The Diva Haunts the House (32 page)

“You’re joking, right? Surely you don’t think that lumbering old troglodyte is a killer.”

“I saw Ray with a gun when Patrick paid him a visit.”

Natasha flipped a hand through the air. “The man likes to pretend he’s a big bad Western hero. That didn’t mean a thing. Patrick wasn’t shot!”

Something wasn’t quite right. Natasha usually detested men like Ray. She hadn’t invited him to her party. “Who do you think killed Patrick?”

“It’s between Frank Hart, who has been acting very strange, and—”

I interrupted her. “Frank? I think he’s out of the running. You saw him stuck in a casket this morning with a leach on him.”

“He did that on purpose to throw suspicion onto someone else.” She tsked. “And you fell for it.”

“Who’s the other contender?”

She twirled slowly, constrained by her tight dress. “Leon. He—” She stopped talking abruptly and raised her voice when she continued. “Leon! What a fab costume!”

Leon joined us wearing a wig reminiscent of Viktor Luca’s wavy hair. “I hope you don’t mind, some lady let me in the side door. I left my famous worms and eyeballs, really short spaghetti and meatballs in bloooooood sauce, on the kitchen counter.” He tugged self-consciously on the boxy white shirt he wore over trousers cut in tatters below his knees. Instead of shoes, he wore giant faux bare feet with hairy toes.

“Frodo?” I guessed.

He clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad you figured it out.” To Natasha he said, “I told you other people would appreciate Frodo.”

Natasha peeked into the dining room. “You’re using dry ice. It’s my absolute favorite Halloween effect. I love the way it drifts across everything, like a spooky night fog.” She sniffled. “I saved some to use tonight, but the explosion in my kitchen blasted it to smithereens.”

Red flags went off in my head. “You saved it? How?”

“I put it into a huge glass jug and screwed on the top good and tight.”

Leon and Natasha looked at me innocently. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you blew up your own kitchen with a homemade bomb.”

“What? Nonsense. I would never do that.”

“You can’t put dry ice in an airtight container. It will explode like a bomb.”

Natasha’s expression changed to one of horror. “I had no idea,” she whispered. Her shock didn’t last long. “It catches fire?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe the resulting shrapnel knocked over a candle.”

“Leon! Why didn’t you tell me that? What am I paying you for?” scolded Natasha.

To his credit, Leon didn’t lash out at her like I would have. “Is that ‘I Put A Spell On You’ playing? Bette is one of my favorites. Come on, Natasha!” They scuttled off to the sunroom, Natasha barely able to walk in her narrow skirt and Leon taking giant steps with his huge feet. I was sorry I wouldn’t be there to see him dance in those things.

I returned to the kitchen to baste the ribs with the thick sauce. The bacon-like smell of the cooking pork reminded me that dinner was being served very late, and I was hungry. Only fifteen minutes to serving time.

The door knocker sounded again. I didn’t think anyone was missing, and it was too late for trick-or-treaters. I opened the door to find a round woman dressed in a flowing black caftan. “Yes?”

She focused on the plaque on my house. “I adore these historic homes. Spirits simply thrive in them.”

How peculiar. I was getting ready to say that she must have the wrong address when Wanda swooped up beside me.

“Madame Poisson! I’m so glad you could join us.” Wanda swept her arm to the side and bowed slightly, inviting the stranger in as though she were royalty.

Natasha greeted Madame Poisson in the foyer and airkissed her on both cheeks. “What a delight that you could come.”

“The buffet will be ready shortly, but first, you simply must see the kitchen.” Wanda took a large tote bag from Madame Poisson, deposited it on the console, and escorted her to my kitchen, which surprised me since Natasha loathed my kitchen.

“Do you feel it?” asked Wanda.

Madame Poisson closed her eyes and held her hands out before her. “Oh my, yes. The spirit is very strong in here.”

The painting of Mars’s Aunt Faye hanging on the stone wall slid to a tilt. That often happened when Natasha came to visit, but I had a feeling that this time, Faye was telling us what she thought of Madame Poisson.

Madame opened her eyes and sniffed the air. “Ribs? It’s so rare that anyone serves food at a séance. I’m famished. Lead the way, Wanda!”

Séance?
I grabbed Natasha’s arm as she turned to follow them. “Who
is
this woman?”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Natasha frowned at me. “Madame Poisson is one of the best mediums on the East Coast. We’re so fortunate that we were able to get her on short notice and on Halloween of all nights.”

“That should suggest something to you. Wait a minute. Hold everything.
You
invited her?”

“My mother, actually. Don’t look at me like that. It was your darling June who suggested it, and little Jen begged for entertainment for her birthday party.”

“Yet no one thought to consult me?” I had a vague memory of a mischievous moment between June and Jen.
Those rascals!

“Really, Sophie. You can be a bit staid. You’re so predictable. When is the last time you did anything unexpected? And you needn’t be snarky about it. Of all people, I’d think you would want to hear what she has to say.”

“About ghosts in my house?”

“Honestly, Sophie, sometimes you’re so dense. No wonder Mars left you. Madame Poisson will be contacting Patrick, and he can tell us who killed him.”

“The séance ought to be held in your house then. That’s where he was killed.”

Natasha inhaled sharply as though I had offended her. Her teeth clenched, she said, “It was on the sidewalk.”

I might not be the smartest cookie around, but I did see an interesting flaw in her plan. “So then, you don’t think vampires exist?”

“I didn’t say
that
! We were talking about ghosts.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Natasha. Either he’s a ghost or he’s immortal.”

Shock registered on her face. Who was dense now? I’m ashamed to admit that I turned away quickly to hide a smile of immense satisfaction, and poked my head into the dining room to watch our Ghost Whisperer.

Madame Poisson’s fortuitous availability on Halloween seemed a little bit suspicious to me. I began to deliver the dinner dishes to the buffet and watched her eye them, dinner plate in hand.

Unlike Natasha, whose fingernails looked so perfect that I wondered if she had just had them done, Madame Poisson’s short, unpolished nails and chapped skin indicated she worked with her hands. The spray of gray emerging at the roots of the hair on the sides of her face led me to think she might be in her late fifties. She wore it up in a twist, very elegant and a good choice for her round face. Oversized rings adorned her fingers, and multiple necklaces jangled about her neck.

When I brought in the ribs, she filled a plate and peeked into my living room, as though assessing her seating options. Wanda quickly offered her a chair at the dining room table, treating her like a queen, or at least a princess.

I really didn’t mind the séance. I had never been to one and thought it might be fun. But I wasn’t crazy about the fact that it had been arranged behind my back.

I snagged Jen as she walked by. “What do you know about a séance?”

Jen brightened. “Is she here?”

“Hold it. How did this happen?”

She shifted her feet and couldn’t look me in the eye. “June asked you if we could have a party like Faye used to have—and Faye always had a séance.”

June hurried over. “Don’t be upset with Jen, dear. I’m afraid I’m the instigator this time.”

“June! Do you really think the medium can contact Patrick?”

“You never know which spirits might be hanging around. It was always so much fun when Faye had a séance. It’s just so appropriate for Halloween, and I thought it would be delightful entertainment for little Jennie’s party.”

Jennie?
If I had called her that, Jen would have pitched a fit. The truth is that I wouldn’t have chewed out June under any circumstances. If I’d thought Natasha was the instigator, I wouldn’t have been as kind.

Dash snagged my arm. “How about a dance?” He led the way to the sunroom.

“When did you arrive?”

“Mars let Dana and me in.”

“Dana? Did you . . . come together?” Maggie would be very unhappy if that were the case.

“No. Just got here at the same time.”

I took advantage of his friendliness to pry a little bit. “Did you go to Natasha’s party?”

“Gosh, no. I hate that kind of overblown pretentious gathering where everyone is trying to impress everyone else.” He swung me around. “This is what I call a party!”

When the music ended, I excused myself to get the food on the buffet.

While the others helped themselves to dinner, I made a quick check of the candles in the sunroom. I didn’t need any accidents like Natasha’s explosion. Voices floated to me from my den. Hushed, but definitely angry.

“Stay away from me. And from my mother!”

Blake?
They hadn’t fully closed the door. I edged sideways to see through the crack. The lights were off, but glowing bones left little mistake that Blake was one of the speakers.

A sinister chuckle. “You have to accept that I’m going to be part of your mother’s life. She loves me, and we’ll probably marry.”

“You stay away from her!” Blake lowered his tone. “If you don’t, you’ll end up like Patrick.”

Blake barreled out of the den and down the hall. I stepped behind a huge ficus plant. Karl followed at a leisurely pace. The glimmer of the sparkling lights overhead caught his face. For once, the mocking smirk had vanished.

“Sooophie!”

Thank goodness Natasha hadn’t charged into the sunroom a moment earlier. “What are you doing back there?”

“Blowing out candles. What’s up?”

She inhaled deeply and ran her hands down her hips as though dredging up courage. “I need your help. I’m afraid Mars is having an affair.”

I couldn’t breathe. I tried to speak but my voice squeaked and the next thing I knew, I was having a coughing fit. When I’d regained my composure, I said, “I’m certain that you’re mistaken.”

“No, a woman knows these things.”

She shook her head and gazed into the darkness of my backyard. “He’s seeing Maggie. I’m sure of it. That’s why she turned up in that Morticia outfit again. He’s over there all the time—ever since Patrick died.”

What could I say?
It’s not Maggie, and I know that for a fact because it’s me he’s interested in.
I reminded myself that nothing had happened. Nothing except a toe-tingling kiss that made me feel like the other woman. For all I knew, he
was
having an affair with Maggie. What was I thinking? That wasn’t Mars’s style at all. I knew him better than that. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, Natasha.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Haven’t you noticed that Maggie is trying to look like me? He’s obviously attracted to tall, willowy women with lustrous dark hair.” She kept her eyes on the hallway as though she expected Mars to come looking for her. “At least I don’t have to worry about him being attracted to you. Help me spy on him, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, she waddled up the hallway like a tall penguin.

I followed at a discreet distance, and wound up next to Karl at the buffet.

“I understand your ex-husband’s family once owned this house.” He helped himself to the Ghost Potatoes.

“His aunt.” I didn’t feel the need to explain that I’d bought Mars out in our divorce.

He responded with an
uum
sound. Could an
uum
carry a note of disapproval, or was I imagining things because I didn’t like the guy or his daughter?

“The dining and living rooms are huge by Old Town standards.”

Although I was sorely tempted to respond with an
uum
, I helped myself to ribs and said, “Mars’s Aunt Faye was well known for her parties. She built the addition expanding the downstairs.”

It may have been rude of me, but the last thing in the world I wanted was to eat my dinner next to Karl. My food would stick in my throat for sure. I swung around, desperate to find a spot between two people. Fortunately, Bernie motioned to me and scooched over to make room on the sofa. I plopped down next to him and took a second to gaze around.

Fires blazed in the living and dining rooms, which joined through a large opening in the wall between the rooms. Faye had thought about party traffic patterns when she added on. All the electric lights had been doused, leaving us with flickering flames in jack-o-lanterns and masses of candles. The dim lights danced on the faces of our guests, adding to the spooky mood. If Faye was floating about checking out the partygoers in their outlandish garb, I thought she must be quite pleased.