A Dangerous Departure From Hillbilly Hollow

by Blythe Baker

  A Dangerous Departure From Hillbilly Hollow

  Blythe Baker

  Copyright © 2018 by Blythe Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Description

  Newsletter Invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  There’s a new ghost in town…and it’s calling Emma away from Hillbilly Hollow.

  A ghostly visit from her former landlady draws Emma away from sleepy little Hillbilly Hollow to investigate a murder in the big city. But what seems like a straightforward case soon becomes entangled with an event from Emma’s past and a personal quest for justice.

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  1

  I’d avoided my grandparents’ farm for years after I went off to college and then moved to New York City, but it was amazing how even after all that time away, I could be back for a few months and it already felt like home again. Grandma had shouted up the attic stairs to wake me up just as the sun was peeking over the horizon that Saturday morning, and after stuffing me with eggs and bacon, had dragged me out to her vegetable garden to help harvest squash and pumpkins. We’d been out there most of the day.

  With dirt up to my elbows and sweat across my brow, I thought about what I’d be doing if I was still in New York. I probably would have slept until mid-morning and then walked down to the bakery on the corner for a warm bagel and a cup of coffee. Then, I would have done some shopping or caught up on some graphic design work at home. The ad agency where I’d had my old job had provided the kind of work I could often take home with me. As I thought about it, I couldn’t lie, that all sounded nice. But it was also nice doing a bit of physical labor.

  “Are you really going to let an old woman beat you, Emma?” Grandma asked from the vegetable row next to me. I’d been too deep in my thoughts to notice, but she had pulled ahead and had nearly filled her wooden basket with butternut squash.

  I put my head down and began working faster. “Never! I just wanted to give you a fighting chance.”

  She laughed and shook her head, no doubt knowing I couldn’t back down from a challenge and now at my new pace we’d be done twenty minutes sooner.

  Originally, I hadn’t expected to be in Hillbilly Hollow for long, but now that I was settled, it was impossible to imagine going back to my old life in the city. Having my grandparents around was nice. I was able to keep an eye on them and make sure everything was okay. They were both spry and healthy for their age, but I still worried about them. Plus, being back with my childhood friends, Billy and Suzy, had been fun. I had friends in New York, of course, but everyone always seemed so busy there—rushing off for appointments and shows. But Billy and Suzy could always make time for a hang out session or dinner at the diner.

  I’d become so comfortable being back home, in fact, that sometimes it was easy to forget the reason I’d originally come back. Dr. Jenson, back in New York, thought being out on the family farm, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, would help me heal after being struck by a taxi. He thought it would help make the visions I’d been seeing go away. In his opinion, the ghostly apparitions were nothing more than the misfiring of electrical impulses in my brain after the trauma to my head from the accident.

  After finally talking to Grandma and Grandpa about my visions, though, I had finally decided they weren’t misfirings at all. But rather, the blow to the head had opened my eyes to things most people couldn’t see. This seemed increasingly likely since, according to Grandma and Grandpa, several members of my family had experienced similar visions after head trauma. If it wasn’t for this information, I would have thought I was crazy, especially after Preacher Jacob appeared to me after his murder and helped me solve the crime. He’d even saved my life when his murderer had tried to make me his second victim. It all seemed insane, but armed with my family history, I now knew that I had a special gift—the ability to communicate with the dead and, sometimes, help them find peace.

  “Aha!”

  I looked up to see my grandma doing her approximation of a celebration dance, arms raised over her head, knees bobbing back and forth. She was at the end of her row and I, once again, had gotten lost in my own head and was barely even three-fourths of the way done.

  “Well done,” I said, clapping for her and shaking my head in mock disappointment.

  She laughed and wiped her forehead with a floral tea towel before walking down my row and kneeling in the dirt next to me. “Lucky for you, I’m not a sore winner.”

  Together, we had everything in the garden harvested in the next twenty minutes.

  “What are we going to do with all of these pumpkins?” I asked. “None of them are big enough for any competitions.”

  “Pie, of course,” Grandma said. “Margene Huffler made a pumpkin pie last October and by the way the ladies in the Quilting Circle went on and on about it, you would have thought she’d cured a disease. Apparently, Margene grinds her own spices. Well, I can do better than that. I’m going to grind my own spices and use a garden-grown pumpkin.”

  “I’m sure it will leave Mrs. Huffler’s pie in the dirt,” I said with a laugh.

  Then I sobered for a second. I actually felt bad for the Huffler family—and not just because Margene’s pie was about to be bested by my grandma’s. The Hufflers had been through a lot lately. Margene’s daughter, Prudence, had been in love with the murdered Preacher Jacob. Then Prudence herself had nearly been the victim of another crime. She had survived the attempt on her life but must have been shaken by it because, shortly afterward, she had packed up and left town. No doubt, Margene would be lonely without her, but I hoped Prudence made a success of whatever new life she built for herself.

  Grandma’s forehead was wrinkling in concern. “Where’s Snowball?”

  I looked around, expecting to see a furry little tail somewhere nearby, but instead saw nothing but a small hole where Snowball had been digging in the dirt. “I’m not sure. She usually doesn’t wander too far.”

  “The clouds look heavy with rain, and it’s supposed to get a bit chilly tonight, so you’ll want to find her. I can finish cleaning up here,” Grandma said.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”

  Grandma grabbed the shovel out of my hand and shooed me away with her dirt-covered gardening glove. “I’m old, not helpless. Besides, I don’t mind that old nanny goat sleeping in the house with you, but she’ll stink to high Heavens if she gets rained on. So, unless you want to give her a bath in the basin next to the outhouse, you better find her quick.

  That was enough of a threat to get me going. I hopped over the low wire fence that helped keep the rabbits out of the garden and took off in the direction of the back field.

  Grandma was right. I hadn’t noticed, but fleecy gray clouds had rolled in and the air felt thick
and damp. A chill ran down my back, and I chalked it up to the sudden chill. It also could have been that I was standing in the exact same spot I’d been in when I’d first seen Preach Jacob’s spirit after his murder, but I decided not to think about that.

  “Snowball!” I’d never figured out whether Snowball could understand her name or, even if she could, whether she’d always respond to it. But she had proven herself to be mostly like a dog in every other respect, so I thought it was worth a try. “Snowball!”

  Something white off at the far end of the field caught my eye, and I turned quickly, but nothing was there. Tingles worked their way from the base of my neck to the top of my head, and I rolled my head in a circle to dispel them. Everything was fine. I was just keyed up from running across the field and my body was confusing endorphins for adrenaline. Or something like that.

  Another flash of movement made me turn the other direction, and suddenly the chill in the air didn’t feel so natural. Could it really be this cool in early autumn? It had come on suddenly, too. A bit too suddenly. And Snowball was probably waiting for me up at the house. She had never taken off into the field by herself before, so I didn’t know why I’d assumed she’d do so now. As I turned back towards the house, a final glimpse of white drew my attention. I turned to the right and saw, plain as day, the silvery outline of a woman.

  Startled, I stumbled backwards, tripping over a rock and falling on my backside. I scrambled to my feet again, never once taking my eyes off of the apparition. I could see the horizon through the apparition as though it was a foggy glass window, but I could also see the distinct womanly shape. She was plump and wearing an ankle-length dress, but otherwise the features weren’t clear. Still, something about her looked familiar.

  I started to step forward to investigate, hoping I could discover her identity, when I heard a shrill bleat and then a fifty-pound goat hurled itself at my chest. Once again, I found myself backside in the dirt.

  “Snowball,” I said, a mixture of displeasure and relief in my voice.

  She gave me a panicked “maw” and then buried her head under my arm. I wrapped my arms around her and managed to get us both up off the ground, but by the time I looked back to where the woman had been standing, there was nothing there.

  “What on Earth are you doing all the way out here?” I asked as if I expected the nanny to respond. Snowball only looked up at me with wide eyes. Then, distant thunder rumbled, and she tucked herself further into my chest, a shivering shaking mess. “Let’s get back to the farmhouse before we get soaked and you have a conniption.”

  2

  Billy’s truck was visible in the drive as soon as I cleared the old wooden fence that surrounded the back field. Though, he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  “Grandma is probably stuffing him with biscuits and honey in the kitchen,” I whispered to Snowball, who seemed to be calming down the further away we got from the site of the apparition.

  When I got a bit closer to the house, I dropped Snowball on the ground and patted the woolly fluff above her tail. “Now, go on, but don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

  “If she’s anything like you, that might be a little hard.”

  I looked up to see Billy Stone, or rather Dr. Will Stone, smiling at me, his bright white teeth offset by his naturally tan skin. Just as I’d expected, he was holding a biscuit that was dripping in honey and leaning against the door to Grandma and Grandpa’s shack.

  “I’m not sure what you mean. I never get into any trouble.”

  He raised a dubious eyebrow at me and smiled.

  “What brings you here?” I asked.

  “You,” he said, tipping his head towards me.

  The simple answer made my face feel warm and my stomach fluttery. “Oh, really?”

  “I saw Suzy and Brian heading to the diner and I thought I’d come pick you up for an impromptu meeting of the three musketeers.”

  “And Brian,” I added, one finger raised in the air.

  Billy laughed. “Yes, three musketeers and Brian.”

  I was just about to accept his invitation on the condition that my grandma didn’t mind me skipping dinner with her and my grandfather when my phone let out a shrill ring in my pocket. The sound made me jump. Most everyone I talked to these days stopped by the house if they needed anything from me, just as Billy had done. Or they would text me, which was only one beep instead of the airhorn-style alarm going off now.

  I gave Billy an apologetic smile, pulled my phone from my pocket, and took a few paces back towards the field to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Emma Hooper?” a disinterested male voice asked.

  “This is her. Who am I speaking with?” I didn’t recognize the voice and the number wasn’t plugged into my phone.

  “Jay Wilkins.” A long pause ensued, the man clearly assuming I would recognize his name, which I absolutely didn’t. “I’m Blanche Wilkins’ son. I live in the basement of your building.”

  Suddenly, the image of a stout, freckled man with red hair and a seemingly endless supply of rock band t-shirts popped into my head. He was the son of my landlady in New York City. Blanche was the furthest thing from charming, and if possible, her son was even more off-putting. They both looked perpetually miserable and never had a smile for anyone. In Jay’s defense, living in the basement of the apartment building his mother owned probably wasn’t ideal. Of course, I was living in my grandparents’ attic, but even my grandpa, who had a tendency to speak few words and contain his emotions, was a ray of bright sunshine in comparison to Blanche Wilkins. I definitely had the better living situation. But even now that I knew who was calling, it still didn’t make any sense why Jay Wilkins would be calling me.

  I had gone back to the city only once since making the move back to Missouri. I had returned just long enough to pack up a few things and look into giving up my apartment. In the end, I had ultimately decided to hang onto the place a little longer and put off moving my last few things to Missouri.

  I was the ideal tenant, absent and paying regular rent for a place I hadn’t even lived in for months. So, I didn’t see why the son of my landlady would call me. And I couldn’t begin to understand how he had even tracked down my phone number.

  “Right, of course. Jay. How are you?” I asked, trying to disguise my confusion.

  “Fine,” he said quickly before getting down to business. “I’m calling to inform you that my mom has passed away very suddenly. I’m now the building’s landlord. I was going to leave a sign under your door, but your neighbor told me you’ve been out of town for several months and it would be best to call you. So, I’m calling.”

  Had he just told me his mother died? Surely not. Yet, that was what he’d said. For clarification, I asked. “Your mother passed away?”

  He sighed as if annoyed with me, and proceeded to repeat everything he’d already said. “Yes, very suddenly, and that’s made me your new landlord.”

  “I’m so sorry. She was such a lovely lady,” I said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Jay said, not sounding at all convinced.

  “I’m out of town these days,” I said. “In Missouri.” I didn’t try to explain why I was still paying rent on an apartment I no longer lived in. I had decided some time ago to make Hillbilly Hollow my permanent home, but something in me had resisted completely giving up my old place.

  Jay hummed disinterestedly. “It’s no concern of mine. As long as rent is paid on time, you’re free to do as you’d like. And since my mother didn’t put up with late payments, I assume you’ve been paying on time and we won’t have an issue.”

  “Yes, I always pay at the first of the month,” I said. “But I really am so sorry to hear about your mother. I hope it was a peaceful passing.”

  “It seems like we understand each other, then. I have several more calls to make, so I really have to be going.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” I began, but before I could finish the thought, Jay interrupted.

 
“Goodbye, Miss Hooper.” With that, he hung up.

  I pocketed my phone and tried to draw up a mental image of Blanche Wilkins. The only times I saw her were if something was wrong with my rent payment or if we happened to run into one another in the hallway. And in those situations, I typically tried to squeeze by her without drawing too much attention to myself because the woman could talk, and none of her conversations were particularly cheerful. But now I wished I’d taken a better look at her. Could she have been the spirit I’d seen in the field? I didn’t know the rules on ghosts, but the trip from New York City to Hillbilly Hollow, Missouri was a long one. Was that even possible? And if it was, why would she have come to see me? Why not drop in and torment her son. He was just a few floors down in the basement, after all.

  “Who was that?”

  I spun around, having nearly forgotten Billy was standing behind me.

  “My New York landlady’s son.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Are you particularly close with your landlady’s son?”

  Was that a hint of jealousy or was I imagining it?

  I let out a nervous laugh. “No, not at all. That may have been the first time we’d ever spoken. He called because my landlady is dead.”

  Billy’s face fell, his tan skin taking on an ashen color. “I’m sorry.”

  I waved him away. “Thank you, but I didn’t really know her.”

  “Know who, dear?” Grandma came outside with a checkered tea cloth holding what had to be a bundle of biscuits. She handed them to Billy along with a jar of her raspberry jam.