Ghost of a Chance

  I managed to drop Randa off at school and still make it downtown by nine o'clock. Usually we didn't open until eleven, but with the holiday rush, I took advantage of every merchant hour I could. The door was locked. Cinnamon was late. Great, the holiday rush and she probably had car trouble again.

  I quickly flipped the sign to "We're Open" and put water on to heat for tea. The sisters Farrah Warnoff and Sheila Smythe rushed in, breathless and covered with snow. Both had placed special orders, both of which had arrived yesterday right before I closed up. Farrah had begged me to find a Spode cream and sugar set, while Sheila wanted a Dresden figurine. The Dresden had taken some hunting, but I managed to fill both requests at a reasonable price. The pieces had arrived intact. I wrapped up their purchases and bustled them out the door.

  I quickly whipped the shop in order for customers. First things first. I poured the steaming water into the thermoses. Besides the usual Earl Grey, we would have apple cinnamon and orange pekoe. As I arranged a large platter of gingerbread and molasses cookies, chalking "Spice Is Nice" on the menuboard, Cinnamon came rushing through the door, three shoppers on her heels. Any more thoughts about murders and ghosts would have to wait until the shop closed. Taking a deep breath, I dove into my day.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda was scarfing down a bowl of pudding when I got home from work. Her book stood propped open against the center pillar candle on the table. I quietly walked up behind her, removed the book, and marked the place before I closed it. "Talk to your mother, child."

  "Aw, Mom! I was in the middle of a chapter." She rolled her eyes.

  "Yep. But we have more exciting things to discuss."

  "Like what?" She wrinkled her nose. "How many china patterns you can guess with your eyes closed?"

  "Smart-ass." I grinned and slid into the chair opposite her. "We're going out this weekend and buying a Christmas tree."

  She perked up. "Really? Did we keep the ornaments when we moved?"

  I frowned, mentally sorting through the boxes in the hall closet. "I'm not sure, but I'll buy a few more just in case. The garland is probably shot, and all the lights were tangled together last I looked… oh, hell, let's get rid of everything except the special ones and buy all new stuff."

  Miranda did a happy dance in her chair. "Kip will be glad to hear that. He was awfully sad last Christmas… and the one before. Umm, Mom, will Daddy be sending us gifts this year, or are we going to get money from him again?"

  I thought about the note I'd received the other day. She didn't need to know that Roy's gift "checks" were coming from me instead of from her father. The kids would see right through me if I bought the gifts and labeled them from him; they always picked up on that little trick. So I got them gift certificates to their favorite stores and said they were from Roy, hoping it would ease the pain of being ignored. "I think your dad is pretty busy lately. But I know he'll send you something."

  She thought about it for a moment and in her mouse voice asked, "Does Dad ever really think about us?"

  I dreaded that question, and it came up every few months. How could I answer when I didn't know, myself? How could I possibly craft an answer that wouldn't hurt? Miranda was vulnerable. Roy had been the world to her until he so abruptly trashed our family. "Randa, hon… your daddy went through some changes. He still loves you, even if he doesn't show it. Someday he might be more involved in your life, but we can't make it happen simply because we want it to."

  She rubbed her head, and when she looked at me, the loss in her eyes made my stomach ache. "Why did Daddy have to bring her into our house? Why did he do that to her in my bed? He knew I was coming home early from school!"

  I rubbed my neck. The familiar twinge of a tension headache loomed at the base of my skull. "I don't know. I don't know what he was thinking. He didn't mean to hurt you; he was trying to hurt me." Nursing a wanton desire to beat him senseless, I again tried to neutralize the damage, but the truth was that Roy had traumatized Randa to the point of nightmares. If there was a hell, he'd burn like a torch. He'd burn as brightly as Randa's little wicker bed had when I chopped it up with an ax and set it on fire in the front yard, along with Roy's entire wardrobe, including his Armani suits.

  She finished her pudding and pushed the bowl away. "It wasn't your fault."

  I filled the sink with soapy water. The breakfast dishes were crusted over—we hadn't had time to rinse them. Sometimes I enjoyed doing the dishes by hand instead of stacking them in the dishwasher. The bubbles lathered gently against my skin, giving me time to think. I began to scrub the scrambled eggs off the frying pan.

  Miranda grabbed the dishtowel and dried as I washed. We worked in silence until she put the last plate in the cupboard. "So you like this Andrew guy?"

  I thought about it for a moment, wanting to give her an honest answer rather than some glib comeback. After a moment, I dried my hands and untied my apron. "Yes, I do, but I'm going to take it slowly. What do you think of him?"

  She hung the dishtowel over the bar on the oven and grabbed a handful of cookies out of the strawberry cookie jug. Scooping up her books, she headed out of the room, stopping for a moment by the door. "He's okay, I guess."

  As she disappeared up the back stairs to get her stuff, Kip called from the front door. His backpack in the one hand, Game Boy in the other, a sullen pout clouded his face. "I want to help. Why can't we stay home? It's not fair."

  "Listen, kiddo." I knelt down so we were face-to-face. "You're already in enough trouble, so no more complaining. First: you've got to earn my trust back before I'll let you help me out again with magic. Second: I don't trust the spirit that's following Susan. It possessed you once already, Kipling. I won't put you or your sister in danger."

  Kip shuffled, scuffing his shoe on the floor. "I guess I messed things up, huh?"

  I pulled him to me and gave him a quick hug. "I know how much you love all of this. It's exciting. But when you get enthusiastic, you don't listen. You rush off half-cocked and someday you're going to get hurt or hurt somebody else. Remember when you decided to build a volcano for science class and Miranda tried to help you with the recipe for the lava? You ignored her and turned the kitchen into a disaster area." The hardened combination of baking soda and mud had taken me days to clean up.

  He plopped himself on the bench against the foyer wall and played with one of the philodendron's leaves. "Sly and I were supposed to camp out in the living room tonight and watch A Christmas Carol. His mom was going to make cocoa and popcorn balls."

  I ruffled his hair. "And now you're going to miss it because you're grounded. Kip, when you do something wrong, you have to accept responsibility for your actions. You don't live in a vacuum—what you do affects other people. You and Miranda can watch the movie at Mrs. Trask's, and I'll bet she'll make hot cocoa if you ask."

  "It's not the same."

  "No, it's not. But everything will be okay. Next week, we'll watch A Christmas Story here together, like we always do." A Christmas Story was a family favorite; we watched it every year. I lifted his chin and gave him a soft smile. "We'll go out this weekend and get a Christmas tree and decorate the mantel and light a fire and roast marshmallows."

  A ray of delight broke through his gloom, and he threw his arms around me. "Yay! I was wondering if we were ever gonna have fun again."

  I gently disengaged him and knelt down by his side. "I'm sorry. I haven't been a very good mom for a while. Things have changed, though. I promise."

  He sniffled a little, then gave me a peck on the cheek. "It's okay. Randa and I aren't good at helping out, either."

  Miranda came galloping down the stairs with a book bag that was almost as big as she was. She motioned to Kip. "Come on, slowpoke, let's get moving." She gave me a quick hug, and they headed out the door. Ida lived just a few houses away; I didn't need to drive them over there.

  Kip waved. "See you tomorrow, Mom. Will you tell us what happens?"

  I agreed. "It's a deal. Remember, unle
ss there's an emergency, both of you stay right with Mrs. Trask. No going over to Sly's or to the library or anywhere else. Have a good night and I'll see you after school tomorrow." As they shut the door, I leaned against the window, watching them trudge through the swirling snow. The world was so big. I hoped I was preparing them for it.

  * * * *

  I had an hour before Harl and Andrew were due. I jumped in the shower for a long rinse. I had finished dressing in a caftan of flowing black linen with silver threads running through the weave when the doorbell rang. I gave my hair a last brush-through and answered the door. They had come together. Andrew carried a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers. Harlow shoved a bottle of sparkling cider into my hands.

  "I didn't know what sort of hostess gifts were appropriate for a seance," Andrew said as he helped Harl with her coat and boots. I carried the cider and candy into the living room and found a vase for the flowers. Roses, winter-white as the snow drifts outside the window. I pressed my nose into them and inhaled deeply—they had a clear scent, light and fragile. It had been a long time since a man had given me roses.

  We moved the coffee table out of the way and set up a small wooden card table. I arranged a pad of paper and a pen in case Susan decided she wanted to dictate another note. Andrew suggested that we also set up a tape recorder in case somebody commandeered one of us for use as a mouthpiece. I agreed, though with a little luck and Nanna's charm, that wouldn't be happening again.

  Andrew and Harlow joined in, first with mirth, then with a growing sense of sobriety as they realized we were actually going through with this. I set out glasses of water in case we got thirsty; it wasn't a good idea to interrupt the flow of a seance in order to run into the kitchen for a drink. After dimming the lights, I unplugged the phone so we wouldn't be interrupted.

  "Should we use a Ouija board?" Andrew held our chairs for us as we sat down.

  I nixed the idea. "I won't allow one in the house. They attract wandering spirits, and you never know who you're going to dial up on the great cosmic chat line." They laughed. Good. It was important to break the tension. This was a first for both of them, so I had to keep control of the situation without making them nervous. "Okay, a lot of things might happen; the hardest part is when you hope for contact and nobody shows up. Spirits are notorious for not showing when called, but I have a hunch that Susan is hanging around. I can feel her energy."

  "If she does show up, what will you ask?" Harlow jumped up and took the gum out of her mouth. She dropped it in the wastebasket and returned to the table.

  I held out a list of questions I'd written up earlier, when I had a free moment at the shop. "If there's one thing I've found, it's that you must be prepared. When the supernatural hits your doorstep, it's way too easy to forget what you wanted to ask." I lit the candle in the center of the table, and we joined hands. Nanna had taught me this, too, but she seldom performed the invocation of spirits except on All Souls' Night, when we paid our respects to our dead relatives. "I'm going to invoke her like Nanna taught me, except I'll be using English. God knows, if I tried to conjure up somebody in German, I'd probably end up with Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun and we'd be in deep shit."

  One breath. Two breaths. Lower into trance. The familiar feel of the energy swept around me and I let it engulf me, draw me under. I could feel Harlow's nervous anticipation crackle through her fingers into mine, and Andrew was emanating a light that I hadn't noticed before. He seemed to step in, to buoy me up with his support. He probably didn't even know what he was doing. I rode on his energy for a moment and decided it was stable enough to rely on, though if Susan appeared, who knew whether he could keep his focus? People folded over the simplest things.

  When I felt ready, I took another breath and spoke in a loud, clear voice, forcing my intent into my words. "I invoke and implore you, spirit of the night, Susan Mitchell, appear at this table and grace us with your presence. Give us a sign that you hear us."

  I waited. Nothing. Not a peep. I could feel Andrew and Harl tense, and I knew from experience that they were holding their breath. I led them in taking another slow, deep breath and repeated my request. I was almost ready to cash it in for the evening when the candle flame wavered and flared high into the air. A rush of icy wind raced through the room, dropping the temperature where we sat by a good twenty degrees.

  Harlow squealed. "Oh, my God, she's here!"

  The table began to clatter against the floor, and it took all that I had to grab hold of their hands and not let go. My first thought was earthquake, but the hairs rose along the back of my neck, and I knew that Harlow was right. Susan was here. I caught my breath, waiting. Sure enough, she wasn't done yet. The dimmer on the light switch began to spin, first flooding the room with light and then plunging it into candlelight. Roller-coaster time—my stomach began to flip-flop and, as I gulped air to calm the stirring nausea, it dawned on me that the seance was actually working.

  Cool! Nanna's teachings had held up over the years. I hadn't led a seance since I was a teenager, and then had called in some musty old spirit whose only request was that we leave him alone. Then, as the table continued to quiver and shake, I began to think that maybe this wasn't such a bright idea after all. Harlow and Andrew both looked a little green, and I knew that I was going to have to take charge. If anything too disturbing happened, they'd drop me like a hot potato and I'd go splat—no friends, no help.

  "Susan, is it you? Are you here? If so, show yourself." We'd come this far, there was no going back. A cold chill hovered over the table, and my breath filtered out from between my teeth like mist caught in a frozen tableau. The temperature had dropped again. It had to be close to thirty degrees inside the living room. The windows were beginning to ice over.

  A bud vase went spinning off the shelf over the computer and crashed against the opposite wall, missing the window by a fraction of an inch. Shards of the delicate glass showered down on the carpet.

  "What's happening?" Harlow was starting to panic, and Andrew was a close second behind her. "Emerald, do something!"

  "Stop this now!" My voice echoed through the whirl of energy, and there was an immediate hush as the lights stopped flickering and the table came to rest.

  One beat, two beats… a swirl of vapor formed near the archway that led into the dining room, and out of the vapor we could see the ghost of Susan Mitchell materializing. Andrew gasped, just enough so I knew he recognized her. Harlow faltered and dropped my hand, pushing her chair back.

  There is a peculiar quality to the dead when they appear in spirit form—a translucent, not-quite-human-anymore feel. Susan had faded since I had last seen her; now she was more vaporous than material. She turned her gaze to me, and I hesitated a moment, sensing less of the pleading victim I'd first met, and more of some subterranean creature who lives in shadows and haunts old houses with memories long gone by.

  "Why is she looking at us like that?" Harlow scrambled out of her chair and was now pressed against a wall.

  "She's starting to lose what's left of her humanity. Spirits grow farther away from the mortal realm the longer they've been dead, and it gets harder for them to take physical form for very long. But I wouldn't expect her to be moving away this fast. I wonder what's been happening to her over there." Privately, I thought that Mr. Big & Ugly was responsible. I had the feeling he was feeding on her energy. Or maybe she was going through some sort of internal war—wanting to move on but unable to let go because of her unfinished business. I cleared my throat. Susan stayed where she was, not moving, lightly hovering above the floor. Andrew took a tentative step forward, and I motioned for him to stay where he was.

  "Susan, we want to help you. We need more information and were hoping you could point us in the right direction." She slowly inclined her head. I relaxed a little. She could still understand me, which meant she wasn't totally trapped between the worlds. "Do you need a pen? Can you still write like you did the other night when you first came to me?"

/>   One beat. Two beats… and the vaporous form moved forward toward the table, where the pen and paper were waiting. As we watched, the pen rose to hover above the surface while Susan stared at it intently.

  I glanced at the list of questions. "We need to get in •touch with Diana, your daughter. Where is she?"

  The pen hesitated for a moment, twitching, then scrawled something on the page, and the paper flew off the table and feathered its way to the floor. I didn't feel like getting close enough to retrieve it while the ghost was still standing there, so I thanked her and tried to figure out how to phrase the next question. The last thing I needed was an angry spirit railing at me.

  "Susan, Walter has an alibi—" I had barely begun to speak when a roar came pouring through the room. Susan reared back, eyes blazing with a brilliant blue fire, and the pen went flying behind the sofa. A dark cloud began to take shape behind Susan and she turned to me, mouthing something I couldn't hear. The fire in her eyes had turned to fear and she tipped her head back, shrieking in her silent world as she vanished through the ceiling. The cloud raced after her.

  "What the hell is going on?" I watched both Susan and the cloud disappear through the ceiling. As we sat there, staring at one another, hesitating, a thin cry pealed through the house from the second story.

  What? Was that Susan? A second shriek, razor-sharp, echoed through the room, and I knocked over my chair in my rush to the stairs. "Miranda!" It couldn't be—she was over at Ida's, but I knew my daughter's voice, and that had been her screaming. Andrew was fast on my heels, Harlow behind him. As we pounded up the stairs, yet a third scream sliced into my heart.

  Chapter Ten

  "Randa! Miranda!" If ripping out my lungs could make me run faster, I would have willingly done so. As it was, I shredded them, screaming as I took the stairs two at a time. Andrew and Harlow were right behind me.

  The railing shook as I propelled myself up to the second story. I slammed open the door. Randa's CD player was sitting in the middle of the floor, next to an open book. I didn't see it in time to slow down and my foot got caught in the coiled cord, sending me sprawling. A shower of sparks crackled through the air as the plug tore itself out of the wall. The soft movements of Bach skipped and fell silent. I pushed myself to my hands and knees. Andrew crowded into the room behind me, with Harlow dogging his heels. They grabbed me by the arms and yanked me to my feet.