The Cliff House Strangler Read Online Free PDF Page A

already deeply resonant, took on a much huskier timbre, slightly wheezy and hoarse, like that of a very old man.
    “I am Tizoc, high priest of the Tenochcas,” the new voice informed us in raspy tones. “Why have you summoned me?”
    Tenochca, I repeated to myself. Where had I heard that name before? Then I remembered. As a young girl, I had read that the Aztecs—one of the most important Indian groups of the North American continent—were also known as the Tenochcas, a namederived from one of their ancient patriarchs, Tenoch. So, this was Madame Karpova’s spirit control. An interesting choice for a Russian medium, I thought wryly.
    “Is it your desire to communicate with entities on the astral plane?” the voice demanded.
    Across from me, Mrs. Gaylord whispered, “Oh, please, yes. Dorothy. My baby.”
    Madame Karpova was silent for several moments; then once again she began speaking in that strange ancient voice.
    “There is a child here,” it announced. “A small girl of seven or eight with pale yellow hair. She is wearing a white pinafore with pink ribbons, and she is standing there”—eyes still tightly closed, the medium nodded toward the Gaylords—“between her parents.”
    Maurilla Gaylord gave a sob, staring at the psychic with wide, tearful eyes. “Oh, dear Lord,” she cried plaintively. “Is it Dorothy? Has she really come back?”
    “Yes,” Tizoc’s hoarse voice went on. “The child’s name is Dorothy. She is kissing her mother’s cheek. She wants her parents to know that she misses them both but that she is happy and at peace now.”
    “I felt it!” Mrs. Gaylord cried out, her hand flying to her cheek. “Percival, she kissed me! Oh, my darling baby. You really
are
here!”
    “Oh, for the love of God!” Robert muttered. “What kind of cruel hoax is this to play on a poor woman who has just lost her child?”
    I did not reply. My entire attention was taken up with Mrs. Gaylord. Her slender shoulders shook as she cried into a handkerchief. Senator Gaylord awkwardly patted her shoulder, obviously not having the faintest idea how to comfort his distraught wife.
    “She’s fine now, Maurilla,” I heard him whisper, trying for her sake, I was sure, to mask his cynicism over this whole affair. “You heard what that, ah, priest said. Please, Maurilla, stop crying.”
    I couldn’t hear the grieving mother’s response because her mouth was buried in the handkerchief, but I clearly caught SenatorGaylord’s frustrated sigh. He looked up from her, and even in the dim light I saw his consternation as every eye at the table was focused on him and his wife. Embarrassment quickly overcame any sympathy he might have felt for the inconsolable woman.
    “Maurilla, pull yourself together,” he said, looking as if he dearly wished he could climb into a hole and pull it closed over his head. “Dorothy’s at peace now. We should be happy for her. For God sake, stop crying!”
    There was a soft snicker off to my right, and I turned, to see Darien Moss shaking his head, as if this was all too much for him. Madame Karpova (or should I say the high priest, Tizoc?) turned her face briefly in the reporter’s direction, then went on in the Aztec’s voice.
    “Another entity is present—a woman,” the voice droned on in a scratchy monotone. “I think it is—yes, it is an old woman. She is wearing a black dress with white lace at the neck and there is a gold pin shaped like a bird on the bodice. The bird has a sapphire eye.”
    “That’s Mama’s pin!” Nora Ahern cried out, staring expectantly at Madame Karpova. “Mama, is it really you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be with you when you—” She stopped, swallowing hard to fight away the tears that glistened in her eyes. “When you passed over.”
    Madame Karpova tilted her head, listening, it seemed, to a voice only she could hear. In the old priest’s voice, she said, “Yes, yes, I will tell her.” The clairvoyant’s closed eyes turned to