Tea-Totally Dead Read online

  I grabbed Wayne’s shoulder and shook it hard. After a couple of seconds he came out of it.

  “Mom, I’m serious—” he began again.

  “Hooboy, Wayne,” interrupted a deep voice from behind Vesta. “Some trick or treat, huh? More like a trigger treat, if you ask me.”

  Vesta giggled at the pun and stepped away from the doorway, revealing a heavily muscled, balding man who was at least as tall as Wayne, maybe even taller. And Wayne was well over six feet. The man’s face looked like Wayne’s too, with its large nose and heavy low brows. His eyes were navy blue, though, like Vesta’s.

  “Uncle Ace?” I guessed.

  The man grinned, his homely face suddenly rendered comical. He stuck his hands into the air.

  “I surrender,” he growled. “You got me dead to rights, ma’am.”

  Then he stepped forward, bowed and grabbed my hand, pulling it up to meet his lips before I could resist. “Surrendering to you could only be a pleasure,” he added and kissed my hand a second time.

  I found it a strangely erotic gesture, especially coming from a man who looked like Wayne, only fifteen years or so older. I snatched my hand back, uncomfortable with the thoughts Ace’s kiss had aroused.

  “Uncle Ace, this is Kate Jasper,” Wayne introduced belatedly.

  “Yow! The Kate Jasper?” Ace said, stepping back in mock astonishment.

  This time I smiled, thinking he’d probably keep on clowning until I did. “That’s me,” I replied.

  “Well, come on in,” he invited. He turned to the side and bowed again, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture toward Vesta’s living room.

  I took a quick glance up at Wayne’s face. He was watching Ace with a shy, tentative smile that caught at my heart with its vulnerability. I grabbed his hand and pulled him past Harmony, who still stood in the doorway. I barely had time to glance at the roomful of tall strangers who filled Vesta’s living room when Vesta herself reappeared. At least her space gun and mask were gone.

  “So, now you’ve met Wayne’s live-in girlfriend,” she said to Ace, with a sneering emphasis on “live-in.” “What do you think?”

  I reminded myself to stay cool. Pretend to like Vesta, I thought. At least she hadn’t called me “the adulteress,” her usual term of affection for me. Or maybe it was disaffection.

  Ace put his arm around Vesta’s bony shoulders.

  “She’s a beauty,” he said with a nod in my direction. Vesta’s brows dropped into a frown. “But there’s no one as beautiful as my Vessie,” he added quickly. So, I thought, Ace was smart as well as funny.

  Vesta laughed. “Ace, you’d say good morning to the devil if—”

  “Aunt Vesta, you know what?” interrupted a tall, chubby young man walking toward us. His voice was high and insistent. “You don’t say ‘trick or treat’ if you’re the one opening the door.”

  I took a closer look and saw that he was more of a boy than a young man. It was his height that had fooled me. But the face on top of that tall body was soft and round with youth. The boy’s blue eyes blinked anxiously through his thick wire-rimmed glasses.

  “That’s totally bogus,” he went on. “You only say ‘trick or treat’ if you’re the visitor—”

  “This is my grandson, Eric Skeritt,” Ace said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The hand didn’t seem to restrain the boy any.

  “And anyhow, it isn’t Halloween yet, you know,” he went on. “And you know what else…”

  “Eric is thirteen,” Ace whispered over his grandson’s lecture on Halloween. Then he rolled his eyes. A quick snort of laughter escaped me before I could cover my mouth.

  I averted my eyes, glancing around the living room as Vesta snapped back at Eric. Her condo was efficiently arranged, with a large living room and kitchen downstairs and the bedroom area upstairs. The beige-and-white living room was filled with black leather chairs and sofas and glass-topped black-lacquered tables. But I was more interested in the members of the Skeritt clan, who stood around talking in small groups. I felt like I’d wandered into the land of the giants. Everyone in the room looked taller than me, including the other child present. But then, I am shorter than most, not to mention dark and A-line in figure. I turned back to Eric.

  “So it’s really totally bogus, you know—” he was saying.

  “I heard a joke on the radio the other day,” Vesta cut in. “Hire a high-school kid quick… before they forget they know everything.” She let out a loud hoot of laughter.

  Ace laughed with her. It was really pretty funny. Too bad the joke was at Eric’s expense.

  Eric drew himself up to stand on his tiptoes. “I am not in high school,” he corrected her. “I’m in middle school.”

  It was nice to see Vesta with a friend in her own mental age group. Thirteen-year-old Eric was a good sparring partner for her.

  “It’s just like Christmas trees, you know,” he plowed on. “They’re totally bogus. They don’t have anything to do with Christianity….”

  “Wanna meet some of the other inmates?” Ace whispered in my ear.

  I nodded gratefully.

  Ace put a meaty hand on my shoulder and guided me away from Vesta and Eric. I snuck a backward glance at Wayne, left behind with them, and saw with relief that his stricken expression had completely disappeared. He actually looked amused now as he listened to Eric lecture.

  “My big brother, Trent Skeritt,” Ace announced.

  I swiveled my head back around in time to smile at the man Ace was introducing. Trent Skeritt returned my smile. At least I thought his was a smile. His teeth were showing. But somehow he didn’t radiate the warmth that usually goes with the expression. Suddenly, my own smile felt stiff on my face.

  “So glad to meet you, Mrs. Jasper,” he said in a deep, sonorous voice. He stuck out his hand to shake mine.

  His hand was cool, his grip firm but not too tight. I would have bet that Trent Skeritt did a lot of professional handshaking. He was a distinguished-looking man, as tall as the rest of the Skeritts but slimmer than Ace and Wayne, and less muscular. He had the heavy Skeritt brow too, over cool brown eyes, but the brow looked noble on him, aristocratic. Maybe it was his styled, silver hair. Or possibly the way he held his trim body erect.

  “Please, call me Kate,” I said, a beat too late to sound natural.

  He nodded. “And please, call me Trent,” he replied smoothly. He turned to the large white-haired woman, who stood behind him. “This is my wife, Ingrid,” he said.

  “So happy to meet Wayne’s fiancée.” Ingrid’s greeting came out in a surprisingly resonant whisper.

  She took my left hand in both of her moist ones and squeezed.

  “Great to meet you too,” I claimed inadequately, squeezing back as well as I could with one hand.

  I smiled inanely and wondered who had told Ingrid that I was Wayne’s “fiancée.” Would Wayne have used the word? He of all people knew we had no wedding plans.

  I squinted at Ingrid’s face, noticing something familiar about her. She had a handsome face, blessed by good bones and friendly blue eyes. Barbara Bush, I realized—that was it. Ingrid looked like the former First Lady. And the superficial resemblance was strengthened by the similarity in the styling of Ingrid’s white hair. And by the three strings of pearls she wore around her neck. Was she imitating the former President’s wife on purpose?

  “Lori,” Trent called out. His voice wasn’t loud, but there was a command implicit in its tone.

  Ingrid dropped my hand gently and turned.

  I followed her glance and saw a woman who might have been my age and a girl who looked about twelve or so sitting on a black leather couch across the room. The woman stood and waved. She was tall, probably close to six feet, with brown eyes and a long blond braid down her back. The girl stood too. Her movements resembled the woman’s, but she had dark skin and features that proudly declared her African ancestry. The tall woman grinned at us and strode our way, her bracelets jangling as she approached.
I could smell her perfume when she got within a yard of us. It was sweet and spicy. And strong. The girl followed along behind her.

  “My daughter, Lori—” Trent began.

  I missed the rest of his introduction as Lori enveloped me in a great big fragrant hug. Oh well, I thought, this was Marin after all, home of the hug as the correct gesture of greeting. Even for strangers.

  “Are you Kate?” she demanded as she released me, the volume of her demand tempered by the welcoming grin on her face.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  “Wayne’s told us all about you,” she enthused, giving me less than an instant to wonder just what Wayne had told them. “Oh, I can see why he’s in love with you. You have such a wonderful energy! And your aura.” She closed her eyes for a minute. “Let me see,” she commanded, putting her hands on my shoulders.

  I took a closer look at Lori’s face while she took a closer look at my aura. I could see a modified version of the Skeritt brow there. And the good bone structure from her mother. She was wearing a long, rainbow-striped woven top over an orange turtleneck and orange stirrup pants. Orange-and-turquoise beaded earrings quivered in her ears.

  “Purple,” she announced, opening her eyes. “Purple with hints of aqua and jade. Very higher-chakra. I’m impressed.”

  “Uh, thanks—” I began.

  “Wayne says you own your own business. That takes a lot of juice, a lot of personal power. I really admire that. It’s so… so…” She waved a hand in the air, jangling her bracelets and coming uncomfortably close to my face with her long red fingernails. “So vibrationally intense,” she concluded. She looked down into my eyes expectantly.

  “Do you own your own business?” I asked, feeling like a nosy insurance salesman. I really need to polish my social skills some day.

  “I do massage,” she answered, with another wave of her long fingernails.

  “Oh,” I said, wincing inwardly. “That’s great.” I could just imagine what a massage would feel like with those nails. Ouch.

  “I’m really a healer on a more subtle level, of course. Mind, body, spirit. And the emotional body, of course. I’ve studied Chi-Lei Jung energy massage and holotropic breath work. And neuro-linguistic programming. And—”

  “Grandpa says Mom should have a Ph.D. in New Age by now,” commented the dark-skinned girl. Hers would have been a credible Tallulah Bankhead drawl except for the higher pitch of her voice. Her white teeth flashed in a quick grin.

  Lori threw her head back and laughed, jangling her bracelets as she did.

  “Oh, sweetie—” she began, reaching for her daughter.

  “I’m Mandy Oliver,” the girl interrupted. She jerked her head up at Lori. “Mom almost never remembers to tell people who I am.” Her drawl sounded more affectionate than angry, though.

  “Glad to meet you, Mandy,” I said. And I was.

  She was a pretty girl, already an inch or two taller than me. She had flawless taupe skin, a full mouth and her mother and grandmother’s good bone structure. Her hair was pulled back into a shorter, more textured version of Lori’s braid, revealing the slight heaviness of her brow. The heavy brow didn’t spoil her face, though; it only served to give her liquid brown eyes a more intense look. In a few more years, I thought, she’ll probably be truly beautiful. Not to mention taller.

  “Mandy’s an artist,” Ingrid said softly before Lori could start up again. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle smile as she put a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder.

  Mandy reached up and stroked the older woman’s hand. My own hands felt warmed by the unconscious sweetness of the gesture.

  “My daughter, Lori, would rather go to New Age seminars for the rest of her life than actually work to get a good, solid education,” Trent put in. He smiled as he said it, as if he was only teasing, but the sourness of his smile told me he was serious. The warmth in my hands faded.

  “Oh, Dad,” Lori protested, her bright smile wavering. “Please. You know real illumination doesn’t come with a degree attached.”

  “Enough of family discussions,” Trent told her quietly.

  Lori opened her mouth for an instant, then closed it again, seeming to shrink a little from her magnificent height. I felt my own shoulders contract in sympathy.

  Trent turned his polite gaze in my direction. “So, Kate,” he said. “What kind of business do you have?”

  “Gag gifts,” I stated briefly, resisting the urge to tell him that it was none of his business what my business was.

  I glanced over my shoulder, wishing Wayne or Ace were here with me. But they were standing by the door listening to Vesta and Eric. As I began to turn my head back, Vesta slapped Ace on the shoulder and he fell to the ground with a loud whumph.

  My heart jumped. I turned completely around this time. Did Ace need help? What had Vesta done to him? Whatever it was, she thought it was funny. She was laughing out loud now. I took a step toward them, then felt a tug on my shirt sleeve.

  “Don’t worry,” said Mandy. “They’re just fooling around.”

  “Fooling around?” I repeated while my heart thudded madly.

  Ace jumped up from the floor and put a choke-hold on Vesta. At least it looked like a choke-hold to me. But Vesta’s hoots of laughter were too loud for a woman being strangled.

  I turned back to Mandy.

  “Uncle Ace pretends to be thrown on the ground,” she explained, her brown eyes holding a look I couldn’t quite identify. “He’s really quite amusing. He used to be a wrestler, you know.”

  I nodded, just then remembering what Wayne had told me so many times.

  “My little brother,” Trent murmured, shaking his fine silver head. “He’ll never grow up.”

  “Isn’t Uncle Ace just splendid?” whispered Mandy. I studied her eyes. Her irises looked like molten Hershey’s chocolate. Now I recognized the gaze she was aiming at Ace. She was in love.

  “Too bad his grandson is so hideous,” she added in her usual drawl.

  Lori laughed. “Poor Eric,” she said, hugging her daughter. “We can’t all be as lovable as you, sweetie.”

  Trent’s face relaxed into what looked like a real smile. Ingrid beamed. The four Skeritts stood there looking like one big happy, extended family.

  Then Harmony came walking up to our little group.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice off as usual, a little too loud and a little too shrill. “Vesta said I should talk with you guys.”

  I looked into her blank, bleached eyes and tried to come up with a conversation starter. Lori beat me to it.

  “I love your earrings,” she said brightly. “Did you make them yourself?”

  Harmony raised a hand to the cluster of tiny crystals and crosses that hung from her ear lobe. Life came into her eyes.

  “Yeah, I made them,” she answered softly. “They’re really cool,” she went on, her voice gaining speed and volume. “They keep the visitors away, right? The visitors are afraid of crosses. And crystals, right?”

  “The visitors?” asked Lori, her brow looking almost like Wayne’s as she furrowed it in confusion.

  Harmony’s face went blank again.

  “Go on,” prompted Vesta. I looked up, startled. I hadn’t heard Vesta join our group. But she had, along with Ace, Wayne and Eric, who all stood a little ways behind her with somber expressions on their faces. Vesta was smiling widely, however, her teeth gleaming. The theme music from Jaws began playing in my head.

  “Go ahead,” Vesta purred. “Tell them about your visitors.”

  Harmony swallowed the bait. Light came into her burned-out eyes again. She even managed a tentative smile as she spoke.

  “Visitors from outer space,” she elucidated in an excited whisper. “They took me onto their spaceship three years ago. They only take certain ones of us, right? For testing—”

  “You gotta be totally mental to believe that,” Eric interrupted, his voice shrill with protest. And maybe fear. “I’ve read al
l about UFO’s. They’re totally bogus, you know.”

  Vesta laughed raucously. No one joined her. Harmony’s face fell into blankness again. But her hands were alive, nervously touching and rubbing each and every one of the many crosses and crystals woven into the fringe on her leather jacket.

  For a moment, no one seemed to have anything more to say, not even Eric. I had become used to Harmony’s talk of UFO’s and midnight visits, but apparently this branch of the Skeritt clan hadn’t been exposed before.

  “They’re very nice earrings,” I told Harmony gently.

  She didn’t seem to be listening. She was lost in the world of her amulets.

  “You shouldn’t let Trent hear you talk about spaceships,” Vesta advised Harmony. Her gleaming shark’s smile had widened. She lowered her voice as she continued. “He had me put away for far less than that,” she said, then turned the gleam of her teeth onto Trent.

  “This is neither the time nor the place—” Trent began, his voice quiet and controlled. Maybe it was too quiet, too controlled.

  “Shady Willows Mental Health Facility for over twenty fucking years!” Vesta shouted. The incongruous smile was gone from her face now. Anger squeezed her navy blue eyes into slits.

  Trent shook his head coolly and calmly, folding his hands behind his back military style. He looked the picture of reason and concern except for the muscle that twitched along the right side of his jaw.

  “Trent never meant to hurt you, dear,” Ingrid whispered. Her eyes were wide and earnest. “He was terribly worried about you—”

  “And no one came to help me in all those years,” Vesta ground on, ignoring Ingrid entirely. “Not my darling brother Ace…” She paused to glare in Ace’s direction. The color drained from his face on cue. “Or my sister Drusilla…” She pointed to a gray-haired woman across the room. Was that Drusilla?

  Finally, Vesta turned to Wayne, her shark’s smile appearing once more. “Or my own son, Waynie,” she finished in a low, dangerous purr.