“Interesting.” We stepped back outside into the warmth of the afternoon. “Which side of the pool? This end or the deep end?”
“The deep end,” Helen said as she waved her hand nervously toward the pool. “The camera is over there, on that balcony.”
Immediately Josh began to stroll around the pool with his tri-field meter. I didn’t expect he’d find much, and he didn’t. “Zeroes across the board, Midas.”
“What else happens out here?” I asked Helen.
“Nothing that I know of, just Darren’s disappearance and the occasional mystery splash.”
“All right. Where to next?”
“Let’s go to the basement,” she said.
“Midas, if you don’t mind I’m going to walk around out here for a while,” Sierra whispered. “I’m feeling the hint of something different.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Josh added protectively.
“Great. Be back in a few.”
The parlor of Dixie House did not disappoint. I was not one to be overly enamored with antiques and collectibles, but the place had great woodwork of beautiful white oak and pine, a fireplace in the parlor and teardrop light fixtures throughout. These touches gave the place a true Victorian feel. Unlike some historical homes I had visited, the house wasn’t stuffed with things. Whoever furnished it had done so purposefully with a great eye for space and light. The parlor was circular with burgundy velvet furniture, a grand piano and an ornate Oriental tapestry that hung neatly against a clean, white wall. It was the kind of place that people wanted to visit.
We passed through the parlor and then back through the smallish yet tidy kitchen. I was tempted to take a cookie, but I reminded myself to stay focused on the task at hand. We walked to the small wooden basement door, then Helen flipped a switch inside the stairwell and carefully navigated the rough wooden stairs in her mules.
“Pardon our progress. Unfortunately, we had to replace the stairs recently and they’re not quite finished. Mind your step, y’all.”
She waited for us at the bottom of the stairs while Cassidy walked behind me. Usually Cassidy wasn’t much for public displays of affection, but I felt her small hand in mine and squeezed it reassuringly. I sometimes forgot how new she was to the whole paranormal investigation world. Despite her skill with a paintbrush, she was still an investigator in training. I glanced behind me to give her a comforting smile, only to discover she was three steps behind me…nowhere close enough to hold my hand.
“Okay, stop a second. I felt something right here. A hand in mine. You didn’t take my hand, did you, Cassidy?”
“Uh, negative, but now I want to,” she said with a small smile.
“You two okay?” Helen called up.
“Yes, we are,” I called back. “Just looking around. Any reports of supernatural activity on these stairs?”
“None that I know of, but I don’t know any more about the history here than what I’ve told you. I think another paranormal group came through some time ago, back when Dixie ran things. She didn’t talk about it much.”
I still couldn’t shake the feeling of that ghostly hand in mine. Maybe I’d imagined it?
Cassidy walked past me when we reached the bottom of the stairs and rubbed her hands across a smooth wooden bar. “Look at this. Is this bar original to the house? Has it always been here?”
“Yes, isn’t it beautiful? It needed some attention, but we are well on our way to restoring this room. I think the folks who used to come here would approve. We’ve installed a few antique beer taps. The originals were missing, but we found these three in a box in the corner. I suppose Dixie just didn’t get around to installing them. The mirror behind the bar is original. In fact, many people say they see shadows in it. Dixie’s husband, Andrew, refused to come down here the last few years of his life.”
“Why was that?” I asked as I set the recorder on the bar.
“One night, he and Dixie were in the parlor and heard the sounds of men fighting down here. He thought perhaps someone had broken into the place and had to come down to investigate. Andrew was always one to act macho. He said that when he walked in here, it felt like there was a heated argument going on. You know how the energy changes.” Helen wiggled her fingers and shivered at the memory. “But there was nobody there. Personally, I have never had an experience down here…not a negative one, anyway. But I did imagine I heard beads rattling a few times.”
“Beads?” Cassidy asked.
“I heard beads, like a beaded dress or a handbag brushing against the wooden bar or a barstool. But that’s it. Sometimes it feels heavy down here. But creepy stuff happens upstairs too.”
“Oh, one quick thing, Helen. I painted something last night. I was hoping you could verify if this was Erma Pettaway.”
Helen accepted Cassidy’s phone and studied the screen. Without a second of delay, she confirmed our suspicions. “Yes, that was her. I’m glad this painting isn’t horrible. It’s like she’s sleeping. Did she suffer?”
“Not much, Helen. I’m sorry to show you this. She had some pain, but then she didn’t feel anything at all. The funny thing is, there was someone with her, another person. But not a living person. I couldn’t capture her with my painting, but I haven’t given up hope.”
“You aren’t saying that Erma met with foul play, are you? God, I would hate to hear that. She suffered so much already.”
“I can promise you that was not the case. She did not suffer at all. It was as everyone suspected. She died of a heart attack, or what I imagine a heart attack would feel like. I am sorry.” Cassidy accepted the phone back, and Helen gave her a big hug.
“Thank you for your help, Cassidy.”
“Hey, it’s a team thing.”
I waved the EMF detector around the room smoothly from left to right and watched it bump up to .3 a few times, but I easily traced the disturbance to a nearby electrical panel. “That’s not a bad number. Still, the EMF detector says levels are slightly elevated. Let’s make a note of that, Cassidy.”
“Okay.” Cassidy jotted down the number in her tiny notebook, and we followed Helen back up the stairs. I asked the ladies to walk up first, giving the spirit a chance to touch me again. As they moved past me, I heard a rustling sound behind me, as if someone were wadding up a piece of newspaper. I glanced around but didn’t see anything. As I climbed up the steps and began to close the door, I swore for a second I heard jazz music, the light, bouncy tinkling of a piano, but then nothing. I closed the door behind me and trailed after Helen.
This was going to be an experience to remember.
Chapter Seven—Cassidy
I hugged Sierra one last time before saying good night to the gang. This had been merely the preliminary investigation. Tomorrow night would be for all the marbles, as my sister Kylie used to say. I was excited about it. Although freaky things were occurring—the hand in Midas’ hand, the phantom swimmer in the pool and the story about Andrew Powell hearing men arguing in the basement—this case had a different feel to it. Unlike Ettawa Maybee, Erma Pettaway had done nothing to earn the sadness life gave her. She was an innocent, so helping her made me feel good about what we were doing.
I kissed my boyfriend good night and promised to call him in the morning. We had a breakfast date at Demeter’s. I wasn’t going to let him wiggle out of it, either. He didn’t bring Peter on the preliminary investigation, so maybe he was out of the picture. I sure hoped so. It wasn’t until I was walking into the building that I began to experience that familiar feeling. The compulsion, the absolute obsession that I needed to paint. The visions were starting to speak to me. Oh, God, let me get inside my apartment before I pass out. I felt dizzy and my hands were shaking, but the elevator finally came.
And out stepped Leticia. “Good evening, Cassidy. You’re out rather late, aren’t you?”
I stepped inside, poked the button on the elevator keypad and started to make my apologies when I noticed that she had disappeared. Completely disappear
ed.
I put my hands out to keep the elevator doors from closing. I stepped out and looked to the left and right. There was no one there. I was alone. Quickly, I stepped inside the elevator, and the car began sliding up. Suddenly it stopped, and a man got in with me. He wore a hat, an old-fashioned hat. In fact, his whole suit was old-fashioned. He pressed the button and leaned against the wall. His cold eyes met mine, and he stared. The stranger didn’t speak, didn’t even blink, and I had to look away. Thankfully, the doors swung open on my floor just as he was about to say something. I leaped off and saw the doors close behind me. The sight of the man’s face disappearing behind the closing elevator doors sent goose pimples trailing up and down my arms.
As I ran toward my door, I saw that the hallway was filled with people I didn’t know. Geesh, had the building manager rented out all those vacant apartments this week? Who were all these people? Each one stopped what they were doing and stared at me, saying nothing. I rattled my keys and got inside my apartment as quickly as I could. I locked every lock and even put a chair under the doorknob.
“Get a hold of yourself, Cassidy. Get a hold of yourself. You are just imagining all this. It’s not real.”
I slid my purse and jacket off and dropped them on the couch. I cautiously flipped on the lights but didn’t find any wet footprints on the floor and absolutely nothing unusual. Thankfully. I had my cell phone in my hand but refused to call Midas. This had to be just me being paranoid. Yes, the building felt wrong tonight, but I wasn’t going to run out screaming. I was an investigator. I got out the tools of my trade, including a digital recorder, an EMF detector and of course all my paint supplies. I needed to paint, if I could calm down long enough. I turned on the digital recorder. “This is Cassidy, in the apartment. I’m walking around with the EMF detector. It’s flat—no, wait! I’m getting something. .4, .5. Oh my gosh! It’s .7, now it’s 1. No, that’s 2. What the heck is going on here?”
I waved the EMF detector around my apartment slowly. It was so high, higher than I’d ever seen it here, and it looked like it might keep going. I decided to use it around the perimeter of my canvas. Yes! That was where I got the highest reading. The energy seemed concentrated around the blank canvas. I dictated the information into the recorder and then clicked it off. What was I doing? I stared at the canvas, but nothing came to me. I thought I’d be knee-deep in paint by now.
Get a hold of yourself, Cassidy. Be normal. Act normal.
I went to the refrigerator for a snack, settling on a plum and a bottle of water. Chewing the tasty fruit, I put my smock on between bites. Okay. Speak to me, folks. What’s going on here?
I began to dab colors together, not really sure what I would paint yet. Then it came to me: I needed a red, a bright, candy apple red. And I would need black with a touch of blue. Yes, I needed plenty of dark blue. Soon I began sweeping on color, first a woman’s face and then her dark hair; her beautiful lips were curled up in a playful smile. She held a long cigarette in one hand and wore a short black dress. She wasn’t very tall, but she had lovely legs. My mystery woman was undoubtedly from the twenties, with her bow lips and bobbed hair.
In front of her, I painted a tall man with copper-red hair and fair skin. He looked like a lifeguard or an athlete, big but fit. And by the look on his face, he was completely in love with the girl.
Vita!
Yes, that was her name. “Hello, Vita!” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I heard a knock at my door. Startled, I tiptoed to the door and peeked out the peephole. There was no one there, but it sure sounded busy outside. Was there a party going on somewhere? Yes, that had to be it! I opened the door slightly, leaving the chain on, and peeked out. Wet footprints led away from my door.
“Holy hell!” I swore under my breath as I closed the door and put the chair back under the doorknob. Without wasting another moment, I called Midas. Naturally, just when I needed him, it went to voicemail.
“Hi, Midas. It’s me, Cassidy. Please call me when you get this message. It’s really important.”
I put the phone in my pocket and paced the apartment. Nobody else came to the door, and I closed all the blinds and curtains and decided to turn on every light in the place. Even the oven light.
Yep, that feels better. Still no word from Midas. What could he be doing?
I picked up the paintbrush and tapped it in some more black, with a touch of brown. This guy, yes, this guy was the real deal. I had to get him right. I would paint him in the back of the scene, but he wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t like it at all.
And no way would he like Vita so close to this fella. What was his name? A good salt-of-the-earth name, no doubt. He looked Scottish, maybe Irish.
“I bet you have quite a story to tell. Let me see if I can get it right. Were you at Dixie House? Did you die there? Tell me what happened, if you can.”
Then I asked again with just my mind, Won’t you talk to me?
“All right,” someone whispered. The sound startled me. Next thing I knew, I was painting feverishly. And then I was on the floor.
Chapter Eight—Cole McCaskey
Mobile, Alabama, 1922
“Detective Cole McCaskey! We promote you to detective and award you this commendation for your continued outstanding service to our department and our city. Please accept both with our congratulations.”
I stood up, feeling even more like a giant than I usually did, only this was different. The room was full of ladies in fitted blue suits and men wearing the same uniform as mine, except mine now had a braid on the left shoulder. I’d done it! I’d moved from beat cop all the way up to detective, and there was no stopping me now! My dream had come true. I had advanced, just like I promised my poor mother before she died. I had advanced and become the detective my father never could. It was bittersweet that neither of my parents could witness this special day, but my Vita would love it. I glanced around the room, hoping to spy her pretty face in the crowd even though I knew that half brother of hers would never allow it. He hated me, without a shadow of a doubt.
I told her that when I received this braid, she would have to marry me. She had laughed and agreed, sort of, and said something like, “It will be a scream, Copper.” That was the name she gave me because of my bright red hair. It didn’t bother me when she called me that. Others? Well, I didn’t love it, but I tried not to let name-calling get under my skin. I’d had enough of it in my day. Besides, I was handsome enough. I’d caught Vita’s eye, hadn’t I? And I knew that the ladies I worked with, the secretaries with their fast-typing fingers and flirtatious smiles, thought I was the cat’s meow. They even told me so.
I’d met my Vita at a raid at the Pink House and then again at the Blue House. Unlike the typical fading blooms you usually found in such establishments, Vita Abercrombie had a freshness and wit that I instantly took a shine to despite her profession and mine. I would never forget the first time we met. She informed me that she didn’t mind handcuffs, as long as I knew where the keys were. Vita had a pretty face, a petite frame and jet-black hair that she wore short and curled around her face. One thing that was unusual about Vita was her penchant for smoking long cigarettes using one of those fancy tips. I thought only movie stars used those, and I’d told her so during her second ride to the police station. With a perky smile and painted red lips, she confessed that she was a movie star, only her film hadn’t been released yet. It would be soon, and then everyone would know who she was.
I hadn’t meant to do it, but I’d fallen in love with Vita on that car ride. In the end, I’d let her go, sending her on her way with only a promise to never go to the Pink House again. She kept her promise…but when the squad raided the notorious Blue House a week later, she was sitting on the piano, charming the guests and drinking. The place had a speakeasy downstairs, and there were whispers of a bordello upstairs. That wasn’t publicized, mostly because too many of the good folks in local political offices visited the place on a regular basis. “It’s sticky
stuff, messing around with these politicians,” one of the detectives warned me.
Vita said she did all her dancing downstairs and never went upstairs. She had no need to put herself at such a disadvantage, she told me confidently. And, she whispered to me, with excitement in her eyes, she would be a star soon.
Life with Vita would have been perfect if not for her half brother, Don Myrick. Myrick was a notorious flim-flam man and had quite a jacket, but Vita wouldn’t believe it. Eventually, I gave up trying to convince her. His objections to me didn’t faze me, and I didn’t change my plan to marry Vita and take her away from her life of carousing around Mobile. She would be the talk of the town for another reason, if fate allowed it. If Vita allowed it.
Now I had the money to make our dreams come true. We could live on fifty bucks a week. It was more than enough to enjoy a comfortable living. Maybe we could even manage to nab one of those new houses being built on Daisy Hill Road. It was a great spot to raise kids, and there was a new school going up too. That would be convenient if we decided to start a family.
Someone called my name again, and I snapped out of my daydream. A crowd of red-cheeked women swarmed me, all wanting to give me a kiss for luck for my new position.
“Thank you, thank you all.”
“Speech, speech,” they chanted. I hadn’t expected to give a speech, but I politely pretended that I had. I shuffled behind the wooden podium and slicked my copper curls back with sweaty, shaking hands, a stupid grin on my face. I searched the crowd one last time for Vita, but she was nowhere to be found.
“I think the thing I really want to say is thank you. Thank you to Detective Gifford for giving me the chance to work in the detective bureau, and, ah…thank you to my parents for always believing in me. May you smile down on us as we, ah….as I start in my new position and accept this commendation.” I accepted the plaque, kissed it and raised it over my head as if I were some sort of Olympic champion. The gathering of nearly a hundred civil servants, including half of the police department, went wild. For the next ten minutes, I endured an onslaught of congratulations. I just wanted to leave and go find Vita.
Haunted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 2) Page 15
