Simon handed Cid a picture of the floor that had an overlay indicating what pieces should be removed and what should be inserted. There were also suggestions on how this should be done.
“Where did you get this?”
“Maria Basso-Minnelli worked all weekend on this.”
“I haven’t seen her since Father Alessandro crossed the Bassos into the light. How did you get her to do this? She’s very expensive.”
“She owed me a favor,” Santos said.
“Favors are coming back into style,” Cid commented.
“It’s not a bad thing, just like forgiveness,” Santos said.
“Or forgiving the one who trades in favors,” Cid said cryptically. He studied the plan and handed it to Jesse. Cid knelt, pried out the cherry symbols, and then tried to cut into the old oak. He took out all his chisels and frowned. “I don’t have…”
A chisel was placed into his hand. It seemed to appear out of thin air. Cid turned it and saw the initials D R F. “Grazie, Domenico.” Cid chiseled out the wood and used it to fill in where the symbols needed the oak. He only had to put two new oak pieces into this symbol and three in the next. He put his hand out flat with the chisel in it and felt a cold hand close his hand over the chisel. “Are you sure you want me to have this?” he asked in Italian.
“You will carry on my trade, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Cid, who are you talking to?” Santos questioned.
“Domenico Raffaele Fiorentino. He’s an artisan who died in the basement. He gave me his chisel and knowledge.”
Santos spoke rapidly in fluent Italian. The ghost materialized and held a conversation with the priest.
Jesse tugged at Cid’s sleeve. “What are they talking about?”
“The Kingdom of Heaven,” Cid said. “Father Santos would like to give all the ghosts last rites. Domenico warns the priests that many of the dead blame God for their deaths. Father Santos is listening and responding. Basically, they are arguing religion. Domenico is suspicious of Santos because he is Spanish. He says the black magic acolytes were Spanish, as is the floor.”
“Is this really a good time for this?” Jesse asked, looking at his watch.
“Let’s put the rug back, and maybe by then, they’ll get the hint.”
Kiki and Alan walked into the Lakeside Arms. This was a four-story hotel on Main Street across from the Lakeside Marina. Alan fixated on the comfortable décor. Kiki tried to pin down when the last renovation was completed. The floors had a squeak to them. Alan thought it was charming. Kiki was worried about wood rot.
“Can I help you?” asked a smartly dressed middle-aged woman.
“Yes, Dorothy,” Alan said. “I’m Alan Jefferies, and this is Kiki Pickles. We’re here to meet Arnold Atwater…”
“Congressman Atwater,” Dorothy was quick to correct, “is waiting for you in the Harbor Suite. It’s up two floors on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Alan and Kiki took the large carpeted stairs since an elevator wasn’t offered nor in the immediate vicinity.
“How do you know Dorothy?” Kiki asked.
“I read her name tag.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a nice little hotel. I wonder who owns it?” Alan asked making conversation.
“They have some structural problems, unless the squeaky floor is put in for ambiance.”
“I like the squeaky floor,” Alan protested.
“No floor will squeak in any house I own,” Kiki vowed.
“How are you going to tell if our children are sneaking a midnight snack?”
“I would hope that they would have been fed well enough that they would not be raiding the refrigerator.”
“How would you know? Will our children have gauges on them like cars do?”
Kiki giggled at the ridiculousness of this question. “I suppose you want the doors to squeal when opened?”
“Yes. It will save on security systems,” Alan said. “And the teens’ shower should only have five minutes of hot water.”
“You’re a cruel man. I take it you spent a lot of time in the shower.”
“Before I met you, certainly.”
“Too much information,” Kiki said.
They had reached the Harbor Suite. Alan reached out to knock. The door was opened by a woman wearing black lace.
“Miss Gee, I presume,” Alan said.
Kiki notice that the woman was momentarily startled.
“Yes, Mr. Jefferies.”
“Alan, please. This is…”
“Kiki Pickles,” Miss Gee finished.
“In the flesh.”
“The congressman has just stepped out to finish a phone call. Come on in. Would you like a beverage?”
“Point me in the direction of the coffee,” Alan said.
“The sideboard. Please help yourself.”
Alan headed for the sideboard.
“Are you a mind reader?” Kiki asked Miss Gee.
Alan stumbled, surprised by Kiki’s directness.
“No. Are you?” Miss Gee asked.
“No. I’m just a human worried that you’re going to push your agenda into my mind.”
“How refreshing,” Miss Gee said, “and rude.”
“Sorry, but I’ve just been through an exorcism of sorts to get rid of the Atwater you left inside that house. I want to make sure I’m speaking with my mind and not something else’s.”
“I believe you were warned that the house was haunted,” Miss Gee said, walking to the window.
Alan looked out the window. Framed in it was the lake, and directly across the lake was Walnut Grove House.
“Yes. I just wasn’t prepared for possession, which, I understand, is very rare,” Kiki said.
“It happens.”
Congressman Atwater walked into the room aided by a cane. He sat down. “I’m sorry. I had some Washington business to deal with.”
“No problem,” Kiki said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I would like to inform you that the house renovation is finished, with the exception of some ceiling work that needs to be completed in the basement. We stopped because of the leak we found in the foundation. I wanted
