Home for the Haunting(88)

Okay, now I was really beginning to worry about myself.

• • •



We arrived at eight that night and headed for the dining room where, according to the police reports, no one had died. We ringed the table with seven chairs for me, Meredith, Graham, Olivier, Hugh, Simone, and Cookie. Annette would witness the séance in the event something useful was revealed, but would not be part of the circle. Monty’s deposition had helped Annette get Linda’s death ruled a homicide, but the killer remained a mystery.

“This is excellent,” said Meredith as she walked slowly through the first floor, sensing the vibrations by holding her hands out to her side the ways mediums always did on TV.

“You almost never see this: the original furniture, the original fixtures,” said Olivier.

“Does that help?” asked Hugh. He and Simone were following Meredith and Olivier around, watching for signs of . . . what, I wasn’t sure.

“Oh, yes,” said Meredith. “Most definitely.”

“I don’t know about this Olivier fellow,” Graham said to me in a low voice. “He seems more like a used-car salesman than a ghost specialist.”

“Yes, he’s very different from you,” I said. “He’s charming.”

“Cute.”

“You just don’t like his fashion sense. Whereas I can appreciate a coat like that.”

Graham smiled. “How about if I let you dress me from now on? That way we’ll look like the cast of a post-modern production of Les Misérables.”

“You’ve never heard me sing, have you? For now, would you mind making a fire? Simone said she had it cleaned so we could use it tonight.”

Cookie looked bored and appeared surprised that we were taking this so seriously. I’m not sure what she expected—perhaps some version of Disney’s Haunted Mansion.

Soon a fire was blazing on the hearth, offering warmth and, along with the candles on the mantel and the table, the only source of light in the room. Hugh set a family portrait, taken the year of the murders, in the middle of the dining room table.

We all started at the sound of the door knocker. Two taps, and the door opened. Inspector Crawford.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Annette. “Are we a go for the séance?”

“Looks like,” I said.

As time passed, Meredith appeared increasingly nervous. Her wide eyes darted around the room, and she rocked back and forth on her small feet. She even began wringing her hands.

“Well then, let’s get started, shall we?” Meredith said, and everyone took a seat at the table except Annette, who leaned against the wall near the fireplace. Cookie sat on my left, and Graham sat on my right. Meredith cleared her throat, and when she spoke, her voice wavered a bit. Still, she spoke with authority. “We are trying to reach out to the souls who were taken from this world. I will call them, but we don’t know if they will respond to me, or to Mel, or perhaps to another in the group. No matter what happens, try not to respond with panic or fear. We are merely communicating, trying to understand what happened that night.

“Concentrate your thoughts on the beautiful family in the photo before us. Try not to speak, no matter what you hear. Anyone have any questions?”

“Will the ghosts appear to us?” Cookie asked.

“We’re not sure what will happen,” Meredith replied. “They might. If they do, do not break the circle and do not speak to them. And dear God, whatever you do, don’t scream.”

“Oh.” Cookie looked a little deflated, and I wondered if she was starting to regret coming here tonight.

“Everyone ready?” Meredith looked at each of us in turn. One by one, we nodded.

“Now,” she said. “Let us hold hands.”

Cookie’s hand was limp and warm. Graham’s hand was strong and cool. Each was reassuring in its own way. Meredith bowed her head, and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. After several minutes my mind started to wander. Was Cookie actually jealous of me, the younger sister who lived with her father because her life had imploded? Was Cookie, to whom the fates had been extraordinarily generous, unhappy with her life? I glanced at my sister, who was staring into the candlelight, and wondered what she was thinking.

Then the door knocker began rapping.

Bam bam bam . . . bam.

Meredith kept her head down, and though one or two of us—okay, me and Cookie—sneaked a few peeks, no one responded.

Then the knocking started in earnest.

Bam bam bam . . . bam.

Bam bam bam . . . bam!

Bam bam bam . . . bam!

Annette got up and opened the door. The knocker was raising and lowering by itself, as though possessed.