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10
“Sorcerer’s apprentice? As vastly romantic as that sounds, I did not have to invent Zoltan. He was a living, breathing man, my mentor and lover, and he bestowed his gifts on me.”
Savich knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, which felt odd. He rose and walked to stand against the mantel, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest. He said very precisely, “There is no such thing as transferring psychic power. I’m surprised this claim would impress anyone, Zoltan, or should I remind you your name is Weatherspoon and you grew up in Willicott, Maryland?”
“Weatherspoon is my parents’ name. What a common name it is. Naturally you investigated me the moment Rebekah told you about our visit with her grandfather. If I had the resources you do, I suppose I’d have done such a check on you. As for Willicott, it’s a sad little town near Lake Massey, where I remember listening to my parents scream at each other, and where I learned to hug my secrets close. Ah, old history. I left for New York when I was eighteen, attended City College, and met Zoltan. There’s really not much more to say about my past, Agent Savich.
“I changed my name six years ago, after Zoltan died. I took his name to honor him, to show the depth of my love for him. And thank him for what he’d given me. Can we get on with it? You look rather tired. You’ve had a long day. Your saving Rebekah Manvers from kidnappers is all over the news, and of course that’s why you’re here. You believe I may have had something to do with her attempted kidnapping, since Rebekah was with me last night.”
Savich decided to take a shot in the dark. “It’s obvious her attempted kidnapping was precipitated by your having her here for a séance, telling her her grandfather had come, having him tell her things she didn’t want to hear.” He watched her closely.
Zoltan threw back her head and laughed. “A frontal attack, that’s good. If I were responsible, you’d have me quaking. But alas, I’m a simple medium, my only purpose to connect the Departed with the living, nothing more, nothing less. So Rebekah told you about what her grandfather told her. I’m surprised. She told me she wanted it to stop here, never speak of it again.”
“Evidently she changed her mind after someone tried to kidnap her. It wasn’t lost on her that what happened was only hours after her meeting with you. And that makes what she and her grandfather discussed a motive, doesn’t it?”
Zoltan fanned her hands in front of her. “Agent Savich, I had nothing to do with anything. I was only the conduit for her grandfather. It was he who told her about the Big Take that happened so long ago.”
Savich kept his face impassive. “Do you think her grandfather murdered his supposed best friend, Nate Elderby, because of the Big Take?”
“Well, it appears Rebekah told you everything. But not murder, that wasn’t ever discussed.” She frowned. “Although her grandfather’s words about his friend were somewhat ambiguous. A falling-out among thieves, then, that’s what you believe.”
Savich said, “I imagine Rebekah was quite surprised, didn’t want to consider her grandfather could have been involved in something like the Big Take, much less murder.” He took another sip of his tea.
Zoltan shrugged. “So who would care one way or the other? Rebekah, as you know, doesn’t want anything to do with the Big Take, even to consider returning it to the original owner. She doesn’t want her grandfather’s legacy tarnished in any way.
“I believe it makes more sense that whoever tried to take Rebekah today did so because her husband is a very rich man, not to mention Rebekah herself must have inherited a good deal of money from her grandfather.” She sighed. “I was still hoping Rebekah would agree to come back here tomorrow to speak again to her grandfather, if he was able to come through the Verge. But now? I doubt she will.”
Savich said, “You’re right. Rebekah won’t be back. She believes, as do I, that you gave a brilliant performance as her grandfather last night, that you somehow found out about the Big Take and that’s why you invited her here.”
“I am not a fake, Agent Savich.”
“Tell me then, Zoltan, how you got Rebekah to come to you in the first place. She wasn’t clear to me on why you called her.”
“It’s no secret. Her grandfather came to me three times during séances with other clients. He finally gave me enough information to identify both him and Rebekah and to find her. He told me a nickname he had for her, Pumpkin. There’s nothing more to it. He told her about this Big Take and that she knew where it was hidden. She didn’t want to know what they’d stolen, didn’t want to discuss it, as I’m sure she told you. I now realize her grandfather was right to warn her—he told her there’s a wolf in the fold, as he put it. Perhaps this wolf tried to kidnap her, and that would mean the wolf is someone close to her. If only she could come back, perhaps her grandfather would tell her who the wolf is.”
She sipped her own tea. “It always surprises me what the Departed have to say to the living, and the living to the Departed. And what they don’t want to say.”
He watched her rise slowly to her feet and thought again how graceful she was. He agreed with her for a moment that what the Departed would have to say to the living might be surprising. Then he put on the brakes, realized what she’d done. “What did you put in my tea, Zoltan? A psychotropic drug? LSD?”
She flapped her white hands at him. “Goodness no, Agent Savich. It’s merely my own special blend of herbs, designed to help my clients relax, to put them in an easy state of mind.”
“Don’t you mean make them more receptive to whatever you say? Did you give the same blend to Rebekah Manvers last night?”
She studied him. “How very curious. No one has ever noticed anything different about my special tea, except you. There’s nothing to be alarmed about, but that’s not the point, is it?” She walked to the fireplace. She fiddled with an antique andiron, straightened it, and went to stand behind a love seat. “Of course, you think my special tea is some diabolical attempt to manipulate my clients into believing what I want them to believe. That is not it at all. As you can imagine, when people come to me, they’re upset, often in distress. I provide the tea because it helps level them out, calms them, makes them less afraid, if you will. Speaking to the dead isn’t an easy thing to face, Agent Savich. Better, I’ve found, to ease them into it, when they’re a bit more relaxed and calm. If there is communication, it’s far more comfortable for them, and, I’ve learned, less emotional.
“The fact is, Agent Savich, I’m a simple but lucky woman, well aware of the benefits to others my special gift provides. I could never have imagined such a thing possible before I met Zoltan. I didn’t ask for this gift, nor have I ever lied about any of it. I help grief-stricken people reach their Departed and speak to them. Nothing more, nothing less.” She paused, looked rapt. “Zoltan gave me the keys to his kingdom, Agent Savich.”
And what did that mean exactly? Savich wanted to ask her, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. He nodded to Zoltan, picked up the thermos, and walked out. He closed the front door quietly behind him.
