“I felt it, too,” Dickce said. “While An’gel was in the powder room.”
“Really?” Mary Turner looked at Henry Howard. “I told you so.”
Before Henry Howard could respond, Primrose Pace spoke from the doorway.
“I felt it, too,” she said as she advanced into the room. “I must warn you that the spirit causing this is an unhappy one, and if you don’t put it to rest, you could be in great danger, Mrs. Catlin.”
CHAPTER 5
Does the woman always have to make a dramatic entrance? An’gel wondered, then decided, Of course she does. Part of her stock-in-trade.
“Do you have any idea who this angry spirit is, Mrs. Pace?” An’gel asked after a glance at Mary Turner. The young woman appeared to be in shock after the medium’s announcement.
Mrs. Pace inclined her head a mere fraction. “Not as yet. She—and I’m pretty sure it’s she—isn’t willing to communicate that at the moment.” She paused—for more dramatic effect, An’gel was convinced—then continued in dark tones, “Sometimes the spirits have to be coaxed. We have to treat this one gently if we want her to confide in us.”
“Is that the royal we you’re using?” Henry Howard asked, his tone barely polite. “Do you mean confide in you?”
Mrs. Pace shrugged. “Spirits are capricious. This one could decide to reveal itself to anyone it wanted to. Although I must say I am usually the person they choose.”
“Naturally,” Henry Howard said.
He wasn’t taking any trouble to hide his hostility, An’gel thought, somewhat puzzled by his attitude. She had thought him more open-minded than this, though perhaps his behavior resulted from the strain he and Mary Turner had been experiencing in recent weeks. After a moment’s further reflection, An’gel put it down to that and resolved that she and Dickce would do their best to put an end to these manifestations or whatever they were. If Mrs. Pace turned out to be a hindrance, then An’gel would personally get her out the door.
Mary Turner cleared her throat and took a sip of water. Setting the glass aside, she said, “All I know is, if there is an unfriendly spirit in this house, I want it out as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure I can help you,” Mrs. Pace said.
Henry Howard snorted but made no other comment. Mrs. Pace didn’t appear in the least bothered by his attitude.
“Won’t you join us?” Mary Turner indicated the empty chair to her right. “If you would like lunch, I will ask the housekeeper to prepare a plate for you.”
Mrs. Pace took her place. “No, thank you, I’m fine.” She glanced around the table. “Please, continue with the discussion of the strange events going on here. I need as much information as possible in order to cleanse the house of any lingering spirits.”
Mary Turner began to list the types of occurrences and their frequency, and Mrs. Pace focused her gaze on her hostess’s face. When Mary Turner mentioned the problems with their cell phones, the medium frowned briefly, An’gel noted with interest.
Was that not something the medium had encountered before? An’gel wondered.
Mrs. Pace said, “Besides the cold spot on the stairs, the lightbulbs, and the interference with the electronics, have there been any other unexplained things happening?”
An’gel decided to mention the odd shadow she had seen earlier. “Right after we arrived,” she began, “while I was waiting in the hallway for my turn in the powder room, I happened to glance up the stairs. I saw a shadow that looked vaguely human in form. I thought it might be Henry Howard’s, actually. I called out to him, but there was no response, other than that the shadow simply vanished.”
“It moved away?” Mary Turner asked.
“No, it was there one moment and gone the next,” An’gel said. “There was no movement, more like a light suddenly switched off, if you see what I mean.”
“That is really interesting,” Mrs. Pace said, her gaze intent on An’gel’s face. “Did you feel a sense of menace, or sense the presence of another being anywhere near you?”
An’gel thought for a moment. “Can’t recall that I did. Only that shadow. I certainly didn’t feel the cold the way Dickce did. Do you think that whatever cast the shadow is also the source of the cold?”
“It’s certainly possible,” Mrs. Pace replied. “Some spirits can manifest themselves in more than one way.”
“Where were you when this happened?” Mary Turner addressed the question to her husband.
“In one of the bedrooms changing the lightbulbs,” he said.
“Did you see anything, or anyone, upstairs that could have cast a shadow?” Mary Turner said, still focused on Henry Howard.
He shook his head. “No, not a thing. As far as I know, I was the only person upstairs at the time.”
“Mrs. Catlin, have you observed this shadow for yourself? Or you, Mr. Catlin?” The medium glanced at them in turn.
Henry Howard shook his head. “I haven’t.”
“I haven’t either,” Mary Turner said. “Is it significant that Miss An’gel is the only one who has seen it?”
An’gel was wondering the same thing herself, now that she knew no one else had seen it.
“It could very well be important,” Mrs. Pace said after a brief silence. “I will have to consult my own spirit guides and ask their advice on this. Now, to finish the original subject of my question. Are these all the strange things that have happened?”
“No,” Mary Turner said. “I find things moved from their accustomed places almost every day.”
“What kind of things?” An’gel asked.
“Knickknacks, vases, pictures, things on shelves around the house,” Mary Turner replied.
“Don’t forget about the dictionary,” Henry Howard said.
“Dictionary?” Dickce asked. “What does it do, fly around the room?”
An’gel threw her sister a quelling look. Dickce was a little too flippant sometimes.
Mary Turner smiled briefly. “No, it doesn’t fly. It never leaves its place. We have it open in the library on one of those old-fashioned book stands. As long as I can remember, it’s been open to the same page, because now if I want to look up a word, I do it online.”
Henry Howard said, “But now it’s on a different page every day, sometimes two or three times a day. This only started happening last week, after we closed down for our annual holiday.” He snorted. “Some holiday.”
“That’s wild,” Benjy said. “There’s no draft from anywhere that could cause the pages to turn, is there?”
“No, there’s isn’t,” Henry Howard replied. “We thought of that. It’s not near a window or a vent, so either someone is sneaking into the house and turning the pages, or else this place really is haunted.”
“Do spirits often do things like this?” An’gel addressed her question to Mrs. Pace.
“Oh, my, yes,” Mrs. Pace said. “Generally when they are trying to get a message of some kind across.” She turned toward Henry Howard. “Have you made a note of the particular pages when they change? If I could look at the ones selected, I might be able to decipher the message.”
An’gel was not surprised when Henry Howard laughed in response. His reaction was consistent with his attitude so far.
“I’ve got way too much to do as it is,” he said, “without having to keep track of ghost messages. Sorry, can’t help you, but you’re welcome to start keeping track if you want.”
The way Mary Turner glowered at her husband, An’gel figured Henry Howard was in for a dressing-down when Mary Turner got him alone.
Mrs. Pace rose from the table. “Thank you all. You’ve given me a great deal of helpful information. Now I think I will retire to my room and attempt to contact my guides.” She glanced down at her hostess. “I will speak with you later if I have information to share.” She nodded briefly at the rest of the company and then moved in sta
tely fashion from the room.
“She sure puts on a good show,” Dickce said. “And maybe she knows what she’s talking about.”
“She might,” An’gel said. “I reserve judgment for now. My dear,” she said to Mary Turner, “I think I would like to rest awhile myself, if you don’t mind. Which room am I in?”
“The French room,” Mary Turner said. “Miss Dickce is next down the hall in the yellow room, with the bathroom you will share between. Is that all right?”
“Certainly,” An’gel replied, and Dickce echoed her.
“The French room is my favorite,” An’gel said. “I feel honored to have it. I know it was your grandmother’s favorite.”
Mary Turner smiled. “Yes, she loved that room. Henry Howard, I thought Benjy and the animals would be more comfortable in the annex. Would you mind showing him his room? Number three.”
Henry Howard rose from the table. “Sure thing. Come on, Benjy. I think you’ll like it out there. Quiet, for one thing, and no weird crap going on.”
“That sounds good,” Benjy said. “I always get a little bit of a headache when I drive a long way, and a few minutes of quiet will help me get rid of it.”
Despite his headache, Benjy somehow managed to look both relieved and disappointed at the news of his lodging in the annex, An’gel was amused to see. She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to any ghostly visits, though she was curious to see what would happen. She might well want a room in the annex herself if things got too spooky in the house, she reckoned.
She and Dickce rose from the table and followed Mary Turner into the hall. Henry Howard and Benjy disappeared into the kitchen, where they would collect Peanut and Endora before heading on to the annex behind the house.
An’gel ran her hand along the banister rail as she climbed the stairs beside Mary Turner. Dickce trailed behind. An’gel glanced up and was relieved not to see an odd shadow ahead of them. She stepped into the upstairs hall and followed her young hostess to the front bedroom on the right. She waited until Mary Turner opened the door, then stepped inside.
The room had earned its name because of its furnishings and decor. As An’gel recalled it, one of Mary Turner’s ancestors had fitted out the room for his youngest sister, who had a passion for all things French. All the furniture had been imported from France at considerable cost not long before the Civil War started, and a down-on-her-luck Frenchwoman from New Orleans had supervised the decoration. An’gel felt she stepped into the past when she walked into this room.
The bed, made of French walnut, had a headboard and footboard with engraved and studded brass panels. The finials were of bronze. The large oak wardrobe had a similar design to that of the engraved bed panels. The commode or chest of drawers that stood beneath the west-facing window was, to An’gel, the prize piece of the collection. Made of ebony with brass and tortoiseshell inlaid marquetry, it was stunning. An’gel also knew that it was valuable, and should Mary Turner ever consider selling it, she could realize a healthy price for it.
There were a few family pictures on the walls, and objects on various surfaces that gave the room a definitely feminine touch. Some of the objects, like a pair of blue Opaline crystal Baccarat vases and an eighteenth-century Meissen shepherdess, had been in the family for generations, An’gel knew.
Her bags stood on the floor near the foot of the bed. An’gel turned to Mary Turner and gave her a quick hug. “I do love this room. Thank you again.”
“It’s the most beautiful room in the house,” Dickce said, not without envy.
“I’m so pleased you’re happy with it.” Mary Turner paused, and An’gel thought she looked uncomfortable. “I have to be honest with you, though.”
“About what, my dear?” An’gel asked.
“This room,” Mary Turner said.
When she didn’t continue, An’gel said, “Come on now. Out with it. What is it you’re afraid to tell me?”
Mary Turner took a deep breath and let it out. “This is the room where things keep moving around. I come in here at least once a day, and every time, something has moved.”
CHAPTER 6
An’gel felt an odd flutter in her stomach at Mary Turner’s words. “Is this the only room where things are moved around?”
“Well, no,” Mary Turner replied. “It’s happened a couple of times in other bedrooms and in the library and the front parlor.”
“More often in here, though?” Dickce moved to stand beside An’gel as they both regarded their young hostess.
Mary Turner nodded. “Pretty much every day. I’m sorry, I really wasn’t thinking clearly about this. I should have told you before bringing you up here. If you’d rather be in another room or out in the annex, I understand.”
An’gel considered it for a moment. What would she do if she woke up during the night and found objects being moved around the room? Her heart was strong, despite her age, but was it strong enough for that?
“How about if I stay in here with you?” Dickce said.
An’gel glanced at her sister. Beneath the determination she read in Dickce’s expression, she also saw unease. She knew Dickce would fulfill her offer if requested, but she didn’t want her sister to feel she had to. “No, that’s not necessary. I will stay here on my own.”
“We brought mace,” Dickce added. “In case the spirits turn out to be human, they’ll get a face full of it. Then a bonk on the head with the big flashlights we also brought.”
Mary Turner smiled. “I think you’ll both be okay. I’ve been checking this room last thing at night and first thing in the morning, and only once did I find something—one of the Baccarat vases, actually—moved during the night. The activity seems to happen during the day.”
“That’s interesting,” An’gel said. “That inclines me to think that human hands are doing it. Someone sneaking in during the day to do these things but without access at night.”
“Who has access during the day?” Dickce said. “Besides you, Henry Howard, and Marcelline.”
“When we’re not closed, the front door is unlocked all the time until ten p.m. so guests can come and go, and for new arrivals to come check in.” Mary Turner frowned. “We used to always keep it locked when we closed down for our holiday, but I guess we haven’t been vigilant about it. We leave it unlocked so often it’s hard to remember to lock it. We do lock the doors at night, though.”
“I think it would be a good idea, until we get this situation sorted out,” An’gel said, “to make sure the front and back doors and all the windows are kept locked at all times. The more difficult you make it for whoever is behind all this, the sooner we can figure it out.”
“Unless that person has a key,” Dickce said. “Have you ever had the locks on the doors changed?”
Mary Turner looked blank for a moment. “I think my parents did that when they started the bed-and-breakfast, because the locks were so old-fashioned. That was a few years before I was born. I know Henry Howard and I haven’t had them changed since we took over.”
“There’s no telling then how many keys could have been lost or given out over the years. I think it’s likely that the perpetrator of these manifestations has a key and comes and goes how he likes.” An’gel actually felt better now that they knew this because it made human agency all the more likely.
“We’ll get the locks changed tomorrow,” Mary Turner said. “We should have thought of this before now. I feel pretty stupid, frankly.”
Dickce patted the young woman’s arm. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, my dear. We all get comfortable in our routines and don’t always think how those routines could be working to our disadvantage. You know what to do now.”
“Thanks to you two,” Mary Turner said. “I feel better already.” She gave Dickce a quick peck on the cheek. “Let me show you to your room now, and Miss An’gel can get settled and
rest a little.” She turned and headed out of the room, and Dickce, after a last glance at An’gel, followed her.
An’gel stood in place for a moment, then bestirred herself to close the door. Such simple things, keys, she thought. It would be interesting to see what happened after new locks were installed. An’gel was willing to bet the manifestations would cease abruptly. With that, she decided she wouldn’t mind at all spending the night in this room.
She looked at her suitcases, then at the bed. She really ought to unpack and hang things up, but suddenly she felt too tired. They’d had an early start this morning, and long drives always tired her. Not to mention the rather heavy lunch she had enjoyed. She elected for a brief nap over unpacking and slipped out of her dress. She laid it over the back of a chair before she pulled a nightgown from one of her bags and put it on.
The bedcoverings and linens, she noted with approval, were modern. The bedspread might look like an antique but that was as far as it went. She made herself comfortable in the bed and, not long after her head hit the pillow, dozed off.
When she awoke later and checked her watch, she saw that nearly ninety minutes had passed. She pushed aside the covers and sat up on the side of the bed. After a couple of yawns and a little stretching, she pulled off her nightgown, folded it, and placed it under the pillow. Then she got up from the bed and padded over to the commode, over which a mirror hung. Her hair needed attention, of course, but a few strokes of the brush would put it to rights. She turned away to find her handbag, intent on fixing her hair. Where had she put it?
Oh, there it is, on the floor beside the suitcase. She started to reach for her handbag, then froze in place.
The dress she had carefully draped across the back of the chair before she got into bed now lay across the suitcase instead.
A knock at her door startled her out of her inertia. “Just a moment,” she called out. Hastily she grabbed the dress and slipped it on. “Come in.”
The door opened to admit Dickce. She stopped briefly after two steps into the room, then hurried over to An’gel. “What’s wrong, Sister? You’re as pale as those sheets on the bed.”
Fixing to Die Page 4
