Fixing to Die

by Miranda James

“I know,” Henry Howard said. “But dogs need a lot of attention, and sometimes guests don’t respond to them well. We have to be really careful, you know. We can’t afford to get sued just because some crazy person can’t handle a dog or a cat anywhere in the house.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” An’gel said. “That’s a shame, though.”

  “Yes, it is,” Henry Howard replied. “But that’s the way it is. The house always comes first, basically, because it’s our livelihood.” He walked into the kitchen and went straight to the small table near the back door.

  Before An’gel could look for food for Henry Howard, Marcelline came storming in. She walked straight over to Henry Howard, ignoring An’gel.

  “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 witnes
s 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.”

  An’gel did not wait to see or hear Serenity Foster’s reaction to her speech. She turned and walked out of the room and right into her sister, who had evidently been lingering in the hallway.

  “That’s telling her, Sister.” Dickce’s eyes danced with mischief. “I get such a kick out of it when you go into terminator mode.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t insist on using that ridiculous phrase,” An’gel said, still angry from her confrontation with Serenity. “Come upstairs with me. I need to be somewhere quiet for a little while, and we can talk about this mess in private.” She headed up the stairs.

  She didn’t speak again until she was seated in the armchair in her bedroom. Dickce found a place on the old trunk at the foot of An’gel’s bed.

  “Where are Benjy and the animals?” An’gel asked.

  “They’ve gone back to their room,” Dickce said. “I suggested that Benjy go online and see what he can find out about our mysterious Mrs. Pace.”

  An’gel nodded approvingly. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I wanted him to do. I want to know who—and what—that woman really is.”

  “What if he doesn’t find anything?” Dickce asked.

  “That will prove she’s a fake,” An’gel said. “In that case, I would speak with Lieutenant Steinberg and ask him to investigate. It would be obvious the woman came here to defraud Mary Turner in some fashion, and surely he would look into that if Mary Turner complains to him. I can’t see why she wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t know,” Dickce said. “She might be afraid of the publicity if the story gets out. It’s going to be bad enough when the press gets wind of Nathan Gamble’s death. I can see the headlines now. Ghost Frightens Man to Death. Haunted House Claims Innocent Victim. Death by Ghost.” She shook her head. “Mary Turner will be upset.”

  “It will probably triple the reservations to stay here,” An’gel said wryly. “There are always thrill-seekers looking for haunted houses, you know.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think those are the kinds of guests she wants here, do you?”

  “No,” An’gel said. “I wouldn’t want them either, frankly. But this is a business, and they have to have guests if they’re going to keep it running.”

  “Speaking of running the business,” Dickce said, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Henry Howard isn’t all that enthusiastic about it.”

  “He’s not,” An’gel said. “He talked to me briefly just now when I took him to the kitchen for breakfast.” She relayed the conversation to Dickce and told her about Marcelline’s behavior.

  “She seemed really fond of him the last time we were here,” Dickce said. “Do you think she’s actually turned against him? Or was it simply the stress talking?”

  “The latter, I think, is more likely.” An’gel shrugged. “But the last time we saw them was a few years ago, and they hadn’t been married all that long. The three of them spend so much time together, it’s no wonder there are sore spots, I suppose.”

  “Maybe when all this is cleared up and things get back to normal, whatever that may be,” Dickce said, “they will all feel happier with one another.”

  “Maybe they will, Pollyanna.” An’gel gave a brief smile. “I would like for them to be happy. We both know what a huge responsibility an old house like this can be.”

  “At least we’re in a better position financially to maintain ours,” Dickce said. “We don’t have to work the way they do.”

  “True,” An’gel said. “We were incredibly lucky that our father was so astute in business, and we haven’t done too badly ourselves.”

  “Chips off the old block.” Dickce smiled.

  “Let’s get back to the business at hand,” An’gel said. “Namely, the unexplained death of Nathan Gamble. You heard what I said to his sister. What do you think?”

  “Do I think she has a much stronger motive for getting rid of him than Mary Turner?” Dickce asked. “I do. If Serenity doesn’t inherit anything from her brother’s estate, though, her motive is pretty weak.”

  “I’ve thought about that,” An’gel said. “Even if she doesn’t inherit directly, she might still benefit from his death.”

  “How so?” Dickce asked.

  “With her brother out of the way,” An’gel replied, “she might gain more control over her trust fund.”

  “We don’t know the terms of the trust,” Dickce said. “It would be odd if her brother were the only trustee, don’t you think? There are usually at least two.”

  “Yes,” An’gel said. “Good point. Still worth considering, though, if her brother’s death dissolves the trust.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Dickce said.

  “And there’s another thing,” An’gel said. “This time about her lawyer. Remember what I told you I witnessed yesterday between him and Nathan Gamble?”

  Dickce nodded. “Do you think their relationship could be the key?”

  “Truss Wilbanks wouldn’t be the first angry lover to kill his ex.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Benjy walked Peanut and Endora again before he took them back to their room. He wanted to let Peanut play and tire himself out so he would nap while Benjy worked at the task Miss Dickce had set him. Endora needed to play, too, and she always loved chasing the much larger dog.

  Once in their room, Benjy opened his laptop and connected to the wireless network. Peanut and Endora snoozed on the bed, and Benjy figured he probably had half an hour before they got restless again and demanded attention.

  Benjy entered Primrose Pace in the search engine and waited for results. The wireless connection didn’t appear to be all that strong because it took longer than Benjy was used to for the results to appear. He groaned. If the connection didn’t get any faster than this, he would need twice as long to find anything.

  He examined the hits on Primrose Pace. The first one, apparently a newspaper article, looked promising, and he clicked on it. The story focused on a kidnapping and murder that had taken place in Louisiana nearly two years ago. A teenager had been abducted, and after months of no results from law enforcement, a psychic had come forward with claims to know the whereabouts of the girl. The psychic was Primrose Pace. There was a photograph accompanying the article. Several law enforcement officers and one woman stood in a small clearing in the woods. They were all staring at a spot under one large tree where the earth had been disturbed. The picture had been shot at enough distance that the faces of the officers and the woman were not clear. Even though Benjy tried enlarging the photograph, he couldn’t distinguish enough of the woman’s features to identify her.

  Benjy skimmed the article. Mrs. Pace’s claims had proven helpful, he read. Though the spot pictured in the photograph included with the article had not been a grave, officials did find the remains of the teenager less than half a mile from there. Benjy wondered what had disturbed the earth in the photograph. Probably an animal digging, he thought.

  The next two links yielded similar results. No photograph with which he could positively identify Primrose Pace, but otherwise the stories were much like the first one. Mrs. Pace apparently did have some knack for finding areas where human remains had been left or buried, but she never was right about the exact spot, Benjy concluded. Still, it was an impressive feat in itself. The woman either had been involved in the murders, somehow had inside knowledge, or possessed real psychic abilities.

  One of the articles contained a brief description of the medium, an attractive black woman in her mid-forties. The Primrose Pace at Cliffwood matched that description, but then so would many other women. Be
njy hadn’t found anything so far that could positively identify the woman at Cliffwood as the Primrose Pace of the articles.

  He continued through the links until he reached the point that he found himself reading through information in which the words primrose and pace appeared somewhere in the same article. He refined his search to look for the two words together, and his results narrowed immediately to only one screen’s worth.

  Benjy stopped for a moment to consider his next move. Mrs. Pace had never mentioned where she came from, but the stories he had read with her in them had all taken place in Louisiana. One of them happened not far across the Mississippi River from Natchez.

  He found it odd that the woman didn’t have a website to advertise herself. Idly he searched Louisiana psychics and after about ten seconds had a result list of over 300,000 hits. He even found a directory of psychics, but there was no listing for Primrose Pace. Idly he clicked on several of the different psychics listed and read their descriptions and scanned some of their testimonials. He found it all fascinating, especially since a few of them listed missing persons as a specialty.

  Maybe Primrose Pace was one of those people who didn’t like the Internet and preferred to find her clients via word of mouth instead of social media. That thought reminded him he needed to check other social media sources, and he proceeded to do so. He didn’t find an account anywhere for Primrose Pace on the most popular social media sites or even a mention of her.

  Next he tried a genealogical database, but the only hits he got showed the two words in the same entry, usually with the word Primrose part of a street name and Pace as a surname.

  Benjy searched every source he could access through the Athena Public Library. He had no access to the library at Athena College, though come spring he would. He was excited about enrolling for his first semester of college and couldn’t believe how lucky he was that he had been accepted. Access to a college library would open whole new worlds to him, and he couldn’t wait for that to happen.