“Well?” Clara said. “What was the answer? All that tapping must have been Gilbert’s response. I’m not leaving until you tell me what he said.”
“The answer was unclear,” Lorelei said. “I’m afraid that is all I can tell you. The séance is concluded. I am exhausted. I must rest.”
“Never mind. I will find her. That creature murdered my son.She will pay for the humiliation she has brought down upon me and my company.”
Lorelei cleared her throat. “I know this is none of my business, but perhaps you should not jump to conclusions on the basis of a rather vague response from the Other Side. Shouldn’t you leave this matter to the police as your other son suggested?”
“Rollins has no idea what he’s talking about.” Clara did not bother to hide her disgust. “Not his fault, I suppose. He does not have the gift. Really, I don’t know why it skipped over him.”
“The gift?”
“I have a psychic talent. Gilbert inherited it. Unfortunately, Rollins did not.”
“I don’t understand,” Lorelei said. “If you can contact those on the Other Side, why did you book an appointment with me?”
“I’m not a medium, you silly woman. My talent is for business.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“Gilbert got my ability, but he resisted assuming his responsibilities at Dover Industries. He was a healthy, vigorous man. I understood that he needed to sow a few wild oats before he settled down, but obviously I should not have been so indulgent.”
According to the rumors, Gilbert Dover had done more than sow a few wild oats, Lorelei thought. He had a nasty reputation for forcing his attentions on young women who were not in a position to defend themselves—maids, waitresses, and other working girls who were unlucky enough to attract his attention. His father had possessed a similar reputation.
“How, uh, interesting,” Lorelei said.
“I made it very clear to Gilbert that he had an obligation to marry a woman of talent and ensure that the gift was passed down to the next generation. But he insisted on having his fun. Said he wasn’t ready to settle down. Now look at what’s happened. He’s dead and I’m stuck hoping for the best with Rollins.”
“I understand the younger Mr.Dover is married,” Lorelei ventured, trying to find a neutral way out of the conversation. “I saw the photos in the papers.”
“To a fortune hunter,” Clara said, not bothering to hide her disgust. “Men. They can’t see beyond a pretty face. At least her manners are presentable. I suppose he could have done worse.”
“Perhaps your talent will show up in their children,” Lorelei said, desperate to end the discussion. “In my experience, paranormal abilities often skip generations, but that doesn’t mean they have disappeared from the bloodline.”
“I’m wasting my time here,” Clara muttered. “This is none of your business.”
She turned toward the door.
“I’ll get that for you,” Lorelei said. She jumped up and hurried around the table. In her haste she nearly blundered into one of the concealed wires that controlled the ectoplasm generator. She made it to the door without further incident and got it open. “The thing is, I don’t think it’s a good idea to assume you have the right answer to your questions about the identity of the woman who murdered Mr.Dover.”
“I am assuming nothing,” Clara grated. “I have the note and now I have confirmation from Gilbert. I know who murdered my son.”
“Contact with the Other Side is an extremely delicate business. The spirits often misinterpret our questions, and we, in turn, may not always comprehend their answers.”
“A misunderstanding is not a problem in this case.” Clara swept through the door of the séance chamber and went out into the small reception area. “Gilbert knows perfectly well who murdered him. Unfortunately, he failed to tell me where Madame Ariadne is, but I’m certain that a private investigator will be able to find her.”
Lorelei could not think of a suitable response to that, so shehurried past the desk where her daughter was usually seated and opened the front door.
Clara frowned at the empty chair behind the desk. “Where is your assistant?”
“She’s probably running an errand,” Lorelei said. “I’m sure she’ll be right back.”
Clara clicked her tongue in a disapproving manner. “It is so hard to get good help. I was forced to hire a new chauffeur this week. That is the third one in six months.”
She sailed through the front door and outside to where the big Pierce-Arrow limousine waited. The liveried chauffeur was lounging against the fender, smoking. When he saw Clara, he dropped the cigarette, ground it out beneath a boot, and opened the door of the passenger compartment.
Lorelei waited until the heavy vehicle motored away down the street before she closed the door, turned, and sagged back against it in relief.
“She’s gone,” she announced.
