Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) (17 page)

Hermione shut her eyes and began to hum what sounded like
“Om,” the chant Angie learned in a yoga class.

Hermione then spoke in a low voice. “I am calling to the
spirit, or spirits, in this house. I feel your presence. Come to me! Reveal
yourself!” She waited a minute,
then
repeated the
words. A minute later she repeated them again.

Then she stopped and glared at the people sitting with her.
“Someone isn’t taking this seriously.” Her dark eyes zeroed in on Cat, then
flashed over to Angie. “I’m not sure who it is, but your negative vibes are
bothering the spirits. They won’t come where they aren’t wanted or accepted.”

“We’ll try not to be negative,” Angie said. She noticed Cat
roll her eyes—all the sisters were eye-rollers. Angie had never realized how
obnoxious the gesture could be. “Come on, everybody. I asked Connie to invite
Madame Hermione here, as well as all of you, so the least you can do is
cooperate.”

Connie nodded; so did Maria. Cat glared.

Hermione repeated her invitation to the spirits. This time,
she only said the words once,
then
stopped. “Yes, I
feel you here! You’re coming closer. It’s all right. You’re in the company of
friends. Will you speak, spirit?”

They waited.

“
Spe
-e-e-e-
ak
!
”
Madame Hermione roared.

A squawky high “tweet” followed by a low “toot” came from
the back yard.

“I’ll be damned,” Cat said. “It’s the ghost of Benny
Goodman.”

“Speak to me, I command you!” Hermione ordered.

A noise like someone drumming on a garbage can struck next.
Angie felt her heart beat quicken. It was weird, but scary.

“Give us a sign that you are here!” Hermione shouted, her
voice loud but tremulous.
“A sign!
Any sign!”

They held their collective breaths, waiting.

“You need a better class of ghost, Angie,” Cat muttered.

A light streaked across the ceiling. All five of them
jumped.

“Ah! It’s here! The ghost is here!” Hermione shouted. She
changed her voice to one much higher and almost childlike. “Yes, ma’am, I am
here.”

“Who are you?” Hermione demanded. “Why are you here?”

Then she answered her own question in the little hushed
voice. “I want to go home. Please set me free.”

A low
toooot
sounded
from outside.

“Oh? Ah!” Hermione cried. “We have more than one ghost. It’s
all right.” She stood, still holding Connie’s and Maria’s hands. “I command
you, be gone! Leave this house!”

The light, which Angie thought looked remarkably like a
flashlight beaming in from the back yard, skittered over the ceiling a couple
of times and then went out.

Hermione slowly lowered her hands and sat back down. “I will
speak the words that I hope will rid the house of these spirits and keep them
away.” In a low voice she chanted, “
O vile sprit, o wraith, o
spectre
—”

Something whimpered and scratched at the sliding glass door.

“It sounds like dog,” Connie said. “But I can’t quite see in
the dark.”

Angie took a candle and went to the sliding glass door to
the back yard. A small white West Highland Terrier stood on its hind legs and
rapped the glass with its front paws. “A little white Scottie dog,” Angie said.
“How cute.
I wonder if he’s hungry or thirsty.”

She slid open the door to see if the dog was friendly or
would just run away. To her surprise, he leaped into the house and ran past her
straight to the kitchen.
“Doggie, no!”
She ran after
him, trying to pick him up and get him back outside.

He darted from her and scurried to the pantry door where he
began to whimper. She opened the door, but the pantry was quite bare. “I feel
like Old Mother Hubbard,” she said to the others who stood in the kitchen
watching. “I wonder what this is all about.”

“You might give him some water,” Connie suggested. “He seems
to know the house. Maybe he belongs to a neighbor.”

Fortunately, the house still had some bowls, so she found
one and filled it with water. The dog lapped it up as if dying of thirst. Then
he ran over to a corner of the dining area, curled up, and shut his eyes.

“Look at that!” Angie cried. “He looks so sleepy. I say we
leave him alone. It’s cold and rainy outside, yet he somehow managed to stay
dry. He’s a pretty smart little dog, I’d say.”

“Shall we attempt to continue?” Madame Hermione asked
coldly. “I’m not sure, however, that I can bring back the proper ambiance, the
proper—”

“Please try,” Angie said.

They again sat at the table and held hands. Madame Hermione
began swaying as she again chanted, “
O vile spirit, o wraith, o
spectre
—”

A candle went out.

“Older houses can be drafty,” Connie said quickly.

The others agreed, chuckling nervously, as Angie took a
match and relit the candle.

A little louder, Hermione said, “
O vile—”

As Angie blew out the match, another candle went out, then a
second.

“What’s going on?” Maria asked in a high, shaky voice.

“It’s nothing. A draft, that’s all,” Cat said as Angie relit
the candles.

A candle went out again; Angie relit it.

“So the house is drafty as well as haunted. It figures,”
Maria said. “Good job, Cat.”

“The only windbag around here is you!” Cat snarled.

A different candle went out.

As Angie relit it, another one died.

Then another.

Cat yanked the matchbook out of Angie’s hands and quickly
relit all the candles. “That’s how it’s done!”

Hermione shouted. “
O vile spirit, o—
”

A candle flickered and then died.

“I don’t feel any draft,” Connie’s voice trembled. “So why—”

“Obviously, the candle wicks are defective,” Cat said, a little
too loudly and a little too forcefully.

All the candles went out at once. The room plunged into
darkness.

The dog let out a mournful howl; Angie’s blood ran cold.

Maria jumped to her feet. “I’ll find my purse. I’ve got a
bottle of holy water.”

A loud knock sounded on the door.

“My God!”
Connie groaned, standing.
“What’s that?”

“Evil spirits!”
Maria cried. “Don’t
let them in!”

“Ignore it!” Madame Hermione ordered as she, too stood up.
“All of you! Sit back down right now! I can damned well do this in the dark!
Oooo
viiiile
spirit!—
”

But Angie knew that loud, no-nonsense policeman’s knock. She
stood, lit one candle and shielded the flame with her hand as she used it to
light the way to the door and swung it open.

“What’s going on, Angie?” Paavo asked as he strode inside
wearing his grim inspector’s face and dragging in with him a sopping wet,
sheepish and scared Stan
Bonnette
holding a clarinet.
Stan wore a slicker and rain hat, and Paavo’s hand had a firm grasp on the
slicker’s back collar.

Paavo’s gaze jumped from the Angie to the over-sized Madame
Hermione, who stood and shouted strange words at the top of her lungs while
flapping thick, gelatinous arms and ordering everyone to sit down.

Maria ran over and doused him and Stan with handfuls of holy
water, then continued to splash it all around the room. Paavo let Stan go, and
Stan scooted across the room faster than Angie had ever seen him move.

“Stan?” Angie gasped.

Paavo’s eyes grew harder and more skeptical as they went
from Maria to Cat who kept trying to light candles on the dining room table
with little success, and Connie who awkwardly tried to help her.

“Connie, not you, too?” he said.

“This nonsense was all Connie’s idea!” Cat cried, closing
the book of matches and smacking them down on the table. “I’m leaving!” She
grabbed her purse and jacket and hurried towards the door. “Lock up, will you,
Angie?”

“Wait, Cat! Can you give me a ride?” Stan squeaked,
then
looked at Paavo. “That is…?”

“Go,” Paavo said.

“Stan, what were you doing?” Angie asked.

He pointed at Connie. “It was all her idea!”

“It was not!” Connie yelled. “He was the one who worried
about you, Angie. I only tried to help!”

Angie gave Stan a look that should have turned him to stone.
He muttered incoherent goodbyes and keeping as far from Paavo as possible,
darted out the front door after Cat.

“Who is this strange, unwanted fellow?” Madame Hermione
demanded, pointing at Paavo. “And why has he caused such disruption to my
séance?” Her eyes narrowed as she faced Connie. “I still expect to be paid, you
know. It’s not my fault I couldn’t finish!”

“Paid for what?
A sham?”
Paavo
asked stepping closer to her. He regarded Hermione without expression, but his
question dropped the temperature in the room about ten degrees.

Connie jumped between the two, facing Paavo. “It’s a party
game, that’s all,” she babbled, then spun around to face Hermione. “Don’t
worry. I’ll take care of it. He’s Angie’s fiancé, Inspector Paavo Smith, SFPD.”

Hermione lifted her nose and regally sauntered towards the
door. “Please drive me home.”

“Gladly,” Connie said as she grabbed her jacket and handbag.

Before leaving, Hermione looked back at Angie. “To you, this
may have been a ‘party game,’ but there is a presence here.
Most
definitely.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Hermione,” Connie said
sheepishly. “The joke is over. There were no spirits—just you and Stan having
fun. I’m sorry, Angie. I thought it was a good idea at the time. One that would
make you
think
seriously about this house before
buying it. You don’t want to buy a place you have doubts about. But nothing
turned out the way I planned. Again, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not pretending,” Hermione said. “Something is here…some
presence. Let’s get out of here, Connie.” With that, head high, she marched out
the door, Connie skulking at her heels.

“Angie, you idiot!”
Maria
shrieked,
her holy water bottle empty now. “Don’t you know
that when you open the door to the occult and dark spirits, even if you’re
playing around, they just might take you up on
it!
Heaven help you!” With that, she stormed out as well.

As Maria pulled the door shut, Angie wished she could leave,
too. Instead, she took a deep breath and faced Paavo. “You can clear out a
party faster than anyone I’ve ever known.” She gathered up the wine glasses and
brought them into the kitchen. Paavo helped with those she couldn’t carry, but
after she put them down and turned to go back to the living room to get the
cashews and pretzels she had put out, he caught her arm.

“Let’s talk.”

“Talk?
About what?” she asked
innocently. “And also, why are you here?”

“Bianca called and wondered what was going on. She told me
about Cat and Maria arguing. She said she tried to find out more from
Frannie
, but she’s not involved at all.
It’s
clear Bianca can’t handle her sisters knowing something that she doesn’t. And
she was worried. I had a good idea where I’d find all of you.”

“Bianca needs to mind her own business! Cat never should
have called her!”

“Bianca also said something about worrying about a person
who chooses a friend over her own sister as her matron of honor.” Paavo gave
her a sidelong glance. “Is there another problem with the wedding plans?”

“There are always problems and hurt feelings with wedding
plans! That’s one of the things that
makes
them so
emotional. Now, I’ve got to clean up everything before we leave.” She again
started towards the living room, when Paavo hauled her back.

“We aren’t doing anything until we get this settled,” he
said. “I take it you honestly think this house is haunted.”

“Of course not!
I don’t believe in
ghosts! For pity’s sake, Paavo! Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy enough to put salt packets in your parents’ house to
ward off the evil eye,” he said with a grin, remembering the story
Serefina
once told him.

“I was just a kid!” she insisted. “Besides,
all
Italians
believe in the evil eye. It means nothing!”

“Calm down, and tell me why you were holding a séance.”

“It was because of Maria.” She folded her arms. Paavo leaned
back against the kitchen counter, one foot crossed over the other, as she
explained how Maria wanted an exorcism but couldn’t get one so Connie hired a
friend who knows a bit about the occult to put on a show and then declare the
spirits had left the premises. “We were doing it to convince Maria, who does
believe in ghosts, that Madame Hermione managed to free them from this house.
It was supposed to be nothing more than that. Although it seems Connie had
other ideas and roped Stan in as well. Anyway, I simply tried to be a good
sister, tried to get Maria to believe this house would be safe for her and my
mother to come visit.”

He wrinkled his mouth.
“A good sister!
I see.”

The little white dog got up and padded to Angie. She could
have kissed it, since it gave her an excuse to stop the interrogation. She
handed it a plain pretzel, and he scarfed it down hungrily. “Poor baby!” she
said as she gave it a couple more. “I wonder what we should do with him.”

“Put water outside,” Paavo said, squatting down to pat the
dog’s head. “He probably lives nearby. He’s too well cared for to be a stray. I
suspect he’ll find his way back home. If he’s still here tomorrow, Cat should
contact the realtor in charge. They can decide if they want to try to find his
owners or send him to the pound as a lost dog.”