CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance Page 8

  Andrew stood up, looking exhausted. It had taken a lot of courage to come to me, I thought, especially after everything he’d divulged. He stretched, popping his back. “I never expected to get caught up into all of this when I asked you out to soup. But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  Harl nodded thoughtfully. “Me too. We have to be careful, though. If Walter finds out what we’re up to, we’re in trouble. He could have us tossed in jail for slander so fast that we’d be singing Christmas carols from there.” I had the sinking feeling that Harl might see this as the perfect outlet for revenge against his unwelcome advances.

  Another pause and Andrew voiced the questions we were all thinking: “So, what’s our next step? How do we try to investigate this?”

  I’d been thinking about that. “Harl, what about the daughter? Maybe she knows something. Could you try to dig up whatever info you can?”

  “I don’t know if she’ll help us,” Andrew interrupted. “Susan had only recently reunited with Diana. She had also told me that the relationship was tenuous at best. Walter won’t give the girl the time of day, I guess.” His voice was so low that I barely caught his words. “They’ve been estranged for years, and Susan had once told me that he won’t even allow her name to be spoken in the house.”

  “Sounds serious. Do you know where she is? I wonder if Walter even let her know her mother died. Maybe I can ask Murray whether the cops notified Diana.”

  Andrew shook his head. “I think she lives in Seattle, but I don’t know exactly where. So, what should I do?”

  I thought for a moment. “See if you can find out more about Walter and Susan’s marriage. She was very rich. Even if he has money on his own, that’s a powerful incentive. Also, you said Susan mentioned she had somebody who wanted her, ‘even if you didn’t.’ Do you know who that was?”

  He frowned, thinking it over. “I assumed she was lying, but I’ll see if I can find out anything.”

  “What are you going to do?” Harl snapped her gum. She had the whitest teeth of anyone I knew. They practically glowed in the dark.

  “I’m going to clean house and ward it—before you ask, that means I’m going to psychically protect it. Then we’re going to have ourselves an old-fashioned seance and ask Susan to manifest. I think it’s time we had a long talk with the first client of our little Spooks-R-Us agency.”

  Silence flooded the room. Andrew gave me a gentle kiss as he left. I leaned against the sill and waved, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. Murray said I was ready for change, and it looked like change had come calling whether or not I wanted to open the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Before I went to sleep, I pulled a thick album out of my nightstand and crawled under the handstitched quilt that Nanna had made me so many years ago. The black construction paper pages were frayed at the edges, but inside, the photos were carefully preserved in little plastic holders. I thumbed through the pictures of my childhood until I found what I was looking for. There she was—Nanna, in a tidy dress with a big apron tied over her abundant tummy.

  “I sure wish you were here, Nanna,” I whispered to her image. “You’d know how to deal with this.” It had been Nanna who taught me how to clear out ghosts and tangle up trouble with a thread bottle. When I was seven, she taught me to charm gingerbread men for good luck at Christmas. By fourteen I could call home a wayward family member using a candle and a handful of dirt. I sniffed back a few tears. “I miss you.” Could she hear me?

  The door creaked, and I jerked my head up. Relieved to see that the intruder was Randa rather than some ghostly stalker, I waved her over. I had expected that she’d pop in sooner or later. She always seemed to make an appearance in my bedroom on the nights that we argued, as if she couldn’t sleep until we sorted things out.

  “What’s up, chickie?” I started to put away the album but she jumped on the bed and reached for it. I handed it to her, surprised. She seldom took an interest in family matters. Sometimes I wondered if she’d gotten some notion that she was adopted.

  “What are you looking at? Is that Nanna?” She fingered the picture, pulling the album closer.

  “Yes, that’s my Nanna. I wish you could have met her, pumpkin. She was an incredible woman. So why are you out of bed? It’s almost one in the morning.”

  Randa yawned. “I couldn’t seem to get to sleep.” She leaned her head against my shoulder and looked up at me. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “Don’t sweat it. We all get tense. You just have to learn to respect other people’s feelings more than you do.” I slid my arm around her shoulders and we leaned back against the headboard.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She arranged the photo album so we could both look at it. “Why didn’t I ever get to meet Nanna? She didn’t die until I was four or five, did she?”

  I sighed. She’d have to find out the truth someday. “Your daddy didn’t like my family, honey. He didn’t get along with my parents, and he especially didn’t like Nanna. There was always a big fight whenever they ended up in the same room. I didn’t go home much after I got married. I’m sorry, though. I think you would have liked my grandmother. You like your grandma and grandpa, don’t you… my folks?”

  She shrugged. “They seem nice. We don’t get to see them much either. Nanna lived with you when you were little, didn’t she?”

  “She took care of Rose and me.”

  “Tell me about her. Maybe I’ll be able to go to sleep.” Randa yawned again and slid down under the covers, turning to me with earnest eyes. Moments like these were fewer now, and I treasured every one of them because I knew in a couple of years, they’d stop for good and my little girl would vanish in a cloud of teen angst like the one that had reared its head tonight.

  “Okay. Ready?” She adjusted the covers and murmured a little “Yes.”

  ”Nanna came to live with us when I was about three. I was always her favorite, you know.” I grinned. “Rose was barely out of diapers and Mother wanted to take a job as a secretary, helping Dad in the store. She hated housework. I think that’s hereditary, because both you and I hate it, too. Anyway, Nanna came to live with us.”

  “Did Grandpa like her?”

  “Well, your grandpa had mixed feelings about her. With Nanna there, Mother was happy because she could go back to work. Dad could save money by not having to pay either a baby-sitter or a secretary, which meant more money for the family.”

  “But the house smelled…” Randa prompted. I don’t know how many times I had told her this story, but for some reason, she liked to hear it over and over again.

  I nodded. “The house reeked. Nanna loved to cook, but she cooked a lot of cabbage and rye bread and she liked beer and strong cheeses. Well, this started what Rose and I later called the “War of the Grandmothers.” Nappa had died years earlier—I never knew him—he died in the old country before Nanna came to the United States. But Dad’s parents were alive and well. They didn’t like Nanna. They were certain that her cooking was going to ruin us all, with the heavy breads and meats she served. They were very Irish white-lace-and-linens. And they were Catholic and Nanna was… well, whatever Nanna was, there wasn’t a church built for her.”

  Miranda laughed. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Yeah, well, be glad your mother is so liberal. As long as you and Kip grow up to be good people, I won’t care what you believe or how dirty your house is.”

  “That’s not true. You may not like housework, but you hate dirty houses.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s because Nanna pounded it into my head that dirt in the home breeds trouble. So I keep our home as clean as I do because I really believe she was right. When the cobwebs and dust pile up, all the musty thoughts and forgotten emotions get caught in their webs and attract spirits and all sorts of chaotic energy.”

  Miranda shifted. I thought she might be uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, but she asked, “Is that why some houses give me the creeps when I first walk in? Joni�
�s house is like that. She’s asked me to stay overnight before, but I always feel like I’m being watched, so I tell her thanks, but I’m busy.”

  “Yep, that’s why. And now, young woman, it’s time for you to go to sleep. You can stay in here, if you like.” The kids seldom came crawling into my bed, but once in a while they’d seek comfort in my room, looking for safety from the odd nightmare or noise in the night.

  Randa yawned and stretched. “Thanks, but I think I can sleep now.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and padded out of the room. I blew a silent kiss toward the door.

  * * * *

  I rose early to that dusky gray sky that accompanies predawn snowfalls, and scrubbed and dusted all corners of the house, especially the étagère, which held my most precious collectibles, including the Waterford crystal globe that Roy had bought for me when he found out I was pregnant with Randa. Of everything he’d given me, that was the most precious, and I’d kept it regardless of the bad blood between us.

  Randa was still asleep when Kip joined me in the living room. “My room’s clean. Should I unload the dishwasher?”

  “Yep. I’ll finish up in the living room here.” I vacuumed and, as the sky began to lighten, straightened the last pile of magazines. After we finished, I brought out Nanna’s little trunk of charms that she’d left to me and sorted through them till I found what I was looking for—a silver rune, Algiz, the Norse symbol of protection. It was hanging from a gold chain. Nanna had charmed it long ago.

  I poked around until I found a cobalt blue jar that had been sealed with an airtight stopper. Nanna’s homemade incense. I wasn’t sure what it was made of—the recipe was in her diary underneath all of her jewelry and charm bags—but the only thing that mattered was that it still worked. Nanna had used it whenever she wanted to clear a house. There were a few rough cones left in the bottom of the jar. I’d have to make some more cones before long.

  “The rune is supposed to be hung up over the front door. Get me the stepstool, would you?” As Kip headed for the kitchen, I called out, “Also bring me the hammer and a nail from the junk drawer.” He lugged back in everything that I asked for and I set up the stepstool and climbed to the top step. After I’d pounded the nail in far enough to hold the weight of the pendant, but not so far that the chain would slip off, I hung the rune over the door. As I jumped down and looked at it critically, I flashed back to the time I was seven, when Nanna first hung this same rune over our door.

  Grandma McGrady had had a fit and said Lucifer himself would come knocking. Nanna called her an old biddy in German. Apparently Grams knew enough of the language to understand the insult, and she set to squawking in a way that would have made any old hen proud. She never mentioned the rune again, but after that she refused to enter the house through the front door, blustering her way in through the kitchen and never failing to mention what a hassle it was to go around to the back of the house. Yet another battle in the War of the Grandmothers.

  “What next?” Kip’s eyes were shining. He looked so excited that I hated to break it to him that we had very little left to do.

  “Why don’t you help me light the incense?” I fumbled with one of the homemade cones, finally getting the sticky thing set into the conch shell I used for an incense burner. While Kip held the seashell, I struck a match to the top of the cone. A puff of smoke rose up, and the room took on the aroma of a herb garden—lavender and lemon, sage and cedar and black pepper. The smoke was pungent but not unpleasant. Nanna knew her stuff; the intervening years hadn’t destroyed the potency.

  I waved some of the smoke up to circle around the rune and motioned for Kip to set the shell on the coffee table, where the cone would burn itself out.

  “What was it Nanna said when she used to do this? Oh… yeah, I remember… give me a minute here.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus as clearly on the words as she had always done. “All things unholy, all things profane, be expelled from this house, to never return again.”

  Kip waited expectantly. “That’s it?” He looked disappointed.

  “That’s it. You expected more, didn’t you?”

  “I guess. Nothing happened.”

  “Didn’t it? Feel the air—can you tell the difference?” I wasn’t pulling one over on him; the air did feel cleaner, a little more settled.

  He closed his eyes. “It felt all mixed up before. Now the house feels brighter.”

  “Good. You’re learning. Remember, not every spell will end in special effects like on Buffy and Charmed. Actually, most won’t.” I started to put the rest of Nanna’s stuff back in her trunk. It was then that I noticed that the ribbon I kept tied around her diary had come loose. “What’s this? Someone’s been reading Nanna’s journal.”

  She had kept the silk ribbon tied with a triple knot; I always retied it the same way when I was done reading. But when I picked up the journal, it was bound with a sloppy double bow, much like a shoelace. Miranda wouldn’t have had any interest in the book. I looked over at Kip. He was shuffling, staring at the floor. “Kip… have you been into Nanna’s trunk? I want the truth.”

  He squirmed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see what she had… what she wrote in her book.” The look on his face told me that he knew how wrong he’d been to disobey me. He was never allowed to get into the trunk without my permission. When Kip first expressed an interest in learning Nanna’s folkways, I agreed because it was safer than having him explore his psychic gifts on his own, but I warned him never to read or try anything pertaining to magic without my supervision. He had given me his promise—his oath on his honor. Apparently Kip’s ego had decided to declare independence day.

  “You realize how disappointed I am with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  He fidgeted with the tail of his shirt, shifting from one foot to another. I waited in silence, letting him imagine all sorts of terrible punishments—the power of suggestion was a wonderful tool. After a few minutes, tears began to roll down his cheeks and he blubbered a soggy, “I’m sorry.”

  As pathetic as he sounded, I knew that he was more sorry he had gotten caught than for what he’d done in the first place. “Oh, I think you are going to be sorry. You’re grounded for two weeks. You come directly home or to the shop, whichever I tell you to do. No talking to Sly on the phone or any of your other buddies. No Nintendo for two weeks. The only places you will be going are to school, the shop, and with me when I tell you to come along. Do you understand?”

  He sputtered but quickly backtracked when he took one look at my face. I was in no mood for negotiations. “Yes, ma’am. I’m really sorry, Mom.”

  “Umm-hmm. Okay, go wash your face. It’s time for breakfast.”

  He wiped his nose with his sleeve. I’d have to remember to wash that shirt tonight. As he ran off to the bathroom, I carefully retied the knots on the diary. Charms, folklore, old spells, all required respect, and the only way to learn that respect was right from the beginning. Too many chances for spells to backfire, otherwise.

  Kip would remember this day and thank me for being tough with him. Maybe not today or tomorrow or next week… but someday. Meanwhile, I would buy a padlock for Nanna’s trunk. I hated the fact that I couldn’t trust him, but he was too enchanted by anything that had to do with magic. If he wasn’t careful, one of these days he’d land himself in hot water.

  Miranda straggled in, rubbing her eyes. After our late-night talk she looked remarkably refreshed, if a little grungy. Her hands were stained with blue ink. If there was one leaky pen in the house, she would manage to find it.

  “You haven’t had a shower this morning, have you?” There was a vaguely ripe odor drifting off her pj’s. I glanced at the clock and pulled out the bacon and eggs from the fridge. For once, I had a little time on my hands, and I intended to make us a breakfast that wasn’t dripping with sugar.

  She squinted. “I’ll take one in gym. It’s first period.” With
a sniff, her face lit up. “No cereal today? Yay! I’m hungry. Can we have scrambled eggs, please?”

  I broke half a dozen eggs into a bowl and whipped them together with some minced shallots, red pepper chunks, cheddar cheese, and a sprinkling of parsley and lemon pepper. While they bubbled in the skillet, I slid two more slices of bread in the toaster. Miranda pulled out the juice and poured it into glasses, then set the table. “Thank you… you’re a good girl.”

  She shrugged, but gave me a quick smile and I decided that would do—it was better than the grouch she usually was in the morning. I divided the eggs onto the plates while she buttered the toast. As we were setting the table, she reached out and put her hand on my arm. “Thanks for last night, Mom. I love those stories… can we go visit Grandma and Grandpa soon?” Her father’s parents, the O’Briens, seldom asked about the children. I was grateful that my folks loved the kids and enjoyed showering them with attention whenever possible.

  I kissed the top of her head. “They went to Arizona for Christmas. After they come back, we’ll take a trip over to Aberdeen and stay for a few days. Will that work?” Happy, she sat down, unfolding her napkin into her lap.

  Kip silently entered the kitchen and took his seat. He picked at his food while I finished making their lunches and joined them at the table with a demitasse. I fished a couple of slices of bacon onto my plate and snagged a slice of toast before everything disappeared. “Are we doing anything tonight?” Kip polished off his eggs and grabbed his milk. I rested a hand on his arm, and he slowed down.

  “Actually, I’ve got plans with Harlow and Andrew. Since you’re grounded, I’m taking you to Mrs. Trask’s for the night. I’m sure she’ll be happy to take you.”

  Kip immediately put up a fuss. “Mom! It’s about Susan, isn’t it? What are you going to do? I want to help.”

  “Sorry, buster. You blew your chance.” It was just as well that he’d disobeyed me. He’d be desperate to join us once he knew we were holding a seance, but there wasn’t enough chintzware in England to convince me to let him be here, not when Susan came complete with her own private nightmare. “We’re holding a seance. Don’t bother whining. My word’s final—no arguments. And,” I added, knowing all too well how his mind worked, “if you expect to sneak out from Mrs. Trask’s and go over to Sly’s, think again. She’s going to know you’re grounded and will keep a close eye on you.”