by Gwen Gardner
Givin’ up the Ghost
By Gwen Gardner
Copyright 2012 Gwen Gardner
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, or by any information storage system without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Because of the dynamic nature of the internet, any web address or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.
Cover design and illustration by Corona Zschusschen http://www.sjusjun.com.
ISBN: 978-0-9884195-0-6 (print)
ISBN: 978-0-9884195-1-3 (ebook)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Givin' Up The Ghost (Indigo Eady Paranormal "Cozy" Mystery, #1)
Chapter 1 | Near Escape
Chapter Two | Survivors Unite
Chapter Three | Snug Storm
Chapter Four | Laughter and Caresses
Chapter Five | Murder, I Meant
Chapter Six | Psychic Intoxication
Chapter Seven | Interfering Ghost
Chapter Eight | Indigo Revealed
Chapter Nine | The Investigation Begins
Chapter Ten | Won’t You Come In?
Chapter Eleven | Voice From Above
Chapter Twelve | The Gang Meets Cappy
Chapter Thirteen | Close Call
Chapter Fourteen | Animal Graveyard
Chapter Fifteen | Cappy Confesses
Chapter Sixteen | Puttock’s Pub
Chapter Seventeen | The Wanton Wench
Chapter Eighteen | Rematch Demand
Chapter Nineteen | Sloshed Again
Chapter Twenty | Snug Meeting
Chapter Twenty-One | Ghostly Intervention
Chapter Twenty-Two | Padma
Chapter Twenty-Three | The Great Escape
Chapter Twenty-Four | The End of Billy-Watch
Chapter Twenty-Five | What Franny Heard
Chapter Twenty-Six | Soul Collector
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Padma’s Secret
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Cappy Cooks
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Creepy Obsession
Chapter Thirty | The Raid
Chapter Thirty-One | Candy
Chapter Thirty-Two | Clueless
Chapter Thirty-Three | An Arrest
Chapter Thirty-Four | The Missing Clue
Chapter Thirty-Five | Interference
Chapter Thirty-Six | The Tunnels
Chapter Thirty-Seven | The Gift
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
About the Author
Connect with Gwen
To the lights of my life, my shining stars - Allan and Amber Gardner. And to those who dream...
Immediatly the angell of the LORDE smote him,
because he gaue not God the honoure: And he was
eaten vp of wormes, and gaue vp the goost.
The Holy Bible,
~Miles Coverdale's Version, 1535, Acts 12:23:
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Near Escape
Chapter 2 - Survivors Unite
Chapter 3 - Snug Storm
Chapter 4 - Laughter and Caresses
Chapter 5 - Murder, I meant
Chapter 6 - Psychic Intoxication
Chapter 7 - Interfering Ghost
Chapter 8 - Indigo Revealed
Chapter 9 - Investigation Begins
Chapter 10-Won’t You Come In?
Chapter 11-Voice From Above
Chapter 12-Gang Meets Cappy
Chapter 13-Close Call
Chapter 14-Animal Graveyard
Chapter 15-Cappy Confesses
Chapter 16- Puttock’s Pub
Chapter 17-Wanton Wench
Chapter 18-Rematch Demand
Chapter 19-Sloshed Again
Chapter 20-Snug Meeting
Chapter 21-Ghostly Intervention
Chapter 22-MEC
Chapter 23-Great Escape
Chapter 24-End of Billy-Watch
Chapter 25-What Franny Heard
Chapter 26-Soul Collector
Chapter 27-Padma’s Secret
Chapter 28-Cappy Cooks
Chapter 29-Creepy Obsession
Chapter 30-The Raid
Chapter 31-Candy
Chapter 32-Clueless
Chapter 33-An Arrest
Chapter 34-The Missing Clue
Chapter 35-Interference
Chapter 36-The Tunnels
Chapter 37-The Gift
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
About the Author
Connect with Gwen
Chapter 1
Near Escape
“What the...” the guy sputtered. I lay sprawled across him, our eyes locked in stunned surprise, our bodies entwined in a tangle of arms and legs.
I chanced a worried glance back toward the alley I barreled from, but the thing was gone. I sighed. Not a graceful escape, I’ll admit. But all things considered, this new situation I found myself in was a vast improvement.
Early enough to avoid a crowd of spectators, I didn’t think anyone witnessed my fiasco. My quiet morning jog turned into a run from the thing. Now I could add “bowling over cute guy” to my mounting list of mishaps, along with, “Get a grip” on this growing problem of mine.
The guy beneath me squirmed.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, still catching my breath. I had to get myself out of the current predicament. Trust me, the extrication process? Not so easy. Not when my braid somehow got wrapped around his jacket button like thread on a bobbin.
Plus, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t doing much to help me with the problem. In fact, based on his grin and that little devil dancing a jig in his eyes, I’d say he enjoyed himself way too much.
I tried not to grin back. I should have been thankful he wasn’t mad, but it was no laughing matter. I was extremely uncomfortable, on more than one level. My knee between his legs tingled from banging against the ground. My hand against his chest...never mind.
I didn’t know what the norm was in old medieval England, but in the modern day medieval village of Sabrina Shores, lying about on the ground was not cool. People began to stare. The jettied, half-timbered buildings leaned over us, but it didn’t hide the fact that we were there, tangled together, on the rain-soaked cobblestones, in broad daylight.
“You could help me, you know,” I chastised. My shaky hands worked a strand of hair from his jacket button. One strand down. I cringed at the good-sized clump still button-bound, preventing me from getting up - unless I was willing to rip out chunks of my hair - which I wasn’t.
“Oh, sorry. Here, let me.” All of a sudden he was all business. With gentle fingers, he eased my long black locks from the button, strand by strand. While he worked, I studied his face. He looked familiar. A slight scar above his right brow, about an inch long. Dark brown hair, slightly messy and overgrown. Golden speckles in brown eyes that...
...now viewed me with amusement.
Crap. Busted. So not cool. Plus, I had the feeling I totally missed something he said.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, dumbly.
“You’re loose,” he repeated. The corners of his lips twitched.
“Oh, um, thanks.” My cheeks grew hot. As always, I felt the reaction reflected on my face, like a tomato gone wild. Darn, why couldn’t I learn to control that whole blushing thing? For someone with skin as pale as mine, necessary skills include blush suppressi
on. Note to self: learn to control the stupid blush – or get a spray tan. For someone who was half American Indian and half English, you’d think my skin would have a tinge of colored pigment, but no. I had clear, pale skin.
I finally pulled my arms and legs free and stood, my slightly trembling right hand outstretched to help him up. He glanced briefly at my scarred palm. The raised lines snaked over my palm like a topographical map of the Amazon River. I resisted the impulse to explain. After a brief hesitation, he accepted the offer and I tugged with both hands.
Abruptly a film rolled in my head, rushing by like someone hit the fast forward button on a movie video. Rolling fast, too fast for me to keep up, overwhelming emotion still ambushed me. Happiness first, and then devastating emotional pain. The boy’s face, and then an older man, similar looking. I say boy, but he must have been about eighteen years old. Something happened, something bad, and recently.
Caught off guard, I gasped and pulled my hands back. The connection and I toppled backward. I hated when that happened.
Strong arms reached out and steadied me before I fell. “Are you all right?” Creases etched his forehead and his brows drew together. His concern made my eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Then he looked down. I followed his gaze. Blood seeped through my torn sweat pants where my knee crashed into the cobblestones. I took a deep breath and quickly looked away. Yep, that’s blood. A great deal of blood, in fact. It’s a good thing I’m not the fainting type, I told myself, trying hard to believe it. I gulped and swallowed air. Suddenly, I needed to sit down.
He misunderstood my gasp of shock for pain. “Let’s get you inside and take a look at that knee.”
Cute, and a knight in shining armor, too. But glancing back at the alley I had burst from, and thinking about that black misty form, I urgently needed to get home even more.
“Oh, uh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll go home and clean up.” I’d already made a fool of myself by knocking the guy down, and now my hands shook like mad from psychic overload. I clenched them into fists. I needed to get home. I limped away, throwing another “Sorry, again,” over my shoulder.
The boy swore under his breath. “Indigo Eady! It is Indigo, isn’t it? Simon’s cousin?”
A flutter began in my chest as I turned back and did a double-take
He stood with his arms at his sides, dark patches from the wet cement splattered across his jeans jacket.
“Yes,” I said, uncertain. He had looked familiar. I glanced at the battered pub sign creaking gently above his head, the morning’s rain still dripping from corners. Carved and painted into the wooden sign was a brown, furry animal, clothed to include a hat and blindfold tied around the head. Although hunched, it walked upright with a stick. The sign read, The Blind Badger, est. 1794.
Recognition finally dawned. “Badger. Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t...” I laughed feebly, chagrinned. How lame. Badger was my cousin’s best friend and I didn’t recognize him.
“That’s all right; we only met the one time.” He shrugged, looking rather uncomfortable. “Under the circumstances, you’re forgiven.”
The circumstance he referred to was my father’s funeral six months ago. My mind was on other things at the time. Like my father’s death and coming to live in this medieval English village where he was raised.
And now I lived with my Uncle Richard and cousin, Simon.
I spent the first two months in my bedroom, sleeping twenty hours a day. Began sixth form college from which I remember nothing, and now, thankfully, winter break had begun. I had the whole month of December to get my head together and three weeks to figure out how to handle Christmas without my father. My mother died when I was six. I hardly remembered her.
It was unfortunate my first venture out resulted in knocking my cousin’s best friend to the ground. I stared uncertainly. A light mist began to fall, reminding me of the cold now that I had stopped running.
I didn’t recall seeing Badger since my father’s funeral. Still, there was something...something on the periphery of my mind that I couldn’t remember...
“Look,” said Badger. “It’s no bother. I’ll get your knee fixed up, and then give you a ride home. You can’t walk home like that.” His firm don’t-argue grasp on my elbow escorted me into the Blind Badger before I had time to think up an excuse.
The empty pub was not open for business yet. Badger indicated a corner nook near the bar. “Go ahead and have a seat over there, I’ll get the first aid kit.” He went behind the long, polished bar. I hobbled over to the wooden bench. I rubbed my tingling elbow where the warmth from his hand still lingered, then clasped my hands tightly in my lap, ready for the medical onslaught.
While Badger worked on my knee, I glanced around at the décor. The oaken low-beamed ceiling, uneven and wavy, was blackened from years of cigarette and fireplace smoke. I crinkled my nose at the stale alcohol and cigarette smoke smell that permeated everything, even after the smoking ban a few years back. Apart from the odor, the place was kind of homey.
He poured antiseptic on a cotton ball and applied it to my knee. I sucked in my breath. It stung like hell, so I focused on something else.
“Does your family own this place?” I asked. “I saw your name on the pub sign...”
“Yes. It’s a family name,” he said, dabbing at my knee. “My family has owned this pub over two hundred years. I was named after my grandfather, Badger Bagley.”
I looked down at the progress on my unfortunate knee and grimaced. Already swollen, several shades of blue and purple, and pretty scraped up, but at least the blood was slowly disappearing, like invisible ink.
Being sixteen, I could drink alcohol here if I wanted, if Uncle Richard was with me. I knew kids back in the States who would have been so jealous. Somehow, I didn’t want to.
Badger continued to clean my wound, and I’m happy to report he had a pretty light touch and a great, er, pubside manner. At least he managed to take my mind off my throbbing knee. “My grandmother Agatha recently passed away and so my mum and I have taken over the pub.” His manner was matter-of-fact.
“I heard about your grandmother. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. She was quite old...” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it, I could tell. I recognized that shrug, having used it frequently myself. “I expect I’ll see you and your family at her funeral on Saturday.”
I expect not! But I only shrugged non-committal-like. “I know Simon and Uncle Richard will be there, but I...I’m not sure I can make it.” Sure, I was hedging, but it couldn’t be helped. Another funeral? Not on your life! So soon after my father’s? Surrounded by all that grief and pain...not to mention all the spirit activity. Spirits are big on funerals. Nope. Not gonna happen.
Badger ducked his head suspiciously, as if to avoid my gaze. That’s the thing about being psychic. You tend to sense these things. But you didn’t have to be psychic to recognize avoidance techniques. I’m quite practiced at the art myself. And so I stared at the top of his head until he couldn’t help but look up. When he did, I caught his gaze and didn’t let go. My raised eyebrows and cocked head demanded an explanation.
But he made me ask, “What?” Not a belligerent “what,” merely an inquisitive one. At least that’s what I was going for.
Another shrug. “I think Richard sort of volunteered you and Simon to help out. Afterwards, I mean. With the cleanup.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Then yeah, sure, I’ll try to make it.” I didn’t mind cleanup if I could give the funeral a miss. I stifled a sigh and continued to look around.
Behind the bar, the shimmering presence of an older woman glided along, wiping down the bar, pumping drinks, conversing and laughing silently with unseen customers. She had to be Badger’s grandmother, Agatha. Not that anyone else could see her, though. That’s my specialty. That, and Psychometry — reading energy or the history of an object - the reason for the flash film when I shook Badger’s hand.
Agatha was probably ha
nging around waiting to attend her own funeral. Spirits liked to see the kind of send-off they got before they beat feet to the white light and presumably, heaven. Or Nirvana, Shangri-La, Paradise, whatever. I was pretty sure we all ended up at the same place in the end.
Finishing up the first aid treatment, Badger wrapped my knee and gave my calf a pat. “I’ll be right back, and then I’ll give you a ride home.” He strode down a hallway to the left, pulling his wet jeans jacket and faded black t-shirt off as he went.
I’m not a guy watcher, truly I’m not. But I did happen to notice his large, firm biceps, and rather well developed deltoids and trapezius, tapering down into a nice latissimus dorsi. I’m only interested because I studied anatomy in school. And I did NOT almost fall off the bench watching him round the corner. The bench happened to be slanted and slippery.
Gazing back toward the bar, I continued to watch Agatha work. That’s when I spotted him. The man from my vision when I clasped Badger’s hand. He sat shimmering, only slightly transparent, on the end barstool. His reflection was more defined and solid than Agatha’s. Which meant he had been dead longer than her. I gasped. He looked like Badger. He could only be Badger’s father.
Blood rushed to my head and roared in my ears, like a dam bursting its seams. I started to remember things, like Badger’s father had gone missing, possibly ran away with his secretary. That’s why Badger hadn’t been around lately, he was helping take care of his siblings and now the pub. And sitting here on the end barstool in the Blind Badger was the missing Bart Bagley.
Correction. The missing, dead, Bart Bagley.
Oh Crap.
Chapter Two
Survivors Unite
I averted my eyes from the bar. You didn’t want to make eye contact with spirits. When that happened, they tended to form attachments. A nasty bit of business, because they were hard to get rid of once they learned they were visible to me. If word got out, every ghostie in town would blaze a beeline for Indigo Eady.
So now you know. Like the line in that Sixth Sense movie? I see dead people.
Badger returned and led the way down an unlit and slightly slanting hallway and through the kitchen. We stepped outside into the gray. Dirty, rust-colored brick buildings hovered over the narrow, roman-built, cobblestoned alley. I stepped over the stream of water running down the center. The sound of the heavy flow draining somewhere in the distance made me shiver. The familiar tingle tickled the nape of my neck. The one that meant spirit or psychic activity. Glancing around quickly, I didn’t see anything that should warrant my concern. I shook the feeling off.
