Fixing To Die

Mrs. Pace nodded. “Yes, I do. That was definitely a feminine energy that passed through me. Now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I really must find the kitchen. After that experience, I need food and drink to renew my energy.”

Dickce pointed the way to the kitchen, and Mrs. Pace strode purposefully down the hall. An’gel waited until the medium was out of earshot before she turned to her sister. “What did you think of that? Performance? Or an actual supernatural episode?”

“At first I thought it had to be real.” Dickce shrugged. “Her expression when she stopped and then suddenly sat down hard on the stairs, well, she seemed utterly surprised. But if this is her business, then I figure she must be quite an accomplished actress.”

“You were standing nearer the stairs than I was,” An’gel said. “Did you feel any cold?”

“No.” Dickce frowned. “I was several feet away from where Mrs. Pace was on the staircase, so I don’t suppose there’s a reason I would have felt anything.”

An’gel wasn’t so sure. Could the spirit—if indeed it was a spirit—hold its essence so close as not to be felt more than a few inches away from the person it enveloped? If only they had a trustworthy authority on these things that they could consult. She dredged her memories to come up with a name but couldn’t.

Maybe there was an expert in Natchez. Mary Turner might know, An’gel thought, and decided to ask her soon. Surely, given the fact that Natchez was alleged to be so haunted, there had to be someone around who was knowledgeable.

An’gel shared these thoughts with her sister, and Dickce nodded. “Excellent idea. The only things I know about the occult are what I’ve read in fiction.”

“Yes,” An’gel said. “Me, too, since we read many of the same authors. Too bad we can’t call up Carolyn Haines or Charlaine Harris to ask them their opinions.”

“Or Carolyn Hart,” Dickce added. “I love her ghost series, and at least her ghost is nice.”

An’gel laughed. “They’d probably think we were crazy if we did manage to find their phone numbers and called them up out of the blue, asking for advice.”

Dickce giggled in response. “I’m sure they’d be nice to us, but you’re right, they might wonder how we got loose long enough to get to a phone.”

An’gel felt better after this brief interlude of humor. She had begun to feel somewhat oppressed by the burden of the task they had agreed to take on. Chasing ghosts, at my age. She almost snorted at the thought, but when a friend needed help, what could you do?

“What next?” Dickce pulled An’gel out of her reverie. “Keep looking through the house?”

“Yes,” An’gel replied, though she had already begun to tire of the search.

The front doorbell interrupted them before they could continue their survey.

“Should we answer it, do you think?” Dickce asked.

“Probably best to let Mary Turner or Henry Howard do it,” An’gel said, “in case it’s someone looking for a room. Let’s go back in the library and look further.”

She turned to head toward the library, with Dickce behind her, and the doorbell sounded again. “Certainly impatient, whoever it is.” An’gel paused. “Maybe we should answer it. I don’t think anyone else is coming.”

The caller began knocking on the door, sounding louder and louder with every strike. An’gel frowned, annoyed at the person. She strode toward the door and swung it open to confront the caller.

A young woman, her hand raised to strike again, pulled back in time to avoid hitting An’gel, who noted the woman’s petulant expression without sympathy. There had been no reason she could see for this person to bang on the door like a drunken sailor.

“Good afternoon,” An’gel said, her tone barely civil to her own ears. “May I help you?”

The young woman, who An’gel judged to be in her mid-twenties, had attractive features, though at present marred by a scowl.

“You can stand aside and let us come in,” the young woman said, her tone haughty. “You look a little old to be the housekeeper, you know.”

“I am not the housekeeper,” An’gel said over the sounds of her sister’s smothered laughter somewhere behind her. “I’m a guest of the owners, if you must know.” She continued to block the rude young woman from entry.

The stranger shrugged. “Well, how nice for you. You’re still standing in the way.”

“So I am,” An’gel replied. “You haven’t stated your business here, and until I know why you’re here, I’m not going to move.”

“Get this old biddy,” the stranger said over her shoulder.

For the first time An’gel noticed a handsome blond man, probably twenty years older than the woman, standing a few feet behind his companion. He stepped forward.

“Our apologies, ma’am,” he said, his voice husky. He smelled faintly of cigars and brandy, and An’gel decided he was well on his way to being fully lit. “My client happens to be under considerable stress at the moment. Normally she’s not this discourteous.” He stared hard at the young woman, as if willing her to apologize.