"Not exactly," Mr. Pfeiffer says. "She actually made Xander the Doll and gave him to Robert as protection. From what, our historic documents don't show. All we know is that Althea was accused of making charmed objects that enchanted the children to the point where they were uncontrollable by the parents. Shortly after Reconstruction, Althea tragically was lynched by ... someone."
"Sorry, but I don't believe all this voodoo crap," Kyle states.
"Language, son," Mr. Pfeiffer snaps.
"Sorry."
Molten heat emits from the glass case, almost like the summer sun radiating off the hot pavement. Invisible waves of energy surround this figurine. I bet if we had an electromagnetic field detector, it would be registering off the charts right now.
"Is this a voodoo doll of the boy Robert?" I ask.
"As I said," Mr. Pfeiffer continues, "it is thought that Althea made him as protection for Robert, but it seemed that over the years, as Robert grew older, all sorts of strange incidents and accidents occurred. Xander the Doll was often blamed for wreaking the havoc and destruction. Nothing could ever prove the doll was animated, yet people swore it was."
"How did Xander the Doll come to be in your possession?" Patrick asks, obviously as fascinated as I am.
"The Farnsworth family's last heir donated the property, including the house and all of its items, to the Radisson Historical Society. In fact, our office is based at Farnsworth House, right on Main Street, but we don't allow visitors anymore. Xander the Doll was in a trunk in the attic and so we moved him to a chair in what was thought to be the room Robert shared with his brothers. People with the historical society would often find Xander the Doll in different locations in the house, never in the chair. About twenty years ago, he was placed in this protective case."
"To keep him from wandering around?" Sean asks with a snicker.
"To keep him preserved," Mr. Pfeiffer corrects.
I'm itching to do some psychometry on this doll. "May I hold him, Mr. Pfeiffer?" I ask politely, hoping that will get me what I want.
"I'm afraid not, dear. No one is allowed to touch Xander. He doesn't like it."
Sean, Jim, and Dragon can't hold in their laughter.
"Dude! It's a frickin' doll!" Dragon exclaims.
"And you need to respect history and folklore, young man," Mr. Pfeiffer states.
Celia steps up to the squat man, towering over him. "Hey, Mr. Pfeiffer, can the ghost huntresses do an investigation at Farnsworth House? That would be totally awesome!"
"I'm afraid not."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?" I ask before Celia can.
"Because it's private property."
"Your offices are in there," Becca says.
"Our offices are in an addition off to the side of the house. The rest of the property is kept up by a gardener and a housekeeper who are paid through a trust from what's left of the Farnsworth estate. We merely oversee it."
"What's the point of having a historical society in a historic building if you don't take advantage of it?" Celia asks, frustration flowing from her.
I know the answer, though, clearly reading each bead of sweat on Mr. Pfeiffer's face. He's not afraid of the house or what historical facts it might render. He's afraid of Xander the Doll. The house is Xander's, and Mr. Pfeiffer doesn't want to do anything to anger the doll.
If only I could get my hands on Xander.
Doesn't look like that's a possibility.
Pfeiffer's being stubborn.
Pfeiffer's being superstitious.
And I'm being curious. I've never felt such a pulsating vibe from an object before.
There's definitely something to the folklore of Xander the Doll.
Do you think it has a voodoo curse?
I wouldn't know.
How could I have been in Radisson this long and not known about this legend?
He's protected. Hidden away. Besides, no one here picks up things like we do. Let it go, Kendall. Write your history report and forget about Xander.
If I can...
Farah raises her camera in front of her, centering Xander the Doll on the display screen. "Oh, I need a picture of this."
Mr. Pfeiffer holds up his hand. "Again, I wouldn't do that if I were you, miss. Xander does not like to have his picture taken. People who have snapped his photo in the past have had very bad luck follow them. Some say they're even cursed."
"Listen to him, Farah," I say.
"It may be so," Celia agrees.
Farah scoffs at him, her green eyes blazing with disbelief. "Oh, you're kidding me. I don't believe in any of that stuff." She starts to take a picture again, but Courtney, of all people, stops her.
"What?" Farah asks.
"Don't do it," Courtney says in a ghostly whisper.
"Why not? It's just a picture."
"Don't mess around with this stuff, Farah. Believe me. I know what I'm talking about." Courtney should know. We ghost huntresses had to rid her of a spirit oppression that had taken up residence inside her because she was dabbling with something she knew nothing about. We never told anyone about Courtney's oppression, and to this day, I'm not sure who else knows. But it's good that Miss Popularity and Head Cheerleader is trying to be the voice of reason.
Farah hugs her friend and laughs. "Girlfriend, you're talking crazy. It's just a picture. Besides, I can't turn in my photographic history assignment without this crazy-ass doll."
She lifts her camera again and takes a couple of pictures as she laughs. Sharp daggers of pain punch me behind the eye sockets as I watch the flash hit the glass. Patrick grabs me to hold me up. He winces too at the next flash.
Next thing I know, Sean, Jim, and Dragon jump into Farah's picture. Sean poses all gangsta-like, and Jim gives the Hawaiian hang-loose sign. Dragon waggles his tongue while trying to look all tough. Farah just giggles and continues to snap photo after photo.
There's movement behind the glass.
Did Xander just move?
No, but the bear dropped from his arm.
"Honestly, y'all," Courtney begs. "Stop it. Seriously. Be cool."
I swear I saw Xander move. He blinked.
Patrick snickers. His eyes are buttons.
His eyes are real.
He's totally sneering.
Celia steps between the photo session and the raggedy doll. "Don't you think that's enough?"
Farah and Sean give Celia an army salute and collapse laughing. "Come on, y'all," Farah says. "Let's go ride the Ferris wheel."
Courtney looks back at me with worry in her usually confident eyes. I nod in return. There's not really anything we can do now. Teens will be teens, as they say. She trudges off to join the rest of her clique.
I reach for Patrick's hand and squeeze tightly as I glance over at Xander the Doll. The bear is back in his arm. No idea how that happened. Maybe I didn't really see it drop in the first place. Who knows anymore?
"So, what happens now, Mr. Pfeiffer?" Celia asks.
He lifts his shoulders. "No one ever believes a curse until something happens to him." Then he laughs it off. "It's just a good story, kids. Don't look so somber."
"It's sort of in our makeup to be that way," Celia explains.
Becca, Shelby-Nichole, and I all nod.
"You really won't let us investigate Farnsworth House?" Celia asks, taking one more shot.
"There's no reason to, young lady. I guarantee you it's not haunted."
"Oh, sir," Celia says, "you'd be surprised how little isn't haunted in Radisson." She pulls something from her pocket. "Here's my card, in case you change your mind. Or in case things start happening that are attributed to Xander."
Mr. Pfeiffer chuckles hard and holds his large belly in a Santa-like pose. "I'm sure your friends will be fine. Xander the Doll's story is just a myth, nothing more. Something good to roll out for the county fair and help students with a history assignment."
Famous last words.
Patrick and I sha
re a knowing glance.
Something will indeed happen.
Chapter Five
I DIDN'T GET MUCH SLEEP LAST NIGHT thanks to the sugar rush from way too much cotton candy and the major ick factor I got from Xander the Doll.
Something just ain't right with the toy.
"Good morning, sunshine," Loreen says to me as I walk into Divining Woman ten minutes before noon on Saturday. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea."
She squints her eyes at me and focuses. "Bad carnival food and an encounter with the paranormal."
I set down my purse, chai tea, and car keys and plop into a chair next to a small table in back. "Now that doesn't take a psychic to figure out."
I fill her in on Xander the Doll, how my friends blew off the warning, how concerned I am over what might happen, and how my over-carbohydrated stomach rebelled and kept me awake most of the night.
"And I'm supposed to have this awesome, romantic evening with Patrick and I'm going to look like the star of Night of the Living Dead."
Loreen giggles and comes over to give me a hug from behind. "Don't worry, Kendall. Patrick and Mass were up until all hours of the morning talking philosophy and religion, playing guitar—did you know Mass played?—and making omelets."
I suppress a weak laugh. "Seriously? I mean, I can see everything but the cooking part. Father Mass is a chef?"
A twinkle comes to Loreen's eyes. "The man does know how to make a mean breakfast."
"Loreen! He's a man of the cloth!"
Her mouth drops open. "Kendall Moorehead! I was not insinuating—"
The laughter bubbles out now, bringing me to life like I've had a whole carton of 5-Hours. "Oh, you most certainly were insinuating."
She purses her lips and then returns to the front counter. She shouts, "Just do some tarot-card readings, why don't you?"
I'm still chuckling when I hear my phone buzzing and glance down. I don't recognize the number, so I let it go to voice mail. When I check the message, I almost fall out of my chair.
"Umm ... yes, Miss Ghost Huntress? This is, umm, James Pendergrass. I e-mailed your website about the"—his voice lowers to a whisper, as if he doesn't want someone to hear—"the haunted sandwich in my house." Oh, for heaven's sake! "The sandwich has now sprouted arms and legs and is walking around my house. The ghost sandwich is—"
I press 9 as hard as I can to delete this message. This guy is insane. I can't handle it right now.
The overhead bell tinkles as the door opens. It's Mayor Shy.
"Hey, Loreen! Hey, Kendall, do you have time for a quick reading?"
"Is everything okay at your house?" My team cleaned out a pretty mean spirit not long ago. I'd hate to hear that paranormal activity has started up again.
She waves me off. "Fine, fine, fine ... I'm more concerned about my love life right now, if you know what I mean." She winks at me from behind her glasses.
"Sure, I can give you a reading. Have a seat."
"Let me just use your facilities first."
"You know where it is," Loreen says.
My BlackBerry buzzes again and I suspect it's Patrick waking up after his all-nighter with Father Mass to tell me what we're doing this afternoon and tonight. Only it's not a 404 area code; it's coming from 314. My psychic senses inform me quickly that it's a call from St. Louis. With all that's been going on with schoolwork, Patrick in town, Xander the Doll, and everything, I'd almost forgotten about Andi Caminiti.
"Hi, Ms. Caminiti," I say timidly, not quite believing she'd call me on purpose.
There's silence for a moment. "Hi, Kendall."
Another long pause follows, then she finally breaks the quiet. "Look, I've been thinking a lot about your visit. I apologize for being so rude and dismissive to you, it's just that—"
"Oh, no, ma'am," I say, interrupting. "I know that was, like, totally weird, Mom and me just showing up out of the blue like that. We only thought if we told you the purpose of our visit beforehand, you wouldn't agree to see us. We're the ones who are sorry."
I know she's smiling into the phone. "You're quite the polite young lady."
"Well, yeah. I was raised right."
I grip my cell phone harder as she talks. "It's just that I haven't thought of Andy in a while. I mean really thought about him and the possibilities of what happened to him. I think in the back of my mind, I've always believed what one psychic told me: he joined the merchant marines and has been sailing around the world for the last seventeen years."
"It would be easier to trust that he's still alive."
She's crying now. "He'll always be alive in my heart. You don't grow up like we did—so close, sharing everything—and just accept that the other person is gone for good."
I think about the people I've lost—my Grandma Ethel and my real mother, Emily. I didn't have nearly enough time with either of them. Grandma Ethel died suddenly, while she was cooking dinner one night. We didn't even get to say goodbye to her. And Emily ... Emily who'd been with me my whole life, only I couldn't see or feel her until my psychic awakening here in Radisson. Tears burn my corneas as I think about how she faded away from me at the point when we'd really found each other. After all, there's no bond stronger than a mother and her child. A bond I would never know with the woman who gave me life. I can understand Andi's connection with her brother.
I swipe my hand under my eyes and sniffle. "I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Caminiti. I know it has to be hard for you."
She sniffs too, and in my mind's eye, I see her dabbing her nose with a Kleenex. "My entire family gave up hope that Andy was still alive. My father died not knowing what happened to his son, and my mother got so wrapped up in the social scene of St. Louis that she wouldn't even talk to me about the possibilities of what happened to my brother. She's no longer with us either. And then I had to mull over the idea that my brother had fathered a child."
A child. Kind of cold when said child is moi.
"I understand" is all I can mutter.
Mayor Shy returns from the ladies' room and sees that I'm on my phone. Although I'm slumped in my chair, I hold up my index finger and she moves over to where Loreen stands. Now they're both watching me with great interest. So much for privacy. I don't mind, though. Loreen is family.
Andi's voice crackles over the phone line. "I've been thinking of you and I'm quite struck by the idea that Andy may have had a child ... with Emily."
I bolt upright from my hunched position. "So you did know about Emily!"
"I hadn't met her, but she was all that Andy talked about. He was crazy about her."
"She was pretty cool," I say. "I mean, as ghosts go."
I'm sure Andi's digesting that. "No one in the family knew her name. No one other than me, that is. So when you tell me about Emily, I have to assume you have some of these psychic abilities you claim to have."
The cell phone pressed against my ear is emitting so much heat that I'm sweating. Or maybe that's just my nerves. "Trust me. This whole psychic thing is totally new to me. I'm still learning to deal with it."
"I'm sure it can't be easy."
"No, ma'am." I pause and then add, "And neither is not knowing who my father is, or was."
A long sigh sounds out. "I've been thinking about it, Kendall, and I'll agree to it."
"To what?"
"To the DNA testing to see if we're related. Andy was my twin, so we're bound to have similar strands in the old double helix, right?"
Smiling into the phone, I say, "I suppose. I'm not that good in science."
Soft amusement sings out to me. "He wasn't either." Then she tacks on, "I do have a bonus, Kendall."
"Yeah?"
I'm visualizing Andi sitting on the couch in her condo in St. Louis. It's a loft with a lot of open space, white furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and long, flowing sheer white curtains. She's got a tattered yellow-satin-covered book on her lap. Then the vision breaks as she continues.
"It turns out that when Andy and I
were little tykes, we got into a fight that included my snagging a handful of my brother's hair."
"Ouch!"
"His words exactly," Andi says. "The thing is, the hair came out roots and all. Mother put it in a zip-lock bag and taped it in our baby book with the heading 'Andy's first haircut.'"
"Awww, that's so cute," I say, rocking back in my chair.
"It's not only cute but very important, Kendall. There should be enough of Andy's DNA on those hair follicles to test."
My eyes look like the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, gushing with my thankfulness and hopefulness. "I-I-I ... can't thank you enough f-f-f-for believing me enough to try."
"It'll take weeks, Kendall. But we'll get it done. I'll call Sarah and make the arrangements."
"Thanks, Andi. I'll never forget this."
Another pause. "Let's just take it one step at a time, Kendall."
"You bet."
We say our goodbyes and I collapse onto the tarot-card table in exhausted yet relieved tears; I might be on the right path to finding my paternity. I hear the footsteps of Mayor Shy and Loreen as they pad over to me.
Through a sheen of tears, I gaze up at Loreen and smile. She places a hand on my shoulder and she ... knows. She's aware of everything that just transpired.
She smiles so sweetly at me. "You've found your family, Kendall."
After the phone call with Andi Caminiti, the weekend flies by in a blur. Patrick and I hang with Celia, Clay, Dragon, and Becca at the bowling alley on Saturday night before returning to my house for a make-out session on the front-porch swing. Well, until Buckley and Eleanor decided to chase after each other and use the swing as an interstate in their fur war.
True to her word, Mom made Yankee pot roast on Sunday and filled Patrick's tummy so full you would have thought it was Thanksgiving at the Mooreheads'. My parents like him, though. I can tell. Must be all his military living and the sirs and ma'ams that he sprinkles in his conversation. Whatever it is, I'm happy.
Until six thirty comes and Patrick's Kia is packed with his guitar, duffle, and a to-go box from Mom for his forty-five-minute-long trip north to Duluth.
I hurl myself at him, hugging him as tightly as I possibly can. "I wish you lived here."
Ghost Huntress 5 - The Discovery Page 4
