Cooking Up Trouble (7 page)

His bleak gaze followed her. “Fine,” he said finally. “She’ll appreciate it.”

To Angie’s surprise, Paavo waited for her to dress, then helped her and Moira put the dinner on the table and call the investors. A number of unlit candles had been placed around the room, on the table, the mantel and the side buffet. The lights had flickered a couple of times from the storm, and at any time the power might be lost.

“I wonder,” Chelsea said to no one in particular, “if the sheriff’s found out anything about Finley. I’ll bet Finley’s sitting in town right now, furious he can’t get here.”

“I doubt the sheriff’s even looking,” Martin Bayman said. “The townspeople aren’t too fond of an inn being here. They seem to think it’s strange, for some reason.”

“They’re afraid of the ghosts,” Patsy said. “Afraid of Susannah. This is her house, you know. Finley told me all about her and Jack and Elise. Susannah doesn’t want anyone else to live here. Not even us.”

“They don’t care about ghosts.” Bethel sniffed. “People are simply intolerant of things they don’t understand.”

“I believe,” Reginald Vane said, his bow tie bobbing as he swallowed, “we need to listen to what the sheriff has said about the townspeople. Maybe we should leave—as soon as we’re able—and forget this inn business.”

“That’s the first sensible statement I’ve heard all evening,” Bethel cried. “Allakaket has been warning you,
but you won’t listen. None of you! Something is very wrong here.” She tilted her head heavenward, her arms raised outward, causing the long kimono-style sleeves of her tunic to dip into the barley casserole on her plate. “Will no prophet be honored in his or her own time?”

“Bethel,” Martin said, pulling out a whiskey flask and pouring some into his water glass. “Pipe down.”

Everyone turned to their dinners, took a few bites, then pushed the plates away.

“You can try to ignore it,” Vane said, giving a tug to his bow tie, “but he who mocks the spirit world always pays a terrible price. Almost as heavy a price as the fool who doesn’t listen to warnings.”

Bethel stood and in a hushed voice cried, “The spirits are uneasy.”

Just then a flash of lightning filled the window, followed by a loud booming roll of thunder.

Nine pairs of wide, very round eyes glanced at each other. At that moment, Angie wouldn’t have been surprised if Boris Karloff walked into the room.

After dinner Angie helped Moira clean up the kitchen. They were discussing tomorrow’s breakfast—Angie felt obligated to try to convince her that they should make something besides the steady diet of cold granola cereal and oat bran muffins—when Patsy entered the room.

“Where’s Greg?” she demanded.

Angie and Moira exchanged glances. “I haven’t seen him,” Moira said.

“Yes, you have. I know you have. He’s here!” She opened a cabinet under the sink.

“Patsy.” Angie touched her arm. “He’s not hiding. He’s probably upstairs.”

“He’s here. No one believed Susannah either about Jack and Elise. But she knew. Just like I know!”

Angie swallowed hard. “Maybe I can get you some aspirin?” She wished she had something a lot stronger. Her second sister, Caterina, was a walking pharmacy, but not Angie.

“I don’t need aspirin. I need Greg!”

Moira stepped nose to nose with Patsy. “No one knows—or cares—where he is.”

Angie wondered if she’d brought her Midol. That was the strongest medicine she ever took. Her mother insisted she wouldn’t need it if she’d get married and have babies, but that seemed a pretty extreme way to avoid having to take a pill or two.

“I’ll find him!” Patsy ran out of the kitchen.

Angie took a deep breath of relief.

“That woman needs aromatherapy to soothe her nerves,” Moira said. “Maybe when Finley gets back.”

Angie looked at the teaspoon she’d been wiping when Patsy burst in on them. It was bent nearly in two. “Do you think the inn might have a place for a new Uri Geller?” she asked.

After finishing with the dishes, Angie went in search of Paavo. She found him standing just outside the French doors to the garden, under the porch roof. The rain had stopped for the moment. Angie paused. She’d rarely thought of how air smelled before, but now she smelled its cleanliness, free of exhaust and diesel fumes, free of the dirt, garbage, and even cooking smells that were part of life in the big city. Also free of the ever-present smell of decay of the old inn.

“All done?” Paavo asked.

“Yes.”

He held out his hand to her, his gaze questioning. She took it.

“Look.” Pointing at the sky, he drew her closer.

The full moon was high. Across the face of it dark rain clouds drifted, making the moon look eerie. Bewitched. “It looks like a werewolf moon,” she said.

Blue eyes caught hers, and she saw them crinkle into a smile. “Aren’t the Sempler ghosts enough for you?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I could imagine Running Spirit turning into a werewolf. He’s big and hulking. Reginald Vane would make a great vampire, like Dracula, so stiff and proper, always wearing a suit. Actually, he’d make an even better Bela Lugosi. I can see him going around crying ‘Bevare! Bevare!’ in a Transylvanian accent.”

“What about Martin?” Paavo asked.

“Martin?” Angie thought a moment. “Martin couldn’t be anything but a ghost. He seems like no more than a faded image of the man that once was. I can’t help but think he drinks so much because of some deep unhappiness.”

“And me?” he asked.

He was so many things to her. Quiet, intense loner; warm, gentle lover. A man with integrity and responsibility enough to make her proud, yet who denied having a surfeit of either. A man who gave her everything he could, yet refused to accept anything in return. “You’re Dr. Van Helsing,” she said, “victor over Dracula. A brave man, always ready to fight the powers of darkness, no matter what the cost.”

“You’re such a romantic, Angie. Be careful. Romantics are easily hurt.”

“And you’re not?” she asked.

“Me?” He sounded truly shocked. “I’m as cynical as they come.”

You don’t know yourself well, Inspector, she wanted to say. Instead, she turned back to the moon. “Do you ever wish that there were things like ghosts?” she asked.
“Something to latch onto when you want to believe that there’s more to life than just what we see here and now?”

He turned her toward him, taking her hands. “The best part of my life is very much alive.”

Angie’s heart flip-flopped.

“Hello, you two!” Bethel called. She and Martin stepped onto the porch. “I’m so glad you’re here, Inspector Smith. I feel much safer knowing a policeman is with us. Allakaket feels something bad has happened to poor Finley.”

“He does?” Angie asked.

Bethel gave a loud sigh. “I can’t begin to tell you how horrible it’s been.”

“Nanook’s been going nonstop,” Martin said. “And Bethel won’t keep his pronouncements to herself.”

Bethel wrinkled her mouth in disgust, then turned to Paavo with a smile as she patted the few strands of curly gray hair peeking out from under her gold turban. “Tell me more about what the sheriff said to you yesterday. Does he suspect foul play, do you think?”

“He didn’t,” Paavo said. “At least not then.”

“That’s a relief.” Bethel smiled again.

Martin slid his hands into his pockets. As he glanced up at the moon, he walked down the porch steps onto the brick patio. “That’s a spooky moon tonight,” he said. “As befits this house—

he quoted.

“Very good,” Angie said. “But are you referring to the ghostly Elise, or just Chelsea?”

Martin laughed.

“Don’t encourage him, dear,” Bethel advised.

“But that is a most interesting question,” Martin said.

“On the other hand,” Angie added, “we might all simply be feeling what Milton called ‘moon-struck madness.’”

Martin smiled, Paavo looked surprised, and Bethel annoyed.

“An apt thought,” Martin said as he came back under the shelter of the porch roof. He faced Paavo. “Moon-struck madness could be an excuse for many things. Including criminal things.”

“Anything can be an excuse,” Paavo said. “Or nothing. But the question is usually one of motive.”

Bethel jumped to her feet. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her fists were clenched as her arms crossed over her breasts. In a deep baritone, she said, “The motive lies in the house.”

Angie was so shocked that she jumped back about five feet.

Bethel’s arms fell, her body sagged, and she looked from Angie to Paavo. “See? What did I tell you? Allakaket’s constantly tuned in to this problem. At the drop of a hat he takes over and speaks! He’s never been so out of control before, never had so much to say. Even I don’t know what it all means.”

She took several deep breaths while Martin came to her side and patted her shoulder.

“The motive for what?” Angie asked.

“I find Allakaket’s behavior absolutely fascinating,” Bethel continued, ignoring Angie. “But this jerk I’m married to won’t even write these things down. He expects me to, I suppose. Jane Roberts’s husband wrote down every time Seth burped and look at how rich and famous it got them.”

“Who’s Seth?” Paavo whispered to Angie.

“As you can see,” Bethel continued, “when Allakaket takes over my body, I can’t just tell him to wait a minute while I grab a pen and paper.”

“Why don’t you carry a tape recorder?” Angie asked. “Then you could ask him what motive he’s talking about.”

“Allakaket wouldn’t know what a tape recorder was. He’d never turn it on. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’d look for a twentieth-century spirit for starters,” Angie said.

“I give up,” Bethel cried. “Let’s go, Martin. I think we’re disturbing these young people. They probably don’t want us hanging around while they’re out here under the light of the silvery moon. It is romantic, Martin.” She hooked her arm in his and gave him a coy look. “Don’t you think?”

“Real romantic. You, me, and Allakazam. If I try to get fresh and he takes over your body, he might deck me.” Martin looked back at Angie and Paavo and winked, then opened the door for Bethel to enter the inn.

Bethel glanced at the sky. “The storm will be even bigger tonight.”

Martin pulled the door shut as they went inside.

“Now,” Angie said, sauntering close to Paavo. “I think you were telling me something about liking being with little old live me, as opposed to—”

She saw Chelsea’s silhouette through the French doors. “Excuse me one minute.” She hurried to the doors. “Chelsea, come here!”

Chelsea stepped outside with her.

“Have you seen Patsy?” Angie asked.

“No.” Chelsea glanced from Angie to Paavo, confused.

“I’m worried about her,” Angie said. “She’s so jealous of Moira and Running Spirit she’s ready to snap.” It
would seem she glanced quickly at Paavo to see if he had any reaction to her statement about Moira and Running Spirit. He looked unconcerned. Good. She had been mistaken about his interest in Moira.

“Poor Patsy,” Chelsea said. “Did you know she wants to buy this inn for Running Spirit?”

“I think what she really wants is to buy it so she can get Moira out of her life,” Angie suggested. “Do you think she’s serious about it?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Chelsea continued, “she made an offer to Finley. Apparently he was considering it. But now he’s gone. If he doesn’t come back soon, she seems to think Running Spirit and Moira will fall in love.”

“She did say something about no one believing Susannah about Jack and Elise, just like no one believes her about Running Spirit and Moira,” Angie said. “Do you think she sees them all as being like the ghosts? Reincarnations or something?”

“Wait,” Paavo said. “I thought Susannah and Jack were brother and sister, just like Moira and Finley. Doesn’t Patsy have everything mixed up?”

“That’s true,” Chelsea said thoughtfully.

“Oh, well,” Angie said, “who’s to know about reincarnation?”

“Shirley MacLaine does,” Chelsea offered.

“I think I’d rather have it explained by her brother, Warren Beatty.”

“I hate to break up these lofty supernatural musings,” Paavo said, “but it’s raining hard again.”

“Misery. Shame. Sorrow.”
Moira pointed to the nine of swords lying on the table between her and Chelsea. Angie and Paavo sat behind Chelsea, while Martin leaned against Bethel’s chair and sipped a bourbon and water. Reginald Vane sat alone in a dark corner.

“Oh, no!” Chelsea looked stricken.

“But don’t worry,” Moira said.

“No?”

“The next card, the queen of cups, is the ideal wife and mother.”

“Who, me?”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“What is?”

“This card.” Moira tapped the jester. “The fool. The fool is no man. He aims aimlessly for nothing, knowing only that he knows nothing.”

“I hope I haven’t missed anything,” boomed Running Spirit, stepping into the library.

“We were just talking about you,” Martin said.

“Here,” Moira continued, ignoring the others, “is the culmination, the tenth card, the star.”

Angie looked at the card showing a naked woman with two jugs of water, pouring one on the ground and one into a stream. It didn’t make any sense.

“I’m afraid to ask what it means,” Chelsea said. “I haven’t heard one word about Jack.”

Moira shut her eyes and, placing her fingertips on the edge of the card, said, “This card is a promise of renewal and recovery. With the others, it tells me that a person of significance will enter your life. You will see things in a new way, and you will be improved by it.”

Chelsea looked at her blankly; then slowly a broad smile filled her face. “Jack. I should have known!” She stood and looked around the room, then crossed her arms over her breasts and twirled around and around. “Jack will enter my life. My tarot said so.”

Running Spirit smirked. “Good job, Moira.”

Angie was horrified that Chelsea would fall even deeper into her fantasy I-love-a-ghost way of hiding from the world.

Reginald Vane shook his head in disgust. “We need to stop playing games here and take stock of our situation. Finley’s been gone for forty-eight hours, and now his cook is dead. While it’s possible he might return, we must consider that he might not.”

“Here, here,” Martin said. “A man with logic. Practical. A man of science, in fact. I can see, Vane, you don’t belong among these psychics and seers.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bethel asked, frowning.

Vane faced the group. “Since we can’t expect Moira to run all this alone, I propose we immediately stop any thought of an inn and put the property up for sale.”

“But I like it here,” Chelsea protested.

“Despite Finley and Miss Greer?” Vane asked.

“I thought Miss Greer just had a heart attack or something. That can happen to anybody. And I think Finley’s just stuck in town. I’m not worried,” Chelsea said, jutting her chin out.

“That’s either brave or very gullible of you,” Vane said.

Could Vane know, Paavo wondered, the truth about Greer’s death? Supposedly Vane was asleep in his room when she was killed.

“Bethel and I could take the inn over if the rest of you want to sell your shares,” Martin suggested. “Not at a profit, mind you. But we’re willing to take the risk that people will come from miles away to see a channeler.”

“They’ll come from all over the world,” Bethel said. “I can see it now.”

“Not when they hear about ghosts and unexplained deaths,” Vane replied. “Even the curious have standards.”

“Finley will come back,” Moira said. “He always does.”

“Like a bad penny?” Martin asked.

“Like the owner of this inn.” Moira turned her back on Martin and eyed Paavo a long moment. “Would you like your tarot read, Inspector Smith?” she asked, leaning toward him.

“What does it take to get you people to listen to reason?” Vane demanded.

Moira kept her attention on Paavo. “Reading tarot is quite interesting. I become the vehicle between you and the cards. By delving deeply, I can reach your subconscious. I would become as one with you, Inspector, to find the mysteries you have hidden so well.”

Angie held her breath. As much as she’d like to delve deeply into Paavo’s hidden thoughts, she wanted to be the delver, not Moira Tay.

“He doesn’t want to be bothered,” Running Spirit said, pulling up a chair and sitting catty-corner from her at the table. “Unless it tells him who’s behind the deaths around here. But you can read my tarot.”

“Do you mind?” Moira asked Paavo.

“I give up!” Vane stomped out of the room.

The only thing Paavo minded was that Vane and Jeffers both implied that multiple, unnatural deaths had taken place here. How did they know? What did they know? “I don’t mind,” he said.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Running Spirit’s cocky tone carried over the sound of the rain that pummeled the library windows and the wind that howled through the fireplace.

Paavo watched as Moira sat, her back straight, gazing steadily at Running Spirit. “Wouldn’t it be said I had an unfair advantage?” she asked. “After all, we were once close friends.”

“There’s more to me than you ever imagined, Moira,” Running Spirit said. “More than you’ve ever let me tell you.”

The soft sound of crying suddenly touched the air. The same sound Angie had heard the first night she was at Hill Haven.

“Elise?” Angie asked Moira.

“I don’t…know what you’re talking about,” Moira insisted.

Then, as quickly as it began, the sound stopped.

Moira placed the tarot cards in the middle of the table and stood. “I’m going to brew some tea; excuse me.”

“I’m not letting it go, Moira,” Running Spirit said.

She picked up a candlestick, but as she stepped past Running Spirit on her way to the door, he reached for her hand. Holding it, he looked into her eyes. She returned his gaze. No one breathed. Then Moira jerked her hand free and hurried away.

Angie touched Paavo’s arm. “It seems there’s more to the past than ghosts around here.”

“I’m feeling very tense vibrations,” Bethel cried. “I don’t think I like this.”

“Moira’s just tired. It’s been a long day,” Running Spirit said testily. “Everyone who wants to join me in our journey to the astral plane must meet at dawn tomorrow.”

“This
is
the astral plane,
dumbkoff
,” Martin said.

Running Spirit glared at him.

“What do you mean?” Angie asked.

“If it’s not raining too hard,” Running Spirit began, “we’ll walk under the trees at dawn, lie down, and project ourselves—out of body—onto the astral plane. On my last trip, I was up in the ozone layer watching the hole grow larger and larger. It was like…manifest.”

Chelsea let out a sigh. “I wonder if I’d be closer to Jack there. That’s so very sensitive.”

“That’s so very full of it, you mean!” Bethel peered down her nose at Running Spirit. “Nobody does OBE’s anymore. They’re so eighties.”

“Listen, you old fraud—”

“So, tell me, Running Spirit,” Angie said, not wanting to hear another argument between those two. “You get up at dawn to do that?”

“That’s right. We’ll do it in the living room if we can’t go outdoors.”

Angie stood. “Dawn will be here before we know it. It’s been a long day. Are you ready to go, Paavo?”

He glanced up at her, then at the others still comfortably seated. How much did they know? What would Running Spirit bring up when Moira came back, since he’d warned her he wasn’t going to let it go. Not let what go? But first Paavo had to get Angie out of here. If she
had the slightest suspicion there was more than meets the eye going on here and began snooping around, she could be next on the hit list. “I’m going to have some tea first.”

Angie felt rocked by his words. “Tea?” He never drank tea. Especially not herbal tea, which she was sure was the only kind Moira Tay would bring herself to make.

“You go upstairs, Angie. Chelsea’s probably ready to go up, too. Right, Chelsea?” he asked.

Chelsea looked from him to Angie. “Well, yes. I am tired.”

“Take a candle,” Paavo said to Angie. “I’ll be up later.”

He couldn’t have been plainer if he’d carried her out of the library and deposited her in the hallway. So that was the way it was? Steeling herself, when no strange thumps or bumps in the night began, she bade the others an abrupt good night and stalked regally from the room, Chelsea following. Then, when they were both in the hallway, they ran up the stairs and into their rooms, locking the doors behind them.