Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

  Slipping through the streets of Mobile, I made the brisk walk to his home, a fine building with bright red bricks and black cast iron gates. His cook, a neighbor lady, would not return for a while; I suspected that Crane would be settling in for his morning nap after he’d buffed up Brent’s shoes and completed his expected chores.

  I’d deliberately dressed down today so the neighbors wouldn’t recognize me. With this old wide-brimmed hat and unimpressive clothing, I would be able to slip in unnoticed. I was an actress and certainly up to the task of fooling a few neighbors. I could be anyone I wanted. Lady Macbeth. Gilda of the Golden Stage. Now I would be Nobody. A shadow.

  A ghost.

  And I did it. As expected, Crane was sleeping in the sturdy leather chair, Brent’s chair. His head bobbed up and down on his chest as he snored. I had come through the back door; there was no bell, and the cook typically left it unlocked all the time.

  I hurried down the hall, making sure I stayed on the carpet so my footfalls would go unheard. Crane would spring into action at the first sound, if he managed to hear me. If my heart hadn’t been pounding so, I would have laughed out loud at the sheer simplicity and easy delivery of my plan.

  Now, my pet. Inside the safe, there is a stack of papers. Collect all the documents housed in blue envelopes. You must bring them to me.

  I patted the leather case I’d brought to carry the documents. It wouldn’t do for me to scatter them about on the street. To my surprise, Brent’s library door stood open a few inches. The room was usually kept closed, whether Brent was home or at the bank. I frowned at that but didn’t waste time counting my lucky stars. All I had to do was get inside, grab the paperwork and leave. But when I tried to push the door open, I found an obstruction in the way. I smacked it again. It groaned. It wasn’t merely an obstruction, it was a person. Someone was lying on the floor.

  Glancing down the hallway, I didn’t see or hear Crane. I slipped inside the library and was surprised to see my brother lying on the carpeted floor. The first thing I noticed besides the horrible wound on the side of his head was the open window. The wind rustled in the trees, and the curtains hung out. I must have just missed the criminal. I tossed the leather case in a nearby chair and squatted down beside Brent to assess the damage.

  And now what do I do?

  Brent’s eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his stomach; his upper body, including his damaged head, faced toward the door. I wondered how all this happened. Did he surprise someone? Did he come home because he forgot something? Surely Crane hadn’t done this. No, never. He’d rather die than do such a thing. Brent had been like a son to him. The old man would give his life for Brent—but he never cared two figs for my sisters or me. And now once again, just as when I planned to run away, Brent would ruin all my plans.

  And that angered me beyond reason.

  I walked to the nearby couch and grabbed a pillow. I hovered over him. Should I prop up his head? Make him more comfortable as I called for the doctor? Would he thank me later for coming here and saving him from Wretched Death?

  I squatted down beside him again. The heavy feather pillow felt cool in my hands. This was my favorite pillow. It was dark turquoise with a beaded peacock embroidered on it. I clutched it for a moment as Brent moved his mouth as if to speak to me.

  “Stel-la…”

  I plugged my fingers in my ears, refusing to hear him speak, and the pillow fell into the blood that pooled around his head now. My favorite pillow was ruined. Brent had ruined yet another thing.

  Anger rose within me. I reached for the pillow and clutched it in my hands. Without another thought I covered his face with it.

  He did not struggle. Not much. Except to jerk his legs a bit and flop his hands a time or two. He did not speak my name again. I sobbed once, biting my lip to silence myself. When he was still, I walked to the safe, spun the knob until it clicked open and removed the documents. A kind of soothing calm had descended upon me. Before I left the room I retrieved the pillow and stuffed it in the fireplace basket under a few logs. Hopefully no one would think to look for such a thing there.

  Brent’s eyes were wide and staring at the door. He was most certainly dead.

  I paused over him, wondering if I should say some words as his soul swanned to wherever it was destined to go, but I thought better of it. It wouldn’t be proper to have a person’s murderer speak over him. And Brent was always one to be proper.

  As I cracked open the door, I heard Randall Crane stirring in the front room. And then I heard the front bell. What was going on here today? Was everyone off schedule? I slid down the hall and out the back door as the guests arrived.

  I patted the leather case, happy that I had at least taken what I came for. Just a few turns off Esplanade and I’d be in the clear.

  “Estella?” a woman’s voice called after me. I did not answer. I pulled my wide-brimmed hat down further over my eyes and hurried back to the Carmichael Theater. I was out of breath and sweating when I arrived, but I couldn’t help but smile. I had achieved my goal—secured my destiny. How pleased Martin would be! Perhaps he’d even propose. The match made sense, didn’t it?

  I scurried to my dressing room, which had essentially become my bedroom since I practically lived here at the theater anyway. I quickly changed my clothing, rolled up the skirt and frumpy hat in a ball, and stuffed them in a dark blue pillowcase. Unfortunately, I’d managed to stain my black ankle boots with just the tiniest bit of blood at the toes. I would have to burn them. Or maybe I should keep them as a memento of my greatest performance. Perhaps Martin would have some ideas about what to do with them.

  As if he could read my mind, Martin stepped into the room unannounced and looking frightfully unhappy. I reached for the leather case, ready to show him my prize, when he struck me hard. His heavy blow sent me crashing into the dressing mirror, which promptly shattered and rained down upon me. Shards of glass cascaded on my face as I slid to the ground.

  “Stupid bitch! Who told you to kill him?”

  I had no idea what to say. I was stunned, and for a few seconds I felt nothing. And then I felt everything! The pain overwhelmed me and struck me dumb. My face felt as if a hundred tiny knives were piercing it. Rivers of blood poured from my pale flesh as I lay quite still.

  Martin retrieved the case and left me lying in a bloody heap on the floor. Birdie flew into the dressing room, her face twisted in shock. “Miss? Oh my heavens! Are you okay? I heard…Oh, sweet mother! Your face!”

  Regardless of the pain, I had to see what she was speaking of. I had to know. I twisted in the glass and stared at myself in the one large shard that remained in the mirror. What I saw shocked me to my soul!

  Tiny shards of glass were embedded in my face, and blood was pouring from both my face and hands.

  I screamed until I could scream no more.

  Chapter Ten—Sierra

  Joshua’s phone woke me. Tired of hearing it buzz, I slid out of the sheets and stomped to his nightstand to see who the heck had the nerve to text him at 1:00 a.m. As always, my husband was oblivious to any sound after he closed his eyes. The guy could sleep through a hurricane. If there ever was a disaster in the middle of the night, I’d have to be the one to wake him.

  Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I walked into the hallway to see who this was. Maybe it was Midas, I reasoned to myself. Spying on Joshua made me feel terrible, but my husband didn’t always make the best decisions—especially when it came to other women. I’d never actually caught him cheating; it was just a feeling I had. As my mother said, “Women always know.” I knew Joshua was a flirt, but a cheater?

  And who was I to judge? I was a much greater liar than he was, and the guilt weighed on me.

  When we were dating, I told myself he was a free spirit. Just a friendly guy. Could he help it if women were drawn to his handsome face? But my inner voice warned me all along. Although I sounded weak, I told myself that I could fix him; that I would be enough to keep him happy. And now I
was the one who was unhappy.

  My heart fell as I read the text:

  Thanks for rescuing me the other day, Joshua. I can’t wait to see you again…

  The sender was a girl we knew from high school, Merilyn Abbot, Joshua’s sometimes friend and ex-girlfriend. Every few months her name popped up, one way or another, and I hated hearing it. This was the final straw. I clenched the phone and was half tempted to throw it at him, but I decided against it. I quietly fetched my pillow and headed for the couch. For the next thirty minutes, I invaded Josh’s phone, reading every text, email and social media post I could find. While there were a few posts that were goofy, like cats using a keyboard or a miniature pony pulling a cart, none of the posts was proof that he’d been cheating. Either he’d been very careful about keeping the evidence of his philandering to himself or I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  And could he control who sent him texts?

  Ah, there speaks the voice of weak Sierra McBride.

  Always making excuses for Joshua. I hated myself for being such an emotional mess. I was half tempted to snatch the covers off him and give him a piece of my mind.

  How did she get his number, then?

  Tears slid down my face. I slid the phone under the couch. No more tonight. My heart couldn’t take it.

  For the next half hour, I played out the approaching morning’s argument, because we were darn sure going to have one. I’d accuse him of being a cheater, and he’d deny everything until death. As he always had, as he always did. And then we’d be left with the unspoken truth between us—Joshua had never wanted to marry me. Not really. It had been the unexpected pregnancy that sent him to his knees with a ring in hand. And when we’d lost the baby, it was too late for him to take it all back. I cried even more.

  I’d never planned to be a mother at age eighteen, but after carrying the baby for five months, all that had changed. I’d been so excited—and so had Joshua, I think. We’d made the decision to keep the baby’s sex a secret from everyone, including ourselves. He insisted the baby was a boy. Naturally, I wanted a girl. We never knew one way or the other, and suddenly the baby was gone. It had been rocky between us after that, but we’d made it through. We’d been married for four years now; neither of us brought up the subject of having another baby. Even years later it was just too painful to think about.

  I heard a voice, a whisper at first. I thought maybe it was Joshua. Who else would it be? I was glad he was awake! I flung the throw blanket off and sat up on the leather couch. I waited for him, but he never showed up. I slid the phone out from under the couch again and held it in my hand. No, it was quiet. No voicemail notifications. No sexy messages from Merilyn.

  Then I heard the voice again. It absolutely wasn’t Joshua’s but a female voice, and it was coming from the hallway. All the hair on my body crept up like a silent alarm. And then, there were more whispers. I could almost hear what she was saying. It sounded like two words—over and over again—but I couldn’t be sure what they were. She wanted me to hear her. I was totally convinced of that.

  “Hello?” I whispered as I walked to the hallway. I flipped on the light, but it wasn’t working. In fact, all the lights were out. The only thing that I could see was the battery-operated candle on the hallway table that worked on a timer. And then that flickered out too. The voice continued its insistent whispering as it summoned me down the carpeted hall. My mind told me to get Joshua, but the hurt was too raw. I couldn’t rely on him for anything. I wouldn’t! My hand slid over the hallway table as I felt my way down. I felt the familiar stack of overdue library books I perpetually intended to read. My next library visit was going to cost me a fortune. There was nothing I could use as a weapon. Whoever or whatever I faced, I’d have to do it with my bare hands.

  “Who’s there?” I called, half hoping Joshua would wake up on his own. No luck, of course. My husband continued his unreliability streak.

  Our house wasn’t that large, but it had two spare rooms. One we barely used anymore, that had been the nursery, and then there was the office. It smelled like paint. Fresh paint. I walked to the doorway and tried the light switch in there too. Nothing, even though I could see the neighbors’ porch light shining through the open window on the far side of the room. I stepped into the office and remembered I had Joshua’s phone in my hands still. I powered it on, which seemed to take forever. Once it came on, I turned on the flashlight function and waved it around, hoping to see who was in here—and also hoping I was alone.

  “Hello?” I whispered. I waved the light around and nearly fell back when it illuminated the image of Estella Winters. There she was in all her glory, standing with perfect poise, her hand raised as if to delicately greet the cheering audience, her mouth opened slightly, her lips parted in a song.

  And I heard the whisper again. Was it coming from the painting? How was that possible?

  My turn…my turn…my turn…

  The voice spoke the words repeatedly. With wide eyes, I watched as Estella’s face changed from an image of beauty to one of abject horror. Instead of her lovely angular cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, there were streaks of red paint—no, that was blood—flowing down her pretty face and onto her gown. Had Cassidy slipped in here and painted this? Why would she do that? I couldn’t imagine that, but I also would never have imagined this either. And it was true that just a few minutes ago, Estella’s image had been perfect. Joshua had been right. We should never have left this painting here.

  And then Estella’s eyes shifted. She was staring down at me.

  My turn!

  I stepped backward, nearly tripping over my own feet.

  My turn!

  Estella’s bloody face leaned out from the wall, and her eyes closed as she screamed now, “My turn!”

  Before I could faint, scream or die on the spot, the light flicked on. “Why are you screaming? What’s wrong? Sierra?”

  My body was completely shaking now, and I rubbed my eyes. The mural had returned to its original image. Estella’s lovely face was the picture of innocence. She’d never screamed at me or stared down at me with a bloody face and open mouth. Joshua touched my shoulder as if to calm me, but I wasn’t having any of it.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “What? What’s going on, Sierra?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t take my eyes off the portrait. I couldn’t leave it like this. I had to do something. I slapped his phone to his chest and practically ran to the baby’s room. I’d stashed the leftover nursery paint in the closet. It was green, but I didn’t give a damn at this point. I wasn’t going to leave Estella on my wall. It might be too late to keep her out of my house, but if this portrait was acting as a portal, I wanted to seal it up right now.

  “Why do you have my phone? What are you doing now? Sierra, talk to me!”

  I shoved past him with a paint can and an old dry paintbrush. I didn’t bother tossing down a drop cloth or newspaper. I used my letter opener to pop open the paint can and without stirring I began slapping paint over Estella’s face.

  Joshua grabbed my wrist. Not in a rough way, but he wasn’t going to let this go. “Talk to me, Sierra Kay.”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head in anger. I wanted to slap him with the paintbrush, but now wasn’t the time for petty bickering. “Estella Winters tried to come out of the painting. It was her screaming. Not me! She said, ‘My turn,’ about a dozen times. Her face changed—it got all bloody and pressed out from the wall. I didn’t dream it. I didn’t imagine it. You heard her too. You were right. This must go. She’s using this painting as a portal. I don’t know how or why, but I’m not staying here another minute with that.”

  I slapped more paint on the wall and desperately tried to hide the colorful painting. To my surprise, Joshua didn’t argue with me or try to convince me I was having a nightmare. He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a roller brush and pan.

  “Here, let me help.” Five minute
s later we had two coats of paint on the wall. I didn’t hear another word. When it was done, we put the paint supplies away and turned out the light. Sometime around 3:00 we climbed back in bed, still never talking about the phone or Merilyn. He knew that I knew. There wasn’t much else to say, was there?

  Besides, he wasn’t the only one with a secret.

  Chapter Eleven—Midas

  As soon as Josh and Sierra walked into the office, I knew there was trouble in paradise. “What’s up, guys?” I asked them as Josh ignored me and headed to the storeroom with the batteries he’d picked up to replenish our waning stock.

  Sierra tossed her black jacket over the back of the chair and gave me a blank expression. “What? Are we late or something?” Sierra always went all sarcastic when stressed out. Before I could call her out on it, Jack strolled in with two sturdy black cases in hand and slid them on the conference table with a proud grin.

  “Hey, guys. I updated the video software. You should see a major improvement in the resolution now. If anything pops up on the cameras tonight, we won’t miss even a pixel.”

  A fake smile spread across Sierra’s face. “That’s terrific, Jack. Got anything else that needs to come in?”

  “Yes. The other two computers. I’ll come with you, though. I’ve gone overboard with gear for tonight. Too much for one former cheerleader to carry.” Sierra gushed over him in whispers, and the pair walked out together. I was left sipping my coffee and wondering what the heck was going on. I didn’t mention to her that Josh probably needed help carrying in those cases of batteries. I slipped outside to retrieve them myself—and if I happened to spy on Jack and Sierra, that was all right too. Little Sister had her most flirtatious smile on display, and Jack was eating it up. He wasn’t stupid. If he could tweak Josh’s nose by flirting with his wife, he’d do it. What was I doing? Taking up Sara’s empty spot as gossiper-in-chief? Had everyone on the GCP team gone crazy?