Baltimore Noir - Laura Lippman [103]
Ivanhoe pointed at a spot on the wall directly across from the closet door. “Over there.”
So the show took place after dark. When the hologram, or whatever it was, would show up most frighteningly. Hodder wouldn’t even need to be in the house to pull off the stunt; he could use a remote control, like people used for their cars, and like Hodder had done when he’d illustrated the features of the house’s state of the art security system.
Grimly, Jeannie took care of the hole in the quickest way she could—stuffing toilet paper into it. Then she’d taken Ivan with her down to the basement, where, using an icing spatula, she pried up a dozen floorboards before finding the tape recorder. She’d removed the microcassette to play on the living room stereo. Sure enough, the sounds of a bowling alley, but with added clarity from the high-quality speaker system.
She was angry; blindingly angry. Her rage seemed uncontainable, rushing out in a great wave she wished would sweep over the person who had decided to intentionally frighten her little boy, had turned him into a child who was scared of the dark and hid in kitchen cupboards. And as Ivan’s mother, it was her duty to make the amoral monster pay.
Now Ivan was asleep and Jeannie stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of the guests below and thinking about where to go. She found herself stopping in the bedroom, opening up Charlie’s safe, and tucking the Beretta into one of the deep pockets camouflaged in the side seams of her dress. Now her dress was slightly weighed down on the right, but nobody would notice, given that downstairs was dimly lit by candles. She was going to give Hodder the scare of his life, frighten him so badly that he’d ruin his Ralph Lauren khakis for good—
“Jeannie, aren’t you done yet?” Charlie’s voice came up from the landing.
“Sorry, darling,” Jeannie said as she descended the curving stairway.
“Your dress is lovely. It reminds me of the New Look,” Hortense said, fingering the black silk-satin. Jeannie thanked her for the compliment, and peeked her head into the front parlor. Sister Natalie sat before a round table draped in red silk. The psychic’s deeply wrinkled face appeared solemn, illuminated by candlelight. Her troubled eyes locked with Jeannie’s.
“How are you, Sister Natalie?” Jeannie asked with false cheer, looking away from the psychic’s hooded stare.
“I don’t like this,” Sister Natalie said in a rumble that sounded like a bad storm coming in.
“You mean the table’s not right, or—” Jeannie cut herself off when she heard the sound of Ivanhoe’s voice. She had closed his door, but even through the wood she could hear that he was crying.
“He sounds scared,” Hodder said. “Why don’t you bring him down to join us?”
“No can do,” Charlie said. “Little guy probably had a bad dream. He’s got to learn to settle himself down again.”
“Children need discipline,” Hortense agreed. “Only people can’t say that word anymore. What’s the word that you young parents favor—limits? Come, let’s limit the time that’s ticking and seat ourselves in the parlor. Sister Natalie has been waiting so patiently for the spirits to come, I’m sure they’re all present and ready to show us a very good time.”
“Hmm. Maybe Jeannie wants to go upstairs to see what’s going on.” Hodder’s eyes gleamed, and Jeannie knew, all of a sudden, what her agent wanted. He wanted her to be the one to see the hologram of the boy, to be spooked enough to beg Charlie to sell the house immediately.
“I think Charlie’s right,” Jeannie said, going against every instinct in her body. “I’ll wait a couple of minutes to see if he settles down. Now, does anybody need a second drink or—”
The sound of breaking glass cut through her last words, followed by a thud.
“You bastard!” Jeannie looked straight at Hodder. He’d pulled a new trick out of his hat, just for the evening.
She looked at Charlie for support, but her husband was loping up the stairs, two at a time. The door to Ivanhoe’s room banged open and then she heard