Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

“What are we going to do?” Dickce asked.

“I’m going to stand in the doorway in a position where I can see both sides of the wall. You will walk along the wall out here”—she indicated the hallway—“slowly, until it seems to me that you are even with the dividing wall. I will tell you to stop.”

“Then you’ll go to the doorway in the next room and look to see if where I’m standing is even with the wall on that side.” Dickce nodded. “Yes, let’s do it. If there seems to be a discrepancy, we can get a tape measure and do it more exactly.”

An’gel got in place, and Dickce walked at a slow pace down the hallway next to the wall. An’gel watched carefully, and when she thought her sister had reached the point where the dividing wall crossed, she called out, “Stop.”

Dickce stood in place, and An’gel hurried past her to the doorway of the next room, the library. The door was shut, and An’gel knocked three times. Hearing no sound from within, she opened the door and got in position. She thought Dickce’s position was roughly equivalent to the dividing wall on the library side. She shook her head.

“No spatial oddity?” Dickce asked.

“None that I can see,” An’gel replied as she began to move toward her sister. “We ought to move on.”

A voice from above somewhere startled both An’gel and Dickce.

“What are you doing?”

An’gel glanced up to see Primrose Pace peering over the banister rail about halfway down the stairs. “Conducting an experiment,” she said. Should they tell this woman what they were doing? she wondered.

Mrs. Pace saved her the trouble. “Looking for a secret passage, I’ll bet.” She laughed. “That would sure make things even more interesting, but I think you’ll find that what’s going on in this house has nothing to do with any secret rooms or staircases.”

“You’re convinced, then,” An’gel said, her tone cool, “that the spirits are the cause?”

“I am, sure as I’m standing here.” Mrs. Pace laughed again, then started down the stairs. After three steps she paused, and as An’gel watched, the woman’s eyes grew large and her expression turned to one of sheer terror. Her knees gave way, and she sat on the stair tread with a loud thump.

CHAPTER 8

For a moment An’gel feared that Mrs. Pace might tumble forward down the stairs, but the woman grabbed one of the spindles of the banister and steadied herself. An’gel followed Dickce up the stairs to proffer assistance.

They stood side by side on a stair that put them at eye level with the medium. Mrs. Pace’s eyes remained closed, and her skin had an ashy cast to it, but when An’gel started to ask the woman what they could do to help, Mrs. Pace held up a hand to silence her.

Is this part of an act? An’gel couldn’t be certain. Had the medium really experienced a supernatural episode, or was this a stunt geared to encourage their belief in her abilities? An’gel exchanged a look with her sister, and she could tell Dickce felt some of the same skepticism she did.

An’gel decided to speak even if the medium wanted her to remain silent awhile longer. “Mrs. Pace, are you all right? Do you need anything? A doctor? Something to drink?”

The medium’s eyelids fluttered open, and she appeared to be having trouble focusing on An’gel and Dickce. Then her eyes cleared, and a slow smile replaced the dazed expression.

“That was amazing,” she said. “Did either of you feel it?” She glanced from one sister to the other and back again.

“Feel what?” Dickce asked.

“The cold,” Mrs. Pace replied. “It passed right through me, though it did seem to linger a moment. I wasn’t expecting to encounter a spirit so soon.” She shivered suddenly. “The cold of the grave. That’s what it felt like.” She pulled herself upright and looked down upon An’gel and Dickce.

“I hoped the spirit would remain and try to communicate with me.” The medium motioned for the sisters to precede her down the stairs, and An’gel and Dickce turned and walked down. Mrs. Pace said, “She did not, despite that momentary hesitation. I feel sure she will eventually.”

Once they’d reached the first floor, An’gel turned to face the medium and asked, “You believe the spirit is female?”

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.