Moody & The Ghost - Books 1-4 (Moody Mysteries)

by Kim Hornsby

  I gestured for Carlos to join Caspian in the hall although to my tech guy, it looked like I told him to venture forth into the mouth of the ghostly hall. Luckily, Carlos wasn’t afraid of ghosts. I’d never even seen him jump when a ghost touched him. He was made of steel, except where kitty cats were concerned. Those, he believed, were the devil’s spawn.

  I stood watching Caspian, feeling very little. Although I wanted to feel something stronger from Mary’s presence, Caspian was the conduit now. I took Eve’s arm and we waited while Carlos took readings in the hall.

  “It’s going crazy right here,” he said, his meter clicking frantically at Caspian’s shoulder.

  “She’s standing at the door to the basement,” Caspian said, ignoring Carlos.

  I craned my neck to see down the hall without going much farther and whispered to Carlos. “You’re measuring Caspian, mi amigo, and he says Mary is at the basement door.”

  Jim approached me. “Should I do anything?” His whispering led me to think he was frightened but eager to help.

  I put a finger up to indicate he should stand by. Summoning a ghost can be tricky business. Many are just not able to break through to our plane and many are not all that sociable. Or trusting. Even though Mary did not want a crowd involved, I decided to try to summon her. I was the one with the most experience in this.

  “Mary, we have Jim here wanting to talk to you.”

  Jim took a few steps forward on my gentle push. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mary.”

  Caspian moved down the hall and I heard his low rumbling voice in a one-sided conversation. “These people are here to help you,” he said. “The women have absolutely no designs on this Jim man. One of them, the one who calls herself Moody, helps spirits like us to move on, cross over.”

  He leaned casually against the wall and I had to think even to a ghost, Caspian cut a handsome figure in his long coat, and shiny black hair. If Mary thought Jim was attractive, I wondered what she thought of this Chippendales-type ghost.

  “How long have you been here?” Caspian asked.

  There was a pause, then Caspian nodded. “It appears that you have the opportunity to move on now and if I were you, I would take the offer.”

  I whispered to Eve. “He’s talking to her.”

  “I see something that could be her,” Eve whispered back. “Why can’t I see Caspian?” Frustration was obvious in her tone.

  “What do you see, Eve?”

  “A light shadow, maybe the figure of a person.”

  I only saw Caspian. “We each see half of the conversation.”

  “I can’t hear her though.”

  Only Caspian could hear Mary and I wondered if Carlos’ fancy equipment would pick up on something we could amplify later. I’d specifically asked him not to use the ghost box on this investigation because it’s so frickin’ noisy and with Caspian, we didn’t need to rely on the fancy equipment to pull in underlying frequencies beyond what we could hear with our ears.

  “She would like to talk to Jim,” Caspian said, turning to face Jim. “If he can’t hear her, I can translate, I suppose,” Caspian looked almost bored.

  “I can hear her,” Jim answered.

  Well that was something strange. An Alive with no clairvoyance could detect a voice where we could not. How was this happening?

  The hall became very cold and a white shadow left the doorway and floated towards Jim. “I see her too,” I mumbled excitedly and gripped Eve’s arm.

  Carlos must’ve had visual because he had the camera aimed directly at the white anomaly.

  “Mary, do you have something to say to Jim?” I said, incredulous that we all saw this ghost. It was then, I felt her sadness. Mary didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she was angry at something. Her emotion wafted off her in waves. “Perhaps Jim you can ask her why she’s angry.”

  I had the feeling that Mary wanted to protect Jim. But protect him from what? Or who?

  “She needs to guard him against Britney,” Eve said, her voice full of questions.

  “Mary believes that Britney is a threat to you, Jim.” I felt this too.

  Our client stood five feet from the ghost, his eyes wide, his stance frozen, probably in fear. I could barely make out a face on the white shadow and Mary looked forlorn, pleading.

  “Bb, bb, Britney is my fiancée. She’s alive, like me. If you’re jealous of her, I’m sorry,” Jim said bravely.

  Caspian moved across the room, taking steps towards Jim. Unlike Mary, who appeared to be suspended in mid-air and translucent, he seemed as real as Carlos. Not floating or wavy but with the exact look of an Alive. “She doesn’t trust Britney, it seems.”

  I sensed that too. “Why Mary? Why don’t you like her?”

  Jim’s shoulders lowered slightly, the tension leaving him. “Britt is a good person, someone I think highly of, a woman—”

  Caspian stopped behind Mary, facing Jim. “Drink,” he said. “Mary is saying the word, ‘drink’ over and over.”

  I relayed what Caspian said. It was strange that Caspian got the word from Mary, told me and I told everyone else. We had so many middlemen in this operation.

  Jim’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Can you elaborate?” Caspian said. He followed the white shadow out the door and into the restaurant. We followed Caspian, at least I did, and everyone else followed me. It was like a game of follow the leader, the head of the line being someone I no longer saw.

  “She’s leading us to something.” Caspian called back to me and I relayed the message down the line.

  Once at the bar, Caspian nodded, his expression grim. “She believes the woman she pinched is hurting Jim.”

  Jim moved to behind the bar. “This is my protein shake powder.” He held up a tin of Muscle Builder formula to show us.

  Mary was only slightly visible, pulsing in and out of existence at the side of the bar until she pulsed out and didn’t come back.

  “She’s gone,” Caspian said. “But it is clear that she fears for Jim. And it has to do with a drink.”

  I relayed the message and Jim took out a key from his pocket to unlock the cabinet below the bar.

  My heart beat fast against my rib cage in anticipation of what we might find inside the cabinet. What if we prevented Jim’s death by contacting this ghost?

  “It’s just the Brewer’s Yeast and protein powder, Brittney puts in my shake,” Jim said, lining up the tins and jars on the bar. Aside from the Muscle concoction, there were three screw-topped jars and a fourth smaller one at the end.

  I approached the bar and lifted up the small one. It had a label I couldn’t read until I aimed it at the light from the bar. Vitamin A. “Is this what she was worried about?” I looked to Caspian who shrugged. “It’s hard for ghosts to break through but Mary did a good job here.” I took the cap off the vitamin bottle to see a white powder inside. “Do you take Vitamin A, Jim?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said, turning on full lights at the bar. His expression was dire as he turned and disappeared to the back room.

  “Do we think that might not be a vitamin?” Eve asked.

  Carlos continued filming.

  I positioned myself in front of the camera. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to use this Carlos but I’m going to summarize.”

  He gave me the thumbs up.

  “Mood Peeps, we find ourselves in a strange position tonight. The ghost of Mary has led us to a jar of what’s labeled Vitamin A, but the vitamin is in powder form, something you just don’t see with vitamin packaging. Mary conveyed the feeling that she believed Jim was in danger and was sticking around to protect him.”

  Just then, Jim entered the bar with a package labelled Rat Poison. He dumped out the packages from inside. He was missing one package. Jim opened one of the cellophane pockets and compared both powders.

  “You might want a lab to test this stuff,” I said.

  Jim sank to a bar stool and stared at the two piles of powder on the bar in front
of him. “I’ve been having stomach pains lately.”

  “It appears Mary might be right about the lady friend,” Caspian said quietly.

  I agreed but didn’t want to tell the others what he said.

  Jim looked up, his eyes full of confusion. “Invoice me for your services.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else from us. I’ll be in touch to follow up and discuss how little of this we’ll be able to use in the show.” If this turned into an investigation for attempted murder, I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to air the last segment where we discovered the protein powder.

  “I’m going to get that bitch on film putting rat poison into my protein drink.”

  “It might not have been her,” I had to say.

  “Oh, it was her. Everything makes sense now.” Jim looked at me. “First, I’ll get my evidence. I’ll be in touch.”

  I nodded.

  “Have your guide tell Mary thank you,” Jim whispered.

  “You might not ever see her again. Her mission is over.”

  Jim nodded.

  Carlos shut down the camera on my orders and we packed up. Jim watched from his seat at the bar, looking like he’d just lost his best friend, which I guessed he had.

  At the doorway, I looked to the street and estimated the run to The Marshmallow. Turning around, my eyes locked with Caspian’s. He stood at the back of the group by the end of the bar. “Thanks.”

  He almost smiled.

  I started a run for The Marshmallow, knowing exactly where the door was which was good because my eyesight shut off as I took off from The Eatery. I blindly pulled open the door and jumped inside the van.

  Caspian hadn’t been able to leave the building with us and was probably now gone to where ghosts go when they can’t remain in our world.

  Already I missed his presence and not just because I’d gone blind again.

  Chapter 3

  We spent the next few days at Floatville, working and decompressing from what had happened in Roslyn. Just the three of us. Caspian either could not find Floatville or didn’t like my little houseboat because I hadn’t seen him again after The Eatery.

  I’d been experimenting in the kitchen, a place I used to love because of the potential to create yummy meals and satisfy a creative side in me and had mastered the art of not burning myself or cutting off a finger while making food. My latest accomplishment was a casserole with pasta and chicken that tasted like chicken enchiladas but was easier to make because it was a one-pot meal that involved opening a bunch of cans and dumping the contents into a baking dish. I called it Mexican Slop, much to Carlos’s protests. He loved the stuff and I considered his vote of confidence a big win because his abuela made everything from scratch at his family home.

  I was learning to rely on Hodor and his new skills learned at the guide dog school and was really proud of my puppy. Bev had directed Eve and I to watch a dog training video which I could not see. However, Eve could, and she explained the commands to me. We’d worked each day with Hodor out on the dock where the consequences of making a mistake would be cold and wet.

  I’d wanted to walk Hodor around the marina by myself if Caspian showed up, but without vision, Eve had to come with us. While out, we practiced a few of the commands that Bev had given us, and I was amazed that my dog had learned something during his training.

  Wearing his service dog harness with the handle that read, “Don’t pet me, I’m working,” Hodor kept me in the center of the dock and when I ventured to the edge, he’d stop in his tracks. Eve watched and narrated from close by, ready to yell or fish me out of the cold ocean. When I intentionally headed to the dock’s edge to see what Hodor might do, I was pleased at his reaction. He stopped and put his nose on my thigh to steer me to the right, where Eve said the dock continued. Of course, I gave him a treat and of course, he wagged his tail. Eve laughed and told me that he looked like he was laughing, his mouth wide, his teeth showing.

  We took off on a walk through the streets that bordered the marina and as we arrived back near the dock, Eve yelped.

  “There’s that crow again,” she said. “It’s coming in for a landing on your shoulder.”

  I stopped and waited, making myself a better landing strip. Who knew if it was the same crow, something I believed to be highly unlikely, but interesting. I loved crows and was disappointed my dog barked and scared the bird away just before it landed.

  “That is the weirdest thing, that big black bird going for a landing on your shoulder,” Eve whispered.

  “I wonder why it likes me? Where did it go, Eve?”

  “It flew up into the tree above us. Let’s keep moving.”

  Back from our walk, the three of us settled into work and check Moody Paranormal Investigations’ social media. After an all-night investigation, our schedule was wacky, and we often started our workday around dinner time. When the order of Thai food arrived at the door for dinner, we were reading Bane Jackson’s new blog, posted eight hours earlier while we slept.

  This Jackson dude seemed to have a lot of time to whine about the people who believed in the Supernatural. Words like “fakers” and “media-hungry quacks” were used on Bane’s blog which was called Cracking Open the Paranormal Industry, something he updated every few days. He had a good-sized following but nothing like Moody’s Paranormal Investigations on YouTube, Carlos said.

  I wondered if Bane had a real job aside from his one-man vigilante efforts against ghost investigators. I couldn’t understand how someone made a good living attempting to poke holes in paranormal theories. He had to sell Avon or work as a real estate agent or do something as his side hustle. Carlos had once explained that a blog did not pull in much money unless you’re a celebrity blogger with big sponsors. Our YouTube show did well because of millions of viewers and followers and views and clicks and all those things that tell an advertiser that they might sell some stuff if they buy an ad on our site. But a blogger? Not so much.

  Days ago, I’d asked Eve to find a private eye to dig up dirt, see who this guy was just in case we needed a bargaining chip in this game he was playing. I wanted to find out if this bane of my existence was some creepy old man living in his daughter’s basement with a thirst for ruining people’s lives.

  Carlos knew a guy who knew a guy and that’s how we came to find Jimmy Big Ears. His name was actually James Earsley, but I called him Jimmy to his face and Jimmy Big Ears to Eve after she told me he had the biggest earlobes of anyone she’d ever seen. “At least two inches long like he’s been wearing heavy earrings since birth.” Eve knew him from back when she and Carlos used to date in college.

  Jimmy was early twenties and was the cousin of a guy who grew up on Carlos’ street and did undercover work here and there when he wasn’t playing online poker. He had the softest voice of anyone I’ve ever met and spoke with a very slight lisp. Eve told me he was actually an attractive man if it wasn’t for his ear lobes which, she stated, “could be surgically corrected.” I detected some interest on Eve’s part and imagined her phoning around to see if ear lobe reconstruction was a thing after our meeting with Jimmy at Floatville.

  We’d given him as much information on Bane as we had and set Jimmy free with a small expense account and a week to turn up something. Jimmy was to keep Eve in the loop on what he found as the days went by, a suggestion from Eve that I sensed held more excitement than was professional. He’d emailed Eve to say he had some interesting information on Bane Jackson and would come by tomorrow to present it. I was sure it was information he could email to us, but maybe there were sparks flying between Eve and Jimmy that I couldn’t see or feel.

  While eating my Thai food, I remembered I’d promised an announcement on Friday. Today was the day to say something profound. I logged on to Instagram and wrote a short message saying that I’d been grieving for the untimely death of my husband, Harry, and appreciated my fans understanding how devastating it was to lose your soul mate. Then Eve shorte
ned it to two hundred and fifty characters and tweeted the gist of what I’d posted on Instagram, a site that lets you ramble on and on.

  That tweet started a Twitter war between my fans who truly believed that was why I hadn’t been seen and those still holding out to see if I’d been in rehab. I wasn’t sure how the rehab rumor got started but, in my business, it wasn’t a completely terrible accusation. You could still be a drunk ghost hunter and not be run out of town for conflict of interest. It wasn’t like I was a school bus driver. I was an edgy chick who believed in ghosts and looked like I drove a motorcycle.

  Eve had several dummy accounts she tweeted from and with one of those she posted, “Moody deserved privacy after the accident. #BaneJackson needs to back off and get a life. #Moody #ghosthunt #basementweirdos”

  Eve was such a loyal employee and cousin, it sometimes made me want to cry from the beauty of her actions. The fact I paid her to do this didn’t diminish my love for Eve.

  Immediately after she posted, Mr. Jackson tweeted back his response.

  “I have a life & it involves discrediting those who make money off those grieving for loved ones by pretending they can talk to the dead. #scammers #ghosthunters #Tuesdaythoughts”

  To which Eve, as @GhostlyGirl, replied, “What big money does Moody make? I’d be surprised if she charges her clients much. #sourgrapes @BaneJackson #skepticalloser”

  He then tweeted back, “Has Moody talked to Harry? If she was a medium, as claimed, she’d be in touch w hubby. #hoax #superliars #ghostsRNTreal”

  This last one made a lump form in my throat because I desperately wanted to contact Harry and had been trying every day for all the months since his death. Bane was right on several accounts. I was a sham right now pretending to speak to ghosts. That’s what bothered me the most about this guy. He was right.

  Then things got really personal.

  The tweets flew back and forth for hours as Bane tried to tell the world that Bryndle Moody and her mother ran a scam ring, stealing money from people desperate to speak to their dead loved ones. Eve countered with the proclamation that “Moody’s mother is never even on the show!”