Sierra waved her audio recorder. It beeped to show we’d caught something. We played it back, and it had one word on it. It was unclear what that was, but it could have been “Aurelia…” in a whisper. I went with it.
“Yes, Aurelia. Our friend, your friend. She made it across the bridge, Cope. You saved her and the baby. You did it!”
Suddenly a ghostly light appeared in the hallway about three feet off the ground. It was like a white flame, burning away. Then it expanded suddenly, and a man was standing there, or the outline of a man. It was Cope! I gasped to see him looking so frightened and so alive. Even though it was just his outline, I could see the dark skin on his face and his expressive chocolate brown eyes. Joshua swore under his breath, and Midas stood so stiffly that he must have been an inch taller.
“I am Aurelia’s friend. She told me to give you a message. May I give you that message, Cope?”
He didn’t speak or nod, but the light at the center of him bounced once and he hovered and waited.
With nervous fingers, Sierra played the audio clip, turning it up as loud as possible. Aurelia’s voice filled the room.
“Over the bridge!”
He opened his mouth to laugh, but I couldn’t hear him. It was like he was stuck inside a soundproof box. He said something to me, but I couldn’t make it out. Then he vanished, leaving behind a trace of smoke or an unearthly fog.
I cried, Sierra cried with me and Midas hugged us both. Joshua continued to mutter curse words while Sara and Peter sat in stunned silence. It was a good way to end my first investigation.
Epilogue—Cassidy
Sliding my feet into fluffy pink slippers I sauntered over to Kylie’s painting and touched it with my fingers. If only you’d speak to me, baby girl. She didn’t. I flipped on a nearby lamp to get a better view of the painting that I’d already seen at least ten thousand times now.
While I pondered the photo, I thought about the case. On the news last night Ranger Shaw was reported dead, killed by the same man who killed Melissa Hendricks, Beau Whisenhunt. Some kind of love triangle, only Ranger never knew that Melissa was stepping out on him. It had come to its full conclusion now. His son was a wreck, but at least he had answers. His father had been no murderer.
A memorial stone for Cope would go up soon, and Aurelia? Who knew where she ended up, but at least she had lived and made it across the bridge and never had to deal with Bernard again.
We didn’t learn much else about the bird. Was the black owl really an evil animal or just a bird of prey that found a great opportunity to grab an unusual snack the night Melissa was killed on Kali Oka Road? But then again, if it wasn’t a spirit animal, how could it scratch me all to pieces?
These were questions I’d have to think about a while. The Harlens were glad we’d cleared the house, but they asked us to keep it quiet. The people who came to their bed-and-breakfast later this summer would expect a ghost or two. They were happy we’d done what we did, though.
And now it’s just you and me again, kiddo. I miss you, Kylie.
I’d memorized every square inch of the painting, but for the first time since the day I’d finished it, I felt like something was missing.
Yes, there was something missing! I hurried to blend the paints I would need and began tapping on the shape. Yes, just there! In the right-hand corner.
With a blend of blues, grays and bright white, I smoothed on the long spindly legs of a water tower. It had a wide umbrella tub and a few other small details like a rusting ladder and handrails. How had I missed that?
An hour later I was somewhat satisfied, except there was no name on the water tower. If only I could grab that name, snatch it out of my subconscious or wherever these things came from. I stood waiting, hoping. Nothing came. Eventually, I put the brush down and sat on the stool staring at the painting.
Yes, this was right. I had another clue. After all this time. Why? Why was I getting fresh information now?
Could it be because of my new association with Gulf Coast Paranormal? Was Kylie leading me to find her? If I ever stood a chance of doing that, it would be now with Sierra, Midas and the rest of the team. I didn’t want my sister to be gone; I wanted her to be alive. With all my heart, I wanted that and believed it. But if she wasn’t, if something had happened, I wanted to at least bring her home.
The phone rang and jostled me out of my reverie. I glanced at the clock. It was early but not too early. Almost eight o’clock.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cassidy.”
“Good morning, Midas.”
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I was up. I’ve been painting.”
“Oh, anything I should know about?” he asked hopefully.
“Not yet, but I’ll keep you posted. What’s up?”
“How about meeting us at Demeter’s? If you’re up for it. We’ve got another case, and I think we could use your help.”
I couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to be needed somewhere. I hadn’t quite made up my mind whether I would stay with Gulf Coast Paranormal. At least not until now. Now I knew the answer as plainly as I knew my name.
“Sure. I’m game. What time?”
“Nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“Won’t be.” I paused as I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully. “And Midas?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for the invite.”
Without waiting for his answer to my hokey comment, I hung up the phone. With one last look at Kylie’s pretty face, I swirled the brush in the water and set it in a jar to dry.
“Someday, little sister, I’m going to bring you home.”
I reached out to touch the paint but drew my hand back. Midas had asked me not to be late. I’d tackle this later tonight. I could see where I’d missed a few things. There was a small building that needed to go there, just below the tower.
As I walked away to take my shower I whispered, “See you tonight, Kylie.”
For the first time in a long time, I believed that I would.
Author’s Note
Here I am again, with a new series featuring places I love. I am so excited about Gulf Coast Paranormal. It’s going to be my vehicle for bringing all of you some fabulous ghost stories. At least, that’s my hope. In doing so, it is not my wish to malign anyone’s ancestors or put a place I love in a bad light. I love Mobile!
If you’ve ever visited Mobile County for any length of time, and you’re a fan of the supernatural, chances are you’ve heard about Kali Oka Road. From teenagers putting baby powder on Crybaby Bridge (to track ghostly baby footprints) to reports of being chased out of the Oak Grove Plantation cemetery by orb lights and a shadowy figure, it’s an area with a rich history. No matter which ghost stories you believe, you have to admit that parts of Kali Oka Road have a wild, forgotten feeling to them. Enough to inspire this book.
If you’re familiar with the area, remember this is a work of fiction. I couldn’t possibly work every ghostly encounter in here. I’ll leave it for you to tell those stories. Although some of The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road is based on a few of those old stories, I wanted to retell them and give the “ghosts” a somewhat happy ending.
At least some of them.
For paranormal investigators, just a reminder. Much of the property in the area I write about is private property, so always seek permission before you begin investigating. You know how to conduct yourself. Obey the law. Most paranormal investigators I know always do, but just in case we have any rogues out there, I thought I’d mention it. Please preserve the beauty of the place and show respect to any graves you may come across.
And if a bright light bounces toward you or an unexpected shadow passes over you, don’t look up. Don’t look around.
Just run. Or at least snap a decent photo.
Connect with M.L. Bullock on Facebook. To receive updates on her latest releases, visit her website at M.L. Bullock and subscribe to her mailing list. You can also contact her at auth
[email protected].
About the Author
Author of the best-selling Seven Sisters series and the Desert Queen series, M.L. Bullock has been storytelling since she was a child. A student of archaeology, she loves weaving stories that feature her favorite historical characters—including Nefertiti. She currently lives on the Gulf Coast with her family but travels frequently to explore the southern states she loves so much.
Read more from M.L. Bullock
The Nike Chronicles
Blue Water
Blue Wake
Blue Tide
The Seven Sisters Series
Seven Sisters
Moonlight Falls on Seven Sisters
Shadows Stir at Seven Sisters
The Stars that Fell
The Stars We Walked Upon
The Sun Rises Over Seven Sisters
Christmas at Seven Sisters (bonus short stories)
The Idlewood Series
The Ghosts of Idlewood
Dreams of Idlewood
The Whispering Saint
The Haunted Child
Return to Seven Sisters
(A Seven Sisters Sequel Series)
The Roses of Mobile
All the Summer Roses
Blooms Torn Asunder
A Garden of Thorns
The Gulf Coast Paranormal Series
The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road
The Ghosts of the Crescent Theater
A Haunting on Bloodgood Row
The Legend of the Ghost Queen
A Haunting at Dixie House
The Ghost Lights of Forrest Field
The Ghost of Gabrielle Bonet
The Ghost of Harrington Farm
The Creature on Crenshaw Road
Shabby Hearts Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series
A Touch of Shabby
Shabbier by the Minute
Shabby by Night
The Sugar Hill Series
Wife of the Left Hand
Fire on the Ramparts
Blood by Candlelight
The Starlight Ball
His Lovely Garden
Ghosts of Summerleigh Series
The Belles of Desire, Mississippi
The Ghost of Jeopardy Belle
The Lady in White
Lost Camelot Series
Guinevere Forever
Guinevere Unconquered
The Desert Queen Series
The Tale of Nefret
The Falcon Rises
The Kingdom of Nefertiti
The Song of the Bee-Eater
Standalone books
Ghosts on a Plane
More from M.L. Bullock
From the Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection
A smile crept across my face when I turned back to look at the pale faces watching me from behind the lace curtains of the girls’ dormitory. I didn’t feel sorry for any of them—all of those girls hated me. They thought they were my betters because they were orphans and I was merely the accidental result of my wealthy mother’s indiscretion. I couldn’t understand why they felt that way. As I told Marie Bettencourt, at least my parents were alive and wealthy. Hers were dead and in the cold, cold ground. “Worm food now, I suppose.” Her big dark eyes had swollen with tears, her ugly, fat face contorting as she cried. Mrs. Bedford scolded me for my remarks, but even that did not worry me.
I had a tool much more effective than Mrs. Bedford’s threats of letters to the attorney who distributed my allowance or a day without a meal. Mr. Bedford would defend me—for a price. I would have to kiss his thin, dry lips and pretend that he did not peek at my décolletage a little too long. Once he even squeezed my bosom ever so quickly with his rough hands but then pretended it had been an accident. Mr. Bedford never had the courage to lift up my skirt or ask me for a “discreet favor,” as my previous chaperone had called it, but I enjoyed making him stare. It had been great fun for a month or two until I saw how easily he could be manipulated.
And now my rescuer had come at last, a man, Louis Beaumont, who claimed to be my mother’s brother. I had never met Olivia, my mother. Not that I could remember, anyway, and I assumed I never would.
Louis Beaumont towered above most men, as tall as an otherworldly prince. He had beautiful blond hair that I wanted to plunge my hands into. It looked like the down of a baby duckling. He had fair skin—so light it almost glowed—with pleasant features, even brows, thick lashes, a manly mouth. It was a shame he was so near a kin because I would have had no objections to whispering “Embrasse-moi” in his ear. Although I very much doubted Uncle Louis would have indulged my fantasy. How I loved to kiss, and to kiss one so beautiful! That would be heavenly. I had never kissed a handsome man before—I kissed the ice boy once and a farmhand, but neither of them had been handsome or good at kissing.
For three days we traveled in the coach, my uncle explaining what he wanted and how I would benefit if I followed his instructions. According to my uncle, Cousin Calpurnia needed me, or rather, needed a companion for the season. The heiress would come out this year, and a certain level of decorum was expected, including traveling with a suitable companion. “Who would be more suitable than her own cousin?” he asked me with the curl of a smile on his regal face. “Now, dearest Isla,” he said, “I am counting on you to be a respectable girl. Leave all that happened before behind in Birmingham—no talking of the Bedfords or anyone else from that life. All will be well now.” He patted my hand gently. “We must find Calpurnia a suitable husband, one that will give her the life she’s accustomed to and deserves.”
Yes, indeed. Now that this Calpurnia needed a proper companion, I had been summoned. I’d never even heard of Miss Calpurnia Cottonwood until now. Where had Uncle Louis been when I ran sobbing in a crumpled dress after falling prey to the lecherous hands of General Harper, my first guardian? Where had he been when I endured the shame and pain of my stolen maidenhead? Where? Was I not Beaumont stock and worthy of rescue? Apparently not. I decided then and there to hate my cousin, no matter how rich she was. Still, I smiled, spreading the skirt of my purple dress neatly around me on the seat. “Yes, Uncle Louis.”
“And who knows, ma petite Cherie, perhaps we can find you a good match too. Perhaps a military man or a wealthy merchant. Would you like that?” I gave him another smile and nod before I pretended to be distracted by something out the window. My fate would be in my own hands, that much I knew. Never would I marry. I would make my own future. Calpurnia must be a pitiful, ridiculous kind of girl if she needed my help to land a “suitable” husband with all her affluence.
About the Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection
When historian Carrie Jo Jardine accepted her dream job as chief historian at Seven Sisters in Mobile, Alabama, she had no idea what she would encounter. The moldering old plantation housed more than a few boxes of antebellum artifacts and forgotten oil paintings. Secrets lived there—and they demanded to be set free.
This contains the entire supernatural suspense series.
More from M.L. Bullock
From The Ghosts of Idlewood
I arrived at Idlewood at seven o’clock thinking I’d have plenty of time to mark the doors with taped signs before the various contractors arrived. There was no electricity, so I wasn’t sure what the workmen would actually accomplish today. I’d dressed down this morning in worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It just felt like that kind of day. The house smelled stale, and it was cool but not freezing. We’d enjoyed a mild February this year, but like they say, “If you don’t like the weather in Mobile, just wait a few minutes.”
I really hated February. It was “the month of love,” and this year I wasn’t feeling much like celebrating. I’d given Chip the heave-ho for good right after Christmas, and our friendship hadn’t survived the breakup. I hated that because I really did like him as a person, even if he could be narrow-minded about spiritual subjects. I hadn’t been seeing anyone, but I was almost ready to get back into the dating game. Almost.
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I changed out the batteries in my camera before beginning to document the house. Carrie Jo liked having before, during and after shots of every room.
According to the planning sheet Carrie Jo and I developed last month, all the stage one doors were marked. On her jobs, CJ orchestrated everything: what rooms got painted first, where the computers would go, which room we would store supplies in, that sort of thing. I also put no-entry signs on rooms that weren’t safe or were off-limits to curious workers. The home was mostly empty, but there were some pricy mantelpieces and other components that would fetch a fair price if you knew where to unload stolen items such as high-end antiques. Surprisingly, many people did.
I’d start the pictures on the top floor and work my way down. I peeked out the front door quickly to see if CJ was here. No sign of her yet, which wasn’t like her at all. She was usually the early bird. I smiled, feeling good that Carrie Jo trusted me enough to give me the keys to this grand old place. There were three floors, although the attic space wasn’t a real priority for our project. The windows would be changed, the floors and roof inspected, but not a lot of cosmetic changes were planned for up there beyond that. We’d prepare it for future storage of seasonal decorations and miscellaneous supplies. Seemed a waste to me. I liked the attic; it was roomy, like an amazing loft apartment. But it was no surprise I was drawn to it—when I was a kid, I practically lived in my tree house.
I stuffed my cell phone in my pocket and jogged up the wide staircase in the foyer. I could hear birds chirping upstairs; they probably flew in through a broken window. There were quite a few of them from the sound of it. Since I hadn’t labeled any doors upstairs or in the attic, I hadn’t had the opportunity to explore much up there. It felt strangely exhilarating to do so all by myself. The first flight of stairs appeared safe, but I took my time on the next two. Water damage wasn’t always easy to spot, and I had no desire to fall through a weak floor. When I reached the top of the stairs to the attic, I turned the knob and was surprised to find it locked.
The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road (Gulf Coast Paranormal Book 1) Page 13
