Chapter Four
She could not move, nor could she feel her legs when she tried to move them. Her arms were on fire, the pain so intense she feared she might die. Florence tried to move her head but couldn’t. Tears filled her dark blue eyes as she searched frantically from left to right. She wanted to scream, but when she tried, her words came out in a whisper.
The baby! Dear God, what is happening to me? She tried to call for Ruth, but still could not speak loud enough to be heard. Where is Theodore? She tried to remember, though it was quite difficult. She did recall some of the evening’s festivities.
The Hamiltons had stayed for dinner. She enjoyed the evening but wanted to rush through their after-dinner drinks in the parlor as she had news to share with her husband and couldn’t wait to have him to herself. But Theodore had been drinking heavily. He’d been boisterous, and cruel to Cook, and Florence had been terribly embarrassed by his behavior. Beyond that, her memories of the evening were vague.
She tried to wipe the tears from her face, and when she did, another stabbing pain seared the length of her arm. And then there was nothing but darkness.
Florence opened her eyes, uncertain how long she’d been lying at the bottom of the staircase. Again, she tried moving her legs. Nothing. They were useless to her now. Using her right arm, she struggled to drag herself to the kitchen. Cook would be cleaning up from tonight’s dinner.
Piercing, knifelike pains coursed throughout her upper body, though she could feel nothing below her waist. Gasping for breath from the effort, she tried to turn her neck to calculate how far away the kitchen was. Her head throbbing, she used all of her strength to strain to see her location. Tears continued to fall down her face when she realized she’d only moved a few inches.
Dear Lord, she prayed, please help me!
“Ruth,” she called out again, her voice not more than a hoarse whisper. “Help me.”
Suddenly, blackness engulfed her again. Relieved, she gave in to the shadowy tunnel beckoning her. She smiled when she realized that nothing hurt anymore. The feeling was back in her legs, and her arms no longer felt as though they were on fire. She was dreaming again. In her semiconscious state she knew this.
Now standing at the top of the stairs, whole and complete, she remembered why she had been in such a hurry for the evening to end.
The baby!
She had to tell Theodore about the baby, felt it urgent that she do so tonight before he retired for the evening, and before he passed out from the large quantity of liquor he had consumed.
Then she was hit by a pain so sharp, surely she would die if it didn’t stop. She opened her eyes and saw she was still at the bottom of the staircase and had only moved a few inches! How could this be possible when only moments ago she felt perfectly normal?
* * *
“Sophie, wake up!” Goebel coaxed. “It’s your turn to take a shower.”
She bolted upright so fast she bumped her head into Goebel’s. “Damn, that hurt,” she said as she rubbed her head. “You okay?”
“I’ve had harder knocks than that one,” he said. “You fell asleep.”
She recalled her vision or dream. “I saw the woman crumpled at the bottom of the stairs just now. Rather, I think I dreamed of her this time. Goebel.” She paused, trying to remember details from her dream. “I’ve been assuming that the woman in my visions, dreams, whatever we’re calling them now, died! But she did not die from falling, or being pushed, down the stairs. I’m sure this is what she’s been trying to tell me all along!”
“Okay, if that’s what you believe, I’m with you. So, what do we do next?” he asked.
Sophie got off the bed, preparing to take her shower. As she unbuttoned her slacks, she felt the small bracelet in her pocket. Taking it out, she looked at it again. “This is the key, the bracelet. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.” Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Sophie hurried to the master bath, where she continued to talk to Goebel as he trailed behind her. “I’m not sure if I should leave Ida with Toots any longer than necessary.” She stepped into the shower while continuing their conversation. “Toots isn’t equipped to handle her if Ida totally flips out. I should go see her first, before dinner. There’s plenty of time.”
“You don’t have to go, I told you that. I’m sure I can question Dabney without any trouble. I was a cop, remember?”
Sophie turned the shower off. Goebel handed her two towels. She wrapped herself up with one, then twisted the other towel around her wet hair. “Yes, I remember our first stakeout in Chicago quite well.”
Goebel chuckled. “That was the best stakeout I’d ever been a part of. Really wasn’t all that long ago.”
Sophie went back to the master bedroom. She removed underclothes from her dresser, slipped them on, picked out a slinky black dress that clung to her curves, and added low-heeled black sandals. Back in the bathroom, she twisted her wet hair into a topknot. A few swipes of blusher, mascara, a smear of lipstick, and she was good to go.
Goebel wore a pair of navy blue Dockers with a pale blue shirt. His thick, dark hair was combed back from his forehead. She inhaled his manly scent. He smelled divine. He was so handsome, Sophie couldn’t believe this was the same man that she’d met that first night at Toots’s place. Weight loss and marriage definitely agreed with him.
“Why the big grin?” he asked her.
“Just looking at you makes me smile, Mr. Blevins. That’s it, and nothing more. Now let’s get out of here before I rip your clothes off.” Sophie raced out of their bedroom and down the stairs as quickly as possible. She didn’t bother looking behind her to see if Goebel followed because she knew he would. She also didn’t stop to look at the disaster that awaited them in the kitchen. She’d call a cleaning crew first thing in the morning. For now, the flies could continue to enjoy their feast.
Once they were out of the house, Sophie relaxed even more. Goebel drove Toots’s Lincoln, with her close behind in their SUV. No news from Toots since her last call, so hopefully she could get by with a few more hours before Ida flipped out again. She really needed her to be okay. Her need to speak to Dabney had quadrupled.
Ten minutes later, they were pulling through the gates at Toots’s place. Sophie parked in the back, and Goebel drove the Lincoln around the side to the garage. They met up at the back door. Sophie stopped and took a smoke from her pocket. “I just now realized I haven’t smoked all afternoon. I can’t believe I haven’t suffered from withdrawal symptoms.” She lit up, took several drags, then smashed the butt in the coffee can on the side of the steps.
Sophie entered the kitchen. “Hey, you two,” she called out when Bernice and Robert didn’t bother to acknowledge her and Goebel’s presence.
Bernice held a hand in the air. “We’re trying to decipher this recipe. Wade found this in some dead woman’s brassiere, and thought we might want to use it for the cookbook. Take a look, see if you can figure it out.”
Sophie looked at the yellowed page. Beautiful cursive handwriting had faded with age, but she didn’t have too much trouble reading the recipe. “You two need new glasses. This is a recipe for white chicken stew.” She gave the paper back to Bernice.
Bernice held the page out as far as her arm allowed. “I guess these dollar-store glasses need to be replaced with the real thing.” She continued to scan the old paper. “Says here it’s from Dabney House. Isn’t that what they used to call your place?”
Sophie stopped dead in her tracks. “Where did you say you found that recipe?”
Robert spoke up. “Wade found it in an older woman’s . . . the upper part of her unmentionables.”
Goebel laughed so hard tears welled up in his eyes. Sophie’s eyes looked as big as saucers.
“I’m assuming the woman he took it from is dead?”
“Yes, she is. I’ll ask Wade if he can poke around and find out more about her if it’s that important. Shit, this is just an old recipe,” Bernice said. “You can have it if you want.”
“No, I can look at it later if I need to. It just reminded me of something, that’s all. I take it Toots is still upstairs with Ida?”
“Haven’t heard a peep from either one of them. A small miracle.” Bernice laughed.
“I’ll be right back,” Sophie said, and headed for the stairs.
Upstairs, Sophie peeked inside Toots’s room. Toots sat in a chair by the bed, reading a magazine. Ida was dead to the world. She gave a light tap before entering.
“Shhh,” Toots said, holding an index finger against her lips. “She’s sleeping sound as a baby now. Hasn’t been moving around at all.”
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was concerned but knew you could handle things. We’re meeting Ted Dabney for dinner at seven. Maybe he can tell us more about our house’s history. I had sort of a breakthrough a while ago. I had another dream about the woman I tried to contact in the séance the other night. If my dream is to be believed, and I think it is, this woman fell down the staircase but survived the fall. My gut tells me this is what she wanted me to know.”
Toots walked over to the window that overlooked her magnificent gardens. Sophie stood next to her. “That’s it? Surely there’s more to the story. If Ida’s possessed”—she whispered the last word—“then where does this woman factor in? You don’t think she’s evil, do you?”
“Of course there is more to the story. I just haven’t figured that part out yet. I’m sure the woman isn’t evil, but there is an entity in the house. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw the disaster in my kitchen. The cupboards are ripped off the hinges. My pantry has been totally demolished, food and all. It made me sick when I saw it. Goebel put so much hard work into designing that room. It is a room, too. No one I know has a pantry that large.”
“Mine is close, but I agree, the design is ingenious. Do you want me to round up the gang to come help with the cleanup?”
“Hell no. I’m hiring a cleaning crew for this. I might need to use my old room at your place for a few nights, if that’s okay. The house smells awful, plus there’s something dead in the attic. Speaking of attics, what do you think of this?” Sophie took the tiny silver bracelet out of her purse. “I found this in one of the trunks. It was totally tarnished before I cleaned it. Does that name ring any historical-society-lady bells with you?”
Toots took the small bracelet from Sophie and held it close to the window. “Margaret Florence Dabney, 1923. Other than your place being called Dabney House, no. But it makes sense. Though I can’t understand why the family didn’t take this with them when I bought the place. This is good silver, from what I can tell.”
“It is. They don’t make baby bracelets like that anymore. As long as you’re okay with Ida, I’m going to dinner with Goebel so I can meet this great-great-nephew of the original owners. Who knows what he’ll tell us?”
“I bought your place for practically nothing, and there has to be a reason they were in such a hurry to sell. Places like yours are going for three to four million dollars these days. Had I not been so wrapped up in the Informer, I would’ve researched its history more thoroughly.”
Sophie sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m sure the great-great-nephew can fill us in on whatever gory details there are. Bernice has a recipe Wade gave her. It’s for chicken stew. The recipe originated from the Dabney House. Is that weird or what?”
Toots moved away from the window and spied Frankie, her dachshund, hiding in the corner. She picked him up and carried him across the room. “Nothing seems weird to me anymore, Soph. These past five years have been so full of strange incidents and coincidences, I feel quite odd when nothing out of the ordinary takes place. Maybe it’s time for me to make some changes, add a bit of spice to our lives, now that we’re all settled in the South.”
Sophie sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Ida. “Please tell me you didn’t say you needed to add ‘a bit of spice’ to our lives? How much spicier do you want it? My house is haunted, Ida’s probably possessed by some poor soul who can’t or won’t cross over to the other side, and you think we need to make changes?” She paused, a look of bewilderment on her face. “You and Phil. Is there something you’re not telling me? Because if I find out you two plan on getting married after the fact, I will personally slice your tits off, as well as his nuts.”
Now in her seventies and eight husbands later, Toots still blushed. “I can’t believe you would even think of something so . . . so ridiculous! I have no intention of getting married again. Eight times was enough for me. I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much. I do not need a man telling me what to do and how and when to do it, like you and Ida do.”
“By your reaction I can tell I hit a nerve. You’ve thought about it—don’t lie. Remember, it’s me, Sophie De Luca. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Now, have you discussed marriage or not?”
“You’re supposed to be un-possessing Ida. Why are we even talking about marriage? No, we have not . . . we haven’t gone into great detail. Phil is busy with his book. He’s almost finished with book two. Remember, you predicted his book will be a rip-roaring success? I know his second book will be as successful as his first. Like Robin Cook, he’ll follow up with another book, and another, then maybe a movie deal. Where in the world would he find time to marry an old broad over seventy? I’m sure it’s the last thing on his mind right now.”
“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?” Sophie asked.
Toots began pacing the width of her large bedroom, maintaining a death grip on the little dachshund. “No you do not. Absolutely not! Phil and I have a wonderful . . . arrangement. He’s happy, and so am I. So, to answer your question, no, I have no immediate plans to marry Phil. Nor he me.”
“Good grief, you sound like a prim old bitch who hasn’t had a piece of ass since losing her virginity. I was just asking. You don’t have to get so defensive. Forget I mentioned the M word, okay?”
“Just because you and Goebel have the perfect marriage doesn’t mean it’s right for me, or Ida, or Bernice, for that matter. We’re all happy and busy. All of us have so much money, we’re practically giving it away. No, scratch that, I am giving it away. We’re in a good place, Soph, so why would we, rather I, want to mess with things when they’re this good?”
“If you weren’t my best friend in the world, I’d smack you. I simply asked you a question. I get that it’s a touchy subject with you. Eight times is a frigging world record, but who’s counting?”
“Apparently you are. And Bernice. And Ida. The only one who doesn’t remind me of my marriages is Mavis. She’s the kindest woman I know. I need you to know that, okay? Mavis is much nicer than you. Or Ida.” Toots felt her blood rush to her ears.
“Bullshit. There is something you’re not telling me. I’m not going to delve into it anymore tonight since I need to get out of here, but I will not forget this conversation. We’ll finish this later.”
Frankie chose that very moment to leap from Toots’s arms and jump on the bed, where he proceeded to pee smack-dab in the middle of the bed.