“I have always been an angel,” I reminded my sister, confident there was nothing in my past to account for the alarming warning message on my basement door. “Didn't I protect you in school? I never tortured you like Hampton and Penelope.” As the oldest of the five Ayrwick siblings, they'd barraged the rest of us at every spare moment. I was the middle child, then Eleanor, and lastly Gabriel, the baby of the family. We were all about two years apart, despite it feeling like so much more when we were children. “Stop trying to make me believe your nutty superstitions about reincarnation.”
“Not a previous life. You pissed off someone in this life. If Prudence died under mysterious circumstances, she might be trapped between worlds and taking it out on you.” Using both palms, Eleanor flattened the pockets of her pants, so they'd stop accentuating her rounded hips. While she'd become more comfortable with her body lately, instinct often kicked in and made her hyper-focused on certain traits. Ever since she'd started dating again, I noticed the minor changes or reversions to past behaviors: additional makeup, frequent trips to the beauty salon, and an obvious cheerier disposition.
“So, you think she's bored and getting out her jollies on me? How do I make the woman flitter away?” I'd temporarily entertained my sister's foolish notions. A curious part of me recognized weird and inexplicable things happened periodically. Whether they traced back to alien visitation, paranormal obscurities, or humankind's severe paranoia, I couldn't be certain. Despite a tentative and open mind, I mostly believed someone of flesh and blood had issued the death threat. I just didn't know the reason or the fool's identity.
When Eleanor adjusted a sleeve on her blouse, the scar she'd suffered in a kitchen fire appeared, though it seemed to be quickly fading. “I'm a novice in this realm. Madam Zenya is savvy enough to negotiate a compromise with the woman's spirit. Maybe if you fix up a private room for her, Prudence won't bother you anymore. It is her house, after all.” Eleanor had followed the kooky medium for years and ultimately suggested we invite her to headline our beloved event.
“Listen up! I'm moving out of one house where a crazy seventy-five-year-old woman tries to rule my life. I'm not living with another cranky one of similar age and attitude. I bought this place fair and square.” My heavy fist pounded against her desk to prove the point and hide my gurgling stomach.
“I'm so telling Nana D you called her crazy,” Eleanor sassed, waving in Manny when her diner's lithe, brown-eyed manager stood at the doorway. “The sale might not be on the up-and-up. If Hiram killed Prudence fifty years ago, then he couldn't inherit the house. Isn't there a rule about preventing a murderer from getting rich off his victims?”
Manny had emigrated from El Salvador fifteen years ago and been lucky enough to obtain his citizenship before we'd tightly locked our doors. Speaking better English than most people who'd grown up in the country, he explained, “It's called the Slayer Law. If you bought the house from someone who killed his wife, then Eleanor has a point. Unless, of course, your troublesome visitor is a celestial ghost, in which case, Madam Zenya might be your best bet to vanquish Prudence.”
“Are you really siding with my sister about the nutjob who's threatening me if I don't leave?” I rolled my eyes in dire frustration. “I'm totally outnumbered here. I've never heard the name Prudence before, and now, everyone is convinced her spirit haunts me from the Great Beyond.”
Emma followed Manny into the office, her head tilted to the side in deep thought. “Maybe she's not a ghost. We thought Mommy was dead, but she came back to life.”
My heart sank to the depths of the Titanic. No child should suffer through what Francesca's family had just done to Emma. “People don't really come back to life, honey. Mommy's disappearance was a special circumstance. Remember, we talked about this when we visited her in Los Angeles.”
“I know, Daddy. It could be possible, but it's probably not.” Emma traced her finger on the perimeter chair rail molding of the walls before excitedly jumping into my sister's lap. “Can I have a snack, Auntie Eleanor? Lunch was hours ago. Daddy forgot to feed me. He's been distracted all day.”
My mouth hung agape. Ulan had cooked a full breakfast—biscuits, eggs, and sausages—while I'd gone running with my best friend, Connor. I'd also heated two frozen pizzas at lunch for them. Then again, I was starving too, and she was my daughter. I'd only admit to a negligible case of preoccupation, brought on when Nicky had shown me the message on the basement door the previous day. Once Nicky and I had searched the house for the message's author, he'd confirmed a mere ten-minute gap between his arrival and my departure with my mother that morning. No one else had been inside, but he reminded me the mudroom's doorknob was practically falling off. He'd meant to replace the lock yet never found the time. Nicky had suggested it was a prankster inspired by the essence of Halloween, or a homeless person who'd slept in the house before I'd bought it. Could an itinerant be trying to scare me into departing? While I didn't discount his theories, I wasn't ready to accept them as facts either.
“How about spicy werewolf meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes to keep away the vicious vampires?” Manny suggested to Emma, looping her hand inside his and pointing toward the kitchen.
Emma squinted with brewing apprehension over the decision and reached out to touch the skull earring in his left ear. Normally, she found his cleft chin fascinating, but his thick beard had fully covered it for the upcoming winter season. “Will they prevent a zombie attack too?”
I tousled her hair and glanced at Manny. “Just a salad with a few slices of ham?” After visiting other local farms where Emma had learned about filthy chicken coops and slaughterhouses, something destined my precocious daughter to become a vegetarian. She'd decided to be kinder to her animal friends, but I pushed as much protein as possible while I still could. “And thanks for supporting Eleanor on the ghost theory, man. Retribution will be mine one day.”
“Manny knows where his bread is buttered,” Eleanor coyly jested. Not only was she Manny's boss, but they'd begun dating that summer after my sister abandoned her unremitting crush on my best friend. She had little choice once Connor Hawkins focused on his relationship with Maggie Roarke, Braxton's head librarian. “Figuratively, of course. We're equal in every countable way.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way.” Manny pecked Eleanor's cheek and exited with Emma.
“You two are moving kinda quickly, huh?” I recalled how someone had tricked Manny into a fake marriage the previous spring. He was initially hesitant to jump into anything serious with Eleanor.
“We've worked together for three years in this diner. We tried to take it slow, but fate had other plans,” she beamed, her smile so large it couldn't fit inside the office without cracking the plaster.
“I'm thrilled for you, sis. It's about time a good man realized how fantastic you are.” Eleanor had been single for most of her life. While she'd clung to a glimmer of hope that things might work out with Connor, I'd known my best friend's heart pined for my ex-girlfriend. Maggie and I had once dated during college but broke up at graduation. When I'd returned to Braxton the previous spring, Connor announced his decision to pursue Maggie. It almost prevented us from rebuilding our friendship. Luckily, we sorted it all out during several grueling workouts at the gym.
“Speaking of someone realizing how fantastic the Ayrwicks are, what's up with your little sheriff girlfriend?” Eleanor was never adept at the art of smoothly transitioning a conversation forward.
Sheriff April Montague and I had met six months ago, imperiously fighting worse than two political candidates slinging mud at each other in the bowels of a cutthroat election. I thought she was narcissistic and stubborn. She deemed me an interfering know-it-all who existed purely to torture her. I couldn't help finding several dead bodies and discovering their killers before she had; however, April felt differently and considered arresting me on a variety of occasions. Then, while we were working together to flush out my estranged wife's kidnapper, all those intens
e emotions we'd been harboring somehow converted into explosive sexual chemistry. We'd gone on a single pseudo date before things veered off in multiple different directions.
I'd spent the last few months flying to Los Angeles to attend executive meetings with the producer of my former television show, Dark Reality, and to address the sudden reappearance of my supposedly deceased wife, Francesca. When Las Vargas, a rival mafia family, had threatened to kill my erstwhile beloved three years ago, Francesca's parents faked her death to save her life. Did my in-laws consider telling me in advance? No. Apparently, I didn't rank high enough in the Castigliano family. Instead, after two years trying to recover from her death, I relocated back home to Pennsylvania to raise Emma around my family. That's when Francesca returned to the living and Cristiano Vargas subsequently kidnapped her. During the ensuing warfare to rescue her over the summer, Francesca's father was killed. Now, she and her mother were embroiled in a ton of legal messes regarding the faked death, complicated resurrection, and former associations with the mob.
As for April, once her father's cirrhosis had taken a turn for the worse, she'd coordinated hospice care and his funeral back in Buffalo. April had no other family besides her seventeen-year-old brother, Augie, whom she'd been raising for the last five years. Their alcoholic father had blamed Augie for his wife's death, often taking his anguish out in the form of physical and mental abuse. April had filed for custody of her brother the first time she found him beaten and bloodied.
“April returns home tonight. She closed on her father's house this past Friday and spent the weekend getting everything moved into storage.” After putting Emma to bed last evening, I'd called to ask for April's opinion on the incident at the house. She'd updated me about her trip home and planned to drop by to discuss the problem with the ghost or vagrant or prankster or my wacky imagination.
“Did you ever find out why April wouldn't respond to your question about being previously married?” Eleanor motioned for me to follow as she left her office. Her staff had transformed the diner into a Halloween Spooktacular with crafty cardboard pumpkins, freaky floating ghosts, and a plethora of cornucopia hanging from the ceiling. The Witches played on an endless loop on the television screens.
“Nope. She wouldn't answer me at Aunt Deirdre's wedding, and we've never been able to have a private discussion. On the few occasions when we were in the same place together, Augie, Ulan, or Emma were also present. I never felt comfortable enough to mention it.” On the positive side, Augie and Ulan had instantly bonded and become close friends in those first get-togethers. Augie was two years older, but Ulan's year-long stint in Africa gave the boys something to discuss, since Augie had already decided he wanted to become a veterinarian.
When the hostess waved to Eleanor, my sister stopped at the front counter. She turned and smiled like the Cheshire cat after their brief discussion. “Take your own advice. Don't rush it. Now that you'll both be in Braxton for a while, let things blossom at the right pace.”
“Advice from the newest town relationship expert?” I shrugged when she gave me the bird.
“I know you need to leave, but Hampton is here. Nana D told him you'd come to see me.” Eleanor pointed to the booth where our older brother sat, chatting expressively on his cell phone.
“Oh, what a joy it'll be.” I needed to catch up with him anyway, and April and I weren't meeting for another two hours. “Augie will pick up Emma when his volunteer shift at the animal shelter ends. He'll also collect Ulan from the SAT prep course and meet April and me at the new house. We're all having dinner together to catch up on what happened while she was away this week.” It seemed I needed to find a name for my abode, rather than the new house. Great, another task!
Eleanor attempted, but failed miserably, to temper a smug expression. “Insta-family?”
“Don't start with me. Augie and Ulan are friends. April and I are friends. We might explore something, but there are lots of other steps that need to happen before she and I can even consider—”
“None of my business. Go, talk to Hampton. I'll ask Madam Zenya to contact your visiting apparition.” Eleanor dashed off, preventing me from elbowing her in the ribs or flicking her earlobe.
I took a deep breath and casually drifted toward Hampton's table. He and his wife, Natasha, had arrived from Tulsa on Labor Day weekend with their three older children, whom they'd previously shipped to an elite boarding school in Connecticut. They'd just had their fourth child last month and hired a live-in nanny for the new mini mansion near Millionaire's Mile, hence I considered them the perfect hoity-toity couple we all loved to hate. Natasha's father was an international oil tycoon who'd opened a new well in Pennsylvania by the Betscha mines. He'd beseeched my enigmatic, derisive sibling to oversee the operation, hoping Hampton might eventually assume full responsibility for the company.
Hampton, a tall and lanky spitting image of our father, only with darker hair and fewer wrinkles, offered both a smile and frown when I reached the table. He brusquely ended his phone conversation and advised me to sit. “I've wasted an hour tracking you down and waiting for you to come by. Time is precious, brother. Then again, some of our jobs are more prestigious and arduous than others.” He leaned his head to the side, awkwardly snapped his neck, and glowered past me at his waitress.
Instantly, memories of my tortured teenage years flooded to the surface. At thirty-seven, he was my eldest sibling and had never been the supportive big brother. I'd receive infrequent updates from Eleanor about him and our other sister, Penelope. My mother had pressured me to proffer him another chance once he moved back to Wharton County. Being a loyal and attentive son, I complied.
“I've had a complicated day already. Don't make it worse. What's the urgency?” I slid into the booth across from him, eager for the argument of the century if he brought one on.
“You begged for my assistance. I was kind enough not to charge you for my labor, and this is how you repay me? Mom was wrong. She suggested you were more open-minded and willing to try harder these days.” Hampton unlocked his briefcase and removed a folder. “I had eleven-and-a-half minutes to discuss my findings with you, but you've just wasted four-and-a-quarter of them.”
When Hampton attempted to leave, I swallowed my hubris and asked him to stick around. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were waiting for me. It was incredibly generous of you to handle all this work. What did you find out about Francesca's legal rights?”
While peering at his watch with dark beady eyes, he grunted and set a timer. “I'll give you five minutes. Basically, you somehow managed to do everything the proper way. Although Francesca is entitled to half of your marital assets, she's signed an agreement relinquishing her rights to anything you'd jointly owned at the time they issued her death certificate.”
“So, I have nothing to worry about. Does that mean I can initiate divorce proceedings, or whatever you call them?” I hadn't wanted to make the situation worse, but three months slipped by with no official changes in our relationship. I'd flown to California monthly to reestablish a connection between Emma and her mother as well as document my knowledge of what'd happened during Francesca's supposed death. Until she addressed all the legal ramifications, Francesca could only visit with her daughter under my supervision. When would this dramatic soap opera end?
“That's not what I said. Stop pretending you have any legal knowledge. Let me handle the big boy stuff, okay?” Hampton cracked his knuckles and cocked his head, pondering his ensuing statement.
I interrupted before he could deliver it. “I'm only trying to understand what happens next.”
“Francesca's attorney is working to rescind her death certificate. Once she's officially considered as alive as you and me, then you can move forward with a divorce. The rest is all stuff Francesca has to address. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, Kel-baby.”
I gritted my teeth at the dreaded teenage nickname. “Your oldest daughter is a year younger than Emma. Shouldn't
we play nice for their sakes? Maybe they could be friends and cousins.”
“I'm sure Emma's a fine girl, despite having a mafia princess for a mother and a loose cannon for a father, but…” he began, then paused as a waitress filled his water glass. He turned to the woman and barked, “I requested the check ten minutes ago. My sister runs this quaint little joint. Do I need to call her over?” Cue two eyes slanting at his watch, then came the zinger. “My daughter needs to be around more stimulating friends. Sixty seconds left, Kellan.”
Calliope Nickels, a tough cookie in her late thirties who took no one's abuse, ripped a clean sheet of paper from her pad and scribbled something before handing it to him. “Since your sister owns this place, she told me the meal was on the house, sir. I already said that when you first demanded the check, but you were screaming at some poor sucker on your fancy phone about your hourly rate being more than he could afford.” Calliope, with half her spiky hair dyed neon pink and the other half shaved close to her scalp, turned to me with disgust. “You must've inherited all the good DNA. I can't believe this creep is your brother, Kellan. Eleanor never said how much of an arrogant ninny he'd become.”
I giggled at the Frankenstein monster photo on the wall behind Hampton, noticing for the first time an uncanny resemblance. Given the greenish tone to my brother's skin when he got angry, the stiff structure of his football-player shoulders, and those can't-miss-bolt-like ears, they could be twins.
As Calliope marched away swinging wide hips and snapping pudgy fingers, she yelled back, “Don't bother with a tip. I stopped collecting pennies years ago.”
Hampton's face flushed the color of one of his rare, imported merlots. “How dare she—”
“You asked for it. She is Eleanor's best employee and the daughter of one of Nana D's friends, Lloyd Nickels.” I also realized that made her Belinda Nickels' niece. Apparently, both Calliope and I had egotistical family members who'd forgotten how to behave in public.
Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 3
