Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 11

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  I thanked Nick, blew him a kiss, and headed for the tent, where Jackson and I had agreed to meet. I found a table near the entrance and, while I waited, mulled over what Nick and MJ had said.

  About fifteen minutes later, Jackson came in and sat down next to me and put his walkie-talkie on the table. “Sorry I’m late. Rick wanted to go over the shooting plan for this week with everyone. So what happened today after the falling-branch incident?”

  I told him what I’d learned from Sarah, and about the warning MJ had given me. “It kind of freaked me out. I wouldn’t even go in that house tonight except it might help me with Simon’s case.”

  Jackson shook his head. “MJ’s nuts. Don’t get sucked into her crazy world. I told you, all that stuff is made up anyway. They can use all kinds of special effects to make it scary. I didn’t see any equipment on the tour of the house, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

  I didn’t want to get into the “ghost vs. no ghost” argument with Jackson again, so I said, “I talked to Nick and that helped. He told me to focus on helping Simon, MJ, and the crew.”

  “And staying out of the path of a murderer,” Jackson said, putting his head in his hands. “I just wish you would just go back to your store, but I know that you can’t do that.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “If I were there, I’d just be worried about you being here.” I gave him a kiss. “Now, how did the house tour go?”

  “No surprises. No ghosts.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Rick and Pierre decided to start in the library tonight.”

  I thought about what I’d experienced yesterday and wondered if it would happen again. I could believe that the falling book and even the whispers might be special effects, but not the angry “presence” I’d felt in that house. That was real.

  Jackson gave me a weary smile. “You’re thinking about it again. Let’s not talk about this anymore right now. I’m starved. Want to eat?”

  Tuesday evening, after a scrumptious, healthy dinner of broiled mahi-mahi, white quinoa, and baked yams, we walked over to the mansion. Jackson turned to me as we entered the front hall. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure. I have to do everything I can to help Simon. Just stay close.”

  “Rick has a guard for the door to make sure no one comes in when the red light is on.” He pointed to a light on a stand at the bottom of the stairs. “So I’ll be with you. Don’t worry.”

  We walked through the hallway, which was dark and gloomy and divided the library from the study and led to the stairs. I felt it again. The energy in the house was dense, negative, and uncomfortable. This wasn’t my imagination. Something was in here with us. I took some deep breaths, trying to keep calm and focused.

  At least the place wasn’t deserted. Cables ran the length of the floor, and crew members were running in and out of the library on one side and the study on the other. I spotted Rick, Carly, and Tom talking to a diminutive man with round glasses, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt with GHOST HUNTERS INTERNATIONAL scrolled on the front pocket. “That’s Pierre Holden, the director,” Jackson told me. Rick waved to us and continued his conversation. We walked up behind them so we could see into the library. The camera was set up across from the couch and, behind that, the bookcases. The pungent smell of incense wafted from the room. The lights in the chandelier were dimmed, and several candles were lit and placed on the fireplace mantel. It was 6:52 p.m.

  “Are we ready for MJ?” Rick asked Pierre, who was now behind the camera.

  “No, I need a stand-in to check this angle. Where’s Amanda? Amanda!”

  “She’s not here,” Rick said. “I don’t know where she is.” He used his walkie-talkie to call her. “Amanda? Amanda?” After a moment, he reported, “She’s not answering.”

  Pierre looked around the room. “You.” He pointed at me. “You’re about MJ’s height. Can you sit in the middle of the couch so we can get this scene set up?”

  “You’re a star, baby,” Jackson said. “Go for it.”

  I rolled my eyes, said, “Sure,” and walked over to the couch and sat down.

  “That’s Willow McQuade, Pierre. She’s that natural doctor who’s helping us out. Oh, and she’s Jackson’s gal, too.”

  “Nice to meet you, Willow. Thanks for sitting in.” Pierre looked through the lens. “Good. Now please stand up and circle the room.”

  “Okay.” I did as he asked.

  Pierre said something to the cameraman next to him, who then took a look through the lens. “That’s what I want. Follow her wherever she goes. I’m not sure what is going to happen, but I don’t want to miss anything, so look sharp. We’ll start in the hallway with Paul on the Steadicam.” Pierre went over to a beefy guy with a camera strapped to his body. “I want you to track her, too, so I have coverage to choose from.” Pierre turned to me. “Willow, can you walk from the front door to the entrance of the library?”

  “Sure.” I did as he asked.

  The guy with the Steadicam followed me as I walked toward him. Pierre watched the sequence on a monitor near the staircase to the second floor. “That looks good. We’re ready for MJ. Rick, make the call.”

  Rick got on his phone. I hustled across the room back to Jackson. “Now that was interesting.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re a natural, McQuade.”

  “Okay, people, MJ is coming in,” Rick said. “It is crucial that we have complete silence so she can do her job.”

  “Speed,” Tom said.

  “Action,” Pierre yelled.

  When the clock struck seven, MJ opened the door and made her way down the hallway. She wore an impressive purple cloak with white-and-black trim, black ballet slippers, and a tall, black headdress, decorated with faux diamonds. She took measured steps along the hallway, pausing every few steps to stand still and close her eyes. The Steadicam guy tracked her from a few feet away so as not to disturb her.

  When she reached the library, she entered the room, walked into the middle of it, and stopped. With her eyes closed, she said, “I’m sensing that Max Bixby is still with us. At least I think it’s Max.” She looked at the camera. “It would make sense for Max to be here in his favorite room, the library, with the first-edition books he collected and loved so much. If it is Max, I’m not sure why he’s still here, but it may have to do with the spirits he connected with when he was still alive. Max Bixby was fascinated by the occult, and this library was also the place where he held a number of séances. Max, if you are here now, can you give us a sign? We don’t want to harm you. I just want to connect with you.”

  She stood still and waited. I glanced at Rick, who seemed to be getting impatient. He was whispering to Pierre and looked agitated. He wanted good TV and he wanted it now. He pulled out his phone and started texting or e-mailing.

  “Max, are you here?” MJ circled the room. “Show me.”

  She moved toward the fireplace, and as she did, a book flew out from the bookcase and landed right at her feet. MJ didn’t seem rattled by this. “We have contact,” she said calmly, and bent over to pick up the book. “It is Agatha Christie’s Moving Finger, a first edition.”

  I sucked in a breath. It was the same book I had looked at yesterday during my visit.

  “You are obviously a fan of mysteries, Max,” MJ said as she set the book on the fireplace mantel. “We are trying to solve a mystery during our visit here. The mystery of who killed Daniel Russell, the caretaker.”

  The lights in the chandelier rapidly flickered on and off, on and off. Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness except for the candles. I shivered and reached for Jackson’s hand. Real or not, this was unsettling.

  “Can you help us with this mystery, Max? Is Daniel still here? Or his wife, Rebecca? You asked me to come here by telling your son Roger to invite us. I am here now and want to help.”

  Nothing happened. Rick continued texting on his phone. Jackson nudged
me and whispered, “I’ll bet he’s contacting Amanda, and she’s the one that’s making this creepy stuff happen.”

  “Shhh,” I whispered back.

  “I’m also here to assist you and any other spirits that may be here in the journey to the other side. It’s time to move on, Max. If you help me, I can help you.”

  The lights came back up and MJ was in the middle of the room. “I’m getting something.” She put her hands to her head, stepped back, and slumped on the couch. “It feels like . . . like a swarm of bees are buzzing around my head.”

  A cold wind swept through the room, and the flames on the candles fluttered. MJ stood up and moved away from the couch. “That’s enough, Max. Stop it now.” She looked into the camera. “Max’s spirit is very angry. He-he just attacked me.” She gazed up at the high ceiling. “It’s all right, Max, I hear you. I understand that this is your home and you want to stay here. I won’t mention going to the other side again.” She took a deep breath and stood still. “It’s over, Max. Please calm down now.”

  The wind vanished and MJ looked into the camera again. “I’m going to want to visit him again, but I think that’s enough for right now. Thank you, Max.”

  “Cut!” Pierre said.

  MJ went over to the chair by the window and just about collapsed into it. Rick, Tom, and Carly scurried over. Tom handed her a bottle of water. She took a long gulp. “That was difficult. I’ve never encountered that reaction before. He doesn’t want to leave in a major way.”

  Jackson folded his arms across his chest. “I remain skeptical.”

  “It seemed pretty authentic to me.”

  “I don’t know if I can go again,” MJ said to Rick. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Just rest and we’ll set up in the study. Try it. If you’re not getting a connection, we’ll go again tomorrow, okay, hon?”

  MJ nodded and got up. “I think I’m gonna take myself for a short walk.”

  As she opened the library door, Amanda rushed in and went over to Rick. Rick seemed to be reprimanding her.

  “He doesn’t look too happy,” Jackson observed. “But if she helped with those special effects, she did a pretty good job.”

  I thought about this. “If she is responsible, then her freak-out today about the weird events on the estate was all an act.”

  “It’s the best way to divert suspicion.” Jackson glanced at the door. “I’d better check in with the guard. Be right back.”

  I turned my attention to the study. The lighting and cameras were being moved into place. Pierre positioned Amanda first on the wingback chair and then in front of the window.

  Twenty minutes later, MJ had returned and they were ready to go again. Jackson, however, hadn’t returned. It was too late for him to come in when the assistant cameraman called, “Speed,” and Pierre followed with “Action!”

  MJ closed her eyes and began to circle the study, but after a few minutes she stopped. “Do you hear that? It’s coming from outside.”

  “No,” Pierre said, blowing out a sigh. He obviously was in a hurry to get the take in the can.

  MJ opened her eyes and walked over to the window. “Two dogs are in distinct distress. They’re not here on the property, but they’re not far. They need to be saved. Rick, can you do it?” She gave him a pleading look. “You know how I am. I can’t stand it when any animal is being mistreated. I can’t do a reading under these circumstances. Rick, fix this.”

  Rick radioed Jackson and asked him to come in. When Rick explained the problem, Jackson said, “I’ll go check it out.” He glanced at MJ. “Where exactly did you hear this sound coming from—north, south, east—”

  “Out there.” She gestured vaguely. “I heard them crying in my mind. They were reaching out to me.”

  “Right,” Jackson said.

  Rick went over to MJ. “Okay, Jackson is going to take care of this. He’ll find those dogs. Can we get some work done now?”

  “How can you even ask such a thing?” MJ chided Rick. “I can’t possibly go into the meditative state I need to communicate with the spirits when I’m so worried about those dogs. I have to know they’re safe before I can go any further.”

  Behind MJ’s back, Pierre shut his eyes and hit his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  Rick tried again. “MJ, darlin’, you know our schedule is tight. Can you talk about your reading in a close-up? We can do it in the production trailer.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please, darlin’, while it’s fresh in your mind. For me?”

  MJ held firm. “No. Ricky, please have someone return me to my cottage. I’m done for today. Have Jackson let me know what he finds.” She got up off the couch and walked to the door. Amanda ran after her. Rick went over to talk to Pierre.

  A moment later, Pierre said, “That’s a wrap. We’ll go again at noon tomorrow, after the funeral. We need to get coverage of the rest of the exterior and the rooms we’ll be using. Thank you for all your hard work today. Especially MJ. Roger would be proud.”

  Everyone clapped.

  Jackson came over to me. “Do you want to go with me to check this out?”

  Like MJ—and Jackson, for that matter—I was an animal lover. “Let’s go.”

  “This is nuts,” Jackson said as we cruised down the estate’s long drive. “You do realize that we’re searching for a sound heard only in MJ’s mind?”

  “What if she’s right? We can’t risk not helping these dogs if they’re in trouble. Besides, she said they’re not far.”

  “Terrific. That’s very helpful.”

  He stopped the truck as we came to the road at the end of the drive. We rolled down our windows and listened.

  “All I hear is wind in the trees,” Jackson said.

  “That’s what I’m hearing, too,” I admitted. “Wait, no, there is something. It’s really faint. I’m not sure it’s the sound of a dog crying but—”

  “Which way?”

  “Turn left.” I prayed I was right.

  When we got to the disheveled house about half a mile down the road from the estate, the dogs were howling. Jackson and I walked up the broken walkway, and he pounded on the peeling green door.

  It seemed to take forever, but finally an elderly man with a walker came to the door. “What do you want?”

  “Your dogs sound like they’re in distress,” I said. “Are they all right?”

  “My son takes care of them.”

  “I’d like to take a look,” Jackson said. Then he corrected himself. “We would like to take a look.”

  “Yeah, and who are you?”

  “We’re with the Greenport Animal Shelter,” Jackson lied. He pulled out a card belonging to his friend Georgia, who actually is the head of the local animal shelter, and held it out, his finger deftly obscuring Georgia’s name.

  It must have looked official enough for the old man because he said, “Fine. Go around,” and slammed the door.

  We ran along the side of the house and found two bedraggled, long-haired, black-and-tan dachshunds living in a muddy mess of a yard on three-foot chains with collars that were too tight. They had no shelter, water, or food. They were skinny and looked sickly. But still, they stopped howling and wagged their tails when they saw us. It was enough to break your heart.

  “Obviously, the son isn’t taking care of them,” Jackson said. “Let me call Georgia. She’ll know what to do.” He called her, and she said they were on their way. “We’re not going to wait, Willow,” Jackson said. “Time to get them out of here.”

  He strode to the back porch and banged on the door. The man didn’t answer. Jackson opened the screen and banged again.

  Finally, the man came to the door. “Yeah?”

  “I’m confiscating these dogs. You may be charged.”

  “So what? They’re a pain in my ass. Glad to see the back of ’em.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” I said.

  “She’s right, and don’t get any ideas abou
t adopting any other dogs, mister. I’ve got my eye on you.”

  Jackson took photos of the dogs in the mess, then the two of us walked through the mud, knelt down, and unchained the dogs. I picked up one, and Jackson took the other. They felt light as feathers and smelled horrible, as if they had been forced to sleep in their own filth. I wanted to cry.

  We carried them to Jackson’s truck and put them on a blanket in the front seat. I opened my water bottle and used a cup to give them water. They were severely dehydrated. They drank and drank. “I’ll wait with them here while you talk to Georgia.”

  Georgia arrived a few minutes later, along with a cop. Jackson went to talk to the old man with them and came back to his truck fifteen minutes later. “Georgia asked me if I’d take them to the Pet ER in Riverhead since the vet in Southold is closed. She just got another call. Some idiot threw a dog out of a truck. It makes me sick. But I called MJ and she’s very relieved that we were able to save the dogs.”

  “Me, too.” I leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Georgia we’ll go, and let’s get there fast.”

  chapter twelve

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  We all get angry from time to time. In Asian medicine, anger is characterized as Liver Fire Rising. Anger stimulates a contraction of chi, or life energy, and that stresses the liver. Anger can contribute to high blood pressure, elevated cholesterol levels, tight shoulders, back and jaw pain, and ulcers.

  Aromatherapy can help you calm down by safely defusing anger. Essential oils that can help you feel better include basil, cardamom, chamomile, coriander, frankincense, geranium, hyssop, jasmine, lavender, lemon balm, lotus, marjoram, neroli, pine, rose, and ylang-ylang. Take up to eight deep breaths from an open bottle of these essential oils, or put it in a diffuser, or in the bath. If anger persists, consider making lifestyle changes to reduce stress and anger or even seek help from a qualified therapist. Letting anger go is one of the healthiest things you can do!