Spooked on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 3)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Yes, please. Unless it’s one of those snobby flavored beverages. I prefer Columbian myself.” He grinned and showed perfect teeth. Yep, he’d make Aunt Thelma really happy. Too bad Mr. Fletcher was married.

  “We just happen to have Columbian. How do you take yours?”

  “Black, please.”

  I gave him his cup and grabbed a bottle of water for me, and then we settled at the main conference table. “I guess you heard what happened on the investigation?”

  The curator sipped his coffee but kept his face a mask of calm. I couldn’t read him easily. Despite Patricia’s claim that he was distraught over the activity in the museum, he didn’t act like it bothered him in the least. Then I had a horrible thought. I hope this isn’t a publicity stunt. God, that would piss Midas off! It was a cynical thought but a possibility.

  “Yes, she told me. You should know that particular display case was very old. I’ve been meaning to update those upstairs cabinets. Fragile glass can crack with the slightest bump the wrong way. I’ve seen more than a few broken displays in my day. It’s easily fixed, and we certainly don’t hold you and your organization accountable.”

  “I see. Does that mean you don’t want to continue?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean at all. But I understand that a fair bit of debunking goes on in your line of work. I’ve seen a few of those paranormal shows—not that I’m a big fan, but my wife enjoys them.”

  With a polite smile, I agreed with him. “You are correct, but I am also a sensitive, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Please call me Carl. And what do you mean by that?”

  “Okay. Well, Carl, have you ever walked into a room and sensed tension between two people? Ever feel like you’ve just interrupted a disagreement?”

  “Yes, once or twice. But I just assumed that I picked up on the tension subconsciously through body language or overhearing a chilly conversation.”

  “Perhaps, but maybe it wasn’t that at all. It’s not like that for me. I can walk into a space, sometimes many years after such events, and feel the change in a room’s atmosphere. I understand it’s not a widely accepted science, but that’s what I do. I feel things, and my findings have been accurate most of the time. I can assure you something is going on in that museum. I can feel it, and it all has to do with that exhibit.”

  “I see. And this book…you think it’s haunted?” He put the small leather-bound book on the table and pushed it away from him.

  Now I see it—there’s the fear. He’s not playing with me. This is no publicity stunt.

  “No, but I think it’s going to give us the clues we need to settle things down. It’s been my experience that when you have such activity going on, it’s for a reason. At least when it comes to human spirits. Others, not so much.”

  Carl set his coffee down and shook his head. “This is all so fantastic. If I hadn’t seen that apparition, I am ashamed to say I would have never believed any of this, but now…I’m not sure what to believe. How can this old book help us? It’s merely a memoir of an obscure priest who died before the official founding of this country.”

  I leaned forward and looked him square in the eye. “I think it’s a forgery.”

  “What? I’ve had this book professionally assessed. It’s no forgery.”

  “Please, hear me out, Carl. I don’t mean this book is a fake, I mean that the author, Father Huve, deliberately obfuscated the truth, if not outright lied about some of his story. He hid a crime, and the young woman who’s haunting the museum knows it.”

  “That is an amazing allegation,” he said, his brown eyes wide in his tanned face. “Did the ghost tell you that?”

  I took a deep breath. Was he mocking me, or was he so out of touch with my world that he just didn’t understand me? Either was a possibility. Be patient, Sierra. He’s a client and needs our help. “I don’t want to get ahead of Midas; he likes to give the evidence during wrap-up meetings.”

  His face was serious, his eyes pleading. “Please, tell me what you know. It can’t be worse than what I’ve imagined. I don’t want this frightening thing to be my friend. Deter would never deliberately harm me like this, but who else could it be?”

  “I don’t think the entity that scared you was Deter Simon, Carl. I do have some evidence to present to you. It may seem shocking at first, but listen, okay? This is an EVP, a digital audio recording. Sometimes during an investigation, we try to communicate with whoever is present. When we’re lucky, we pick up a voice or a noise with this.” I showed him the recorder. “It so happens we caught a voice. Tell me if you recognize it.” I clicked play on my laptop.

  What are you doing?

  I looped the sound and played it again and again. Carl’s hand flew to his mouth as he stifled a sob. “Deter, that is Deter.”

  I touched his hand to calm him. “He wasn’t harming anyone, Carl. He just wanted to know what we were doing there. Deter was talking to Peter and Aaron, who were investigating in the storeroom. Earlier in the investigation, Midas saw a figure walk into Deter’s old office; he described it to Patricia, and she confirmed that sounded like an accurate description of Deter. We couldn’t capture any of the video evidence of him, unfortunately, but we believe it was him. Again, he was no threat at all. He didn’t harm anyone. We believe he was just doing his job, keeping an eye on things.”

  Carl dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. “That is good to hear. But if not Deter, then who could it be?”

  “One of the investigators is a paranormal painter, like a creative psychic. She doesn’t have séances; she just picks up her paintbrush and begins painting what she sees. She believes the person lingering around the exhibit is a young woman named Gabrielle Bonet. She’s painted her portrait.”

  “That name sounds so familiar. I feel I should know it.” He snapped his fingers as if that would help him remember the connection.

  I smiled. “Gabrielle was one of the Pelican Girls. My teammate, Cassidy, believes that Gabrielle is trying to right a wrong. She called me this morning and sent a picture of her latest painting. It’s a picture of Gabrielle. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  I picked up the remote and clicked until the picture came up. I’d already seen it, but seeing it again took my breath away. Cassidy was such a talented artist. The young woman had dark hair with white flowers in it, kept in place with an ivory and gold comb. She wore a simple white gown and held a bouquet of wildflowers. “This was her wedding day.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Gabrielle Bonet’s husband left her the day after their wedding night. Is that why she is haunting the museum? She wants someone to avenge her honor?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but that might have been the reason why she went completely mad. She was already borderline when that happened. I think whatever she went through with Jon Batiste, her husband, only made it worse. No, she saw a young girl of no more than fourteen get thrown overboard. Father Huve, thinking the girl was dead, wrapped her up and planned to throw her body overboard with the others who died that day. Only Claudette wasn’t dead. Gabrielle saw her wriggling in the blanket, heard her crying out for help, but help did not come. Gabrielle witnessed the murder, and that was after her father’s death from yellow fever.”

  “That’s incredible!”

  “Gabrielle had a friend, an older girl named Jean. Jean told Gabrielle to keep quiet, and I’m sure she was only looking out for her, but Gabrielle felt such guilt. It destroyed her in the end. But now, in death, she wants to do what’s right, Carl. And we can help her.”

  Carl dabbed his eyes again. Yes, he believed me, thank goodness. “How? How do I help Gabrielle?”

  “We need to speak with her, and although I am a sensitive, we need a professional to help us. Someone who knows how to talk to people like Gabrielle.”

  “You mean dead people?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean. We have someone we trust, a real person, not some weirdo. I talked to her this morning, and s
he’s more than happy to make contact with Gabrielle and explain to her that we want to help. With your permission.”

  “I’m not sure. I have never dealt with a psychic before. I suppose it can’t hurt, but let’s keep it quiet. I don’t want the whole world knowing about it.”

  “We can do that. I’ll call her, and then you and I will get to work on this translation. We can ask Gabrielle to tell us if these things are true or not.”

  “Very well.” He reached in his pocket and grabbed a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses. I printed the translation, and we went through the small book line by line. I hoped we had found the proof we needed, the proof that might finally set Gabrielle free.

  When we finished, Carl called Patricia and asked her to join us at the museum. Armed with the new information, we drove back to the history museum and waited around for the rest of the GCP team and Beverly. Investigating was fun and all, but this was my favorite part—communicating with a spirit who needed my help. I hoped we could help Gabrielle.

  After over three hundred years, she deserved to be at peace.

  Chapter Seventeen—Cassidy

  After pouring a glass of heavily caffeinated soda and downing a few slugs, I snapped a picture of my painting and sent it to Sierra and Midas. Midas immediately texted me back a smiley face and a thanks. Sierra called a few minutes later, and I told her everything I could remember.

  “Ugh, that Jon Batiste was such a cad. If you see anything else, let me know, but don’t put yourself in danger. You sound tired, Cassidy.”

  “I got a few hours in. I’m hoping I can see more, but I never know.”

  “In the meantime, I’m going to call Midas and see if I can set up a meeting with Carl Fletcher. Maybe he’ll allow us one more shot at contacting Gabrielle. It’s got to be her, or Claudette.”

  “Or both of them.” We sat in silence for a few seconds, and I finally said, “You know what, Sierra? It might be good to bring another sensitive with us. There is strength in numbers, right? What about Beverly? She did great work on the Dixie House investigation.”

  “That’s true. Let me run this by Midas first. He’s busy today, but I think he’d trust me to meet with Carl. If I can get him here.”

  I smiled into the phone. “If anyone can, it’s you, Sierra McBride.”

  After a little more chatting, we hung up the call and I lingered in front of the painting. Yes, the vision had ended all too abruptly and I felt dissatisfied with my work. One moment I was under the pines with Gabrielle in her borrowed wedding gown, and the next I was standing in front of the canvas with a brush in my hand. My legs were sore from standing and my hand felt like a claw. All I could figure was I’d allowed myself to get so tired that I lost the paranormal connection. I’d read about such activities in one of the books Helen lent me.

  After a few hours of sleep, I was back at it hoping to see and experience more. I knew it didn’t end well for Gabrielle. Heck, anyone who bothered to study up on Gulf Coast history would know the history of the Pelican Girls, especially Gabrielle Bonet. Her sad ending had been recorded with great detail.

  “Come on, Gabrielle. I have to see. I heard you say you don’t like me, but you must understand, I just want to help you. What about Claudette? I know you want justice for her, but it’s not your fault. You were just a girl, and I know you tried. Now, let me try. Please, let me see.” My hand hovered over the corner of the painting. I didn’t want to damage my work, but this was how I connected with the past. How else would I make contact with Gabrielle?

  I had to know what happened to her. I had to see. With a heavy heart, I closed my eyes and focused on the paint, on that point of contact, and then…suddenly I could see. No matter how many times I did this, it still surprised me. I caught my breath and blinked as the air changed around me.

  ***

  I was lying on a makeshift bed. It felt lumpy, and I could plainly see some of the straw poking out. For a few seconds I lay confused. Where was I? Jean? Poppa? Sunlight streamed through an open window, the smell of salt air filled my lungs, and the sound of crashing waves comforted me. I pulled the blanket around me as I realized that I wore no clothing. My wedding gown lay tossed over a cane-back chair, now a crumpled mess. My mouth felt dry, and I was hungry.

  Then I remembered…I was a married woman. Last night, my husband and I had been ushered to the small shack on the north side of the island. I heard some people call this temporary dwelling Honeymoon Island or the Isle of Bliss, and until last night I’d had no idea why. A smile crept across my face and I flushed as I recalled our time together. Oh, the things we had done. Who knew the human body was capable of such delights? I giggled despite myself.

  My hair was in a wild ball around my head, and I wanted to take a hot bath. My husband had been kind and gentle, but my body hurt. And try as I might to be level-headed, I felt some shame at the memory of our first night together. What would Jean’s advice be?

  “Don’t be a fool, Gabrielle! You are Jon’s wife now.”

  With the blanket still tucked under my chin, I quietly turned to watch my husband’s handsome face as he slept. Was this real? But he was not there. I glanced around the tiny shack, but there was nowhere for a grown man to hide. He was certainly not here. Where could he have gone to?

  Frightened and suddenly embarrassed that I was nude in the shack by myself, I sat up and reached for my gown. I quickly pulled the wrinkled garment over my head and tugged at the ribbon to cinch the bodice closed.

  “Jon?” I called as I stepped outside the tiny cabin. I rolled my long tangled hair into a ball and cinched it into a bun at the base of my neck. Where was the comb? Oh no! Jean had lent me one of her treasures, and I had lost it! I scrambled back inside and turned my bed upside down. I found it under my blanket and nearly wept at the sight. There was no sense in putting it back in my hair now.

  That’s when I realized that Jon’s bag was gone. He’d brought it with him last night, and I hadn’t seen him take anything from it. At the time, I believed it might be things we required to establish our new household, such as pots, a kettle and perhaps some linens. Had I been wrong?

  My stomach rumbled with hunger, but there was nothing left to eat. Wherever my husband had gone, he’d taken the last of the bread with him. That seemed singularly selfish, but then again, he was a working man. He would need the food before I did.

  But where could he have gone? I wandered to the shore thinking perhaps he’d gone fishing for our food, but there was no one here. A gray and white seagull screeched overhead, and a tiny crab skittered out of my way, obviously hoping to avoid becoming the bird’s handy breakfast. Panic seized me. I spun around and called his name again. I heard nothing but the mocking of chattering gulls and the occasional splash in the ocean.

  “Jon?” I called louder now. Confusion struck me. Where could he have gone? And then I saw the small boat. It was not far from shore but far enough that I could not swim out to it. There were two people in the boat—Jon Batiste and Leela!

  “Jon!” I yelled again. I screamed until I was hoarse, and I know he saw me. He paused once in mid-stroke but not for long. Leela turned to me; a smile spread across her face and then she turned away.

  Jon left with Leela. Jon was going with Leela. Jon had stolen the last of everything. I collapsed on the beach until the tide rose and the boat was gone from view. My skin burned, my throat was dry, and my hunger grew.

  But I wasn’t alone. Coming up from the water was Dead Claudette. Her eyes were open and empty, her gray skin glistened with seawater, and some of her hair was missing. I hurried to my feet to escape her, but she did not turn away.

  Claudette was coming for me. She wanted her vengeance.

  I had failed her. I had failed Poppa. I could not remain here another moment. I ran until I could run no more.

  Chapter Eighteen—Midas

  Cassidy came in with a weak smile, and I could tell by her expression she was exhausted. I wanted to hold her but refrained because Patrici
a, Carl and the rest of the team were present. The last to join us was Beverly. Never one to under-appreciate a beautiful woman, Peter welcomed her immediately and hugged her as if they were old friends. She had done some work with us in the past, but I didn’t think they knew each other that well. I made some brief introductions, and then our group headed upstairs. Nobody spoke much until Beverly saw the boat.

  “Goodness, that’s a big boat; it’s quite an attraction.”

  Carl smiled proudly. “We hope so. The exhibit opens in a few days.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about the living. I meant the spirit world. This boat is a great attraction for some reason. It means something to a great many of those who have passed, and some who have not.” Beverly wasn’t wasting any time, and I could tell her comments caught Carl off guard.

  “That sounds ominous,” Patricia said. “Does this mean we need to take this exhibit down?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Beverly smiled and squeezed her hand. “I think we can settle this tonight. For what it’s worth, there is nothing inhuman here. There are a few entities present, but nothing negative. Your friend, the tall one, he’s only here for a little while. He’s worried that he left too much in your lap.”

  “Deter?” Carl gasped and put his hand to his mouth.

  “He has an accent; he’s a kind-looking man wearing a neat suit. Not many men wear a bow tie so well.”

  Carl glanced at Patricia, and she put her hand on his shoulder. He relaxed a little but didn’t shower Beverly with questions. I could tell he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not, but he wanted to.

  I felt I needed to assure him of her integrity. This was all new to him. I understood it. “Carl, we haven’t told Beverly anything about this case. Nothing at all. She was asked to come and agreed. We’ve worked with her before, and she’s always been accurate. If she doesn’t know something, she won’t make it up. She’s an honest person. I give you my word.”

  Carl wiped a tear from his eye and let a sob out. “I am sorry, Beverly. It’s not really that I doubt you, but this is so hard to understand. And I want to believe you. It’s just…I am not normally this emotional. It’s been hard since Deter’s passing. It’s hit my wife even harder. You wouldn’t believe how close the four of us were, Deter and his wife, Verna, and my wife and me. It was hard to watch my friend disassemble before my very eyes. Now he and Verna are both gone.”