Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 2

  As a tried-and-true gentleman, I waited on the classically decorated rustic porch and held the fake-spider-covered door for her. Nana D had gone all out with cinnamon and pinecone aromas. I might hold a penchant for teasing my mother, but she was entirely too special not to demonstrate the loving respect she deserved. Wispy bales of yellow-brown straw and overgrown green and orange gourds adorned both sides of the entryway. “Hey, look, it's The Hampster,” I quipped, showing one of the oddly shaped, ridged, and warty freaks of nature to my mother. She cast a disapproving glower in my direction over the wisecrack about my older brother Hampton, who'd just moved back to Braxton. Don't ask how he earned that nickname. As if it weren't obvious, I tended to be a tad sarcastic, but only in a clever way.

  Several wooden barrels, strategically bursting with hearty goldenrod, burgundy, and burnt umber mums, dazzled our eyes as we strolled into the farmhouse. My seven-year-old daughter, dressed in a silk cape and wearing plastic vampire teeth, soared into the living room to greet us. Long, curly dark hair framed her slightly chubby cheeks and bounced feverishly on her shoulders. “I've been baking up a storm all morning, Daddy. Nana D insisted we couldn't eat brunch until we finished the pies.” Although my height had reached an unimpressive five-nine, not considered remarkably tall by any measure, Emma would surpass me. Her mother's family, easily cast as giants by most normal-sized folk, had blessed her with the imposing stature. “Monster Mash” blasted through the background speakers.

  “Tell me, sweetheart. What kind of pies are you treating us to today?” After kissing Emma's cheek, I turned to my mother. “You're so going down.” I giggled like an immature teenager and rushed into the kitchen, dragging Emma at my side despite my nose suggesting a loss in the latest wager. Given my commitment to round-the-clock renovations, I'd recklessly forgotten Nana's true autumn welcome. At least I had an excuse; my defenseless mother had racked up way more years of experience than me.

  “Everyone knows Nana D bakes a pumpkin pie this weekend, silly,” Emma cooed, kneeling in front of the oven and grinning widely at a golden, bubbling concoction that oozed with deliciousness.

  My mother sighed loudly, then impatiently snatched a knife and scurried toward the opposite counter, where two steaming dishes cooled on wire racks. “I guess we both lost, huh?”

  “Don't touch those pumpkin pies, Violet. You might be over fifty—” Nana D headily warned but was speedily silenced before revealing my mother's true age.

  “You better put a lid on it, Mom, or I'll convince Dr. Betscha to sedate you for your own good. Don't you dare say how old I am in front of those two.” My mother flashed a wicked smile, then flicked a hand in Emma's and my direction. “They'll tell the rest of the family, and you'll be in big trouble.”

  Nana D tapped her foot and scowled. “If you do that, I'll ask the hooligan running the festival's spooky corn maze to lock you in that coffin he installed near the north pumpkin patch.”

  “Grab some popcorn, Emma. We're about to watch a hilarious show.” Waffling over which diva would win today's sparring match, I rubbed my hands together as if I were starting a fire from kindling. An intoxicating and picture-perfect cranberry, apple, and chestnut salad tantalized me as Emma now whirled a lazy Susan on the table like a pro. Would the ghost stop haunting me if we shared our food?

  Baxter flew through the doggie door with a half-eaten purple aster, breaking the tension and altering the tone of the slapstick conversation. Emma locked our black-and-tan shiba in his crate when Nana D yelled about him pawing at her freshly baked desserts. “He's ruined my poor flower garden.”

  “Saved again by the adorable family pet,” my mother gloated, dropping the knife and tracing a thumb across a perfectly set pumpkin pie. “Delicious, but none for you,” she whispered behind Nana D's back, after licking her finger clean.

  “I guess I'll bake a fresh batch for Father Elijah,” Nana D asserted, her eyes pointedly staring at my mother's reflection in the upper cabinet's glass pane. Foiled again. “I planned on delivering them after Mass, but you'll need to bring new ones when you arrange Emma's First Communion lessons.”

  My parents would accompany me next week to our local parish priest to prepare for Emma's enrollment in religious classes and official rite of passage into the church. Although she'd been baptized as a baby, this was the first time she'd receive the Eucharist. While I didn't want to force my beliefs on Emma, most of our family was Catholic, so I would raise her in the same regard. Once she was old enough to decide for herself, we could explore alternative options.

  “Where's Ulan?” I checked all the nooks and crannies inside Nana D's retro-style den, but he wasn't around. The kid had a habit of easily camouflaging himself with his surroundings.

  “I dropped him off at the library an hour ago to study.” Nana D indicated I should collect him at six that evening. “The vanishing magician is escaping from his shell.”

  Ulan had lived with me for two months yet was still tremendously shy. I'd encouraged him to join the high school's social clubs, but he preferred his own ideas. Uncle Zach had verified cocooning was normal behavior for Ulan, so I contained my worries. “Thanks. He'll be glad to have his own room soon.”

  Emma clapped repeatedly. “I can't wait to move in. Ulan promised to build a treehouse with me the first week. He's gonna show me what it's like to live in the jungle.”

  My father, who'd engineered an out-of-town weekend fishing trip with buddies, wouldn't join us for brunch. Eleanor, my younger sister, was partnering with Manny, whom she'd promoted as the manager of the Pick-Me-Up Diner, to train their latest chef. Our brother Gabriel was visiting his boyfriend for an extended getaway. After six months together, Sam had enrolled in a Dallas graduate school, torturing them with the complications of a long-distance relationship.

  My mother scooped a heap of aromatic fruit salad into one of Nana D's cherished Halloween-patterned dishes—orange-glazed china with floating white ghouls—then passed the serving bowl to me. “I didn't scope out your new place this morning, Kellan. Are you leaving those ghoulish turrets in place? If it were my house, I'd focus on fixing that exterior, so it doesn't resemble a scary monstrosity.”

  “I suppose,” I replied wryly, ignoring her accidental insult. Should I mention the weird, unnerving incidents the contractors had witnessed? I'd given little credence to their jokes about tools moving around while no one was home, but after my latest disturbing dream and the supernatural presence this morning, I second-guessed my decision. “Nicky Endicott offered me a good deal on the price of the reno, and he's been handling most of the work. They even hired extra guys this week to complete the initial phase on schedule.”

  “Are you still worried it's haunted by ghosts?” Nana D drizzled syrup on her voluminous stack of fluffy pancakes—I suddenly recalled that everything was pumpkin-flavored for her in October—and ravenously swallowed a forkful. Between her tiny button nose and the lengthy, henna-rinsed braid she'd soon trip over, Nana D was an undeniably humorous vision. When she put on her tailored green twill suit, I'd call her my lucky charm. It usually resulted in a painful pinch on the underside of my arm, but the utter shock and frustration on her face was worth the temporary discomfort.

  “There's no such thing as ghosts,” Emma stated with the assurance of a much wiser girl. When raspberry jelly unexpectedly dripped to her chin, she snorted. “It's just magic fairies.”

  “Whatever it is, I don't like it. Nicky separately chatted with the new workers this week. The crew claims someone in a white lace gown was floating on the second floor when they arrived to begin construction.” I'd thought at the time they must've drunk too much the night before, but after my own frightening and hair-raising experience, a cavernous dollop of fear stirred inexorably.

  “What else happened? Maybe Eleanor can solve this hocus pocus nonsense.” My mother, already stuffed from a nonfat yogurt parfait and the miniscule morsel of pie filling she'd snuck earlier, aimlessly pushed fruit around her plate. No pancakes for h
er, mostly since her vanity echoed that of the queen from Snow White. Despite being ten years younger than my father and looking at least ten years younger than her true age, she constantly fretted about her weight and fading youth.

  “Tools moved when no one was in the room. A minor overnight flood when Nicky supposedly turned off the water. Scratching noises inside the walls.” I swallowed the remaining food on my plate and pushed back my chair with a flourish. I wanted to unhook my belt to gain some breathing room but refused to admit defeat. I'd increase my upcoming workouts to counter the impulsive overeating. The stress of construction delays was wearing me down. “Eleanor threw angelica root around the house and volunteered to sing a freakish chant about poltergeists. She claims it'll protect me against evil spirits.”

  “I'm confident your prankster is the ghost of Prudence Grey. We're approaching the fiftieth anniversary of her disappearance. She lived there with Hiram and is probably rolling in her grave, seething that he sold it.” Nana D unexpectedly shivered with excitement, then directed Emma to check on Baxter. “Little ears shouldn't hear what I'm about to tell you.”

  “Don't even think about embellishing the story, Mom. We've heard you complain interminably about Hiram Grey's past.” My mother was adamant about controlling Nana D's gossipy nature. Though often careful with her words, someday, loose lips would bite Nana D in the you-know-where.

  “Pish! Last time, I only told Kellan that Prudence disappeared. The truth would've scared him from buying the house, despite Ulan's imminent arrival in Pennsylvania.” Nana D smiled sanctimoniously as she shared the troubled history of the infamous Greys.

  Prudence was Hiram's first wife. Hiram, four years older, had just finished his senior year at Braxton College and enrolled in law school, obsessed with becoming a judge. Although Prudence had once been a stunning ingénue, she entered a rough period after giving birth to their son, Damien, and surviving independently while Hiram focused on his studies. Her parents had also died in a tragic accident, leaving her an emotional wreck. No one realized she'd suffered from postpartum depression.

  “On Halloween in 1968, a gigantic organized protest against the Vietnam War erupted on campus. Everyone, professors and students alike, participated. Some were for it, others against it. It was a difficult time,” Nana D explained while scraping our plates into the trash compactor. “Hiram insists he'd left Prudence at home with Damien because he had to attend a vital class, but the professor recorded him as absent that day. When a bunch of students turned violent, the protest escalated, and the college library caught fire.”

  Construction of a new wing on the building had been in process. Workers had finished early and already left the site. The protest was most volatile directly outside the oldest part of the library, but the Chief of the Fire Department was never sure how the blaze had started. Multiple people had witnessed Prudence enter the library during the demonstration, yet they never saw her exit.

  “Your father was there, Kellan. He was only a teenager but remembers all the commotion. It was awful, and although no one actually died,” my mother began, casting a warning glance at Nana D, “it caused widespread damage and delayed the library's renovation plans. By the time everything sorted itself out, the temperature had grown too frigid to break ground again.”

  “What does this have to do with Prudence Grey haunting my new house?” I sighed, unable to decipher the connection between the two events. Time to further reel in the busybody yentas.

  “Patience, brilliant one. I'm getting there,” Nana D rebuked, waggling a finger in my direction. “Prudence vanished. Hiram never spoke with her after he'd left the house that morning. The last place he saw his wife was allegedly carting a box into your basement. She loved that home so much… at least she's not stuck haunting someone else.” Nana D wearily glanced downward, fanning herself.

  “It's possible that Prudence got trapped in the library and died in the fire. The winds were gusty that day and made the whole tragedy hard to contain. The firemen checked as soon as the opportunity presented itself but never found a body. All hearsay, since I was hardly out of diapers,” my mother added with a wink, eyeing the second round of fragrant pumpkin pies Nana D retrieved from the oven.

  “Hiram claims Prudence suffered from a severe depression that prevented her from being a proper mother to Damien.” Nana D grew lost in the heartbreaking tale, eyes deep with remorse and regret. “I didn't know her well, but Prudence was an innocent young lady before she'd married that fool and suffered his folly. Men suck. Don't they, Violet, dear?”

  “I'm not sure I understand. What precisely are you suggesting happened to Prudence? Is she buried under the library and moonlighting as a vengeful spirit in my new digs?”

  “That's the fifty-year-old mystery. Hiram moved out the next day and into the Grey estate with his family. No one's ever heard from Prudence since then, and everyone who's dared to live there flees within a week after complaining about peculiar noises and unexplained apparitions.”

  “Didn't you think to tell me that part before I bought the place?” I shot an emphatic gander of frustration and shock at my nana for her borderline treachery. Exhaustion had made me irritable.

  Upon finishing her coffee, my mother placed the cup and saucer in the sink. “I don't believe in all that hooey phooey. Hiram waited the necessary time to declare her legally dead, then he remarried. For all intents and purposes, Prudence is long gone. You shouldn't worry.”

  “But you think she's haunting me because I bought her house?” I growled at Nana D.

  “I assume Hiram got away with killing her. Prudence's spirit must be restless, stuck inside the last place she lived before dying so dreadfully. I doubt she'll hurt you,” Nana D suggested impishly while patting my hand. “Just be considerate of sharing her space, and I'm sure it'll turn out fine.”

  My mother tut-tutted. “Hiram can be ruthless, but no one suspects the judge of murder.”

  Were they for real? At the very least, I deserved to know this tidbit of history before Nana D had convinced me to buy the place. My mind theorized outlandish scenarios about what could've happened to Prudence Grey. I'd been known to investigate suspicious deaths ever since moving home to Braxton earlier that year, but I had zero time to explore a fifty-year-old cold case.

  “How'd the Fall Festival meeting go?” Nana D interrupted, her brow wrinkled and mouth hanging slightly open, ardently waiting for a response.

  “Belinda Grey was obstinate and ferocious. I think you underestimated how angry she'd be when you declared us the head of the planning committee.” My mother ruffled through her gargantuan purse for the car keys. Did she hide an entire cornucopia of useless clutter in there?

  “Belinda was derogatory all morning long.” I recalled how Hiram Grey's second wife had also refused to congratulate us on securing Madam Zenya as the upcoming spectacular's resident psychic.

  “Hiram and Belinda Grey were perfect for each other. I could tell you stories about that churlish woman. Too bad that cantankerous old judge feels the need to find a new spouse every few years. Five sons with six wives makes him a menace to society.” Nana D reminded us that our local magistrate was a modern-day Henry VIII, only instead of beheading his wives, he compelled them to disappear. “Some were probably murdered like Prudence. He tortured the others until each caved in to escape his tyranny.” She chuckled aloud, then lifted her old-fashioned, canary-yellow phone from the wall.

  “He just divorced number six last year, right?” my mother nonchalantly questioned.

  Nana D counted the judge's wives by using the fingers on one hand, running out of digits after the fifth. “Yup. They seem to get younger each time. Now, skedaddle. I've got calls to make.”

  Once my mother left, Emma, Baxter, and I visited our new house. Although it was the weekend, Nicky had paid his team overtime to tile the bathroom and install the kitchen plumbing. I parked the car and suggested Emma lead Baxter into the enclosed side yard to play fetch. A bulky, hairy spider
had woven a fresh maze of silky webs across the front porch, swaying in the gentle breeze from my hasty approach. It cautiously sat in the center and bundled its most recent prey in a sticky clump of white threads, staring and mocking me to swat it, if I dared. As soon as I ducked and strode through the door, Nicky anxiously approached me with his grease-stained palm glued to his forehead.

  “Kellan, I've called for hours. Didn't you get my messages?” Exasperation clung to the young contractor's words. His awkward body language denoted something disastrous had occurred.

  Grabbing the phone from my pocket, I realized I had accidentally turned it off. “No, I'm sorry. What's going on? Is there an issue with construction?”

  Nicky repeatedly shook his head and pursed his tense, thin lips. “No, you better see this for yourself. Follow me.” While dragging me through the main hallway toward the basement entrance, my impassioned contractor agitatedly explained how he and his crew had shown up at ten o'clock. “We let ourselves in using the only key to the front door. Look at what awaited us.”

  My heart immediately raced like a bustling train as I absorbed the pungent scent of shock hovering stiffly in the room. In the same red paint I'd rolled on the walls in Ulan's bedroom, someone had written a scraggly message on the locked basement door.

  Stay away or suffer a gruesome death!

  Chapter 2

  “Obviously, it's retribution for something terrible you did,” Eleanor teased, running both hands through her curly, dirty-blonde hair. A fulsome sage and rosemary aroma wafted from the kitchen into the Pick-Me-Up Diner's tiny back office, enticing my desire for upcoming feasts of roasted turkey and homemade gravy. “The ghost of Prudence Grey returned from the Great Beyond to teach you a valuable lesson.”