.”

“Are you sure? When was the last time you took advantage of the amenities of Burning Cove?”

“I visit the library once a week to read newspapers from around the state and to do research. I shop at the grocery store. The gas station. I’ve been known to visit the hardware store.”

She smiled. “But you prefer to be alone most of the time.”

“I find it makes life simpler.”

“Probably more boring, though,” she said.

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