“If I were you, I wouldn't explore much without the help of a knowledgeable and trained professional, such as myself. This house has a convoluted history, and you might find yourself in a spot of trouble. I'll share my research with you in the future. For now, beware of strange sounds and lights. Do not go into the basement.” Bartleby let himself out the front entrance, citing a prearranged dinner with a friend. He promised to return the following week with Madam Zenya to discuss the incidents.
My rational side thought his sanity was heading south for a permanent vacation, so I brushed off the entire bonkers visit. Once Hope shared her information, and Bartleby returned to divulge his, I'd decide if moving into the Garibaldi house produced any valid risks. For all I knew, my practical joker had gone the way of the dinosaurs or the situation resulted from Ulan's childish behavior.
I remained in the kitchen and stared at the basement door, angry and frustrated that I wasted so much of my time. I hadn't expected the door to open and reveal its secrets to me, but I knocked anyway. I jiggled the handle and tried to pry it loose. Nothing worked. I trudged away, theorizing the entire pseudo-paranormal experience was just a case of home-buying regret. As soon as I turned my back and arrived at the sink to test the new faucet, a disturbing return knock boomed.
I did a one-eighty and eyed the door suspiciously. I stepped a few feet closer to it and leaned a hesitant ear in its direction. I stood two yards away, waiting for another creepy knock. What kind of fool was I? I did not believe in ghosts. The door was locked, and there were no other entrances into the basement, as far as I could tell. The house had a front and a back door on the main level. There weren't any tornado cellars or storm shelter access points nearby that I'd found when roaming the grounds. I was being silly and deemed the root cause as pipes creaking or the house settling. With all the minor construction, things were bound to shift. Given the house was over a hundred-and-fifty years old, it'd earned the right to moan and groan when someone rattled its bones.
Then, I heard a second round of persistent thumping. Madam Zenya's theory about the haunting's demise, once the victim's bones were found, no longer made sense. Someone was definitely inside my house again, and this time, he or she was intent on tormenting me with their presence. I jumped backward, despite nothing moving near the door. I cupped my chin and scratched at the two-day growth I'd absentmindedly forgotten to shave. Wait! That knock came from the front of the house. As I meandered through the hallway, I heard another loud bang, followed by two voices shouting at me.
“It's too early for trick-or-treat,” Emma yelled in a hilarious sing-song voice. “Open up, Daddy.”
Ulan had stepped across the entryway to the bay window in the living room and tapped on the glass. “It's locked. We can't get in. Are you punishing us for being so much more awesome than you?”
After opening the squeaky door, Emma hugged and informed me she was starving. The gymnastics routine had wiped her out, and Augie had no time to buy snacks before dropping them off.
“Augie said hi and bye. Can we head back to Danby Landing? I need to work on my science project, and the supplies are at home,” Ulan stated with a blank expression. He adjusted a Beetlejuice sock that had slipped a few inches to his ankle.
After checking the basement entrance again, even though it seemed no one had pounded on the door, I complied. Once we ate dinner and settled at the cottage, Emma prepared to walk Baxter around the orchard, proudly showing off her adorable socks with two ghosts blowing kisses at one another. What an angel. “You better pick up after him. Nana D will be upset if she finds anything.”
Emma pinched her nose and begged Ulan to go with her. “Pleeeaaassseee….”
“Nope. Sorry, honey. Ulan and I need to have an important discussion about a meeting at his school tomorrow.” I glanced in his direction and watched all the color drain from his youthful face.
Once Emma left, he sat restlessly on the couch across from me. “How much trouble am I in?”
“On a scale of one to ten, I'd say… a twelve. What gives, Ulan? I thought you were happy in Pennsylvania.” I kept my tone calm and understanding, but direct, so he knew I meant business.
“It's not you guys. It's so much fun being around family. I love my father, but he's more interested in talking to the elephants than to me.” Ulan huffed and crossed his arms around a pillow.
I carefully navigated the conversation, as I recalled what it'd been like for an authority figure to discipline me at his age. Hampton had always gotten us into trouble, but I'd earned the more severe punishments because our parents had believed I knew better. They cut him extra slack, since he was older and had to deal with four younger siblings who'd received more attention than him. I never agreed with their approach and analysis, but what fifteen-year-old could reason with their parents?
“Okay. I'm glad you're happy to be around Emma and me. What I don't understand is why you painted that message and what else you've done at school. I'll try to be reasonable and listen to what you have to say, but this is inappropriate and childish behavior, Ulan.” I leaned forward from the opposite couch and clasped my hands together. Although I'd barely known him for two months, I recognized he was uncomfortable with physical contact. I'd read up on his situation, wondering whether growing up without a mother and with a distant father had made him untrusting or incapable of expressing his emotions. All I knew was I wanted him to feel safe and be honest with me.
“They were bullies. When the kids found out I lived in an African jungle, they called me Moozan because of my long hair. They made a bunch of animal sounds whenever I'd enter or leave a room.” Ulan turned his head, rubbing at something in his eye. He'd begun tearing up and didn't want me to know. Ulan explained that they'd combined Tarzan, the Disney character Mulan, and his real name to tease him. Principal Grey had observed it happen the first time and encouraged him to be friendlier to his schoolmates, by showing them he was a nice kid who could be an ally. Between Ulan's shyness and super-intelligence, the school's cream of the crop had already deemed him prey. “No matter what I said, it got worse. So, one day, I took a can of red paint to school and wrote mean messages on all their lockers. I thought it'd make them stop torturing me,” Ulan admitted, then covered his head on his lap and silently bawled.
I let him work out his emotions, then moved next to him. I placed a hand on his knee, hoping not to make him nervous. “We'll get through this together.”
He sat up and thrust himself against my chest, hugging me as tightly as Emma whenever she said goodbye on school mornings. “Please don't send me back to Africa. I just can't attend that awful school anymore.” Ulan calmed down moments later and swallowed a glass of water.
After I convinced him he wouldn't be leaving my care soon, he promised to never again do anything like he'd done. “I appreciate you saying that. You inadvertently caused me to almost have a heart attack when you painted our basement door with that death threat. I must admit, when I found those shoes with the red paint on the heels in your closet, I wanted to FedEx you to Hampton's place.”
Ulan cocked his head to the side and made a strangled sound in his throat. “What are you talking about? I did nothing to our house.”
My body froze instantly, recalling the dream I'd had the previous weekend where I'd felt ice in my veins. “It's okay. I forgive you, and we'll figure out how to move forward. Just don't lie to me, Ulan.”
He stood, situating the empty water glass on the table. “I swear, sir. I don't even know what you're talking about. It wasn't me.”
If I'd learned anything about my cousin, he couldn't fib without shaking one of his legs. He was as rigid as a pole at that moment. Ulan was telling the truth, prompting me to search for a mutually agreeable solution. As punishment for not revealing his troubles at school and for throwing out the principal's letter, I tasked him with trivial repairs and painting the living room in the new house. When we were united on our approach for how to talk to Belinda Grey, I directed him to finish
his homework.
I escaped and shut the bedroom door to steal a moment of silence. I believed Ulan when he promised he hadn't left the message on the door. Regrettably, it elevated my concerns about moving into the house with two young, impressionable children. Until I knew what was in the basement, and we verified who'd left that message, remaining at the Danby Landing cottage was the wisest decision.
A suspicious, niggling desire rose to the surface over what'd happened to Prudence Grey and whether it was indeed her skeleton they'd found underneath Memorial Library. I shook my head and crashed on the bed. It was happening again. I had another compelling mystery to investigate. But it was personal this time—my home was possibly at the center. If Prudence was still alive or Hiram had killed her, the law dictated that he didn't have permission to sell me the house. Now what would I do?
Chapter 6
After the kids boarded the bus for school the following day, I notified the departmental office manager I'd be arriving later than usual. I didn't have class until mid-morning, so I'd be able to attend the meeting with Principal Grey. I wasn't enthusiastic about the discussion after our multiple disagreements over the Fall Festival. When it came to my kid, or those I was responsible for, no one pushed me around. If Belinda hadn't addressed the high school bully situation, I would personally.
Despite two text messages and a voicemail to April, she hadn't returned my phone call. I was desperate to learn what she'd discovered about the skeleton but would have to wait. In need of a quick release for my pent-up energy before heading to the high school, I stopped at the aptly named Grey Sports Complex to sneak in a necessary workout. Connor had postponed our normal morning routine after an unexpected turn of events had swamped them at the sheriff's office. He wouldn't offer any details but articulated they'd made progress on detecting the skeleton's identity.
With my workout complete, I walked through the North Campus parking lot. Two loud voices argued several rows away. Normally, I'd ignore them and get on with my business; however, I recognized at least one. I popped my head over the top of a car and peered down the row. Hiram irately shook a fist at his son, Damien. They were focused on their disagreement and hadn't noticed me.
“Why won't you talk about my birthmother? If that's her skeleton, I deserve a valid explanation,” Damien blasted in a daunting tone, stepping inches from his father. Rubicund and hatchet-faced, his looks must've faded over the years—not the usual model his ex-wife, Lara, dated nowadays.
“Don't speak to me in that tone. I've told you everything you need to know about Prudence. She was a seriously ill woman, and I have a letter that proves she ran away because she didn't want to take care of you.” Hiram pounded his fist in his palm as his face heated with red and purple splotches.
“What? I want to see the words she used to abandon me. I can't imagine doing that to my child. Imogene is the light of my life. How could you just now tell me that my birthmother left a letter, Dad, and not mention a word of it in so many years?” Damien seemed genuinely upset that he'd never gotten to know his biological mother. Lara had noted he could never stand up to his father and that he blamed himself for her abrupt departure. Today, he was quite the opposite: hot-tempered and unforgiving. I worried he might pummel his father. Would I need to insert myself into their argument?
“I did what was necessary. The letter simply said she left town to focus on healing herself. When will you grow up? Do what I tell you and forget everything about the troubled woman. Even though Belinda has been a thorn in my side ever since the divorce, she's the woman who raised you and whom you call Mom. Be grateful you weren't put in an orphanage like some kids.”
A car door slammed shut, and an engine roared out of the parking lot. I waited to see what would happen next. Damien leaned against his Mercedes and answered an incoming call. Given I'd accepted my eavesdropper inclinations—only when it might help solve a crime, that is—I listened. At first, I did not understand who'd called, which made sense since I barely knew the man from Adam. Then, it became clear he was on the phone with my best friend, Connor.
Damien queried, “You need a sample of my DNA? Is this to prove I am related to the skeleton?” He listened to Connor's reply. “Of course, but that means you believe it's Prudence Grey, my biological mother?” He uttered a few noises of confirmation, then harshly agreed to head to the sheriff's office.
Everything was lining up, except who had vandalized my house. Neither April nor Connor would pressure Damien to submit DNA unless assured the skeleton belonged to Prudence. They must've found remaining hair or fingernails to use for the verification. Were there other pieces of evidence buried with the skeleton that might identify what had happened? Not willing to wait any longer, I dialed April to get my answers. She answered on the first ring in a huff. “Yeah, now what do you want?”
“Good day to you too, sheriff. Some days, I never know which personality to expect—”
“I'm sorry I couldn't return your messages. It's been a zoo since last night. Everything okay?”
“Yes, but it sounds like an inconvenient time. Free for dinner later?” I preferred not to engage in a short conversation about all the ideas percolating inside my head. It would be better to talk in a more private space without our jobs, the kids, or the craziness of our days in the way.
“It's too early to confirm, but if I can get out at a decent hour, I'd love to see you.” April's tone softened when she finished speaking. “I thought you were someone else calling, sorry about that.”
“I hope things improve.” I was about to hang up when she finally shared the new information.
“If you call Lloyd Nickels waltzing into my office to confess to the murder of Prudence Grey fifty years ago getting better, then I'm the golden goose about to lay an egg.”
“Wait! What did you say?” I wasn't referring to her comment about a colorful bird.
“Please keep this to yourself. We've had the discussion many times before but seeing how you were the person to find the body, I've already accepted that you'll insert yourself into this one.” April disclosed that Lloyd had marched into the Wharton County Sheriff's Office the previous night to reveal exactly where he'd locked Prudence in the library. He'd felt guilty for years about what he'd done. “Once we discovered the skeleton, he admitted the truth. That's why I couldn't call you last night.”
“You caught the killer. Congratulations.” I was glad she solved the case but had no clue how Lloyd and Prudence were involved. Maybe this had nothing to do with the vandal at my house.
“If only it were that easy. Some of Lloyd's facts don't add up, hence I'm not ready to close the investigation. Lloyd says he never hit Prudence, but my evidence suggests otherwise. I'm certain this was intentional murder. I'll fill you in on the rest when we see each other. Bye for now.”
And just like that, my hopes for a future free of spooks and murders, along with any residual sanity, splattered on the floor. Was this paranormal drama forcing me to play detective again? April seemed to want my involvement and advice this time, unlike the past. Were we meant to grow closer?
After April hung up, I raced to the high school for my appointment with Belinda. Ulan was excused from class to meet with us for fifteen minutes, where we addressed the issue with the other students. By the time we finished, Ulan volunteered to help the custodians for the next few days with a specific list of tasks around the school. Belinda felt it was a sufficient punishment for the damage he'd caused to the lockers, and she was confident the situation would soon be under control. I found today's version of Belinda Grey easy to work with and had even complimented her on her approach to balancing both sides of the story. Ulan was permitted to attend his next class and exited her office.
“I appreciate your understanding and leniency. Ulan's had a rough year, but after our conversation last night, and this one, I feel much better.”
Belinda smiled, arching her eyebrows and highlighting the narrow shape of her eyes. Frosted blonde and gray hair fel
l effortlessly against her square shoulders. “I have a gift for working with students who need a swift kick in the rump,” she quipped, then asked me to stay for another minute. “I know you must think I'm abrasive, based on our interactions over the Fall Festival.”
I tried to interrupt, but she held a hand up to stop me.
“This festival has been my pride and joy for ten years. Bartleby Grosvalet never thought twice about handing over the planning and management to me. When your grandmother assumed control, I expected the same extension of courtesy. I could've behaved in a more mature manner.”
“You must've felt discarded when Nana D took it away from you with no discussion. Perhaps we can start over and use the next few days to organize an outstanding festival?” I stretched a hand in her direction and waited while she cautiously did the same.
“Excellent. I'm looking forward to our newfound partnership after today's meeting.” Belinda, dressed in a well-tailored, textured business suit, called for her secretary to escort me back to the lobby.
“Before I go, may I ask you something?” I surmised she might know information about Prudence's disappearance that hadn't been communicated to the public.
“Certainly, what can I do for you?” A tentative wavy line of wrinkles formed on her brow.
“I own the house where Prudence and Hiram used to live. I've heard rumors about its history, and now that they have found her body….” I felt myself struggling to formulate the question.
“I never lived in the house, Kellan. Hiram had moved out before I became Damien's nanny and we rekindled our relationship.” Belinda sighed loftily, flipping through a stack of papers on her desk.
Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 9
