Moody & The Ghost - Books 1-4 (Moody Mysteries)

by Kim Hornsby

  “Thanks for coming out here in this wind tunnel,” I joked, my hair whipping around on my head.

  “No problem, Boss Lady,” she said.

  I really was grateful, but I had to stop thanking her for helping me. For one thing, it’s her job now. I pay her well to describe the ocean as an “angry field of white waves, all the way to the sky edge,” and for another thing, it’s getting old saying, “Have I said, ‘thank you’ today?” I know Eve is getting sick of my gratefulness, but I hoped she wasn’t getting tired of my neediness.

  “The edge of the cliff goes out on either side of the property, in a U, making a little cove down below,” Eve said.

  “How far out?”

  “On the left side, the length of five Floatvilles and on the right side, a little less, making the cove opening face north slightly.”

  That was easy to imagine.

  “There’s a path leading down to the ocean, it looks like,” Eve said, turning our direction. The sun had come out and feeling the warmth on my face was like a kiss. My eyes were open, presumably staring up at the big ball of a sun, but I saw nothing aside from the darkness. I’d thought about just keeping my eyes closed like lots of other blind people who say it’s more work to keep them open. I wasn’t ready to give up on the world yet and had chosen to keep them open, make that extra muscular effort, just in case. Especially since the Roslyn restaurant where I saw the room and a ghost, something that wouldn’t have happened if my eyes were closed.

  “Tell me how you know there’s a path.”

  “The cliff edge has a wooden fence that doesn’t look strong enough to prevent much from bursting through. One of those old-time western rail fences with diagonal . . .thingies.”

  I laughed. “Posts. I got it.”

  The word thingies came up a lot with Eve.

  “There’s a break in the fence, a gate and a sandy path that leads down. There’s a railing that’s painted green, made from lumber, and it looks like it’s fairly new.”

  We walked a few steps and stopped.

  “Then stairs begin. Stairs made from flat rocks,” Eve said.

  The wind tossed my hair towards my face, not yet long enough to be annoying. I imagined Eve’s long black hair was dancing around her shoulders unless she’d tied it back. I’d brought teal-colored hair dye to Oregon and fully intended to ask Eve to get my hair back to its Moody color. Maybe tomorrow.

  “The stairs switchback in a zigzag. I’d say from the top to the beach below is as tall as a three-story apartment building. I can’t see the beach, so it must be small. Wait here,” she said, and unhooked her arm.

  I breathed deeply and took in the taste and scent of the briny air. My imagination had to be good enough for now as I thought of the sea of whitecaps as far as Eve could see.

  “It’s a small pebbly beach, looks like,” Eve said, returning and putting my arm through hers again. “Probably forty feet long and only twenty feet from the foot of the stairs to the water.”

  I was a swimmer and had always loved the water. I hadn’t thought about whether blind people could swim or not. I’d have to look that up online. I doubted I’d be able to scuba dive again, as a blind person, but maybe this summer I’d get in that water. Certainly, I could wade in the ocean at the very least, walk that beach.

  “Is the tide in or out?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll check.”

  I could feel her extract what I imagined to be her phone and within seconds she had her answer.

  “Almost fully out. Low tide is at two p.m., and it’s just past noon.”

  I had an amusing thought. “Stevens, who was jailed for smuggling, buys a house with a small beach and high cliffs on either side. Pretty good spot to bring goods in and out, wouldn’t you say?”

  Eve agreed.

  “I wonder if this is the cove the town is named after. Do you see the coastline in either direction? Are there other coves?”

  “Not that I can see,” she said. “The cliffs extend north for a bit and to the south, the height of the cliff drops off gradually.”

  I’d ask Joan Hightower about the name Smuggler’s Cove next time I saw her. Did I own the frontage too? If so, Belinda McMahon’s gift was more generous than I’d originally thought.

  Surely, Joan Hightower would have information about the cove, something she could pass along to me. At the very least I hoped she’d be comfortable telling me how the town of Smuggler’s Cove got its name.

  **

  Seated around the lunch table, Carlos, Eve, and I talked about what we knew so far. One woman had died in a bedroom on the second floor, one man was elusive, and a heavy tool kit had tipped over. I was finally ready to tell them about the moving coffee cup from that morning. Once I’d recounted the story, Carlos ran off for equipment to take readings in the kitchen even though it was far too late for anything to still linger.

  Eve also jumped up, excited that something paranormal had finally happened with me. “That’s amazeballs,” she said, heading to the sink.

  “I have no idea what coffee cups I used,” I said.

  “I’m touching all the cups in the sink,” she said. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Imagine yourself opening a big gate to let everything in,” I said trying to teach her to tune into the receiving end and let the messages come through. That was what we’d been working on before the accident—her openness to receive messages. Her talent was coming along nicely but I felt badly that she’d recently been under pressure to speed up her learning curve with urgency that hadn’t been there months ago.

  “Do you think it was Harry who moved the mug?” Carlos asked.

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think so but . . .” I didn’t know what else to say. I’d hoped with all my heart it was Harry seeing I’d been talking about him to whomever had been listening. I’d specifically asked for a sign.

  While eating chicken salad sandwiches with grapes and celery, and salty potato chips, we talked about the occurrences in the house and if there were two ghosts. I still hadn’t told them that I’d seen an apparition in the Roslyn Eatery. I wasn’t sure why I kept that a secret, but it was such an amazing tidbit of good news that I savored it privately until I decided what it meant.

  Since seeing inside that restaurant, there hadn’t been a repeated occurrence of sight. No rooms, no tables and chairs, no pirate-looking apparition scurrying around a corner. Although the investigation at Cove House was exciting, I also looked forward to getting back to the Roslyn restaurant to see if that ghost appeared again. Unfortunately, Jim had been spooked when the ghost touched him, and so far, he hadn’t given us a second date to continue the investigation. I was sure I could convince him to let us back in. Pinching was not good for business.

  “Good sandwiches, Eve.” I’d buttered the bread and cut the finished products, contributing somewhat to putting lunch together and handling a knife finally, even though it was a dull knife with a rounded edge.

  “I’ll be glad when you can cook again, Bryn. I can stop taking those botulism meds!” Carlos laughed.

  It was a running joke that Eve couldn’t cook, was terrible at the domestic arts, and Carlos wasn’t much better. They’d lived together briefly, trying to save money on rent and I’d always imagined their apartment full of fast food wrappers, laundry, and dust balls.

  While talking about everything we knew about the strangeness of Cove House, my team and I agreed there might be more than one ghost. Even though there’d been paranormal action in the kitchen, we still planned to begin our investigation in the bloody bedroom.

  “My interaction in here was much different from what Eve felt in the bedroom,” I said. “If it’s the same ghost, she probably showed Eve so much for a reason. I just got a moved coffee cup.”

  “She brushed my shoulder,” Eve added, her mouth full. “That freaked me out.”

  “I got great levels in the bedroom, too,” Carlos said. “And the blood on the wall is sexier for our show than a cof
fee cup moving. Unless we catch the mug that reads, ‘Witchy Woman’ when it’s levitating.”

  “Is there a ‘Witchy Woman’ mug?” I asked, making a note that Mrs. McMahon might have thought of herself as a witch.

  “All the mugs are theme,” Eve answered. “One’s got a photo of Captain Jack Sparrow, one has an inspirational quote about never giving up, another reads, ‘I Heart Sailors,’ another is from the museum in town.”

  “Speaking of witchy, I want to start at one a.m. tonight.” Between one and three is when we always got the best results due to fewer disturbances in the atmosphere with most people sleeping, checked out, down for the count. Ghosts like privacy. Or ghosts needed privacy to come through. Less electrical disturbance.

  I hadn’t decided yet which one.

  “You got it, Boss,” Carlos said. “Let’s find this ghost and get some EVP on tape.”

  **

  As is usually the case when we do what I call a summoning, I rest before. Even though I might not pull in anything tonight, I also might, and I’d decided to get some shut eye before we started. Contacting ghosts typically takes a lot out of me and I often end up exhausted after the investigation. I’ve been known to sleep in the van on the way home from the job, like some coddled rock star or athlete.

  Hoping to summon this ghost, I went to my room to close my eyes at 8:00 p.m. with my phone alarm set for 11:45. Eve was to check on me at midnight. I’d dress in what Carlos called a Moody vestidos and we’d begin filming in the bedroom with the mural and the blood.

  But I woke before the alarm went off and had a feeling that something was happening in my room. I wasn’t sure I was being psychic, but the creepy feeling of someone staring at me, crept across my sensibilities like a chiffon scarf in a breeze. Had I dreamed that someone was watching me? I was a prolific dreamer but didn’t remember what I’d been dreaming just now.

  “Hello?” I said, sitting up in the bed, remembering I was still wearing a sweatshirt and yoga pants. My phone told me it was 11:15. I had another half hour to sleep. Instead, I swung my legs out of bed and slipped into my boots. Things like turning on lights, no longer mattered to me as I headed for where I knew the door to be.

  I found the doorknob, opened the door and started out to the hall. Voices drifted up the staircase from below. Familiar voices. It sounded like Carlos and Eve were in the kitchen talking and thanks to my amazing new hearing I heard every word.

  “She could have killed us all if she’d lit the match and the fire caught and spread out like it was going to. What if I hadn’t been there?” Eve’s voice was full of worry.

  “But she didn’t light the match. We just need to make sure she knows matches are not on her to-do list.” Carlos sounded like he was walking around the kitchen.

  Eve said something quietly and they laughed.

  I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I was a burden. That was a given. I knew that already but hearing them talk about me like this in the kitchen, like I’m a child who can’t be trusted, was disappointing. Not disappointing because I thought Eve and Carlos were better than talking about me behind my back. This had nothing to do with petty feelings.

  I was disappointed that I’d put these two in the position of worrying that I’d burn the house down with my need to participate in everyday activities. My chin dropped to my chest before I realized it. I lifted my head trying not to give in to self-pity, and as I did, I heard a noise above me. Higher than the ceiling. Up the staircase on the third floor, I believed.

  I remembered counting out twenty steps to the staircase from my bedroom door and as I moved to find the wall with my hand, I had a clear flash of what I imagined the stairs to look like. I moved along the hall to where the staircase was and when I reached the banister I heard the noise again. It was a squishing sound, now on the stairs, a sound that I could not place. I had no guess as to what could be squishing at the top of the stairs to the third floor.

  There was a moment when I thought about going back to my room to wait for Eve to wake me and pretend I hadn’t woken early. No. I started up the stairs. If I remembered correctly, there were eleven stairs in one direction, a landing of six of my steps to the right and eleven stairs to the third floor. I was correct.

  I stood at the top of the staircase, listening, breathing lightly.

  “Is anyone there?” I asked.

  I walked away from the top of the stairs, taking note of how many steps I’d taken, like leaving a breadcrumb trail in the forest to get home. “I mean you no harm. Do you live in this house?”

  I heard the squish again, this time closer. Maybe only a few feet away.

  The blackness in front of my face seemed to fade to gray and I gasped. A wavy shadow crossed in front of my vision. Yes, vision. Like at the Roslyn Eatery, I could see something. A moving apparition to the right, then more light crept into the picture in front of me, spreading to the edges and when I saw a lamp in the distance, I almost cried out loud.

  I walked towards the light, slowly. “I can see,” I whispered in disbelief.

  The lamp sat on a long table between two wooden chairs upholstered in red and gold striped fabric. I reached out to touch the table and laughed. “What’s happening?” If this was only a dream, it was a cruel trick, one in which I’d wake only to go to the third floor to feel around looking for a table, lamp and two chairs in my blindness. I turned at another sound by the stairs to see a marmalade tabby cat run down the hall and duck into a room. At the doorway to that room, a figure stood, watching me.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The shadowy figure straightened and backed into the room quickly, leaving me.

  “No, don’t go. I’m…”

  I moved forward, heading towards the doorway twenty feet away, but by the time I’d taken a few steps I’d gone blind again and bumped into something.

  Darkness had set in.

  “Please. Come back,” I said to the inky blackness in front of me.

  **

  I stood at the top of the staircase on the second floor, wondering if my surroundings were similar to what I’d seen on the third floor.

  The camera was rolling, and I was staring straight ahead, talking to my show’s subscribers, people I called Mood Peeps.

  “What we know so far, and, understand that this will be an ongoing investigation, is that the house was once inhabited by a smuggler. The owner of Cove House was jailed for unethical shipping practices. We suspect that one, probably two, and who knows how many more people have died within these walls.”

  For tonight’s investigation, I’d worn my favorite red pleather jacket, black jeans with studs, a black turtleneck and loads of silver jewelry. My dark, edgy look. I hadn’t dyed my hair yet, so I wore a black fedora that Eve said looked “fetching” and covered up the fact my trademark hair wasn’t camera ready. I’d get to the teal dye tomorrow.

  “My sources tell me there is mystery surrounding the history of this grand old Queen Anne mansion. Suspicious history, that involves murder and smuggling. This is going to be one creepy investigation, Mood Peeps. Let’s get to it, shall we? Carlos, turn out the lights and let’s get freaked out.”

  “And cut,” Carlos said. “That looked like you were talking directly into the camera. I only had to adjust a tiny bit in the middle to follow your eyeline.”

  “Awesome job, Moody. She’s baaaaaack,” Eve said in a sing-songy voice, taking my arm to move me a few steps.

  I hadn’t told either of them about seeing the shadowy ghost on the third floor. Not yet. They’d both made such a big deal about the coffee cup that I wanted to wait. But, I was sure tonight’s spring in my step and underlying grin was because of seeing a ghost earlier. And the third-floor landing. I’d seen everything up here, including one of the coach house cats.

  As we moved to the bloody bedroom down the hall, I told them I’d heard a meow and asked if anyone had seen a cat inside the house.

  “Great Googly Mooglies,” Carlos said, his favorite ex
pression now instead of swearing.

  Carlos’ terror of cats often made his mother laugh to think her son had no problem encountering a ghost but ran when he saw a cat.

  “Maybe one of the property cats got in,” Eve said, moving my position for the camera.

  “Am I beside where you saw the blood?” I asked.

  Eve took my hands and placed them on the wall. “Right here. Feel anything?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to empty my mind. All I could think about was the cat and the shadowy figure by the door. “Not yet.” At least I sounded hopeful that something was possible.

  “That’s the spirit,” Eve said. It was a favorite phrase of hers and Carlos always laughed, repeating the word ‘Spirit.’”

  “Keep your eyes open for a cat.”

  I heard Carlos say a real swear word under his breath and imagined him setting up the shot from behind our very expensive movie camera with a look of fear on his face and chill in his heart about a ten-pound house pet.

  “Does my hat still look good?” I asked Eve, my hair, makeup, and wardrobe person now that I couldn’t be relied on to make good choices on the visual.

  She made an adjustment on the fedora, applied a touch of lip gloss and moved away, probably to where she always stood when I filmed on-camera segments, which was behind Carlos’ right shoulder, so that she could see the camera’s viewfinder.

  “Ready when you are,” Carlos said.

  I looked to where I imagined the camera to be located, and when Carlos complimented me on my accuracy, I began the next segment of our show.

  “We are in one of eight bedroom suites in Cove House. It was here only a few days ago I saw blood on the wall right behind me. It was also here the presence of a woman was felt. We believe that she died from an injury in this exact spot. The blood started at what I estimated to be her heart level and slid to the ground, like she’d been skewered with a sword, fell against the wall and slid to the floor.” I motioned to the wall behind me, and before I could continue, Carlos spoke.