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All right, time to move on.
I got out my fluorite pendulum and let it swing in the air for a moment as I focused once again. Then I held it over the oracle board I had sitting on the altar.
The pendulum swung again, seemingly at random…and then its movements became more precise, picking out three letters.
A-L-L.
Okay, this was not the time to get all metaphysical on me. I suppose the argument could be made that since all of mankind was connected, it had something to do with Brant’s murder and the strange contraption inside the walls of the Bigelow mansion, but I thought that was something of a reach.
Maybe the pendulum needed to hear my intentions before it could provide a more concrete answer.
“Who put the boombox inside the wall?” I asked. “Who pushed Brant Thoreau down the stairs?”
Once again, the pendulum moved.
A-L-L.
Sigh. Sometimes divination could be a real pain in the ass.
I looked over at the crystal ball, sitting innocently on its stand of wood carved into sacred crescent moon shapes. Hopefully, Grandma Ellen wouldn’t be too annoyed about me bothering her with my latest mystery.
Even as I set down the pendulum, though, I got a sudden flash.
No.
In this case, it felt like the universe telling me that bothering my grandmother wasn’t the way to go.
“Then what?” I asked plaintively.
My mind’s eye showed me the stairwell in the Bigelow mansion, complete with the gaping hole I’d started with my tire iron and which Chief Lewis and his men had extended even further so they’d have easy access to the boombox and the strange little pounding device that had accompanied it.
“I’m supposed to go back to the house?” I asked.
No direct answer, but I had the feeling I’d hit the nail on the head with that question…and I thought I knew why. Henry Lewis had the items they’d found inside the wall locked up as evidence. That didn’t mean I couldn’t go over there and touch the wall itself, or the bare electrical outlet inside the wall, clearly placed there to power the “demonic” devices. My powers of psychometry had helped me before, revealing the whereabouts of Lilith Black’s killer.
I had to hope they’d come to the rescue this time, too.
Feeling slightly encouraged, I went to my office door and opened it. Sitting outside on the carpet runner in the hallway was Archie, who shot me a sardonic golden-eyed glance.
“Talking to yourself now?” he asked. “Some people say that’s a sign of madness.”
“Well, if that’s the case, that ship sailed a long time ago,” I responded blithely. “Anyway, I’m off to the Bigelow house. Try not to get in any trouble while I’m gone.”
His tail twitched. “I should be the one telling you that,” he said. “Considering you’re the one who fell down the stairs the last time you were there.”
“I didn’t fall — I was pushed,” I pointed out.
“Even worse.”
Under other circumstances, I might have been more hesitant to return to the scene of the crime. In this case, I thought I should be safe enough. “Well, I’m sure whoever is responsible is giving the place a wide berth now. We know the demons were a fake, and Chief Lewis is examining the evidence we found. It’s only a matter of time before he tracks down the perpetrator.”
If Archie had been human, he might have lifted an eyebrow. As it was, he tilted his head ever so slightly and then said, “Your funeral,” before stalking off into the living room.
I refused to accept his bleak view of the situation. My instincts were telling me to go back to the house, and I doubted my psychic abilities would override my own sense of self-preservation.
At least, I had to hope they wouldn’t.
A quick check to make sure the cat’s water bowl was filled, and then I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. By that point, the drive to the Bigelow mansion was so familiar that I really didn’t have to think twice about which streets to take or where to turn. Soon enough, the big house with its warm and friendly paint scheme of green and brick red and gold came into view, and I headed up the gravel driveway and parked in my usual spot near the path.
