Dreams of Jeannie and Other Stories Part 18

The defense attorney had her turn the following Monday morning.

She called Melinda Parris to the stand.

The cousins certainly looked alike. Melinda Parris was as round as Molly Jupiter, with the same protruding eyes, although she had spiky black hair and dressed in layers of white cotton. Faith wondered about the choice. It made her think of refrigerator doors again.

The testimony was short. Melinda Parris denied committing the murder.

"I had no motive," she insisted. "I was in a position to take over the hotline. In fact, if you check the phone records, you'll see that I was signed on to the computer that evening, taking calls. I have an alibi."

"One of those calls was well over an hour," the defense attorney pointed out. "You could have faked the call to yourself, which would have given you plenty of time to commit the murder."

Melinda Parris rolled her eyes. "But I didn't."

That was the entire defense. Molly Jupiter didn't take the stand.

The closing arguments were much the same as the opening ones.

The judge instructed the jury to decide whether Molly Jupiter was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

Faith looked again at Molly Jupiter. The woman responded to Faith's gaze almost as she had at the beginning of the trial. But this time as she met Faith's eyes, she seemed to mouth the word "meow" before she turned away.

"Remarkable," Michael said as he refilled Faith's wine gla.s.s. "But you probably imagined it."

They were sitting on Michael's deck. The late afternoon sun was obscured by smog, but the worst of the heat wave had pa.s.sed.

"Of course. That's what I thought, too. Still, I had a sense of a meeting of the minds. As if she knew what I had done, that I had a.s.sumed a cat's ident.i.ty, and knew at the same time that I wasn't a criminal. I believed that she was a victim of mistaken ident.i.ty. And I couldn't believe the woman was a murderer."

"Oh, Faith! So you persuaded the others to agree?"

Faith shook her head. "No need. We elected a forewoman-Jane-and she suggested a preliminary vote. Twelve not-guilties. We were back with the verdict in under an hour."

Michael pushed the half empty bottle of Chardonnay into the ice bucket with a practiced hand.

"Was that really doing your civic duty?" he asked. "I thought you were supposed to discuss the evidence."

"I suppose we decided that our civic duty didn't include wasting the court's time when our collective mind was made up. Anyway, that wasn't the truly remarkable thing."

Michael waited as Faith took a sip of her wine, drawing out the moment.

"Well?" he prompted.

"The remarkable thing was that as Jane and I rode down the escalator, she told me that Molly Jupiter had looked at her and mouthed 'meow.' And Jane remembered the time that the refrigerator door hadn't shut off the light because of a problem with the switch. It was her parents' refrigerator, a very long time ago, which was why she hadn't remembered sooner. Her mother discovered the cat playing with this little plastic switch that came from the refrigerator door."

"And 'meow' reminded her."

"Yes. And then Walter, who was right behind Jane, said that Molly Jupiter had looked at him and mouthed 'meow' just as he was thinking she was probably guilty. He realized that the scratch on her arm could have been a cat scratch-he said it looked more like a cat scratch than a human scratch."

"I supposed you're going to tell me nine more stories proving each juror was swayed by Molly Jupiter's eyes, and that each one took 'meow' personally."

"No. I was afraid to ask because I couldn't tell mine."

"She may not be the World's Greatest Psychic, but she has to be the World's Greatest Hypnotist."

"Possibly."

"Did it occur to you that the two women were in it together?"

"Of course it did." Faith glared at Michael, then took another sip of wine. "But I wasn't about to make that hypothetical case for the other jurors. It was up to the prosecution to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and they didn't do it."

"And you were really afraid that someone, somehow, would expose you. You wanted to end the charade, and 'not guilty' was the easiest way to do it."

"I don't know. I rather liked being Elizabeth." Faith looked at the cat, who was curled up on the chaise a few feet away.

"Good. That means you can vote twice in November," Michael said.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, her deep blue, protruding eyes, and met Faith's gaze.

"No. I got away with it once and I'm not doing it again." Faith shivered as she said the words. "Besides, if the district attorney comes up with new evidence, I may have to confess my misdeed. I get fifteen minutes of fame and the prosecutors get a second shot at conviction. My cat impersonation may turn out to have been a good idea after all."

Elizabeth yawned, nodded in forgiveness, and went back to sleep.

Not in the Stars A Faith Ca.s.sidy Mystery My first contact with a professional astrologer was almost thirty years ago. She was my neighbor in a North Hollywood apartment complex, and she liked to sit out by the pool in the evening while she worked on charts for her clients. I would carry a gla.s.s of wine out and sit at the same table, learning by osmosis. We stayed in touch, and I chatted with her about this story while I was writing it. In order to get into the world of astrologers, I borrowed Dane Rudhyar's The Astrology of Personality from my accountant, who is also something of an astrologer. Both women got a kick out of the story-although they insist, and I believe them, that astrologers are normal people, just like you and me.

"Well, if there's anyone who would think the fault is not in ourselves but in the stars, it's you, Bobby," Faith said, annoyed at having to turn her head and talk over her shoulder. She didn't like having conversations with people in the back seat of the car unless she was driving and didn't have an obligation to look at them. The need to keep her eyes on the road was deeply ingrained.

"That's not it at all, Faith, and you know it," Bobby answered. "I just want to know what's coming so that I can prepare for it, like having an earthquake kit in the closet. And learning more about astrology can only help."

"Besides," Michael said, "you'll be able to amaze your friends with insightful comments about their personalities, just from knowing their birthdates. Think how in demand you'll be at parties."

Michael was driving, and the need to focus on the dimly lit canyon road spared him from having to look at either of them.

Faith turned back to Michael, relieved that he had stepped in. "I don't think my sun sign says anything about me."

"You're a Leo," Bobby said, "and you like to be the center of attention. How can you argue with that?"

"What? You're reducing me to one trait? One superficial trait? A trait that doesn't begin to describe who I am?" This time Faith turned all the way around, clutching the side of the seat.

"Now, now, kiddies, this is all for fun," Michael said. "It was nice of Bobby to invite you, Faith, and you didn't have to come."

"And you're a Libra," Bobby said, "so you're trying to strike a balance between us."

Faith stifled the impulse to tell Bobby what she thought he was. Instead she eased back in her seat, facing the road again. This was a wealthy neighborhood, and she didn't understand why someone hadn't insisted that more streetlights be installed.

"Besides," Bobby continued, "it isn't all sun signs. There are rising signs, and moon signs, and where your planets are, and all kinds of aspects."

"Please," Faith said. "Please tell me Michael's right, that this is all for fun, that you don't really believe that the orbit of Pluto, which may just be a chunk of ice, not even really a planet, affects your life."

"It is for fun," Bobby said. "Nevertheless, it works. Whether Pluto is a planet or not. Where Pluto is in your natal chart says something about you, but I don't remember what it is. I can look up where it is in my ephemeris, and somebody tonight will be able to tell you the meaning."

"Your ephemeris is that fat blue book you're waving?" Faith asked.

"Yes. You can find out what signs the planets are in at any moment of the first fifty years of the twenty-first century. I'm carrying it everywhere these days. It's a great way to start conversations," Bobby replied.

"You know," Michael said, "this may be an example of Neils Bohr's famous dictum, that the opposite of a profound truth is another profound truth. The orbit of Pluto can't possibly affect your life. Nevertheless, astrology works."

"What? 'Famous dictum'? When did you start reading Neils Bohr?" Faith asked.

"Never read him. But a friend of a friend is writing a relationship book for the self-help market, and I was looking at the ma.n.u.script, and he used the Neils Bohr thing to talk about men and women. Our differences are more important than our similarities, and our similarities are more important than our differences," Michael said. "So I've been trying to think of other examples."

" 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,' " Faith said.

"Exactly."

"Turn right here," Bobby said. "And look for a parking place."

Michael turned right as directed. They had been traveling up one of the more tortuous canyon roads into the Hollywood Hills, and the right turn took them onto a narrow, twisting street with parking on one side only, the other side, with no open s.p.a.ces in sight. Michael inched along slowly, looking for a driveway without a gate so that he could make a U-turn.

"We should have parked a block back," he said.

"Bobby, how can you tell where we're going?" Faith asked. "You can't see the houses for the walls and the shrubs, and you can't see any numbers because the streetlights don't illuminate."

"I have directions. There's a cul-de-sac somewhere up here where we can turn around, and the numbers are on the curb, so we'll be able to see them when we're outside the car, and anyway, we're going where everybody else is going," Bobby said.

What Bobby called "everybody else" was actually two couples slipping single file between the parked cars and the dark walls and walking through the gates of one of the driveways.

"They don't look like professional astrologers," Faith said.

"And what do professional astrologers look like?" Bobby asked with a sigh.

"I don't know. But not that normal."

"If you want normal, Faith, that lets us out," Michael said.

They were something of an odd threesome, she would have to admit, although both Michael and Bobby had a West Hollywood hip-at-forty smoothness, and she thought she herself could fade into a crowd better than most TV personalities who had been forced into second careers. Not that being a therapist felt like second choice, not any longer. Besides, she had always been interested in people.

Michael found the cul-de-sac, turned the car around, and started slowly back down the hill.

"There's a s.p.a.ce," Faith said.

"It's a driveway," Michael countered.

"Yes, but there's enough room between the edge of the driveway and the car parked ahead of it that you could argue it's a s.p.a.ce."

"We'd block half the driveway," Michael said, not slowing further.

They were almost back down to the main canyon road by the time Michael found a s.p.a.ce he was comfortable with. He maneuvered in, and Faith sighed with relief.

Bobby led them up the narrow path that pa.s.sed for a sidewalk and through the same driveway gate they had seen the four others enter.

Once past the wall, they discovered an estate that had been carved out of the hillside. A circular drive swept up to a two-story, brightly lit, white stucco house that Faith vaguely recalled having seen in a Los Angeles Times Magazine spread. Some favored cars were blocking the path to the arched front doorway, which had been left open.

Faith stopped just before they reached the lights.

"We aren't going to be the only non-astrologers here, are we?"

"It's too late to ask that," Michael said.

"Of course we won't be," Bobby answered. "It's mostly a meeting for members, who are all professionals, but anybody who's interested, and who can get an invitation, can come. Like the Magic Castle. I told you. Avery Whitlock set it up that way in his will."

"Who would have thought someone could make this kind of money writing an astrology column?" Faith asked.

"Avery Whitlock didn't just write a daily column," Bobby said. "He was the astrologer to the stars-the movie stars-for decades. Nancy Reagan is supposed to have consulted with him on soul mate advice before she met Ronnie. Come on."

Bobby led the way inside, to a foyer where a table had been set up to block further entry. A gray-haired, middle-aged man whose paunch pushed against a green polo shirt smiled at them. The younger woman sitting next to him, who was dressed in a tailored pantsuit as if she had come straight from an office, looked too earnest to smile.

"Do you have an invitation?" she asked.

Bobby gave their names and explained that a friend of his, a member, had called to okay their presence. While the woman was checking her notes, Faith peered through the doorway into the room to the left, which was large and spa.r.s.ely furnished, as if guests were expected to remain standing. There were a few groups of chatting people, but not as many as she had expected. They were also more ordinary looking than she had expected, with many of them dressed as if they had come from day jobs having nothing to do with New Age oracles. Her attention was caught by a painting over the fireplace on the far wall, a portrait of a thin, old man in a blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. Avery Whitlock, to be sure, done when he must have been in his eighties.

"Okay," the woman said. "You're on the list."

The man held out three sheets of paper, one for each of them.

"Here's a list of the discussion groups and the rooms they're being held in. Decide where you want to go, and come back if you need help finding something. Refreshments are out by the pool," he said, pointing down a hall toward the back of the house.

Faith started to look at her sheet, but Michael grabbed her hand to get her out of the way of the people coming in behind them. Bobby was already heading along the hall, and they followed him to another open door, this one taking them to a patio and a broad expanse of lawn with an Olympic-sized pool.

More small groups were scattered around the yard. A much larger group of people had gathered around a long table near the door with three large silver urns, plates of cookies, and cups and napkins on it, and an ice bucket resting on the cement at either end.

"Do you want anything?" Michael asked.

Faith shook her head. She pulled her gla.s.ses out of her purse to read the small print on the sheet of paper.

"Astrological psychology," she said. "There's actually a discussion group that meets on astrological psychology."

"And one on karmic astrology, one on special cases in horary astrology, one on the transits of Pluto, just in case you want to find out how that orbiting hunk of ice affects you. Here's one on sidereal astrology as the true interpretative tool for the New Age, whatever that means," Michael said, reading his own sheet.

"Did you think it was all fortune telling?" Bobby asked.

"Well, sort of," Faith said.

"You were wrong," Bobby said triumphantly. "You might even learn something at the discussion group on astrological psychology."

"Maybe," Faith said.

She stared at the paper, wondering exactly what astrological psychology was. Bobby tucked his ephemeris under his arm and fished around in the nearest ice bucket for two small plastic bottles of spring water. He handed one to Michael.

"I'm going to the one on compatibility charts," he said. "Sun signs just don't do it, I've learned that much."