Not in the Stars

A Faith Cassidy Mystery

Catherine Dain

 

 

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 glass 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 manuscript, 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 spaces 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 space," 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 space."

"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 space he was comfortable with. He maneuvered in, and Faith sighed with relief.

Bobby led them up the narrow path that passed 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 sparsely 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 glasses 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."

Faith stifled a retort, and then forgot what she was going to say anyway.

An argument between two men on the other side of the pool became loud enough to catch her attention. One of the men was short and gnomish, with a dark goatee. He was wearing a well-tailored, silky jacket over a black turtleneck shirt. A purple beret was perched rakishly on a head slightly too large for his body. The other was a heavy-set, gray-haired man in a green polo shirt who could have been the twin of the one at the front desk. People all around them became quiet as well, listening as the heat rose.

"Avery Whitlock would throw you out on your ear," the larger man shouted. "He wouldn't have put up with this kind of heresy in his house."

"Whitlock was a gentleman," the gnome shouted in re­turn. "He was gracious to everyone. And he must be spin­ning in his grave at the thought that narrow-minded, reactionary boors are running his foundation."

"Actually, Avery was cremated," a woman standing near Faith muttered. "His ashes are in an urn on the mantel, under his portrait."

Faith glanced over at the woman and was relieved to note that she was talking to someone else. The woman and her male companion met the appearance standard that Faith had expected to find in astrologers. The woman, a slender blonde with the kind of heavy makeup that doesn't really hide lines around the eyes, was dressed in several layers of leopard print gauze. Sheena, queen of the jungle, twenty years past her prime, Faith thought. The man, bald and bearded, sported an Hawaiian floral shirt and a bright green feathered earring that dangled from his left ear almost to his shoulder.

"The astrology that was good enough for Ptolemy was good enough for Avery Whitlock." The heavy-set man was turning purple.

"Are you suggesting that Ptolemy knew the sun was the center of the solar system? And he secretly discovered the outer planets? Avery's astrology was heliocentric, he incor­porated Pluto into his charts, and he would have been open-minded where the influence of Chiron, Ceres, and the other asteroids is concerned. And you know it." The gnomish man wasn't giving ground.

"But not the Beatles! Saying that the cluster of four as­teroids named after the Beatles can influence the develop­ment of musical talent is making a mockery of everything we do, everything Avery Whitlock stood for." The large man's voice was full of agony.

"Avery embraced Jung. He believed that synchronicities happen because everything in a time period is connected with everything else in that time period. Thus, the four as­teroids were named for the four Beatles because they ema­nate cosmic rays that influence the development of musical talent, whether the naming scientists knew it or not," the gnomish man replied. "And Avery would have understood that. If you hadn't connived with the attorneys when he was old and tired, he would have made me the trustee, not you, and you know it!"

The gray-haired man stepped back, gasping, speechless.

The smaller man raised both fists in a gesture of tri­umph.

A few people laughed, and one woman applauded.

"Right on, Carlo!" she called.

The small man bowed in her direction. The heavy-set one turned and walked away from the pool, beyond the lighted area, still struggling for breath.

"I guess I can skip the discussion group on the influence of the asteroids," Michael said.

Faith nodded, but she was more interested in the couple next to her.

"How could you have married him?" the man with the earring asked.

"Carlo is brilliant, really. And I knew as soon as I saw his chart, with the conjunction of his Mars, my Venus, that we had been destined to meet, and that something significant would happen as a result," the Sheena-woman answered. "He was so difficult, though, that I made sure we got mar­ried when Mercury was retrograde. I knew I'd want out sooner or later."

"Seven years is a long later," the man said. "Although I guess it was a lucrative seven years."

The Sheena-woman glared. "I earned my money, Kevin."

Kevin leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Yes, dear. Anyone married to an astrologer who stakes his reputation on a comet hitting Rome, without bothering to consult Avery Whitlock first, has earned her money."

The woman jerked her cheek away.

"Avery adored Carlo," she said. "He was amused at Carlo's error over the comet and took the opportunity to point out that Aquarius was the sign of geniuses and fools, and Carlo was simply being both at the same time. And he did give us reason to believe that we would be the trustees of his estate."

"We? You and Carlo?"

"Avery saw us as married on the level of spirit, no matter what we were doing on the mundane level," the woman re­plied.

"Is that why you didn't feel the need to save any of your earned money? You thought you'd have Avery's trust to loot?" Kevin sounded almost amused. "You were way down on the list, my dear."

Faith didn't hear what the Sheena-woman said next, but it wiped the smile off Kevin's face.

"All right, everybody," a man's voice called from the doorway to the house. "I hope you've all decided which group you're going to, because it's time to get started."

The Sheena-woman started toward the house, Kevin fol­lowing.

"Where are you going?" Michael asked.

"Oh, the psychology one, of course," Faith said. "What about you?"

"That's the only one I have a prayer of understanding," Michael replied.

"I'll meet you back here afterward, then," Bobby said. "And I'll take notes on compatibility charts so that I can tell you about them on the way home."

The three of them held back, not wanting to push past the people who clearly knew their destinations. They moved to the doorway only when there was space to do so comfort­ably.

The man who had called out was the same one who had checked them in, the apparent twin of the man who had been arguing with Carlo. Faith held out her sheet of paper to him, pointing to the astrological psychology discussion group. He glanced at the paper, then back at her.

"Up the stairs, all the way to the front of the house, door to the right," he said.

More people had come into the house while the poolside argument was going on, and now everyone from house and yard had converged on the stairs at the same time. Faith and Michael pulled back again to avoid the bottleneck.

"Do you remember something about an astrologer pre­dicting a comet would hit Rome?" she asked.

"The fashion designer, Carlo Firenza," Michael said. "I heard he went bankrupt, too. Not exactly Nostradamus. Is that the same Carlo as the little man by the pool?"

"I think so. I wonder who the twins are."

"They're not really twins, but they are brothers," a man interjected. "Larry and Ed Martin. The one who acts as gatekeeper is Ed. They're the trustees of Whitlock's estate."

Faith flushed when she realized that Kevin was standing next to her. He was smiling to let her know that he hadn't taken offense at her eavesdropping, and was merely replying in kind.

"Thank you," she said. "It's our first time here, and we don't know who anyone is. I'm Faith Cassidy, this is Mi­chael Haver."

"Kevin Solis," he said, holding out his hand to each. "I believe I heard you say something about going to the astro­logical psychology discussion."

"Yes, we did," Faith said, returning his smile.

"You will have an interesting evening. Sophia leads that group." Kevin's feathered earring bobbed against his neck. It looked a little less festive than it had earlier.

"Sophia?"

"The former Signore Firenza. She was a student of as­trology long before she met Carlo."

"And psychology?" Faith asked.

"That, too," Kevin answered. "She knew one of Jung's mistresses quite well, in fact."

"I can hardly wait," Michael said.

"Then you'd best move along," Kevin said. "She'll want to start on time."

Faith nodded her thanks to Kevin and moved away. The bottleneck had begun to clear, and she and Michael were able to start the ascent to the second floor.

They hadn't quite reached the landing when a piercing scream from the pool area stopped the entire group on the spot.

A second scream followed the first.

The stream of people stopped moving. Faith and Mi­chael were stuck.

"Somebody call the paramedics!" a man's voice cried.

Murmurs of distress began to ripple up and down the stairs.

"Does anyone know CPR?"

"What happened?"

"It's Larry. He fell and hit his head. They found him in the hot tub."

"Is he all right?"

"Well, no."

The woman in the tailored suit who had been at the front desk threaded her way to the foot of the stairs.

"Please go ahead to your discussion groups," she said, her voice loud and tense. "We'll send someone around to let you know about Larry after the paramedics have seen him."

"And Larry was . . . ?" Michael whispered to Faith.

"The one in the argument with Carlo," she whispered back.

The line began to move upstairs, and Faith and Michael were pushed up to the second floor.

A siren wailed briefly outside, ending in abrupt silence.

"I've changed my mind about the discussion group," Faith said. "I really want to know what's going on."

Michael shook his head. "Probably nothing, and it's none of our business."

"You're right. But suppose they were really arguing about the trust, not the asteroids? Suppose neither one was willing to let it go? I'll just feel better if I know it was really an accident," Faith said.

She turned sideways to squeeze past the people who were still coming up the stairs, and Michael followed.

Once she reached the back door, Faith felt a momentary lurch, as if she had gone back in time. The gnome and the large man were again arguing on the far side of the pool. But this time Carlo was arguing with Ed.

"You pushed him!" Ed shouted. "Larry didn't slip—you pushed him!"

"Larry was fat and clumsy," Carlo shouted in return. "Like you! Oafs! Both of you! I was nowhere near him! He fell!"

Faith looked around to see where the hot tub might be. There were steps leading up to a deck at the end of the house, and three people with worried expressions stood watching some activity.

"Ed wouldn't have gone anywhere near the hot tub on his own," Larry shouted. "You lured him up there and pushed him in! You hate us both!"

"Yes! I hate you both! And Ed wouldn't have done any­thing I asked him to do," Carlo shouted. "And he's bigger than I am! He would have pushed me in the hot tub!"

"Carlo! Ed! Stop it right now!" Sophia was suddenly in the doorway next to Faith. She paused until everyone's at­tention was on her, then proceeded toward the two men. "We don't know that anyone pushed Larry. How is he doing?"

"Not good," said one of the people near the deck. "The paramedics haven't been able to revive him."

"Murderer!" Ed screamed. "Police! Someone call the police!"

"Someone already has," the man near the deck said.

"Not me!" Carlo shouted. "I am not a murderer! Sophia! Sophia has Pluto conjuncting Mars in her twelfth house! Sophia is capable of murder!"

"And I was upstairs ready to begin the meeting," Sophia said calmly. "Whoever pushed Larry into the tub—if anyone pushed Larry into the tub—I didn't. You are the one with the most to gain from Larry's death, Ed, and you have Pluto squaring Mars, so stop the accusations right now!"

Faith edged her way toward the deck.

Michael grabbed her arm, but she shook his hand off.

"There's still one other person who has a stake in this," she whispered. "The other person who wanted to be trustee."

"And the police will find him," Michael whispered back.

"But the evidence may be gone by then."

"What evidence?" Michael said it a little too loud, and Faith shushed him.

The deck was raised about three feet off the ground, so that inhabitants of the master bedroom could walk out through a pair of French doors to the hot tub. Larry Mar­tin's body was on the polished wood. One paramedic was on top of him, still performing CPR, the other one knelt be­side. Several people were on the stairs, blocking access.

Faith stayed on the lawn and walked around to the spot nearest the hot tub. She bent over slightly so that her eyes were almost level with the deck. Although she needed glasses for reading, her distance vision was good, and she almost immediately spotted what she was looking for.

"There!" she whispered. "Caught on the edge of the tub!"

"What?"

"The green feather." She straightened up and backed away from the deck to make certain that only Michael heard her. "Kevin went into the house ahead of us, but he somehow ended up behind us when we were getting ready to go up the stairs. He's the one who confronted Larry Martin by the hot tub."

"And thank you for finding the one thing that connected me." Kevin had been part of the group on the stairs, hidden by the others. Now he was beside them. "I have a gun. Please walk slowly around the side of the house."

"You have a gun? At an astrology meeting?" Even as Faith asked the question, she felt the barrel jam into her back.

"I'm a reserve sheriff's deputy," Kevin replied. "I always have a gun. And I know how to use it, although I'd rather not."

"Why didn't you just shoot Larry?" Michael asked. He was trying to edge away from Faith, hoping to attract the at­tention of someone on the deck.

"Get back over here," Kevin said quietly. Michael did as he was ordered. "I only wanted to talk to Larry about the terms of the trust. But he turned on me, just as he turned on Carlo. He lunged at me. I was only defending myself."

"Then why are you attacking me?" Faith asked.

"Because I don't want to be connected with any of this. With Larry out of the way, I'll be named trustee, as long as there's no sign of foul play. I'm sorry to threaten you, and if you'll agree to keep your mouth shut, maybe we can work something out," Kevin said.

"I don't think I can promise that," Faith said.

"Of course we will," Michael said at the same moment.

"Around the corner," Kevin said, prodding Faith with his gun.

She had barely taken a step when something thunked into Kevin's head, knocking him to the ground.

"Good shot!" Michael called.

A fat blue book was splayed on the ground not far from Kevin, who was already beginning to sit up. The gun had fallen from his hand, and Faith kicked it away from him. Then she looked up to see Bobby waving at her from the second floor window.

"I'm a witness!" Bobby shouted. "He threatened you with a gun! I'm a witness!"

The crowd surged around Faith and Kevin, only step­ping back when a man with a badge flashed his way through.

"I'll need statements from everybody," he said.

The statements took much of the night.

By the time the detective told Faith, Michael, and Bobby that they could leave, they were exhausted. They rode in si­lence to Faith's apartment.

Michael let the car engine idle while Faith gathered her energy for the short walk.

"I'll buy you a new ephemeris," Faith said. "And thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," Bobby answered.

"I still don't understand how you managed that throw."

"I played high school football, Faith, and I still play in an occasional pick-up game on Saturdays. And I was lucky."

"Lucky," Faith said. "Yes. All those astrologers were arguing about what was in whose chart, and stopping Kevin came down to a lucky throw."

"Actually, Sophia explained it from Kevin's chart while you were talking to the detective," Bobby said. "It didn't have anything to do with Pluto. It was something about Neptune."

"Well, knock me over with an ephemeris," Michael said.

"Don't ever say that again," Faith told him.

"Goodnight."

2007.05.19/MNQ

4,700 words