Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

“I’m perfectly fine,” An’gel replied as she tried to get her heart rate to slow down to its normal rate. Should she tell Dickce what she saw? Or thought she saw?

“You don’t have to glare at me,” Dickce said, her tone testy. “If you say you’re fine, then I guess you’re fine. Though you still look a little strange to me.”

“I saw something.” An’gel hadn’t meant to speak, but the words slipped out anyway.

“What did you see?” Dickce asked, her voice low.

“A shadow at the top of the stairs.” An’gel shot a quick look at the spot. Nothing there now. She returned her gaze to her sister’s face. “A shadow that made me think someone was standing there. A man, I thought.” She paused for a quick breath. “And then the shadow just disappeared.”

“You mean it moved away?” Now Dickce sounded skeptical.

An’gel shook her head. “No, it never moved. It was there one moment and then suddenly it wasn’t.”

“Probably some sort of optical illusion,” Dickce said. “Honestly, Sister, I think you’re just tired and hungry from the drive. Go and wash up, and we’ll find Mary Turner and Benjy and have our lunch.”

An’gel shot an angry glare at Dickce before she brushed past her to get to the powder room. She glanced in the mirror and was reassured to see that she did not look at all pale. “Maybe Sister was right,” she muttered. “I am only hungry and tired.”

Her ablutions finished and her equilibrium mostly restored, An’gel left the powder room some moments later to rejoin Dickce. She found her sister, eyes closed, clutching the banister rail of the staircase and shivering.

Alarmed, An’gel laid a hand on Dickce’s shoulder. “What is wrong with you? Now you’re the one who’s pale, and you look like you’re going to faint.”

Dickce’s eyes popped open to stare into An’gel’s. “Thank the Lord it’s gone now, but while you were in the powder room, I had the sensation of coldness all around me. It lasted only a moment or two, but I still feel chilled.”

An’gel regarded her sister with dismay. They had experienced a similar sensation a few times over the years in their grandmother’s bedroom at Riverhill and had never been able to explain it to their complete satisfaction. What would they do if Cliffwood really was haunted?

A baritone voice coming from above them startled both sisters. “Hello there, ladies. Sorry I couldn’t be here to greet you with Mary Turner.”

An’gel glanced up the stairs to see Henry Howard Catlin descending toward them.

“We’re delighted to see you, young man.” An’gel exchanged a glance with her sister. Should they tell Henry Howard what they had experienced? An’gel decided it could wait until later and shook her head slightly at Dickce.

Their host, his long, lean form clad in worn corduroy trousers and a flannel shirt, pushed his rimless glasses up his nose before he bent to offer first An’gel, then Dickce, a quick peck on the cheek. An’gel noted that his curly chestnut locks now sported a couple of streaks of white, and there were signs of strain in his face. He looked a good ten years older than his thirty-six years, An’gel decided.

“We did wonder where you were,” Dickce said, her smile strained. “But I imagine there are a thousand and one things you have to do to make sure the house is ready for Thanksgiving.”

Henry Howard sighed. “Make that a thousand and twenty. The way we’re going through lightbulbs lately, we ought to have stock in the company. I went up to check your rooms not long before you arrived, and all the bulbs were out. I replaced them for the second time in three weeks. I hope they’ll last while you’re here.” He shook his head. “I can’t figure out why it keeps happening.”

“That is bizarre,” An’gel said. “Have you had an electrician in to look at it? Perhaps there’s a fault in the wiring.”

Henry Howard gave a weary nod. “My friend Buzz checked it out, and he couldn’t find anything wrong.”

“Probably a power surge or something of that nature,” Dickce said.

“Could be,” Henry Howard said equably. “At least that’s a better explanation than saying the ghost of Mary Turner’s great-great-grandfather did it.”

An’gel couldn’t decide from the young man’s tone whether he was serious or making light of a worrisome situation. If incidents like this were occurring on a regular basis, it was no wonder Mary Turner’s nerves were frazzled.

She said as much and waited for their host’s reaction.

Henry Howard shrugged. “These things are irritations, but no one has actually been hurt by any of it. Other than our bank balance, that is.” After a quick, wry grin, he offered an arm to each sister. “Let’s forget about all of that for a while, what do you say, ladies? I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a hankering for some of Marcelline’s fresh cornbread with lots of butter.”

“With a big glass of sweet tea.” An’gel smiled as Henry Howard escorted her and Dickce to the dining room.

There they found Mary Turner and Benjy putting the final touches to the table. There were eight chairs, but the table was set for five—two places at one end, three at the other. An’gel didn’t see Peanut or Endora and reckoned they must be in the kitchen with Marcelline.

“Everything looks lovely,” Dickce said, and An’gel agreed. Mary Turner had set out white linen napkins along with her grandmother’s silver and second-best china. An’gel recognized the pattern right away.

“And smells heavenly,” An’gel said, eyeing the bowls of creamed corn, field peas, potato salad, green beans, a plate of cornbread, and a platter of ham—a good Southern meal.

Mary Turner smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to Benjy. “I appreciate your help. You’ve obviously learned well.”

An’gel noted that Benjy blushed on being addressed by their young hostess. His eyes appeared to follow her wherever she moved around the table. Mary Turner was a beautiful young woman, of course, and Benjy was still callow in some ways though quite mature in others. She trusted Mary Turner to handle the situation properly.

Henry Howard touched his wife’s shoulder briefly, and they exchanged a glance before he pulled out a chair for An’gel to the left of his end of the table. Benjy hastily did the same for Dickce, across from An’gel, then stood looking awkward behind Dickce’s chair. Henry Howard helped Mary Turner to her chair at the other end of the table, and she indicated the place to her right to Benjy. Henry Howard walked back to his seat at the head and took his place.

“Henry Howard will say grace.” Mary Turner bowed her head. Her guests followed her lead, and Henry Howard intoned a brief blessing.

For the next few minutes the only conversation consisted of requests for certain dishes to be passed and the requisite thanks for having done so. An’gel tried her creamed corn first and relished the taste. She loved corn, especially when cooked properly. She remarked on this to Mary Turner, who beamed with pleasure on hearing the compliment.

“Marcelline is a treasure,” the young woman said. “Her food is always wonderful. I have to watch myself, or I’d be as big as the side of a barn. Wait until you taste the carrot cake she made for us for dessert today. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“I love carrot cake,” Dickce said, “particularly with an ice-cold glass of milk.” She eyed her full plate. “If I eat all this, I might not have room for cake.” She laughed. “But I’m not going to let any of this go to waste.”

An’gel felt happy to see both their young hosts more relaxed. She pushed away thoughts of the odd experiences she and Dickce had earlier by the stairs. Time enough to consider those later, but for now, she wanted to enjoy her meal. She knew that, all too soon, they would have to face the real business of their visit to Natchez.