Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries)

by Joanne Pence

  “And then what?” Paavo asked.

  “A couple of weeks later, I saw him in a grocery store, Safeway, in the Marina district. We began talking. We left the store and went out for coffee. I liked him, and we shared many interests. Once we started talking, it seemed we never stopped.” A shadow crossed over her face. “Until now.”

  “You just happened to meet him and just happened to talk to him?”

  She shrugged. “You could say that. And didn’t I already say that Gaia, who never even dated, was half in love with him? I wanted to find out why.”

  “I assume you knew Bedford was married.”

  “Of course.”

  “Wasn’t that a problem?”

  “Not for me. I didn’t care. Marriage means nothing to me. Neither does having children. My parents didn’t have a happy marriage, Inspector. And, as I’m sure you found out since you’ve done so much snooping into my private life, Gaia and I do not have other close relatives. I would say the gene for procreation doesn’t run in our family. I’m quite happy to be independent.”

  “But you said Taylor wanted to tell the world about the two of you. That must have included his wife.”

  “It did,” she said. “Taylor didn’t like ‘cheating’ on his wife as he put it. He was very twentieth century that way. He repeatedly asked his wife for a divorce, but she refused to agree to an amicable one. She threatened to take everything he owned if he walked out on her.”

  “What did you think of that?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. It was his problem, not mine.”

  “Why didn’t you come forward, talk to the police, when you learned he had been murdered?”

  “I didn’t have anything to offer about who did it. And his wife would have been there. I didn’t want to see her.”

  “Or you had something to do with his murder,” Paavo said.

  “Do I look like a murderer, Inspector?” Marilee asked. “I didn’t kill him. I was probably the only person in the world who truly loved him.”

  Paavo paused a moment in the questioning. “What did Taylor say when you told him you weren’t Gaia?”

  “He said that explained a lot. And he didn’t care. He loved me.”

  Paavo looked up at Yosh to see Yosh had some questions of his own. Yosh shook his head.

  Paavo was ready to leave, but not before one last question. “What do you think happened to your sister and Taylor Bedford?”

  “I’m not sure I should speculate,” she said.

  “Try it,” Paavo suggested.

  “His wife knew about the affair, and I’m sure she thought it was between Taylor and Gaia. I suspected all along that she paid someone to kill Taylor. Now that I learn Gaia is dead, she probably hired someone to kill her as well. It’s her style to keep her hands clean, Inspector, no matter how much shit she makes fly. Trust me on that.”

  o0o

  By the time Paavo finished filling in Lt. Eastwood on the Marilee/Urda interview, it was early evening. Since Angie told him she was going to a ‘girl’s night out’ with friends, Paavo decided it would be a good opportunity to pay a visit to the Night Hawk, the bar around the corner from the station where he used to work before his promotion and move to the Hall of Justice. In San Francisco, instead of each station or precinct having its own robbery, homicide, and other investigative divisions, a Bureau of Investigations had been established in the Hall of Justice. As a result, Paavo rarely saw his old co-workers.

  “Hey, Paavo!” a voice called the moment he walked into the bar.

  Paavo turned to see Joel Rhodes waving at him. Joel was a good guy, one he and Matt used to drink with on occasion. “Good to see you, Joel,” Paavo said as they shook hands then walked up to the bar. Joel already had a beer, and Paavo ordered one.

  “What are you doing slumming around here?” Joel asked with a grin.

  “Just wanted to see what you guys are up to. You haven’t been making trouble like usual, so I kind of lost touch.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while. Ever since”—Joel’s voice dropped—“Matt’s funeral.”

  “I still can’t believe I won’t see him again.” Paavo took a sip of his beer. “But what have you been up to?”

  Joel told him the latest gossip in the precinct, and Paavo talked about life in homicide, as well as Matt’s widow starting to date some guy who wasn’t a cop. They drank more beer, shot some pool. A couple of new cops that Paavo hadn’t met before joined them. All were nice guys, but Paavo quickly realized he had no place in their lives, and they had none in his.

  While he was there, feeling like a fish out of water, his phone rang. To his amazement, it was Bianca, Angie’s oldest sister.

  Chapter 18

  ANGIE, CATERINA, AND Maria sat on the ugly green and gold sofa and equally outdated side chair in the living room of the house on Clover Lane. On the table in front of them were glasses of chardonnay, plus a bowl of plain and chocolate-covered pretzels and another of cashews.

  Outside, the stars were hidden by heavy clouds, and the only sound was that of waves lapping on the beach far below.

  “I don’t like this,” Maria muttered. “It feels like blasphemy.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Angie said, checking her watch. It was nine-fifteen; Connie was late. “Connie insists this person is quite good. Her séance will prove that the house isn’t really haunted.”

  “It’s hard to prove a negative, Angie,” Maria said.

  “Unless that negative has no logic or common sense,” Cat said, staring daggers at Maria.

  A howling wind kicked up. The lights flickered and then went out. Angie opened the front door and saw that lights were out throughout the neighborhood. The wind grew worse and it started raining. Fortunately, Angie had brought a lot of candles for the séance, and lit them now.

  She hadn’t thought Caterina would be here. She had only invited Maria, but then Maria phoned Cat and berated her for trying to sell Angie a haunted house. Cat told Maria she was crazy, and then phoned Bianca to complain about Maria interfering with her business. Bianca suggested Cat attend to prove Maria wrong, and so here she was.

  Now the three of them sat nervously by candlelight, not saying a word. Even Angie had to confess to being a bit spooked.

  Finally, the doorbell rang. Angie jumped to her feet. “That’s got to be Connie!” She hurried to open the door.

  Angie didn’t know what to make of Connie’s friend. At least she didn’t show up wearing a turban, a billowy full length dress, a cape, or rows of silver necklaces like seers in the movies. She had short, frizzy hair, and wore flat sandals and a smock-like paisley print dress over a rotund figure. She towered over the Amalfi sisters. The rings she wore on each finger looked so tight, they seemed in danger of cutting off her circulation.

  “No power?” Connie asked as she stepped out from behind Madame Hermione into the living room.

  “It went out a few minutes ago,” Angie replied.

  “That makes the atmosphere even better. Let me introduce my friend.” Connie made quick introductions. “Do you want to start now, Madame Hermione?”

  “Let’s not settle down quite yet, Connie,” Hermione said. “I need to get a sense of the house, of the spirits I’m supposed to call up. Let me walk around here a bit, inside and out. And in the meantime, perhaps our hostess can put some chairs around a table.”

  She opened the door to the back yard and a harsh, cold wind immediately smacked her. Her hair flew back so forcefully it was almost straight, and her dress swirled around her, the hem flapping in the breeze. She quickly shut the door again. “Well, perhaps not the outside. I’ll need a candle.”

  Angie handed her one.

  “Ah…” Madame Hermione touched her forehead with her fingertips as she glided from the living room towards the master bedroom. “I feel something. A presence! Yes, there is certainly something ‘other’ in this house.”

  “She’s the thing that’s ‘other’,” Cat muttered. “This is already ridiculous and it
hasn’t even started yet!”

  “This is about more than making another sale, Cat!” Maria insisted. “It’s about Angie’s happiness!”

  Angie didn’t want to hear their arguing and hurried after Hermione, wondering what she was up to. The bedroom was empty.

  Connie pointed to the bathroom. Hermione was in there holding the candle high, looking at the ceiling, and turning in a circle. “Don’t even ask,” Connie whispered. Angie shrugged.

  Hermione came out, briefly stepped into the den, looked at the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms, and turned away from them. Finally she fluttered, as much as a 300-pound woman can flutter, across the living room to the kitchen. “Nothing!” she cried. “Whoever lived here wasn’t much of a cook.”

  Angie didn’t follow her into the kitchen, but instead muttered, “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.”

  “Madame Hermione is what’s bad news,” Cat said, disgusted. Angie had forgotten her sister had the hearing of a Doberman. “This is a joke. I thought better of Connie, frankly. Are you sure you don’t want to just call it quits now, Angie?”

  “Don’t be silly. Connie went to a lot of trouble to arrange this séance, and we’re going to see it through,” Angie said as Hermione and Connie returned to the living room. She picked up the chardonnay bottle. “Connie? Madame Hermione?”

  “Yes!” Connie said, holding out a glass for Angie to pour.

  “I suggest not.” Madame Hermione frowned at Connie and then everyone else with wine. “We need all our faculties for this event. Afterward, however, wine and perhaps some little nibblies would be most satisfying.”

  The only “little nibblies” Angie had brought were the nuts and pretzels already out, and Madame Hermione looked as if she could down an entire bowl in one gulp.

  They gathered all the candles together, placed them in the center of the dining room table, and sat around it.

  Madame Hermione ordered them to hold hands. She sat at one end of the table, Angie opposite her, with Maria and Cat on one side, and Connie on the other.

  Hermione shut her eyes and began to hum what sounded like “Om,” the chant Angie learned in a yoga class.

  Hermione then spoke in a low voice. “I am calling to the spirit, or spirits, in this house. I feel your presence. Come to me! Reveal yourself!” She waited a minute, then repeated the words. A minute later she repeated them again.

  Then she stopped and glared at the people sitting with her. “Someone isn’t taking this seriously.” Her dark eyes zeroed in on Cat, then flashed over to Angie. “I’m not sure who it is, but your negative vibes are bothering the spirits. They won’t come where they aren’t wanted or accepted.”

  “We’ll try not to be negative,” Angie said. She noticed Cat roll her eyes—all the sisters were eye-rollers. Angie had never realized how obnoxious the gesture could be. “Come on, everybody. I asked Connie to invite Madame Hermione here, as well as all of you, so the least you can do is cooperate.”

  Connie nodded; so did Maria. Cat glared.

  Hermione repeated her invitation to the spirits. This time, she only said the words once, then stopped. “Yes, I feel you here! You’re coming closer. It’s all right. You’re in the company of friends. Will you speak, spirit?”

  They waited.

  “Spe-e-e-e-ak!” Madame Hermione roared.

  A squawky high “tweet” followed by a low “toot” came from the back yard.

  “I’ll be damned,” Cat said. “It’s the ghost of Benny Goodman.”

  “Speak to me, I command you!” Hermione ordered.

  A noise like someone drumming on a garbage can struck next. Angie felt her heart beat quicken. It was weird, but scary.

  “Give us a sign that you are here!” Hermione shouted, her voice loud but tremulous. “A sign! Any sign!”

  They held their collective breaths, waiting.

  “You need a better class of ghost, Angie,” Cat muttered.

  A light streaked across the ceiling. All five of them jumped.

  “Ah! It’s here! The ghost is here!” Hermione shouted. She changed her voice to one much higher and almost childlike. “Yes, ma’am, I am here.”

  “Who are you?” Hermione demanded. “Why are you here?”

  Then she answered her own question in the little hushed voice. “I want to go home. Please set me free.”

  A low toooot sounded from outside.

  “Oh? Ah!” Hermione cried. “We have more than one ghost. It’s all right.” She stood, still holding Connie’s and Maria’s hands. “I command you, be gone! Leave this house!”

  The light, which Angie thought looked remarkably like a flashlight beaming in from the back yard, skittered over the ceiling a couple of times and then went out.

  Hermione slowly lowered her hands and sat back down. “I will speak the words that I hope will rid the house of these spirits and keep them away.” In a low voice she chanted, “O vile sprit, o wraith, o spectre—”

  Something whimpered and scratched at the sliding glass door.

  “It sounds like dog,” Connie said. “But I can’t quite see in the dark.”

  Angie took a candle and went to the sliding glass door to the back yard. A small white West Highland Terrier stood on its hind legs and rapped the glass with its front paws. “A little white Scottie dog,” Angie said. “How cute. I wonder if he’s hungry or thirsty.”

  She slid open the door to see if the dog was friendly or would just run away. To her surprise, he leaped into the house and ran past her straight to the kitchen. “Doggie, no!” She ran after him, trying to pick him up and get him back outside.

  He darted from her and scurried to the pantry door where he began to whimper. She opened the door, but the pantry was quite bare. “I feel like Old Mother Hubbard,” she said to the others who stood in the kitchen watching. “I wonder what this is all about.”

  “You might give him some water,” Connie suggested. “He seems to know the house. Maybe he belongs to a neighbor.”

  Fortunately, the house still had some bowls, so she found one and filled it with water. The dog lapped it up as if dying of thirst. Then he ran over to a corner of the dining area, curled up, and shut his eyes.

  “Look at that!” Angie cried. “He looks so sleepy. I say we leave him alone. It’s cold and rainy outside, yet he somehow managed to stay dry. He’s a pretty smart little dog, I’d say.”

  “Shall we attempt to continue?” Madame Hermione asked coldly. “I’m not sure, however, that I can bring back the proper ambiance, the proper—”

  “Please try,” Angie said.

  They again sat at the table and held hands. Madame Hermione began swaying as she again chanted, “O vile spirit, o wraith, o spectre—”

  A candle went out.

  “Older houses can be drafty,” Connie said quickly.

  The others agreed, chuckling nervously, as Angie took a match and relit the candle.

  A little louder, Hermione said, “O vile—”

  As Angie blew out the match, another candle went out, then a second.

  “What’s going on?” Maria asked in a high, shaky voice.

  “It’s nothing. A draft, that’s all,” Cat said as Angie relit the candles.

  A candle went out again; Angie relit it.

  “So the house is drafty as well as haunted. It figures,” Maria said. “Good job, Cat.”

  “The only windbag around here is you!” Cat snarled.

  A different candle went out.

  As Angie relit it, another one died.

  Then another.

  Cat yanked the matchbook out of Angie’s hands and quickly relit all the candles. “That’s how it’s done!”

  Hermione shouted. “O vile spirit, o—”

  A candle flickered and then died.

  “I don’t feel any draft,” Connie’s voice trembled. “So why—”

  “Obviously, the candle wicks are defective,” Cat said, a little too loudly and a little too forcefully.

  All
the candles went out at once. The room plunged into darkness.

  The dog let out a mournful howl; Angie’s blood ran cold.

  Maria jumped to her feet. “I’ll find my purse. I’ve got a bottle of holy water.”

  A loud knock sounded on the door.

  “My God!” Connie groaned, standing. “What’s that?”

  “Evil spirits!” Maria cried. “Don’t let them in!”

  “Ignore it!” Madame Hermione ordered as she, too stood up. “All of you! Sit back down right now! I can damned well do this in the dark! Oooo viiiile spirit!—”

  But Angie knew that loud, no-nonsense policeman’s knock. She stood, lit one candle and shielded the flame with her hand as she used it to light the way to the door and swung it open.

  “What’s going on, Angie?” Paavo asked as he strode inside wearing his grim inspector’s face and dragging in with him a sopping wet, sheepish and scared Stan Bonnette holding a clarinet. Stan wore a slicker and rain hat, and Paavo’s hand had a firm grasp on the slicker’s back collar.

  Paavo’s gaze jumped from the Angie to the over-sized Madame Hermione, who stood and shouted strange words at the top of her lungs while flapping thick, gelatinous arms and ordering everyone to sit down.

  Maria ran over and doused him and Stan with handfuls of holy water, then continued to splash it all around the room. Paavo let Stan go, and Stan scooted across the room faster than Angie had ever seen him move.

  “Stan?” Angie gasped.

  Paavo’s eyes grew harder and more skeptical as they went from Maria to Cat who kept trying to light candles on the dining room table with little success, and Connie who awkwardly tried to help her.

  “Connie, not you, too?” he said.

  “This nonsense was all Connie’s idea!” Cat cried, closing the book of matches and smacking them down on the table. “I’m leaving!” She grabbed her purse and jacket and hurried towards the door. “Lock up, will you, Angie?”

  “Wait, Cat! Can you give me a ride?” Stan squeaked, then looked at Paavo. “That is…?”