Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

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.”

An’gel realized her pulse was racing, and she needed to slow down her heartbeat. She moved to the chair and eased herself into it. After a couple of deep breaths, she said, “I’ll tell you in a moment. Let me get ahold of myself.”

“All right, but you’re worrying me.” Dickce stood by the chair and patted An’gel’s shoulder.

An’gel smiled at her sister. “Sorry to worry you, but I had a shock right before you knocked on the door.”

“What happened?” Dickce asked.

“I put my dress across this chair before I lay down for a nap,” An’gel said. Her pulse quickened again as she recalled the moment of discovery she was about to relate to her sister. “I was looking for my handbag, and that’s when I saw my dress, draped over the suitcase.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Dickce clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at An’gel in dismay. She stumbled to the bed and sat on the edge, still regarding her sister. “That’s creepy.”

“It certainly is.” An’gel’s tone was grim. “Someone came into my room while I was asleep and deliberately moved my dress in order to frighten me.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“No, I didn’t.” An’gel nearly snapped the words out. “I would have woken up if I’d heard anything. Whoever it was managed to do it without alerting me.”

Dickce’s gaze swept the room. She got up from the bed and walked back to the door. She swung it back and forth on its hinges. There was no noticeable sound. “That explains part of it. These doors are kept well oiled. Mine doesn’t make a sound either.”

“Not like the doors upstairs at Riverhill,” An’gel remarked. “We really should oil them, but the only time I think about it is at night when I’m ready to go to bed.” She laughed suddenly. “We’re getting away from the main point. Someone is trying to send a message, obviously, by coming in and moving my dress.”

“What do you mean, a message?” Dickce went back to the bed and resumed her former perch.

“The gauntlet has been flung down,” An’gel replied.

Dickce nodded. “I see what you mean. The person behind all this isn’t worried about you being here.”

“Exactly.” An’gel’s expression turned fierce. “And exactly the wrong tactic to use on me. It’s really childish, when you think about it.”

“Yes, and it was definitely a risk,” Dickce said. “Anyone might have come along—besides you and me, that is—and spotted the perpetrator going in or coming out of your room.”

An’gel nodded. “We’re not going to say a word about this to anyone.”

“Why not?” Dickce asked.

“I think it will be interesting to act like nothing happened,” An’gel replied.

“Do you think someone in the house did it? Or someone who got into the house?”

“Could be either,” An’gel said. “I don’t think it was a spirit, though. A human being did this.”

“I agree,” Dickce said. “Though I suppose we can’t rule out a ghost completely.”

An’gel snorted. “Maybe you can’t, but I’m going to, until we get strong evidence to the contrary.” She pushed up from the chair. “I’m going to see about my hair, then I need to visit the bathroom. Are you ready to go downstairs?”

“Yes, but what’s the plan?”

“I want to look over the house,” An’gel said. “It’s been a few years since we last visited, and it won’t hurt to refresh our memories.”

“Good idea. I’ll meet you downstairs, then, in the hall.” Dickce got up from the bed and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

An’gel attended to her hair and spent several minutes fussing with it until she was happy with the result. She checked her lipstick and decided it needed to be refreshed. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she started for the door. Her glance fell on her luggage, and she stopped for a moment. She really should unpack, but right now she wanted to explore the house. Unpacking could wait, she decided. She headed for the door. She could deal with wrinkles later. Curiosity over fashion , she thought with a smile and shut the door behind her.

The upstairs hall was lit only by the afternoon sun that found its way through the half-closed blinds over the west-facing windows near her room. The floor creaked in spots as she walked down the hall toward the stairs. The creaks were not loud enough to be heard in her room, she reckoned, unless she left her door open. She didn’t like her bedroom door open at night, even at home, and she didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave it open here.

As she neared the head of the stairs, she felt in her pocket for her phone. No luck. It was probably still in her purse. She turned back to retrieve it. She didn’t expect any calls, but she might want to take pictures as they looked through the house.

She swung her door open into the room and paused. What was that sound? A click perhaps? She swung the door back and forth.

No repetition of the sound, yet she would have sworn she heard something when she opened her door. Maybe you’re starting to imagine things. This house is getting on your nerves .

“No, it’s not,” she said aloud to reassure herself. She found her purse and retrieved the cell phone. She checked the battery to be sure she had enough of a charge to last for a couple of hours, and she did.

She glanced at the bed before she turned back toward the door. She stopped and turned slowly back to the bed. Her mind focused on what she saw; she laid her purse down again and moved closer to the bed.

Her nightgown—the nightgown she had folded and placed under her pillow—lay unfolded across the foot of the bed.

CHAPTER 7

An’gel stared at her nightgown for a moment. She felt strangely calm. The attempts to frighten her were having the opposite effect. The person behind this—she still refused to believe that a supernatural hand had moved her dress and nightgown—had miscalculated. Badly. An’gel wasn’t going to throw her hands up in the air and scream bloody murder. No, An’gel was going to get to the bottom of this and take great satisfaction in telling the miscreant exactly what she thought of his—or her—juvenile behavior.

She remembered the odd click she had heard just as she opened the bedroom door. The sound hadn’t emanated from the door, she was sure of that. It had come from somewhere inside the bedroom.