by Kim Hornsby
My grandmother, Ida Hornsby, believed in ghosts and I was raised believing it’s not only a possibility but a probability. Thank you, Nana, for being ahead of your time.
I have a wonderful group of writer friends who inspire me to be as wonderful as they believe I am. Thank you for cheering me on, tirelessly.
To JD DeWitt, my Literary Manager, who encourages me and inspires me to be her best client. I am humbly appreciative of your dedication to my writing. When I don’t final in a writing contest, I only need to remember I have JD on my side.
To Robin McLain, whose business card I keep in my wallet to remind me that I’m a big deal and attracted the attention of a movie producer with keen vision.
To my group of super fan/beta readers who I affectionately call Kim’s Krowd, who gave me direction and advice on this one. You know exactly who you are, and I won’t list your names because you review, and bots will take your reviews off if they connect us.
And to Ann Charles who inspires me and has guided me in Indie Authorship.
To Steve Novak at Novak Illustrations who designs amazing covers for next to nothing.
To be allowed the luxury and privilege of writing books, I need my immediate family on board with this writing thing. Expectations must be set very low for meals, laundry, even conversation. It’s selfish of me, but I’d be a crazy woman without writing. To my husband, Roland, who hears “shh” more times than any husband should, to Jack whose texts are grammatically perfect, something I’m so proud of, and to Ila who has taught me to have a tougher heart or I’m going to crumble. I’m sorry I stopped playing Super-Mom a little early and became Writer-Mom. I hope it worked to your advantage to not have me peering over your shoulders constantly.
Moody and The Ghost
Book 2
BATTEN DOWN
Moody & The Ghost – BATTEN DOWN, Copyright 2018, Top Ten Press
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Novak Illustrations
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
SEATTLE * MAUI
DEDICATION
To all those struggling with a disability that leads to depression. This book is for you and I hope it makes you laugh.
There is only one way to avoid criticism. Do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.
~ Aristotle
Chapter 1
Having the ghost of Caspian Cortez attached to me wasn’t as invasive as I’d originally thought. When he admitted that he faded in and out of my life, it sounded as creepy as if someone was watching me through my laptop camera while I trolled the internet flossing my teeth. Would I constantly worry how my hair looked or that I was wearing some ratty, old p.j.’s?
Caspian explained it wasn’t like that. For one thing, he was mostly nocturnal, so he might not be present during my waking hours. And for another thing, there was no sneaking up because of the effect he had on me.
Even though I was now a blind person, no thanks to a car accident last year, in his presence, I could fricking see everything when Captain Caspian Cortez was in the house. Or more specifically, when he was in the room. So, when the darkness in front of my useless peepers started registering shadows, these days, I knew my ghost friend was close.
“As soon as I have you in my sight,” he said, “you start looking around like your vision has returned. It’s a telling clue,” he’d smirked.
The morning after our long encounter in which I learned who the house ghost was, Carlos and Eve, my assistants, were loading our paranormal investigator equipment into our company van, a vehicle I called The Marshmallow, when Caspian showed up. I wasn’t loading anything because I couldn’t navigate the stairs or find the vehicle, but Carlos and Eve were shuffling back and forth in front of me. I sipped my hot French Roast and listened to the bird calls in the distance. Listening had become my new thing.
Then, it happened. I knew Caspian was close because the black in front of my eyes turned to dark grey. I could see shadows, then light and color. I looked around the expansive veranda of my inherited Queen Anne house and saw a large man dressed like a sea captain of the 1800’s, taking long strides, walking towards me on the veranda. I was thankful he’d come before we took off, even just to prove that my hours with him the night before wasn’t all a dream. Our meeting seemed so other-worldly although I was pretty sure I hadn’t gone crazy and imagined him because of the lion ring I now wore on my finger, something that Eve could not see. But I could. Caspian had given the ring to me as a symbol of his commitment to our partnership. I’d given him a silly ghost bracelet, worth basically nothing in comparison. I doubted junk jewelry had been around in Caspian’s day and hoped he didn’t think I was a cheapskate. I couldn’t give him my wedding ring I was still wearing even though Harry’s funeral was many months earlier.
Soon, we would take off in The Marshmallow. I called our company vehicle this, not because it’s yummy when toasted over a campfire but because I’d always named cars, houses, even clothing. Today, I wore Puffy and Beanie because it was March on the Oregon Coast and I was cold. And now that Caspian had told me there were six ghosts in the house, I was thinking of renaming Cove House, Spook Central.
I usually drew ghosts to me, like a psych counselor for the dead, but since going blind eight months earlier, my loco mojo had been AWOL. However, Caspian seemed to be changing all that. Last night, he’d appeared before me like a roommate headed off to a costume party dressed like a sea captain from the 1850s. I could even touch him, I’d discovered, and although his skin wasn’t warm exactly, it wasn’t deathly cold either. I’d also touched one of the other ghosts, Caspian’s cat, whose name was Moonraker. Thinking the feline was one of the feral cats from the coach house, I’d petted it and named it Kitty until I learned it was a ghost. The cat’s exotic moniker meant a square top sail on a ship. Caspian had gone on to explain square-rigged sailing ships and how the sails are set up. I tried to listen, but instead focused on his perfect teeth and full lips that weren’t chapped like most people in the Pacific Northwest in March.
This morning, Caspian stood on the house veranda, leaning against a column by the staircase.
“We’re leaving for a few days,” I reminded him.
“Not a fortnight, as you said last night?” His gaze pinned me in a lie.
“No.” I couldn’t read him yet, although something appeared to be bothering him. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched, and it wasn’t because of sunshine in his eyes because there was none on this grey day on the Oregon Coast. “I just said we’d be gone a fortnight to make you worried, so you’d appear, last night.” I’d been desperate for answers and resorted to lying when all else failed.
Maybe Caspian would not be able to follow me out of the house after all. Maybe his appearance at the haunted restaurant a week earlier was a one-time thing. He’d admitted he had no idea how he appeared at The Eatery last week, hundreds of miles from Cove House. In my blindness, I’d caught a fleeting glimpse of a man disappearing around a doorway. It had been the sea captain.
“Do you feel like you’ll be able to join us away from here?” I didn’t want to sound desperate, although without Caspian, I was blind again.
He shrugged. “I suppose I will, but I’m not getting in that horseless carriage with you, if that’s what you mean.” He stared at The Marshmallow.
Eve approached. “What did he say?”
Eve could only hear my end of the conversation because he was non-existent to everyone but me, it seemed. It wasn’t unusual for me to get the ghostly chit chat and relay i
t to my colleagues. That was our MO. Just like before the accident that took both my sights, I’d talk to ghosts and Eve and Carlos would wait to get the particulars of my ghostly conversations. But, after months of not being able to tap into any type of clairvoyance, not even an intuitive inkling, I wondered if anyone thought I might be faking this thing I had with Caspian. For all Eve knew, I’d made up an imaginary friend to make myself feel better about being a physic medium with absolutely no talent whatsoever. Thing was, I couldn’t fake eyesight and with Caspian standing six feet away, I had full vision.
Eve waited for my answer.
“He’s not ‘getting in the horseless carriage,’ he said.”
Eve had recently tapped into her repressed familial clairvoyance and was learning how to draw upon her intuition. She looked almost disappointed to not hear or see Caspian anytime I relayed what he’d just said. I wondered if it was hard for her to be left out of this one.
“I guess The Marshmallow looks strange to someone from the 1800s,” Eve said and stared at our van parked on the crushed white seashells of the driveway.
I turned to Caspian. “I’m not sure if this is possible, but I could really use your help on our next investigation. The ghost there is troublesome. As you know, she pinched Eve and left bruises on the proprietor’s lady friend’s legs.” I tried to use words Caspian knew, rather than saying the “owner’s main squeeze’s gams.”
Caspian nodded. “Then, I hope to be there.” He nodded and dropped his chin to look hard into my eyes. “If I do help, I’m sure you will honor our end of the bargain and begin the investigation to solve my murder.” Caspian’s eyes were no longer twinkling in mischievous humor.
Even though I was a grieving widow, I had to admit that this dude was one handsome looker. “I’ll do my utmost best. You have my word.” I was talking in the 1850s vernacular now, instead of the slang I was used to. “I’ve already asked the historian in town to help me research the house.”
“Ready to blow this pop stand?” Eve called, heading down the stairs towards the van. She looked back when I didn’t answer. “You need help or…” She didn’t know if Caspian had left yet.
“No help needed. I can see,” I said, happily. I took the house key from the pocket of Puffy and secured the house, which felt weird seeing one of the inhabitants stood near me, outside the walls. “I hope I’m not locking you out and you have no place to go now.”
He grinned. “I can get back in, just like Moonraker, who comes and goes without an open door.” Caspian’s cat was stalking a crow on the front lawn.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” I said, finally able to use the word “see” again. For some reason I extended my hand to shake Caspian’s. A hug seemed wrong even though he was solid for me.
He took my hand in his and squeezed slightly, sealing our deal to help each other. My psychic abilities hadn’t returned full-force yet, but I had the distinct impression that Caspian Cortez did not trust me.
I took the stairs confidently, scaring the crow to take flight. “Bye Moonraker,” I said to the cat who was looking at me like I’d just ruined a perfectly good hunting opportunity.
One part of me did not want to leave my conduit to sight on the veranda, but another part of me knew he might be able to follow me. We had work to do in Roslyn, Washington, and this was as good a time as any to see if my Spanish sea captain would follow me off the property. “It feels weird leaving him,” I whispered to Eve as I jumped into the passenger seat.
“I bet,” Eve said. “I’m sure he’ll show up at Floatville or at The Eatery.” Eve was always the optimist.
“How do you say, ‘see you later in Spanish?’”
Carlos was playing on his phone in the driver’s seat. “Hasta luego,” he offered.
I rolled down the window, gave a little wave to Caspian who was now in the wicker chair I’d just abandoned, and called my goodbye. “Hasta luego.” Although Caspian had told me his father was Spanish, he’d also said he was raised by his mother in an English household. I didn’t know if he spoke Spanish.
“Hasta la Proxima,” he sat back in the chair, his elbows on the arm rests, his fingers tented in front of him, his face not looking exactly happy. Moonraker jumped to his lap.
“What does “Hasta la Proxima” mean,” I asked.
Eve took this one. “Did he say that? Until we meet again.”
“It’s like a temporary goodbye,” Carlos said starting The Marshmallow.
That was good. Caspian wasn’t knowingly abandoning me.
As we backed up and drove away, I had a profound sense of sadness that overtook me and brought tears to my eyes. It wasn’t Caspian I was mourning, not like leaving a boyfriend you can’t live without. It was my eyesight I already mourned. And, consequently, driving away from Spook Central, my eyesight deserted me. The blackness set in and soon I couldn’t see a damn thing. Of course, I worried that this was it. Forever blind and never to see Caspian again. Never to see anything again.
Already, I’d gotten used to eyesight and it sucked to have the privilege ripped away with the absence of Captain Cortez. I wanted him with me all the time but apparently that wasn’t possible and as far as I knew, there was no predicting when he’d show up again. Not yet. In the hopeful corners of my heart I wanted him to be able to accompany me everywhere, be present whenever I needed him. I wished he was in the van with us now, so I could see the road out from Spook Central. Instead, I shut my eyes, something I’d been hesitant to do these long months of hope.
Once we got on the highway and sped up, Eve gave me the bad news. Bane Jackson, a blogger who devoted his life to debunking the paranormal community, had posted a blog about me. Eve read it from her phone, her voice whiny like Bane was a little boy who couldn’t find anyone to play with him on the playground.
“Ms. Moody has been absent from her show lately and her fan base has been wondering why.” he wrote. “I set to investigating the investigator and have found some very strange things but not of the paranormal kind because there is no such thing.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that this Bane character had a real grudge against me. He used phrases like “Charlatan,” “Snake Oil Salesman” and “Ouija Board Faker.” I’d been mentioned in his blog before, many times, but his bone to pick with me this week was that I made a show out of absolutely nothing found at Cove House. No one else saw blood on the wall, the camera didn’t pick up the fake pirate I saw on the stairs, and even the audio of Caspian saying “Drat” sounded like Carlos’s voice with cheesy vocal disguising software.
Jackson wrote that I went to a lot of trouble to sell cheap T-shirts and coffee mugs.
“That’s nice he mentioned they’re affordable,” I joked. We did have T-shirts and coffee mugs for sale on our website, another side of the business Eve handled. We also had hats and keychains. I wasn’t stupid. It was my side hustle. But, I also have clairvoyance and my business is not a “sham” as the blogger wrote. We enter haunted houses: risk chandeliers falling on our heads; get pinched; bruised; scared; and often sleep on the floor in an old house with no heat, just to get something to verify there is a ghost in the house.
“What an uninformed dweeb,” Eve said softly.
“Just ignore him,” I said. “This is how he tries to get attention.”
“Want me to go over to his house and have a talk with him?” Carlos said.
“Do you know where he lives?” I asked.
“I was kidding.”
“Danger, danger,” Eve said. “He posted a slow-mo piece of footage of the three of us walking on Cove House lawn this week, laughing. Underneath, he wrote, “Let’s pretend there’s blood on a wall. Ha ha ha.”
“Damn. OK, we need to ignore this Jackasson. There will always be doubters, my friends.” I couldn’t let that weirdo get to me on this fine day. There were things to finally celebrate in my life. I had moments of vision, clairvoyance, and I was getting my beloved dog back today. Hodor was waiting for us to pick him
up at Guide Dog School where he’d recently failed his mid-terms. “Wait, did you say he took a video of us on the Cove House lawn? How the hell did he get that?”
“I wonder if he’s hiding in the bushes now.” Eve’s voice was higher than usual, a telling indication she was spooked. “Sure looks like it.”
“You guys didn’t see a drone?”
They hadn’t.
“And there’s no house close by where he could film with a zoom?”
Silence.
I hadn’t seen a neighbor this morning when I finally got a good look at the yard. “Is there?”
“There’s the coach house,” Carlos said.
“This photo looks like it could have been taken from the upstairs window of the coach house,” Eve offered. “It has that angle.”
“Cats,” Carlos whispered. He was abnormally terrified of cats and we’d been told there were feral felines in the outbuilding.
“That’s trespassing,” I said. “Eve, find out where this guy lives. Get me as much info as you can about his personal life. Next thing, he’ll tell the world I looked blind.”
“Too late,” Eve said. “He writes, ‘and why do they walk arm in arm, as if holding up the mysterious Mrs. Moody? Could it be she’s not able to walk on her own?’ That’s the final sentence in the blog.”
At least he hadn’t seen TapTap, my white cane.
Someone was spying on me. The little wheels in my head started turning as I wondered how to debunk the debunker. I had to do something quick before this rumor got out of control.
