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

by M. L. Bullock

  “Your thoughts, Cassidy?” Midas stood beside me. I’d planted myself in front of the painting for at least five minutes, studying the lines, looking for hints on how this artist worked. No doubt he was masterful, with smooth lines and quick but careful movements. So much detail. Every stroke held meaning.

  “Well, I’m not really sure what to say.” I rubbed my bottom lip with my finger and stepped closer to the canvas. “As I said before, I have never heard of this artist, but I can see why people were drawn to him. While the subject matter disturbs me, the man’s technique is exceptional. Smooth lines. No hesitation strokes, shading and brushing perfect. Helen, are you sure this is Darren Carpenter? Maybe it’s just a child with an uncanny resemblance?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. That’s the bathing suit the boy was wearing. That balustrade there, that’s from Dixie House. But that thing…” She shuddered as she pointed at the shadowy image. “I have no earthly idea who or what that is.”

  “Well, either Noelle knew something, or…” I didn’t want to finish the thought.

  Midas did it for me. “Or he was a visionary painter, like you.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  Sierra took photos of the painting and asked some follow-up questions about it and about Helen’s cousin, but I couldn’t do much of anything except stare at the boy with the frightened eyes and that shadowy hand. Were those eyes peering back from the shadowy thing?

  “Cassidy? Did you hear me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. What?”

  “Two tomorrow, okay? We will do the walk-through together, all of us. Put together a game plan. Do you think you could do something with this?”

  “Like what? Paint a happy face on it?” I didn’t mean to sound mean. It just sort of fell out of my mouth.

  “I just meant maybe you could connect with this kid through your painting, but whatever.”

  “Sorry, Sierra. I guess this portrait has really thrown me for a loop. I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. You know what’s weird? Before you guys got here, I found wet footprints in my apartment. Twice. Small ones, like the kind a kid or a petite woman would leave behind. Now this is here. It’s disturbing.”

  “Geesh. Are you kidding?”

  I shook my head.

  Midas said, “Let’s meet at Dixie House at two tomorrow. Is that all right with everyone? We’ll do our first walk-through, and the first investigation will be tomorrow night. Helen, you can show us the hot spots, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “Thank you, Midas. Thank you all. If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll sit this investigation out beyond showing you where to start. But I will be around if you need anything. Of course, you will have complete access to the entire house.”

  “Sounds great.” Midas hugged her, and they huddled together to talk about the details.

  “Sierra, I don’t think I want this here. I mean, I hope you understand. She’s not expecting to leave it with me, is she?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Joshua and Pete can take it out of here.” The guys were in the kitchen pouring themselves something to drink. “I wonder why in the world Midas brought Peter here. He has a heart of gold, but sometimes that’s not a good thing. Keep an eye out for him, Cassidy. He needs you.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Ten minutes later, I was by myself. Even Midas begrudgingly left. He couldn’t very well stick around with Peter Broadus tagging along. I didn’t mind. Although I loved the idea of getting lost in Midas’ big, strong arms, I did need a minute to think. Thankfully, Helen whisked the portrait away, but the residue remained.

  And just like I knew I would, despite my snappy attitude toward Sierra, I moved the easel to my painting spot and slid a blank canvas on it. While my brain worked, I dug yesterday’s leftover salad from the fridge. I tried to jazz it up, but the lettuce had wilted and the dressing was anything but fresh.

  After a few halfhearted stabs at the green mess with a fork, an idea came to me.

  No, not an idea. An image.

  And I began to paint.

  Chapter Five—Erma Pettaway

  Mobile, Alabama, 1975

  Every time Erma walked to Dixie House, she could feel eyes watching her. People thought she killed her great-nephew—how could they think such evil things? I wouldn’t harm that boy for nothing. Not for nothing. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She was sure the neighborhood gossips were watching her, judging her. Praying that she, Erma Pettaway, would go straight to hell like a bullet. How dare they? She hadn’t done a thing to that boy, except love him like he was her own. She’d never had children, so when Darren came into her life she was more than happy to shower him with every bit of love she had. Just like she loved his daddy.

  Erma dabbed the tears from her eyes again just thinking about her last conversation with Cash. He wouldn’t come back to Mobile. He said he didn’t have time. Before they talked, she thought maybe he was half convinced that she’d done something to Darren. Afterward, she knew he was. “You sure you didn’t let him go with Peaches? That would sure show me, wouldn’t it, Auntie? Show me for not coming to that birthday party.” His voice had been crueler than she’d ever heard it, and her heart could barely take it. She felt like she’d stepped into some horrible other dimension where the people you loved hated you.

  “Glory, Cash. Glory be. You know I would not harm a hair on that baby’s head. Glory! I would never send that baby off with that woman. How can you say that?”

  “Then what happened to Darren, Auntie? What happened?”

  She couldn’t help herself. She’d been so patient with Cash all his life, so patient and considerate of his time and his feelings, even when he did wrong. Even when he didn’t show the kind of love and attention a father should show a son. Erma let the words fly out of her mouth. “If you’d been here, you would know! Wouldn’t you?”

  And then Cash hung up on her. They hadn’t talked since, and for the first time in her life she was determined not to be the first one to call. He would have to reach out and at the very least apologize.

  Dixie quietly greeted her when she got to the house. Every day Erma expected the woman to fire her, if only because half the city was talking about her. If a hundred thousand strangers are convinced you’re guilty, then you must be guilty, right? She’d even heard people whisper that maybe she’d had one of those nervous breakdowns, the kind that all the celebrities were having nowadays. But Erma was no celebrity. Maybe she did do something?

  “Come inside, Erma. It’s hot out today. You want a glass of iced tea?”

  “That would be too kind, Miss Dixie.” She slowly walked to the dining room table and waited. Miss Dixie obviously planned to fire her, or so she had imagined a hundred times since last year.

  I guess ten months is too long to keep a murderer around. But I’m not a killer. That’s my baby! My own flesh and blood!

  “Here you are, Erma. And I brought us a plate of cookies.”

  “Thank you, Miss Dixie.” She smiled halfheartedly and accepted one of the hard cookies from the plate. Miss Dixie loved baking cookies, but she wasn’t good at it. At least when she did it, you knew she cared about you.

  “You hear anything else about Darren recently? I see that they did a piece on him in the paper. Talking about how special he was at school and how upstanding his father is.”

  Erma put the cookie back on the plate. She wasn’t hungry anyway, and she didn’t think her teeth were up to fighting with those cookies. “Did they? I guess I don’t much read the paper anymore.” She sniffed and sipped her tea.

  “I know this has been hard on you, Erma. I want you to know I’m with you. You have a friend in me. I know how much you love that boy. He’ll be back, you’ll see.”

  As Miss Dixie spoke, a cloud passed in front of the big bay window, blocking out the sun for a few seconds. Miss Dixie didn’t seem to notice the massive, fleeting shadow, but Erma had seen it and it sent an arrow of fear up her spine. Without warning s
he walked to the window and looked out over the pool. To her surprise, she saw a big splash of water, like someone had just dived in. “Is someone swimming today, Miss Dixie?” She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

  “No, no one is supposed to be. We have no guests until the weekend.”

  Miss Dixie got up and stood beside her, but the water had stopped moving now. There were no more splashes. The two women went outside to look into the water.

  There was no one there. Nothing was in the pool besides clear, blue water. Miss Dixie put her hand on Erma’s arm and patted it. “It’s been a strange day. Let me tell you what happened when I was in the laundry room earlier. Well, I went down there to wash those towels, the new ones we got last week. I was pulling them out of the dryer when…”

  Erma tuned her out. She didn’t care about what Miss Dixie might have seen in the basement. She saw things there all the time now that Darren was gone. Before his disappearance she’d heard the odd whisper and sometimes found her keys in the wrong place, but that hadn’t frightened her. Now Erma wondered if somehow, some way, the ghosts in the house had gotten her great-nephew. It seemed impossible, but having the boy disappear into thin air was pretty impossible too.

  “Oh, Lord. That phone has been ringing nonstop this morning. That’s what I meant to talk to you about.”

  Erma followed Miss Dixie back into the house. So this was how it would end. She wouldn’t be working at Dixie House anymore. The phone calls had done it. Probably more newspaper folks wanting an interview or the police demanding just one more lie detector test. She wouldn’t do it. Enough was enough!

  “Have a seat. I wanted to tell you that you only have to work half a day today. I’m still going to pay you for the whole day, but I think it’s best that you leave. You see, I have some people coming over, a group of spiritualists who think they may be able to help us find Darren. Now, I know how you feel about that kind of thing—”

  “I don’t like that, Miss Dixie. I don’t want them praying over me or nothing like that. You know what I believe. I believe in the Lord Almighty, and that’s it.”

  “I know that, and I respect you, but I think they can help us. You’ll have to leave at noon and come back tomorrow. They’ll be gone by then.” Miss Dixie smiled sweetly as she smoothed her short, ash blond hair. Today she wore a green silk pantsuit with a coral-colored neck scarf. Even her lipstick was coral-colored. She’d been so kind to Erma and for that, the housekeeper would forgive her for just about anything. Even colluding with the devil. Erma made a mental note to pray for Miss Dixie’s soul a little harder. Maybe she’d anoint the house with oil again soon. Yes, that’s what she’d do, as soon as the weirdos left Dixie House.

  “All right, you know best. What can I do for you today?”

  “We’ve got laundry to finish. All the beds have to be stripped and aired. And can you believe it? It’s been a whole month since we cleaned the wood. I’ll help you, though. You won’t have to do it yourself.”

  Erma didn’t argue with that proposal. Dixie House had acres of nooks and crannies that needed to be dusted. She’d certainly be busy if she was expected to get all that done in half a day. “I’d think we better start with those beds first. If I have to, I can always dust the wood after they leave, but in the meantime, they are going to need clean, fresh beds.”

  For the next few hours, Erma worked hard, as she always did. Her shoulder ached. She suspected her bursitis was flaring up, but there was nothing she could do about it. By the time she got home, she felt as if she had a toothache in her shoulder.

  That day’s short walk home took forever. She had to stop twice to catch her breath. Her hands felt cold and clammy, and occasionally she had the urge to be sick.

  Not far now, girl. Keep going!

  Erma walked up to her door and dug in her purse for her keys. When she looked up, her door stood open. Who had opened it? She stepped back in surprise, her squeaky shoes complaining about the weight they had to carry.

  “Who’s there?” she called through the open doorway. It was one o’clock in the afternoon now, but the inside of her house was dark, as if there had been a power outage. That couldn’t be right. The neighbor’s television was on full blast. She lingered on her porch, thinking that maybe she would try to contact the neighbor. Then she decided it would be an exercise in futility. He wasn’t going to hear her knocking. She lived on the unofficial “Old Folks Row,” and she had no true friends. Darren had been her whole life.

  What if Darren had come home?

  For a hopeful moment, she believed that. She stepped inside and flicked on a lamp near the door. Closing the door behind her, she reached for the telephone but then froze. There were footprints on her floor, leading from the front door to the back. Wet footprints, small, like a child’s.

  “Darren? Darren?” she called. Who would do such a thing? Were people so cruel as to torment her like this?

  The pain in her arm intensified. No, this wasn’t bursitis or arthritis. This was something else. Something she didn’t want. This was something bad. Erma leaned against the wall and, unable to move any farther, slid down clutching her chest. The pain was unbearable.

  Then she heard the footsteps coming back toward her. Wet and purposeful. She was sitting on the floor now trying to breathe, and the pain was so great that she couldn’t piece together two words, much less call for help, Erma watched the wet footprints come toward her.

  And then she saw her, a woman, a petite woman wearing a black gown—no, that was a negligee—and red lipstick. Oh heavens, what is she doing here? Help me…

  It hadn’t been Darren after all. He was gone, then. He wasn’t coming back. As the woman leaned closer, speaking with tears in her eyes, Erma tried to listen. She tried to understand, but the woman’s voice sounded as if she were underwater.

  Erma closed her eyes. She closed them and never opened them again.

  Chapter Six—Midas

  “What? No Peter today?” Sierra asked with a smirk on her face. I wasn’t sure what her deal was, but Peter Broadus wasn’t a subject I really wanted to chat about. Ever since she and Josh decided to stay together, Little Sister had been acting like a real pain in the ass. It was like she had something to prove.

  “No, he had an appointment…or something.”

  Sierra handed me the box of batteries that I’d spent five minutes looking for. “Men. Can’t find anything, even when it’s right in front of your face.” That confirmed it; she was in a real mood this afternoon. I thought she’d say something else about Pete, but she stopped her sniping and wrapped her arms around herself as she studied the house. “This place gives me the creeps, Midas. I get that this is for Helen and all, but I don’t like it.”

  “You say that every time we begin an investigation. You’re a sensitive—you’re supposed to be getting the creeps.” I glanced over my shoulder at Dixie House. It was an incredibly well-preserved Victorian home with cookie-cutter shingles and neat, perfectly painted half-latticed porches. A spindly cast iron gate encircled the house, and tucked neatly within the yard was an assortment of small trees, towered over by a large palm. I could see two stories and an attic space. With those floors and the basement, we might have our hands full. I liked that.

  “Let’s lock it up good and tight, Josh. Cassidy, you ready?”

  “Yep,” she said, sounding less enthusiastic than I expected.

  “You folks come on inside,” Helen greeted us with a warm smile as she stood with the door wide open. I smelled cookies baking and couldn’t help but smile back. I had never been to Dixie House before, but I’d heard good things about the place. It was a Mobile landmark—a top-notch bed-and-breakfast that specialized in personal service. I was happy to see that Helen would keep the place in operation. If the smell of baking cookies didn’t win the public over, nothing would.

  “Thanks, Helen.” I said. I heard Josh hit the lock on the SUV, and together we streamed into Dixie House. Although it was a beautiful neighborhood, it wa
s prone to crime like any downtown area.

  As if she read my mind, Helen pointed at the security keypad to the right of the door. “This place has a top-notch security system. I have cameras here and there,” she said, pointing to either side of her front porch, “and also on the other two corners of the house in the back. In fact, I have some video I want to show you and your team later. But for now, let’s get that door closed. Please, step into the kitchen.” She smiled nervously. Many of our clients felt nervous about having paranormal investigators on the property, but Helen at least knew how we operated. I would still do my best to put her mind at ease.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, I baked y’all some cookies. Help yourself if you get hungry. We have no guests at the moment, so you have free rein to every room, but I want to show you the hot spots like you asked.”

  “That sounds great, Helen. Thank you for inviting us into Dixie House. This place looks great already; I can’t imagine you’d have much to do here in the way of construction. We want to help you uncover what’s going on here. If you don’t mind, I’m going to record our session together.” I showed her the device, and she nodded. Clicking the record button, I put the machine on the table between us.

  “I am glad you all came out. I do want to put my best foot forward with the house, and I can’t have guests leaving in the middle of the night. It’s bad for business.”

  “Wow, that’s happened?” Sierra asked as she stole a cookie from the tray.

  “Yes, but it isn’t just the guests. We all feel uncomfortable here from time to time. It wasn’t that way before, even after the little boy disappeared.”

  “It must be the construction. It sometimes stirs up more than Sheetrock dust,” Josh added.

  “Where would you like to begin, Helen?” I asked.

  “First, let’s step out to the pool. That’s where Darren Carpenter went missing and where I caught something extraordinary on my video camera last night. It looked to me like someone jumped in the pool because there was a big splash, but you can’t see anyone on the recording. Nothing fell in, either; I looked when I saw it. However, I did find wet footprints around the pool. You know, if I hadn’t been passing by the monitor, I would have never seen any of it. To tell you the truth, I don’t review the videos like I should. Who has time for that, unless you’ve been robbed or suspect some crime? That was a bit of luck, I think.”