“Well, it shouldn’t, because the principles are no different from what you deal with every day. Bottom line? The body doesn’t lie. No matter what you tell yourself, your energy level responds to what is actually true. If your head says you aren’t the family hero or you love yourself when that’s not how you feel, your energy gets weak. Is this making any sense?”
“Yes.”
“One of the reasons Jenny came down here once or twice a year was so I could balance her. And when she was here last, around Thanksgiving, she was so out of whack I had to work with her several hours everyday.”
“Did she tell you what was wrong?”
“A lot of things were wrong. She’d just moved and didn’t like her neighbors, especially the ones across the street.”
“The Clarys,” I said.
“I suppose that was the name. The woman was a busybody and the man was a flirt until he had a stroke. Plus, Jenny’s horoscope readings had gotten out of hand and were wearing her out.”
“What was your opinion of this business she ran?”
“Jenny had a gift but she was spreading it too thin.”
“Would you label her a psychic?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t label Jenny – wouldn’t even begin to try. She was into a lot of things:” I suddenly remembered the blank sheet of paper anchored by the crystal on her bed and asked Travers if he might know what that meant, or if it meant anything.
“It meant she was concentrating.”
“Concentrating?”
I puzzled. “On what?”
“When Jenny wanted to meditate, she would get a white sheet of paper and put a crystal on top of it. Then she would sit very still and slowly turn the crystal around and around, watching light from the facets move on the paper. That did for her what staring at the water does for me.”
“Was anything else bothering her when she came to see you, Mr. Travers?”
“Call me Willie. Yea, and you know what I’m about to say. She was upset about this convict who was waiting to be executed – Ronnie Waddell. Jenny and Ronnie had been writing to each other for many years and she just couldn’t deal with the thought of him being put to death.”
“Do you know if Waddell ever revealed anything to her that could have placed her in jeopardy?”
“Well, he gave her something that did.”
I reached for my beer without taking my eyes off him.
“When she came down here at Thanksgiving, she brought all of the letters he had written and anything else he had sent her over the years. She wanted me to keep them down here for her.”
“Why?”
“So they would be safe.”
“She was worried about somebody trying to get them from her?”
“All I know is, she was spooked. She told me that during the first week of this past November, Waddell called her collect and said he was ready to die and didn’t want to fight it anymore. Apparently, he was convinced nothing could save him, and he asked her to go to the farm in Suffolk and get his belongings from his mother. He said he wanted Jenny to have them, and not to worry, that his mother would understand.”
“What were those belongings?” I asked.
“Just one thing.”
He got up. “I’m not real sure of the significance – and I’m not sure I want to be sure. So I’m going to turn it over to you, Dr. Scarpetta. You can take it on back to Virginia. Share it with the police. Do with it what you want.”
“Why are you suddenly being helpful?” I asked. “Why not weeks ago?’
“Nobody bothered to come see me,” he said loudly from another room. “I told you when you called I don’t deal with people over the phone.”
When he returned, he set a black Hartmann briefcase at my feet. The brass lock had been pried open and the leather was scarred: “Fact is, you’d be doing me a big favor to get this out of my life,” Willie Travers said, and I could tell he mean it. “The very thought of it makes my energy bad.”