“Phone call maybe?” I asked with a frown.
“Phones are so antiquated,” Angharad said with a sigh. I had no idea what she meant.
“It seems Angharad’s trick worked,” Lovie said, clapping her hands in her lap and smiling complacently at everyone in the room, Drake and Lizzie included.
“We were slightly distracted with some maintenance issues,” I replied. My last encounter with Angharad hadn’t left me eager to see her again, and I felt a little irritated with Lovie for bringing her over when she knew Angharad, Ryan and I didn’t part on good terms.
“Now that Peyton has invited you in,” Ryan started as he addressed Angharad. “Can you agree not to erase our memories again?”
“Erase your memories?” Maggie repeated, her mouth dropping open as she looked at me, then Ryan, then Drake and finally Lizzie. She studied Lizzie for a few seconds as though she were puzzled by the doll. I could only imagine she was picking up the doll’s psychic imprint.
“I think that doll just moved,” Maggie said in a whisper while she continued to stare at Lizzie.
“Yes, that doll houses a spirit, child, which means she can move and speak on occasion,” Angharad answered. Then she turned to face me again. “No, I won’t erase your memories!” she said with a laugh, as if the question itself were absurd. “I only did that this morning to keep us from being overheard.”
“What?” I asked, clearly lost. “I thought you didn’t want to be targeted for a crime you didn’t commit?”
“A crime?” Maggie repeated.
“There was a sword stolen from a museum this morning and Angharad was worried we’d think she did it,” I explained.
“Why would she think that?” Maggie asked.
“Long story,” I answered and faced the witch again.
“Oh, that too, I suppose,” Angharad said as she watched Maggie and narrowed her eyes.
“What did you mean that you didn’t want us to be overheard?” I pushed her.
She faced me again and shook her head impatiently. “It’s—it’s time-related and very complicated.”
“We’re accustomed to anything complicated,” I answered between tight lips.
Angharad sighed. “I implanted the conversation in your memory so that only you and the hunk over there could find it.” She loosely motioned to Ryan.
“Hunk?” Drake responded as he faced Ryan in an unimpressed manner. Then he glanced at me and frowned. “He is quite apish in my opinion.”
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, ghosty, you’re just as handsome,” Angharad responded with a cackle and faced Drake. “In fact, what do you think about haunting my house instead of this one?”
“I don’t,” Drake responded, still out of sorts.
I laughed. Maggie laughed. Lovie laughed and Ryan glared at each of us in turn. When he faced me, he arched his eyebrows in a rendition of: what am I missing?
“Drake is pissed that Angharad said you were a hunk,” I explained as I shook my head. “Men.”
“There was no need to inform le barbare about my comment, mon chaton,” Drake muttered.
“Going back to what you were saying about not wishing to be overheard,” Ryan interjected as he cleared his throat and faced Angharad. “What if someone happened to be standing around, listening, when we first met you, before you wiped our memories?”
“They might have overheard us talking, but they won’t remember it,” Angharad answered, reaching into her black bag. She pulled out a red and white striped umbrella that appeared much too large to have fit into her bag. She opened it, and began spinning it rapidly in circles until the red lines began to look like spirals. Maggie looked utterly delighted, Ryan less so. Like me, he seemed to be worried that this was another one of her tricks.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Angharad answered. “I’m creating an impermeable bubble around us, so that only those in the immediate vicinity can hear what I’m about to tell you.”
“There’s no one in this house except for us… and Drake,” I said with a flicker of annoyance.
“I’m not worried about ghosty,” said Angharad airily. “There could be other things listening, things you’re not even aware of.”
“Things?” Maggie repeated.
“Best if I keep the umbrella spinning.”
Ryan scowled. Whatever Angharad’s explanation, it appeared like she was placing us under some kind of enchantment, judging by the way Maggie, Ryan and Drake’s expressions began to soften the longer they looked at the umbrella.
“Lovie,” I started as I looked at my friend who waved away my concern.
“It’s okay,” she said but I had to wonder if she, too, had fallen under Angharad’s spell.
As we watched the umbrella, I could feel myself being lulled into a trance-like state of perfect calm.
“How long have you known each other?” asked Maggie as she looked from Angharad to me.
“They’ve known me for about six hours,” answered Angharad. “When we met this morning, I mentioned that I’m investigating a young man named Pebbles Ross. He stole the sword from the museum this morning.”
“Pebbles Ross is dead,” said Ryan as he shook his head.
“So what?” Angharad responded, glaring at him.
“So how could he steal a sword if he’s dead?” Ryan answered.
Angharad shook her head, her chin held high in the air. “You know very little about spiritual matters.”
“Who was Pebbles Ross?” I asked.
Angharad faced me. “The story goes that Pebbles was cruelly locked in the basement of a flooding house before Katrina hit. The door couldn’t be opened from the inside and it was assumed he’d died. But when authorities returned to the house after the waters had begun to recede, and unlocked the door, there was no trace of poor Pebbles.”
“He must have escaped somehow,” said Maggie. “I’m guessing he found a way out of the basement and died trying to escape from the house?”
“Maybe,” said Angharad. It was clear from the tone in her voice that she’d already considered as much. “But then, how does one escape a locked basement with no windows?”
“Maybe whoever locked him in, didn’t close the door all the way?” Maggie seemed determined to find a rational explanation to the mystery.
“Entirely possible.” Angharad hadn’t stopped spinning the umbrella. If her arms were getting tired, she showed no sign of it. “The one thing I feel sure about is that Pebbles wasn’t killed by Katrina.”
Lovie stared hard at Angharad, looking completely absorbed in this new mystery. “What do you think did kill him?”
“I believe he was killed right before Katrina and the story about being locked in the basement was just that—a story, a cover, an explanation.”
“But why?” Drake asked and leaned in, eyeing Angharad with interest. Drake could never resist a good mystery.
“It is a little known fact that Pebbles Ross was a sensitive of the highest caliber,” Angharad answered him with a clipped nod. “As children are usually much more attuned to the spiritual world than are adults, perhaps this should not be all that surprising.”
“What does his being a sensitive have to do with his death?” Maggie asked.
“Children are easily influenced and easily controlled,” Angharad responded with an expression of ennui. “And a child with incredible supernatural abilities? That child would be deemed quite valuable to those who involve themselves in such matters.”
“Then you believe he was killed for his abilities?” Drake asked.
“I do,” Angharad responded.
“But, why kill him for his supernatural powers?” Maggie asked, shaking her head to say she wasn’t following.
“In death, there is nothing standing between the supernatural and a gifted sensitive, yet life stands in the way,” Angharad answered.
“Then you think Pebbles was killed purposely and later he was coerced into doing s
omeone’s bidding, which included stealing the sword from the museum?” I asked.
“Quite so,” Angharad answered.
“For what purpose?” I asked and then shivered. There was a chill in the room that had nothing to do with the cold.
“I cannot say for sure, though I have my suspicions,” said Angharad.
“And what are those suspicions?” I asked.
Angharad took another swallow of her martini and licked her lips. “I believe Pebbles was involved in a much broader scheme, incorporating other deceased children.”
“A broader scheme?” Ryan repeated.
Angharad nodded.
“You mean, a broader scheme as in… more robberies?” I asked.
“Yes,” Angharad answered. “If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that in the last month or so, various antiquities around this town have been going missing. The sword from the Battle of Antietam is just the most recent in a long string,” she finished.
“What else has been stolen?” I asked.
Ryan began nodding. “I remember reading something about a bunch of old photographs that were stolen from the library’s collection,” he started.
“Yes,” Angharad interrupted. “Photos of James Sumpton Sutherland otherwise known as Ol’ Master Sutherland.”
“Who was he?” Maggie asked before Angharad could explain.
“Sutherland purchased a block of land that bordered the Mississippi River, not far from New Orleans, where he began building a plantation house in the West Indies style. Construction began on the house in 1787 using materials from the swamp and the river and it was completed around 1790. A couple of years later, Ol’ Master Sutherland would begin growing and processing indigo, with slave labor, of course. It was right around then that gossip started spreading from one slave to the next—gossip which eventually reached the ears of the white folk.”
“What kind of gossip?” Maggie asked, leaning forward as she listened to Angharad’s story.
“Gossip of the worst type,” Angharad responded, nodding as she faced all of us in turn. She was good at telling stories—I’d grant her that much. “Rumors held that Ol’ Master Sutherland was a follower and believer of the devil’s gospel. And it was common knowledge that he treated his slaves deplorably. Not only that, but many of his slaves would go missing, never to be seen nor heard from again. The slaves believed the missing had been sacrificed to the devil.”
“That’s the story my mama always told me ‘bout ol’ Sutherland,” Lovie said with a quick nod.
“Sutherland might have been a sadistic son of a bitch, but he didn’t last long,” Angharad continued. “It was maybe two years after the plantation was built that Ol’ Sutherland went missing himself, only to appear a week or so later, floating in the river, bloated and his skin had been picked over by the fish. In his forehead was burned the sign of the pentagram.”
For a minute or two no one said anything. It was Ryan who spoke first and he addressed me. “I’ve gotta get going. I have a job in Gretna.”
“Alright,” I whispered as I stood to walk him out, excusing myself for a few minutes.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lizzie turning her head to watch me.
Chapter Twelve
Ryan opened the front door, stepped onto the porch, and I followed. It was late afternoon and dappled sunlight glimmered through the boughs of the pecans. Across the street, I could see rows of wood-framed houses, some of them older than mine, their trees swaying in the warm breeze.
Ryan opened the truck door and climbed in as I walked up beside the door, where he was fumbling for his keys. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not sure,” he said, turning on the engine as he faced me. “Won’t be long, though. Will you be OK? That Angharad seems like a nutjob if you ask me.”
I laughed. “Just a normal day in the life of Peyton Clark, I guess.”
He gave me a quick nod and a smile. “Guess so.”
“So all that stuff she said about Sutherland was true?”
Ryan shrugged. “I remember reading something in the Times Picayune about all the historical photos, I think there were five maybe, of Sutherland being stolen recently. That’s all I remember.” Then he smiled. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Peyton, especially where that old woman is concerned.”
“I know and I don’t,” I said with a smile but something about Angharad’s stories about Pebbles and this Sutherland character didn’t sit well with me. Maybe it was also owing to the fact that I’d had that visit from ghostly Emily Stewart, who was interested in Lizzie. Who had told Emily about Lizzie and how did whoever that was know I had Lizzie?
Ryan pulled out of the driveway, kicking up a cloud of gravel and dust as he left. Quelling the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, I returned to the house, where I found everyone still seated while anxiously listening to Angharad’s tales.
Maggie was questioning her, asking Angharad things like where she was from, what she did for a living before taking up… whatever she did now, and how she settled on her current occupation.
For her own part, Angharad seemed torn between wanting to answer Maggie’s questions and preserving the air of intrigue and mystery that clung to her like a second skin.
As far as I was concerned, I didn’t like Angharad and I definitely didn’t trust her. I was convinced that she was one of those women who cultivated a sense of mystique in their admirers, but in time, saw themselves as much more interesting and important than they really were.
Clutching the stem of her martini glass tightly, Angharad said in a sultry voice, “…there are certain veils beyond which we mortals are not permitted to look… we are allowed only glimpses…”
I wasn’t sure to what she was referring, and I didn’t care enough to inquire.
“So old pictures of Sutherland were stolen along with a historic sword,” I said as I walked back into the living room. Everyone turned to look at me and Drake’s gaze lingered the longest. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Angharad continued.
“What else?” I asked.
“A dybbuk box was reported stolen from that occult store on the corner of Decatur Street,” she started. “I forget what it’s called.”
“The Midnight Store?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Angharad nodded. “Coincidentally, both the photos and the dybbuk box were reportedly stolen by children. Video surveillance from the library apparently recorded whoever this ghostly child was.”
“You saw the video?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” Angharad answered. “The police have control of the footage now and it would be quite a headache to retrieve it.”
“If you never saw the footage, how do you know it exists?” Maggie asked.
“It was written up in the newspaper, child,” she answered.
“And the dybbuk box?” I asked. “Does anyone know who stole that?”
“What the heck’s a dybbuk box?” Maggie asked.
“It’s a box that’s said to be haunted by a dybbuk which is a restless and usually malicious spirit,” Angharad answered.
“A spirit that’s able to haunt and possess the living,” Lovie added.
“The only way to free the dybbuk from the box is to burn the box and it often takes a long time to do so. But, as it’s burned the spirit is released,” said Angharad with her usual air of tranquility. I wondered if her demeanor was owing to the martini, which seemed to have greatly calmed her nerves since our first meeting. “Anyhoo,” Angharad continued as she faced me again. “To answer your question, Peyton, no one knows the identity of the child who stole the box. And the identity of the child who stole the photos hasn’t been confirmed, most probably because the child died before technology is what it is today.”
“Do you know anything about the children?” I asked. “Boys? Girls?
“The child who stole the photos was a girl and the sex of the child who stole the dyb
buk box is unknown.”
“This is so crazy!” Maggie said as she shook her head. “I feel like I’m in a movie or something.”
“Well, you aren’t, so it’s best to eradicate those romantic and silly notions right out of your head,” Angharad scolded. “Magic calls for cold logic and nothing more.”
“Oh, sorry,” Maggie said and dropped her head, appearing embarrassed.
“It seems to me that we need to come up with a plan of action,” Angharad continued. “I’ve wasted entirely too much time in the museum, reliving the hours leading up to the theft of the sword, hoping to know who put Pebbles up to it.”
“Going back to all the things that have been stolen lately,” I started as I faced Angharad. “Do you think they’re connected?”
“Of course!” she said as though I were stupid for asking.
“But, why and how?” Maggie asked.
Angharad drummed her fingers against her cheek and hummed while she was thinking. Then she pulled her hand away and began nodding at each of us in turn. “I believe someone is collecting all these artifacts for one purpose,” she started and then grew silent.
“Which is?” I asked.
“For a grand spell,” she answered.
“What type of grand spell?” Lovie asked.
“The type of grand spell that brings the dead back to life or allows an entity to take over a person’s body, destroying their soul in the process. The type of grand spell that means trouble for everyone,” Angharad finished.
I swallowed. Hard.
“There was a little girl who appeared in front of my door earlier,” I said, figuring now was probably the time to bring this subject up. “I’m fairly sure she was a spirit because she was dressed like it was the 1950s.”
“Wow,” Maggie said.
“What did she want?” Angharad asked.
“She said she wanted to play with Lizzie,” I said and pointed at the doll in question.
“Interesting,” Angharad answered as she looked at Lizzie and studied her for a few seconds. “Did she say how she found out you had the doll?”
If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4) Page 11