Fixing to Die

CHAPTER 12

While she unpacked in her new bedroom, An’gel kept pondering Mary Turner’s remark about Nathan Gamble. How she hoped something would happen while he was in the French room that would scare the life out of him. Had Mary Turner told the man anything about the strange events in that room? She would have to ask Mary Turner when she saw her next. It didn’t seem fair to let the man spend the night there without some kind of warning.

Of course, Nathan Gamble might not believe his cousin. He might think she was simply trying to get him out of the room so Miss An’gel could have it back. An’gel and Dickce could certainly vouch for Mary Turner, after the two incidents that An’gel had experienced. If the man didn’t believe them after that, he could look out for himself.

A scream from outside her door startled An’gel into dropping the dress she was in the act of hanging in the wardrobe. Whoever screamed sounded terrified, and An’gel stood rooted to the spot for a moment. Then she hurried to the door and yanked it open, only to behold Benjy, hands clapped over his eyes, bent slightly forward, trembling.

Mary Turner, who stood behind him, said, “Benjy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you heard me coming up the stairs not far behind you.”

An’gel relaxed against the door frame and felt the pounding in her chest begin to ease. They were all on edge, and poor Benjy had evidently had a real fright. She watched as he dropped his hands, straightened his back, and turned to face his hostess. The poor boy’s face was beet red, and An’gel knew he was terribly embarrassed. Bad enough that he had yelled like a scared child, but worse that it was in front of Mary Turner, whom he admired. An’gel felt bad for him.

Benjy offered Mary Turner a sheepish grin. “Sorry to yell like that. I guess I’ve been thinking too much about ghosts, and since I didn’t think anyone was in the hall with me, I overreacted.” The red began to recede from his complexion.

“There’s no need to apologize to me,” Mary Turner said firmly. “I’m the one who is apologizing. I should have called out to let you know I was behind you.”

“The main thing is,” Benjy said with a shaky laugh, “you’re not a ghost. No telling what I might have done if I’d looked around and nobody was there.”

Dickce hurried into the hallway from her room. “What’s going on? Who screamed? Is everyone all right?” She stooped to pick up Benjy’s cell phone from the carpet runner. “Isn’t this yours?” She held it out to Benjy.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Benjy accepted the phone and then explained to Dickce that he was the one who’d yelled and why.

“My goodness, no wonder you reacted that way,” Dickce said. “An’gel and I are both a little jumpy after what we’ve experienced today.”

“What happened to you?” Benjy asked. His eyes widened in alarm, and An’gel hastened to assure him that she and Dickce were fine.

“There were two incidents of my clothing being moved from one place to another in the French room.” An’gel related the details to Benjy.

Dickce said, “The only thing I’ve experienced so far is that cold sensation on the stairs. Did you feel it when you came up here?”

Benjy shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank goodness. I was kind of expecting to, but it didn’t happen.” He indicated the doorway where An’gel stood. “Can I see inside the French room? I’m really curious to see what it’s like.”

“This isn’t the French room,” An’gel said. “I’ve switched to this one so that Mary Turner’s cousin can have that room.”

“My distant cousin, Nathan Gamble. My fifth cousin, I think. At least that’s what my grandmother always told me,” Mary Turner explained. “Anyway, he’s having work done at his house—or so he says—and needed a place to stay for a couple of nights. He thinks the French room is his by right.”

“What does that mean, his by right?” Benjy asked, obviously confused by Mary Turner’s explanation.

“Tell you what,” An’gel said before Mary Turner could respond. “Instead of standing out here in the hall, why don’t we all go back downstairs to the parlor, where we can sit down and be comfortable. Then we’ll explain.” She pulled her door shut and headed around Mary Turner and Benjy to the stairs.

They all followed her into the parlor. Dickce and An’gel chose one sofa while Mary Turner and Benjy took the other. Now that they were seated comfortably, An’gel looked at Mary Turner. “Do you want to explain, or shall I?”

“You go ahead,” Mary Turner said. “You’ll do it more succinctly than I will because I usually get annoyed over the stupidity of it all and start digressing.”

An’gel nodded. “Very well.” She proceeded to give Benjy a précis of the story of fourth great-grandfather Turner and his young sister. When she’d finished, she rested against the back of the sofa and waited to hear what Benjy might say.

“This cousin of yours reminds me a little of my stepfather’s mother.” He glanced at An’gel and Dickce. “She was a friend of Miss Dickce’s and Miss An’gel’s. Anyway, she had an obsession, too, so I kinda know what you mean when you say your cousin is obsessed with the room.”

“He’s talking about our friend Rosabelle Sultan,” Dickce explained. “You might have heard your grandmother talking about her. They knew each other at one time.”

“Vaguely,” Mary Turner said. “What was her obsession, Benjy?”

“Herself,” he responded promptly. “I found out later, after reading about it in a psychology book, that she was a narcissist. Do you know what that means?”

Mary Turner nodded. “Yes, I do. Nathan is somewhat like that. He’s really only concerned about himself and his bank account.”

“Even if it is an obsession, and maybe he can’t help himself,” Benjy said, “the whole thing seems useless to me. Why would anyone in that family think the stuff in that room really belongs to them after all this time?”

“That’s what comes from nursing a grudge, generation after generation,” An’gel said. “I agree the whole thing is pointless on Nathan Gamble’s part. But that doesn’t mean people still don’t feel that way. Dickce and I know two families in Athena that haven’t spoken to each other if they can help it for over sixty years.”

“I don’t get it,” Benjy said, “but I don’t have to.” He turned to his hostess. “Does he know about the weird things that happen in that room?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mary Turner said. “I’ve certainly never told him, and I don’t intend to.” She glanced quickly at An’gel and Dickce. “I’d rather no one else did either. Let him experience it for himself.” She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe nothing at all will happen while he’s in the room. He has little imagination that I’ve ever seen, so he probably won’t even notice if something gets moved.”

An’gel felt that Mary Turner was wrong not to tell her cousin but she figured it would do no good to argue with her about it. “Very well,” she said. “We won’t say anything, but I think you should be prepared for the backlash if anything does happen and he is injured, for example.”

“I really don’t think anything serious is going to happen,” Mary Turner said. “Nothing really terrible has happened so far, after all. It’s been annoying and occasionally creepy, but neither Henry Howard nor I has been physically hurt.”

“That’s reassuring to hear,” An’gel said. “Until we know what or who is behind all this, however, we can’t take it for granted that no one will be hurt. It depends on the motive, I think. If the person responsible doesn’t get what he or she wants, then the incidents could escalate.”

“Now you’re making it sound like one of those horror movies where the family moves into a house and starts getting attacked.” Dickce shivered.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Sister,” An’gel said, more irritated with Dickce than she cared to show. “The point is still valid. I don’t think this is a house of horrors, but what’s going on here isn’t normal. Now, Mary Turner, there’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mary Turner said. “What is it?”

“Do you know whether there is a secret room or a hidden passageway in the house?” An’gel asked.

“Like in that Nancy Drew book?” Mary Turner asked. “I loved that book. My grandmother gave me her copy when I was nine years old.” She shook her head. “No, there isn’t that I know of. Daddy never said anything about one, and neither did Granny. I tried to find one after I read that book, but I never found anything.”

“I see. It would certainly go a ways toward helping explain things if there were,” An’gel said. “I’m not convinced there is one, mind you, but we have to keep our minds open to all possibilities.”

“Naturally,” Dickce said. “Does this mean you want to continue going through the house looking for those spatial oddities of yours?”

“We might as well,” An’gel replied. “We need to observe everything we can about the house, and everyone in it as well. The answer could be anywhere. Anyone.”

An’gel thought she heard the stairs creak a couple of times. She wondered who was going up or down. Where was that medium, for example?

“Have you seen Mrs. Pace recently?” An’gel directed her question to Mary Turner.

“No, as far as I know, she is still upstairs in her room. I had just come back from showing Serenity and Truss to their rooms when I startled Benjy in the hall. I was actually on my way to see you, Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, to talk to you about dinner tonight. I’d forgotten all about that in the excitement.” She winked at Benjy, who reddened a little.

“We’ll be happy to go out to dinner,” An’gel said. “We don’t want to place any additional burden on Marcelline or you. I imagine Marcelline was looking forward to a little time off herself.”

“That’s kind of you,” Mary Turner said, “but Marcelline has already put a roast on for dinner, and there’s enough for all of us.” She paused a moment. “Not for the other guests, though. I don’t intend to feed them anything other than breakfast.”

“I smelled the roast when I came in through the kitchen,” Benjy said. “Smelled great. I vote for eating here, if that’s okay.”

Dickce laughed. “Of course it’s okay. As long as Marcelline has already cooked for us, I vote we stay here, too. We can help clean up in the kitchen afterwards.”

“Yes,” An’gel said. “That’s a good idea.”

“I’ll tell Marcelline,” Mary Turner said. “She might take you up on that, but don’t be surprised if she doesn’t. That kitchen is her domain.” She grinned as she rose from the sofa. “If there’s nothing else you need to ask me right now, I’d better go and talk to her about breakfast for the next few days and a few other things.”

“Go right ahead,” An’gel said. “If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

Mary Turner nodded and smiled at them before she left the room.

“What shall we do now?” Dickce asked.

“For the moment, y’all can sit right here,” An’gel said. “I’m going up to my room to retrieve my phone before we do anything else. I’ll be back in a minute.”

An’gel left Dickce and Benjy chatting about his room in the annex. She paused at the foot of the stairs and steeled herself for the potential aura of cold but felt nothing when she climbed the stairs other than her own exertions.

She found her cell phone right away and was about to head downstairs again when she decided she might as well use the bathroom before she did so. She walked past the doorway to Dickce’s room and tapped on the bathroom door. The bathroom, which she was having to share with both her sister and Nathan Gamble, was between Dickce’s room and the French room. Hearing no response from within, she opened the door and entered.

While she was drying her hands, she heard the sound of raised voices coming from next door in the French room. She paused to listen for a moment. She couldn’t distinguish the words but thought that both voices sounded male. She wondered who might be arguing with Nathan Gamble. Had Henry Howard come back early from his trip into town?

An’gel replaced the towel on the rack and moved to the door. She opened it a crack and listened. The voices next door had stopped. She opened the door farther and peered to the right, toward the French room. She wanted to avoid the quarreling men if at all possible.

The hall was clear. She was about to step out and shut the door when she heard the French room door open. She stepped back in and peered around the edge of the door frame.

The lawyer Wilbanks stumbled into the hall as if he had been pushed out the door. He was in the act of fastening his pants. He glared toward the door. He sounded hoarse when he yelled, “That’s the last time I let you . . .”

An’gel pushed the door shut at the vulgar verb. She had heard and seen enough to know what had been going on next door.