Ghost of a Chance (22 page)

“That if he wanted to kill Meredith, he
certainly had the opportunity, and yet he only pulled a prank
instead… which leaves the idea of murder a little less likely?”

“Exactly.” I chewed on my lower lip. “As far
as my father is concerned, it would have been completely reasonable
for him to pull something like that with Spider. I think the only
reason he didn’t was because he knew I’d live with the
repercussions of such an act. But it’s totally out of his character
to murder someone. Pranks? Yes. Murder? No. I just don’t think he
could do it.”

“Neither do I, as it happens.”

A little knot of tension I hadn’t been aware
of relaxed at Adam’s words. “I appreciate that. Dad isn’t always
the most levelheaded of people, but I admit that Meredith is
particularly trying.”

Adam threw me a curious look. “You really
don’t like him, do you?”

“Meredith, you mean?” I sat on the bed to
put on my shoes. “I think he’s responsible for murder, so no, I
don’t like him. In addition to that, he’s clearly some sort of
electronics genius bent on destroying as many spirits as he can. He
needs to be stopped, Adam. The question is, are you going to turn
him over to the watch when the seal expires?”

“Mmm.” He moved over to the window and
twitched back the curtain, exposing sky that was beginning to
change from gray to rosy pink. “I don’t have any concrete proof
that he killed your husband.”

“He’s guilty of murder, Adam. I know that as
sure as I know my name. I feel it in my bones. He’s guilty, and I
don’t want him to get away with it.”

“Unfortunately, the feeling in your bones
isn’t enough to get a conviction, not even with the watch. I need
some real proof in order to charge him.”

“I know. It’s just so wrong that he should
do something so cruel, so heinous, and get away with it.”
Frustration roiled within me. Time was running out and Adam didn’t
seem to be any closer to nailing Meredith. Once the seal was gone
and the watch took over, my chances of convincing Adam of
Meredith’s guilt would be nil. I had to do something to make him
see the truth… But what? What more could I do?

“There’re still a few hours to go before the
seal lifts. We can question him again.”

I sighed and nodded, following him out of
the room. “Let’s do that. I have a feeling I’m missing something
important, something someone said that refuses to come into focus.
Maybe talking with him again will help.”

“After breakfast.” He stopped at the bottom
of the stairs, a smile slowly spreading as he sniffed a couple of
times. “Smells like the boys are pulling out all the gastronomic
stops. Shall we?”

The heavenly scent of bacon wafted out from
the dining room, along with the pleasant chatter that accompanied
people sitting down to a much-anticipated meal. I was surprised to
feel a dull, hollow rumbling in my stomach. I couldn’t imagine how
I could be hungry, but I was. “Oh yes, please. I’m famished.”

“Good. I’ll take a plate up to Nita; then we
can make a game plan for the interview with Meredith.”

“You’re very protective of her,” I said,
half-distracted by the sight of all the food on the sideboard that
took up almost an entire wall in the dining room.

“She’s shy around people she doesn’t know
well.”

“I have one of those at home. A Roman
goddess of doors. We ought to get the two of them together,” I said
with a smile before giving in to the temptation that lay before me.
“That looks wonderful, Tony.”

The spirit made a little bow as he deposited
a carafe of coffee on the table. “We won’t be worth dirt for the
rest of the day, but we thought you all deserved a hearty breffy.
The potato-and-sausage frittata is particularly… good god, Julie!
What are you thinking—parsley on eggs? If I’ve told you once, I’ve
told you a thousand times: parsley is passé. It’s all about basil
now!”

Jules tweaked the tablecloth and adjusted a
plate. “Parsley can never be passé. So sayeth the Iron Chef.”

“My dear, it’s gospel according to Martha.
And you know she’s never wrong!”

The two spirits floated back to the kitchen,
arguing over which of their cooking gurus was right.

I set my plate down at the end of the table.
Dad, reading the previous day’s newspaper, was happily stuffing his
face with parsley-bedecked eggs. Pixie had her iPod going, but her
eyes were wary as she sipped tea and nibbled on a naked piece of
toast. Savannah entered just as Adam left to take a plate up to
Amanita.

“Everything looks so tempting,” Savannah
said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “No, thank you, Tony. I’ll
help myself in a few minutes.”

Tony set a carafe of orange juice on the
table and shrugged, then returned to the kitchen.

“Did you get any rest?” I asked her.

She smiled. “I was about to ask you all the
same thing. I had a difficult time relaxing. I think it’s because
there’s something I need to do, and haven’t yet done.”

“Divorce your husband?” my father asked,
still reading the paper.

“Dad!”

He looked up and made an apologetic face at
Savannah. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It kind of slipped
out…”

I gave him the gimlet eye, but as usual, it
did little good.

“My marriage is something that I will need
to reevaluate,” Savannah said with placid acceptance as she sipped
her coffee. “But I will meditate on that later. I communed with my
spirit control, and he told me that Spider’s ethereal being—his
essence, if you will—was restless, and wanted to communicate with
us.”

“Not another séance?” Pixie asked, crumbling
toast. “They’re no fun if you won’t summon a demon or two.”

“Demons! Gracious goddess, no. I would never
condone such a thing! It’s bad enough to call a poltergeist, but a
demon!” Savannah fingered her amulet bag and gave one of her
delicate shudders. “No, indeed. I had thought to try a little
automatic writing, though. I haven’t always had the best luck with
it, but Jebediah—he’s my control—thought that we might have a
better chance of reaching Spider if we used a method that taxed his
essence less than a séance.”

A thought clicked into place in my mind. I
looked up at my father to see if he had caught the same thing I
had, but he was engrossed in the newspaper. I puzzled over the
point for a moment before asking Savannah, “How long have you been
interested in spirits and polters and all the rest?”

“Oh, since I was a little girl. I had a
poltergeist experience when I was about twelve. It was very
unnerving. I dabbled in it a bit growing up, and through college,
but didn’t settle down to do serious research with the PMS until
last year.” She glanced at Pixie and my father before turning back
to me, saying in a lowered voice, “Although I had no idea at all
about any of this. No idea whatsoever! It seems so fantastic, and
yet makes so much sense, that people like you all exist. But that
you could pass for normal people… I just had no idea!”

I kept my expression pleasant despite the
backhanded compliment. “What sort of research have you done with
the PMS group?”

“We investigate hauntings, primarily. The
Admiral’s Mansion in Aberdeen—you’ve heard of it? It’s supposedly
one of the top twenty-five haunted houses in the U.S. Well, PMS has
done extensive research there. We’ve spent nights in the house
filming, conducting séances, and attempting to isolate and identify
the hot spots of psychic activity there.”

“I see.” That wasn’t telling me anything
useful. “But with regards to polters—have you or your group done
any special research on them?”

An odd look passed over her face. “Why, no.
I just told you that I had no idea that you people were as you are.
No idea!”

“Indeed.” I leaned forward and looked her
dead in the eye, willing every ounce of my polter heritage to let
me sense any variations in her body language. The strange faint
buzzing noise caught the edge of my consciousness, but I dismissed
it. “But you know the difference between summoning and calling,
don’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I dropped my voice until it was a whisper,
and continued to pin her back with a gaze that sought confirmation
of my suspicions. “You mentioned
calling
a polter. Only
someone with experience in the Otherworld would know the difference
between summoning and calling.”

“I… I don’t quite see…” She looked confused,
but I wasn’t fooled. She’d slipped up, and we both knew it.

“Spirits and demons are summoned. Polters
are called. If you are as naive about polters as you say, why do
you know the difference?”

She sat back, a gentle smile on her face,
but her fingers were white as they twisted a napkin. “Goddess, you
startled me for a moment! I thought something was wrong. I have no
idea when or where I learned the difference. I assume someone at
PMS mentioned it. Or I might have read it; I’m very big on doing
research, you know.”

“How reassuring.” I sat back, as well,
having gotten my answer. In genetic structure I might not have
inherited much from my father along the polter lines, but even I
could read Savannah’s body language. She was trying very hard not
to appear flustered, but it was clear she was lying about
something.

Why on earth would she want people to think
she was clueless about polters when the opposite was true? And why
was she so nervous about my knowing her secret?

I puzzled over Savannah’s odd behavior while
she chatted brightly to my father and Pixie—neither of whom made
much effort to converse. Adam entered the room and served himself,
then sat down across from me.

“Meredith says he’s feeling better. He’d
like some breakfast,” he said to Savannah.

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s perfectly
capable of getting his own breakfast, I assure you.”

“He said he’d prefer you to bring him up a
plate,” Adam answered, applying pepper rather heavily to his
eggs.

Pixie and I both sneezed.

“Sorry. Pepper gets away from me.”

“My days of waiting on that man hand and
foot are over.” Savannah rose with a graceful movement, collecting
a plate and a small sampling of the breakfast fare.

“I believe he’s expecting you to bring him
something,” Adam said.

She tossed her head. “He can just wait,
then.”

“Should I tell him that, or leave him
alone?” Tony asked, drifting through the table with a plate of what
looked to be burnt toast in his hands. “I was going to take these
odds and bobs from breakfast up to Karma’s imps. Do they like
cantaloupe?”

“They’ll eat just about anything but
asparagus; that makes them swell up like puffer fish. I’d leave
Meredith alone, personally.”

“Ew.” Pixie made a face at the comment about
my imps before dropping her scowl back to her plate.

“Yes, by all means, let the bastard
starve.”

My eyebrows rose at the vehemence in
Savannah’s voice.

She continued on with blithe disregard for
her husband’s welfare. “Adam, my spirit control suggested I try
automatic writing this morning, to contact Spider before the seal
is lifted. There will be time for me to do that, won’t there?”

“Er… yes.” Adam didn’t look like he had much
faith in her ability to get Spider to do anything, much less tell
us who his murderer was.

“Excellent. I’ve had some luck with
automatic writing in the past. Have you ever tried it?”

“No.” Adam picked up a section of the paper
my father had discarded. Despite it’s being a day old, he propped
it up in front of himself and appeared to read the news with a
strange avidity.

“Oh.” She looked crestfallen for a moment
before turning to Pixie. “You’d like automatic writing,
Misericordia.”

“
Nephthys.”

I smiled to myself. Nephthys was one of the
most famous figures in polter history. Every polter child was
taught about how she’d married the Egyptian god Seth, bringing the
polters forth as positive beings rather than frightening entities.
Pixie had made a fitting choice for her new name.

“Pardon?” Savannah asked.

“My name is
Nephthys
. Misericordia
wasn’t working.
No one
could remember it.” The glare she
sent me should have singed off at least a hair or two, but I gave
her a bland smile in return.

“I see. That’s very pretty. It’s Egyptian,
isn’t it?”

Pixie shrugged. “I dunno. I saw it on the
Web. It has something to do with the underworld, and it sounds
dark.
People
should be
able
to
remember
it!”

I ignored yet another of her glares and
glanced with disbelief at Adam and my father. Had neither of them
heard her? Apparently they hadn’t, for both of them kept their
respective noses buried in the newspaper.

“Yes, it’s very dark, and I’m sure no one
will have any trouble remembering it. You’re very into that sort of
thing, aren’t you? Perhaps you’d like to try automatic writing, as
well?”

Pixie frowned down at the tabletop, her face
set in a sullen expression.

“Oh! I’m so sorry…” She shot me a flustered
glance. “Are you people not able to do it? Communicate with
spirits, I mean?”

“Dunno, I’ve never tried. Although I’d
prefer to summon a demon. I’ve always wanted a demon of my own,”
Pixie said.

All the warning bells and whistles in my
head went off at her words. I tossed down my napkin, rising, then
took a firm hold on her shirt as I walked past her. “If you’re done
mauling your toast, I’d like to have a word with you. Right
now!”

Adam glanced up questioningly. I shook my
head at him and hustled a sputtering Pixie into the next room,
closing the door firmly behind us.

“Stop it! You’re hurting me!” she
complained, jerking her arm out of my grip and smoothing over the
rumpled bit of shirt. “
Deus!
This is child abuse, you know!
I could complain to the League about you!”