Downright Dead Read online

  “Look, you’ve got until tomorrow night to get him to come out. Why don’t you encourage Sylvia to help you? If you can’t raise him,” Liz giggled, “maybe Sylvia can.”

  “You’re brilliant!” Holly squeezed Liz’s shoulders. “That’s it. If Sylvia can’t get the ghost to show up, she’ll have to cancel to save face.”

  “All you have to do is convince her to do a trial run.”

  How hard could that be?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Have you heard from that medium?” Sylvia spun on a stiletto to face Liz as they entered the candlelit dining room. “What’s her name?”

  “No, but she confirmed and received payment,” Liz said as she padded across the hardwood floor in her flats that looked worthy of a mountain hike.

  “Her name is Angel Dupree.” And Holly needed to intercept her before she came into the house. That’s why she’d called Angel and left a message to call when she was close so they could meet her outside. Angel would know immediately that Burl was gone, and that had to be handled delicately. Then maybe Holly could get her to convince Sylvia that Burl wasn’t going to show up and not tell her he was never going to show up.

  Nelda placed an oval pan loaded with buttery chicken and dumplings into a sterling silver chafing dish. Steam curled over the dumplings and filled the room with deliciousness.

  Sylvia peeked at the dumplings, then wrinkled up her perfect nose. “That looks disgusting.”

  Of course it did to her. That’s why she probably wore a size two and had no stress buying swimsuits.

  “Humph.” Nelda wadded up a potholder in each hand. “I bet you never even ate a bite of chicken and dumplin’s, and I know you ain’t had the best ’cause you’re lookin’ at ’em.”

  Liz shook her head. “I don’t care what it looks like. Anything that smells that good has to be awesome.”

  “You got that right.” Nelda said. “Just wait until you taste my dumplin’s.

  “That’s why you can’t lose any weight, Liz.” Sylvia screwed her nose up like she’d smelled something rotten. “Paste, animal protein, and fat.”

  Nelda stirred the dumplings and rapped the spoon on the side of the dish. “Maybe if Miss Sylvia Martin ate a little fat it’d fill her cheeks out and make her look younger on TV.”

  A snicker that quickly turned into a cough erupted from Liz.

  “Well,” Sylvia folded her arms over her chest and patted the floor with her red stiletto as she stared down Nelda.

  Ignoring Sylvia, Nelda wiped a little dribble off the side of the chafing dish before ambling back toward the kitchen.

  Sylvia picked up a Sazerac from the side table. “Your cook would live a lot longer with a lot less fat on her hips.”

  Nelda stopped.

  Sylvia froze with her glass halfway to her lips and expressionless, which could be due to the Botox.

  Nelda’s shoulders rose and fell as she stood there for a beat, then shook her generous rump. “You’re just jealous.” She pushed through the side door to the kitchen, and the door slammed against the wall.

  Go, Nelda.

  Sylvia still stood holding her glass as if it was frozen halfway to her lips. “Did she just—

  “She rocked it too.” Liz fell out laughing.

  Sylvia shut her up with a dead-cold stare.

  “Ah-hum.” Liz rubbed her hand across her mouth. “Not everyone has the willpower you do.”

  Sylvia huffed and turned to Holly. “Did you and your cook remember I’m a vegan?”

  “Yes, and you requested vegetarian meals on your reservation.” Holly waved her hand—Vanna White of Wheel of Fortune style—across the loaded sideboard. “Nelda made you a vegetable buffet. Black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread, and sweet potato pie.” All cooked with bacon fat except the sweet potato pie, which Nelda used a slab of butter for. Maybe all of it would stick on her skinny little heinie. “We aim to please.”

  “I’ve never eaten any of that.” She practically sneered at the food.

  “Oh, come on,” Liz said as she served herself from the buffet. “Live a little.”

  Holly grinned all the way to the kitchen.

  Nelda met her at the door with a pitcher of iced tea. “Here. You better pour their tea. I don’t trust what I might say to Miss Smart Mouth.”

  “Sylvia deserved it.” Holly took the pitcher of tea. “And I loved it.”

  “She was right though. This thing sure is a killer.” Nelda slapped her backside and cackled. “A man killer.”

  “Nelda,” Holly said, faking shock before she pushed through the kitchen door.

  Thomas stood with Sylvia and Miss Alice in the corner of the dining room sipping Sazeracs. Liz and Bob sat side by side at the table. Liz was doing the talking as usual, but Bob seemed to hang on her every word. Tru hadn’t shown up yet, but she doubted he’d miss a meal. Holly sat the iced-tea pitcher on the sideboard and then fished her phone out of her pocket. No missed calls. Angel should call her any minute.

  Holly filled the tea glasses and lingered beside Liz and Bob as the others served their plates at the buffet.

  “You know she’ll take advantage of you, right?” Liz asked Bob. He barely lifted a shoulder to blow off her question before shoveling in another forkful of chicken and dumplings.

  Who? A girlfriend? Sylvia?

  “She owes you,” Liz said, leaning closer to Bob. “Not the other way around.”

  When he didn’t respond, Liz stood and carried her crystal lowball glass to the side table where Holly had placed two shakers filled with Sazeracs in an ice bucket.

  Holly sauntered to cocktail central. “Let me help you with that.” She grabbed a silver shaker from the ice bucket and gave it a good shake, then poured a Sazerac for Liz. “How’s Bob?”

  “Maybe I expect too much.” She cast a glance laced with longing and disgust his way. “Ever since Sylvia started paying attention to him, it’s like I’m invisible sometimes. I thought we were friends.”

  Holly put the shaker back in the ice bucket. “Do they have a thing going or something?”

  “No. He’s beneath her.” Liz took a sip of her Sazerac. “He can dream though.”

  “Can’t we all.”

  Tru strolled into the dining room and headed straight for the buffet. He’d piled his plate so high the cornbread looked like a tombstone on top.

  “Want to bet on how long it takes before he ticks someone off?” Liz asked.

  Holly gave Liz a wary eye.

  A draft drifted into the dining room and the flames on the candelabra bent with the breeze. Then the front door slammed. The chatter in the room stopped.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Angel Dupree’s flowing black dress seemed to have a motion all its own as the medium practically floated into the silence of the dining room. She paused, then tilted her face upward and lifted her arms. Eyes closed, her long black lashes rested on her porcelain skin as she took a deep breath.

  It was as though Holly and everyone else in the room held their breath.

  “I sense a presence in this house,” Angel said in a voice just above a whisper without opening her eyes.

  She does? Holly swallowed hard and searched the room for Burl’s ghost. Nothing. What was Angel doing? Faking it?

  The metallic scrape of a fork broke the silence.

  Tru licked the last of his sweet potato pie off his fork, then shoved the blue willow dessert plate away.

  Angel’s crystal blue eyes fluttered open.

  Tru held his hands up as though innocent. “I didn’t say a word.”

  He didn’t have to. He’d broken the spell.

  “Shh,” Miss Alice said. “She can’t connect on the spirit world with your distractions.”

  Holly pushed her chair back from the table. “I believe everyone knows Angel Dupree except Tru. She’s the world-renowned medium from New Orleans who conducted the séance we all watched on Inquiring Minds last night.”

  Angel dipped in a bow.

 
Without giving her a chance to speak, Holly rushed to Angel’s side and locked arms with her. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to check Angel in. We’ll be right back.”

  “You can do that later,” Sylvia said as she stood. “I think she felt something.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t you want to get that on camera, Sylvia?” Liz asked.

  “Bob, you set up while she’s checking in,” Sylvia ordered, then shot Tru a faux smile.

  Tru pushed his glasses up on his nose. “By all means.”

  Holly shot a pained look at Liz. She’d wanted a trial run with just Sylvia, not the debunker. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but my option is for one shoot, not days of shooting.”

  “That’s right,” Liz said, stammering a bit. “Besides, it’d take a while to get the cameras set up.”

  Tru grunted. “You mean rig the show, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely nothing was rigged on that show.” If looks could kill, Sylvia’s dagger of a stare would have been fatal to Tru. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

  “Why wait?” Tru leaned back in Holly’s antique Queen Anne dining chair. Mercy. He must not have gotten any raising at all.

  “Because we’ve already scheduled it for tomorrow,” Holly said. She needed time to prepare. To talk to Angel. To make sure Sylvia could do her part.

  “Shoot the whole thing tonight.” Tru let the chair drop back onto all four legs. “You don’t need much time to set up since you’re not rigging anything, right?”

  “We can’t,” Holly blurted out. “Sam’s not here. I promised him he could document the shoot for the Gazette, and I’d never go back on my word.” She made a sad face. “Guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow after all.”

  “And let that young man accuse you of rigging the haunting? I think not.” Miss Alice pulled her cell phone out of the suitcase that she called a purse, then punched a few numbers on her phone.

  “Sam can’t just drop everything and come right now.” Holly wasn’t ready. This was going to be an epic disaster.

  “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today,” Miss Alice said, peering over her glasses at Holly. “Benjamin Franklin. Sam’s second-favorite Franklin motto.”

  The old miser had quoted the first so much it was burned into Holly’s brain: A penny saved is a penny earned.

  Miss Alice covered one ear and pressed the phone to the other ear, then yelled into the phone, “Sam, get out to Holly Grove quick to get the scoop. Holly’s making the news again.”

  “Again, Miss Alice?” Holly groaned. “Really?”

  Miss Alice took her glasses off and let them dangle by the chain around her neck. “That was explanation enough to get him here if he heard it. The man is close to deaf.”

  “I’m ready for a séance.” Tru rubbed his hands together and zeroed in on Holly. “Are you?”

  “I’m ready,” Sylvia answered. She nodded at Bob. “Why are you still sitting there? Get set up to shoot ASAP.”

  “No-o-o!” The word echoed in Holly’s head. If I had a chance to get Sylvia to do a trial run to call up Burl, she wouldn’t be so ready to do this.

  “Why not?” Sylvia’s high-dollar heels clicked as she crossed the room to Holly then stopped in front of her. She parked her hands on her hips and tossed a nod at Tru. “I want to shut this guy down. Don’t you?”

  “I-I.” Holly grabbed the hem of her blouse. “Need to change clothes. I need more makeup.”

  “Oh . . .” Sylva’s mouth hung open for a moment. She ran a manicured fingertip across her jawline. “Right. I’ll need thirty for stage makeup.”

  Holly motioned toward the table. “And the dining room has to be cleared and . . . and . . .” She sidled up to the medium. “Angel is probably hungry.”

  “Frankly, I’ve lost my appetite,” Angel said. “Why don’t we get this over with? I’m not liking the vibes here. I’d prefer not to stay the night if it’s not necessary.”

  “Y ’all, I agreed to Wednesday night. Not now!” What is this, a conspiracy? Jeez.

  “You’ll never be ready because you don’t have a ghost.” Tru stood in the middle of the room and turned in a circle as he addressed everyone like a politician reading across three teleprompters. “They. Do not. Exist.”

  “I’m ready to prove it right now!” Sylvia shouted, and it got louder from there until everyone started shouting at once.

  “Who wants coffee?” Nelda stood holding a silver coffee service and using her killer backside to hold the kitchen door open. “Never mind who wants coffee. You all need coffee to sober up. It sounds like a brawl in here.”

  “Y ’all fight it out. I’m not having the séance tonight.” Holly glared at Sylvia. “I signed a contract. You booked a follow-up shoot. It’s tomorrow. End of story.”

  “Not quite,” Tru said.

  Holly ignored him and took Angel by the arm. “I’ve got to talk to you,” she whispered as she towed her toward the entrance hall.

  “Wait.” Tru came from behind them and blocked their path.

  So much for a private word with Angel.

  The electrified gasolier glowed from the foyer behind him. One of the lightbulbs flickered on and off, then glowed steady. Another loose bulb?

  Slipping from Holly’s grasp, Angel walked to Tru as though she were in a trance. She traced around his head and stopped with her hands folded prayer style in front of his heart but never touched him

  Tru straightened. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said the trance broken.

  “What’s going on?”

  Holly jumped at the voice behind her, then whirled around to Miss Alice. She held a china cup filled with black coffee and a spoon balanced on the saucer that didn’t so much as clink once. I swear. That woman needs a bell. Those orthopedic shoes could be used for covert operations.

  “I don’t believe we were finished with our conversation,” Sylvia said as her heels clicked across the cypress planks.

  “No, we haven’t.” Tru took a few backward steps into the dining room from the entry hall and motioned for everyone to join him.

  No one moved.

  “Gather round, folks. I’ve got a story to tell you,” he said like a carnival barker. “A ghost story.”

  He’s up to something. I just know it. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.” Holly said.

  “Ah, then you’ll have to listen to my story to find out.” He waved them into the dining room with a flourish. They joined Liz, Bob, and Nelda, who still hung around the table.

  Sylvia rolled her eyes and propped her elbows on Bob’s chair.

  “Get on with it then,” Miss Alice said as she placed her coffee cup on the dining room table and parked herself in a chair.

  Holly walked to the back of the room and stood near the sideboard and close to the kitchen door for a quick escape.

  “Coffee may help,” Angel whispered, as she picked up the silver coffee server and poured dark roast into a china cup. The tiniest tremor rocked Angel’s coffee as she picked up her cup and stared at Tru across the room. That seemed odd for someone who practically chanted when she spoke.

  Tru took center stage in the dining room. “Let me ask you all a question. Since you spent the night in this said haunted house, did you have any paranormal experiences last night?” He stroked his chin. “Today?”

  They exchanged glances.

  He held his hand to his ear. “Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?”

  No one said anything.

  “Was your room exceptionally cold?” he asked.

  A few heads shook.

  “No.” He widened his eyes faking shock. “Last night, I went to sleep in a snug warm room. Sometime after midnight, I woke up in a very cold room. You’ve heard the temperature drops when a ghost is around, right? Do you think a ghost visited my room last night?”

  “I sure hope not.” Nelda fanned herself.

  No doubt he’d gotten cold in the night from the window Holly had left ope
n. She hoped he caught pneumonia too. The sooner the better.

  Tru eyed Holly.

  Heat crept up her shoulders and wrapped around her neck.

  “Did doors that you closed pop open?” Tru asked.

  He couldn’t possibly know she’d placed the bobby pin in the armoire hinge, could he? She dared not run her fingers under her collar to relieve the heat brewing beneath her sweater.

  He raised a finger. “Or did you find a message written in the fog on your mirror after you showered?”

  Nelda gasped.

  “No?” He paced in a circle. “Just me?”

  “Maybe you don’t believe me.” He shrugged, then adjusted his glasses. “I wouldn’t blame you. I’d want proof.”

  “Guess what?” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve got proof right here.”

  He stopped in front of Holly. “Look at this message your ghost left for me.”

  A snapshot of the message she’d written in the mirror covered his phone screen.

  “Why don’t you read the message since you are so intimate with this ghost.” He held his phone in front of Holly. “Maybe you can explain what he meant?”

  “Go home or else,” Holly read. “Seems pretty clear to me.”

  “Or else.” Tru rubbed his chin. “That’s the part that bothers me. It sounds like a threat.”

  “Sounds like my ghost doesn’t like you.” Holly folded her arms. “What could a ghost do to you anyway?”

  “It’s not the dead I worry about.” Tru played to the audience. “They’re, well, dead.”

  “What are you saying?” Sylvia asked.

  “Someone.” He held her stare then turned back to Holly. “Or more than one person wants me to believe there was a ghost in my room. And they probably have and will do the same thing to fool the public for their own gain if they have the opportunity to rig . . . oh, I don’t know, a TV show.”

  All eyes turned to Holly.

  “Or maybe there was a ghost in your room.” Holly lifted her chin and stood a little taller, faking it until she made it. “You’ll have to prove there wasn’t. That’s what debunking is, isn’t it?”

  “He’s messing with your head.” Sylvia marched to Holly’s side. Right now, Holly would take anyone in her corner, even Sylvia.