In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

I did note, however, that both Misses Sorensen ate most heartily and cleaned their plates at every course. And apparently sherry wasn't considered wine in their definition, as they had each drunk a couple of glasses.

At last the savory plates were cleared away and Theresa stood up. “We will leave you men to your cigars and port while we go to a higher calling.” She glanced at the Sorensen Sisters. “Do you need more time to prepare? Shall we await you in the drawing room?”

“All is ready, Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “If you will follow us.”

Belinda fell into step beside me. “I didn't think I'd be excited, but I am,” she whispered. “Do you think they will make ectoplasm appear? I've always wanted to see it.”

“I've no idea,” I said, “but I'm very anxious to see what they do.”

We were ushered into a small, dark room. The furniture had been hidden under black drapes so that only a circle of chairs was visible. One solitary candle was burning on a black-draped table. The pictures on the walls had been similarly black draped. For some reason it felt uncomfortably cold too. I shivered.

“Please be seated,” Miss Emily commanded.

We sat. That one candle threw monstrous shadows and made our faces look hollow and deathlike.

“We will all hold hands around the table. Take care not to break the power of the circle. Nobody is to say a word. We will open our minds and invite the spirits to come.”

I was sitting with Theresa on one side of me and Belinda on the other. I could feel Theresa’s frail hand absolutely shaking. Belinda’s didn't feel too steady either. And me? Even though I pooh-poohed the whole idea, I found that my heart was beating very fast.

Rubbish, I said to myself. There are no such things as spirits and any minute now 111 see how they are faking.

At that very moment there was a strong gust of wind that swept across the room, blowing the candle out and stirring the draperies on the walls. We were plunged into complete darkness. Cousin Clara wailed.

“Peace,” Miss Emily said. “Someone is in the room with us. I can feel it. Are you with us, Chief Ojuweca?”

“I am here,” said a very different voice. “I bring greetings from the other side to my friends.”

Miss Emily has a deep, masculine-sounding voice, I told myself. Of course she blew the candle out so that we couldn't see her mouth move. And yet, this voice really did sound like a man’s, and not only that, a man for whom English was not his native tongue. Also it seemed to be coming from the farrightcomer of the room, not at all where Miss Emily was sitting.

“Will you deign to show yourself to our friends tonight, Chief Ojuweca?” Miss Emily asked.

I felt Theresa’s hand grab onto mine as I looked up and saw what she saw. In that same far comer of the room a head was materializing. It was too faint to make out the features clearly, but one could see the eyes and hooked nose and the mouth that moved.

“Here I am,” it said. “State what you want of me.”

How did they do it? They were sitting in the circle with us, holding hands. There was no light in the room and yet the head glowed with a faint light of its own. I felt the back of my neck prickling.

“There is a lady present who grieves for her son who has passed over,” Miss Emily said. “She would like to contact him. His name is Brendan, Brendan Flynn. A little boy. Can you contact him for us?”

“I will try,” Ojuweca said. “In the meantime I bring messages for others present. I bring a message for someone whose name starts with a C.”

“That’s you, Clara,” Theresa whispered and Clara whimpered again.

“A message from someone you knew long ago. Someone who was dear to you once.”

“Not Johnny!” Clara exclaimed.

“He says his name is John, yes.”

“Saints preserve us. Johnny’s come back to speak to me. How are you, Johnny?”

“He says he isfineand you don't need to grieve for him. He’s in a better place, but he still misses you.”

Clara gave a sob. “Young Johnny Parker. The only boy I ever loved. Taken from me when we were just seventeen.”

“He died of pneumonia, didn't he?” the voice asked.

“No, he fell through the ice when we were skating.”

“Because he was already weak with the pneumonia that was coming on.”

“I never knew that,” Clara whispered. “Poor, brave Johnny. He came skating with me, even though he was already sick with pneumonia. He really did love me.” And she burst into tears.

“He watches over you, Clara, and waits for the day when you will join him,” the voice said, “and now I have a very strong message coming through. It is for an M?”

“Molly, that’s you,” Theresa whispered.

In spite of the fact that I didn't believe, I thought my heart was going to jump out of my mouth. I didn't want to hear what any of my dead might say.

“It’s your mother, Molly. She’s been trying to get in touch with you for some time.”