Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

“You’ve got to get her out of this house.” Marcelline slapped her hands down on the table right in front of Henry Howard. He jerked back in his chair.

“Something has made that spirit angry. It killed Nathan Gamble, I tell you, and now it’s going to harm Miss Mary if you don’t stop it.”

CHAPTER 20

Surely Marcelline couldn’t be serious, An’gel thought. A spirit trying to harm Mary Turner? The idea was ridiculous. Primrose Pace hadn’t mentioned that a malicious spirit caused Nathan Gamble’s death, although she had said that spirits could turn malicious. When she had time to herself later on, An’gel wanted to think about all that the medium had said and try to figure out exactly what was going on here. She wished they knew more about Mrs. Pace’s background.

Henry Howard evidently agreed with An’gel about Marcelline’s claims of spirit interference. He laughed in the housekeeper’s face. “I know you believe there’s a ghost in this house, but even if there is, it’s never done anything bad before, has it? No one’s ever been hurt here, have they?”

Marcelline looked taken aback at Henry Howard’s response to her demands. “Well, no, not before now,” she said. “But Nathan wanted to take those things from this house, and the spirit didn’t want him to. She wants those things left right where they are. They belong here, no matter what Nathan was always saying.”

That was an interesting idea, An’gel thought. The spirit was protecting the furnishings of the French room. But why? Was the spirit supposed to belong to the long-dead great-aunt who had once lived in that room, Nathan’s great-grandmother four times removed? As far as An’gel was aware, the woman hadn’t died in this house. Surely she had died in Vicksburg, where her husband and children lived. That might be something they needed to find out, though.

“You and I are never going to agree on this, Marcelline,” Henry Howard said, his tone becoming increasingly testy. “I hope you’re not saying all these things in front of Mary Turner.”

The housekeeper bridled. “Credit me with some sense, Mr. Henry. I helped raise that child, and I’m not going to frighten her. You’re her husband, you’re supposed to be looking out for her, and you’d rather be off somewhere writing than looking after her.”

“That’s enough.” Henry Howard pushed back his chair and stood over Marcelline. “I’m tired of hearing that from you. All you do is criticize me because I’m not a slave to this house the way you and Mary Turner are. I married Mary Turner, not this damn house.” He pushed by the housekeeper and stormed out the back door, slamming it shut behind him.

An’gel felt embarrassed to have witnessed this scene. She had never guessed there was such a high level of friction between Henry Howard and Marcelline. She knew the housekeeper was protective of Mary Turner. But why this animosity toward Henry Howard? Was he really that neglectful of Mary Turner?

An’gel figured Marcelline was frightened by the unexplained death and was lashing out in fear for her beloved young mistress. An’gel had already discovered that Henry Howard wasn’t truly happy running the bed-and-breakfast, and she could understand that. He apparently wanted to be a writer but his responsibilities to his wife and the family business were frustrating his ambitions and his progress. The situation was rife for discord, and An’gel wondered how far it had developed.

There had been no indication of any kind of rift between Mary Turner and Henry Howard that An’gel could recall. As far as she could tell, Mary Turner loved her husband, and he in turn loved his wife. They seemed devoted to each other. Frustrated ambition could affect even a loving couple in a bad way, though. She couldn’t do anything about it unless Mary Turner appealed directly to her for help. She couldn’t pry into the young woman’s relationship with her husband. That was not her way, although she hated standing by when friends were in need of help of some kind.

Marcelline seemed to notice that An’gel was in the kitchen. Her tone was chilly when she spoke. “Was there something you needed, Miss An’gel?”

“I brought Henry Howard in here because he never really got a chance to have any breakfast,” An’gel said. “I thought he needed something to eat. He’s under considerable strain at the moment.” She intended that last remark to make a point with Marcelline, and she hoped the housekeeper would understand the implicit criticism. An’gel knew it wasn’t her place to interfere in matters between employer and employee, but she felt that the housekeeper hadn’t been entirely fair with Henry Howard.

“When he comes back, I’ll see that he gets something to eat,” Marcelline said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Certainly,” An’gel said in her best grande dame manner. She might have permanently impaired a previously cordial relationship with the housekeeper with her words, but she wasn’t going to back down. She walked out of the kitchen.

In the hallway, the kitchen door shut behind her, An’gel paused to think about what she ought to do next. What she really wanted to do was confront Primrose Pace and find out more about the woman’s background. Her turning up at Cliffwood had been suspiciously opportune, and An’gel didn’t buy the idea that a spirit had called the woman to the house.

Benjy had a knack for finding things online, An’gel knew, and perhaps it was time to get him to research Primrose Pace. He enjoyed projects like these, and he would be happy to have something to do. An’gel headed to the dining room to discover whether he and Dickce were still there.

The parlor door was closed, and An’gel wondered whether Lieutenant Steinberg still had Mrs. Pace in there. An’gel hoped the policeman questioned the medium thoroughly. She wished she could have overheard their interview, but instead she would have to count on Benjy’s ability to dig out what they needed to know about Mrs. Pace.

Only Serenity Foster and Truss Wilbanks still remained in the dining room. They appeared absorbed in conversation, their positions much the same as they had been when An’gel departed the room only a little while ago.

An’gel was annoyed to discover that, despite what she had said earlier, Dickce and Benjy, along with the pets, had left the room. An’gel hovered in the doorway for a moment, undecided whether to enter and speak to its occupants or steal away, unobserved.

Serenity Foster looked toward the doorway and spotted An’gel. “What do you want?” she said.

An’gel advanced into the room. “I was looking for my sister and our ward,” she said. “But I did want to offer you my condolences on the loss of your brother. I know this has been a terrible shock to you.”

“Thank you,” Serenity said. “I don’t understand what could have happened. I’m not going to believe it was natural, and you can tell your friend Miss High-and-Mighty Mary Turner that, too. She’s going to pay for what she’s done to my brother.”

Truss Wilbanks sat back in his chair, apparently exhausted by trying to rein in his client’s wild accusations. He did make a token protest. “Serenity, you’ve got to stop saying those things. The last thing you need right now is another lawsuit.”

“Mrs. Foster, you should heed your attorney’s advice,” An’gel said, enraged by the young woman’s continued attack on Mary Turner. “Should it become necessary, I will be happy to serve as a witness for Mary Turner if she decides to sue you. I suggest you look to your own behavior first before you criticize anyone else’s. By your own admission, you were enraged by your brother’s lack of monetary support for you. It won’t take the police long to figure out that you had a far stronger motive to kill him than anyone else did.”