“Umm… not really. Need to like… read some more. Can I eat dinner in the kitchen and finish studying?” His head bobbed a few times, then scanned the room to focus anywhere but at me.
“Sure, no problem. You've got an hour, then we head to the cottage.” I could tell Ulan was nervous and didn't want to engage with me. Perhaps Augie would share what they'd chatted about.
Emma dashed back in to jabber about her afternoon at the diner. Augie tossed a recyclable box of food at me and slumped on the couch. When Emma ceased talking, Augie excitedly revealed that he'd formally applied to four colleges and couldn't wait to find out if he'd earn early acceptance from them. “Thanks again for writing me a recommendation letter. I'm hoping to attend Braxton.”
“You'll get in,” I replied, deciding to mention his conversation with Ulan. “I heard you guys talking outside about me finding something out. Anything I need to know?” Smooth, real smooth. Despite being a parent, there was a monumental difference between raising a seven-year-old girl and a teenage boy. I hadn't learned the fine art of dealing with puberty, mood swings, or kids keeping secrets.
“Ulan will tell you when he's ready, I'm sure. Give him a day or so. The poor guy is still adjusting to the transition and getting to know you better.” Augie wolfed down the rest of his food, then trudged toward the door. “Gotta jet. April asked me to make sure the place is clean by the time she gets home.”
Was I now taking advice from a seventeen-year-old? Although Augie was mature for his age, he'd experienced a few tough years living with their father and occasionally made foolish decisions. After a physical altercation with another student in his first week at school this year, April met with the administration to discuss Augie's behavior. Surprisingly, April had found the high school's current principal, Belinda Grey, easy to partner with in their tête-à-tête. I'd only enjoyed the privilege of working with Belinda on the Fall Festival, which was not a pleasant experience by any acceptable standard.
If Ulan had written the message, we needed to confer about the reason and his apprehensions. I wouldn't kick his butt back to Africa, but I'd set new ground rules that I should've already instituted. He was a good kid, yet he'd been accustomed to more freedom and less oversight when living with his father. “Okay, let's head home. Baxter needs his walk.” While they all piled into the SUV, I locked the door, feeling an eerie sense that I was being watched—and not just by the nasty spider who'd returned. Goosebumps broke out all over my arms, highlighting the mounting concerns about the upcoming move. I drove home, constantly checking the rear-view mirror for ghoulish creatures trying to attack us.
While they escorted the puppy, I called April with news that my goblin's name might be Ulan. She agreed with my plan to allow a couple of days for him to tell me whatever was on his mind. April also reminded me the construction workers had complained about their tools vanishing or moving between rooms. Ulan had not been at the house those days. With little explanation for the incidents, we expediently changed topics to the issue on campus regarding the Memorial Library renovations.
“Judge Grey never showed up. Maggie and Ursula pacified everyone for tonight. Several people vehemently opposed tomorrow's groundbreaking,” April explained, citing that Belinda Grey and our former mayor, Bartleby Grosvalet, were the two loudest adversaries against the proposed renovations. One of Maggie's student interns had also whacked Belinda in the shoulder over her attitude and ruthless attempt to stop progress. It had been a hotbed of animosity all evening.
“How does the new building impact Belinda and Bartleby?”
“Belinda shares a property line with the back of Memorial Library where most of the construction will occur this fall. She'll deal with endless jack-hammering and excessive banging.” April recounted all the extra steps Ursula had implemented to minimize the impact, but it wouldn't placate Belinda. “Demolishing an important piece of the college's past annoyed Grosvalet. He's been the town historian for years and wants to preserve the original wing of the library.”
Braxton College, soon to be Braxton University, was once the centerpiece of our quaint village, employing hundreds of citizens and teaching thousands of students each semester. Over the years, money had been diverted to the wrong departments, and the institution had suffered. Ursula was adamant about returning the college to its former glory. “That building is in terrible shape. Something had to be done about it.” I surmised that Bartleby Grosvalet had only opposed the plans after he'd finished his term as mayor. Prior to that, he'd been a proponent of the library's renovations, if I recalled correctly. He'd retained a habit of switching his loyalties during the last election, usually dependent upon which wealthy family had lobbied him the hardest. What was the oddball man up to now?
“Yes, but he suggested fixing and converting the old wing into a museum. He's been buying property over the years, including that old lighthouse in the middle of the Finnulia River. I heard a rumor that Grosvalet tried to force Hiram to give him your house, rather than sell the place to you.”
We hung up when April arrived home, so she could spend time with her brother. I had no clue why Bartleby previously tried to stake a claim on my new residence. He'd said nothing to me in the past. Or had he only confronted Nana D once she'd stolen the abode from him?
* * *
Although Ulan and Emma had school to attend the next morning, Braxton College's classes wouldn't resume until the following day. I spent a few hours in my office leisurely drafting lesson plans and reading poorly written overviews of students' project proposals for each of my courses.
By lunchtime, I was eager to meet Lara Bouvier at Simply Stoddard in the downtown district. Its dining room had been transformed into a gorgeous autumn setting, complete with resplendent artwork focusing on harvest scenery. Indoor trees boasted leaves of brilliant gold, orange, and yellow colors, and the scent of earthy cinnamon, pumpkin spice, and maple candles roamed the space. We reflected on Bartleby's surprising acquisition, the Braxton Lighthouse, as it loomed tall and stalwart in the widest section of the river.
“I owe you so much,” Lara uttered graciously after providing our orders to the waiter. The relaxing glow of her immaculate skin was no doubt due to a recent spa treatment, and her silky shiny hair made her regal and debonair. Because of her perfect movie-star looks and dynamic personality, she was one of the most sought after, eligible single women in the county. The last I heard, she'd still been smitten with Finnigan Masters, an influential attorney at least fifteen years her junior. “Gary Hill is remarkably fair and open-minded. I'm indebted to you for introducing us.”
Gary was the new executive producer at the LA network that owned the rights to Dark Reality, a television show where I'd been an assistant director. After former executives fired the main director and placed the show on a hiatus last spring, they put my contract on hold until finding time to strategize. I'd ultimately accepted the part-time professorship in Braxton, assuming the executives would never consider all my suggestions for how to rearchitect the network and create a stronger television series. Then, Gary called a few months ago to ask me to meet with him in LA about my ideas.
“I was cautious at first, but Gary proved to be the real deal. Although it's been working so far, my summer teaching schedule was lighter.” I sipped water, revisiting my decision to sign a new contract with the network. Dark Reality would no longer be a fake show—something I'd hated being part of—but would become a true crime series addressing historic events with a focus on providing only precise facts. No more bogus drama re-creations whose sole purpose was to garner ratings. While I wouldn't direct anymore, Gary and I had brokered a mutually beneficial arrangement where I functioned as a consultant who provided a monthly allotment of hours to use as they saw fit. He'd begged me to accept the on-air host role, but I had zero interest. Instead, I proposed an impromptu meeting with Lara, knowing she was an ethical yet persistent journalist who'd dazzle everyone on camera.
“He offered me the job, Kellan. I
'll be the new host of Dark Reality, and you and I will work together much more frequently.” Lara clinked a stemless white wine glass against mine and grinned.
“Congratulations! That's fantastic. I'm thrilled it's worked out.” I was ecstatic because it also netted me a small bonus and future royalties, assuming the show excelled in the ratings.
After Lara and I devoured our meals and discussed her initial ideas for the changes to Dark Reality, I casually inquired if she'd be willing to share anything about Prudence Grey.
“Hiram's first wife? Oh, that should be one of our stories, except we undoubtedly don't have enough to go on. The Greys have always kept the details of her disappearance hush hush.” Lara was once involved with Hiram and Prudence's son, Damien, thirty years ago. After an unexpected pregnancy in high school, Hiram had coerced her into marriage, so his first grandchild, Imogene, wasn't illegitimate.
“I don't know a lot about the Grey family. What can you tell me about Hiram and his first wife?”
Lara laughed. “Let's see… Hiram wouldn't allow anyone to talk about Prudence. When Damien told me that Belinda wasn't his biological mother, I posed a bunch of basic and obvious questions. Everyone in the family was afraid to speak about the past. I got the wildest reactions.”
Lara explained everything she knew. After Prudence had disappeared, Hiram hired a nanny to take care of Damien, who'd been scarcely three months old when he'd lost his mother. The first nanny didn't stay long, but by that time, Hiram had become reacquainted with his former high school sweetheart, Belinda Nickels. Belinda assumed the role of Damien's nanny for a few months before she and Hiram acknowledged they'd fallen back in love. Hiram had no evidence that Prudence had perished in the fire, so he was technically still married and couldn't rush things.
“But he married Belinda at some point. Nana D told me that the confounded woman was his second wife,” I interjected, confused by the history lesson.
“True, but he had to wait seven years to have Prudence declared dead in absentia, a common practice. Hiram was a successful attorney hoping to become a county judge. He followed the letter of the law, and the day after he received an official death certificate for Prudence, he—”
“Married Belinda.” I finished her thoughts, something that had been happening a lot between us lately. “So, you're saying that Damien thinks of Belinda as his mother.”
“Belinda raised him, even when Hiram divorced her years later. While he married four more times, Belinda simpered on the sidelines, hoping he'd eventually come back to her.” Lara insisted that Damien felt closer to Belinda more than his own father. “When Damien and I were married, he was like a lost little boy constantly searching for but never receiving his daddy's approval. He's changed by now.”
“Do you think Hiram killed Prudence? Or did she vanish on her own?” I was glad to speak with someone who held inside knowledge of the family. If Ulan wasn't responsible for the menacing message on our basement door, my only other option was to side with Nana D. She suspected Prudence, who might or might not be alive, was my delinquent. Given the woman would be in her mid-seventies today, had suffered through several devastating tragedies, and hadn't been seen in fifty years, the accepted likelihood was that she'd been long dead. I was still noncommittal on that curious assumption, hence I couldn't wholly discount the ghost theory. What kind of drama was I in for now, if a ghost or ruffian had a vendetta against me or an innate desire to prevent my move into The Old Grey Place?
“Damien believes his biological mother ran away because he was an awful baby. No matter how much logic dictates otherwise, he can't help but blame himself,” Lara sadly revealed, offering to buy lunch as a thank you for securing her the job. “Hiram divorced Belinda and his next two wives. The fifth died in a freak plane accident. There was nothing suspicious about it, just to be clear.”
“And he divorced the sixth one last year. So, you're hypothesizing that he didn't kill Prudence. He would've divorced her like the rest.” I answered my question, but it still didn't explain whether the woman was living or dead.
“Bartleby Grosvalet was researching Prudence's disappearance earlier this summer. I'm certain he wanted to buy that house from Hiram and spent countless hours examining their past,” Lara advised as we stood from the table. “The place has always fascinated Damien's brother too. Xavier wanted to hire some paranormal tv show host to investigate the house. Hiram refused to allow it, even threatened to cut his son out of the will if he kept pressing the matter.” Xavier was Damien's next oldest sibling, the father of my former student, Carla, who also exhibited the standard Grey oddities and intensities.
“I live there, or I will in several days. I bought the place from Hiram and renovated it.”
“You should've talked to me first. That carbuncle of home is seriously haunted.” Lara's eyes burst open widely as she sighed heavily, taking an Instagram shot of the fall-themed centerpiece.
“You don't say… where were you two months ago when I decided?”
“You never asked.” Lara playfully slapped my shoulder. “Damien and I lived there for a month when we first got married. I don't know if it was pregnancy hormones or a vengeful ghost, but I always assumed someone was watching me and rearranging my closets.” Lara explained that she'd barely woken up one morning after a restless sleep, drowsy and shivering as a cold draft caressed her belly. She'd been five months pregnant, and when she called out for Damien, he was nowhere to be found. All she saw was the faint, wraithlike shadow of a woman with two different colored eyes floating out the doorway. “There was a note in the kitchen that revealed he'd left earlier for work. I'm not one to frighten easily, and I don't believe in spirits, but I know what I felt and saw. I could swear that ghost looked back at me as if she was warning me about something. No child of mine would live in that house. We moved in with Hiram the next day.”
Lara indicated she needed to mosey over to campus to report on the groundbreaking for the Memorial Library renovations that would begin any moment. We exited the parking lot in separate cars. Maggie had invited me to witness how the crew would raze the two-story wing of the library, and also serve as moral and physical support to her following yesterday's altercation. The fascinating pieces of historical information Lara had provided prompted me to check on the existence of any Prudence Grey photographs. I texted Maggie to ask her to search for one in the library and confirm I was on my way.
While driving across town, I inquired if Nicky had encountered any more spectral or human visitors. He verified nothing had happened since finding the original note, urging me to accept it was just a homeless person who'd hoped I would abandon the project, or a prankster inspired by Halloween. Nicky had changed the lock in the mudroom and installed a temporary camera to determine if anyone tried to tamper with it again. I parked on campus and walked toward Memorial Library, shaking my head at several students racing by in pirate costumes. Ah, the good old days of frat parties!
Before I could reach the construction area, our former mayor approached from the Grey Sports Complex. “Good afternoon, Kellan. It's nice to see you here,” Bartleby greeted, wheezing from exerting himself too much on the walk. In his mid-seventies and a constant overeater and drinker, the man was lucky to still be alive. He'd lost most of his hair, and his skin had a sallow, saggy appearance that made him scary to young children, including my daughter, who rarely exhibited any weakness.
“I've been meaning to call you. How are things going post-term as Wharton County mayor?” While he'd been an enthusiastic devotee of Nana D's opponent, Bartleby tried his best to preserve a relationship with my grandmother throughout the campaign.
Bartleby's pensive glare across the campus revealed his despondent longing for the past. “Seraphina is doing a wonderful job as my successor. I am elated she beat Stanton, but don't tell him that. He's a good poker buddy, and I have little else going on these days.”
“I'm sure she'll be glad when I update her. Don't sell yourself short. I hear you're keep
ing busy as the town's historian.” A gust of pungent, smoky air drifted by us. The cafeteria was serving roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate for all the folks watching the demolition.
“Yes, a longtime hobby. I know everything about this town, all its secrets, both good and bad. I'm not sure if I trust you enough with those details.” A devilish smile appeared on his face, highlighting a blackened tooth that desperately needed to be pulled, as we navigated the campus pathways.
I inquired if he'd tried to purchase my house before Nana D had convinced Hiram Grey to sell it to us. After Bartleby cautiously nodded but kept his quivering lips silent, I proposed, “Perhaps you'd like to see the renovation work I've undertaken. I'd be curious to talk more about the place.”
“That would be most generous of you, Kellan. I wanted to access that house again, but alas, it didn't work out. Many fond memories as a youngster. I was notably close to the owners.”
“Why don't you stop by tomorrow around five o'clock? We should be done with the major work, and I can give you the grand tour.” I was growing more confident that Bartleby hid something from me.
“That sounds delightful. Maybe we'll encounter a few ghosts. I assume you know all about its history,” he wistfully replied, shaking my hand. “I'm also an expert on Braxton's paranormal activity, my lad. The things I know would haunt your dreams.” Bartleby stepped away to find a spot in the crowd.
I stood dumbfounded. What had he meant by that statement? My nightmares were already crazy enough. I crossed the path to the designated area where we'd watch the demolition process. After pointing at Maggie, the construction worker handed me a helmet and allowed me to pass through.
“Don't you look cute in your little outfit,” I teased, confident the hard hat shouldn't swallow her entire forehead and line of sight. “Can you even see with that thing?”
“They didn't have any left in my size. You're one to talk. That hat doesn't go with your cardigan, flannel, corduroys, and moccasins. You're a cross between a burly lumberjack and a prepster.” She grabbed my arm, steering us closer. Her lustrous hair and porcelain skin glistened in the bright sunlight.
Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 5
