Page 29 of Murder Most Haunted

Noah had positioned himself close to the fire, doing his best to fake disinterest as Rona explained the zodiac to Harold, but Midge observed him pulling faces every now and then.

‘I bet that you’re a Sagittarius,’ she was telling Harold as she held his hand, palm up.

‘Isn’t that an old goat?’ he asked Midge, who was perched uncomfortably behind a large floor lamp in the hope that Rona would not turn her astrological attentions on to her.

Rona laughed. ‘You are half human and half horse.’

‘Maybe half donkey . . . eh?’ Harold winked at Midge, who immediately retreated even further behind the lampshade.

‘Urgh,’ said Noah.

‘Harold, be serious for a moment, I’m trying to read your lines.’ Rona had her head bent over his palm and Harold tried his best to follow her eyes.

Noah, who had been pretending to read a magazine, couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘It’s all nonsense, Rona.’

She continued to trace a line with her forefinger. ‘And what makes you say that?’

‘There’s no science to it at all,’ said Noah, getting up and poking at the fire.

Rona lifted her face, her eyes so bright in the firelight they appeared almost glassy. ‘You know what? You sound like Dr Mortimer talking about ghost hunting.’ She nodded her head towards the doctor where he sat at the card table deep in conversation with his wife.

Midge peered through the fringing of the lampshade, leaning forward in order to watch the exchange. Noah had momentarily paused in his poking but resumed again with a shrug. ‘The two aren’t even comparable. With parapsychology, it’s about finding scientific evidence.’

‘Evidence?’ snorted Rona. ‘What evidence have you found so far?’

‘EMF,’ replied Noah, still with his back to her. ‘That’s something you can actually measure. My equipment has already picked up loads of interference.’

‘I’m not sure you can call something scientific just because you’ve stuck an “ology” on the end of it,’ said the doctor, looking up from his conversation.

‘You’ve been recording?’ asked Harold, taking his hand back from Rona.

‘Yeah. I was going to analyse the rest of the material tonight.’

There was a silence, broken only by the spitting of the fire.

‘I like stories,’ said Harold, eventually. He nudged Rona. ‘Anyway, I reckon it’s good to keep our minds occupied.’

‘I’ve never done tarot cards before,’ said Gloria, dragging the table across the room and placing it in front of the sofa.

‘So, what happens exactly?’ asked Noah, who had joined them on the sofa. ‘Do we need teams?’

Midge desperately hoped not. She was always picked last for these things. For some reason, people never seemed to notice her. She’d even been handed her own retirement card to sign when she left the force because, despite thirty years of service, the HR lady wasn’t entirely sure who she was.

Rona’s laugh spread out across the room. ‘No, stupid.’ Noah blushed. ‘You need a reader. It has to be someone very empathetic and in tune, which will be moi, obviously.’

Midge moved out from behind the lamp and sat down on a chair next to Harold, having to squeeze up in order to fit her legs and cane behind the table.

‘What lovely cards!’ exclaimed Gloria, bending forward to examine the pack that Rona had laid on the table. ‘Such delicate illustrations.’

‘They are, aren’t they?’ beamed Rona, fanning the cards out. ‘I got them after a three-week bender in the Golden Triangle in Asia. It’s tarot told through the Kama Sutra positions.’

‘Oh!’ Gloria swallowed and sat back. ‘Yes, I can see now. Gosh.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘How is that even possible . . .?’

‘You’ll be amazed at what they get up to in the East,’ said Harold, nodding his head.

‘That’s incredibly racist, Harold,’ said Noah.

‘Here we go,’ yawned Harold, stretching out his legs. ‘Your generation didn’t end racism, you know –’ he pointed a finger at Noah – ‘you just hid it behind keyboards.’

‘Did you enjoy Asia?’ asked Midge, who had always wanted to travel but disliked sweating.

‘Oh yes,’ smiled Rona, before frowning. ‘At least, I think I did.’

‘Typical!’ snorted Noah. ‘You’re like those trust-fund backpackers who bang on about experiencing the “real” Asia but only actually go so they can get a load of cheap drugs.’

‘Shut up,’ said Rona, blinking. ‘Clearly, you’ve never tried haggling in Nyaw but let me tell you, Willow said it wasn’t cheap.’

‘Have you ever considered being an environmental tourist?’ asked Noah.

‘Is that what they call moving back in with your parents nowadays?’ snorted Harold. Noah flushed and went back to poking the fire.

Rona picked the cards up with an elaborate flourish and handed them to Harold. ‘Be a love and sort these into four equal piles.’

When he had finished, Rona placed her hands together on her lap and looked up at them. ‘Now, who wants to go first?’

No one said anything.

‘Come on, don’t be shy. Noah, don’t you want to record this?’ she asked.

Noah shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. This is not ghost-hunting. I told you, there’s no science to it. I’d be laughed out of the podcaster forums.’

Midge thought there was probably quite a low bar for that.

Rona sighed and turned to Midge. ‘Shall we start with you?’

Midge stared at the four neat piles of cards in front of her.

‘Now,’ said Rona, ‘I want you to close your eyes, Midge, and connect with your soul.’ Midge thought she heard Noah say a rude word.

‘Tap the cards to spread your energy,’ breathed Rona, swaying slightly as she hovered her hands over the piles.

Midge took a deep breath and tapped the cards, thinking that Bridie would not believe it if she could see her now. ‘Excellent,’ murmured Rona. ‘Now select the ones that pull most at your inner eye.’

This was a problem for Midge. Did she have an inner eye? And, if so, how should she go about deciding what was pulling at it? She pointed to the pile on the far left, which for the purposes of politeness she was going to assume was an illustration of two men pushing a wheelbarrow.

‘You have taken from the love pile,’ said Rona, winking. ‘Shall we take a look?’

Midge turned the card over. There was a gasp from Harold and Rona as she laid bare a skeleton with the word ‘DEATH’ running along the side of the card.

‘Christ!’ said Harold, clapping his hands together. ‘And I thought my luck was up the shitter.’

‘What does that mean?’ said Midge, frowning.

‘See!’ snorted Noah. ‘A load of rubbish.’

‘Is Midge going to die?’ asked Gloria.

‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ said her husband.

‘No!’ said Rona. ‘It’s all about the interpretation. It could be the end of a relationship, or . . .’

‘Exactly,’ said Noah. ‘You’re just making stuff up. An elaborate game of make-believe. And what does all this have to do with Rendell, anyway?’

‘Shall we do something different?’ asked Rona. ‘I don’t want to upset anyone.’

Midge wasn’t upset in the least.

‘How about the doctor?’ suggested Harold. ‘Why don’t you give it a go and I’ll shuffle.’

Dr Mortimer opened his mouth but shut it again after catching his wife’s eye. He shrugged and held his hands out. ‘Go on, then.’

Harold re-dealt the cards into four piles as before. After clearing his throat, the doctor paused his hand over the top of the first pile and then selected the card.

‘The devil!’ exclaimed Rona, staring at a horned beast holding a pitchfork.

There was a silence. Noah moved in his seat. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Obsession.’

Rona was staring at the doctor, who had his eyes fixed on the card, his jaw clenched.

‘What about obsession?’ asked Harold. ‘He’s obsessed or someone is obsessed with him?’

Rona tried to smile but her hands trembled slightly as she quickly collected the first pile up again. ‘Obsession or addiction. It can mean either, really . . . Let’s try the next one.’

The fire spat suddenly, causing a small ember to land beside Midge. She stamped her cane down on to it, extinguishing the spark against the floor.

The doctor moved his hand along to the second pile and turned the next card over.

‘No!’ Rona gasped, frowning. Midge leaned back uncomfortably – Noah had banked the fire too high and sweat was beginning to pool at the base of her nylon trousers.

‘What?’ asked Gloria, wringing her hands.

‘The seven of swords,’ said Noah, peering over them and examining the card. ‘Doesn’t that usually mean . . .’

‘Blackmail,’ finished Rona.

‘That’s not good,’ said Harold, shoving another log on to a fire that was already too high.