Fixing To Die

CHAPTER 27

Marcelline gasped and dropped the dishes she was carrying, to An’gel’s surprise. Alesha Jackson’s words had obviously struck home.

“How . . . how did you know that?” Marcelline said, her voice hoarse, before she collapsed into the closest chair.

Alesha Jackson smiled enigmatically but did not answer.

“Marcelline, is this really true?” Mary Turner asked. “When were you ever married?” An’gel could tell she was shocked by this revelation.

“A long time ago,” the housekeeper responded dully. “When I was a young girl, only seventeen. It just lasted a year. Then he ran off with another woman, and I never saw him again.”

“Are you still married to him?” Mary Turner asked.

“I don’t know,” the housekeeper said. “He never came back, and I never divorced him. The church wouldn’t approve.”

An’gel recalled then that Marcelline was Catholic, obviously one who didn’t believe in divorce.

“My goodness.” Mary Turner shook her head. “Did you ever tell Granny about this? Or Mother and Daddy?”

“Your granny knew,” Marcelline said. “She knew what it was like to be married to a faithless man. Sorry, honey, but your grandfather was a bad man.”

“I know,” Mary Turner replied. “Daddy told me all about him, and so did Granny.”

“Your granny never told anyone about me,” Marcelline said. “I didn’t have no other family, and Miz Turner felt sorry for me and took me in, gave me a job and a home. I thought no one would ever find out, as long as he never turned up again.”

An’gel had been watching Alesha Jackson during this conversation. The woman must have some kind of intuitive ability, she decided, or else she was a gambler who had taken a shot in the dark and watched it pay off beautifully. She didn’t appear to be gloating at her success, however.

Mary Turner went to the housekeeper and bent to give her a hug. “Why don’t you go lie down for a little while?” she said. “You’ve had a bad shock. I’ll take care of clearing up and everything.”

“I think I will.” Marcelline smiled uncertainly at her young mistress. “You don’t think badly of me, do you?”

“Of course not,” Mary Turner said firmly. “Now go get some rest. You can tell me about it later if you want to.” She helped Marcelline to her feet, and the housekeeper headed from the room, her shoulders slumped and her head down.

An’gel started to speak but Mary Turner spoke first, her words directed at Alesha Jackson.

“That was cruel of you to expose her secret like that,” she said. “Although I suppose I understand why you did it. I wish you hadn’t done it, though.”

“I had to prove myself,” Ms. Jackson said, her tone not in the least apologetic. “You need to understand I am who I say I am, and that I can do what I told you I could. I didn’t come here under false pretenses. I used my professional name like I always do in these situations. I keep my personal and my professional lives separate that way.”

“Then why did you try to run away?” An’gel asked. “If you weren’t here under false pretenses, there was no need to escape, surely?”

“A lapse in judgment,” the psychic said with a shrug. “I have a fair amount of experience with the police, and I didn’t want any further involvement in this situation.”

The woman could still be lying. An’gel was convinced there was something else she was hiding, but what was it?

“I’m hungry,” Ms. Jackson said. “If you have no objection, I’d like to eat.” She pointed to the uneaten meat and bread on the table.

“Help yourself,” Mary Turner said. “I’ll find you a clean plate after I check on Marcelline.” She left the room.

Alesha Jackson shrugged and seated herself. She pulled the two platters close to her and began to eat directly from them. She ate neatly and efficiently as An’gel watched.

Dickce nudged her, then whispered close to her ear, “Are we going to sit here and watch her eat? Or are we going to do something productive?”

An’gel frowned. She wanted to question the psychic but had been trying to decide whether the time was right. Would the woman even talk to her?

An’gel whispered back to her sister. “I want to get her to talk to me. I want to ask her some questions.”

After a moment Dickce responded. “Then tell her you want to hire her when all this is over.”

“Hire her?” An’gel asked, incredulous. “Whatever for?”

“To deal with the spirit at Riverhill,” Dickce said. “What else?”

An’gel started to argue but then stopped herself. Dickce’s idea was actually a good one. Telling the woman she had a job for her gave her an excellent pretext for asking some pointed questions. “Good idea.”

“Mrs. Jackson,” An’gel said.

“Not Mrs., Ms.,” the woman responded.

“Ms. Jackson, then,” An’gel said. “Perhaps sometime later today you and I could talk. My sister and I may be interested in hiring you to help us with a problem back home. We live in an old house, too, you see.”

Alesha Jackson put down the piece of roast she had been about to eat and regarded An’gel, her expression blank. After a few seconds, she spoke. “If you’re serious, I will be happy to speak with you. I’d like some time to rest and refresh myself, however.”

“Of course,” An’gel replied. “How about four this afternoon, in the parlor?”

The psychic nodded. “That’s fine.”

An’gel rose. “Thank you. Dickce, Benjy, I think we ought to leave Ms. Jackson to finish her meal in peace. No, Peanut, you’re not going to get any more bites of chicken, or you either, Endora.”

Peanut whined and thumped his tail against the floor. “Come on, boy,” Benjy said firmly. “I’ll give you both some treats in our room, okay?”

Peanut woofed at that, and Endora perked up too. She climbed on Benjy’s shoulder and nuzzled his left ear.

“They deserve their treats,” Dickce said. “They’ve been really good, not making a fuss.”

“Probably because you and Benjy kept slipping them food under the table,” An’gel said. “You might have thought I didn’t see you, but I did.”

Mary Turner returned with a plate and napkin in hand. She stopped short when she saw Alesha Jackson already eating. She approached the table and set down the plate and napkin. “I’ll be back to clear up when you’re done. I guess you’ll be going up to your room for a while afterwards.”

The psychic nodded. “Yes, I will. I must rest before my appointment with Miss Ducote to discuss a job.”

Mary Turner looked at An’gel, obviously shocked. “Miss An’gel, is she serious? Are you serious?”

“Yes, my dear, I am,” An’gel said. “Dickce and I decided to consult with Ms. Jackson about a matter concerning a possible spirit at Riverhill.”

“Oh, I see,” Mary Turner said. An’gel could tell by her tone, however, that she was only being polite. “I’ll finish clearing the table when you’re done, Mrs. Pace.”

“Call me either Primrose or Alesha.” The medium smiled. “I answer to either. I’ve had enough to eat, thank you. Would you like me to help you finish clearing?”

Mary Turner shrugged. “Sure. Extra hands are always welcome.”

“Then I guess we will leave you to it,” An’gel said. “Come along, Dickce, Benjy.” She gave the other two women a smile before she headed for the door.

In the hallway, Benjy spoke before she started to mount the stairs. “Miss An’gel, if you don’t mind, I’ll take Peanut and Endora to our room and let them have a t-r-e-a-t. I want to get my laptop anyway so I can do a little more research.”

Peanut woofed, despite Benjy spelling the word treat.

“I believe he has learned how to spell.” Dickce laughed.

“He’s so smart,” An’gel said, and Benjy nodded.

“You go ahead, Benjy, and reward them for being so good. Dickce and I won’t start on the project I have in mind until you’re back. We’ll be in my room.” An’gel mounted the stairs slowly, bracing herself for the cold, but she never felt it. Halfway up the flight she paused and turned back to look at Dickce, three steps below her.

“I haven’t felt anything so far,” Dickce said. “Have you?”

“No,” An’gel said. “I suppose the spirit is taking a rest.” She began to climb again.

“Probably hiding because of all the strangers in the house today.” Dickce chuckled. “Can’t say as I blame her.”

“Nor I.” An’gel stepped on to the landing. “All those people in the house are exhausting.” She started to yawn and covered her mouth.

Dickce followed An’gel to her bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down and have a short nap? I don’t know about you, but I feel like a little quiet time.”

“Go ahead and lie down if you want,” An’gel said. “I’m going to put my feet up until Benjy gets back. I’ll call you when we’re ready to see if my idea pans out.”

“What idea is that?” Dickce asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” An’gel opened her door and stepped into the room. “Go rest.” She closed the door on her sister. Seconds later she heard Dickce say, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

An’gel paid no attention to that. Instead she focused her attention on the disarray in the bedroom. The police hadn’t created a huge mess when they searched the house earlier, but her things were not as she had left them. She knew it was old-fashioned of her, but she hoped the female officer was the one who looked through her clothes. She abhorred the idea of strange men touching her things. Best not to know. She would have to push those thoughts completely out of her mind, or she would have to wash or dry-clean everything she had brought before she wore it again. She hoped that whoever had searched her things had worn those disposable gloves she saw on television cop shows.

She decided to leave the straightening up until later. Right now she wanted to relax in the quiet and aloneness. After all the clatter of voices, all the drama, the silence felt good. She made herself comfortable in the armchair and put her feet up on the small ottoman.

Slowly she let the tension drain from her body as she focused on relaxation. As eager as she was to search for a secret door into the French room, she hoped Benjy didn’t hurry back from feeding the pets and retrieving his laptop.

She let her gaze wander around the room again, and as she observed the areas that needed tidying, she thought again about strangers handling her things. She reminded herself about the disposable gloves and told herself to let it go.

Focus on where that door might be instead.

She could see herself and Benjy examining the wall between the bathroom and the French room, their hands feeling their way, looking for signs of a mechanism of some sort.

Hands feeling their way.

She sat up suddenly, her feet sliding off the ottoman. We might destroy fingerprints or other evidence by touching everything, An’gel realized. Steinberg would not be happy with her for doing so.

But if we have disposable gloves, it wouldn’t be that different from the police doing the same thing.

A knock at the door roused her, and she called out, “Come in.” She expected Benjy to walk in, but instead it was Marcelline.

“Miss An’gel, I need to talk to you about something.” The housekeeper hesitated in the doorway.

An’gel could see that Marcelline was worked up about something. “Please, come on in. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Marcelline closed the door slowly behind her. An’gel indicated the room’s other chair, and Marcelline sat on the edge, back stiff, hands clasped together.

“Go ahead,” An’gel said. “I’m listening.” Marcelline seemed to be debating with herself over whether to confide in An’gel, or so the woman’s expression led An’gel to believe.

“I’ve got to tell someone,” Marcelline said, “and I don’t rightly know how to tell Miss Mary. I know who that woman is. At least, I think I do.”

“What woman?” An’gel asked. “Are you talking about Alesha Jackson?”

Marcelline nodded. “Yes, her.” She hesitated again. “I think she’s Miss Mary’s cousin.”