Fixing To Die

“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 stately 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.”