think of her as a channel, our means of communication to the great beyond."
She spoke so simply and sincerely that I had no inclination to snicker. I am something of an infidel myself but I never scorn belief. If you are convinced the earth is flat, that's okay with me as long as it gives you comfort.
"And this is Mrs. Gloriana's profession?" I asked. "I mean, she does it for a living?"
"Oh yes. But don't get the idea that it's some kind of a con game. Hertha is licensed and bonded."
"But she does charge for her services?" I said gently.
"Of course she does," Mrs. Gillsworth said. "And why shouldn't she, since her talents are so special. But her fees are quite reasonable and she takes credit cards."
"Uh-huh," I said. "And these meetings-sort of like seances, are they?"
"Well. ." she said hesitantly, "somewhat. But there are no blobs of protoplasm floating in space or weird noises. We meet in a well-lighted room, sit in a circle around a table, and hold hands. To increase our psychic power, you see. Then Mrs. Gloriana tries to communicate with the other world. Her contact is a Mayan shaman who passed over hundreds of years ago. His name is Xatyl. Through him, Hertha attempts to reach people her clients wish to question. Sometimes they are famous people but usually they are relatives. I've spoken to my great-grandmother many times."
"And communication with the, ah, deceased is made through Xatyl via Mrs. Gloriana?"
"Not always," Lydia said sharply. "The contact fails as often as it succeeds. Sometimes the departed person requested is not available, or the line of communication is too faint to produce results because our combined psychic power that particular night is simply not strong enough to allow Mrs. Gloriana to get through to Xatyl."
"Incredible," I said, shaking my head, "and positively entrancing. Does Mrs. Gloriana provide private, uh, consultations?"
"Of course she does. But she'll warn you that the chances of a successful contact are less for an individual than for a group. Because the psychic power is usually not sufficient, you see. A gathering of believers with linked hands generates much more energy than one person."
That seemed reasonable to me. If you accepted the original premise, it even sounded logical.
"Tell me something else," I said, "and this is just idle curiosity on my part, but has your husband ever attended the meetings with Mrs. Gloriana?"
"Oh, Rod came to three or four," she said lightly, "but then he just drifted away. He never scoffed, but he never accepted the concept wholeheartedly. Rod's interests are more intellectual than spiritual. And he's uncomfortable in groups. He needs solitude to create."
"I can appreciate that," I said. "He has his work to do, and very important work it is, too." I stood up. "Mrs. Gillsworth, I thank you for your time and hospitality."
"You intend to continue your investigation?"
I nodded. "I can't promise success, but I must try."
"I haven't been much help, have I?"
"I'm sure you've provided all the information you possibly can."
"And you promise not to take this ridiculous matter to the police? It's really of no consequence."
I made no reply. She conducted me back through the house, then suddenly stopped and put a hand on my arm.
"Wait just a moment, Archy," she said. "I must show you something I brought back from Rhode Island for Rod's collection. I found it at a country shop near Woonsocket."
Roderick Gillsworth collected antique canes and walking sticks. In fact, collecting was an absolute frenzy in Palm Beach, and the more outre the collectibles, the stronger the passion. I myself had succumbed to the madness and was buying up every crystal shotglass I could find. The star of my collection was an etched Lalique jigger.
I had seen Gillsworth's collection before, and he had some beauts, including several sword canes, one that concealed a dagger, a walking stick that held a half-pint of whiskey, and a formal evening stick which, when one
She spoke so simply and sincerely that I had no inclination to snicker. I am something of an infidel myself but I never scorn belief. If you are convinced the earth is flat, that's okay with me as long as it gives you comfort.
"And this is Mrs. Gloriana's profession?" I asked. "I mean, she does it for a living?"
"Oh yes. But don't get the idea that it's some kind of a con game. Hertha is licensed and bonded."
"But she does charge for her services?" I said gently.
"Of course she does," Mrs. Gillsworth said. "And why shouldn't she, since her talents are so special. But her fees are quite reasonable and she takes credit cards."
"Uh-huh," I said. "And these meetings-sort of like seances, are they?"
"Well. ." she said hesitantly, "somewhat. But there are no blobs of protoplasm floating in space or weird noises. We meet in a well-lighted room, sit in a circle around a table, and hold hands. To increase our psychic power, you see. Then Mrs. Gloriana tries to communicate with the other world. Her contact is a Mayan shaman who passed over hundreds of years ago. His name is Xatyl. Through him, Hertha attempts to reach people her clients wish to question. Sometimes they are famous people but usually they are relatives. I've spoken to my great-grandmother many times."
"And communication with the, ah, deceased is made through Xatyl via Mrs. Gloriana?"
"Not always," Lydia said sharply. "The contact fails as often as it succeeds. Sometimes the departed person requested is not available, or the line of communication is too faint to produce results because our combined psychic power that particular night is simply not strong enough to allow Mrs. Gloriana to get through to Xatyl."
"Incredible," I said, shaking my head, "and positively entrancing. Does Mrs. Gloriana provide private, uh, consultations?"
"Of course she does. But she'll warn you that the chances of a successful contact are less for an individual than for a group. Because the psychic power is usually not sufficient, you see. A gathering of believers with linked hands generates much more energy than one person."
That seemed reasonable to me. If you accepted the original premise, it even sounded logical.
"Tell me something else," I said, "and this is just idle curiosity on my part, but has your husband ever attended the meetings with Mrs. Gloriana?"
"Oh, Rod came to three or four," she said lightly, "but then he just drifted away. He never scoffed, but he never accepted the concept wholeheartedly. Rod's interests are more intellectual than spiritual. And he's uncomfortable in groups. He needs solitude to create."
"I can appreciate that," I said. "He has his work to do, and very important work it is, too." I stood up. "Mrs. Gillsworth, I thank you for your time and hospitality."
"You intend to continue your investigation?"
I nodded. "I can't promise success, but I must try."
"I haven't been much help, have I?"
"I'm sure you've provided all the information you possibly can."
"And you promise not to take this ridiculous matter to the police? It's really of no consequence."
I made no reply. She conducted me back through the house, then suddenly stopped and put a hand on my arm.
"Wait just a moment, Archy," she said. "I must show you something I brought back from Rhode Island for Rod's collection. I found it at a country shop near Woonsocket."
Roderick Gillsworth collected antique canes and walking sticks. In fact, collecting was an absolute frenzy in Palm Beach, and the more outre the collectibles, the stronger the passion. I myself had succumbed to the madness and was buying up every crystal shotglass I could find. The star of my collection was an etched Lalique jigger.
I had seen Gillsworth's collection before, and he had some beauts, including several sword canes, one that concealed a dagger, a walking stick that held a half-pint of whiskey, and a formal evening stick which, when one
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