Fixing To Die

“Exaggerating? How?” Mary Turner asked, a note of hope in her voice.

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you,” An’gel said.

“All right.” Mary Turner opened the door, and An’gel followed her into the kitchen. Marcelline was nowhere in sight.

“Now have a seat and let’s talk for a minute. I think I can set your fears to rest.” An’gel glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until her appointment with Alesha Jackson.

Once they were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, An’gel explained. “This house is on the National Register of Historic Places, and it’s also recognized as a Mississippi landmark. The state historical commission that oversees landmarks would have to meet and agree that the property could be demolished. Frankly, I doubt they would agree to let this house be torn down. Then there’s the issue of whether Serenity will inherit the right to control the mortgage. By the time the will gets sorted out, if Nathan left one, you will be able to catch up on your mortgage payments.”

Mary Turner’s face had brightened the longer An’gel talked, but at An’gel’s last sentence, her face fell again.

“I’ll never be able to catch up,” Mary Turner said. “Business is always pretty slow after the first of the year, until people start reserving rooms for the pilgrimage.”

“I imagine I can help you find a way to catch up,” An’gel said. She and Dickce would have to see how badly in arrears the mortgage was, of course, before making a final decision, but somehow they would see to it that Mary Turner didn’t lose her historic home. An’gel knew she could speak for her sister on this. They couldn’t let their old friend’s granddaughter down.

Mary Turner smiled through her tears. “Miss An’gel, you truly are an angel. I don’t know how I’d ever repay you, but I’ll find a way if you can help me keep my home.”

“Stop fretting about it.” An’gel checked her watch again. Time to meet Alesha Jackson. “You’ll have to excuse me, my dear. I have that appointment to talk to Alesha Jackson. We’ll talk more later about your situation.”

“Thank you again,” Mary Turner said. “I can’t wait to tell Marcelline the news. She was as devastated as I was after Nathan dropped his bombshell last night.”

An’gel nodded as she rose. “See you later.”

During the brief walk to the parlor, An’gel thought about the implications of Nathan Gamble’s bombshell and Mary Turner’s parting words just now. Marcelline, of course, would have been devastated at the thought of losing her home of the last half century or more. She was a forceful woman in her way. What might she do to protect Mary Turner and Cliffwood? Would she resort to murder?

On that disturbing thought, An’gel walked into the parlor, where she found Alesha Jackson again admiring the mantel. She turned at An’gel’s approach and nodded to acknowledge her.

An’gel indicated one of the sofas. “Won’t you have a seat, Ms. Jackson? We might as well be comfortable while we talk.”

“All right.” The erstwhile medium chose a spot at one end of the sofa and rested her right arm along its arm. She gazed expectantly at An’gel.

Having taken a seat on the sofa opposite Alesha Jackson, An’gel regarded the woman for a moment. She still hadn’t figured out exactly what tack would get her the information she wanted. Might as well start with the business at Riverhill and see how she reacts to that, she decided.

“My sister and I live in an antebellum house that dates from the 1830s,” An’gel said. “Six generations of our family have lived there. Some also have died there over the years.”

“Not unusual in a house of that age,” Alesha replied.

“Not at all,” An’gel said. “Over the years, my sister and I have observed odd things that we could never quite explain. Not things that happen frequently, or if they do happen frequently, we’ve not noticed. They are more random, I think, but I haven’t made a study of them, nor has my sister.”

“What kind of odd things?” Alesha asked.

An’gel shrugged. “Mostly an occasional cold spot in a room, sometimes an object is in a different place or position. A door closing on its own.” As she spoke the last words, she fought the urge to turn and look at the parlor door at her back.

“Who lives in the house?” Alesha asked.

“Only my sister and I,” An’gel said. “We have a housekeeper who comes daily through the week, but she has always lived in her own home, with her family.”

“What about the young man—Benjy, isn’t it?—and the two animals?”

“Benjy is a recent addition to the family,” An’gel said. “As are Peanut and Endora. Benjy has his own apartment in a remodeled outbuilding behind the house, and the animals generally spend the nights with him. All three of them are in and out of the house every day, though.”

“How long has your housekeeper been with you?” Alesha asked.

“Nearly fifty years,” An’gel said.

“How long have these odd things been happening? Or rather, when did you first start noticing them?”