Jennifer Crusie - Maybe This Time

“And why are you doing that?”

“Because…” She glared at Southie. “Hey, this is none of your business.” She didn’t have to explain anything to Southie, especially now, when she was trying to evict ghosts.

She went back to the dining room for more seating.

“Okay, fine, tell me about the ghosts,” Southie said, following her, and grateful for the change in subject, she told him everything as they set up the séance.

The medium arrived at six, just after Andie settled the kids in the library with Coke, cheese sandwiches, carrots and ranch dressing, potato chips, and strict instructions not to come into the Great Hall for any reason. Then she heard the doorknocker and went to get it, but Kelly beat her to it, letting in a lot of the storm along with her hired ghost wrangler.

“This is Isolde Hammersmith,” Kelly said, as if she’d just invented her and they should applaud.

Andie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting a medium to look like-probably something between Madame Arcati and Miss Havisham. Kelly’s medium was somewhere between forty and death with a face like a hatchet: high forehead, high cheekbones, long nose, long chin, the verticality broken only by Cleopatra eyes, narrow green leopard-print glasses, and lips so huge and red they practically ran from ear to ear even though Isolde was not smiling. “Fucking Motel Six,” she said to Kelly, pulling a wildly patterned scarf from her explosion of black, teased Farrah hair and shaking the rain from it. “Fucking storm.”

“You should stay here for the night,” Andie said, hanging up Isolde’s coat. Putting one more person to bed on the second floor wasn’t going to cause a blip in her life at this point.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll stay here.” Isolde snorted, her blouse glittering as she turned to survey the place. She was wearing an orange, red, and yellow Picasso-print silk shirt dotted with sequins and tiny glittery beads over skintight black pants and black stilettos.

Alice was going to shriek with envy when she saw the blouse.

Isolde jerked her head in the direction of the front of the house, making her big gold bangle earrings swing. “Fucking driveway. Almost took my bumper off. And your phone is out. Harold doesn’t like it.”

Andie looked around for Harold, but Kelly said, “Harold’s her spirit guide.”

“Of course he is.” Andie tried smiling at the medium, who was surveying the stone corridor with suspicion. “Kelly thought you’d want to hold the séance in the Great Hall. We have smaller rooms if you’d rather.”

Kelly beamed at Isolde. “Oh, I’m sure the Great Hall will be perfect.”

“We’ll see,” Isolde said flatly. “Who’s this?”

Andie turned to see Dennis coming toward them, argyle-covered once more, probably trying to maintain a façade of polite neutrality but just looking academically snotty behind his glasses instead. At least his sweater wasn’t tomato-stained anymore.

“This is Professor Dennis Graff,” Andie told Isolde. “He’s a parapsychologist.”

Isolde snorted.

“Very pleased to meet you,” Dennis said, but inside, Andie was sure, he was snorting back.

“And this is Sullivan Archer,” Andie went on as Southie came out of the Great Hall to join them.

Southie stuck out his hand, flashing that charming smile.

“Very glad to have you here, Ms. Hammersmith.”

“Mrs.” Isolde ignored the smile and the hand. “So this is the full bunch?” She surveyed them all. “I don’t know.” She looked at Dennis. “Harold says you don’t believe. You should go.”

“No,” Dennis said, managing to sound polite and pig-stubborn at the same time, and Andie looked at him again and realized he was angry.

Doesn’t like charlatans, she remembered. Boston Ulrich and Mrs. Hammersmith, enemies to the death. Of course, death wasn’t what it used to be in her world…

Isolde looked at Southie. “You don’t know what you believe.”

“Open mind,” he said genially.

Isolde nodded and looked at Kelly. “You don’t believe, either. Jesus, what a mess.”

“No, no, open mind,” Kelly said brightly, but Isolde was already looking at Andie.

“And, finally we have a winner.”

“Just get rid of them,” Andie said.

“We’ll see what Harold can do,” Isolde said. “How many of them are there?”

Andie opened her mouth, but Dennis said, “You tell us.”

“Oh, sure,” Isolde said, looking unsurprised and unimpressed by Dennis. “No problem.” She paused. “Harold says you’re a putz.”

“Well, come on,” Kelly said, “Dr. Graff is our expert-”

“And Harold says you’re up to no good,” Isolde said to her. “He says you try anything funny, you’ll get your head handed to you. The spirit world is nothing to fuck around with.”

Andie began to wish for a Harold of her own.

“You got a bathroom?” Isolde said to Andie, shoving her big black leather sling bag over her shoulder.

“Right this way.” Andie led her down the hall and through the door to the little hall by the library, but Isolde stopped her as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Kelly O’Keefe,” she said.

“Hag from hell,” Andie said.

“She believes in séances about as much as I believe in TV psychics.”

“I picked that up.”

Isolde looked at her, exasperated. “Then why are you letting her do this?”

“Because we really do have ghosts,” Andie said.

Isolde stared at her for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay, then. Fuck Kelly O’Keefe, let’s find out about your ghosts.”

“Thank you,” Andie said, feeling some hope for the first time. “The Great Hall is this way-”

“After I go to the bathroom,” Isolde said.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Andie said, pointing the way, and then she went to check on the kids, thinking, I love this woman.

Especially if she was going to get rid of the goddamned ghosts.

Isolde’s eyebrows climbed up her considerable forehead as she took in the three stories of fifteenth-century paneling in the Great Hall. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“Pretty much,” Andie said, but Isolde was already going toward the table in the center of the room.

She put her bag on the table and looked around the hall again. “Couldn’t find anyplace bigger, huh?”

“We have smaller rooms-” Andie began.

“I bet you do. Harold likes it. It’ll do.” She sat down at the table. “So who’s in?”

“Me,” Andie said, and sat down across from Isolde as Dennis and Southie took chairs on each side of her and Kelly copped the one between Southie and Isolde, saying, “This is so exciting!”

“Who’s there?” Isolde said, nodding to the empty chair between Dennis and herself.

“That’s an extra,” Andie said.

“Get rid of it,” Isolde said. “The last thing we want is the uninvited sitting in.”

Southie got up and dragged the chair over to the wall. It was a fairly long drag.

“So light the candles,” Isolde said, and Andie picked up the lighter and started on the one closest to her.

“Exactly what do the candles do?” Dennis said, trying for a neutral tone and missing.

“They make the people who put them on the table happy,” Isolde said. “Me, I don’t care.”

Andie lit the last one and sat down again. It was growing dark now, the twilight deepening outside because of the storm, and the candlelight flickered on the ancient stone walls and made their faces seem disembodied.

“Who’s he?” Isolde said, looking behind Andie, and Andie jerked around expecting to see something horrible and instead saw Bill and his camera.

“I just wanted some footage,” Kelly said brightly.

Isolde looked at her as if she’d just crawled out from under a rock. “My fee just doubled.”

“Oh.” Kelly smiled again, not amused but stuck. “Well, all right.”

Serves you right, you duplicitous, cheating child exploiter, Andie thought.

Isolde shook her head. “Hold hands.”

“Why?” Dennis said, and Andie took his hand.

“Because people like it,” Isolde said. “You gonna be doing Twenty Questions all night?”

“I’m merely trying to ascertain your methods,” Dennis said, and Isolde snorted again.

“Okay,” she said, as Southie took Andie’s other hand. “Here’s how this works. You stay quiet. If you don’t believe, try to be neutral so Harold can get through. It’s hard enough without a bunch of snotty nonbelievers cramping his style. He’s not a happy man to begin with.”

“Just who was Harold?” Dennis said, and Andie thought, Give it a rest, Dennis, I need this.

“Stockbroker,” Isolde said. “This is his second career. You done with the questions now?”

Dennis shrugged, and Isolde took a deep breath. “You all need to relax. So deep breaths, people. In…” She sucked in her breath and her already thin nostrils damn near disappeared under the pressure. “… and out. In…”

“Hypnosis,” Dennis whispered in Andie’s ear. “She’s probably got all kinds of tricks hidden under that blouse.”

Andie looked at Isolde. The only thing under her blouse were her considerable breasts and her even larger shoulder pads. “I don’t think so.”

“Are the two of you done?” Isolde said, glaring at them again. “Because I’m trying to work here. Harold’s getting fed up, and if he leaves, it’s over.”

“Sorry,” Andie said. “Really sorry.” She sucked in her breath to show that she was a team player, and Isolde went back to anesthetizing the table.

After what seemed like an eternity, Isolde said, “Harold, I’m getting old here. What have we got?”

There was a sharp knocking and the whole table except for Isolde jerked back.

“Oh, my God! It’s the spirits!” Kelly said.

“It’s your front door,” Isolde said, her voice flat. “This keeps up, Harold’s going out for a cigarette and not coming back.”

“I’ll get it,” Andie said, and got up.

When she opened the door, she saw a tall blond man in the darkness holding out his arms to her, and her heart did a little surge for a split second until she realized it was Will.

“What are you doing here?” she said, annoyed.

“Andie, this is no way to end things,” Will said, coming in, still trying to hug her. “I tried to call you back, and your phone is out-”

“Look, I told you not to come,” Andie said, ducking his embrace as she closed the door behind him. “I’m busy.”

“North’s here, isn’t he?”

“No. We’re having a séance. You can come in, but you have to be quiet.”

“A séance? What the-”

“I don’t have time to explain this right now. Come in and don’t talk, or go home.” She went down the hall and heard him following her.

“So who’s this?” Isolde said as they came in and Andie dragged the extra chair back to the table.

“This is Will Spenser,” Andie said. “He’s not invited but he’ll be quiet.”

Will shot her a sharp look, but he pulled the extra chair over and sat down.

“Will Spenser?” Kelly said, flashing her teeth at him. “The writer? We must talk.”

Will looked at her politely until Andie said, “This is Kelly O’Keefe from Channel Twelve,” and then he smiled back. Good PR, Andie thought and ignored both of them.

“Another unbeliever,” Isolde said, looking at Will. “You’re killing me here.” She tilted her head at him. “Okay, look, Sparky, you gotta lose that anger or you’re out of here. Ghosts’ll grab on to that emotion like it was a porterhouse with a side of cheese fries. We want to talk to them, not feed them.”

“I’m not angry,” Will said.

“Right.” Isolde turned back to the table. “Okay. Hold hands.”

Will glared again as Dennis and Isolde took his hands, but that was his problem. Andie concentrated on Isolde and the breathing. After a shorter time, Isolde nodded.

“Okay. They’re here. Two of them.”

“I thought there might be three,” Andie said. “Two women and a man?”

“Harold says two,” Isolde said. “You want to argue?”

“No.” Andie looked around, but she couldn’t see anything. “Can he ask them to leave?”

“We just got them here,” Isolde said.

“No, I want them out of the house,” Andie said, and Will said, “What the hell, you believe this stuff?”

“Nice job, asshole,” Isolde said to him. “Harold lost one of them.” She closed her eyes again. “Harold, what’s going on?”

There was a loud knock, and Kelly said, “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s somebody else at your fucking door,” Isolde said.

“I’ll get it,” Andie said, pushing back her chair.

She made the trek down the hall and opened the door and saw her mother, looking damp and frazzled.

“Baby!” Flo said, coming in. “What’s going on? The cards are going crazy and I can’t get you on the phone!” She pulled off her Ohio State bomber jacket, shook the rain off it, and handed it to Andie. “And then I almost died on that driveway. Plus the storm is terrible. This is just so bad.”