The Séance. Heather Graham

house while she waited for a new singer, a local girl named Allison Chesney, to show up to work with her on a new nonfat potato chip commercial. The promotions department at the giant food manufacturer had chosen her because of one of her previous jingles, which had been filled with “pep,” or so her contact had told her.

      She’d managed to get rid of the boxes, storing most of them up in the attic—a perk most of the houses in the area didn’t have. She even had a basement, another rarity in the state. Going up to the attic and down to the basement had been a bit overwhelming. Why, she wondered, hadn’t she realized just how much stuff she would find there? Despite that, there had been plenty of room for her boxes. In time, she promised herself, she would check out everything that was already there.

      She sat down at the piano in the parlor, feeling happy as she ran through the jingle herself one more time. She was ready to try out Allison Chesney’s sound, she decided, just as the doorbell rang.

      Being smart, as she had promised everyone she would be, she looked through the peephole before opening the door. The young woman on the other side was a pretty brunette with flashing hazel eyes. As soon as Christina opened the door, she offered her hand with a shy smile. “Christina? I’m Allison.”

      “Hi, great to meet you. Come on in.”

      “This is your house?” Allison said in awe as she stepped inside.

      “Yes.”

      “It’s fabulous.”

      “Thank you. It’s been in the family a long time,” Christina replied. “Can I get you something before we get started? Tea? Coffee? A bottle of water?”

      “Water would be great, thanks.”

      “Make yourself comfortable in the parlor,” Christina told her, pointing the way.

      She got a bottle of water from the kitchen and returned to find Allison standing by the piano, looking out the bay window.

      “This is really spectacular,” Allison told her. “I grew up in a place just like this.”

      “Really? Where are you from?”

      “The Gainesville area.”

      “It’s pretty around there.”

      Allison laughed. “Pretty quiet.”

      “It can’t be too quiet. It’s a university town,” Christina reminded her.

      “Yeah, and that’s about it. But at least it’s close to the action here. Well, action Florida-style. I thought I was so good when I was a kid that I was sure I’d be a big deal in New York by now,” she said ruefully. “But that’s not the way it happened.”

      “Don’t put yourself down. I listened to your demo,” Christina told her. “You’re good.” She sat down at the piano bench and smiled in return. “Or are you trying to tell me that doing jingle work is slumming it?”

      “Oh, good God, no!” Allison said. “Not at all. It’s just that…well, I guess it’s this house and, quite honestly, you. What are you? About twenty-five?”

      “On the nose.”

      “And you’re so successful,” Allison murmured.

      “I’m paying the bills,” Allison said, smiling.

      “Did you ever want to compose great operas or something?” Allison asked, openly curious.

      “Nope. I always liked writing little ditties. Must be my Irish heritage,” she said dryly. “Quite frankly, I just got lucky with my first jingle and found a good agent. My cousin Dan is an actor, though, and he’s still trying to get a break into the big time. Well, the bigger time, anyway.”