Mysteries of Billamore Hall Series: Kindle Boxed Set

by BJ Richards

  Sandra hesitated, her green eyes darting from place to place, unable to focus and not wanting to look Josephine in the eye. “I had this weird sensation some minutes after I entered the museum, right there in the Main Hall. At first, I thought it was just all your theories about the place finally getting to me. But then, it happened again.”

  “Describe the sensation,” Josephine cut in, her curiosity roused.

  “I felt so cold, and then I couldn’t move. Like I wasn’t in total control of my body.”

  “That’s weird and so very interesting. I’ve read about ghosts inhabiting human bodies. When they do, the human feels cold and out of control while the ghost takes over.” The concern in Josephine's voice now matched her fascination with the paranormal. “Did anything else happen?”

  “Yes, actually. This is where it gets really strange. I went down to the basement where the stored paintings were, and I felt that same sensation run through me even stronger. And then… this is crazy…” Sandra hesitated before continuing. “I saw a painting of a woman. Her eyes were so angry, I could actually feel her rage. And then I swear, her eyes blinked! And not just once… but over and over… that’s crazy right?”

  Josephine’s eyes shone with excitement. “Are you kidding me? This is so cool! We have to research who the woman in the painting is. Something must’ve happened at the time it was done. Who painted it? Maybe we can start there.”

  “Some unknown artist by the name of Carrigan. But you haven’t heard the creepiest part yet,” Sandra said, a little afraid to continue. Up until today, all this was something she would've called complete and utter nonsense, had she not heard it from her own mouth.

  “There’s more?” The excitement in Josephine's voice was palpable.

  “The woman in the painting was wearing a pendant. Not just any pendant. It was my grandmother's, the one she keeps locked up and rarely wears except on super special occasions.”

  “The one you’ve always wanted since we were kids? Are you sure? A lot of those old pendants look alike. Maybe it’s just one that’s similar.”

  “I know, I thought of that. But my grandmother's is very distinctive and I’ve never seen one like it. The one in the painting was a perfect match. I’m certain it’s the same one.”

  “Wow. You have to go ask your grandma about this. This may explain why the ghost is reaching out to you. You've got some kind of connection because of that pendant. I know you don’t believe in anything supernatural, but this may be the time to set aside your doubts. I’m going to help you research everything. We’ll figure this out together.”

  Sandra could hear the intrigue in Josephine’s voice and was relieved she wanted to help and didn’t think she was a complete lunatic. “I thought you didn’t want me working there.”

  “Well, something good has to come of all this creepiness, right? But still… you have to be careful.” Josephine got up to tend to a customer, giving Sandra a reassuring touch on the shoulder as she walked past.

  “We clearly have different definitions of what good means,” Sandra retorted. Her mind took off in a whir. I know Josephine's right. And I did see what I saw, no matter how hard I try to rationalize it.

  But whatever her personal belief was, Sandra knew she had to find out what the hell was going on. And soon… before she was the next victim.

  Chapter Three

  Sandra sat in her car in front of her grandmother’s house, the leather seats hugging her slim form as she squirmed. It seemed ridiculous to her that she was going this far because of a supposed ghost story. Her mind raced as she debated whether she should go in or turn back. What would her grandmother think if she knew?

  There are no ghosts. Somehow saying it over and over in her mind helped to calm her down. But still, she had to know what the pendant in that painting had to do with her grandmother's pendant.

  “Time to be a big girl,” she firmly announced to herself. Bracing herself for whatever she would find, she forced herself out of the car and walked toward her grandmother’s mansion.

  She smiled when she saw a bicycle parked carefully around the corner, reminding her of her middle-school days. She used to go on bike races with Josephine and Nathaniel down this very same street. It was one of the joys of living in Billamore… everything was so simple, until it wasn't.

  Her grandmother’s butler, Michael, greeted her as he opened the massive door, its beveled crystalline panels reflecting in the sun. “It's been awhile since we saw you here, Ms. Sandra.”

  “What are you talking about? I was here for the Peterson fundraiser just a couple of weeks ago.”

  “That’s been over a month now.”

  Sandra’s green eyes widened with guilt. “Time does fly quickly,” she replied sheepishly as she entered the pristine hallway of the great home.

  She hated the distance that had occurred between her and her grandmother. They used to be as close as thieves before she went away to college. All through college and after she’d graduated and gone to work, they used to have long phone calls at least once-a-week to catch up.

  But for the past month, she’d been busy selling herself to the Billamore Hall Committee, convincing them of her ability to be the curator at the Hall. Not that it had been too hard since everyone else had the good sense not to apply. And now that she thought about it, her insistence of having the job might’ve been what puzzled the committee, due to the murders.

  “I thought I heard Pumpkin's voice down there.” Abigail Peterson's vibrant voice floated down the hallway. “How is the preparation going for your first day at the new job? I was going to call you this evening to invite you over to dinner.”

  “You were? That's awesome. Now I can eat both lunch and dinner here.” Sandra hugged her grandmother warmly. This was one of the things she liked about their relationship. It didn't matter if they hadn't spoken for days, they always picked up where they’d left off the last time. Her grandmother had pretty much raised her after all, her own mother too busy with her social life and parties out of town.

  “I'm beginning to think you only need me for food these days. Have you been living off junk food again Sandra Elizabeth Peterson?” Sandra smiled and feigned innocence. Whenever her grandmother used her full name, she knew she must be dancing at the edge of disapproval.

  “Actually, I'm here for conversation. Food doesn't sound bad though. Jo is a terrible cook, so I can't invite myself over for meals.”

  “When is the wedding? Have they picked a date?” Her grandmother was always interested in her granddaughter’s life and friends.

  “No, not yet. But thankfully for Jo, Nate is an awesome cook.”

  “Come, let’s sit out on the veranda. It’s such a lovely day,” her grandmother suggested.

  The lawns were beautifully manicured and the sounds of the fountains were always comforting to Sandra. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and sitting outside and chatting with her grandmother was always one of her favorite things to do. She inhaled the heady scent of roses carried by the gentle breeze, and felt like she was home again.

  Abigail sat across from Sandra on the elegant wrought iron chairs covered with hand-stitched cushions. She tucked back the brown hair that mirrored Sandra’s own, now streaked with silver threads of gray.

  “Is something on your mind today, Sandra? You know you can always work for the family’s foundation. You don’t have to stay at the Hall if you don’t want to. Josephine called me a few times about your curator job.”

  “I’ll bet she did. But I love the work. You know how badly I’ve wanted to be Curator there. Actually, I went over to the museum today to get myself more acquainted with the place.”

  “Oh? Have the Billamores added anything new to that place?” she asked, as she sipped the tea Michael handed her.

  “I don't know just yet. I was in the middle of taking inventory when I saw something strange.” Sandra brought her phone out from her purse. She had taken a picture of the painting with a special close-up of the pen
dant. “See anything familiar?”

  Her grandmother took the phone from her and looked the picture over. “Why, yes, that's my pendant. Or at least it looks like it. The resemblance is certainly compelling. This is one of the paintings at Billamore? How come I haven't seen it before? I could have sworn I've seen every piece of art that museum owns.”

  “It's one of the backlogged paintings. Do you still have the pendant?”

  “Of course. It's in the safe, but I haven’t worn it for some time now. The plan is to give it to you someday. My mother left it for me with some of her other things... in that old green trunk in the attic. She never talked about it much, just said it had been handed down through the family and was always to go to the next in line.”

  “Was there anything else in that trunk, Grandmum? Anything that might tell us who else may have worn it?”

  “Not that I can remember, Sandra. But you’re certainly welcome to go take a look. And while you do that, I’ll get the pendant from the safe.”

  Sandra beamed with excitement, left her Earl Grey tea behind and raced to the attic. The place was as she remembered... dusty with old things littered about, things her ancestors had left behind. Her grandmother was sentimental that way; keeping the history of the family in one place made the old family home feel secure and brought solace to her.

  Winding her way around through the old family belongs, Sandra looked for the tarnished green trunk her grandmother told her about. Then she saw it, off in a corner with a discarded lamp shade resting on it.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting to find here.

  But something told her she needed to go through the contents carefully.

  It was mostly a lot of old letters and documents, some handmade handkerchiefs embroidered with family initials, and an antique music box that still played when she opened the lid. The old-time tinkling made her smile. You don’t hear tunes like those anymore.

  Sandra carefully restored the music box to its resting place in the trunk and continued going through the rest of the contents, working her way through a couple of aged blouses and some scarves. And then she noticed it. A small side pocket that was barely visible in the dim light.

  Curious as to what might be in there, she reached in and pulled out a tiny, red leather diary. She felt her skin prickle as a thrill raced through her. Unable to wait to read it until she returned downstairs, she carefully opened the small handwritten book. All she could make out in the dim light was a name: Annabel Carson. Closing the trunk so the rest of its contents wouldn’t be disturbed, she hurried downstairs to show her grandmother.

  Abigail chuckled when she saw Sandra. It was then that Sandra looked down and realized what a sight she was. “I'm covered in dust, aren't I?”

  “Your ancestors are probably punishing you for not visiting more often,” Abigail jokingly admonished before waving her over. “Come here. Let me dust you off a bit.”

  After she’d removed the dust from Sandra’s clothes, Abigail picked up the necklace she’d retrieved from the safe and put it around Sandra’s neck. When she did, she noticed Sandra was holding something. “What is that you have in your hand?”

  “I was actually hoping you could tell me. I saw this diary in the trunk. Have you ever seen this before? It says it belongs to an Annabel Carson, but the light was so bad up there it was hard to make out much more,” Sandra explained, as she moved towards the mirror to admire the pendant her grandmother had just placed around her neck.

  “Really? I have no idea who that is. Probably a friend of one of your ancestors.”

  Abigail’s voice had become a slight drone now inside Sandra’s head as she stared into the mirror. She’d expected to see her long brown hair and green eyes complimented by the pendant around her neck. But what stared back at her wasn’t her own. The reflection belonged to the woman in the painting.

  Chapter Four

  Sandra excused herself before lunch was served. She couldn't shake the image she just saw in the mirror, and if she stayed any longer, her grandmother would know something was wrong.

  She was either losing her mind, or a ghost was haunting her. Neither option was good in her mind. And the last person she wanted to tell about a ghost story was her grandmother who always worried about her. No sense adding insanity or ghost haunting to the list.

  “Are you sure you can't wait?” Abigail asked, as Sandra returned the necklace to her.

  “No Grandmum, I have to go to the museum. I just got a text from the janitor in charge of cleaning the place,” she lied, resisting the urge to tuck her hair into the back of her ear. She knew that was her tell when it came to lying and her grandmother knew it, too.

  “Alright dear. Be careful at that job. And let me know what you find out about the painting.” Abigail gave her a kiss on the cheek and waved her off.

  Driving straight to Josephine's shop, all Sandra could think about was that woman staring back at her in the mirror. This isn’t happening. Not to me. I’m rational, level-headed, logical. Wait till Jo hears about this.

  The need to confide in her friend again and tell her about her discovery felt more urgent now. Now things were happening away from the museum. And she needed her paranormal-obsessed best friend to reassure her she wasn't crazy.

  “Hey,” she said as casually as she could when she entered the shop.

  “Hey yourself. I'm about to close up. Discover anything interesting at your Grandma's place?” Josephine asked, as she changed the shop's sign from “Open” to “Closed”.

  “The pendant is the same as the painting's. The filigree is exact. We’re both convinced it's the same pendant. But she doesn't know who the woman in the painting is.”

  “Well, that's a bummer,” Josephine said, picking up her purse. “And…. I can tell from the look on your face, there’s more.”

  “There is… more. Grandmum wanted to see the necklace on me. When she put it around my neck, I got up and looked in the mirror.” Sandra hesitated before going on, looking down and playing with her fingers on the counter, then absentmindedly touching where the pendant had just hung around her neck. Her voice dropped before she continued.

  “I saw the woman instead of myself… in the mirror… looking back at me. This is getting really freaky now. Have any creepy paranormal theories to cover that?”

  She was still touching her neck as she looked directly into Josephine's eyes, silently hoping for some kind of understanding to explain all this.

  Josephine’s understanding look was exactly what Sandra needed. After all, two paranormal experiences, both in the same day, really was a bit much. Especially for a complete non-believer.

  “Believe me, you’re not crazy. I’ve heard about this kind of thing on the Internet and TV. And coming from a nonbeliever, it makes it even more plausible in my opinion. Why don’t you come home with me? I have a dinner date with Nate later, but till then, we could curl up and order some pizza.”

  Sandra smiled, relieved. Josephine had always been there for her, no matter what. And she was again now.

  “That would be great. I could use a little bit of normalcy about now. And I have something from Grandmum's trunk I think you’ll be interested in, too,” she said playfully with a gleam in her eye.

  “What?” Josephine could barely contain her eagerness.

  Reaching into her handbag, Sandra brought out the red leather diary.

  “Neither Grandmum nor I have ever seen it before. Grandmum said her mother never even spoke about any kind of diary. It’s certainly old. I could use a distraction after all today’s weirdness.”

  Josephine took the diary from her. “You’re right. The writing is definitely from a different era; probably nineteenth century from what I can tell so far. Hmmm… this is interesting.” Josephine’s voice trailed off as she began thumbing through the pages.

  “Where have you learned all this stuff?” Sandra asked, amazed at her friend’s knowledge.

  Josephine waved her off and quickly locked up the shop. �
��Here and there. And you are paying for pizza, just so you know.” The smirk on her face had given her away.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, back at Josephine's apartment, the two got ready to read from the newly found diary as they curled up on the couch with a box of pizza between them.

  “I'm going to read it aloud for better effect,” Josephine announced. Sandra smiled. Josephine loved theatrics and this was just up her alley.

  Josephine cleared her throat before she began.

  “October 7th, 1876. Master Raymond enjoined me to begin keeping a journal. He says it helps with grief. It is yet to be established if he is right or not, but for now I am deeply saddened. It is a difficult thing to lose a parent, but to lose both at once is tragic. To lose them to something as horrible as a carriage accident does not make this easier. I find myself wondering what they were thinking before they died. Did they think of me? Or was it a sudden unexpected act where they had no time to think?

  Either way, I must embrace my fate now. Especially since I am going to be living with the Rogers. Master Raymond tells me they are good people. I hope Uncle George and Aunty Emma do not see me as a burden. Cousin Penelope will soon be wed and leave the house...”

  “Hold on.” Sandra cut in, with a mouthful of pizza.

  “What is it?”

  “The Rogers. Emma and George Rogers. They’re my great, great grandparents. Remember that genealogy assignment we did back in high school?”

  “The one where we had to investigate when our families moved to Billamore?”

  “Yes, that one. That’s when I discovered that my Great Grandmother Penelope was actually a Rogers before she married Thomas Matthews. They were the ones that started the family logging business we still run today.”

  “So… that means this Annabel Carson is your Great Grandmother Penelope’s first cousin. It explains why you have her diary in your family's house.”

  Before Josephine could continue reading, the doorbell chimed. Still talking, Josephine walked to the front door and looked through the peep hole; it was Nathaniel.