“English garden landscape. I got it, Sierra. It’s not rocket science. Any first-year art student could do this. I’ve got the color palette you want and all the supplies I need. Now go do what you got to do.” I tried not to sound too bossy—or nosy—but I was completely curious about their meeting with Midas. I wasn’t invited; all the paranormal investigations had come to a screeching halt during the recent staff change-up, but I got the sense that was about to change. Sierra had dropped that hint, and I pretended that I didn’t mind not knowing what was up. “See you in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks for doing this, Cassidy. And there’s no rush. I realize that Da Vinci didn’t paint the Sistine Chapel in a day.”
I laughed. “You mean Michelangelo.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean. I still can’t believe you’re creating this masterpiece for the price you quoted. You sure that’s okay? You wouldn’t believe what Joshua’s cousin Laura wanted to charge me for a mural.” Sierra wore a pair of dressy blue jeans, red sneakers and a black and red t-shirt with Gulf Coast Paranormal emblazoned across the back. She wore her hair in a sassy ponytail today. I’d opted for simple and sloppy since I’d be diving into paints for the next few hours. Somewhere in all my mess was a bag of clothes. Sierra said it was all right to clean up here after my painting session, before I climbed into my car. Although I’d been painting for longer than I could remember, I was still a sloppy artist. I invariably got paint on my shoes, arms and hair. Kylie used to tease me and tell me that I brushed my pictures with my hair.
“Absolutely sure. Now go.”
“I’ll bring back lunch,” Sierra shouted over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her. Joshua, Sierra’s husband, had left earlier. He’d been friendly and polite but obviously not crazy about an English garden wall mural in their home office. But it’s what Sierra wanted, so he didn’t make too much of a fuss about it.
How my life had changed in just a month! This time last month I was wading through my weight in dried macaroni, white glue and construction paper. Now I was a paranormal investigator. Or I wanted to be. That wasn’t official yet, but maybe soon.
What did I expect? It wasn’t like they were going to hand me a key chain, a plastic badge and a t-shirt.
Still, I’d like to hear the official word from Midas. These kinds of decisions were basically up to him, or so Sierra told me. My desire to belong somewhere grew by the day. Funny how that happened. Me, Miss Independent, ready to need someone again, help someone. Yeah, I’m no therapist, but I think this is what they call growth.
And of course, I couldn’t help but think of Midas. He’d been aloof the past few weeks, and I had been determined not to call him. From what I could gather, Sara’s leaving hadn’t come as a complete surprise, but her “friendship” with Pete (as Sierra phrased it), had.
I didn’t think Midas was all that broken up about it. Good Lord, the man was drop-dead gorgeous, but maybe he was jealous that Sara was headed to Hollywood with Pete. I sighed as I taped my sketch to the wall. Well, if Midas wanted to keep everything professional with me, I had no problem with that. I wouldn’t think one more minute about his smoldering dark looks, square jaw, sexy lips and heartbreaking cologne. Nope. I wouldn’t sketch his face a dozen times or imagine what his body looked like. But as an artist, I couldn’t help but study lines. At least that’s what I told myself while I daydreamed.
As I began to sketch out Sierra’s mural on the blank canvas of the cool, white wall, I thought about my ex-boss and friend Desiree. We had mended fences recently, which made me extremely happy. She wasn’t too thrilled about my current “hobby,” as she called it, but I wasn’t asking her permission. During our bowling night last weekend, she complained loudly about how hard it was to find a good art teacher. Now she was dropping hints about my return to the Plesser Academy. In days past I would have jumped right on that offer. Teaching children art this past year had given my life much-needed purpose. It filled the hole left by my little sister Kylie and her larger-than-life presence. But now that I was painting again, I couldn’t commit to that old schedule. I was sure I’d disappoint her again. I loved the children, and introducing them to art had been a privilege, but I couldn’t leave this new world filled with ghosts, haunts and cursed owls.
The truth was I’d loved every second of the investigation. When I wasn’t scared out of my mind.
I would never forget Melissa, Aurelia, Cope and all the ghosts of Kali Oka Road. I was proud of the part I had played in getting to the heart of that mystery but sad that Ranger Shaw had died before he ever knew the truth. Or maybe in those final brutal moments he’d figured it out. I suddenly hoped I was wrong.
Sketch, sketch. Wasn’t there a gate somewhere in this picture?
My mind drifted as I drew the lines and curves. So tragic to think that someone you trusted, a lifelong friend, could betray you.
Which reminded me, I had to meet Uncle Derek for lunch today. I was not looking forward to that, and I was already thinking about how I could avoid it. But if I wanted to receive my next check, it would be unwise to do so. Especially now that I needed it. I’d have to remember to text Sierra and cancel our lunch. I glanced at my watch. It was 9:00. Time was getting away from me.
I tempered the blue shade first, adding just the right touch of purple, some white and then a dab of dark red to give the flowers a bit of a bold pop. Yes, this red was perfect. I’d start at the center and work my way out. The cottage I saved for last. Architecture wasn’t my strong suit—faces were, but unfortunately there were no faces in this mural. I smiled as I thought of painting a face in the window of the cottage. Maybe a ghostly face. I laughed to myself. How macabre I’d become!
Before I started painting I cracked open a window and put my earbuds in. I tapped on my phone screen and found an album I could get lost in. It was a wistful instrumental. It was only an hour long, so I set it to repeat and got to work. I preferred instrumentals when I painted. Words were too distracting. They had a power that most people didn’t appreciate. I did. They influenced me, and when I painted I needed quiet in my head. I always painted best when the only voice I heard was my own. Humming along to the sounds of the violin, I plunged my brush back into the red.
Isn’t that too much crimson? No. This is the color I need. Oh yes, that’s perfect. I should paint the door first…
I zoned in on the mental image I saw. I ignored the small voice in my head that asked, “Cassidy, what are you doing?”
I forgot all about the sketch Sierra and I had worked on together. Instead of a thatched, blue-painted cottage with a view of the ocean and a hillside of English wildflowers, my mind throbbed with the images of a grand stage with gleaming wooden floors, complete with glowing footlights and a crimson curtain. No, I needed the crimson for the carpet and the seats. Yes, even those seats in the balconies needed this color. My arms ached as I stroked upwards and outwards repeatedly, determined to get the folds of the curtains just perfect. I would need more red! Much more! Why hadn’t I brought more of this lovely red? It must be perfect!
Yes, she deserves perfection. All of it must be perfect. She’d waited for this night for so long. She would finally have her turn…
And then I painted the star of the show. She was a beautiful woman with the perfect Gibson Girl hairstyle, high collars and eyes so full of life I could scarcely believe she wasn’t alive. Like her hair, her eyes were dark brown, and her thick, curled lashes were full and pretty. Her mouth parted; she was talking—no, singing, and from her heart. Beside her, a lanky man played the violin. Such a lovely piece. Something familiar. Something she knew. Yes, she knew every note.
I heard a noise behind me. It sounded melodic, like someone calling my name, but I couldn’t stop now. I was so close to finishing. So close to finishing this portrait. At last! The world would see her greatest performance!
The man’s face escaped me, hidden in the shadows. The lights of the stage fell on her, but that was as it should be. Her beau
tiful face, her radiance, her talent. That was all that mattered!
I was out of breath and out of paint. I couldn’t do anything else, not without more of both. I stepped back, realizing what just happened. The compulsion lifted, and I felt a growing sense of despair. I had had a classic Cassidy experience, but it wasn’t a canvas I worked on. And I hadn’t been dreaming in the privacy of my own home. The brush fell out of my hand as my paint-stained hand flew to my mouth.
“Oh no,” I whispered, but not before I heard someone swear behind me.
“Holy crap!”
I spun around to face Sierra.
How could I explain what happened? That the woman in the painting wanted to be seen, and she demanded to be seen here?
Sierra’s mouth opened and she dropped the bag of food on the only empty spot on the nearby desk. Again she said, “Holy crap.”
“Sierra, I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right. I can cover that up easily. If you give me just a few hours, I’ll paint over it and I swear I’ll return your money. I…I can’t explain what…”
Sierra stepped closer and for the last time said, “Crap…this is the Crescent, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The Crescent Theater. You painted the Crescent, but who is that?”
Then it dawned on me. Except for the difference in hair color, the freshly painted performer could have been Sierra’s twin. “Is that me?”
I plopped down in a nearby folding chair and stared at the painting.
Things were getting weird—and quickly.
Chapter Two—Midas Demopolis
“Why are we even having this conversation? You know how I feel about all this. It’s not up for debate. The answer was no before you decided to leave, and it is still no.” I tossed my pen on my desk because it would be too expensive to toss the phone across the room. And too immature. I was doing my best to be the “bigger man” here, but Sara wasn’t making it easy. Why did that not surprise me?
“Stop being a hard-headed ass, Midas, and listen for once. Think about Sierra and Josh. This would be so great for them. It’s a team offer. The network wants you, and they are impressed with GCP’s work, especially in light of the Kali Oka Road investigation. Of course, I did talk you up,” she bragged, as if that would make me happy. When I didn’t say thanks, she let out a deep sigh. God, I used to think that was so sexy. What was wrong with me? My grandfather was right. Sara wasn’t a good woman—she was a “feel-good” woman. The difference between the two was becoming much more apparent.
“This is the chance of a lifetime. Anybody else would kill for a chance like this. And what are you going to do? Continue to self-fund? You and I both know that’s coming to an end. They cut you off, Midas. This is the answer. You can investigate whatever location you want, whenever you want. Just let a few cameras follow you around.”
“You know that’s not entirely true. You get a network involved, and they are going to do what’s good for them. My clients don’t want that kind of notoriety.”
“That’s bull, Midas. You know half those requests are bogus. Only a small percentage are the real deal. I know it; you know it! It takes forever to weed out the crazies. Why not let the network help you get to the real stuff? Gulf Coast Paranormal could be a national organization!”
“That was never my dream, Sara. It was yours.”
“Then you might as well put the ‘business closed’ sign out because you’re done. You’re such a dream killer. Does the team even know they had this chance? Have you told Sierra and Josh about this?”
I didn’t answer her. What was the point?
“I wish you nothing but success, Sara, but I’ve got things to do here. You left the records in a complete mess, and I have no idea where to find anything.” As my ex-business partner and ex-lover launched into a tirade of expletives, I hung up. She’d call back later, no doubt, and I might or might not listen to her. I’d already stopped taking her calls on my cell phone, but avoiding her on the office line was a bit tougher. Josh didn’t pay attention to the Caller ID half the time, and it wasn’t good business to continually let calls go to voicemail.
As soon as I hung up the phone, it began to ring again. Feeling particularly pissed off now, I snatched up the receiver and shouted, “We’re not having this conversation. If you don’t have anything else to say, you and I are done.”
It wasn’t Sara but Sierra, the closest thing I’d ever had to a sister. “Cut the crap, Midas. I’ve got a situation here. You and Josh need to get over to our place now.”
Josh had just walked into the room carrying a milk crate of neatly tied electrical cords. I was glad he was finally tackling that mess, but I waved him over. “What is it, Sierra?” I heard her talking to someone, and I got even antsier. “Talk to me, Little Sister.” Josh put the crate down and jogged toward me.
“What’s going on?” His worried tone added to my own.
“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Cassidy. We’re fine, at least I am, but you need to get over here. And bring the camera because you’re never going to believe it!” She hung up before I could ask another question. We were out the door in a flash. I didn’t worry about the camera. I always had one in the car.
“What is it, Midas? What’s wrong?” We were in the van and headed to the McBrides’ house in less than a minute.
“No idea. Something about Cassidy.”
“She was at the house this morning. Sierra’s got her painting a mural on the wall of our office. I wonder what happened.”
“She’s painting? I think I know what happened,” I said under my breath. I gripped the steering wheel and drove through a yellow light a bit faster than I should have. Josh and Sierra didn’t live too far away, but it might as well have been a million miles. Fortunately, there was an empty parking space in front of their house. I quickly whipped into it, right behind Sierra’s Volkswagen. We weren’t inside a second before Sierra called us.
“In here. Nobody’s dead, but you have to see this.”
Josh sprinted down the short hallway. “What the heck, Sierra Kay? You scared me to death! What the…”
And like the McBrides, I couldn’t do anything but stand and stare at the beautiful, disturbing painting that peered back at us from the previously blank wall.
The woman took my breath away; she was that beautiful and that lifelike. She stood at center stage, obviously in an old-fashioned theater. Her mouth was slightly open, and I expected her to sing something any second—a song I would never forget.
Cassidy was sitting in a rickety fold-up chair, looking like she’d lost her best friend. Her hair was in a messy pile on her head and her expression blank, like someone who’d seen something horrible and couldn’t forget it. And had she? Her hands were in her lap, covered with splotches of red paint; she had a sizable crimson splatter on her chin and some in her hair. I squatted down next to her and took her hand. She didn’t even acknowledge we were here for a few seconds.
“Hey, Cassidy. You all right?”
She blinked and looked at me. “Oh yeah. I’m fine.” Her smile didn’t convince me.
“Looks like you missed a spot,” I joked with her and touched her cheek.
“I guess I got carried away.” She stood and gave us an embarrassed shrug. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, guys. Joshua—I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll paint over it.”
“Let’s not do anything rash. This is here for a reason. We need to take it in,” Sierra admonished her kindly.
Clearly ticked off, Josh shrugged his shoulders and stood with his hands on his hips. “What’s to take in? There’s an opera singer on my wall. Did you plan this, Sierra? What kind of style is this?”
“Oh my gosh, Joshua! Look at it. Don’t you see what I see?”
“I don’t see anything except a whole bunch of red.”
I turned my attention from Cassidy long enough to examine the painting again. If she’d done this in a few hours, the girl must have superpowers. There was a lot of de
tail in the portrait, except the man’s face. It disturbed me that I couldn’t see it better. Then I saw what Sierra saw—there in the lower part of the portrait. In clear gold lettering—the initials C and T.
I was looking at a painting of the Crescent Theater.
I shot Sierra a look. “And you didn’t mention this to her?”
“No! You just told me about it this morning, after I got to the office. Remember? What’s wrong with you guys? Obviously, this is a clue. If it’s like the last time, then this might be the ghost we’re looking for.”
“What? No way! That’s the Crescent?” Josh said in a too-loud voice.
“Come on, Cassidy. Let’s get you cleaned up. Grab your bag.” Cassidy hadn’t moved hardly at all, but suddenly her cheeks flushed and she was moving quickly, gathering her stuff from around the room.
“Wait, Cassidy,” Sierra began, but Cassidy wasn’t having any of it.
“Guys, I have to go.” To my complete surprise, Cassidy grabbed her bag and fled the room. Sierra was right behind her as Cassidy called back, “I swear I’ll cover that wall. I’ll do it tomorrow, but I have to go. I am late for a lunch with my Uncle Derek. I can’t apologize enough.”
“You can’t go home like that, Cassidy. Look at your hands. You’ll get paint all over your car.”
The pretty redhead rubbed at her eyes, trying to flick away a tear. “I have to. I’m real sorry, Sierra—Joshua. I’ll call you later, okay?”
And she was gone. We watched her drive away and then walked back inside to stare at the painting, hardly believing what we saw. Naturally, it was Josh who spoke first.
“Are we supposed to leave this up here all night? I’ll go get some paint right now. What if this thing is…well, what if it attracts the woman? I don’t want supernatural activity in my home. I draw the line at that, Sierra.”
“I know, believe me, I know. I don’t think that’s going to happen. Do you?” She stared up at me, and I honestly couldn’t answer her. I had no idea how Cassidy’s gift worked, and I had a sinking suspicion that neither did Cassidy.
Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1) Page 14
