Excerpt: Murder of the Unquiet Dead

Cynthia lit the last candle before sitting next to Helen on the couch. Sascha and Lee sat where they had the night before.

"So, Lee with take notes this time," Cynthia said, "and I'll ask the questions."

Lee looked unhappy but didn't argue. He shifted the notebook to his lap and clicked his pen several times. "So is Helen playing this time?"

"No," Helen said. She'd drawn her legs under her on the couch and wrapped her over-sized sweater tighter. "I'm just watching."

"I don't see why I can't play," Matthew grumbled from across the room where he was leaning against the back stage door. "I promised not to push it again."

"I know I'm not going to push the plank thingy," Cynthia told them.

"It's called a planchette," Lee interrupted.

"And Sascha won't either," Cynthia continued, ignoring Lee. "So if anything happens, it should just be whatever spirits are around. Shall we get started?"

Lee shrugged and clicked his pen again. Cynthia nodded at Sascha and they placed their fingertips on the planchette.

Cynthia stared narrowly at the board for several minutes.

"You have to ask a question," Lee prompted.

"I know. I'm thinking of one."

"Just start with the basics, like I did."

Cynthia grimaced, but she followed Lee's advice. "Is there someone here with us?"

Sascha glanced around the room. Matthew raised his chin in a man nod to him, grinning a lopsided grin.

"You have to concentrate on the board," Lee told them. Sascha turned back to it, swallowing nervously.

"Should I ask again?" Cynthia asked, just as the planchette began to move.

'Yes.'

"Is this Podmore?" Cynthia asked.

The planchette circled around and back to 'yes.'

Cynthia grinned. "So, um, Podmore. Is that your last name?"

The planchette remained still.

Cynthia glanced at Lee. "Just wait a minute," Lee cautioned her.

The planchette circled back around to 'yes.'

"Are you a boy or a, I mean," she amended quickly at a stern look from Sascha, "a man or a woman?"

The planchette trembled, then moved over the letters. M. A. N.

"This is so cool." Cynthia was grinning. Lee was too.

"Are you writing it down?" Helen asked Lee in a whisper. Lee frowned and hastily made a few notes. Helen sighed and leaned over, taking the notebook and pen from him.

"Are you, I mean, when did you--"

"Cynthia," Sascha warned.

"What?"

"Don't ask about death."

"Yeah, the dead guy might be touchy about it," Matthew said from where he leaned.

"When were you born?" Cynthia asked instead.

The planchette shifted down toward the numbers. 1. 8. 5. 6.

"Oh my god!"

"Oh, don't say that," Matthew warned, only half in jest.

"1856? He was born a century and a half ago! That's amazing."

"Ask where," Lee prompted.

"Where were you born, Mr. Podmore?"

E. L. S. T. R. E. E.

Cynthia and Lee both looked at Helen. "Elstree," she told them.

"Never heard of it," Lee said. "Ask him how he died."

"No!" Sascha took his hands away from the planchette. "No talk of death."

"We're talking to a dead guy, Sascha," Lee reminded him with a smirk. "You don't think he knows that?"

"Maybe he does not. I don't care. I won't be a part of this anymore if we are going to talk of death."

"Fine, fine, don't get in a prussian snoot about it."

Sascha's expression darkened, but Cynthia reached for his hand. "No talk of death. Please, Sascha. Why don't you ask a question."

Sascha took a long breath. He put his fingers back on the planchette. Cynthia gestured with a nod of her head, encouraging him.

"What work do you do?" he asked in halting English.

"It's funny how his accent gets in the way when he's nervous," Matthew said. "What if Podmore doesn't know what 'verk' is?"

The planchette moved across the board in quick succession. Cynthia said each letter and then looked to Helen when the planchette stilled.

"Post office clerk," Helen said.

"We're talking to a mailman?" Matthew laughed.

"Were you married?" Cynthia asked.

'No.'

"Aw, that's sad," Matthew said. "No little Podmores running around."

Sascha glanced over his shoulder.

"Is there anything you want to tell us," Cynthia asked.

'Yes.'

"What is it, Mr. Podmore?"

The planchette moved across the letters once more. It moved for some time, Cynthia calling out the letters. When it finally stilled, they all looked to Helen.

She sat frozen, staring at the notepad. Lee reached over and took it from her.

"You are not alone."