Fixing to Die

by Miranda James

  She voiced this question to the policeman. He shrugged. “There was nothing in the room to indicate how, other than a glass and a bottle of water. That bottle hadn’t been opened, though, and there was no other bottle or source of water in the room.”

  “He could have gone to the bathroom to get water from the sink,” An’gel said.

  “Yes, of course,” Steinberg said. “The autopsy might tell us how the pills were taken but that could be a few weeks.”

  “You need a break in the case,” An’gel said.

  “Obviously,” Steinberg replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

  An’gel ignored the sarcasm. “I have an idea that could yield results, but you might think it too crazy.”

  “I won’t know till I’ve heard it,” Steinberg said. “Shoot.”

  • • •

  At first Dickce thought An’gel had gone slightly off her rocker when she first told them her idea for smoking out the killer. A séance? Seriously?

  “It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” An’gel had protested. Benjy seemed enthusiastic about the idea, particularly when An’gel explained what she wanted him to do. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “It will be fun,” he said.

  Dickce warmed to the idea but she had reservations. “What will you do if something unexpected turns up?”

  “Improvise,” An’gel said. “You don’t seriously think we’ll be summoning spirits from beyond the grave, do you? This is more of a psychological exercise than a spiritual one.”

  “If you say so,” Dickce said. As the time neared for the séance to start, however, she grew increasingly curious about exactly what might happen.

  Alesha Jackson had agreed to conduct the séance. Dickce knew her sister could be pretty persuasive, but she had to wonder about the psychic’s motive in complying with the request. If Alesha Jackson was the killer, Dickce reasoned, she might somehow give herself away during the séance. Though exactly how that might be, Dickce wasn’t sure.

  They were all at the dinner table that evening when Alesha Jackson startled everyone—except Dickce, An’gel, and Benjy—by announcing that she had received a message from one of her spirit guides that tonight she should hold a séance. The ghost of Cliffwood, they told her, was ready to communicate with her.

  “How exciting,” An’gel had said immediately, and Dickce joined in. The others looked skeptical at first, but the more they talked about it, the more interested everyone seemed to become.

  Alesha Jackson insisted that everyone had to participate in order for the séance to have the desired result. Her spirit guides had been most insistent on that point, she told them. They would convene at ten o’clock in the dining room.

  At nine forty-five, Dickce was back in the dining room, along with An’gel and Benjy, waiting for the others to arrive. They began to trickle in shortly before ten, and An’gel directed them to take their seats around the table. Alesha Jackson sat at the head, An’gel at the foot, and Dickce and Benjy at the midpoint on either side.

  Henry Howard had added a leaf to the table so that it could accommodate all nine of them. There were two candelabra on the table, each holding three candles. Henry Howard lit them and then turned out the lights.

  Dickce glanced around the table. Serenity Foster looked bored. Truss Wilbanks was obviously nervous. Henry Howard appeared to be enjoying himself, while Mary Turner appeared to be a little on edge. Marcelline, however, seemed overwhelmed by the situation. The housekeeper sat between Benjy and Mary Turner, and she shivered a little now and then, Dickce noticed.

  “Let us begin.” Alesha Jackson’s voice interrupted Dickce’s perusal of the occupants of the room. “We must now hold hands to form an unbroken connection around the table.” She extended her hands to those on either side of her. As soon as she was satisfied that everyone had complied with her instruction, she continued.

  Her voice deepened slightly as she talked. “There is a spirit in this house, a restless soul who still wanders this earth. This spirit is a remnant of one who lived in this house long ago, but who lingers. We must focus our thoughts on this spirit and encourage it to reveal itself to us. Please close your eyes and concentrate.”

  Alesha Jackson began to hum something that sounded like a hymn. Dickce stole a glance at the psychic in the dim light of the candles. Her eyes were closed as she continued to hum. The sound was soothing, almost hypnotic, Dickce thought.

  Dickce closed her own eyes and did her best to concentrate her thoughts. She knew that An’gel’s plan called for a certain amount of deception, and she hoped she wouldn’t give anything away. She tended to giggle sometimes when she was nervous, and An’gel would wring her neck if she giggled tonight and spoiled everything. So she focused as hard as she could on the sound of Alesha Jackson’s humming and the idea of the spirit of the house.

  The humming continued, the volume increasing and decreasing occasionally. Dickce began to feel relaxed. The sound was soothing. She could feel the hands she clasped. Henry Howard, on her right, seemed calm and focused. Truss Wilbanks on her left, however, trembled now and then. Dickce gave his hand a light squeeze to try to reassure him, and he seemed to be calmer after that.

  The humming trailed off, and Alesha Jackson began to speak again.

  “Spirit of this house, we are here to help you. To guide you on to the next plane of existence. You no longer have to be confined by the walls of this house. If you will open yourself to us, we can guide you toward the light of eternal peace. Will you allow us to assist you on your way toward the light?”

  When the psychic stopped speaking, Dickce could hear only the sounds of breathing. She opened her eyes and glanced quickly around the table. Everyone was still connected, hand to hand, and everyone except An’gel had their eyes closed. An’gel winked at her, then assumed a serious expression.

  Alesha Jackson spoke once more. “Spirit of this house, I know you are troubled. Memories of life and of death have bound you to this place, but you can be free of them. Let me guide you on toward the light. Don’t be afraid. Nothing more can harm you now.”

  In the quiet that followed, Dickce heard a soft murmur. Even though she was expecting it, she got goose pimples and had to resist the urge to pull her hands loose to rub her arms. The murmur was only a faint sound at first, but the volume grew slightly, and one word, repeated over and over, became distinct.

  “Murder.” The syllables were drawn out, the voice a breathy whisper. “Mur-der. Mur-der.” The word repeated, over and over, in a near-hypnotic rhythm. Then all at once, the volume rose and rose until it suddenly ended in an unearthly shriek.

  Dickce shuddered. She had been present earlier when Benjy recorded the whole thing, but still she felt spooked by it. In the silence she heard ragged breathing all around her.

  Then the voice started again, whispered for a moment, then suddenly stopped.

  Alesha Jackson spoke, her voice now sounding tense rather than soothing. “What is it you wish to tell us, spirit? Speak to us. Reveal everything to us. We are here to help you.”

  What happened next came as a complete surprise to Dickce. Her eyes flew open when she felt a rush of air across the table. An’gel hadn’t told her about this. All the candles went out, and then a voice began to shriek. “Get it off me. Get it off me. It’s trying to kill me.”

  All at once the room lights came on, and as soon as her eyes could focus, Dickce sought out the source of the screaming.

  Serenity Foster, her face distorted by fear, sat shivering in her chair. “Get it off me. Oh dear God, get it off me.” Suddenly she pushed her chair back and ran out the door. Straight into the waiting arms of Lieutenant Steinberg.

  CHAPTER 36

  At breakfast the next morning, An’gel ate with a great deal of satisfaction. Her idea to use a séance to psych out the murderer had worked, even better than she had hoped. Serenity Foster, terrified by the experi
ence, started talking to Lieutenant Steinberg the moment she ran into his arms, and she confessed everything. She kept begging him to keep it off me, even as he took her into the library to hear her full confession.

  The group had been quiet last night. Everyone went off to bed not long after the séance broke up. Benjy disappeared before An’gel could thank him for his help. He hadn’t yet made it to breakfast, although it was nearly eight thirty now. That wasn’t like him.

  “You were terrific,” An’gel told Alesha Jackson for the second time.

  The psychic smiled and finally responded to the compliment, her tone tinged with amusement. “I told you I could communicate with the spirit of the house.”

  An’gel nodded, not really believing her but trying to be polite since the woman had been a great help.

  “I was terrified when the candles went out,” Mary Turner said. “I thought I was fixing to die I was so scared right that moment.”

  “That was really spooky, but I figured Miss An’gel had somehow rigged it to happen,” Henry Howard said. “How did you manage it?” He looked first at Alesha, then at An’gel. “It was a pretty neat trick.”

  An’gel frowned. The extinguishing of the candles hadn’t been part of her plan. She had no explanation for how it had happened. She said that aloud.

  Henry Howard turned back to Alesha. “Did you do it?”

  She grinned broadly. “Only in the sense that I convinced the spirit to communicate with us. That was the spirit’s doing, not mine.”

  An’gel wasn’t sure she believed the psychic, but she preferred not to dwell on it. The sudden darkness had served her plan beautifully, so she wouldn’t question its source. It might even have been what tipped Serenity Foster over the edge.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Benjy stood at the threshold of the dining room. An’gel was surprised to see that he looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept much. He also seemed reluctant to enter the dining room.

  Dickce got up and went to him. “Poor boy, you look exhausted. Come have something to eat. You’ll feel a lot better.” She put an arm around his shoulders.

  Benjy nodded and allowed her to lead him to the sideboard. Dickce started heaping a plate with food while he poured himself a cup of coffee. He seated himself at the place where Dickce set his plate, picked up his fork, but then only stared at the food.

  “Benjy, what’s wrong?” An’gel was concerned. He always had a healthy appetite. “Something is obviously bothering you.”

  Benjy gazed at her with troubled eyes. “I had trouble sleeping last night after what happened. I was seriously creeped out by it.” He turned to look at Alesha Jackson. “Did you feel it, too?”

  The psychic nodded. “Yes. You didn’t imagine it.”

  Benjy appeared only slightly relieved by Alesha Jackson’s response.

  “Feel what?” An’gel asked.

  “The cold.” Benjy shivered. “I’ve never felt anything like it, even though it barely touched me.”

  Dickce said, “I know what you mean. It feels like nothing on earth.”

  An’gel stared at Benjy. He wasn’t putting on an act. He had really felt something last night. She looked at Alesha Jackson. “What exactly happened?”

  “We called, and the spirit responded,” Alesha said. “The word murder evidently had the effect you wanted, but not exactly in the way you expected.”

  “Are you telling me that the spirit reacted to the word by going after the murderer?” An’gel said, unnerved by the idea. She had believed Serenity Foster cracked under the pressure and the weird nature of the séance last night.

  “Yes,” Alesha Jackson said. She gazed with sympathy at Benjy. “I felt the spirit the other day on the stairs. That cold aura surrounded me when I wasn’t expecting it, and I nearly fell down the stairs.” Now she looked at An’gel. “You were there; you saw it when it happened.”

  An’gel nodded. “I did, but frankly I thought you were putting us on.”

  “I told you I had felt it there,” Dickce said. “I thought you believed me.”

  “I did,” An’gel said. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me about it.”

  “But you thought I was putting on an act,” Alesha said. “I’m used to skepticism. I’ve encountered it every time I have been hired, so you didn’t intimidate me. Even when you told me that ridiculous story about my grandmother.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mary Turner asked. “Do you know Alesha’s grandmother, Miss An’gel?”

  “No, I don’t. I was told something about Alesha’s grandmother that turned out not to be true.” An’gel stared hard at Marcelline, who had entered the room moments before with another plate of biscuits.

  The housekeeper set the plate on the sideboard. She hesitated a moment, then turned to face Mary Turner. “I told a lie, Miss Mary, because I was afraid you had gotten so angry at Nathan that you went and killed him.”

  “If I hadn’t been worried you killed him to protect me,” Mary Turner said, “I’d be upset by that, Marcelline.”

  “I lied, and I’m sorry about that, Ms. Jackson,” the housekeeper said. Alesha Jackson stared hard at her for a moment before she nodded to acknowledge the apology. “But I wouldn’t ever take a life, Miss Mary, and I should have known you wouldn’t either.”

  “We know that now,” An’gel said, “but both of you were strong suspects, you know, because of what Nathan told you the night he died.” She glanced at Henry Howard, then at Mary Turner, an eyebrow raised.

  “It’s all right, Miss An’gel,” Mary Turner said. “I told Henry Howard everything. We stayed up until nearly two a.m. talking things over. I think we understand each other a lot better now.”

  Henry Howard smiled at her. “We do, and I’m glad.” He turned to An’gel. “The only thing now is to figure out how to get out of the financial mess we’re in.”

  “We can talk about that later,” An’gel said. “Dickce and I are going to introduce you to a friend of ours who is a banker. I’m sure she will get things sorted out with the mortgage, and you’ll do okay. We’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you,” Mary Turner said. “I’m not sure we deserve your help, but I’m mighty glad you’re on our side.”

  An’gel smiled but her attention had already shifted elsewhere. They had strayed away from the subject of last night’s strange events, and she was concerned about Benjy. He still appeared troubled, though he had finally begun to eat his breakfast. She didn’t know what to say or do to reassure him at the moment. She was beginning to come to terms with the idea that what had happened last night had happened, whatever the explanation. She was going to be content with that, and she hoped Benjy could make peace with it.

  As if sensing An’gel’s thoughts, Alesha Jackson spoke to Benjy. “I know you’re troubled by what you saw and felt last night, but that spirit would not have harmed you. I can assure you of that.”

  Benjy frowned and put down his fork. “I guess I believe you, but I don’t understand why it did what it did.”

  “I think I know,” Mary Turner said before the psychic could reply.

  “What is your explanation, Mary Turner?” An’gel asked. She saw that everyone was intent on the young woman, awaiting her response.

  “You may all think this is silly,” Mary Turner said, her tone slightly defensive, “but I think she—and I think it’s she, not he—was protecting the house. She knew who killed Nathan, and she wasn’t going to let the murderer get away with it. Especially after Serenity threatened to tear the house down.”

  An’gel wasn’t going to argue with Mary Turner. She realized it wouldn’t do any good. Whether the spirit had acted to protect the house was not a question she would dwell on for long. The important thing was, Serenity had been so frightened by the experience that she had confessed.

  “It was all about the money, wasn’t it?” Alesha Jackson ask
ed.

  An’gel nodded. “Yes, she killed her brother because he wouldn’t give her the money she thought she needed in her battle for joint custody of her children. She thought she could get her hands on it right away, once he was dead. She didn’t realize it wasn’t so simple.”

  “How did she do it?” Dickce asked. “No one has told us.”

  “Lieutenant Steinberg informed me yesterday afternoon that Nathan Gamble was smothered to death and that he was probably drugged with sleeping pills. He was unable to resist when Serenity covered his face and suffocated him with a pillow.”

  “Was he dead when I went in there?” Henry Howard asked, obviously appalled at the thought. He had paled the moment An’gel explained how Nathan died.

  “I don’t know,” An’gel said. “You told me that you thought you heard a moan or two. He could still have been alive at that point and moaning in his sleep. I believe Serenity somehow got him to take the sleeping pills after they argued, then left him until he went to sleep. Then she came back and killed him when she knew he wouldn’t be able to fight back.”

  “We’ll have to wait until the trial to find out, I guess,” Mary Turner said. “At this point, though, I’m not sure I even want to know any more details about it. I always thought she was hateful and completely self-centered, but I didn’t imagine that she could kill her own brother.”

  “She was more concerned about money than she cared about her brother,” Dickce said.

  “Speaking of money,” Henry Howard said, “what’s going to happen to her inheritance? She’s not allowed to profit from her crime, is she?”

  “No, she isn’t,” An’gel said. “She forfeited her right to her brother’s money when she killed him. That means her heirs can’t profit either.”

  “If Truss hadn’t gone home first thing this morning,” Mary Turner said, “he could probably tell us what will happen.”

  Benjy spoke up. “He told me yesterday he thought Nathan had split everything between him and Serenity. I guess maybe he’ll get everything now.”