Миранда Джеймс - Fixing To Die

Benjy, An’gel noticed with some amusement, managed to eat while casting one covert glance after another at their hostess when Mary Turner’s attention moved elsewhere. When Mary Turner spoke to Benjy, he managed a few words in response but in such low tones An’gel never could quite catch what he said. She wondered whether their ward actually tasted anything. He didn’t appear to notice what he forked into his mouth. She caught Dickce watching Benjy also.

An’gel exchanged a wry glance with Dickce before turning to respond to a remark from Henry Howard about a mutual acquaintance in Athena, Helen Louise Brady.

“I know her well,” An’gel said. “Dickce and I visit her bistro at least once a week. Her pastries are superb. How do you know her?”

“She’s actually a distant cousin.” Henry Howard paused for a moment. “I’m trying to remember the exact relationship. I think her great-grandfather Brady was the youngest brother of my father’s great-grandfather. Or something like that.” He grinned. “I’d have to dig out the family tree to tell you exactly.”

An’gel laughed. “That’s close enough. You’re cousins of some degree anyway.”

“I met her years ago, when I was still in high school,” Henry Howard said. “I think she wasn’t long back from cooking school in Paris. I remember there was a bit of talk about it because the elder Bradys all thought she had ruined her life by chucking a career as a lawyer in order to cook for other people.”

“Thankfully Helen Louise didn’t listen to the naysayers,” An’gel said, her tone a trifle tart. “She’s made a huge success of that bistro.”

Henry Howard opened his mouth to reply, but a voice from the doorway into the hall interrupted him.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

Henry Howard turned to see who the speaker was, and An’gel glanced past him to see for herself. The tall, statuesque newcomer smiled as all eyes focused on her.

An’gel eyed the expensive scarlet red silk suit, the white gloves, double strand of pearls, spike red heels, and enormous red hat dripping with white gardenias and jasmine. The red-and-white of her ensemble set off the rich chocolate of the woman’s skin, and a gentle wave of an elusive floral scent wafted from her. An’gel sniffed appreciatively.

Henry Howard rose from his chair, dropping his napkin by his plate. “Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you?”

The stranger laughed, a low, musical sound. “I need a room, of course, but I must tell you, sir, that it is I who have come to help you .” She paused for a moment. “The spirits called me here, and I had to come to release them from their earthly torment.”

CHAPTER 4

Dickce heard a loud snort of amusement at the woman’s announcement and realized with a shock that she was the one who had emitted the sound. Embarrassed, she clutched her napkin to her chest and said, “I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I was just startled.”

The woman in red smiled. “I’m not offended. I know there are those who scoff at my work, but when you have a calling like mine, you have to persevere no matter who or what is against you.”

The calm assurance in the woman’s voice did little to ease Dickce’s embarrassment over her gaffe. She would have tried to apologize further, but Henry Howard spoke first.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re not open to the public this week or next.” He offered a polite smile, but to Dickce, his tone and body language were not exactly friendly. In fact, she thought he looked ready to usher the stranger out immediately.

“I don’t think of myself as public ,” the woman responded, evidently not in the least offended by Henry Howard’s reaction. She dug into the large white handbag hanging on one arm and extracted what appeared to be a business card. She held it out to Henry Howard, and he took it.

“Mrs. Primrose Pace,” Henry read aloud. “ Psychic Medium and Expeller of Unwanted Spirits .” He glanced toward his wife, and Mary Turner got up from her chair and came to stand by him. She laid a hand on his arm.

Dickce watched the unfolding scene with interest. Would they allow this woman to stay? If she really did have the abilities she claimed on her business card, Dickce reckoned, she might be helpful. Or then again, she might be a gigantic nuisance.

“Mrs. Pace,” Mary Turner said, her tone exhibiting warmth, “it just so happens that my husband and I need the advice of someone who has experience with the supernatural.” She flashed a look at her husband. “Even though we are usually closed to the public at this time, I think we can make an exception.”

Primrose Pace smiled, and Dickce thought the woman looked a bit smug as she responded to Mary Turner’s invitation. “Thank you, Mrs. Catlin. I appreciate you being open-minded. I have no doubt that I will be able to help you.”

Henry Howard did not look happy, Dickce thought. She exchanged glances with An’gel, who gave a slight shrug. Wait and see . If she’s a fake, we’ll catch her out . Dickce could hear her sister now. She nodded to indicate she agreed and turned back to watch as Mary Turner led Mrs. Pace from the dining room.

Henry Howard remained where he was for a moment. Then he shook his head and returned to the table. “This will probably be a disaster, but there’s no use arguing with my wife when she makes up her mind.”

“I think we all understand your reluctance,” An’gel said. “Mrs. Pace could be a help, if she’s really what she claims to be.”

“And if she’s not, we’ll find that out and get her out of the house,” Dickce said.

“I wonder, however, whether she actually knows anything about what’s been going on here,” An’gel said. “She seemed quite sure of herself.”

Henry Howard shrugged. “Everyone who knows anything about Natchez thinks all the antebellum houses here are riddled with ghosts. Lord knows Natchez has been on those ghost-hunting programs on TV enough in recent years. They’ve never come sniffing around here, though, thank goodness.”

“An’gel and I could make some discreet inquiries,” Dickce said. “We know a few people here in town besides you and Mary Turner. We could find out whether she’s approached anyone else like this.”

“Excellent idea,” An’gel said.

“Guess so.” Henry Howard picked up his fork and moved a few peas around his plate.

“Who else have y’all told about what’s going on here?” An’gel asked.

“My friend Buzz for one,” Henry Howard replied. “I’ve known him since we were in first grade together. He’s my best friend. I don’t think he’d tell anyone because he knows Mary Turner and I don’t want this to get around.”

“Anyone else?” Dickce said. “What about Marcelline? She must be aware of the situation. Might she have let something slip?”

“Marcelline? No way.” Henry Howard shook his head. “She’s too loyal to Mary Turner. She’d never go around talking about our business to anyone.”

“I’m sure Marcelline wouldn’t say a word, if Mary Turner asked her not to,” An’gel said. “You mentioned your friend. What about Mary Turner? Does she have a best friend she confides in?”

“Amy Patridge, but she’s in England visiting her husband’s family. They’ve been gone over a month and aren’t due back for at least three weeks or so.” Henry Howard laid his fork aside and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t think of anyone else at the moment. You ladies—and Benjy here—are the only people who know anything, as far as I’m aware.”

“And we haven’t heard the details,” Dickce reminded him.

“No, I guess not,” Henry Howard said. “I’d rather wait for my wife, though, before we get into all that.”