Haunted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 2)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Ettawa tried to kill him. Stabbed him, and I think it’s safe to say that he died from an infection he developed afterward. We found in our research that he’s buried in the family plot. But Reverend Gosling, the man who had the crosses erected in the cemetery to keep Ettawa out, is buried at Valhalla.”

  “Really?” I said, unable to keep my surprise to myself.

  Cassidy added, “And that’s not all. I saw her; I saw Ettawa.”

  Midas said, “Like a full-body apparition? What does she want?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “She said something, but I don’t know what it means. It’s like she was talking in some foreign language. I haven’t checked it out, but I’m pretty sure I had the audio going when she showed up near that tree, where the tour group found Chris Trapper.”

  “It’s probably some old French Creole dialect, maybe Dahomeyan Vodun or some other form of that. If you did record it, we could put it through the language app I have and see what pops up. Don’t play it in here, though.” He eyed Papa Angelos. If Midas’ grandfather knew we were listening to ghostly audio, he wouldn’t welcome us back to Demeter’s. I took Cassidy’s recorder and slid it into my purse. “What else did you learn, Cassidy?”

  “Until I promised to help her find Leo, she wanted to kill me. She had that rope in her hand, and she looked terrifying. Guys, I didn’t know what else to do. I promised her I’d help find Leo. And then she stopped. I think she’s hoping that I can help her—that we can help her.”

  Midas’ grim expression was unmistakable. He didn’t approve. “We will certainly try, but don’t make a promise to a spirit that you might not be able to keep. Geographical location doesn’t bind some ghosts. They’ll come looking for you, and they’ll expect you to deliver on your promise. The spirit world is a weird, troubling place. I don’t claim to understand it all, but I have to warn you. I can’t be worrying about you and Josh.”

  “Any word from Joshua?”

  “Just that annoying call from his mother earlier, telling me I’d be responsible for the mortgage payment from now on. I wasn’t surprised to hear from her. She never cared for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sierra.”

  Midas’ phone began to ring, and he peeked at the screen and quietly excused himself.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Cassidy went back to staring out the window. I sighed and said, “Cassidy, how long are you going to do this? Midas was only trying to help you. Would you rather he didn’t tell you anything about Dom? What are you so mad at him about?”

  “I’m not mad at him. I’m angry at the world. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Well, maybe you should try.”

  Apparently, she didn’t like that idea. “I think I’d better go, Sierra. I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m not doing y’all any good, and I don’t know what to say.”

  “No, don’t leave. You can’t hide in your apartment for the rest of your life. Please, let us be there for you.”

  Cassidy slung her purse on her shoulder and squeezed my hand briefly. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ve had enough for one night. I’ll call you if I see anything else.” And with that, she was gone.

  I watched Midas’ face as she walked to the door and right past him. He hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket, but he didn’t chase her down. And she didn’t slow down either. I sighed at the sad sight. Poor guy. He just couldn’t catch a break on the romance front.

  “I guess you saw Cassidy leave? She’s not feeling well, I gather. Or something.”

  “Yeah, I saw her. I can’t tell her what to do. She doesn’t want to be involved with me anymore; she blames me for getting her hopes up, I guess. I don’t know.” He took his phone out of his pocket again, put it down in front of him and looked at it absently.

  “Well, I’m grateful she at least let me know about the painting. Ettawa Maybee sounds like a bad girl. She liked cursing people, intimidating them, and she apparently crossed the wrong person. I hope we can figure out why she would be after Josh. Do you think she had anything to do with the guy who got murdered in the cemetery? Or is it a coincidence? Midas, are you listening? I’m not sure you are. What’s going on? Is it Cassidy?”

  He was tapping on his phone. “No, it’s not Cassidy. It’s Sara. She’s threatening to sue me—again. She’s decided she wants all the Gulf Coast Paranormal stuff. She wants me out, and honestly, I think she might be right. I’m losing team members. I have no funding. I’m unorganized and can’t find a damn thing in my office. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

  “That’s a damn lie, Midas Demopolis! You don’t need Sara, and you don’t need Cassidy. Grow a pair! Get it together, because we’ve got to help Joshua! Even if it’s just you and me. I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”

  He shrugged and looked defeated, but he gave me the best smile he could muster. “Right, I know. Well, as far as I can tell, we need to canvas that entire cemetery, especially the older part. We need to do some EVPs, see if Ettawa will communicate with us. If she really can make the dead rise to do her bidding, I want to know about it.”

  “She’s in a talking mood. Cassidy promised her that she would help her find Leo. She left me her audio device, said she caught some EVPs on there. We’ll see.”

  “Geesh, that girl. Well, now we have no choice. You don’t make promises to voodoo queens, even dead ones, if you can’t keep them. If I can arrange it, I’ll talk to Carla Trapper. Can you call Bob too? Get his account of this? We might as well officially invite him to be a part of this investigation.”

  “Sure, I plan on pulling an all-nighter. By our nine o’clock meeting, I’m going to know everything I can about Ettawa Maybee and her son. I’d better go home and get started. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Little Sister. I’ll meet you at the office at nine. Do try to get at least a few hours of sleep.”

  “Good night, Midas.” I kissed his cheek and hugged him as he rose to walk me out.

  “You sure you’re okay to be alone?” he asked with a worried look. “You don’t need me to come over?”

  “No, I don’t need you to come over. You need to see Cassidy. Tell her how you feel. Tell her, Midas!”

  I got in my car and drove away. What a weird night. I looked up and noticed that the moon was almost full.

  Yeah, weird things always happened when there was a full moon. I shuddered and pulled my sweater closer around me. Yep, this investigation was going to be a weird one, but we had to get it right.

  Even if we weren’t going to be together, I couldn’t lose Joshua. Not to a dead woman.

  Chapter Seven—Ettawa

  Hiding in the cedars, she stood in the rain waiting for the moment when Gosling would snuff out his candle for the night. She could see him poring over his holy books, but it wouldn’t do him any good. Ettawa was in the right, and the reverend would soon know the truth. A whippoorwill warned her to leave, but she refused to heed him and shivered at hearing the omen. When it grew tired of warning her, the frustrated bird would fly away. There were no stars out tonight. Yes, it was almost completely dark now, and she needed the darkness. It would cover her, keep her safe.

  This kind of deed required darkness. Ettawa shed her clothing as she waited, rolling her gown and slip and shoes up in a ball and hiding them inside an empty old log. Except for her petticoat, she was completely bare. In her hand, she held a small rusty dagger she’d found near the swamp. She’d taken that as a sign of luck and cleaned it as best she could. It would do for what she needed it for. She clutched the leather-bound handle tighter as she waited. Ettawa wouldn’t kill the man—no, that wasn’t her intention—but he would tell her where to find her Leo. Oh yes, he would tell and tell it loud! If he didn’t, it wouldn’t be so lucky for him. And whether he knew it or not, preaching men needed luck too.

  The candle began to move. Ettawa saw its meager light despite the cold, unending rain that poured down on her. These tall, cylindrical trees did not
hing to shield her from the rain, but no matter. Let the raindrops be her tears, for she had none left; she dared not cry now, not until she held Leo in her arms.

  She watched the candlelight bounce up the staircase. She waited until it went out for good and then made her move. Scanning the yard for servants or slaves, for even preaching men liked having people to order about, she walked toward the small parsonage. It was very near the cemetery and just behind the church. Ettawa had no problem with the church; it was the church folks that had a problem with her. They called her “Witch!” and “Harlot!” but she was neither of those things. She didn’t practice witchcraft—she simply offered voodoo knowledge to the people that wanted it. She liked hearing the church’s music and often sat outside humming along to the many hymns they sang on Sunday mornings.

  And she was no harlot. She’d foolishly loved one man, Quincy Justice, loved him like he was the only thing that mattered until he tried to cut her out of her own business. He was a deceiver, like that snake in the garden, the one the preacher man liked to talk about so much. She too had been deceived by a snake. A beautiful white snake with a dazzling smile and all the carnal knowledge a man would ever need. It had been the only time in her life when she hadn’t listened to her rational mind.

  Ettawa walked onto the porch and opened the reverend’s unlocked door. Her feet were muddy, but she walked right in, as quietly as possible. She didn’t bother closing the door. She didn’t expect to be here long, and nobody else lived out here in this thicket of woods. There would surely be no churchgoers calling this late at night. She had no worries that anyone would find her. Gosling had only one servant, a lazy man named Wyatt who had a hankering for female company. And that hankering outweighed any fear of reprimand Gosling might administer. Ettawa made sure Wyatt slipped out to lie with his mistress tonight; she’d had the girl’s help in this. No sense in killing two men when only one needed to die. But she wasn’t going to murder him, right? She smiled in the dark.

  She’d never been in Gosling’s house before, but even in the dim light, she could see it was a miserable place, far shabbier than the Creole mansion she had shared with Quincy until just a few weeks ago. There were no carpets in here; her wet feet slapped on the bare wooden floor. They sounded loud to her, but she did not back down from her plan. She did not need a candle to see the way. She used her hands to feel her way up the stairs, clenching the blade in her teeth. She would slip up on him, straddle him and shove the knife under his chin if he didn’t tell her immediately where he’d hidden Leo. For he had to know. He had plotted with Quincy. And as it was difficult to get to him right now—Quincy was holed up at their house with his new wife and five slaves—this seemed her only option.

  “Leo, your Momma is coming for you, son.” Ettawa sent him a message with her mind without any expectation that he would hear it. It was likely he wouldn’t, but what if he could? Desperation rose in her, and she continued up the stairs.

  She heard the reverend coughing and releasing gas, both in explosive ways. Hm…perhaps, if she was patient, the Lord Above would kill the old bastard without any help from her. But she wasn’t that patient. A day without Leo was like a slice of death. She couldn’t leave him at the mercy of Quincy—or Gosling, for that matter.

  “Who’s there? I heard you out there! Is that you, Wyatt? Empty my chamber pot. That dinner you made me nearly poisoned me, and it stinks to high heaven in here.”

  Ettawa froze in her tracks. It was now or never. What to do? Breathing hard and shivering, she waited on the top stair for Gosling. He would emerge soon, wouldn’t he? And then she would have her chance. She stepped off the stair and onto the landing. It squeaked beneath her feet.

  “Wyatt?” the preacher called, sounding a little less sure of himself now. She didn’t answer. Now that she knew he was awake, she would not go in there. She would wait for him to come out. Yes, that was a better plan. And then she heard the fat man grunt and groan as he got out of his creaking bed. He shuffled out into the hallway with no candle. “Wyatt! Where are you hiding now? I know where you’ve been, and you’re lucky that I’m not well enough to lash you. Come now, tend to your master.”

  Suddenly, he lit a match and touched it to the wick of a stubby candle he held in his hand. Ettawa didn’t gasp or move from her spot. She gripped the knife in her hand as she watched him. “What in God’s name are you doing here? Who let you in here? And what’s that you have?”

  “I want my son, Gosling. I want my son tonight. I waited all day for Quincy to bring him, but I won’t wait another. Tell me where he is—now!” She poked her knife toward him and heard the fat man puff exasperatedly.

  “Spawn of Satan! Do you dare come against a man of God? In my own home? Do you know what the punishment for murder is? Murder of one of God’s ministers? You will hang for this; I will make sure you do, Ettawa. Voodoo queen, indeed. You’re nothing more than…”

  He lunged toward her, his candle hitting the floor with a thump that extinguished its weak flame. Obviously, his move was an attempt to take the knife from her, but the reverend was neither smart enough nor quick enough to retrieve it from her hands. As he groped her, he missed the first step of the staircase and began to tumble as she pushed his hand away. Still clutching her knife as she leaned back, she pressed herself back against the wall. Gosling had not been so fortunate. He continued to roll down the stairs like a child’s ball until he came to a stop near the bottom of the staircase, his head in a twisted, awkward position. It hadn’t stormed all night, but suddenly, there was lightning. As a big blue bolt of light illuminated the room, she could see she was not alone.

  Quincy Justice, the man she once loved with all her heart and soul, stood at the bottom of the stairs. He squatted beside the reverend, touched the man’s broken neck and sprang to his feet. “You’ve killed him, Ettawa. You’ve murdered the reverend. You’ll burn for this, or at the very least, they’ll hang you.”

  She moved down the stairs quickly to confront him. “I did nothing! You did this! You took my son from me! I want my son, Quincy!” Remembering the blade in her hand, she ran down the stairs toward him and in a second, without thinking, shoved the knife into his belly. “Where is my son?” He screamed like a pig bound for slaughter. He fell back on the ground next to Gosling, the knife still lodged in his belly. She knelt beside him and stared him in the face. “You see what I’m willing to do. Where is he? Where is Leo?” She gripped the knife again and threatened to twist it.

  “No! Don’t! He’s in the spring house. The boy is in the spring house! You’ll find him safe and sound. Now leave me be. Oh God, Ettawa! I think you’ve killed me too!” Without knowing why she bothered, she removed her petticoat and pressed it to his wound. With her last breath, she would wonder why she did that, why she didn’t finish him then, why she cared at that moment. Maybe it was because she believed that she would find Leo and bring him home and that all would be well.

  Yes, she would regret this the rest of her short life. But now, she ran. She ran in the rain, stopping first to grab her bundle of clothing, which she quickly slid onto her trembling body. She ran through the woods to the Red Hill Mansion—it was a long run, but she could make it in an hour or so. She knew where this spring was—at the back of their property. It was a stone room, a cold room, built over an artesian well. Quincy liked to store barrels in there. It helped keep the whiskey cold, and the dark liquid had a smoother flavor when it spent a few months in the spring house. And now her Leo was there.

  Ettawa ran through the woods, tripping over stumps and being slapped by the odd branch. The house was only five miles from Gosling’s, but it might as well have been a hundred. She knew that the sheriff would be hot on her heels soon if Quincy managed to live.

  And yes, he would live. At least for a while.

  She couldn’t be so lucky as to see him die. Not in this lifetime.

  Chapter Eight—Cassidy

  “Hi,” I said with a smile to the lady behind the counter of the Hu
llabaloo Laundromat. I’d never seen her before, but I hadn’t been here in quite some time. Thankfully, my apartment hadn’t had any recent power outages. I was here today for an entirely different reason. “I’m looking for Joshua McBride. Is he in today?”

  “Is this concerning a dry-cleaning order? Because those don’t usually come in until three or so in the afternoon.” Then her brow furrowed, revealing thick lines between her eyes. “Or is this about something else?”

  I wouldn’t allow her frown to deter me. “It’s not business-related. Well, not laundry business, anyway. Is he here?”

  “If Sierra sent you…”

  Before I could argue with her, Joshua walked through the swinging doors behind the counter.

  “Hi, Cassidy. I’ve got this, Mom.”

  With an angry glance in my direction, Mrs. McBride walked away from the counter and headed to the back. The door flapped closed behind her, but I suspected she hadn’t gone that far—she was probably listening to us right now.

  “You here to pick up an order? I don’t remember seeing your name on our list.” Joshua began typing on the computer, searching for my name.

  “No. No order, but if you’ve got a second, I would like to talk to you. Please. It’s important.”

  “Look, I know you and Sierra are friends, but this doesn’t concern you if you’re wondering about my leaving her. No offense.”

  “I’m not offended, but that’s not why I’m here. And yes, Sierra and I are friends, but I’m your friend too, Josh. If you’d let me be. I have something to show you, something that concerns you.” I saw Mrs. McBride’s blond head peek through the Plexiglas window. “Would you mind stepping outside for a minute?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Mom, I’ll be right back.” He walked around the counter, and we headed outside. It was a lovely day, and there was a small patio with a table and two chairs outside. Immediately, Joshua lit up a cigarette and dragged the trash can over to his chair so he could flick his butt when he finished.