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

by M. L. Bullock

  “Sure.” I hurried off to the kitchen tool drawer and returned with a mini light. I moved the beam from one side to the other as Midas reached under the couch and pulled out a book. But it wasn’t one of my art books. It was my high school yearbook.

  “Does this look familiar?” he asked as he handed it to me.

  “Yeah, it’s mine, but I thought this was in my storage unit in the basement. I haven’t looked at this thing in years.” Sitting on the couch, I rubbed my shaking hand over the dusty cover. “This was from my senior year. A few years before Kylie disappeared. Why would she want me to look at this?” I flipped open the book and nearly passed out. Inside the pages, I found a thin red ribbon, like the one I’d painted. I’d never owned a red ribbon; these kinds of ribbons were popular at my high school, but I’d forgotten since I’d never been a ribbon sort of girl. I pulled it out and showed it to Sierra and Midas. “Look at this.”

  “What’s on that page? Don’t close the book!” Sierra rushed to my side and took the book from me. “Okay, it’s a staff page. Teachers and coaches. Anyone look familiar?”

  “Yes, they all do,” I said, not following what she was asking.

  Midas leaned closer and peered at the pages. “I think Sierra is asking whether any of these faces stand out to you. Did any of them know both you and Kylie?”

  I took the book back and ran my fingers over each picture. I pointed to the photo of a pretty blonde with short curly hair. “Mrs. Turner was my mom’s friend, but she moved to Hawaii before Kylie disappeared. I’d forgotten about her.” I kept looking through the images until my eyes fell on Coach Hayden Prior. I tapped his picture with my finger. “Coach Prior lived on our cul-de-sac. He wasn’t, like, best friends with our dad, but he did coach Kylie in softball for a little while. He’s dead now. He died of a heart attack about a year after Kylie disappeared.”

  “Was he married? Did he have any kids?” Midas asked.

  “He was divorced, I think, but he had a daughter. What was her name? Andrea, maybe. Sometimes she came over to watch a movie or something, but she was timid and quiet. I think my rambunctious sister was too much for her because she stopped coming over. I can’t believe he’d have anything to do with Kylie’s disappearance. The police questioned him, and he must have gotten the all-clear if that was all they did.”

  “I think that’s enough for tonight.” Midas squeezed my hand. “How about that wine you promised me?”

  “Okay,” I said with a small smile. I handed him the ribbon and the book, happy to not have to touch either of them again for the foreseeable future. “Sierra, would you help me out? Please cover that up.”

  “Sure, doll. I can do that.” Setting the recorder down on the coffee table, she tossed the sheet back over the painting as Midas helped me uncork the bottle.

  Two glasses of wine later, my friends were cleaning up the leftover food and getting their gear together. It was nearly nine o’clock and I was tired, thanks to the wine and the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on.

  “You sure you’re going to be all right?” Midas asked at the door before they left.

  “I’m sure of it. I swear.”

  “I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”

  “Thank you for that.” I kissed his cheek and hugged Sierra’s neck before closing the door behind them. I waited to hear the elevator ding, signaling they were gone, and then I locked the doors and headed to the bedroom.

  What a night! Even though it was in no way official yet, I knew I’d gotten closer to the answers I wanted. Kylie was gone, gone in a horrible, permanent way, but there was still a chance I could bring her home. If I could find her. I sighed and tried not to picture Coach Prior’s face, his hands on Kylie’s shoulders as he positioned her at the plate, his wide smile as he cheered her on at her first ballgame. He’d even rewarded her with a new catcher’s mitt. I shivered at what else I might remember if I continued to turn over those long-forgotten rocks.

  That’s when I spied Midas’ digital recorder on the coffee table. I turned out the living room lamp, picked up the recorder and carried it with me to the bedroom. I heard the pitter-patter of rain splashing against my window. My company had left just in time. Maybe they would get home before the rain got any heavier.

  Turning the device over in my hands, I pondered taking a listen. The chances of hearing anything other than our voices were slim to none, but I had to try. I felt as compelled to listen as I sometimes felt forced to paint. I let the recorder play as I changed into my pajamas. As I slid the drawer out to find a comfortable nightgown, I heard her. Racing to the recorder, I rewound the tape back ten seconds. I turned the volume all the way up and waited.

  Then I heard her speak. Softly, quietly and finally.

  Goodbye, Cassidy…

  A Haunting at Dixie House

  Book Five

  Gulf Coast Paranormal Series

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2017 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved

  Dedication

  For my many cousins. Do you recognize any of this?

  Prologue

  Mobile, Alabama, 1974

  “You dressed for swimming, Darren? We’ll be heading to the pool soon. Miss Dixie is expecting us. You got your goggles and your bucket? Oh yes, you are ready!” Darren Carpenter’s great-aunt Erma chuckled at the sight of the skinny boy wearing his shortie swimmers and ridiculously large swimming goggles. So much like his daddy. Erma was heartbroken that Cash hadn’t come today; after all, it was his boy’s sixth birthday. Cash had missed last year’s birthday party and the one before that too. If she didn’t know her nephew better, she could well believe that Cash didn’t have any intention of coming back for his son.

  “Please, Auntie. Just keep him for a few months, until he finishes school.”

  Later that became, “The Navy is sending me to Pensacola, Auntie. Could he stay with you a little while longer?” She never said no. He always sent money—he was generous with the financial aspect but not with his time. And as Erma was now in her sixties, she knew that time was the most important thing of all. She hoped Cash would learn that before it was too late, but she wouldn’t think any more on that today. Thankfully, her light-hearted great-nephew didn’t ask about his father much anymore. All of Erma’s friends told her she did a fine job raising him, so she continued on and hoped for the best.

  “Come on, Darren. Let’s walk over to the pool now. It looks like it might storm, but I sure hope not. I got you a towel and packed us a lunch. Want to guess what it is?”

  “Tuna fish?”

  “Correct, sir!”

  He skipped alongside her as together they walked down Winter Place and strolled to the back door of Dixie House, where Erma spent most of her time. She served here as head housekeeper, a job she was proud of. She loved taking care of this fine place. She believed it was the closest she would ever come to possessing a house such as this. Maybe Darren would do better than she had, or even his father. Hopefully, the boy would take inspiration from her work ethic and work really hard to make something of himself.

  Erma used her key to enter the grand Victorian home with the beautiful dark blue siding; Dixie Devry Powell, the current owner of the house, was waiting for her. “Come inside, Erma and Darren. The pool is right through that door there, young man. How much you’ve grown! Are you a good swimmer?” Miss Dixie welcomed them inside with a polite smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. Auntie takes me to the YMCA every week, and they teach you real good how to swim. May I go now?” He looked up at his great-aunt with those soft brown eyes, and she smiled back.

  “Yes, but no showing off on that diving board. I’ll be right there, Darren.”

  Erma and Dixie hugged, and Erma thanked her employer again for hosting Darren’s birthday party. “It’s such a nice thing to do. I can’t say thank you enough. I sent invitations to all the children in his class, but I only received a few RSVPs. I guess we can expect ten at the most.
Did the cake arrive? I’m dying to see it!” As they went about getting the surprise birthday party ready, Erma got lost in the details and forgot to check in on her great-nephew. She forgot a lot of things lately, like where she put her keys or her purse and yes, even where Darren was, but he never went far. He loved his Auntie and didn’t make a fuss when she insisted on cutting his hair herself or taking him to the doctor for every cough or sniffle.

  “I better check on Darren. He’s very quiet.” Erma excused herself from blowing up balloons and draping crepe paper around the chandelier. She felt a chill; maybe that rainstorm would actually blow in now. Summer storms were pretty unpredictable in Mobile, Alabama. Sometimes they blew in, and sometimes they fizzled out. It would be nice if they could keep the party outdoors, at least for her sake. She would certainly have to clean up whatever got dirtied in the house today. But Erma didn’t mind. It was sweet of Miss Dixie to suggest using the place for the party.

  She poked her head out the French doors just in time to see Darren take a dive off the board. He wore his goggles and nose plugs, just like she asked him to. He jumped off, plunged down and popped back up like a brown cork. Her great-nephew wasted no time climbing back up the ladder, hurrying to the diving board, plunging down again and popping up once more. He was a natural swimmer. A water baby. She waved at him as he dived again and shook her head in amusement as she went back inside. Glancing up at the grandfather clock, she felt worried. It was 11:30 now, and the party was at noon. What if no one came? What if nobody wanted to swim with her mixed-race baby?

  “Humph,” she made a sound as she opened a package of crackers and arranged them around a plastic tray. They better not say one word to my boy. Not one!

  “I am afraid I have to go, Erma. Andrew wants me to meet him at the Dauphine Club. Have fun. Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

  “You have been so kind to us, Miss Dixie. Thank you for suggesting this. I can’t think of a thing.”

  The woman smiled sweetly and waved goodbye. “Oh, one more thing, Erma. Please keep the guests out of the attic. I can’t imagine they would want to go up there, but you know children can be quite curious. Anyway, I have some expensive art stored up there—just came in this morning—and I wouldn’t want it damaged.”

  “I will do it, Miss Dixie. No one is going up those stairs.”

  “Wonderful. Y’all have a good time, and I’ll be back at four o’clock on the dot.” Although it had been a polite thing to invite Erma to use Dixie House for Darren’s birthday party, Erma understood Miss Dixie’s message: Have this place emptied out and cleaned by the time I return at four.

  Still, Erma smiled and waved and focused on the task at hand. At least Cash paid for the child’s cake, she thought as she opened the box. Scooby-Doo had been Darren’s favorite since day one. Erma found a baker that could make a Scooby-Doo cake, and it turned out beautifully. Well worth the twenty dollars she paid for it. She couldn’t resist tasting a tiny bit of icing, something she would never allow Darren to do.

  At ten minutes till twelve, the doorbell rang. Erma scrambled as fast as she could to the door, happy to see two of Darren’s classmates standing there with their mother. “Hello, I’m Erma Pettaway, Darren’s auntie.”

  “Hi, Erma, I’m Rita. We met at the PTA meeting a few weeks ago. These are my twins, Roger and James. Thank you for the invitation. We’ve never been to Dixie House before, and the boys do like Darren, so I thought why not?”

  Erma didn’t know quite what to think about the woman’s confession. “Thank you for coming to Darren’s birthday party, but remember it’s a surprise! In about five minutes, I am going to call him in here. We’ll hide and then jump out and shout ‘surprise’ together! How does that sound?”

  “Ooh…great!” James said. Erma could tell he really just wanted to go swimming.

  “What can we help with, Erma?”

  “Would you mind helping me run these streamers along the railing there? That’s going to look so nice.”

  One of the twins found the radio and began flipping through the channels. “Not too loudly now. We don’t want to ruin the surprise,” she warned them with a smile. She glanced at the clock again. Time to face the facts, Erma. Nobody else is coming. Just these two boys. Might as well let them all go swim and be done with it. “On second thought, why don’t you boys go play with Darren? Seeing his friends here will be enough of a surprise for him. We don’t have to jump out at him and scare him.”

  “Oh, man. I would have loved to scare him, but thank you. I’m dying to swim!”

  Erma glanced at the boy. That was exactly what Darren said when they arrived at Dixie House. Must be something young people say nowadays. When you get as old as I am, you won’t mention death quite so cavalierly.

  The boys ran out of the dining room and headed straight for the pool. Erma didn’t hear the expected screams of excitement; she didn’t hear anything at all. While Rita hung up more streamers, Erma walked to the French doors to see what was wrong.

  Because something was wrong.

  Now she could feel it. It felt like the morning her husband Robert died. Yes, she knew this heaviness. And strangely enough, she’d tasted pepper in the air, like someone had spilled a whole jar and it was blowing about on the wind.

  She walked out to see the twins looking around the pool in confusion. Darren’s goggles were floating in the clear water, but there was no sign of him. Oh, he probably ran to the restroom, Erma thought. They waited a few minutes, but when he didn’t show up, she checked the restroom in the cabana and found no trace of the boy. Where could he have gone to? The gate was locked. Just for morbid curiosity’s sake, she looked into the deep end of the pool. Thankfully, her great-nephew was nowhere to be found, but where had he gone?

  Rita stepped outside to help Erma locate the missing boy, but even after twenty minutes of searching, he had not returned. No other party guests arrived; minutes became hours, and there was still no sign of Darren. Erma was quickly consumed by worry and grief. What could have happened? Someone must have scaled the fence and stolen him!

  When the police arrived, Rita and her sons gave a report; they didn’t know anything at all, they told the officers. They hadn’t even seen the boy. The clear inference was that perhaps Erma had made up the entire thing. Sometimes, old people do things like this to get attention, Rita said. The police officer didn’t agree with Rita’s observation and said it seemed like a lot of work for a prank.

  Soon, Andrew and Dixie Powell returned to the bed-and-breakfast and corroborated Erma’s story. After four hours, police units rolled through the streets of Mobile in search of a light-skinned African-American child with short hair and green eyes wearing a red bathing suit and no shoes. Needless to say, the city turned out for the search. Mobile wasn’t the place for this sort of thing. It was a kid-friendly, family-friendly city, or so they wanted everyone to believe.

  The next day, Erma was inconsolable. She called Cash and gave him the bad news. When he did not offer to come home immediately, she unleashed her true feelings on him. He hung up on her.

  Another day passed. Dixie Powell offered a $10,000 reward to anyone who could help them find Darren Carpenter. The local police station kept the media updates coming until day five when none of the leads had panned out and it seemed as if the child had vanished from the face of the earth.

  Then the rumors flew, evil rumors that called Erma a murderer, even though there was no body and no proof that such an obscene thing had occurred. Erma’s heart broke over the loss of her great-nephew, the fracturing of her family and the mounting accusations against her. One night, ten months after the disappearance of Darren Carpenter, Erma had a heart attack and died on her kitchen floor.

  Dixie and Andrew Powell were saddened by the loss of their housekeeper. They never believed she had done anything to the child she had loved so much.

  But life went on.

  Dixie finally turned her attention back to the boxes of original artwork that
still awaited unveiling in the attic. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how she felt about displaying anything that a mystic had painted, but they were Noelles. Noelle paintings weren’t just magical, they were pricey, and placing a few around the bed-and-breakfast would certainly set the jealous tongues a-wagging—and they’d look good in the brochures. One painting in particular drew her interest. She’d seen the title on the wooden crate: “Unknown Boy,” and it intrigued her.

  With the help of a few household tools, she and Andrew were able to liberate the painting from the box. Dixie pulled back the packaging and took in the scene, but her delight quickly turned to confusion, sickness and worry.

  With a muffled scream, Dixie stepped away from the painting. She buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and cried until he insisted that they go downstairs and call the police. This was something they should know about.

  As they waited for the police to arrive, Andrew settled Dixie down on the couch. He even had to dig one of her Valiums out of the medicine cabinet. Soon, she was fast asleep and Andrew obediently led the cavalcade of law-enforcement officers up the narrow steps and into the attic. Unlike some attics, this place was clean with fresh paint on the walls. It was pretty much empty, except for Dixie’s growing art collection.

  “This is it, this is the one,” Andrew said as he sucked his pipe. He really wanted a cigarette right about now but was leery of leaving anyone up here alone. The atmosphere had noticeably changed, and not for the better. But the paintings had cost him a pretty penny, so he would see that they remained intact and undamaged, even the offensive one.

  Immediately, an officer began taking photos of the painting. “I’m afraid we will need to take this into evidence, sir. I will be happy to provide you with a receipt. We will return it to you after the trial, if there is one.”

  “See that you do. I want to return this to the artist,” Andrew said as he shivered and clutched his pipe.