Chapter 2

Bent inched even closer, if that was possible. “Couldn’t we have met with her during the day?”

Curtis frowned and wrapped the knocker again. “Séances are generally at night, Bent. And Madame Carmen set the time for us to meet her.”

“Maybe she stood us up,” Bent whispered, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

“You can go home, you know. It’s okay. I’m fine by myself.” Okay, maybe he was a little creeped out, but it wasn’t like skinny scrawny Bentley would offer much protection anyway.

“No, I’m not chickening out now. If you can do it, so can I.” Bentley straightened and pushed past Curtis, knocking loudly on the door with his fists. “Hey, we’re here! Open up.”

Curtis laughed. “Chill, dude. You’ll wake the spooks two cemeteries away.”

But it seemed to have the desired affect because suddenly the lock in the door slid back. Both of them backed up. He figured Bent was poised to bolt for the motorcycle.

The door opened with a pronounced slowness that he might have written into his own novel. On the other side would be a hideous creature whose claws would rip out Curtis’s throat or perhaps a sexy vampire who would lure them to their death.

A quite short, maybe five foot in heels, slim and pretty black woman peered at them. Definitely not hideous nor would he guess she was a vampire.

“Madame Carmen?”

“Yes. Mr. Macintyre?” She looked past him to Bentley. “And Mr. Macintyre?”

“Yes.” Curtis nodded. “May we come inside?”

Madame Carmen hesitated, studying the parking lot beyond them, but finally she stepped aside, holding the door open just enough for them to pass by her and into the shop.

Curtis looked around the fairly square space, typical of the shops one usually saw in ubiquitous strip malls. Except for the décor.

“Wait here for a moment,” Carmen said, then disappeared behind a heavy green drape.

Bent looked around and then up. “Cobwebs?”

Curtis snorted. “A little too obvious. Probably from a Halloween shop.”

In fact, the place looked like some person’s idea of a Halloween haunted house. Besides the webs, there were black light bulbs hanging from blood-red lamps, old Queen Anne chairs draped in sheets, and an old suit of armor.

He began to think this might be a waste of time. Not that he’d necessarily thought séances were actually real and really could reveal to him what Aaron Carmichael needed, but, well, hope sprang eternal.

The drapes Madame Carmen disappeared through were at the back of the shop and so far she had not reappeared. He hoped he wasn’t being billed by the hour.

“Madame Carmen?”

“You may come through the curtains,” she said in a spooky voice.

Bent made a woo-wooface and then grinned.

Rolling his eyes, Curtis took the few steps to the drapes, then parted them.

On the other side was a round table that would sit no more than four people. Upon the table had been laid a black tablecloth decorated with clear rhinestones. In the middle of the table was a glass sphere, a crystal ball, Curtis supposed. Next to that was a plastic poker chip.

Dressed in velvet purple robes, Madame Carmen gestured to the chairs at the table. “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Curtis and Bent took seats across from an elaborate throne-like chair that Curtis guessed was Carmen’s. When they were seated, Carmen took her place in the throne.

“The man you wish to summon is named Aaron Carmichael?”

His brother tensed beside him. “What? Who is Aaron Carmichael?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I was doing research for my book and happened to Google the history of my apartment building.”

“Forest Glenn,” Carmen said with a sharp nod.

“Since I needed someone to contact during the séance, I chose Aaron Carmichael.”

“Who is—”

“Aaron Carmichael was murdered at the Forest Glenn apartments.” Carmen lit a candle. “I read the online article you referenced in our conversation.”

“Murdered? Curtis, you didn’t tell me this,” Bent said, putting his hand on Curtis’s arm.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Bent frowned. “Like decades ago when the building was new?”

Forest Glenn was an old building built in the city in the 1930s. It was one of the reasons Curtis had chosen it two months earlier, he liked the old charm. Of course it had been through several renovations.

“No, Aaron was murdered five years ago,” Curtis said softly. “Can we get on with this?”

Carmen nodded. “This poker chip will be used for Aaron to communicate with us if he so desires. I will ask him to move it for us. Please understand not all spirits will cooperate. Aaron Carmichael may not wish to respond to us.”

In other words Madame Carmen was covering her ass when Aaron’s ghost didn’t show up.