His lower lip quivered enough for me to tell that he was debating the politics of crying. I caught his eye and shook my head. He sighed and pulled on his coat. “Okay. Jeez, I want to help, Mom.”
“You got grounded? What did you do this time?” Miranda snickered, and I gave her my don’t-even-go-there look. She bent her head and studied her eggs again.
“I know you want to help.” I hugged him as he zipped up the windbreaker. “But you aren’t going to this time. Now, off to school and have a good day.”
He shoved an armload of textbooks into his backpack, swung the pack over one shoulder, and grabbed his lunch as he raced out the door. Lincoln Elementary was only a few blocks away, and I made him walk the distance. Miranda usually rode her bike along the ten-block trip to the Chiqetaw Ridge Middle School, but the snow had put a stop to that. During the winter, she had to hoof it.
Miranda watched him go, her mouth full of egg and toast. She swallowed, raising an eyebrow. “Last time Mrs. Trask watched us overnight, she made Kip mop the bathroom floor because he left it in such a wreck after his bath. He told me he was going to try to do a binding so you wouldn’t call her again.”
So the little fox was up to tricks, was he? That was probably what he was looking up in Nanna’s diary. After all these years, I still hadn’t read it all the way through; maybe I’d better. “Kip’s getting carried away. And you, my dear… you’re going to Mrs. Trask’s, too, so you need to come straight home after school so you can get ready.”
“I want to study. Can’t I stay here in my room? You know I won’t bother you guys—I’m not interested.” She mopped up the last of her egg with the toast and zipped up her new parka.
Would it be dangerous to let her stay here? She wasn’t going to burst into the middle of the seance and demand to be part of the action. In fact, if I knew Miranda, she’d hide out in her room all evening without so much as a squeak. But what if something went wrong? With a nagging feeling, I shook my head.
“I trust you, but after what happened with Kip the other night, I don’t want to take a chance. You’re going to have to bite the bullet this time.” I picked up the phone receiver and dialed Ida Trask. Her schedule was free for the evening, and I made arrangements for the kids to spend the night at her house.
Miranda grabbed her books. “I’m going to be late. Look at it snow.”
I pushed back the lace curtains and peered out the window that overlooked our front walk. The snow was piling up faster than my neighbor across the street could shovel it. He was wrapped in a big overcoat, fighting a losing battle with his shovel, but I knew that he wouldn’t stop. Horvald Ledbetter was one of the few truly compulsive people we knew. Once, Miranda caught a glimpse of him weeding his petunias at two in the morning. She was about to come in from her stargazing when he tiptoed out of his house in a bathrobe, armed with flashlight, trowel, and cultivator. She slipped in through her window so quietly that he never noticed her up on the roof. She watched him work under the stars until she grew weary and fell into bed.
“Nasty. Okay, I’m ready to head down to the shop. I’ll drop you off. Grab my purse and keys while I make sure the stove’s turned off.” A little O/C, I always checked and double-checked the burners to make sure they were cool whenever we left the house.
I managed to drop Randa off at school and still make it downtown by nine o’clock. Usually we didn’t open until eleven, but with the holiday rush, I took advantage of every merchant hour I could. The door was locked. Cinnamon was late. Great, the holiday rush and she probably had car trouble again.
I quickly flipped the sign to “We’re Open” and put water on to heat for tea. The sisters Farrah Warnoff and Sheila Smythe rushed in, breathless and covered with snow. Both had placed special orders, both of which had arrived yesterday right before I closed up. Farrah had begged me to find a Spode cream and sugar set, while Sheila wanted a Dresden figurine. The Dresden had taken some hunting, but I managed to fill both requests at a reasonable price. The pieces had arrived intact. I wrapped up their purchases and bustled them out the door.
I quickly whipped the shop in order for customers. First things first. I poured the steaming water into the thermoses. Besides the usual Earl Grey, we would have apple cinnamon and orange pekoe. As I arranged a large platter of gingerbread and molasses cookies, chalking “Spice Is Nice” on the menuboard, Cinnamon came rushing through the door, three shoppers on her heels. Any more thoughts about murders and ghosts would have to wait until the shop closed. Taking a deep breath, I dove into my day.
Chapter Nine
Miranda was scarfing down a bowl of pudding when I got home from work. Her book stood propped open against the center pillar candle on the table. I quietly walked up behind her, removed the book, and marked the place before I closed it. “Talk to your mother, child.”
“Aw, Mom! I was in the middle of a chapter.” She rolled her eyes.
“Yep. But we have more exciting things to discuss.”
“Like what?” She wrinkled her nose. “How many china patterns you can guess with your eyes closed?”
“Smart-ass.” I grinned and slid into the chair opposite her. “We’re going out this weekend and buying a Christmas tree.”
She perked up. “Really? Did we keep the ornaments when we moved?”
I frowned, mentally sorting through the boxes in the hall closet. “I’m not sure, but I’ll buy a few more just in case. The garland is probably shot, and all the lights were tangled together last I looked… oh, hell, let’s get rid of everything except the special ones and buy all new stuff.”
Miranda did a happy dance in her chair. “Kip will be glad to hear that. He was awfully sad last Christmas… and the one before. Umm, Mom, will Daddy be sending us gifts this year, or are we going to get money from him again?”
I thought about the note I’d received the other day. She didn’t need to know that Roy’s gift “checks” were coming from me instead of from her father. The kids would see right through me if I bought the gifts and labeled them from him; they always picked up on that little trick. So I got them gift certificates to their favorite stores and said they were from Roy, hoping it would ease the pain of being ignored. “I think your dad is pretty busy lately. But I know he’ll send you something.”
She thought about it for a moment and in her mouse voice asked, “Does Dad ever really think about us?”
I dreaded that question, and it came up every few months. How could I answer when I didn’t know, myself? How could I possibly craft an answer that wouldn’t hurt? Miranda was vulnerable. Roy had been the world to her until he so abruptly trashed our family. “Randa, hon… your daddy went through some changes. He still loves you, even if he doesn’t show it. Someday he might be more involved in your life, but we can’t make it happen simply because we want it to.”
She rubbed her head, and when she looked at me, the loss in her eyes made my stomach ache. “Why did Daddy have to bring her into our house? Why did he do that to her in my bed? He knew I was coming home early from school!”
I rubbed my neck. The familiar twinge of a tension headache loomed at the base of my skull. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t mean to hurt you; he was trying to hurt me.” Nursing a wanton desire to beat him senseless, I again tried to neutralize the damage, but the truth was that Roy had traumatized Randa to the point of nightmares. If there was a hell, he’d burn like a torch. He’d burn as brightly as Randa’s little wicker bed had when I chopped it up with an ax and set it on fire in the front yard, along with Roy’s entire wardrobe, including his Armani suits.
She finished her pudding and pushed the bowl away. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I filled the sink with soapy water. The breakfast dishes were crusted over—we hadn’t had time to rinse them. Sometimes I enjoyed doing the dishes by hand instead of stacking them in the dishwasher. The bubbles lathered gently against my skin, giving me time to think. I began to scrub the scrambled eggs off the fr
ying pan.
Miranda grabbed the dishtowel and dried as I washed. We worked in silence until she put the last plate in the cupboard. “So you like this Andrew guy?”
I thought about it for a moment, wanting to give her an honest answer rather than some glib comeback. After a moment, I dried my hands and untied my apron. “Yes, I do, but I’m going to take it slowly. What do you think of him?”
She hung the dishtowel over the bar on the oven and grabbed a handful of cookies out of the strawberry cookie jug. Scooping up her books, she headed out of the room, stopping for a moment by the door. “He’s okay, I guess.”
As she disappeared up the back stairs to get her stuff, Kip called from the front door. His backpack in the one hand, Game Boy in the other, a sullen pout clouded his face. “I want to help. Why can’t we stay home? It’s not fair.”
“Listen, kiddo.” I knelt down so we were face-to-face. “You’re already in enough trouble, so no more complaining. First: you’ve got to earn my trust back before I’ll let you help me out again with magic. Second: I don’t trust the spirit that’s following Susan. It possessed you once already, Kipling. I won’t put you or your sister in danger.”
Kip shuffled, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “I guess I messed things up, huh?”
I pulled him to me and gave him a quick hug. “I know how much you love all of this. It’s exciting. But when you get enthusiastic, you don’t listen. You rush off half-cocked and someday you’re going to get hurt or hurt somebody else. Remember when you decided to build a volcano for science class and Miranda tried to help you with the recipe for the lava? You ignored her and turned the kitchen into a disaster area.” The hardened combination of baking soda and mud had taken me days to clean up.
He plopped himself on the bench against the foyer wall and played with one of the philodendron’s leaves. “Sly and I were supposed to camp out in the living room tonight and watch A Christmas Carol. His mom was going to make cocoa and popcorn balls.”
I ruffled his hair. “And now you’re going to miss it because you’re grounded. Kip, when you do something wrong, you have to accept responsibility for your actions. You don’t live in a vacuum—what you do affects other people. You and Miranda can watch the movie at Mrs. Trask’s, and I’ll bet she’ll make hot cocoa if you ask.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not. But everything will be okay. Next week, we’ll watch A Christmas Story here together, like we always do.” A Christmas Story was a family favorite; we watched it every year. I lifted his chin and gave him a soft smile. “We’ll go out this weekend and get a Christmas tree and decorate the mantel and light a fire and roast marshmallows.”
A ray of delight broke through his gloom, and he threw his arms around me. “Yay! I was wondering if we were ever gonna have fun again.”
I gently disengaged him and knelt down by his side. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been a very good mom for a while. Things have changed, though. I promise.”
He sniffled a little, then gave me a peck on the cheek. “It’s okay. Randa and I aren’t good at helping out, either.”
Miranda came galloping down the stairs with a book bag that was almost as big as she was. She motioned to Kip. “Come on, slowpoke, let’s get moving.” She gave me a quick hug, and they headed out the door. Ida lived just a few houses away; I didn’t need to drive them over there.
Kip waved. “See you tomorrow, Mom. Will you tell us what happens?”
I agreed. “It’s a deal. Remember, unless there’s an emergency, both of you stay right with Mrs. Trask. No going over to Sly’s or to the library or anywhere else. Have a good night and I’ll see you after school tomorrow.” As they shut the door, I leaned against the window, watching them trudge through the swirling snow. The world was so big. I hoped I was preparing them for it.
* * * *
I had an hour before Harl and Andrew were due. I jumped in the shower for a long rinse. I had finished dressing in a caftan of flowing black linen with silver threads running through the weave when the doorbell rang. I gave my hair a last brush-through and answered the door. They had come together. Andrew carried a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers. Harlow shoved a bottle of sparkling cider into my hands.
“I didn’t know what sort of hostess gifts were appropriate for a seance,” Andrew said as he helped Harl with her coat and boots. I carried the cider and candy into the living room and found a vase for the flowers. Roses, winter-white as the snow drifts outside the window. I pressed my nose into them and inhaled deeply—they had a clear scent, light and fragile. It had been a long time since a man had given me roses.
We moved the coffee table out of the way and set up a small wooden card table. I arranged a pad of paper and a pen in case Susan decided she wanted to dictate another note. Andrew suggested that we also set up a tape recorder in case somebody commandeered one of us for use as a mouthpiece. I agreed, though with a little luck and Nanna’s charm, that wouldn’t be happening again.
Andrew and Harlow joined in, first with mirth, then with a growing sense of sobriety as they realized we were actually going through with this. I set out glasses of water in case we got thirsty; it wasn’t a good idea to interrupt the flow of a seance in order to run into the kitchen for a drink. After dimming the lights, I unplugged the phone so we wouldn’t be interrupted.
“Should we use a Ouija board?” Andrew held our chairs for us as we sat down.
I nixed the idea. “I won’t allow one in the house. They attract wandering spirits, and you never know who you’re going to dial up on the great cosmic chat line.” They laughed. Good. It was important to break the tension. This was a first for both of them, so I had to keep control of the situation without making them nervous. “Okay, a lot of things might happen; the hardest part is when you hope for contact and nobody shows up. Spirits are notorious for not showing when called, but I have a hunch that Susan is hanging around. I can feel her energy.”
“If she does show up, what will you ask?” Harlow jumped up and took the gum out of her mouth. She dropped it in the wastebasket and returned to the table.
I held out a list of questions I’d written up earlier, when I had a free moment at the shop. “If there’s one thing I’ve found, it’s that you must be prepared. When the supernatural hits your doorstep, it’s way too easy to forget what you wanted to ask.” I lit the candle in the center of the table, and we joined hands. Nanna had taught me this, too, but she seldom performed the invocation of spirits except on All Souls’ Night, when we paid our respects to our dead relatives. “I’m going to invoke her like Nanna taught me, except I’ll be using English. God knows, if I tried to conjure up somebody in German, I’d probably end up with Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun and we’d be in deep shit.”
One breath. Two breaths. Lower into trance. The familiar feel of the energy swept around me and I let it engulf me, draw me under. I could feel Harlow’s nervous anticipation crackle through her fingers into mine, and Andrew was emanating a light that I hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to step in, to buoy me up with his support. He probably didn’t even know what he was doing. I rode on his energy for a moment and decided it was stable enough to rely on, though if Susan appeared, who knew whether he could keep his focus? People folded over the simplest things.
When I felt ready, I took another breath and spoke in a loud, clear voice, forcing my intent into my words. “I invoke and implore you, spirit of the night, Susan Mitchell, appear at this table and grace us with your presence. Give us a sign that you hear us.”
I waited. Nothing. Not a peep. I could feel Andrew and Harl tense, and I knew from experience that they were holding their breath. I led them in taking another slow, deep breath and repeated my request. I was almost ready to cash it in for the evening when the candle flame wavered and flared high into the air. A rush of icy wind raced through the room, dropping the temperature where we sat by a good twenty degrees.
Harlow squealed. “Oh, my God, she’s here
!”
The table began to clatter against the floor, and it took all that I had to grab hold of their hands and not let go. My first thought was earthquake, but the hairs rose along the back of my neck, and I knew that Harlow was right. Susan was here. I caught my breath, waiting. Sure enough, she wasn’t done yet. The dimmer on the light switch began to spin, first flooding the room with light and then plunging it into candlelight. Roller-coaster time—my stomach began to flip-flop and, as I gulped air to calm the stirring nausea, it dawned on me that the seance was actually working.
Cool! Nanna’s teachings had held up over the years. I hadn’t led a seance since I was a teenager, and then had called in some musty old spirit whose only request was that we leave him alone. Then, as the table continued to quiver and shake, I began to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea after all. Harlow and Andrew both looked a little green, and I knew that I was going to have to take charge. If anything too disturbing happened, they’d drop me like a hot potato and I’d go splat—no friends, no help.
“Susan, is it you? Are you here? If so, show yourself.” We’d come this far, there was no going back. A cold chill hovered over the table, and my breath filtered out from between my teeth like mist caught in a frozen tableau. The temperature had dropped again. It had to be close to thirty degrees inside the living room. The windows were beginning to ice over.
A bud vase went spinning off the shelf over the computer and crashed against the opposite wall, missing the window by a fraction of an inch. Shards of the delicate glass showered down on the carpet.
CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance Page 9
