The Other Side - J. D. Robb [80]
Henry was silent, his mind churning.
“I’m telling you these things for two reasons, Mr. Cleland. One, because despite all the evidence to the contrary, you don’t seem like a dishonest person.”
He put his fork down and stared at her.
“Two, consider it a warning. If you do anything to hurt my friend, I’ll pay you back. I don’t know how, but I promise you won’t get away scot-free.”
He could think of absolutely no response. He felt angry, guilty, misjudged, enlightened. Across the table, Angie was saying something to gloomy-faced Chester Grimmett that actually made him laugh. She glanced over at Henry and smiled with her eyes, friendly, sweet, conspiratorial. How are we doing?
A rush of affection seized him, a palpable twist in his chest. He wanted to excuse himself, go somewhere and think—but Mrs. Grimmett was soliciting his views on what the Bible had to say about ghosts. Unbelievably, he was up to speed on that, and could cite 1 Samuel 28 and Job 4:15 for her.
For Cousin Lucien, who had been making subtly skeptical faces and scoffing noises whenever Henry said a word, that was the last straw. “Sir!” he burst out. “Do you really claim justification for this—this nonsense in the Scriptures? I know many people who would find that offensive.”
“The Scriptures say what they say,” Mrs. Grimmett pronounced, as if that settled it.
If Lucien had been paying more attention to her tone, it would have. “Indeed they do,” he retorted, “but Satan is wily. He has it in his power to easily fool the senses of the weak and the credulous.”
A thunderous silence fell.
Lucien quailed, realizing his error too late. A purple vein in his forehead began to throb.
But there was no explosion. Mrs. Grimmett merely pruned her lips at him and made a suggestion.
“Fortunately, there’s no need to argue this matter in the abstract. We have an actual edifice, a structure that appears to be the habitat of spirits from the Other Side.”
“We have a haunted house,” Angie simplified.
“Hypothetically haunted,” Henry said mildly. “More research is required.” With Angie as the true believer, he could afford to be the objective one, the scientist.
“Have you ever attended a séance?” Mrs. Grimmett asked him.
“Oh, yes, many times.”
“Have you ever conducted one yourself?”
“Yes, indeed. Many times.”
“Excellent.” She rubbed her jeweled hands together. “Then I propose we have a séance at Willow House, as soon as possible, to lay this matter to rest. I’ve heard that the optimum number of attendees at a séance should be divisible by three—is that true, Mr. Cleland?”
“Why, yes. Ideally.” His casual gaze locked with Angie’s for a split second. She was trying to look interested instead of jubilant—so was he. What luck! According to their plan, whoever got the most natural, least contrived-seeming opportunity to bring up the idea of a séance was the one who should broach it first. And now Mrs. Grimmett had done it for them!
“Then I think it should be all of us, plus one. And you, of course, Mr. Cleland, by virtue of your experience, must be our medium.”
Lucien looked apoplectic. But when Mrs. Grimmett asked if anyone had any objections, he stayed mum. What choice did he have? Henry almost felt sorry for him.
“What a wonderful idea, Mrs. Grimmett,” Angie said, all surprise and admiration. “At last, the mystery of Willow House will be solved.”
“May be solved,” said Henry, once again the rational one. “Séances, even when everything goes perfectly, often disappoint. The spirits are fickle and don’t always come at our bidding.”
“Who should be our ninth member?” wondered Walker Hersh, who had the look of a kind man sitting among children, trying not to let it slip that there was no Santa Claus.
Everyone thought.
“Mrs. Mortimer?