The Hauntings Of Sugar Hill: The Complete Series

by M. L. Bullock

  I heard Avery’s voice call me from the next room, “We’re out here, Jessica.” I stepped through the room, and for some reason, I waved goodbye to Susanna as I left. Did she smile at me? Man, I must be more tired than I thought. Reed and Avery weren’t in the next room, but the back door was open, and I heard voices on the porch. I smelled seafood, and my stomach rumbled.

  “Hey, guys. What smells so good?”

  “Gumbo! Come sit by me. I’ve got you a bowl right here. You want some wine too?”

  “That sounds great.” After collecting my clothes from the bushes, I deserved a glass of wine. I had the sense that I’d interrupted a conversation. “Avery, I hope I haven’t put you out. I could go stay at that bed and breakfast over by Sugar Hill. I didn’t intend to be in the way if y’all had plans.”

  “No one thinks that, Jess. Don’t sweat it.”

  “How long have you been living here? Do you plan to stay awhile?”

  Avery laughed awkwardly. “Um, I haven’t been here long. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Maybe I’ll go back to Atlanta. I could always get my job back with News Quarter. They’ve been harassing me for months, and they even offered me a daytime show. Can you believe that?” Candlelight flickered on the round patio table, and I reached for a linen napkin as I looked around the porch. We seemed to be sitting in the nicest spot on the porch. The backyard was ridiculously overgrown. Who’d dropped the ball on that?

  Reed said, “You aren’t the kind of person to throw in the towel, Avery.”

  I piped in, “Would you really leave Belle Fontaine? I can’t imagine your family would like that.” I saw Reed put hot sauce into his gumbo, and I did the same. When in Rome, right?

  “I’ll do what I have to do, Reed.” So there was more to this story. What the heck had I stepped into? “What about you, Jessica? You’re something of a television celebrity. I can’t imagine My Haunted Plantation would like you being gone during filming. Or are y’all done now? You mentioned a hiatus?”

  The wine seemed to bring Avery back to herself. Once again, she was the happy, relaxed, confident woman I had met at Sugar Hill.

  “It was the Paranormal Channel’s idea. We’re under a lot of pressure to get proof of the paranormal, but I refuse to make things up to do so.”

  “They asked you to do that?” Reed poured Avery another glass of wine, and she thanked him by brushing his hand with her finger. Hmm, okay. I was surprised to see how much the two were into one another, considering how attached she had been to Jamie Richards not so long ago. But was that right? Reed and Avery had been sort of flirty back then too. I had to admit I was curious about the detective, but I didn’t think bringing up his name right now would be a good idea.

  “In a roundabout way. And I felt like I needed to come here.”

  Reed’s dark eyebrows shot up, but Avery didn’t look at me.

  I liked Reed. He was kind, if a bit of a protective hothead when it came to his family, and I got good vibes from him this evening. At our last visit together, he’d been wound up tighter than a clock, but being with Avery appeared to have a calming effect on him. I believed that Reed liked her a great deal, maybe even loved her. The vibes I got from Avery weren’t as clear. She was a complex mass of emotions under her pretty face and playful laughter. Despite the good show she put on, there were definite undercurrents of something that I could not quite put my finger on. As much as it saddened me, I knew she didn’t really welcome me here, and I couldn’t understand why. I finished my gumbo, grabbed a cracker and took a seat on the second step near the wooden column. They talked mostly between themselves about Avery’s legal conundrum, which I gathered amounted to a hill of beans. I felt like a third wheel or at least a forgotten kid left to entertain herself, but what did I expect after showing up unannounced?

  Time to give Avery and Reed some privacy. I’d excuse myself as soon as I could discreetly do so. I continued my observation of the property and noticed the rotting wood and the tiny black beetles that had managed to burrow into the porch railing. Weeds clung to the bottom step, and the trees were too tall to let much sunlight shine on the house during the daytime hours. While the shade kept it cool, it also encouraged the decomposition of everything beneath it. Perhaps the most telling sign was the lack of people living here. I was certainly no longtime friend of the Dufresnes and no expert on their family history, but there was no one here. This place did not even merit full-time staff. And although it was large and roomy, it seemed less grand and less hopeful than Sugar Hill.

  “Thank you for the delicious dinner. Reed, I had no idea you were such a talented cook.”

  “I can’t take the credit for this. Avery put this dinner together.”

  Avery laughed at us. “I can’t take any credit for it either. It was in the refrigerator. I’m sure Robin left it for me, and thankfully there was enough to share. Can you ever go wrong with gumbo?”

  “I’m thinking no, but this is the first time I’ve ever had it.”

  “Are you serious?” they asked in unison as if I were admitting some deep, dark secret.

  “Well, I generally eat food from a diner. Nothing this delicious.” I refused another glass of wine and reached for a bottle of water from the basket on the table. I sensed movement in the bushes just beyond the porch and half-expected a cat to step out, but nothing emerged. Still, I knew something was there. As the hairs rose on my arms, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Avery’s eyes were riveted on the same spot. She looked at me and our eyes locked, but she said nothing and admitted nothing.

  I finally asked, “What’s beyond there? Beyond that row of hedges?”

  Reed said, “Woods, bushes, and some overgrown monuments farther down. I’ve heard there were some old tombstones out there, but to be honest, I’ve never explored the area. There used to be a tidy little park back there when I was a child, but it’s been in disrepair for quite a while. I could always have someone come clean that up for you if you want, Avery.”

  “No. I like it just like it is. Maybe we’ll go do some exploring tomorrow.”

  “Let’s go now. We have a little bit of sunlight left,” I said as I stood and dusted myself off.

  “Not me. I’m full as a tick and don’t think I could handle a walk through the woods right now, but you go ahead, Jessica. Let me know if you find anything interesting.” Avery gave me a sickeningly sweet smile, and I pretended not to notice the ice in her voice.

  “Great. I’m on it. Just call me Jessica the Explorer.” Reed didn’t look comfortable at all. I could tell he was conflicted about whether to stay with Avery or come with me. In his world, accompanying me would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

  “I’m okay, Reed. I like exploring on my own. I’ve got my phone, and it has a flashlight in case it gets dark.”

  I was already up and walking down the path when Reed called to me, “Okay, but don’t be gone long.”

  “You got it,” I said as I tossed a smile over my shoulder. Reed had already gone inside, but Avery watched me walk away from Thorn Hill. I got the sense she knew I was going to find something or someone.

  With a deep breath and squared shoulders, I walked into the woods.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessica Chesterfield

  I walked through an invisible wall of humidity and felt my hair dampen. That was odd, or maybe it wasn’t. It made sense that sometimes in these woods, you’d run into atmospheric anomalies like cool spots and patches of humidity. Nothing paranormal about that. It was par for the course. Sure. Right. So why was I so creeped out right now?

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, but I knew it wasn’t Avery following me. She’d walked back into the house without a word, and Reed had never reappeared, so it was just me and whatever else was out here. I began to hum the tune to a song I barely knew.

  What a little moonlight will do…

  It was one of the songs Handsome was prone to sing or whistle. My heart warmed, thinking of his friendly
face. He was a unique, honest individual, and I looked forward to one day sitting with him and listening to more of his stories. I believed every one of them. Handsome was nothing if he wasn’t honest.

  “Ow! That hurt.” Somehow or another I managed to tangle my tennis shoes up in hardy, thick blackberry vines. Why hadn’t I worn socks? Oh, yeah, I remember now. A ghost threw my clothes out the window.

  I carefully untangled myself from the vines and then took a moment to look around me.

  I heard squirrels chattering above me as they ran along tree limbs. From the look of it, there were several of them. They had a nice nest going up there. Bits of pine straw scattered down on me, a blue jay squawked at me, and I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. Just ahead about fifty feet or so, I spotted the remnants of an old wooden building, probably an old storage building or a potting shed. I walked toward it, determined to get a peek inside. It turned out that was easy to do since the doors and windows were missing. Fragrant green vines and trees thrust through those empty spaces. The forest had claimed this old place. I ducked under a branch and walked inside, surprised to find an old wicker chair with the back missing and a glass votive that held a half-melted white candle.

  Had someone been here recently?

  I sniffed the stale air and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. It was as if someone had just left the room. I hurried to the back door, which was also missing, and peered outside through the tangle of weeds that had grown up around it. I didn’t bother calling out, and I didn’t hear anyone stirring. Surely I would have heard them. I sniffed again. Definitely cigarette smoke. My breath caught as I saw a narrow wisp of the smoke vanish out the front door. And now I did call out. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  I nearly tripped over the glass candle as I walked back to the front door. I ducked down and went back outside, determined to find whoever was spying on me. But there was no one, and the scent of cigarette smoke had all but vanished. Now what? Should I go back to Thorn Hill? With so many briars and poisonous bushes around here, it was no mystery where they got the name.

  Handsome’s song ran through my head again, and I couldn’t help but hum along as I returned to my previous exploration down the narrow path. I had walked about a hundred feet or so when something caught my eye. It was a broken stone cross poking up out of the ground. That was a grave marker! It had to be!

  I inched over a broken stump and squatted in front of the stone. The top was broken off but lay close by, half-hidden in a patch of greenery. I began removing the leaves that cluttered it and ignored the stickers as much as I could. If I’d known I was going to be doing gardening, I would have brought gloves. I could handle a little pain, and I hoped that I could get a better glimpse of the monument. The stone felt rough and cool to the touch, and I could hardly believe it when my fingers found distinct grooves on the surface of the crossbeam.

  Yes! That was an S and a U and another S. Susanna!

  Could this be the grave marker for Susanna Dufresne? Why would such an important person be forgotten here in the woods behind Thorn Hill? Unless this had originally been a family cemetery? I glanced around and saw no obvious markers. On my hands and knees now, I brushed away piles of dried leaves and eventually found even more markers. None were as grand or as tall as Susanna’s, but they were markers all the same. Most had no discernible writing on them. After an hour, I had found seven, three with names on them besides Susanna’s. There was also an Annalee and an Ida, but I could not make out the rest of the names. Now I was exhausted, and the air felt heavier. I caught another whiff of cigarette smoke and turned my head slightly to the left and then to the right, hoping I could see whoever spied on me.

  Nobody was there.

  I sniffed my clothing. Was it possible that somehow I had picked up the scent of cigarette smoke earlier today? I didn’t remember encountering any smokers. And that wouldn’t explain seeing it, either. Suddenly the scent got stronger.

  And there he was.

  He stood and watched me appraisingly, a tall, slender man in a white shirt and black pants. He had long dark hair and piercing brown eyes, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. Even though I’d never seen him before, I knew who I was looking at.

  He was Ambrose Dufresne, and this forgotten cemetery was his garden.

  I leaped to my feet, hardly thinking about my dirt-covered blue jeans or grubby hands. I was standing twenty feet from him. He flicked away the butt of his smoke and leaned back against the decrepit wooden fence rail. Where had that come from? A bird sang, not the blue jay that had accompanied me here, but a songbird. I glanced up and noticed that the sky above me had a strange, smoky sepia color to it as if I’d stepped into an old-fashioned picture. The forest around me darkened, but Ambrose’s skin and shirt brightened slightly. Surely that was a trick of the light.

  He flicked a match and lit another cigarette. Smoke curled around his face, hiding it for a second and making him look like some kind of magical creature. He definitely had negative energy and was a negative being, no matter how he tried to convince me otherwise. This was not a living person.

  He might be dead, but he wasn’t so dead that he couldn’t stand here smoking a cigarette watching me.

  He took a long pull on his smoke and nodded toward the graves. “How do you like my garden?” His words chilled me. Gooseflesh rose up all over me, and I heard a barely audible chorus of sighs coming from all around me and from the graves beneath me. And then came the whispering. I heard each voice whispering the same name: “Ambrose, oh, Ambrose.” Their dead voices were full of longing and desire for the one who had put them there, and I had no doubt he’d put them there. I’d dealt with spirits before, including murderous ones. They had a certain energy about them, a malevolent vibe that couldn’t be hidden even behind a seductive smile.

  “What do you want?”

  “My garden,” he said, waving his long fingers. “How do you like it? I keep all my lovelies here.” More sighs and whispers echoed from the darkening forest around us. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as if he could sense the spirits of the women he called his lovelies.

  “I don’t like it at all,” I said angrily.

  He blew another puff of smoke at me. “But it’s my garden, and now you’ve tended it so well, there’s room for more.” He flashed another charismatic smile, but it was empty, as empty as a dark, dry well. I felt the air swell around me and something brushed against my cheek. I swatted it away.

  “You know you don’t belong here anymore. You’re dead. You burned up in the fire on the Ramparts. Don’t you know that? Why don’t you leave now and stop tormenting the Dufresne family?”

  He flicked his cigarette away and stalked toward me with his horrible dark eyes fixed on mine, but I didn’t back down. Suddenly he charged at me, and his beautiful face morphed into a horrible visage of decaying flesh. It was as if I could see him for what he truly was, a grasping corpse who had no right to walk in this realm. As I screamed and collapsed on Susanna’s grave, he vanished. I lay on the musty ground with my hands over my head, my whole body shaking with fear. I kept shouting, “You know you don’t belong here! You have to leave, and you can’t have Avery!”

  There was no reply. Ambrose did not appear again, but his spicy scent, an assortment of exotic spices and a trace of smoke, lingered, evidence that he had indeed been here. Still shaking, I got up and began walking, then running back to Thorn Hill.

  Until I came upon a cigarette tossed on the ground.

  It was still burning on the pathway, and not where he originally flicked it. I don’t know why, but I squatted and picked it up. The tip was lit, and I could feel the dampness where Ambrose’s lips had touched the cigarette. This was so bizarre! How to explain it? I felt the sudden urge to talk to Mike or Becker or even Megan. Maybe I would.

  But I wasn’t bringing this evil thing back with me. I threw the cigarette back down and crushed it under the heel of my tennis shoe before I ran all the way back to Thorn Hill.


  Chapter Thirteen

  Avery Dufresne

  “Please stay with me. I need you, Reed.”

  “When have you ever needed anyone, Avery Dufresne? I’m sure you’ll be okay.” He was trying to lighten the mood, shake off my request, but I wouldn’t relent.

  “I am asking, and you’re right. I don’t need you, but I want you.”

  That got his attention. Reed put his keys down on the table and half-laughed. “Are you serious? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I mean, are you really ready to take this relationship beyond where we are now? Don’t you think I should be spending my time working on finding a solution to the issue with Bray?”

  “Oh, I see. Now that there’s a question about my being the Matrone, you don’t have time for me. I see which way the wind is blowing here. That’s fine. Go, Reed.” My criticism felt fake, and it was. I didn’t want him to leave me. Clearly, independent Avery (yeah, she was still in there somewhere) didn’t know how to tell him that she didn’t have the strength to fight off Ambrose any longer. That she was ready to surrender to him in ways she didn’t even understand.

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  I did know it, but I was feeling desperate. How could I explain my inner turmoil to Reed? How could he understand how I wanted to succumb to Ambrose’s sensual scent, his soft caresses in my dreams, his seductive whispers in the night? Even though I knew he promised me nothing but death, he stirred in me a desire like I’d never known. How? Was it some sort of magic?