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“I believe he has learned how to spell.” Dickce laughed.

“He’s so smart,” An’gel said, and Benjy nodded.

“You go ahead, Benjy, and reward them for being so good. Dickce and I won’t start on the project I have in mind until you’re back. We’ll be in my room.” An’gel mounted the stairs slowly, bracing herself for the cold, but she never felt it. Halfway up the flight she paused and turned back to look at Dickce, three steps below her.

“I haven’t felt anything so far,” Dickce said. “Have you?”

“No,” An’gel said. “I suppose the spirit is taking a rest.” She began to climb again.

“Probably hiding because of all the strangers in the house today.” Dickce chuckled. “Can’t say as I blame her.”

“Nor I.” An’gel stepped on to the landing. “All those people in the house are exhausting.” She started to yawn and covered her mouth.

Dickce followed An’gel to her bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down and have a short nap? I don’t know about you, but I feel like a little quiet time.”

“Go ahead and lie down if you want,” An’gel said. “I’m going to put my feet up until Benjy gets back. I’ll call you when we’re ready to see if my idea pans out.”

“What idea is that?” Dickce asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” An’gel opened her door and stepped into the room. “Go rest.” She closed the door on her sister. Seconds later she heard Dickce say, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

An’gel paid no attention to that. Instead she focused her attention on the disarray in the bedroom. The police hadn’t created a huge mess when they searched the house earlier, but her things were not as she had left them. She knew it was old-fashioned of her, but she hoped the female officer was the one who looked through her clothes. She abhorred the idea of strange men touching her things. Best not to know. She would have to push those thoughts completely out of her mind, or she would have to wash or dry-clean everything she had brought before she wore it again. She hoped that whoever had searched her things had worn those disposable gloves she saw on television cop shows.

She decided to leave the straightening up until later. Right now she wanted to relax in the quiet and aloneness. After all the clatter of voices, all the drama, the silence felt good. She made herself comfortable in the armchair and put her feet up on the small ottoman.

Slowly she let the tension drain from her body as she focused on relaxation. As eager as she was to search for a secret door into the French room, she hoped Benjy didn’t hurry back from feeding the pets and retrieving his laptop.

She let her gaze wander around the room again, and as she observed the areas that needed tidying, she thought again about strangers handling her things. She reminded herself about the disposable gloves and told herself to let it go.

Focus on where that door might be instead.

She could see herself and Benjy examining the wall between the bathroom and the French room, their hands feeling their way, looking for signs of a mechanism of some sort.

Hands feeling their way.

She sat up suddenly, her feet sliding off the ottoman. We might destroy fingerprints or other evidence by touching everything, An’gel realized. Steinberg would not be happy with her for doing so.

But if we have disposable gloves, it wouldn’t be that different from the police doing the same thing.

A knock at the door roused her, and she called out, “Come in.” She expected Benjy to walk in, but instead it was Marcelline.

“Miss An’gel, I need to talk to you about something.” The housekeeper hesitated in the doorway.

An’gel could see that Marcelline was worked up about something. “Please, come on in. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Marcelline closed the door slowly behind her. An’gel indicated the room’s other chair, and Marcelline sat on the edge, back stiff, hands clasped together.

“Go ahead,” An’gel said. “I’m listening.” Marcelline seemed to be debating with herself over whether to confide in An’gel, or so the woman’s expression led An’gel to believe.

“I’ve got to tell someone,” Marcelline said, “and I don’t rightly know how to tell Miss Mary. I know who that woman is. At least, I think I do.”

“What woman?” An’gel asked. “Are you talking about Alesha Jackson?”

Marcelline nodded. “Yes, her.” She hesitated again. “I think she’s Miss Mary’s cousin.”

CHAPTER 28

Whatever An’gel might have expected Marcelline to tell her, it definitely wasn’t that Mary Turner and Alesha Jackson were related to each other. She quickly grasped the situation, however, because of her knowledge of the family history.

“Mary Turner’s grandfather, Marshall Turner, is also Alesha Jackson’s grandfather. Is that what you think?” An’gel asked.