Synopsis: At a potluck to welcome a psychic, Detective Nora Blake must solve the murder of the guest of honor.

They say that when someone gets a random shiver down their spine, someone is walking over your grave. I wonder if that is true, Nora thought, shivering. She crossed the opening of her cardigan till they overlapped. Her steps heavy on the blue painted stairs leading to the Willow Creek Convention Center. If anyone could predict their own death, it would be a psychic…right?

Usually, Willow Creek didn’t welcome strangers, but rumors of Madame Celestine’s arrival created a buzz of excitement. Everyone added a smile to their finest clothes. But she came with baggage of rumors and arrogance. She was famous, but not for the right reasons.

Nora stopped mid-step, a single raven hopped on the roof’s ledge. It locked its intense piercing gaze on her as she took the stairs by twos. Its caw resonated through the air, thrusting itself off the ledge, and flying past the line of Italian cypress slicing through the swirling finger-like mist, swallowing it whole, and fading in the depths of a gnarly yew tree. Its silhouette lingered within the shifting gray fog.

“Welcome Madame Celestine to Willow Creek” read the large sign just inside the entry. Nora and Mary cut through the excited chatter of guests and the circling scent of sage as they entered through the double doors. 

Mary pointed toward the food line and pulled Nora along. The line was filled with neighbors, chatting and laughing. On the tables, a row of platters covered in shiny aluminum were being dished out by neighborly volunteers. On the other side of the cavernous room, round tables with fold up chairs, covered with crisp, white tablecloths, sage, and lit candles for people to eat and socialize. Nora thought the entire scene felt fabricated. 

A sham, just like Madame Celestine.

Mary had to cajole Nora into going to the potluck, promising a chance to get out in the normal world of civilians. Nora rolled her eyes, taking off her holster.

“They are charlatans,” Nora said, pulling her long blond hair back into a tight ponytail, wearing her civilian persona. At least she could leave Detective Nora Blake at home for the night.

Mary gestured nonchalantly and Nora watched Madame Celestine breezed by, short dark curled hair, tied up, piercing blue eyes, her black beaded cloak brushing the floor, and her oversized beaded necklaces clinked together. Nora wasn’t impressed with the grandiose Madame Celestine. Just a walking cliche’.  

The rumor had circulated through the community like a restless wind, slipping between lowered cafe gossip, and weaved its way through the grocery aisles. Mayor Ted Harmon had a vision for renewed energy in their little town. A brilliant idea struck him – who better than the famous psychic Madame Celestine to shake some life into the community. Of course, Madame Celestine had predicted all good things to come with her. “The vision was clear,” she told him, his eyes wide, lips parting as if to pant like his pug, Dexter. The stage was set, the players ready.

Daisy Monroe owned the bakery next to the new flamboyant shop and told everyone about Celestine’s magical abilities. 

Marjorie Wells, Daisy’s grandmother, always chimed in that their family fortune was “blessed” by Celestine years ago. They organized everything.

Nora gazed down the food line, patience thinning, and noticed the salty Frank Wyatt, leaning against the back wall, arms crossed tightly across. His gaze shot imaginary daggers, stabbing the mystic over and over again. Nora noticed it, even from a distance. Nora shook her head, lips twitching. Madame Celestine, worked the room, offering “visions” and mysterious predictions to everyone who would listen. 

Nora caught some various reactions to Madame Celestine’s “predictions” and visions – smiles, shock, and rejection. Madame Celestine kept going, undeterred, her countenance empty of acknowledgement. She prattled on until the reminder to eat, since she was scheduled to speak in front of the small crowd gathered just for her. That heightened her excitement for the evening.

Nora had powered through the food line. She sat eating and watching Madame Celestine bring her plate of food along with a glass of wine to her spot. She took a long sip, her nose wrinkled, lips smacked, and a shudder went down her spine. She placed her wine glass down, flung her gaudy shoulder bag beneath the table. She stiffened, a sudden look of distress spread over Madame Celestine’s face. She clawed her chest first, then her throat, and her breath came in erratic bursts. She fell to the floor with a thud, overtaken with spasmodic twitches. Gasps spread through the room, panic turned into chaos. All the candles flickered at once and Nora felt a stiff breeze brush past her. She thought someone may have gone out a side door to escape, but no door had opened and everyone had stopped everything they were doing, being too stunned to move.

Detective Nora Blake appeared within seconds, knocked her chair over as she ran to the writhing woman. Madame Celestine’s eyes vacant, pupils wide, her body contorted in agony on the ground, her face beet red and frozen in disbelief. Foam filled her mouth, dripping down the side of her face. A dramatic way to die. It wasn’t just the smell of sour grapes that hit Nora’s nose, but also bitter almonds  – cyanide. I bet she didn’t predict this. She hid a smirk and called for backup. 

Nora had to work fast while they waited for backup to arrive. One at a time, she put on some spare gloves from her bag, grabbed a tablecloth, placed it over the body, and isolated the area around it. The sudden shock wore off, a murmur erupted, speculation began to circulate while she rummaged through Madame Celestine’s bag. Some financial records were on the bottom, along with a partially written blackmail note. 

Madame Celeste was a blackmailer, I see

In a side zippered pocket, Nora found a small torn piece of paper. Unfolding it, she recognized the distinctive shaky words smudged and torn.  “I know what you did in Denver…” 

And being blackmailed? 

The sound of sirens outside subdued the conversations. A small group of officers made their grand entrance. Nora greeted them, giving them orders and directions. Now neighbors were her captive audience, she was the main character, and not the faker.

“Who brought the wine?” Nora had to raise her voice to go over the din of voices. Frank Wyatt answered, his voice also raised over the effervescent hum. He zigzagged his way through the crowd, making his apologies with each person he had to move out of his way. 

The officers mingled through the small crowd, maintaining order and gathering information – names, addresses, and statements about what they saw before Madame Celestine collapsed. 

“So, Frank, who asked you to bring the wine?” Nora asked, inviting him to sit at a vacant table. She sat across from him, opening her purple spiral notebook to a fresh sheet and her pen anxiously waiting for information to write down. 

“Marjorie asked me to bring it.” Frank barked, his fragility below the surface. Nora examined him, her shrewd eye capturing physical details. With his hunched shoulders and the deep pale appearance of his skin, he was a man worn out from existing for a long time. 

“I noticed that you didn’t seem to care for Madame Celestine very much. I saw the way you looked at her.”

“That’s an understatement. Years ago, she had scammed people in another town. I couldn’t believe it when I heard she was coming here,” he said, chest deflated, fire raged behind his eyes. “But I only supplied the wine. I didn’t touch it after I dropped off the cases earlier.”

Nora took out the note she found in Madame Celestine’s bag, showed it to him. “Does this look familiar? It does to me.”

His hands shook while taking out some reading glasses, casting a dismal gaze toward Nora. “Yes.”

“I recognized the handwriting right away. I have seen your writing,” Nora said, placing it between the sheets of her notebook again. “I’d like to hear your explanation.”

Frank’s body became rigid, leaning forward in his chair, and Nora readjusted her position. “I was angry. She was a fraud and a shyster. We don’t need her scams here in Willow Creek.”

“I see. Is that all?” 

“That’s all. I wanted her just to leave, not to die, but…” he stopped, clearing his throat, and leaving something unsaid. 

It was better that he remained silent.

Nora nodded. “ I don’t need to hear the rest. I’ll need to confirm your movements though. The officer will show you where to wait.”

He got up in a huff and ushered into a side room. The swoosh, click of the coroner’s stretcher created another wave of conversation. Madame Celestine definitely created fresh energy for the town.

“Where’s the mayor?” Nora asked, cutting through the wave.  

Mayor Ted had been talking to another officer with a sobbing Majorie, attempting to comfort her. Nora got his attention and beckoned to him. He excused himself, straightened his tie, his usual confident stride remained intact. 

“Marjorie is very upset. There was an argument earlier with Madame Celestine and she feels guilty about not apologizing,” he said. “She is very sensitive.”

Nora nodded. “No doubt. It is a terrible way to end an evening. I’ve heard the rumors, but can you explain to me why you encouraged Madame Celestine to set up business here?”

Mayor Ted became flustered. “I thought it would bring more money to our town. She is pretty famous.”

Nora stared at him and he squirmed. 

“Maybe there are some other personal financial motivations behind it?” Nora asked after a long pause.

“I have heard of some scandals in her past. But not enough to kill her for,” he had taken a deep breath and crossed his arms.

Defensive. Hmm..

“What kind of scandals?” she asked, her voice flat.

“A lot of people, including yours truly, lost some money making investments based on her predictions. Some faced financial ruin. It got ugly,” he replied. “She was a changed woman and I saw potential for the town.”

She pressed him about the wine and his movements. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Marjorie’s. I didn’t see so much as a shadow lingering near it, nor dare touch it.” She drummed her fingers against her notebook. Her eyes flickered, dark and sharp, frustration growing. She scanned the room for Daisy. 

Looking over his shoulder, near the wall, she saw Daisy sitting and sobbing into a kleenex.

 Is that guilt? Nora wondered, her eyes narrowing. She’s known Daisy ever since she was an awkward kid in braces.  

“Thanks Mayor. Please hang out for a little while still. If you don’t mind,” Nora turned to an officer and whispered in his ear. Mayor Ted, his face flushed in anger, jumped up, chair skidding backward and headed to a side room.

 The officer escorted Daisy to Nora. She sat gently on the chair, dabbing her eyes, but sobs came in intermittent waves. Nora handed her some clean tissues. “I can’t believe she is gone. I admired her so much.”

“I know this is difficult, but do you know who may have wanted her dead?” Nora asked, finding her gentle voice. Daisy sank further into the chair. 

“Absolutely not,” Daisy said, ringing the wet tissue with her hands. 

“Did you see anyone tampering with the wine?”

“No,” she replied. “No one got near it till…” 

“Till what?”

“Till dinner was served. That’s all.” Nora dabbed her nose, looking defiant. “Is that all?”

Nora’s eyebrow raised, scribbling notes. “Did you see who poured it?”

“No, it was too busy and I wasn’t paying attention,” she shifted in her seat, her gaze flickering to the side, “ Madame Celestine wasn’t a scammer. She predicted my future perfectly –  I can’t believe this happened.” 

Daisy jumped up and merged into a small crowd still waiting.

Marjorie Wells, legs strangled in pantyhose, created a swish sound as she walked, settled herself in the chair, straightening her grey plaid skirt, the edge of her white lace slip peaked out. 

“I know you’re upset and I am sorry to ask this so suddenly, but I hear that you argued with the deceased earlier,” Nora said, her voice flat. “Can you explain that?”

Marjorie looked at her with large doe eyes, pulled her purse closer, a moment of fear passed her face. “Umm…something that happened long ago, but it was no big deal. Old news.”

“Did she hurt you financially?” Nora asked, Marjorie tried to avert her gaze.

“Absolutely not. I am sorry she is dead though. I swear,” Marjorie insisted, her eyes welling up. Nora looked at her, reading between the lines.  

The light above flickered and dimmed; in the distance just beyond the edge of tables, people began fading into apparitions. Between them, within the darkness, a spector, its cloak as black as a crow’s feather, appeared as a flutter between light and shadow. From its torn sleeve, a long, bony finger, pointed toward Marjorie.

Nora pinched her eyes shut, rubbing them between her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head in disbelief. When she opened them, the figure had disappeared, quizzical looks meeting her stare. 

What the hell?

Nora stopped Marjorie’s retreat with one raised forefinger.

“Marjorie, can you explain to me why you poisoned Madame Celestine?” Nora looked directly into her frightened eyes.

Marjorie stopped in disbelief, her jaw dropped and quivered. She couldn’t meet Nora’s scrutiny. Sobs came out as if the gates of heaven were opened and the story came flooding out: the trick Madame Celestine had played on her husband, their financial ruin, and his death as a broken man. Nora listened, trying to remain neutral. This elderly, unassuming lady in front of her, prim and proper, planned and acted out a premeditated murder.

Wow, what people are capable of. 

Outside, a patrol car waited for Marjorie. Mayor Ted, a look of deflation on his face, had his arm over Daisy’s shoulder. As her grandmother passed by with handcuffs, an officer held her by the elbow. She mouthed the words “I love you” and Daisy, her wet tissue in her hand, waved a mournful good-bye. 

“There’s a vial with some crystals in her purse – get them analyzed,” she told another detective and handed him the bag. “With her confession and this piece of evidence, that should close the case of the poisoned mystic.”

 “Poor lady,” he said, shaking his head. Nora nodded, her lips formed a thin line.

“Yes, poor lady,” she said and followed the procession, her feet barely touching the ground.

 In the darkness, she heard the distinctive caw of the raven. As she walked down the stairs, it alighted from the yew. Nora watched the dark shadow of the raven, its flight captured by the glow of the full moon. It seemed suspended in the sky, slicing through the moon’s radiance until it was swallowed by the abyss of darkness.