Fixing to Die

by Miranda James

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.

  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 supe
rnatural.” 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.”

  Mary Turner stood in the doorway. “Honey, would you get Mrs. Pace’s luggage and take it up to the green bedroom? She’d like to get settled in.”

  Henry Howard pushed up from his chair, and Dickce could tell he was not happy about something. He turned to face his wife. “The green bedroom? Why are you putting her in there instead of out in the annex?”

  Mary Turner looked uncomfortable, Dickce decided. The young woman’s words confirmed that.

  “She needs to be in the house in order to tune in to the vibrations, or whatever they are,” Mary Turner said. “If she really can help us, then I figured she might as well be on the spot instead of in another building.”

  “Whatever.” Henry Howard walked past her and disappeared into the hallway.

  After staring at her retreating husband’s back for a moment, Mary Turner approached the table and offered her guests an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry our lunch got interrupted like this. Have y’all finished? Are you ready for dessert?”

  Dickce glanced at An’gel and Benjy, and they nodded. “I’m ready for dessert,” Dickce said. “I’ve been hankering after carrot cake ever since you first mentioned it.” An’gel and Benjy voiced their approval.

  “I’ll ask Marcelline to bring it in, then.” Mary Turner headed back to the door. “I’ll start clearing away in a moment.”

  Once Dickce thought Mary Turner was safely out of earshot, she said in a low tone, “I don’t like seeing Mary Turner and Henry Howard at odds over this. I wonder why he’s so reluctant to have that woman in the house.”

  Benjy broke his extended silence. “Mary Turner told me when we took Peanut and Endora to the kitchen before lunch that this is about the only part of the year that they actually get any time to themselves. Usually, that is. They don’t take guests the first three weeks of November so they can have a rest.”

  “And it’s bad enough that we’re here,” An’gel said, “even though we’re here to help. Then a stranger shows up and puts herself into the middle of it.”

  “I would be unhappy myself,” Dickce said. “Running a bed-and-breakfast, especially in an old house, must be awfully hard work.”

  “They do have some help,” Benjy said. “There’s the housekeeper, Marcelline. She’s really nice and loves animals. They also have a couple of ladies who come in three times a week to help clean when they’re open for guests.”

  “That’s good,” An’gel said. “But back to the subject of Mrs. Pace. I really want to know what brought her here. I’m not sure I believe that she received some kind of psychic message that her services were needed.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Dickce said.

  Mary Turner reentered the dining room in the company of Marcelline. Dickce and An’gel remembered her from previous visits and greeted her with compliments on the delicious lunch. The housekeeper smiled in acknowledgment of their praise.

  Marcelline must be near seventy by now, Dickce reckoned, because she had started working for the family as a teenager when Mary Turner’s father was a boy nearly fifty years ago.

  Dickce dug into her slice of carrot cake with anticipation. She savored the first mouthful. It tasted heavenly. She told Marcelline so the moment she could speak.

  “I’m glad y’all are enjoying it,” the housekeeper responded. “There’s plenty more if any y’all wants another piece.”

  “I could probably eat half the cake myself.” Benjy grinned. “This is probably the best cake I ever ate.”

  Marcelline beamed at him. “Well, you just come get more of it whenever you want, honey. Now, if y’all will excuse me, I got to go start thinking about dinner.”

  As she resumed her place at the table, Mary Turner said, “Marcelline is happy to have someone besides me and Henry Howard to cook for. We make do with sandwiches, salads, and scrambled eggs a lot of the time.”

  Dickce eyed her hostess’s trim figure and suppressed a sigh of envy. She wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds but the thought of giving up food like this depressed her. So she was a little plump, what of it? At her age, she decided, she wasn’t going to change the habits of eight decades of life.

  Henry Howard returned and pulled out his chair. Once seated, he eyed the serving of carrot cake at his place, then pushed it away. Dickce thought he looked grumpy. His next words confirmed that as he cast a resentful glance at his wife.

  “Madame Blavatsky loves her room, you’ll be delighted to know. Apparently she’s already feeling vibrations, or whatever the heck they are.”

  “Who’s Madame Blavatsky?” Benjy asked with a frown. “I thought she said her name was Pace.”

  Henry Howard scowled, and Mary Turner appeared
embarrassed.

  Dickce hastened to explain. “Madame Blavatsky was a famous spirit medium in the nineteenth century. She developed a large following, though of course, many people thought she was a fraud.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Benjy said. “You don’t believe in this medium gig, do you?” He addressed his question to Henry Howard.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Henry Howard shook his head. “Something has to explain what the heck’s been going on in this house the past couple of months. Either that, or Mary Turner and I have been hallucinating like crazy.”

  “I’m about at my wit’s end,” Mary Turner said. “This house has made odd noises ever since I can remember, but the other strange things . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Maybe these things happened in Grandmother’s day, and even my dad’s when he was young, but nobody ever said anything.”

  “No, I don’t remember any talk about supernatural happenings,” An’gel said, “and we knew your grandmother for many years. If anything of the kind occurred here, she never mentioned it to us.”

  “What kinds of things have occurred?” Dickce asked. “Henry Howard mentioned problems with lightbulbs going out unexpectedly, and you told An’gel about issues with your computers and cell phones.”

  “Those issues, yes,” Mary Turner said. “I’ve experienced one really peculiar thing.” She paused to nod in her husband’s direction. “Henry Howard hasn’t experienced it, and I don’t think he really believes me.”

  “I never said that.” Henry Howard looked even grumpier. “It’s just so weird, that’s all. You’d think as often as I go up and down those stairs, I would have felt it, too.”

  “Felt what?” Dickce remembered the sudden aura of cold she had felt earlier. She had to suppress a shiver.

  “A sensation of cold near the bottom of the front stairs,” Mary Turner said. “It’s only happened a few times, but it’s always unnerving when it does.” She crossed her arms over her chest for a moment, as if hugging herself against the cold.