“No doubt,” An’gel said. Their young ward, Benjy Stephens, had a lively intelligence and a healthy curiosity, and he would enjoy seeing the antebellum treasures of Natchez, potential apparitions included. “We can’t take that for granted, however, and I wouldn’t want him to feel obliged to go if he’s uncomfortable with the idea.”
“I don’t think the idea of ghosts will faze him all that much. Besides, Peanut and Endora can help, too,” Dickce said. “Animals are supposed to be sensitive to ghosts. If there are any supernatural presences at Cliffwood, they’ll let us know.”
“Let’s hope they don’t run across any tortured spirits that need to be laid to rest.” An’gel grimaced. “I’ll call Mary Turner and tell her we’ll come on Monday. That ought to give you enough time to pack.”
Dickce rolled her eyes at her sister. “I’m not the one who has to have a different pair of shoes for every outfit I take.”
“If you wore anything other than dark colors in the autumn months, you might see the need.” An’gel reached for her cell phone. “Why don’t you go tell Benjy about the trip and see what he thinks of the idea of ghost-hunting?”
Dickce nodded and walked out of the study.
An’gel skimmed through Mary Turner’s letter again. Given the contents, she wasn’t surprised that the young woman had chosen to write a letter, rather than simply calling. An’gel appreciated having the time to think about Mary Turner’s story rather than having to respond immediately during a live conversation. She did wonder, however, why Mary Turner hadn’t e-mailed her after all. She decided she would ask during the call.
She picked up her cell phone and tapped out the number. After three rings, a high, light voice said, “Hello, Mary Turner Catlin speaking.”
An’gel identified herself. “Sister and I were discussing your letter, and of course we’d be happy to help you in any way we can.”
Before An’gel could continue, Mary Turner broke in. “Oh, Miss An’gel, bless you and Miss Dickce. Henry Howard and I are about to go stark raving mad, and we didn’t know whom else to turn to. Grandmother always said the Ducote sisters never lost their heads in a crisis, no matter what.” She paused for a moment. “And if this isn’t a crisis, I don’t know what is. We’re completely booked for Thanksgiving in two weeks, and if word gets out about this, we stand to lose a substantial amount.”
An’gel heard a strangled sob. “Your grandmother was a dear friend, and Sister and I will do our best to live up to her confidence in us. I’m sorry that you and Henry Howard are so upset by all this. There’s got to be a perfectly rational explanation behind what’s happening there.”
Mary Turner sobbed again, then choked it off. “I pray every day and night that there is, but we . . .” Her voice trailed off.
An’gel frowned. Had Mary Turner hung up? Or had her darn cell phone dropped the call? She waited a moment for Mary Turner to come back on the line, but when she didn’t, An’gel ended the call. After about ten seconds she called again. Mary Turner answered immediately.
“I’m so sorry,” the young woman said. “But that’s the kind of thing that’s always happening. Phone calls get cut off, our e-mails don’t go anywhere, all kinds of odd things. That’s why I wrote you an actual letter instead of e-mailing you.”
“Heavens, this really is a mess,” An’gel said, shocked by Mary Turner’s words. “I wondered why you chose a letter. I can’t remember when I last received an actual handwritten letter from anyone.”
Mary Turner sounded grim when she responded. “So far the ghosts haven’t been able to stop the post office from working.”
“It’s no wonder you and Henry Howard are at your wit’s end,” An’gel said. “Sister and I will be there around lunchtime on Monday, if that’s convenient.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mary Turner said. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“We’re glad to help,” An’gel replied. “Now, there is one thing. We’d like to bring our ward, Benjy, with us, along with our dog and cat, Peanut and Endora. Will that be all right?”
“You bring whomever you want,” Mary Turner said. “The more help, the better. I’ve heard that animals are especially sensitive to the supernatural.”
“You and Sister,” An’gel muttered. Then she spoke so Mary Turner could hear properly. “Thank you, my dear. Help is on the way.”
“See you on Monday.”
As An’gel laid the phone aside, she reflected that, by the end of the call, Mary Turner had a new note in her voice. She sounded hopeful, An’gel decided.
She was glad she’d managed to make Mary Turner feel better, but she wondered whether she and Dickce had committed themselves to solving a problem that would turn out to be more than they could handle. She figured a real live human being was playing tricks on the Catlins for some unknown purpose, but Cliffwood was an old house. Many sad and unpleasant things had happened there, particularly before, during, and right after the Civil War.
An’gel didn’t believe in ghosts—not really—but there had been odd things that happened at Riverhill over the years. Doors closing on their own, the occasional cold spot in a room, small objects moved from their accustomed spots—nothing all that frightening, An’gel reflected, but odd. Definitely odd.
She and Dickce, along with Benjy, would have to keep their wits about them at Cliffwood, she decided. She wouldn’t let odd things frighten her away.
• • •
The moment Dickce mentioned the word ghosts to Benjy, he grinned.
“Awesome.” He looked down at the Labradoodle at his feet. “What do you think of that, Peanut? Are you ready to track down some ghosts?”
The dog gazed adoringly into the young man’s face and barked twice. Benjy patted his head. “That means yes.”
Dickce smiled and continued to stroke the Abyssinian she held in her arms. “What about you, Endora?”
The reddish-brown feline yawned and stretched, then began to purr.
“Sounds like they’re both in,” Benjy said. “How long do you think we’ll be there?”
“I hope it won’t take more than a week to get to the bottom of what’s going on,” Dickce replied.
A snort sounded from the direction of the stove. Dickce looked over to see the housekeeper, Clementine Sprayberry, arms folded over her chest, frowning at her.
“You and Miss An’gel don’t need to go hunting ghosts anywhere,” Clementine said. “Especially Natchez. I reckon you’ve heard how haunted it is. You’re just asking for trouble if you go and stir things up.”
“That’s even more awesome.” Benjy laughed. “A whole town that’s haunted.”
“You laugh all you want to,” Clementine said. “I bet you’ll be the first one out the door ten seconds after some horrible thing wakes you up in the middle of the night and tries to get you.”
“What kind of horrible thing?” Dickce felt a chill at the conviction in the housekeeper’s voice. She knew Clementine believed in spirits, and she herself had never made up her mind about them.
“No telling.” Clementine shook her head. “Terrible things happened all over that town for three hundred years, and you don’t know what might still be lurking.”
Benjy’s expression of amusement faded, Dickce noticed, in the face of Clementine’s unrelenting certainty. He turned to Dickce. “How bad can it really be? I don’t know anything about Natchez.”
“There are a few books on Natchez in An’gel’s study,” Dickce said. “The town has a fascinating history, and you might want to do some reading before we go. Terrible things happened during the Civil War when the Union Army took over the town, and Natchez was a violent place in its early days. The books will give you all the details that I can’t remember.”
Benjy brightened. “Would Miss An’gel mind if I went in there right now to look for the books? If she’s really busy, I don’t want to disturb her.”