Fixing To Die

“Do you mean to sit there and tell me you think Cliffwood really is haunted?” Miss An’gel Ducote regarded her sister with a frown.

Miss Dickce Ducote shrugged. “There’ve been stories about that house for decades, Sister. Anyway, you know Natchez is supposed to be one of the most haunted towns in the country.”

“Yes, I know,” An’gel replied with a sniff. “I just don’t ever recall hearing that Cliffwood was riddled with ghosts as you put it.” Her brow wrinkled as she paused to think. “At least I don’t remember hearing Jessamine or her husband, Marshall, ever talk about it.”

Dickce snorted. “That old goat. He was too busy running around after women to notice ghosts. How Jessy put up with him for all those years, I’ll never know.”

“Fifty years ago, women thought they had to put up with it for the sake of their sons,” An’gel said. “Not to mention that Jessy would have starved if Marshall had left her for another woman. She was one of the sweetest girls I ever knew, but she could get lost in her own closet. She’d never have kept a job.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say about an old sorority sister.” Dickce snorted with laughter. “Even if it’s true.” She laughed again.

“At least Marshall had the good sense to die before he threw away all his money; otherwise she’d have had to sell Cliffwood.”

“We’ve wandered away from the subject.” Dickce pointed to the letter An’gel held. “Mary Turner and Henry Howard Catlin are asking for our help. Even if we don’t quite believe in ghosts, Mary Turner evidently does.”

“I know.” An’gel laid the letter aside on her desk. “I suppose we could go spend a few days in Natchez and see what’s going on. I suspect there’s nothing supernatural about it. Someone’s playing tricks on them, I’d say.”

“You’re probably right,” Dickce replied. “I’m game to go ghost-hunting, and I’ll bet Benjy will get a hoot out of the whole thing.”

“No doubt,” An’gel said. Their young ward, Benjy Stephens, had a lively intelligence and a healthy curiosity, and he would enjoy seeing the antebellum treasures of Natchez, potential apparitions included. “We can’t take that for granted, however, and I wouldn’t want him to feel obliged to go if he’s uncomfortable with the idea.”

“I don’t think the idea of ghosts will faze him all that much. Besides, Peanut and Endora can help, too,” Dickce said. “Animals are supposed to be sensitive to ghosts. If there are any supernatural presences at Cliffwood, they’ll let us know.”

“Let’s hope they don’t run across any tortured spirits that need to be laid to rest.” An’gel grimaced. “I’ll call Mary Turner and tell her we’ll come on Monday. That ought to give you enough time to pack.”

Dickce rolled her eyes at her sister. “I’m not the one who has to have a different pair of shoes for every outfit I take.”

“If you wore anything other than dark colors in the autumn months, you might see the need.” An’gel reached for her cell phone. “Why don’t you go tell Benjy about the trip and see what he thinks of the idea of ghost-hunting?”

Dickce nodded and walked out of the study.

An’gel skimmed through Mary Turner’s letter again. Given the contents, she wasn’t surprised that the young woman had chosen to write a letter, rather than simply calling. An’gel appreciated having the time to think about Mary Turner’s story rather than having to respond immediately during a live conversation. She did wonder, however, why Mary Turner hadn’t e-mailed her after all. She decided she would ask during the call.

She picked up her cell phone and tapped out the number. After three rings, a high, light voice said, “Hello, Mary Turner Catlin speaking.”

An’gel identified herself. “Sister and I were discussing your letter, and of course we’d be happy to help you in any way we can.”

Before An’gel could continue, Mary Turner broke in. “Oh, Miss An’gel, bless you and Miss Dickce. Henry Howard and I are about to go stark raving mad, and we didn’t know whom else to turn to. Grandmother always said the Ducote sisters never lost their heads in a crisis, no matter what.” She paused for a moment. “And if this isn’t a crisis, I don’t know what is. We’re completely booked for Thanksgiving in two weeks, and if word gets out about this, we stand to lose a substantial amount.”

An’gel heard a strangled sob. “Your grandmother was a dear friend, and Sister and I will do our best to live up to her confidence in us. I’m sorry that you and Henry Howard are so upset by all this. There’s got to be a perfectly rational explanation behind what’s happening there.”

Mary Turner sobbed again, then choked it off. “I pray every day and night that there is, but we . . .” Her voice trailed off.

An’gel frowned. Had Mary Turner hung up? Or had her darn cell phone dropped the call? She waited a moment for Mary Turner to come back on the line, but when she didn’t, An’gel ended the call. After about ten seconds she called again. Mary Turner answered immediately.