Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

“Other times he was fine?” An’gel asked.

“Sure was.” Marcelline nodded. “He’d run up and down the stairs without a care in the world. Until he got too old and crippled, that is. It always gave me the chills when he wouldn’t go near those stairs without being afraid of whatever was there the rest of us couldn’t see.” She shivered suddenly. “I felt it myself. Coldest feeling I ever had.”

An’gel took hold of Peanut’s collar to keep him from investigating the enticing smells from the cart any closer. “When did this start? The cold on the stairs, I mean.”

Marcelline shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. Ever since I’ve been working here, and that’s a mighty long time. There’s somebody else occupying this house besides us living folks, that’s all I can tell you.” She turned and walked out of the parlor.

CHAPTER 15

Dickce felt both chilled and excited by Marcelline’s parting words. Her own experiences with the unexplained at Riverhill notwithstanding, Dickce had tried to maintain a stance of intelligent inquiry about the whole business. Granted, she and An’gel had not personally encountered another situation like the one at Cliffwood before, though friends of theirs in Athena and other places had occasionally owned up to odd goings-on in their old houses. An’gel had always been the one who refused to give much credence to the existence of lingering spirits while Dickce was more willing to believe that some things couldn’t be easily explained away. Dickce did not doubt the housekeeper firmly believed that a spirit or a revenant of some sort remained at Cliffwood from a time in the distant past.

Now Dickce looked at her sister and wondered what An’gel was thinking about Marcelline’s statements. She doubted An’gel was ready to commit fully to the fact of a resident ghost, but perhaps she might be less inclined to dismiss the possibility as they continued to investigate. She decided to ask her sister, knowing that An’gel likely wouldn’t say anything unless pressed to do so.

“What do you think of what Marcelline just told us?” Dickce asked.

An’gel shrugged before she picked up the coffeepot and began to pour. She didn’t say anything until she had filled all three cups and set the pot down again. “I’m sure Marcelline isn’t making things up to frighten or titillate us. She sounded completely sincere, I thought.”

Peanut woofed and looked hopefully again at the lemon cake slices on dessert plates atop the tea cart. “No, Peanut, that isn’t for you,” An’gel said. “Or for Endora.” She glanced at the cat, apparently asleep in Dickce’s lap.

Benjy waited until An’gel finished with the cream and sugar for her coffee before he doctored his own and Dickce’s. He placed Dickce’s cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of her, then picked up a dessert plate and fork and set them beside the coffee. Then he helped himself.

“I thought she sounded sincere, too,” Benjy said. “I think she really believes there’s a ghost here.” He took a bite of lemon cake, chewed for a moment, swallowed, and smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

“I agree,” Dickce said. “I also agree with her that there is another presence here along with us. Not necessarily at this moment, but there was certainly something on the stairs with me earlier.” She adjusted the sleeping cat in order to lean forward, pick up her cup, and sip from it. “Excellent coffee.”

“Have a bite of the cake,” An’gel said. “We ought to ask Marcelline for the recipe, if she’ll share it. This is one thing I wish Clementine would bake.”

“The only thing I’ve seen—so far—is the door closing on its own,” Benjy said. “That could have been rigged somehow, though it’s not clear yet how it was done, if it was. This cold thing on the stairs sounds really creepy to me.”

Dickce caught a movement in her peripheral vision as she leaned forward to get a bite of her lemon cake. She looked up to see Nathan Gamble advancing toward them from the doorway.

“Are y’all talking about the Terrible Specter of Cliffwood?” He laughed. “That’s a bunch of hooey, you know that, right? I’ve been in and out of this house for years, and I’ve never seen one weird thing.”

“Because you haven’t experienced it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened to someone else, young man,” An’gel said tartly.

Gamble shrugged and dropped down on the sofa across from Dickce and Benjy. “Have it your way, ma’am. I think it’s all part of the plot to keep me from my rightful inheritance. Mary Turner thinks if I think the house is haunted, and especially the French room, then I’ll stop asking for my rights and leave her with that fortune in antiques. Marcelline would do anything or say anything to help her precious Mary Turner, believe you me.” He folded his arms across his chest and shrugged again.

Dickce itched to point out to Gamble that his boorish behavior was hardly an aid to his cause, but she doubted he cared in the least. He seemed obsessed with owning the contents of that room, and nothing apparently would deflect him.

“You can scoff all you like,” Dickce told him, trying to keep her tone mild, “but odd things have happened here since we arrived this morning. More could happen while you’re here.”

“Have you ever stayed here?” Benjy asked. “In the French room?” He ate another bite of lemon cake.

Gamble got up from the sofa and went to the fireplace, where he rang the bell on the wall near it for Marcelline. Dickce hadn’t noticed it earlier. She was surprised it was in working order. Theirs at home wasn’t because they had never bothered with keeping the wiring up-to-date.

Gamble leaned against the mantel and regarded Benjy. “No, I’ve never been allowed to spend the night in that room. In fact, I’ve never spent a night here before in any room. This is a first.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not sure why Mary Turner finally let me. Her parents never would.”

Dickce exchanged a quick glance with An’gel. She knew they both recalled Mary Turner’s jest earlier about Gamble’s being frightened. She wasn’t about to tell Gamble about that, however, and neither was An’gel, she knew.

Marcelline appeared in the doorway, and when she spotted Nathan Gamble, she frowned but quickly suppressed it, Dickce noticed. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t endeared himself to the housekeeper. Had he ever endeared himself to anyone?

“Yes, Nathan? Did you ring?” Marcelline asked, her tone flat. She waited in the doorway.

“Yes, I did, Marcelline.” Gamble pointed to the tea cart. “How about another coffee cup? And some of that cake they’re having? I could use a snack about now.”

“I’ll see if there’s any of the cake left.” Marcelline turned and disappeared.

Gamble snorted. “Thank you very much.” He walked back to the sofa and dropped down.

Dickce winced. Gamble wasn’t a heavy man, but the sofas were antiques and shouldn’t be treated so roughly. She had to bite her tongue to keep from admonishing him. She was surprised An’gel didn’t, but her sister didn’t speak, only glared at the man.

Gamble seemed impervious to their response to him. For the first time, he paid attention to the fact that there were four-legged creatures in the room. “Hello, there, doggie. What’s your name?” He held out a hand toward Peanut.

The dog growled, and Gamble snatched back his hand. An’gel placed a hand on Peanut’s head to quiet him and keep him by her side.

Benjy said, “His name is Peanut. He can be shy around strangers.”

Dickce wondered what it was about Gamble that put Peanut off. Normally the dog was friendly, almost to a fault, with everyone. There was obviously something about the man that Peanut didn’t like, however.