“Miss An’gel, if y’all need anything, please let me or Marcelline know. I’ll be helping her in the kitchen, since we’re going to need to plan meals for everyone. If you have any special requests, we’ll do what we can to fulfill them.”
“We’ll be fine, my dear,” An’gel said. “You let us know if there’s anything we can do to help you and Marcelline.”
“Yes, indeed,” Dickce said. “We’ll all pitch in.”
“Whatever you need,” Benjy added shyly.
Mary Turner smiled and thanked them. “I’ll do that, I promise. For now, though, why don’t y’all relax and rest. We’ve had a stressful morning.”
The sound of a throat clearing focused all their attention on the doorway, where Alesha Jackson now stood. She gazed at them for a moment before she stepped into the room.
“I’m sorry if you feel I have deceived you, Mrs. Catlin,” she said. “The lieutenant told me you declined to press charges, and I want you to know how grateful I am.”
Marcelline snorted. “You don’t deserve it, playing tricks on good people. Why don’t you go out and get a real job instead of trying to cheat people out of money? Running around telling people you can talk to ghosts. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Alesha Jackson flinched briefly at the onslaught of words, then her expression hardened. She stared defiantly at the housekeeper.
“I do have a real job,” she said heatedly. “I am a psychic.” Her eyes narrowed as she focused intently on the housekeeper. “If I wasn’t, how would I know that you’ve lied all these years about never being married?”
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.”