Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
About the Author
THE ETON BLUFF HAUNTING
ROBIN G. AUSTIN
∞
Kindle Edition
© 2017 Robin G. Austin. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic or electronic process or by photographic recordings nor stored in a retrieval system transmitted or otherwise copied for public or private use including words and illustrations, other than brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews, without written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Reference to brands, media and trademarks are used fictitiously and under the fair use doctrine.
The Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Series
The Roxbury Haunting
The Cathville Haunting
The Shem Bay Haunting
The Eton Bluff Haunting
The Taw Ridge Haunting (9/2017)
Prologue
§
March 18, 1958
Eton Bluff, Minnesota
“Five thousand dollars and it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. You can do that, right?” he asked.
She looked at her hands in her lap and bobbed her head. His cool laugh under his breath chilled her skin as he patted her hand. With the envelope tucked into her pocketbook, she slid off the leather seat and out of the shiny black Cadillac.
She would do it for him, but that didn’t make it right. Money couldn’t buy love and wasn’t love worth more than its weight in gold? She told herself that was just the way he did things, and that love had a funny way of showing itself sometimes.
“Money makes the world go round. If it can’t be bought, it probably isn’t worth having. Never be too good to stop and pick up a penny off the road unless you see the wind blowing a dollar up ahead.”
He had as many sayings about money as he had money itself, and that was a lot.
He’d come to her with the story. He needed her to know the truth.
“When you know the truth, you control your destiny. Lies send you down the wrong path and others decide your destiny. Always choose the truth.”
He was a good story teller too, never leaving out the good parts. Or the bad ones. And there were plenty of those. More than she knew, and she knew a lot. Others she would have found out eventually. She wondered if later was better than sooner; she’d always hoped things would just work themselves out.
“Better to have options than hope. Hope is a poor man’s past time that only passes time until he’s in the grave.”
He had a saying for everything.
Argus had his ways too, but not much in the way of sayings. He had a big smile, serious eyes, and boy could he make the girls swoon. Being a sinner was just part of the package. But she always knew he’d be gone someday, and she had more than herself to look out for now.
“When you have everything you want, wanting what you can’t have is all that matters.”
That was a good saying too, but she wondered what on earth he couldn’t have that he wanted.
“Now be dutiful,” he’d said, before she shut the Cadillac’s door. “Make me proud and remember what I told you.”
She wouldn’t forget. Shotgun’s in the east corner behind a bale of hay. Ax is hanging on the wall in plain sight. Sharpened it himself this morning. “Watch your fingers, honey,” he’d said, and laughed.
Why not give Argus the money and tell him to leave town? She wondered but didn’t ask. He knew best. No reason to hurt two people when killing one was enough to fix the problem. She trusted him. She knew he trusted her too because like he always said, she was his favorite.
Chapter One
§
I’m on my way to the KCRQ radio station to do my fourth show of The Psychic Power Hour, a weekly call-in show. It may be the last one I do and not just because of the ridiculous name, which I had no part in selecting.
I’m having artistic differences with the show’s director, Libby Petry. That’s how she describes the situation that amounts to nothing more than my refusal to do what she asks. I’m not destined to ever win employee of the month.
For someone who’s chosen a career in radio, Libby is fixated on television shows, including those about the supernatural. She wants me to watch them so I can “drama it up,” get more tears from the callers, and more heartfelt messages from the dead to keep the listeners on the edge of their seats.
She wonders if it would be possible for me to speak with an accent or channel a Navajo princess in relaying my messages. She suggests wearing colorful, flowing skirts around town for branding purposes.
When I left last week, I told Libby that if she wanted to brand something, she should get herself a cow. I waited all week for my termination email; I’m still waiting, still speaking plain English, still forgoing the rainbow wardrobe.
I pull into KCRQ’s parking lot, dressed in the usual: jeans, tee-shirt, and boots. The radio station’s owner, Dan Barboza, asked me to try to get along better with Libby so I bought a blue tee-shirt; it’s as colorful as I get.
Mojo, my four-legged partner in all things supernatural, sniffs the air when I open the door to the jeep then he gets out, goes straight to Libby’s lemon yellow Mini Cooper, and pees on the tire. In return, I hand him a bacon flavored milk bone; we have an agreement.
“Jack, thank Saint Margaret Mary you’re here. We have three callers on hold waiting to talk to you. I can practically taste the Marconi Award in my future. Tell me I’m going to win.”
I keep walking to my booth. “You’re going to win, Libby.”
As much as I avoid having a regular job, even one that’s only an hour long, one day a week, I have to admit that the show is entertaining, if you find dead people entertaining, and easy money, not a lot of money, but easy.
The title of Psychic Medium Radio Personality also looks good on my ghost eradication website, and that’s the real reason I’m doing the show. Helping the haunted is my spiritual calling and if I had my way, it would be my full time job. Unfortunately, haunting jobs are few and far between. I blame it on the paranormal hobbyists who are debasing the profession. Along with giving services away, they don’t have a psychic clue in their electronic bag of tricks.
&
nbsp; Libby is running the show’s introduction while slapping her palms over her ears, meaning put on your headset. “Kathleen is on line three,” she says. Her hyperactive voice has turned sultry and slides gently through the microphone. She’s swiping both index fingers down her cheeks now– make Kathleen cry.
“Hello, Kathleen. How are you today?”
Kathleen says she’s fine, but she doesn’t sound fine. I feel a ping of guilt, Libby is beaming.
“Give me a moment,” I say, closing my eyes and sensing the woman’s energy. “Okay, there’s an older male who’s stepped forward. Someone close to you who has passed recently.”
“My father,” Kathleen whispers.
“Okay. He’s coming through super protective of you.” She laughs and cries. “He wants me to tell you that he’s sorry for leaving you the way he did. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Understand that he had to leave this world when he did. He’s telling me that he didn’t want you or the rest of your family to go through the pain of a long passing. He says he didn’t want to suffer long either, and he hopes you will—
Kathleen’s singing the Lord’s praises and Libby’s dancing around the room. I throw an ink pen at Libby and mouth for her to knock it off.
“Be respectful of the dead,” I yell at her the second the show is over and the microphones are off. “Or I’m quitting. Do you understand?”
“You can’t quit. You have a contract. Did you see that all the lines were lit up on the phones? We’re a hit.”
“Pray that you don’t get hit by a train on the way home today.”
Libby’s mouth drops open and her eyes get buggy. As I walk out of the station, I think I hear her asking if I see that in her future. She’s mistaken me for a fortune teller.
On the drive home, I’m trying to convince myself that I’m helping people connect with their loved ones who’ve passed over, but sometimes this new job makes me feel scummy. That feeling is bad enough, but the real problem is that everything and everyone in my life is changing. That’s something I didn’t realize would bother me so much, but it does.
Plus, this radio show makes it seem like all the dead want to do is reassure their loved ones that everything is okay, and all they’re doing is sitting up in heaven watching over them. Where are all the troubled, bitter souls, and evil entities that are my livelihood? I’d even take on a poltergeist if one would just call.
The last job I had was in Shem Bay, Oregon, two months ago. Now that was a real job complete with sticky slime and a chicken demon. I came back to Las Trebol feeling great only to learn that my very dignified, wise, and proud Navajo grandmother went to Las Vegas and married the town’s short, round, goofball. It still makes me dizzy to think about it.
My father, who has been a widower for thirteen years, took his first vacation in as many years with… his girlfriend, something he hasn’t had since he was a teenager. Now he’s acting like a teenager. There’s more going on, a lot more, but I refuse to indulge myself in more self-pity.
After getting home and wasting time flipping through the television stations, I grab a frozen dinner and toss it in the microwave. This is what my life’s become. A few psychic readings for radio ratings and a meatloaf, whipped potatoes, and buttered corn dinner.
When I don’t think I can feel anymore bored with myself, my phone rings. I’ve been psychic all my twenty six years, but if I wasn’t good at turning off the voices in my head, I’d be totally insane by now. In other words, I don’t have a clue who’s calling. Worse, I don’t have a clue who I’d like to talk to about now.
Without checking, I let the call go to voicemail when the microwave buzzes. Meatloaf cannot be kept waiting or reheated. Seriously, the stuff would never survive a second dose of radiation.
After dinner and the cleanup– a fork for the meatloaf and a spoon I used to eat a half container of rocky road ice cream while standing in front of the freezer– I fall asleep on the sofa watching The Walking Dead.
What feels like weeks later, I wake up in a pitch black room. The TV is off and Mojo has his nose an inch from mine. I can’t see it but I can feel it, literally and unpleasantly. I can’t see him either, other than his spooky amber eyes.
“What are you doing? Did you turn off the television?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my phone rings and I nearly fall off the sofa.
It’s nine thirty and the call is on my business line. I clear my throat and find the lamp switch. “Raven Eradications,” I say, sounding like a frog.
“Yes, my name is Loren Hayes, and I’m calling about your ghost services. I left a message earlier.”
I’m in the kitchen with a glass of water clearing my throat.
“I know it’s late—
“Not at all,” I say, in my get-me-out-of-town voice. “What are you experiencing?”
“It’s not me. It’s crazy really.”
I can tell the woman’s fighting back tears. I hope they’re not crazy lady tears. If I had a dime for every client whose ghost was living not in their home but in their head, I’d be very wealthy.
“I don’t believe in ghosts. It’s some friends of my cousin. Morgan died two weeks ago. I’m a wedding planner. He fell.”
I’m trying to figure out the wedding planner connection, but decide the woman was just sharing. That’s what social media has done to all of us. So much sharing.
“And you think he’s haunting his friends?” I’m back on the sofa with my eyes closed trying to get a sense of the woman and her dead cousin. Her mind is scrambled. Morgan is silent.
“No. I’m sorry. This isn’t easy.”
“Take your time,” I say.
“Morgan and his girlfriend, Zeda, and two of their friends invested in a tech startup company. Yesterday, Zeda called after finding you on the internet. She keeps telling me they’re experiencing– paranormal activity.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know. Weird noises. Lights blinking.” Loren chokes on a nervous giggle then hiccups. “They think something pushed Morgan to his death.”
“What do the police say?” I ask, assuming they’re involved.
“You’re right. They’re young and upset and their imaginations are clouding their reasoning. The police are investigating; I need to let them handle things. I’m sorry to have taken your time.”
“No harm done.” I start to say goodbye when I feel hairy feet crawling on me and leap off the sofa. An enormous black garden spider makes it half way across the room before Mojo chomps it in two.
“What’s the name of the startup?” I ask.
Loren laughs. “Some silly name they came up with. What was it? Snake, cricket, lizard? Spider. That’s it. Spider.”
“Keep my number,” I say, before we disconnect.
Chapter Two
§
It’s been nearly a week since I got the call from Loren Hayes. It’s not the woman who’s on my mind; it’s the spiders who are following me around town. They and their cobwebs are everywhere I turn. This morning, one was in my boot when I slipped it on. Parts of it still are.
I shouldn’t ignore them and I’m not. I’m trying hard to sense their message. I’ve even considered calling the woman back to see what’s going on, but I don’t want to come off desperate for the job. I am desperate, but just to get rid of the spiders in my life before people start talking. In this town, there isn’t space for another blemish on my reputation.
I’m somewhat confident I’ll be hearing from Loren again. I know this because Jung was right about meaningful coincidences, and I don’t need spiders knocking on my window to believe it.
I’ve tried to tune into Loren’s vibration and ask for a message from her cousin. I can’t pull that trick off unless the spirit has crossed over and the parties agree to communicate. Either I’m tuning into the wrong vibe or the kid didn’t much care for the woman. Could be too that Morgan is still hanging around.
When a spirit is earth
bound, they’re often lost and clueless. They haven’t come to terms with their death or they have a reason to stay– sometimes, one that involves revenge. It’s a sad and lonely state that no soul should suffer. Releasing them to the light pays the mortgage. A win for their soul’s journey and for me too.
Whatever is going on, I’ve got to get all these spiders out of my life, but first I need to know what it is they’re trying to tell me. So I’m searching the internet for this spirit creature’s message. Along with snakes, I’m glad the spider isn’t my spirit animal. I love all God’s creations, but seriously– snakes and spiders and mice and rats?
I know the spider is a very ancient creature that rules feminine energy– the black widow in all us girls– and that they are the master weavers of fate. According to one website I read, they also represent the shadow side of one’s personality.
Perhaps the message isn’t about Loren and her cousin or their friends. Perhaps her call was nothing more than a way to get my attention and force me to put some energy into healing my own dark persona.
Lately, I seem to have issues with everyone. Just a phase, I tell myself. Shifting of the collective consciousness, political unrest, hormones, junk food. Today’s agenda is guaranteed not to improve my state of mind.
I’m filling in for Arthur at the diner. My father and Georgia are taking the day off. Doing what, I don’t want to know. I’m on the grill and Piper and Katy are waitressing. I wanted to waitress but Arthur thought I should work alone; a less confrontational way of telling me to stay away from the customers. Georgia, on the other hand, just wants to talk and talk about what’s bothering me, which really bothers me.
Mojo is sitting at the front door. I don’t know how he knows when we’re going to the diner, a place he loves as much as home, but he always does. I open the door and he runs outside to mark his territory. I step out and hear a crunch under my boot. I don’t have to look to know what it is.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Lacey’s Diner and park at the far end of the back lot. I’ve sworn off checking for Levi’s car before I park. My ex-boyfriend and his not so new girlfriend, Julia, are regular customers. We’re all just one big happy family. I’m very happy.
The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4) Page 1
