The Madness of Mercury (38 page)

Authors: Connie Di Marco

Don showed up that evening carrying a steaming box of pizza and settled in a chair next to my bed.

“Julia, I was worried sick about you. I kept calling your cell but never got an answer. I got in touch with Gale, and, well … you know the rest.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to cause everyone all this worry.”

“Well, damn it, you did. Now shut up and have some pizza.” He tucked a large napkin under my chin and opened the box. The smell was indescribable. “I’m sure you’re getting crap food in this place. By the way, the paper’s running a story on this tomorrow. Wait till you see the headlines!” Then he saw the expression on my face and hesitated. “I heard about your friend. I’m really sorry, Julia. This must be hitting you hard.”

“A story about Dorothy and her aunts?”

“No, not at all. Although I’m sure that will eventually come to light. No, it’s much better. You’ll be happy about this. The Prophet is now persona non grata.” Don chuckled. “The politicians, the mayor, the chief of police are tripping over themselves trying to put some distance between themselves and the Reverend Roy. Never seen anything quite like it. They’re all going on record to say they never
really
supported him. It’s enough to make you sick. Bunch of disgusting hypocrites, worried about their own skins.”

The events at Ardillas, as chilling as they were, weren’t uppermost in my mind. I was gratified that the Prophet’s days were numbered, but I couldn’t share Don’s excitement. The sight of Dorothy staggering, gasping in her own blood, would haunt me for a long time to come.

“Julia, this is big, real big,” Don went on. “Major scandal, major investigation—there’ll be finger pointing all over the place. The Reverend’s finished in San Francisco, and anywhere else in the U.S. He has a lot to answer for.”

I leaned back against my pillows and breathed a sigh of relief. “That is good news. Thanks, Don.”

“Hey, you look tired. I’ll leave the pizza and let you get some rest. Oh, by the way, we found the culprit.” I must have looked blank. “At the newspaper. We found the guy who leaked your info. He worked, past tense, in the Accounting Department. You don’t have to worry anymore. He’s toast. I’ll give you a call … do you have your cell?”

“No. It’s gone. The sheriff in Ardillas loaned me one, but the police have it now.”

“Well, call me as soon as you get a new one. Come over and have dinner with us, okay? And get hold of me if you need anything at all.” Don leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to do some shopping for the little guy. I promised Kathy I’d pick up a couple of things he wanted for Christmas.”

I waved goodbye to Don as he left. I pulled the rolling tray closer and opened the pizza box. One slice remained. How did he do it? How did he manage to talk the whole time and still devour almost the whole box?

F
ORTY-
S
EVEN

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
I
walked—very carefully, I might add—down the hall to Evandra’s room. She was sitting up in bed with the TV remote in her hand, channel surfing through morning talk shows, her complexion quite pink and healthy. I hoped I’d look as good in a few days. I’d had a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and was horrified. My face was gray and gaunt and my eyes were bloodshot. When she spotted me standing in the doorway, she waved me over.

“Julia. How can I ever thank you? You saved us all.”

“I’m so sorry, Evandra, that I didn’t believe you about Dorothy.” I felt close to tears.

“There, there, dear.” She patted my hand. “I know you loved her. I did too, but as I told you, it happens more often than you’d think. I’m just so grateful her mother wasn’t alive to see this. So grateful.” She heaved a sigh. “As soon as we’re all out of this place, come and visit, anytime you like. You know Richard will be staying with us, hopefully for a good long time.”

“Yes, the police told me. I think they’re letting me go today, but I’ll stay in touch. There’s one thing, though.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“I promised Eunice that I would talk to you about letting her keep bees. And growing some lavender bushes for them to feed on.”

Evandra snorted and rolled her eyes heavenward. “If that will keep her happy, then fine. I’ll arrange it for her.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, relieved I had kept my promise.

The doctor was waiting for me when I shuffled back to my room. He checked my vital signs and agreed to release me as long as I made sure someone was around to keep an eye on me. To tell the truth, if he hadn’t let me go, I would have climbed out a window to be free. Gale and Cheryl arrived an hour later. Gale was lugging a Macy’s bag with a pair of very fashionable skinny jeans, a sweater bedazzled with little gems, and a pair of boots.

“You shopped for me?”

“Sure. I didn’t want to bring you home for Christmas dinner in a cotton hospital gown with a plastic bracelet on your wrist. Besides, the clothes you were wearing when they brought you in need to be burned. There’s some underwear in there too.”

“I’m paying you back for all this stuff.”

“Like hell you are. I refuse to be repaid.” Gale smiled. “Besides, I didn’t have a key to your apartment.”

I groaned. “My apartment. I hope I still have one.”

Cheryl leaned over to give me a hug. “You won’t have anything to worry about now.”

Gale smiled. “She’s right. Your landlady won’t be bothering you anymore. Have you seen the paper?” She held up the front section of the
Chronicle
. The headlines blared across the front page:
REVEREND
CHARGED
WITH
ABUSE
.
PROPHET
’
S
PARADISE
SHUT
DOWN
. Underneath, the banner was a still shot of the Reverend Roy from his TV show and a photo of the barbed wire gates of the Ardillas compound.

“Don warned me this was coming.”

Gale rattled the newspaper open. “And you’re famous, my dear. Listen to this: ‘San Francisco astrologer Julia Bonatti was instrumental in rescuing an elderly victim. Ms. Bonatti was imprisoned at the compound and shot at before she managed to escape. Once free, she enlisted the aid of Sheriff Leo McEnerny, who, with the intervention of the California Highway Patrol, shut down the Reverend’s slave labor compound.’ It goes on,” Gale trilled.

“I don’t want to be famous … not at all. Not like this.”

“Ah, well, we can’t always pick and choose.” Gale’s smile was brilliant. She leaned over and hugged me. I heard a catch in her voice. “I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t want to lose you. And the next time you go off like that, I will find you and I will kill you—myself.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes as she turned away.

“I’m glad I’m still here too. And I’m so grateful I have friends like you two and Don. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I was getting all sentimental and teary-eyed myself. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I still felt hot and dehydrated, but at least the body tremors had completely stopped.

Cheryl left to work on our dinner and Gale waited while I showered and dressed. The nurse came in with a wheelchair and I signed a pile of forms for the hospital. Gale followed us down the corridor. When we reached the front entrance, she left me in the nurse’s care while she went to the parking garage to retrieve her car. When she pulled up to the carriage area, I left the wheelchair behind and, lugging a plastic bag labeled
Patient’s Belongings
, climbed into her Mercedes.

Much later that day, after dinner, the three of us settled in on Gale’s sofa with a bottle of wine. A floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree covered with tiny lights took up the corner of the room. Gale dimmed the lamps and poured each of us a glass of wine. The sky was crystal clear and the city sparkled below us. The new moon was here—a time for beginnings. I filled Cheryl and Gale in on the details of everything that had transpired, including the séance where Evandra was convinced Lily had sent her a warning message.

The
Chronicle
had also run a story about Dorothy’s death and the attempted arson at the Gamble house. There was no hint that Dorothy was the guilty party or that she had been killed in self-defense. Under the caption was a stock photo of the Telegraph Hill house and a shot of a coroner’s van next to a fire truck. That was all. The bigger story—of Reverend Roy and the Army of the Prophet—had forced this story to a back page. Either the police were being very tightlipped about the connection between Eunice’s rescue and Dorothy’s death or the media hadn’t connected the events. I was relieved to see that my name wasn’t mentioned this time.

“I’m curious, Julia,” Cheryl asked. “You said that when you were lying on the grass outside the conservatory, you felt completely at peace. But you were trying to get help. Your life was at risk.”

“I was in very bad shape, you’re right. I was hallucinating. But I saw … I
felt
something brush lightly against my cheek. I could have sworn I smelled gardenias, but maybe I just imagined that.”

“You can be sure gardenias aren’t growing in San Francisco, especially in the winter,” Gale offered. “And if you don’t mind me reminding you, you were suffering from alkaloid poisoning.”

I nodded. “True. But the most memorable thing was that I was filled with that sense of ease, the most deliciously safe feeling I’ve ever had in my life. As if everything would turn out all right.”

Cheryl lifted a wine glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Lily.”

Gale and I lifted our glasses in unison. “To Lily.”

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

Connie di Marco (Los Angeles, CA) is the bestselling author of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries (Penguin), which she published under the name Connie Archer. She has always been fascinated by astrology and is excited to combine her love of the stars with her love of writing mysteries. Visit her at conniedimarco.com, on Facebook at Connie di Marco (Author), or on Twitter: @askzodia.

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