Read Online Cooking Up Trouble by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online Page B

important things to do tonight than to sit here quaking. Things like going to bed. With Paavo. Where was he, anyway? “I think I’ll say goodnight,” she said and stood.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to wait a few minutes?” Chelsea asked, her eyes round.
    Angie put a hand on one hip. “I ain’t afraid o’ no ghosts.”
    Chelsea was just beginning to join in the others’ nervous laughter when a slow, dull, pounding sound reverberated through the room.
    Angie sat down again, quickly. “What was that?”
    No one answered.
    The pounding continued. Tha-thump. Tha-thump . It grew louder.
    Moira clasped her hands as if in prayer. Her eyes searched the ceiling and the walls.
    Running Spirit grasped her wrist. “Who’s doing that?” he called out. “What’s up there?”
    “Chelsea’s room is directly above,” Moira said. “I presume it’s empty.”
    “Jack?” Chelsea cried, staring at the ceiling.
    “The noise doesn’t seem to be coming from there,” Running Spirit said.
    “It seems to be coming from the walls,” Angie said.
    Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump .
    “It sounds like a heartbeat,” Reginald Vane whispered.
    “Maybe it’s something evil,” Chelsea cried. “We wanted the Sempler ghosts, but these are bad ones. What did you do, Moira?”
    “What if Miss Greer didn’t die of a heart condition?” Reginald Vane asked. “What if she died of fright?”
    “Make it stop!” Chelsea cried.
    Tha-thump-tha-thump. Tha-thump-tha-thump . The beat quickened.
    Angie’s heart raced as fast and loud as the pounding. “I’m getting out of here.” She turned to run to her room.
    In the doorway stood a white, unearthly figure. Elise? Susannah? Angie screamed.
    “Patsy!” Running Spirit bellowed. “What the hell are you doing here?” He let go of Moira and stepped toward his wife.
    “It’s the ghosts,” she cried, running into the room. She wore a flowing white nightgown. Her hair was frizzy and wild about her head, and her face had even less color than her gown. “They’re going to kill us. We’ll be dead. Like Finley.”
    Tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump!
    “No!” Moira cried, her hands over her ears.
    Suddenly, magically, the house fell quiet. No one breathed.
    A moment later, Paavo casually strolled into the room, taking in each member of the little group before him.
    Moira looked ready to collapse, as did Chelsea. Running Spirit appeared worried the others might think he’d lost his nerve. The previously absent Reginald Vane was devoid of expression.
    Then there was Patsy Jeffers. Paavo found her most interesting, even though he suspected she was the type who had spent most of her twenty-nine or thirty years being ignored or forgotten about. Her uncombed hair was closer to dull beige than to blond or brown. Her eyebrows and lashes, if they existed, blended with her skin tone. Her flat brown eyes darted about continually,except when she looked at her husband. She gazed upon him with awe, as if in the throes of pure rapture.
    They had to be one of the most unlikely couples ever.
    Now, as Patsy clutched Running Spirit’s arm, she searched his face, then bowed her head and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Raising her hand to his chest, her fingers splayed over his heart. The chunky gold band on her third finger was too big for her, and her fingernails had been chewed to little half-moons.
    “Paavo, thank God you’re here.” Angie hurried to his side. “Could you tell what that noise was? Was it as loud in the rest of the house?”
    “It seemed to be coming from in here,” he said.
    “God, it was the ghosts!” Chelsea cried.
    “I’m sure these noises have a logical explanation,” Moira said. “Probably something to do with the pipes. Don’t you agree, Greg?”
    Running Spirit caught Paavo’s eye, seeking his agreement. “Sure,” he said. “It could be the pipes.”
    “I think we should all retire,” Moira announced nervously. “The storm is