What was happening?
Chapter Twelve
Jessica Chesterfield
Mike looked tired. We all did. This ghost hunt had really been a letdown. Or more specifically, I had been a letdown. I’d let the team down with my “antics,” Megan said.
Maybe I’d had a panic attack or something? The team watched the video together, and it was like I was watching a stranger. It was my voice, my face, yet I didn’t remember any of it after coming down the stairs. It wasn’t like me to act like a rookie. I’d been working in the paranormal field for four years, and before that I was seeing ghosts in my parents’ old barn. As far back as I could remember, I’d been seeing ghosts, feeling them. Many of those experiences had been downright frightening, like the man with the hatchet in his forehead and the gray girl who kept rising from the pond behind our old home. No one could compel me to swim in the water after seeing that.
I asked Mike to play the tape again and again, hoping to trigger some memory of what happened. I desperately wanted to get back into that basement, but it wasn’t going to happen, all thanks to me. Even if I could persuade Avery to let me revisit the place, Reed Dufresne wasn’t having any of it. And he warned us politely but sternly about reporting on what I had seen and heard. Who could blame him?
Megan shot me another dirty look, as if I hadn’t understood the first dozen or so she’d already lobbed my way. Oh, Megan. My on-screen fake friend. If only the world knew what a real hater you were. Even though Mike had no interest in me romantically or I him, she couldn’t stand the fact that someone else might garner any of his attention. Mike was crazy about Megan, although I wasn’t sure why, but she was too blind to see it. Maybe if she spent less time swiping on makeup and spray-tanning herself she’d have better perception. But instead of dealing with her own issues, she chose to blame me for her problems.
Whatever! I’ll get to the bottom of this myself.
Mike turned off the tape and gave the cameraman the signal that we were about ready to film our team meeting. Obediently, we leaned in around the table and listened intently as our leader officially filled us in on the next leg of our assignment.
“I met with Reed Dufresne this morning. He has invited us to hunt some of their other properties, and that’s exciting. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, guys.” Mike’s cheerful attitude was infectious, and we followed his lead.
“That’s excellent. Tell us what’s up!” Megan piped in.
“Let me preface this by saying we have a real opportunity here to firmly show the world that the Gulf Coast is truly a hotbed of paranormal activity. Of course, anyone from the South would tell you they knew this already.” We laughed along, and he smiled as if this were the best news ever. I noticed he carefully didn’t mention my meltdown or the possibility of skeletons in the basement walls of Sugar Hill. I guessed Reed had had a few words with the Paranormal Channel too. “We’ll finish our investigation at Sugar Hill before we leave, but for now let’s take a look at some of these other locations.” He spread a map on the table, and we all oohed and aahed over it.
“Some say a few of these hot spots are too dangerous for ghost hunting, but I know you guys aren’t ones to run away from anything paranormal.”
Becker interjected, “Hardly. They should know all that does is make us want to look at it harder.”
Again we all chuckled, including James, who was sometimes scared out of his mind during assignments. “This is Thorn Hill. It’s basically a replica of Sugar Hill, built by the same architect and around the same time.”
“That’s weird. Why would they want two of the same house?” I asked.
“It wasn’t unusual in those days for a gentleman to keep two households.”
“What?” Megan asked as she leaned back in her chair.
“It’s true. It was legal at the time to have two wives. Not unlike other men, Mr. Dufresne kept one wife in one location and the other in another.”
“The nerve of that guy. He’d never get away with that today,” Megan said. Mike didn’t take the bait. He kept his presentation professional and moved along quickly.
“And we have the home of the late Anne Dufresne—that’s the Rose Cottage—and there is a wooded area just here called the Ramparts. That’s where I’m leaning because there is so much history in that compact area. It hasn’t been explored much because it is pretty treacherous. There’s a short climb up the bluff—the road is basically washed out and goes out only so far. It’s near the waterfront, close to where the slave ships unloaded. It began as a shanty town, but fortunes were made there and the place developed quite a reputation for having shops for just about anything you could imagine. Until someone burned it down.”
“Burned it down? Who? Why?” Megan leaned forward a bit to give the audience a peek at her cleavage. Yes, she was one to make sure the camera stayed on her. I didn’t care. I wanted to get on with the investigation and prove I wasn’t a complete fruitcake.
“There are two main stories about that event. One story says that Susanna Dufresne, the cast-off wife of Chase Dufresne, lit the Ramparts on fire as an act of revenge against her unfaithful lover. The second rumor, and this one might have some truth to it, says Chase Dufresne’s second wife, Athena, set the Ramparts ablaze herself in retaliation for Chase’s murder. Athena blamed Susanna for his demise, and it was a well-known fact that she and Susanna were constantly at war with one another. Athena had tried for years to get Chase to divorce Susanna, and she greatly resented that her husband not only had another woman but was legally married to her.”
“So this battle between the two women, that’s probably the cause of the conflagration?” James asked. I was impressed with his vocabulary.
“Possibly. As I mentioned, Athena begged Chase to dissolve his relationship with Susanna, but he never gave in. When he died in 1825, most of the properties went to Susanna, so naturally Athena took her to court. After all, Susanna was a quadroon and not white.”
“Get out of here!” Megan slapped her hand on the table. Okay. Now somebody was going over the top.
“The courts did not rule in Athena’s favor, so she may have taken matters into her own hands.”
I had to speak up now. Everyone had to participate in these on-camera pep rallies. “I say we investigate the Ramparts while the weather is clear. That sounds interesting, and I like the idea of an outdoor exploration. Might be better than haunting around old basements.”
Megan cast me another uneasy look, and I couldn’t help but smile at her. I didn’t care if the camera picked up on that. I was tired of pretending we were pals. I was tired of fake ghost hunting too. I only signed on to this gig because I liked Mike and believed him when he said he was sincere in his search for the paranormal. I wasn’t as sure now, but it was kind of too late. I had signed a contract. I couldn’t quit. I had to keep going at least until the season ended next spring.
Becker stood up and tapped the map with his tattooed fingers, a big grin on his face, “Well, as they say in the movies, ‘I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.’ I vote for the Ramparts.”
Mike said, “I vote Ramparts, too. Megan? You in?”
“Yes! I love it. I think I’ll do some research before we head out. Should we make a daylight trip first?”
“I think that would be wise. Let’s find a few spots we can hone in on and focus our equipment there. I don’t like the idea of you guys roaming around the woods in the dark.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” Megan said as she wrote down a few notes in her notebook. “You game for this, Jess?”
“Sure, but only if I get to hold my own flashlight.” Megan had a tendency to forget to check the batteries on just about every electronic device she held. It wasn’t a huge swipe at her, but as expected she took it as one.
“Ha, ha, ha,” she answered playfully. “I can’t help it if all power drains happen to you.”
Everyone laughed at our “friendly” exchange. At least until the cameras stopped rolling.
&nb
sp; Chapter Thirteen
Avery Dufresne
The Rose Cottage had the feeling of spring, even though it was nearly November. The cottage was surrounded by evergreen trees including some fragrant cedars and neatly trimmed holly shrubs. Light green shutters and a pair of hearty palm trees in the front yard made me think of warmer days. Two large white rocking chairs decked out the front porch, and the front door was wide open. The screen door kept the mosquitoes out. You had to worry about them down here, even this time of year. It was a friendly picture of life at the Rose Cottage.
When I called Mitchell earlier this morning I had no real agenda—other than I needed to talk to someone. And since Miss Anne had trusted him, why shouldn’t I? I’d managed to sneak into the bathroom and make the call before stepping into the shower. Somehow I did it all without waking Jamie. For that at least, I was grateful. As I washed away the memories of last night’s bizarre dream, I wondered what I would say to him when I emerged. Why in the world had I slept with him? Did I even consent? I must have, since I’d locked the door—I had to have opened it for him! I wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. I finally settled on, “I’m sorry, Jamie, but this is too intense for me.” It was better than, “I don’t remember inviting you into my bedroom or making love to you. Get out before I press charges.”
I needn’t have worried because by the time I got out of the shower he was gone. I buzzed Robin’s intercom to verify it, and she reported that he had indeed left Sugar Hill. “No, he didn’t mention where he was going and didn’t stay for breakfast. Sorry, ma’am.”
Relieved, I gave her my instructions for the day. “I’m going to leave for a little while, but I’ll be back for lunch. If the My Haunted Plantation people return, you can allow them in, but keep them out of the basement. And no filming while I’m gone. Are there any other guests in the house?”
“No, ma’am. Everyone’s gone.”
That surprised me. “Is Summer still here?”
“I’m not sure. Would you like me to call her room?”
“No. That’s okay. I’ll see if she’s in. Thanks.” I flipped off the intercom and finished dressing quickly. I hated the idea of Jamie showing back up unannounced. A few broken images of making love with him last night surfaced in my mind. What really happened?
I can’t think about this right now.
I decided it was a blue jeans kind of day. Before I moved to Belle Fontaine I didn’t even own a pair. My, how things have changed. I slid on a purple sweater and my new boots, and I grabbed a jacket for the morning chill. I decided not to bring my purse, so I grabbed my keys, some cash and my driver’s license. At the last minute I decided to take my cell phone but turned off the ringer. There was no one I wanted to talk to. Not Reed, not Jamie. Not even Summer.
As I walked down the stairs I noticed how empty Sugar Hill felt. That was different. It was as if someone had taken a broom and swept away all the spiritual debris. The eyes that bore down on me from the portraits weren’t staring too intently today. The smiles on the busts of forgotten Dufresnes didn’t display their familiar leers. Those stone faces were neither interested nor malicious-looking. These were the expressions of the proud, distant dead, not of lingering ghosts. They couldn’t care less about the goings-on of the living. Nothing was on the landing above; no moving shadows like the ones that I frequently imagined slid down the wall behind me as I made my way down the stairs. I paused for a moment. It was here that I always had the sensation that someone was watching me or stalking close behind me. No. I felt none of that this morning. I simultaneously felt relieved and worried about the significance of it all.
Why had the house suddenly gone silent?
Maybe it was the same at Thorn Hill? I’d find out later today. I had to go back to retrieve my overnight bag. Or maybe I didn’t. Was there anything in there I couldn’t replace? Oh, come on, you big coward.
Before I eased the car out of the driveway I called Mitchell again. “Hey, this is Avery. I’m on the way now.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No, but coffee is fine for me. Don’t go to any trouble.”
“See you soon.”
Now here I was. Mitchell’s large frame filled the doorway, and he welcomed me with a friendly smile. He seemed genuinely glad to see me alive and well. “Avery, come in.” He glanced nervously at the driveway as if he expected someone else.
“It’s just me, Mitchell.”
He visibly relaxed. “Good. Come inside. I have fresh coffee.”
“Perfect. What a beautiful cottage! You’ll have to give me a tour.”
We went inside, and Mitchell led me to the living room. It was not a very large room, but it had plenty of comfortable-looking seating and loads of embroidered pillows. Thriving green plants were positioned in places where they could take in some sun. My cousin had thoughtfully arranged some delicious-smelling croissants and an assortment of fruit on a tray. It was such a nice thought. He’d even put a fresh flower in a vase. The idea of Mitchell picking flowers for me was truly humbling. “Do these grow here? I noticed you have a hothouse.”
“We do, but these are tea roses and I don’t grow them. I haven’t had much luck with roses, not yet, but I’m hoping to give it another try this spring. No, these I purchased from the supermarket.” His confession made his cheeks flush. “I’m afraid the flower gardens are going to look horrible this spring without Aunt Anne to care for them.” His voice caught as he spoke about her death, and she’d been gone for several months.
“I am sure you will get the hang of it.” I glanced around the room, taking in the built-in bookcases loaded with books and interesting bird figurines. I wondered who the bird enthusiast was, Mitchell or Miss Anne? I sipped the coffee and put the china cup down on the saucer. Until I moved back home to Belle Fontaine, I rarely drank from proper cups and saucers. This was indeed a treat. “How are you, Mitchell? I haven’t seen you at the house in ages. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I have everything I need here, cousin. And I know how time-consuming managing the daily details is for someone who stays as busy as you. I wouldn’t want to add undue pressure.” He surveyed me, obviously curious as to the reason for my visit. What could I tell him? I wasn’t sure myself.
“You aren’t lonely here by yourself? You are always welcome to come visit me for a few days. You can stay at the house anytime you please—or at Thorn Hill.”
“Why would I go there?”
“Haven’t you heard? A television crew from a show called My Haunted Plantation has been at Sugar Hill. Before it’s all said and done, they’ll also investigate Thorn Hill.”
He avoided eye contact and poured his coffee from the white teapot with the gold initials. It must have belonged to Miss Anne too. “I like being alone, and I have no plans to go to either Sugar Hill or Thorn Hill. In fact, I plan on asking Reed to find someone else to fill the board opening. That’s one group I don’t want to be part of—no offense.”
“Oh. That was my idea, I’m afraid. But if it’s not what you want, you don’t have to. I am sure the board will come up with a name they can all agree on. For what it’s worth, I’m not offended. But before you totally write off the idea, promise me you’ll think about it a few days first?”
“I don’t think I’d be much good on the board. Who’s going to listen to me?” I had the distinct feeling that Mitchell was repeating someone else’s assessment of him.
I leaned forward and clasped my hands. “Many people listen to you. I do! I want to trust Reed and your sister, but quite frankly, I always feel as if I am getting half the story from them.” I chewed my lip and continued, “It’s not that they are against me, but I feel like they aren’t quite with me, if that makes sense. In many ways, I’m still an outsider. Even with my own family! I could use your help, Mitchell. If Miss Anne trusted you, then I should too.”
He smiled at the mention of his favorite aunt. “I thank you for saying so, and I will do as you ask. I will think a
bout it.” He took another sip and offered me more coffee. I declined and leaned back in the comfortable seat.
“Mitchell, do you know what is happening at Sugar Hill? I have to know. I need a friend, and that’s why I came to see you. I am surrounded by family, but I am not sure I can trust any of them.” I grappled with what to say next. Reed kissed me. I liked it. Summer not-so-secretly hates me. My boyfriend is a nut, and I’m dreaming about my ancestors in very inappropriate ways.
Mitchell leaned back on the settee and stared at me intently. “So you know that things in our family aren’t…right?”
“I do. Tell me what you know, Mitchell. Please, tell me what you know.”
He turned blood red, and for a minute I thought he might ask me to leave.
“You know how much I loved Aunt Anne. She was the best human being I ever knew. She had such a heart for her family, even though they were all extremely ungrateful for all her care. I promised her that she could always trust me to keep her confidences. Even though she has passed on, I can’t imagine breaking them now, even for you. It would be unkind to her memory. She made sure you had what you needed. She left you the video records and the other stuff, like Vertie’s journals. That should tell you everything you need to know.”
“Vertie’s journals? I never received any journals.”
“What?” He frowned. “I suppose Reed kept those back from you for his own reasons.” I could tell there was no love lost between those two. “Well, you know about them now. You should insist that he give them to you immediately.”
“And you can’t tell me what’s in them?”
“I never read them, Avery. And even if I did know anything, it is not my place to tell you. Aunt Anne kept the journals safe after Vertie’s death, and they were intended to go to you. She wouldn’t send them until you agreed to return home. I disagreed with her on that point, but she was one to keep her own mind on things.”
The Hauntings Of Sugar Hill: The Complete Series Page 29
