Helen Smith - Beyond Belief (Emily Castles #4) Read online

  “Well, there is a dog. Jessie. But she’s not here. She’s not alive.”

  “A spirit guide?” Bobby Blue Suit suddenly looked much less friendly, as if he suspected Emily might be a rival for the fifty thousand pounds. “What breed, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Golden retriever.”

  “Clever choice! Course, I favor the daxies myself. Very inquisitive breed of dog.”

  “Look, I’m not challenging for the fifty thousand pounds. I’m here…I’m kind of a paranormal investigator.”

  “Oh.” Bobby relaxed. “Here to see fair play? That’s a good idea. I wondered how they were going to manage things for the challenge tomorrow. They haven’t said much about it, have they? Just, meet in the Green Room at ten o’clock and, when you come out of the Ballroom, whether you win or lose, don’t say anything to anybody. Did you have to sign a confidentiality agreement like the rest of us?”

  “I’m not connected to Edmund Zenon.”

  Bobby closed his eyes again and took a deep breath before opening his eyes and looking at Emily. “You say that, but I sense a connection. You’ve been drawn to Torquay because of him.”

  “Well, I heard he might be in danger.”

  “So you really are a private investigator!”

  “Not really. In my day job I do office administration.”

  “What sort of danger is he in? Robbery? He wouldn’t bring the fifty grand here with him, surely?”

  “Not robbery. Drowning. It might not be him. But I’m supposed to make a report on it. A few psychics have been getting premonitions.”

  Bobby did his eye-closing, deep-breathing routine again. When he opened his eyes again, he shook his head. “I’m not getting anything. If they pick up any clues, the dogs’ll tell me and I’ll tell you. Shirley’s my best communicator.”

  “Thank you.” Emily took her notebook from her handbag. She wrote the names of Bobby’s dogs in it. “Do you think you can win the challenge?”

  “Honestly? I don’t see Edmund Zenon handing over the cash to anyone, do you? He’s gone around for years saying there’s no such thing as the supernatural. So how’s he going to stand there tomorrow and say, OK, I was wrong?”

  “But you’re still going to do the challenge?”

  “I want the chance to show what I can do. The people who believe will believe. If they’ve heard I’ve signed up for this, they’ll come and find me after. It’s a roundabout way of establishing my credentials, because you can’t sign up without getting vetted. I hope it’ll help with bookings.” He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “There must be better ways to earn a living. But this is my calling.”

  “What about the other people here? Do you know any of them?”

  Bobby looked around the public rooms of the hotel, most of which were open plan, the various areas differentiated by contrasting decorative themes and styles of seating. The dogs noticed him looking. They perked up and looked around, too. In the library, the lobby, the bar and the restaurant, there were individuals sitting quietly, going over notes, frowning and annotating the margins of speeches. Others had gathered in huddles, whispering and planning, laughing and talking. The place was so crowded, it was difficult for Emily and Bobby to get a good look at anything other than the buttons on the jackets of the people standing a few feet in front of them.

  “There are some dangerous people here,” said Bobby.

  “Who? Can you point them out to me?”

  “I don’t know them. I feel them. Do you have a weapon?”

  “No!”

  Bobby’s dogs bared their teeth. Shirley began growling.

  “Well, never mind.”

  “Why do you think I need a weapon?”

  “If someone wants to get to Edmund Zenon and you’ve been asking questions…I mean, I know everything about what you’re doing here, and we’ve only been talking for five minutes. And that’s without using my powers. You can trust me, but I can’t say the same for others here.”

  “OK, good tip. I’ll try to be discreet.”

  Bobby stood up as Shirley growled again. “You tell Jessie to keep close and watch out for you.”

  “I don’t…I mean, Jessie was a lovely dog. But she’s gone now. I don’t think I can talk to her.”

  “We don’t know what we can do till we’re tested. If you’re in danger, you try telling Jessie to get a message to Shirley and if she can do it, Shirley will tell me and we’ll come running. Meantime, I better take this lot out for a walk. Being inside with all the bad vibrations is making them antsy.” He stood and arranged the dogs so their leads wouldn’t tangle up with each other.

  “Bobby, if a dead person could send a message to help me—or Edmund Zenon for that matter—why would they do that when they could have sent messages to stop thousands of people being killed in all the wars over the years?”

  “P’raps they did, and people just didn’t listen.” Bobby raised his neatly groomed eyebrows at Emily and smiled, then he walked away with his dachshunds. Tails held high, the dogs’ glossy chestnut fur rippled and swished, as gorgeous as the glossy chestnut curls of a pulp fiction pinup walking away from the hero in the final scene.

  There were no walls or doorways separating the hotel restaurant from the lobby, just an assortment of comfortable chairs and sofas forming a café/bar area. Peeking through the crowd in the lobby, and beyond that to the bar, and beyond that to the Riviera Lounge, Emily glimpsed Gerald sitting at one of the restaurant’s tables by a picture window, looking out at the sea.

  As she headed in his direction, the woman with gray-blonde hair and rosy complexion stepped forward and intercepted her. “Excuse me? I’m Sarah Taylor. Could I talk to you? I’m sitting over here with my husband, Tim, and our friend Joseph Seppardi.”

  Sarah pointed as she said their names. Tim was a tall man. He put his hand up and smoothed his dark hair, even though it didn’t need taming; a quick, tentative movement that looked as though he was patting his head to check the top of it wasn’t missing. Joseph Seppardi was a sinister-looking man, alert and watchful, clasping the arms of his chair like a bird of prey gripping its perch.

  “We saw you talking to that chap in the blue suit. Is he a psychic?”

  Emily hadn’t signed a confidentiality agreement, but she didn’t want to give away any of Bobby’s secrets. She decided to be cagey, until she knew more. “I was admiring his dachshunds.”

  Sarah looked embarrassed when she realized Emily wasn’t going to confide in her. “I wondered if you’d lost someone. I thought if the man with the dogs couldn’t help you…Well, Joseph’s been very good to us, with our Liam.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I’m OK. Are you here to take part in the challenge?”

  Sarah scratched at her arm. She glanced over at her husband and their friend. “Joseph’s going to do it.”

  Emily paused to consider what she should say, under the circumstances. Good luck didn’t sound right. He wasn’t taking his driving test. I’m sure he’ll do well wasn’t quite truthful. She said, “Well, it would be amazing if he could prove the existence of the paranormal.”

  “We know it exists. We’re not here for that. We’re here for the money.” She lowered her voice. “And to put Edmund Zenon in his place.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE POSITIVITY CIRCLE

  By the time Emily reached Gerald in the Riviera Lounge, Peg was there too, a pale green paisley scarf pinned to her shoulder and a hardback book in her hand. Dr. Muriel was just behind Emily—she could hear her friend calling out greetings to delegates as she made her way to the table. Gerald had ordered club sandwiches for all four of them, and the waiter brought their plates to the table just as Emily sat down.

  Gerald leaned across the table with his phone in his hand. “Anything to report? Anything I can put on Twitter?”

  Emily put some mayonnaise on her plate and dipped one of her French fries in it. “I need to talk to Edmund. I haven’t had much luck so far.”

 
Peg smiled. “You know what, dear? Sometimes it’s easier to talk to the dead than the living. You want to come along to my positivity circle this afternoon? It’s in the Winston Churchill room. You, too, Muriel. We’re looking for intelligent, open-minded women.”

  “Ha!” said Dr. Muriel. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that. I’ve some work to do on my talk for tomorrow.”

  “Have you had any more messages?” Emily asked Peg.

  “No. Though I haven’t been tuning in to the other world. I’ve been busy setting up my book stall.”

  “You’re not planning to sell your books here, are you?” said Gerald.

  “Course not!” said Peg. “I’ve no intention of selling. Though I expect I shall have to supply one or two copies in exchange for money if people ask for them.” She winked at Emily.

  While Gerald tried to think of a way to close down Peg’s commercial activities without offending her, Emily asked the same question she had asked Bobby. “Why would a ghost or a spirit send back a message about Edmund Zenon? There must be so many other tragedies they could try to prevent.”

  “My premonition isn’t from a dead person,” said Peg. “This is from someone living.”

  “Is it?” said Gerald. “But I do think Lady Lacey was interested in messages from the spirit world. At the time of her death she was a spiritualist.”

  “Was she?” said Peg innocently. “I looked over the documents and she didn’t specify.”

  “Do you mean you got a phone call from someone about the drowning?” asked Emily.

  “No, dear. Telepathy.”

  Emily wiped her hands and got out her notebook. “So is it the murderer broadcasting their intentions, do you think, or is it someone else, trying to warn you?”

  “I don’t know. I can get a very good telepathic connection with the living—but they have to be prepared to let me in. From what I saw of it, I was dealing with a disturbed mind, and most of it was closed to me. Couldn’t tell you if it was a man or a woman, even.”

  “If the person’s here in Torquay, will the messages be stronger than they were in London now that you’re here, too?”

  “Could be. I shall have to have a session this afternoon, see what I can see.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t make any difference to the strength of the signal if the person was in London yesterday and is in Torquay today,” said Gerald. “If they’ve remained roughly the same distance from you?”

  “Good point!” said Emily. She scribbled a few notes.

  “You seem more convinced than you were yesterday, Emily,” said Dr. Muriel. “Excited, even.”

  “I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts and spirits. No offense, Peg.”

  “None taken, dear.”

  “But I think I believe in telepathy. It ought to be possible for someone to pick up a message like this from another living person, if it’s broadcast strongly enough. Shouldn’t it? And a murder—the intention of murder—would send a very strong signal.”

  “Edmund Zenon says not,” said Dr. Muriel.

  Peg’s hand went to the brooch at her shoulder. “I don’t know what it is with magicians. They make a living out of tricking people—they think everyone’s at it.”

  “If something like this were to be proved,” Emily asked, “would it win the challenge?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t want the money!” said Peg virtuously.

  “You wouldn’t need it,” said Gerald. “You’d be famous.”

  Sarah, Tim and Joseph Seppardi took a seat at the next table. Sarah nodded at Emily, picked up the menu and began fussing. “Would you like the mushroom quiche or the risotto, Tim? Or how about the chicken breast with potatoes? You might like that. Or the Thai fish cakes. You need some fiber in your diet. You know what the doctor said. Will you have the fish cakes? What about you, Joe?”

  “I’ll have the fish cakes,” Tim said.

  Joseph Seppardi said, “I’m not sure if this is the right thing for us to do.”

  “You don’t want the fish cakes?” Sarah was flustered.

  “What you’re proposing…the challenge. Is it what Liam would want?”

  “Is he here?” Sarah yelped. “Is Liam with us?”

  A few heads turned. Everyone at Emily’s table stopped talking and listened.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Tim said, “and I think we should build something in memory of Liam.”

  Sarah ignored him. She was looking at Joseph.

  “He’s not here,” Joseph told her.

  Tim started talking like a contestant on a radio show who has been told he mustn’t pause or hesitate, or he will forfeit his turn. “Liam used to like making things, didn’t he, Sarah, when he was about seven or eight years old? We could build a science block in a school or something. There’s the money we’d put away in case Liam wanted to study. A deposit for a flat when he got married. We could use that.”

  Joseph seemed unenthusiastic. “If only the planning regulations weren’t so absurd these days.”

  Tim began arguing with himself about the plans for the science block. “We need to have something we could look at, and everyone will know what it is. I’d like to build something. But I don’t know what they’d say if we turned up at the school wanting something named after him. Remember that fuss with the explosives in the boys’ toilets?”

  “We don’t have enough money, Tim.” Sarah picked up a fork and turned it over in her hand, then she scratched at her arm with it, distractedly. “But we could build something without bricks. A foundation. We’re here to fight for what we believe in—for what Joe believes in. If we had a foundation, we could help other people who are bereaved. What do you say to that, eh, Tim? The Joseph Seppardi Foundation.”

  “It sounds expensive,” said Tim. “The administration. No end to it. No exit strategy. At least if you build something, you lay the last brick and you’re done. With this, I don’t know…How would we fund it? If we ran out of money, we’d have to turn people away. We’d have to charge a fee.”

  Sarah put the fork down. “I wouldn’t want to charge a fee.”

  Tim sighed. He pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. He gave the top of his head a quick pat to check it was still there. “If we could double our money, we could build something really special. Maybe a school. You know, I feel like a man wandering around with half a winning lottery ticket. What we have just isn’t enough.”

  “Gambling isn’t the answer,” said Joseph Seppardi.

  “Nobody’s talking about gambling,” Sarah said. “You’re supposed to win the fifty thousand pounds. It’s why Liam brought us here. What kind of charitable project he wants it spent on, we can clarify after.”

  “Can we, though?” Tim asked her. “You know what he was like, even…I mean, I wouldn’t put it beyond him to, you know…He liked a joke. That business with the English teacher’s car, and then the explosion. He could be mischievous. So…”

  The people at Emily’s table paid Tim more attention than Sarah did. Eventually he trailed off. He touched the top of his head. No, still there. He picked up his glass of water and took a sip.

  “If you win the money, Joe, you can have your foundation.” Sarah glanced at Emily’s table. Everyone looked down at their plates, pretending they weren’t listening.

  “I don’t want a foundation,” said Joseph Seppardi.

  Sarah spoke quietly, but her words were audible. “Imagine taking the magician’s money and using it against him.”

  “We could call it the Robin Hood Foundation,” said Tim, cheering up a bit.

  “Let’s not call it that,” said Sarah.

  Joseph Seppardi said nothing, but he looked miserable.

  The fish cakes arrived. The three of them tucked into their meal.

  “What’s everyone up to this afternoon?” Gerald asked the group at his table as he signaled the waiter for the bill. They were on the coffee now.

  “I’m going to spend some time in my positivity circle, see if we
can’t send some protection Edmund Zenon’s way,” said Peg.

  “Ah,” said Gerald, “but how will you know who to protect him from?”

  “We’ll send out general positivity, Gerald, to avert the malice.” Peg spoke as though Gerald was a buffoon for not knowing how positivity circles worked.

  Emily took a cube of brown sugar from the sugar bowl and stirred it into her coffee. “If he’s in danger, could it be from someone who’s nowhere near the conference: they’re upset they’re not invited and they’re just thinking about throttling Edmund—they won’t do it?”

  Gerald spread his hands in a gesture that took in the whole of Torquay. “Everyone’s here. Even people who haven’t been invited.”

  “Besides, wouldn’t they be thinking about throttling Gerald for not inviting them?” asked Dr. Muriel. “Or Peg? She’s invited the psychics to this event.”

  Peg put her fingers to her throat. She stroked the skin thoughtfully and looked over at Joseph Seppardi. “You know what’d worry me? If we had someone here who was under the control of a mischievous spirit. That would be alarming. Very alarming.”

  “Fortunately Emily’s here to investigate,” said Dr. Muriel. “To future crimes!” She clinked her coffee cup against Emily’s, attracting the attention of some of the other people in the restaurant, including the party at the next table.

  Still anxious about the conference—and perhaps a bit miffed at Dr. Muriel’s refusal to take Emily’s preparation of the report seriously—Gerald stood up to leave. The others followed suit. Peg picked up the copy of Psychic Techniques for Future Positivity she had brought in with her and stopped to talk to Sarah as she passed her table. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I’m putting together a circle of positivity in the Winston Churchill room. Strong, intelligent, spiritual women. Would you like to join us?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, you know…” Sarah looked at Joseph for permission.

  “I think you should go,” said Tim. “Do you good to make some friends. I’ll go for a walk along the sea front. Stretch my legs.”

  Sarah said to Peg, “I don’t think I can join you. I need to spend this afternoon trying to get through to our son, Liam.”