Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [80]
George rose hurriedly from his chair, almost knocking it over, and grabbed a couple of plates, sending a fork clattering to the floor.
“Go on,” he said, bending down to pick it up. “I’ll give her a hand.”
Lee took his wine and went into the living room, where the girls had set up the Ouija board on a low coffee table in front of the wide stone fireplace.
He sat on the floor next to Angelica, who was perched on a couch cushion. She leaned over the board, her dark hair falling over one eye. Her hair was just a shade darker than Laura’s, and the way it fell across her forehead reminded him of Ana, on her last visit to him…. Christ, he thought, does everything have to remind me of death?
“Okay,” Kylie said, “everyone ready?”
Angelica nodded eagerly, squirming on her cushion, her dark eyes shining with excitement. Meredith compressed her lips and gave a little shrug, but Lee noticed that she too rested her fingertips on the pointer.
“Come on, Uncle Lee!” Kylie said, and he placed his fingers next to theirs. It was an odd feeling—he was propelled back to his childhood as though he had been sucked through a time warp. He looked down at the pointer, at the delicate young fingers resting beside his much larger hands, which looked crude and rough next to theirs.
“Okay,” Kylie said. “I’m the birthday girl, so I’ll ask the first question.”
“Okay,” Angelica agreed, her voice tight with anticipation.
“Are—you—real?” Kylie said, with a look at Meredith, who rolled her eyes.
The pointer shot off to the far side of the board so quickly Lee could barely keep his fingers on it.
It stopped at the word YES.
Kylie gave Meredith a superior shake of her head, but Meredith ignored her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Once again the pointer took off and began spelling out words so quickly Lee could barely keep his fingers from slipping off it. He looked at the three girls to see who was controlling the pointer, but couldn’t figure out who it could be. They all looked equally surprised when the pointer finished spelling out a brief sentence.
Q-U-I-T S-T-A-L-L-I-NG.
“Quit stalling?” Meredith murmured. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You said a bad word,” Angelica said, her eyes wide. “Oh, get over it,” Meredith muttered. George Callahan wandered into the room.
“Whatchya doing?” he asked, peering down at them.
“Come join us, Daddy,” Kylie said. Lee winced at the sound of the word—he had noticed she rarely called him that, and had several theories as to why. George and Laura had never been married—George wanted it, but Laura didn’t—and while Kylie did share his last name, he knew that Fiona thought of her as a Campbell through and through. He had experienced his mother’s subtle but relentless propaganda all his life, and knew that when Fiona wanted something, she usually got in the end.
“Yeah, Mr. Callahan, come on!” Angelica said, sliding over to make room for him.
“Okay,” George said, lowering his bulky body down to the floor. He sat cross-legged between Angelica and Meredith, sweat gathering on the back of his neck as he settled down. He folded his thick legs stiffly under his body, joints creaking, hunching awkwardly over the table. He reminded Lee of a bull elephant trying to hatch an egg.
“All set,” George said. “Now, what shall we ask it?”
He had barely placed his fingertips on the pointer when it flew off across the board again, even faster than before.
Lee stared at it as it zipped from letter to letter.
A-S-K A-B-O-U-T T-H-E R-E-D D-R-E-S-S
The walls of the room began to close in on him, and he didn’t hear the phone ringing in the other room. When his mother appeared at the doorway, phone in her hand, she had to call his name twice.
“Lee!” she said, holding out the phone. “It’s Chuck Morton. They need you right away. There’s been"—she hesitated, looking at the girls—"a development.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Miguel Rodriguez, the man on the front security desk at 545 Sixth Avenue, really did want to help. It was clear from his body language that he had nothing to hide. Sitting