Haunted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 2)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Yes, I have been meaning to ask you about him. What can you tell us about the artist? What’s his name?”

  “Noelle.”

  “Is that his first or last name?”

  “As far as I know, it’s his only name. He’s one of those gurus, mystic painters. He paints visions, apparently. And if he is to be believed, he saw this boy, Darren, in a vision and painted him.”

  “And now the boy is dead.” The detective with the dark brown hair and handlebar mustache stared hard at Andrew.

  Andrew didn’t know what to say. “I am not arguing otherwise, Detective, but I have no idea what happened to the boy. And I doubt Noelle does either.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he lives in Holland. We had to special order this painting, and that was over a year ago. Look at that—it was shipped from the artist’s hometown. Here’s the shipping label. Would you like the packing slip too?”

  “I would, thank you.” Detective Holloway watched the back of Andrew’s head as he traveled down the narrow stairs in search of the packing slip.

  “Can you believe these rich folks? He pays three thousand for this?” Murphy pointed his thumb at the painting and shook his head. “The nerve. And to paint that, of all things.”

  Holloway stepped back from the painting and took a picture. Looking back from the canvas was clearly the face of Darren Carpenter, his eyes bulging wide with fear, his mouth open in an unheard scream. Even more disturbing was the figure of a man—no, a shadow man—standing behind him. Hovering, conquering, murdering. One black, shadowy hand on the boy’s shoulder, the other on his throat.

  An impossible reality struck Holloway soundly between the eyes. He was looking into the face of the killer.

  But if this painting was to be believed, a shadow killed Darren Carpenter.

  Chapter One—Cassidy Wright

  Mobile, Alabama

  Present

  “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Helen! Happy birthday to you!”

  I sang loud and proud for my friend and fellow paranormal investigator, Helen Devry. To celebrate her milestone birthday—she said every birthday after sixty was a milestone—she’d gone in for a complete makeover, including a sassy haircut and a spray tan. Not that she really needed either, as Helen’s classic beauty could hardly be denied. But I had to admit, the little improvements she had made only served to make her lovelier. I hoped to goodness that when I turned sixty-five I looked half as beautiful as Helen.

  And I suspected the real reason for her makeover had little to do with her birthday, which she said she didn’t give two figs about, and more to do with her attraction to one Bruce Goddard. Bruce was a larger-than-life character, despite his short stature, and so interesting, to hear Helen tell it. He was a “ghost archaeologist,” among other things. Bruce had walked the cake in and insisted on lighting the candles. To everyone’s delight, he and Helen kissed after she blew out the candles and rose to make a toast. The conference room of the Gulf Coast Paranormal office was packed with well-wishers and people who loved and admired Helen.

  She raised her glass with a lovely bright smile on her face and said, “I can tell you folks that wishes come true! You’ll never guess what I wished for! No, Bruce. Not a kiss from you.” Everyone laughed as she continued, “Although that was an excellent gift, and I would like more of those, please. What took you so long?” We laughed again and cheered for Bruce and Helen, but she waved her hand to silence us. “No, that wasn’t my wish. Earlier tonight, my friend Midas gave me the present I really wanted. The Gulf Coast Paranormal team is going to investigate my late cousin’s bed-and-breakfast, Dixie House. Here’s to Midas! And to GCP!”

  She tipped her glass toward my boyfriend, and we all sipped and applauded. I had no idea our team was going to head up this investigation, but I was down for it. It might be kind of fun to do a hunt in a Victorian home. And who would be a better client than Helen? As the crowd parted and people began to enjoy the cake, punch and champagne bar, I made my way over to Helen. Midas caught my eye and smiled at me.

  God, that man was so beautiful!

  For the past three months, I’d felt as if I’d been walking on cloud nine. I had no more dreams or compulsive paintings. No more nightmares about Kylie. I knew she was gone now, and it was just a matter of time before the FBI found her body. They had already found two other girls on the coach’s farm, buried near a barn on his family’s abandoned property. I never knew he owned a farm; he lived on our cul-de-sac for as long as I could remember. As the investigator told me, these types of predators were the craftiest, most intelligent monsters you could ever meet. At least the coach was dead and I didn’t have to endure his denials.

  Not thinking about this tonight.

  “Helen, congratulations both on your birthday and on inheriting Dixie House. Has it been in your family a long time?” I asked.

  “Dixie House’s ownership has been tied up in probate court for the past ten years, but now that is all sorted out and I am the legal owner. My cousin Mandy tried to block the transfer of title, but I can’t imagine why. Can you believe she wanted that lovely old place torn down? When I die, it will pass to my daughter, Virginia, whether she wants it or not. I want to restore Dixie House to her former beauty, but there’s a problem.”

  “Well, yeah, there must be or else you wouldn’t have called us in,” I said with a smile.

  “A little boy disappeared at the house back in the seventies, and the circumstances were weird—creepy, to say the least. Midas asked me to brief the whole team this evening at your apartment.” Helen smiled as Bruce sidled up to her, obviously hoping to have her attention for a little while.

  “My apartment? Uh, okay. Cool, that would be great. I’ll see you then.”

  I immediately went in search of Midas. “What’s this I hear about a team meeting at my apartment?” I wasn’t mad about it, just confused.

  “Yeah, I meant to mention that. Sorry, Cassidy. The exterminator is coming here in a few hours. I promised him nobody would be here, hence the meeting at your place.”

  I shrugged and finished up my drink. “Why not have it at your place, Midas? You’ve got all those leather chairs and a huge dining room table. Not that I mind or anything.” I had to admit, I was curious. I got the distinct impression there was more going on than I knew about.

  He glanced at Sierra and Joshua, who were currently talking and laughing with one another. I couldn’t help but smile. I was so glad they were trying to make it work. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve got someone crashing on my couch.”

  “Oh, I see.” Why was his ex-girlfriend, the one who looked so much like me, the first person who came to mind? And why would Sara be in town? Surely Midas would never do that. Never. He hated his ex, almost as much as I did. “Is it a top-secret guest?”

  “It’s Peter Broadus, but don’t tell Sierra and Josh.”

  “Peter Broadus? You mean ex-GCP Pete? Cheated with Sara Pete? I would think he would be the last person you’d open your door to.”

  “Exactly what I said when he showed up. You know the old saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Same principle applies here. I’m keeping him close.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “At least it’s not Jack. That would be a major mistake. How do you think those guys are doing?” I glanced at Sierra and Joshua, happy to change the subject now.

  “They’ll make it, but they have a few scars, a few sore spots. If they love one another enough, and I think they do, they will pull through it and be stronger from the experience. It’s up to them, Cassidy. I can’t fix it—and neither can you.”

  That stung a bit, but I thought about it for a moment. He was right, of course. Midas didn’t have any paranormal gifts, but he had wisdom in spades.

  “Since we’re having a meeting at my place in about…what, two hours? I better get home and tidy up. I have laundry everywhere, drop cloths, you name it. It looks like a t
otal slob lives there.”

  “You could always come live with me. Then we could be total slobs together.”

  I blinked at him. Did he just ask me to move in? “All right, jokester. Let’s slow down there a little, okay? Now kiss me, and I’ll see you soon. What should I pick up? You know the team likes to eat.”

  “I’ll call Demeter’s for some takeout. Would you mind picking up some tea and sodas? Need some money?”

  I gave him a look that said, Are you kidding? For once in my life, I didn’t need anything. I was receiving my estate disbursement regularly without going through the quarterly palaver with Uncle Derek.

  “Kiss me, sexy girl.” And I did. If anyone wondered if we were together, that kiss told them everything they wanted to know.

  “Warm me up; it’s cold out there. Chilly October,” I murmured.

  “I’ll warm you up later,” he whispered as he walked me to the door. And then one of his female fan club members chased him down. I laughed a little and walked out.

  My drive home was uneventful. I grabbed a jug of tea and some drinks from the corner store and then rode the elevator up to my floor. Thankfully, it worked properly and I didn’t get stuck. That had been known to happen from time to time, and I wasn’t looking forward to climbing out of it again.

  As I approached the front door, I began juggling grocery bags, my purse and my sketch bag as I searched for my keys. Skillfully navigating the weight of the bags, I reached toward the door, but I needn’t have bothered.

  It was already open.

  Chapter Two—Cassidy

  As quietly as I could, I let the bags rest on the floor and dug in my purse for my pink camo pepper spray, a recent gift from Midas. With the spray poised in one hand, I pushed the door open with the other. I always left the lamp on, the one by the door, but the room was dark now—the whole place was totally dark. Even the small fluorescent light over the sink was off. It was like the power had gone off and stayed off, but that wasn’t right. The small blue light on the satellite box remained on.

  Instinctively, my hand went to the lamp, but something made me pause. There was a weird sound, like footsteps running from the front room to the kitchen. Could I have left the kitchen window open again? Was that where this noise was coming from? Maybe a bird had gotten in?

  The investigator in me said, Leave the light off and grab your mini flashlight! The side of me that wanted to live screamed, Turn every light in the place on! I listened to the latter one. I wasn’t on the job now—this was my home. Walking through the apartment now, turning on every light as I went, I began searching for the source of that sound.

  “Hello? Who’s there? You need to come out before I call the cops!” I paused in my kitchen, my hands shaking, my heart racing.

  Just when I thought I had imagined the whole footsteps thing, I heard them again from the other side of the bar. Walking around the bar, I blinked my eyes in disbelief. There were wet footprints on the floor, as if someone—a small someone—had taken a shower and forgotten to dry off.

  “Hello?” I whispered into the dark, my arm hairs raised up as far as they could go. I followed the footprints to my work area, a little alcove by a massive window. I loved painting in this spot. By day it offered plenty of light, and by night I could enjoy a lovely view of downtown. As I turned from the window, my eyes fell on something I didn’t expect. A brand new canvas. I didn’t recognize it, and I sure as heck hadn’t put it on this easel. That was where the footprints stopped. “Hey, whoever you are, this isn’t cool. Come out now.” I waited another few minutes, pepper spray in hand, but there was nothing else. Soon, even the footprints vanished.

  Dang! I should have taken a picture of them or something.

  “Everything okay in here?” a voice called from the open front door. It was my new neighbor, Leticia Fairley. Just last month my least favorite neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, moved out of the building along with her three cats and one mean poodle. I didn’t offer to carry a single box.

  “Hi, Leticia. Yes, I’m fine, but the door was open and I don’t think I left it that way. You didn’t happen to see anyone fooling around in the hallway, did you?”

  “Hmm…no. I don’t think so. Except I heard a kid running up and down the hall a little while ago. I peeked out the peephole but didn’t recognize him. Are you missing these?” She held my forgotten bags in her hand. “And please don’t spray me,” she said with a chuckle. “Should we call the police?”

  Leticia had straw-colored hair, large, bulbous eyes and a thin figure. She had just a touch of a British accent, which wasn’t surprising since she was originally from some mysterious-sounding place called Redhaven in the United Kingdom.

  “No, I don’t guess so. It doesn’t look like anything is missing. Maybe I did leave the door unlocked. What did the kid look like?”

  She shrugged as she unloaded the bags for me. “Let’s see. He was young, about seven or eight, maybe? He had light brown skin and was short and wearing a bathing suit. I’ve never seen him before, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m still pretty new here. Maybe he’s with that older lady. You know, the one on the other side of you.”

  “There’s no one next door to me, is there? That place has been vacant since I moved in. I think it’s some sort of storage area.”

  She shrugged again and said, “You know better than I, I’m sure. Well, I should go. Time to head to the hospital. Oh, the glamorous life of an American nurse.” She wadded up the paper bags and tossed them in the garbage can.

  “Another exciting night shift at the hospital?” I asked, feeling less freaked out now after some normal conversation.

  “Is there any other kind? Exciting, I mean. You wouldn’t believe some of the characters I meet. Good night, then. Keep your door locked, and have fun at your party.”

  My hair stood up again. I never told Leticia I was having a party. How could she possibly know that? “Party?”

  Pausing at the door with a grin on her face, she said, “It’s either that or you’re very thirsty. Perhaps my invitation was lost in the mail.” She gave me a wink.

  I laughed and put the pepper spray down on the counter. “No party. More like a business meeting. I promise you the next party I have, you are first on the list, Leticia.”

  “Hooray! But now I should go. Good night, Cassidy.”

  “Night, Leticia.” I followed her to the door and closed it behind her, remembering to lock it. Leaning my back against it, I paused for a moment to process the strange occurrence. I kicked off my shoes and tossed them in the basket by the front door.

  That’s when I noticed the wet footprints again. The ones that led to and out the front door.

  Chapter Three—Midas Demopolis

  “I can’t thank you enough for letting me crash on your couch, Midas.”

  I stared at Peter Broadus, still unsure why I had allowed him into my house to begin with. But then when I saw his shaking hands and his constant lip-licking, I knew. I knew all those signs. Pete had always been a drinker, but he was one of those guys who excelled at hiding his addiction behind a confident smirk. Most people never even knew he drank.

  And again I asked myself, why should I care? I didn’t have an answer for that. I shouldn’t care at all, even though the guy had at one time been like a brother to me. Pete had been a part of my life since middle school. Yeah, we had been the Three Amigos, Midas, Dom and Pete, always into mischief, always curious about everything. I didn’t want to remember the time we’d souped up that crotch rocket, Pete’s late father’s hand-me-down bike. We’d souped it up to the point that we nearly killed ourselves on it—multiple times. I think the biggest fight we’d ever gotten into had been over what to name the blasted thing. I wanted to call it Silver because that was the color we’d painted it and I was into the Lone Ranger back in the day. Dom didn’t really care, but Pete wanted to name it the Rocket. In the end, we’d compromised and called it the Silver Rocket. I would never forget the image of Dom doing that midair flip. He�
�d survived that but was murdered a few months later. And then it had been just Pete and me. We’d endured the heartache together, pledging to always stick by one another. In our families, boys didn’t cry, but we both shed tears over Dom and never looked down on one another for them.

  But that was all in the past now. That was all behind us. I never thought any of that would change, but Peter had certainly changed it all. When he decided he would be the better man for Sara. Yeah, that was when it all fell apart.

  “Pam can’t take me in right now. She’s on vacation with Jet and the boys. Besides, my brother-in-law isn’t my biggest fan.”

  Pete’s haggard appearance kept me from shouting, “And you think I am?”

  “Please let me stay here until she gets back or until the rehab center calls me. They promised they would have a place for me soon. God, I hope so. If I’d known I would feel this crappy, I never would have quit.”

  That had been last night. For some unknown reason, I’d agreed to let him stay on the couch. And it was looking like he would be here for a few days. This morning he looked a little better. He accepted a cup of strong black coffee, but we didn’t talk about much, not Sara or how in the hell he got here. I glanced at my watch and decided I needed to give Pete a few minutes of my time. “I want to stay busy, Midas, stay out of trouble. But it’s a struggle…all I can think about is calming my nerves. Maybe a nip or two would help me get through it?”

  “Pete, you made it this far. You haven’t had a drink in days. Why not make it a week? Then two. That’s how you lick this. You know you have to go into the facility dry. You’ll have to pee in a cup, dude. If they find alcohol in your system, you’re out. Don’t blow it.”

  “How would you know about that, Midas? Have you ever struggled with anything at all? Ever in your life?” And there was the voice of the Pete I knew. The smartass Pete, the one who would step on you before he stepped over you.

  Tell me, Midas. Why are you doing this again?