happens in Coventry? When was the last time you paid us a visit, Belle? I can’t seem to remember the decade.”
This failed to make her angry, but he liked a challenge.
She looked up from the telescope. “Those people didn’t used to meet in the woods.”
“Well, they have for the past fifteen years. And you’d know that if you’d bothered to come home more often. However, your mother so enjoyed the crummy little postcards you sent her from Europe.” Addison held the binoculars up to his eyes and wondered why the spookfest in the woods should interest Isabelle. “They’re heading up to Evelyn Straub’s old cabin. You were just a little girl when she built that place.”
As he recalled, Evelyn’s last name had been Kominsky back in those days. Well into her thirties then, she had aged out of her showgirl career and snagged an elderly millionaire for a husband. And these days? Well, the woman had gone to hell from the hips up, and her long legs were not on display anymore, but they tended to linger in a man’s memory. Evelyn’s best quality was the heart of a pirate, and this alone was enough to make her worthy of his admiration.
“Did you ever go to one of the séances?”
“Yes, I took your mother once. Everyone in Coventry went to at least one of them. Some people go back again and again.” The witchboard group was an old one, but hardly exclusive. He drained his glass and rattled the ice cubes. “Any other town in America would’ve formed a bowling league.”
The parade of vehicles had almost cleared the pygmy forest of scrub pines. He lifted his wife’s binoculars and trained the lenses on one straggler. “You see that jeep following them from a distance? That’s the sheriff. Evelyn’s place is the only cabin on that fire road. If she catches Cable, he’s toast. Legally, he shouldn’t be within a half-mile of that séance.” Addison’s grin spread wide. “I smell a lawsuit.”
The jeep disappeared under a canopy of tall trees as it climbed the mountain into denser foliage. The show was over, and Isabelle abandoned the telescope to lean back against the railing. “How did Mrs. Straub get involved with séances? She doesn’t seem the type.”
“She’s not. However, the lady does have an eye for opportunity, and her pet psychic is worth a fortune.”
“How much does she charge?”
“Not one dime,” said Addison. “The séances have always been free.”
The Coventry Pub was a quiet place. A television set was bolted to the wall over the bar and always tuned to a local news station. By custom of long standing, the bartender never turned on the volume until the sports coverage was nearing airtime. So five steady patrons, sports fans all, were watching an anchorman moving his mouth in silence. They liked their news delivered this way—so restful.
And now they were startled by the image on the screen.
“That looks just like our library,” said the bartender, stepping up to the set for a closer look. “Can’t be.”
A customer squinted and then donned his spectacles. “Sure it is. Hey, Fred, turn on the sound.”
The bartender turned the volume up high, and an anchorman’s voice boomed out of the box to tell them that this was indeed film coverage of the local library. It was also the scene of a standoff with a fugitive from justice. Unconfirmed was the rumor that the escapee was armed.
One of the men stepped outside for a look at the library two doors down and across the street. He called back to his fellow patrons, “Just a van parked out front and a couple of guys standing around the phone booth, smoking cigarettes.” He walked back inside, looked up at the screen and scratched his head.
The picture of the library was replaced with coverage of a California race for the senate, and the volume was turned off again. Fresh beers were served up and down the bar, and reality was restored to the Coventry Pub.
“I’d never take my own car up here.” The
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