She Called Me Bougie

A trail of money leads to supernatural circumstances.

Future Thief: Episode Number 74

I didn’t know what kind of crazy Mrs. McCallister was, but for five-hundred dollars I was willing to take my chances. All I had to do was hear her out, no commitment, an invitation in the door and the possibility of ten grand more for one night’s work. That’s quite a carrot, and for a guy used to sticks, I started nibbling.

“Mr. Smith, thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Mrs. McCallister said, reaching out to shake my hand.

“You can call me John or Johnny, which is what my friends call me, but I’m short on friends these days, so maybe just John,” I said, shaking back.

“Good, I’m not one for formalities. You can call me Marianne. None of this Mrs. McCallister business.”

I liked Marianne already, even though I didn’t know her. Her outfit oozed rich eccentricity, not in the financial sense, but a wealth of style that made her uniquely certain of herself. Her pants were powder blue, blouse flowered and jewelry gaudy — a widow in full bloom. She kept her nose level and didn’t slide when she walked and that’s when I realized she came from new money.

“I’m sorry to hear about your husband,” I said.

“Gerald was a good man. He took care of me,” Marianne said.

If the extravagant foyer of the multimillion-dollar mansion in which I stood was any indication, Gerald could take care of an entire harem, but I hadn’t seen the money yet and didn’t want to be presumptuous, a dangerous game in my line of work. Marianne sensed my hesitation to enter deeper into her abode and alleviated my doubts.

“I’m not going to string you along, Johnny. Here are five one-hundred-dollar bills, as promised,” Marianne said. 

Most lowlifes would take offense, but Marianne stood by patiently as I tested the bills for authenticity, feeling my hand across each one, holding them up to the crystal dewdrops of an expensive chandelier and shining a small UV light across the surface. These Benjamins were as real as my hangover from the previous night’s festivities.

“Is everything all right, Johnny?” Marianne asked.

“As right as rain. Let’s sit and talk about your proposal,” I said.

We walked through the expanse, where most of the knickknacks were worth more than the entirety of my life savings. My studio apartment only came decorated with stains on the carpet and blood on the walls, but I suspected that’s why Marianne called me instead of a more prestigious private investigator or better yet a law firm.

“It’s all very nice, isn’t it?” Marianne asked, waving her hands about as she led me into a vast personal library.

“I don’t come from money, but I assume so,” I said.

“You’re used to living within your means.”

“I like what I do, but it doesn’t like me back.”

“I admire someone who follows their passion. My daughter, Olivia, the one I told you about, is quite the opposite. Her only concern is with the finer things, a bond between her and Gerald. He liked to make money and she had no problem spending it.”

Marianne plopped down into a leather love seat, all the weight of her sorrows making her heavier than I anticipated. The colorful boa she wore around her neck floated down gracefully in contrast. I half expected her to pat the cushion next to her, but her intentions didn’t involve soliciting broke, over-the-hill men with dead end careers. Instead, she invited me to sit in the chair across from her.

“You think she’s after your fortune?” I asked.

“Gerald, for all of his faults, was meticulous in his business practice. Even if she wanted my share of the estate, it would take a hundred lawyers and decades she’s not willing to wait.”

“I’m an astute observer, Marianne, but even I fail to see how I can be of assistance here.”

“Olivia plans to murder me. Tonight. I want you to bear witness.”

I’ve been around the block a few times, found myself in uncomfortable situations, and death is no stranger. The memories of a few strung out junkies who took their last hit, a convenience store thief who had a meet-and-greet with a 12-gauge and a jumper in the city were all seared into my synapsis. Thankfully, none of those were by invitation. They’re not the kind of parties I make a habit of attending.

“If you’re so sure about that, why not call the cops?” I asked.

“There’s no time. Gerald’s will and testament is being read tomorrow. Until then, my death would result in Olivia inheriting the entire estate. Afterward, she will get a small stipend, and will no longer be a beneficiary of the remaining portion under my name,” Marianne said.

“Alright, how about a safe house? Your daughter won’t need to know your whereabouts and I could arrange it within the hour.”

“A widow goes missing on the night before she’s to inherit millions. I think not.”

Marianne considered all the angles, and when the tickle of a new idea entered my brain, I couldn’t see any other way either. Keeping a client out of the morgue in order to collect for services rendered seemed a bad habit to start. I had enough bad habits to keep me busy, but for ten grand, I supposed I could make an exception.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me to stay. Tell me everything you know.”

Late into the evening, Olivia arrived, but instead of toting Gucci and wearing Prada, she played the part of a west end beatnik. Her beret sat cocked in contrast on her head, the same powder blue as her mother’s pants. While she didn’t greet me with a “daddy-o” or carry bongos, the outfit said anti-consumerist, evidence that didn't match Marianne's initial description. The only other adornment was the male companion she fawned over named Rom, who chose a similar all black ensemble.

“Mama, you didn’t tell me a guest would join us tonight. The last thing we need is any more negative energy. We’re full up on your end,” Olivia said.

“Don’t be rude, darling. This is Johnny, a close old friend of your father’s from the military. When he heard about tonight’s… festivities… he got curious,” Marianne said.

“Well, Johnny, any friend of Daddy’s, and all of that. I suppose the relationship could help his spirit manifest, which is all I ask. This is Rom,” Olivia said.

I extended my hand for a shake, he held it with a loose palm, turned it downward, put his other soft buttery hand on top of mine and closed his eyes.

“Well, haven’t you lived a charmed life? A fire that burns twice as bright, burns out twice as fast. Aries, am I right?” Rom asked.

“Yes,” I lied. “You’re good. Our medium for tonight’s séance?”

“Are you a religious man, Johnny?” Rom asked.

“Recovering.”

“If you’re here, then you’re open to a wide range of possibilities, dear, and that’s all that matters.”

I didn’t like the way Rom called me ‘dear’, but I would let him call me a lot worse if it meant the rent on my office would be paid up in full for the next six months. He glided around the place, rubbed his fingers on several objects, then stopped in the middle of the dining room and took a deep breath. 

“Olivia, when can we be finished with this nonsense?” Marianne whispered.

Olivia ignored her, an approach I could tell elicited more anger and frustration than a snide reply. The two kept a thick air of tension between them, but it didn’t appear to be about money. Marianne’s daughter, if a murder had been meticulously planned, didn’t seem fazed by my presence.

“This is the room — the energy is charged. We’ll form our circle around the dining table,” Rom said.

“Speaking of dining; Rom, baby, I’m famished. Let’s grab something to eat from the kitchen before we begin,” Olivia said.

“Those in the spiritual plane require no sustenance, but us mortals still need food,” Rom stated to no one in particular.

“Johnny, would you like a bite to eat before we get started?” Olivia asked.

“Caviar spread on rye toast?” I asked.

Olivia giggled and said, “Well, aren’t you just bougie. I’ll see what I can scrounge up at this hour.”

The reply from Olivia wasn’t expected. A rising suspicion formulated that I wanted to stuff back down into my gut while we nibbled our food in silence, waiting for the midnight hour. That same gut gurgled in disagreement with the forcemeat pate and white bread I had eaten as a substitute for the caviar.

Seated at the round dining table, Rom held my right hand while Olivia held my left hand. Marianne sat across from me, holding their opposite hands. We formed a “circle of trust”, a name Rom gave it that reminded me of a corporate team building exercise patterned after a preschool roundup.

The only lights were from a few candelabras in the center of the table, which cast an eerie flickering glow across all of our faces. Rom asked each of us to choose a deeply personal memory of Gerald, and to dwell on it while he attempted to summon the man’s ghostly presence from beyond wherever. Since I didn’t really know the man, I thought of a whiskey sour to drown out the pate.

“Daddy, are you there?” Olivia asked.

“Gerald, we call upon your spirit. Before you cross the final threshold, we beseech you, greet us in one last physical embodiment,” Rom said.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, this is ridiculous,” Marianne said.

“Mother! This is my last opportunity to speak to Daddy. Don’t ruin it with your own bitterness,” Olivia said, as she squeezed my hand tight.

“Did it occur to you, Olivia, that this charlatan is only after your money,” Marianne said. We all knew she meant Rom, but the man didn’t budge an inch, doubling down on the ritual. For whatever he lacked in masculinity, Rom made up for in his commitment to the cause.

“Gerald, now is your time. I beg of you — no, demand — you show yourself!” Rom exclaimed.

“You’re both delirious! Would you like to know what your father said on his deathbed, dear daughter?”

“Don’t, Mother, don’t you even try—”

“He said he only wished his daughter had the good sense to find herself a man to settle down with, ugly or not, since she didn’t have the brains to accomplish anything else.”

I could sense Olivia holding back tears as she gripped my hand even tighter. Not the kind of pressure applied through fear or dismay, but the grip of anger that I thought would finally push her to do something regretful.

“You lie. You never could love Daddy like I could. He meant the world to me. You let him wither and die after retirement, whittling him away to nothing,” Olivia said.

“Is that it? Daddy’s girl. You never could get a man to stay, but maybe that’s because you were holding out—”

The candles extinguished, all but one, which lit up Olivia’s face, contorted, as she squeezed my hand with the kind of power only a man twice her size could possess. I winced and recognized a merger of beings in Olivia’s face, the countenance of Gerald overpowering her own.

“You sicken me, Marianne, even now as I gaze through the shroud over my eyes, your evil is clearly visible,” Olivia said in the deep, gravelly voice of her father.

“Gerald? Is… is that really you?” Marianne said, her voice quiet and faltering.

“I can’t prove it was you that did the killing, but the poison still runs through my veins. I made the right choice by leaving my fortune all to Olivia,” Gerald said.

My suspicions were finally confirmed. I had to let it all play out, to bear witness as Marianne had asked, not as a witness to her murder, but to this spectacle I had yet to fully comprehend. Marianne broke the circle. Olivia released my hand, too, and rose up from her seat, tall and foreboding. My eyes adjusted to the encroaching darkness filling the space in the room.

“I’ve asked to come back, Marianne, and when I do, I’m going to take you with me into the grave for a second time.” Gerald said.

“No, Marianne, you’ve broken the circle! He’ll be trapped in our realm forever,” Rom said.

“Not if I can help it,” Marianne said.

I could tell that Marianne had practiced her stance a few times. She faced her target, kept her shoulders level with each other, extended both arms with locked elbows and held the pistol in line with the center of her chest. The final candle extinguished before she could fire two rounds. The other three bullets fired were from my snub nosed .38 Smith and Wesson revolver.

When Rom finally turned on the lights, he appeared sickly, an accurate assessment punctuated by him retching in the corner at the sight of Marianne’s lifeless body. Olivia’s face returned to normal as she stood, confused and wide eyed. She looked down and pulled up at her shirt to smell it, a childlike smile forming across her lips.

“I smell like Daddy. Pipe smoke and old books,” Olivia said.

She wept and I hugged her, a poor substitute for the father I knew she missed more than his money.