Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1)

by M. L. Bullock

  I could read this for what it was: a schoolyard ploy intended to make Josh pay attention to Sierra, if I had to guess. Just yesterday she barely spoke to Jack. I carried the boxes inside and met Josh as he headed out.

  “Where did Sierra go?”

  I glanced away and said, “Helping Jack unload the gear. He upgraded the video enhancement.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I held the door for him and we took the rest of the supplies inside.

  “Did Sierra tell you what happened last night?”

  “No. But I can tell something went down. What did you do, Josh?”

  He complained, “And why do you think I did anything? Sierra isn’t as innocent as you think, Midas. I mean, you know how women are, right?”

  I flipped off the lights and walked back to the conference room. I didn’t answer him…there was no good way to respond to that.

  Sierra laughed a bit too loudly as she and Jack waltzed back in with more equipment. Feigning admiration she asked, “Did you work all night? You upgraded all the computers?”

  “It didn’t take as long as you might think. I used a VX card for the installation; it makes any kind of software run super-fast and super-smooth. Took me about four hours to upgrade all four systems.”

  Josh picked up a pack of batteries we’d missed and muttered something that sounded like, “Super,” as he hurriedly put it where it belonged.

  Jack pretended not to notice, but Sierra stared at Josh’s back like she’d just as soon put a bullet in him.

  Well, if these two want to go at it, who am I to stop them? I’m sure as heck not a relationship expert.

  Josh had touched a nerve. I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Sara and Pete had something going behind my back. What was up with these tech guys? With a quick glance at my watch, I said, “We’ve got time. Show me these improvements, Jack.”

  Elated at having the chance to display his technical knowledge, Jack immediately popped open one of the cases and powered up the laptop. Fifteen minutes later I knew much more than I wanted to about video enhancing software. Thankfully, Cassidy and my invited guest, Helen Devry, came in and spared me from more boredom.

  Cassidy wore a fitted sweater, jeans that hung low on her slim hips and brown suede boots. She left her hair down and wore a touch of lip gloss. It felt like forever ago that I had kissed her. Why in God’s name had I made up such a dumb rule? She glanced up at me as she settled into her spot at the far side of the table, and I pointed to the empty chair next to me. I wanted her close to me. She was the only thing that had brought me any joy today. With a perky grin she sat beside me and squeezed my hand under the table. I squeezed back.

  “Did you meet Helen on the way in?” I asked Cassidy as my old friend finished up her phone call. Helen used to teach at one of the local high schools, and her first love had always been history. We’d met by chance when Sara and I were doing research at the library. She’d overheard us asking for reference material on Oakleigh, a historic home in the area. Helen had been a fount of information on the builder of the home and his colorful family. When she found out we were “ghost hunters,” she wanted to know more, and from time to time I’d called her for help digging up obscure facts and hard-to-find records. Some of the private libraries were protective over their information, but Helen was a respected member of many societies. For her, it was as easy as picking up the phone or making a visit.

  “No, I didn’t. Very nice to meet you, Helen. I’m Cassidy.”

  Helen always dressed like she was about to embark on an archaeological trip. She wore lots of khaki and linen and enjoyed showing off her extensive costume jewelry collection. Often these unusual pieces were made from things like elephant tusks, rare beads and colored glass. She was probably the most interesting person I knew, but the truth was I didn’t know much about her. She had naturally tan skin, long white hair, and quick blue eyes.

  “So very pleased to meet you, Cassidy. How do you like working with Midas?”

  Cassidy’s pale skin blushed slightly at the question. “I’m learning a great deal.”

  “That is important. Learning is everything. You have such an unusual name. Is it a family name?”

  “I don’t think there are any other Cassidys in my family, but I’m not absolutely sure about that.”

  The rest of the team greeted Helen, and then I politely brought our meeting to order. Sara was far better at getting the ball rolling on time. I guess I was too lenient, or so she had told me repeatedly.

  “I’ve invited Helen in to tell us what she knows about our potential ghost, Estella Winters. Sierra’s done a great job digging up old newspaper clippings, but let’s face it, there wasn’t much to find in the usual places. What did you uncover, Helen? If anything.”

  “If this is indeed the ghost of Estella Winters, then you and the team have your work cut out for you. I don’t think this spirit will be willing to leave—if that’s your goal. This young lady never got her fifteen minutes of fame, and by all accounts she wanted it with all her soul.”

  “Tell us,” Sierra said as she leaned forward in her chair with a pen in hand, “I’m dying to know because something weird happened at our house last night. And it involved the mural you painted, Cassidy.”

  Cassidy whispered, “Oh no. What happened?”

  Sierra glanced at me. Helen would have no idea about what was going on, but she was a quick study and didn’t have a problem believing in the supernatural. She wasn’t gullible, by any stretch, but she did have a vivid imagination. Sierra quickly explained, “I asked Cassidy to paint a mural for me in my home office. It didn’t quite turn out as planned, but the result was lovely. At least I thought it was. She painted a portrait of Estella Winters.”

  Helen’s blue eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”

  “It just happened.” Cassidy was clearly disturbed to hear that something had happened and didn’t offer Helen much more in the way of information.

  Sierra said, “I hadn’t quite made up my mind whether I was going to keep it or paint over it, but last night the painting began whispering.”

  “Shut up,” Jack said.

  “She’s not lying,” Josh added defensively. “I heard the whispers, but I thought it was Sierra. I went looking for her. I found her in the office with the lights off. The portrait looked different, like the face was twisted and poking out of the wall. You know, like in 3-D. It screamed at Sierra.”

  Sierra swallowed and wiped tears from her eyes. “You did see it. You saw it too, Joshua?” I could hear the relief in her voice.

  “Yes, I saw the damn thing.” Josh clearly wasn’t comfortable admitting it. “Anyway, we ended up painting over it. No offense, Cassidy, but that thing was wicked.”

  “I can’t apologize enough. I will never paint another mural again. I swear!”

  Josh said, “That spirit was trying to use the portrait as a portal. Is that even possible?”

  “Some cultures certainly believe in such things. Even local Native Americans believed that if you drew someone’s picture, you had spiritual power over them. Who knows how these spirits move about? But you didn’t tell us, Sierra, and I’m dying to know. What did Estella say?”

  I had to pause the action here. “Wait a second, guys. Let’s not jump to the conclusion that it was Estella yet. How many times have these entities pretended to be someone else? They can’t be trusted. Can we definitely say it is or isn’t Estella Winters?” I was the boring voice of reason.

  “I’m the rookie here and certainly don’t know as much about paranormal investigations,” Cassidy began, “not like you all do, but I’m pretty darn sure it is her. I saw her. I watched her kill her brother Brent, and she stole his papers. She was in cahoots with a man named Martin…maybe he was her agent? But he attacked her and injured her so badly that I can’t imagine she could have gone on and finished her performance run. Her face was a mess. She had just the one night, that opening night, and that was it.”

  Helen broke in
and patted her hands on the table. “This is astounding. So, you have visions?”

  “I paint the things I see. I don’t know if it’s visions or dreams. I’m never sure. Why? Have you heard of other people doing that?”

  “Oh, my heavens. Yes, of course. Many of the world’s most renowned artists claim to have drawn, sculpted or painted things they saw in the dream world. Some claimed to have visions. It is possible that you see what others cannot. It wouldn’t surprise me if you saw into the past. Why not? What limitations are there for the human mind during dreams or visions? None. But let me tell you what I know about Estella Winters.”

  “Please do,” I said.

  “You’ll understand why I can’t give you photocopies of this material. The family has no desire to air their ancestors’ dirty laundry. My friend is a very private individual, and I assured her that we would keep this information to ourselves and use it only in the commission of this investigation.” We all nodded in agreement, and she continued her narrative in her steady, low voice. Helen was a natural-born storyteller, and although she was a native Mobilian, she had little to no accent at all.

  “Estella Winters grew up in an upscale neighborhood off Esplanade Street. The old home is gone now, but it was a two-story brick building with unique fireplace chimneys and an exquisite gated garden. Her two older sisters were quite lovely, apparently. They garnered all the attention from the desirable young men in the area, while Estella was left to do what she pleased for entertainment. That included singing lessons, music, and even acting, which was very rare for the time. Female acting roles were very hard to come by; can you believe they still allowed men to play those roles then? Anyway, it was all very competitive, and you had to either know someone or have undeniable talent if you expected to land a role at any of the three local theaters.”

  She glanced around to make sure we were following her and then continued, “Most agreed that Estella had both talent and beauty, but more importantly she had contacts because of her family. Mrs. Angela Winters, Estella’s mother, spoiled the child, but she died when Estella was thirteen; old Mr. Winters died not long after that. Everything was left to her brother Brent, including Estella’s care. He was a cold fish of a man from what I’ve read. Undeniably cold. He didn’t care what she did until she turned eighteen. He had taken great pains to make a marriage for her, but the proposed fiancé preferred her sister, Anna. Estella never recovered from that rejection. She was humiliated and soon moved out of the family home after an argument with Brent. She didn’t have a dime to her name, but there was a man who took an interest in her.”

  “Martin?” Cassidy asked.

  “Yes, Martin Hankins.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Sierra chimed in. She opened her tablet and began tapping on the screen.

  “Yes, he’s not hard to find,” Helen replied. “Besides being a classically trained violinist and an amateur magician, Martin Hankins was Brent Winters’ mortal enemy. The younger Winters had foreclosed on Hankins Manor and left the man penniless, or so he complained loudly to everyone who would listen. Martin Hankins wanted revenge and made no secret about it. Except to poor, trusting Estella.”

  “She was hardly pitiful. Just a peek inside her head lets me know that she sounds as conniving as he was,” Cassidy said sourly. “It’s not a pleasant experience.”

  “I believe that. She had a serious accident that left her unable to perform, and the local police suspected her involvement in her brother’s murder. Someone said they saw her at the house right before he was found dead. But…”

  “But what?” Sierra paused her search, whatever bit of evidence she was searching for forgotten.

  “There was a report a few days later. A woman showed up at the theater, badly disfigured and a bit out of her head, claiming to be Estella Winters and demanding to return to her role as Lady Spring.”

  “Geesh. That explains what we heard. Helen’s right. She wants her fifteen minutes of fame. Or at least the other fourteen minutes of it.”

  “You never told us what she said,” I reminded Joshua and Sierra.

  He swallowed and glanced at her, whose lip was trembling now.

  “My turn.”

  Chapter Twelve—Cassidy

  “Sierra and Cassidy, in the ladies’ room, EVP session.” Sierra flipped off the lights and we stood awkwardly in the bathroom. We were a few feet apart, but the distance might as well have been a mile. She wasn’t her usual chipper self this evening; I had no idea what was going on, and it didn’t seem appropriate to ask since everyone else was listening in on our conversation. Maybe later, if the opportunity arose, I would offer a friendly shoulder. Or maybe not. She didn’t owe me an explanation, and I didn’t want to pressure her.

  “Interesting detail…this bathroom used to be one of the dressing rooms, maybe even Estella Winters’ dressing room.”

  I murmured in agreement and peered into the darkness with my K2 meter in my hand. “We’ve got spikes, Sierra. Point three, point four, back down to point two. And I’m nowhere near any electrical outlets, as far as I can tell.”

  “Hmm…Estella Winters? Are you here with us?” I detected a touch of nervousness in Sierra’s voice, an apprehension that wasn’t there before. And why wouldn’t she be nervous? Estella Winters tried to manifest at her house, and although everyone seemed reluctant to say so, the two bore a striking resemblance. We both got quiet and silently counted to fifteen before asking another question. I didn’t hear anything at all in response, but I was sure someone was listening. “Estella, are you here because you didn’t get to finish your role as Lady Spring?”

  “Did you hear that?” Sierra said as she touched my shoulder. I paused and waited to see if I could hear it too.

  “No, I didn’t hear anything. What did you hear?”

  She said in a whisper, “I’ll play it back.” Then I suddenly realized she wasn’t standing beside me. Just at that moment, the hand lifted.

  “Okay…if you’re there and I’m here, I just got touched by someone else.”

  “Where?”

  “My left shoulder. I thought it was you!”

  “How would it be me? Take a deep breath. It’s okay. Call base and let them know you had contact.”

  My hands shook as I pressed the call button. “Cassidy to base. In the bathroom with Sierra. I got touched.” I wanted to run out of the room, but I wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I ran away every time a ghost interacted with me.

  “Are you hurt? Any pain or scratches?”

  “No, it was just a touch on my shoulder,” I said more confidently than I felt. “I was hoping you guys might have seen something.”

  “We’ll review the video later. Josh and Jack are in the auditorium now. We’re watching both you guys, so continue.” Midas’ voice comforted me.

  “You have that EVP cued up? Did you get anything?” I asked Sierra nervously.

  “Did he say Josh and Jack were in the auditorium? I thought they were going to wait.” Sierra’s voice was tight.

  “Is there a problem? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just…Whatever. I hate it when they do that.” I heard her cueing up the tape. She played it, but all I heard was static. “I swear I heard something. Oh well. Your turn, Cassidy. For some reason, she is reaching out to you.” Sierra sounded a bit disappointed, but I didn’t think she was upset with me.

  “All right. Estella Winters, if that was you who touched me, can you do it again? Touch me on my shoulder or my hair. But be respectful, please.” What the heck was I saying? Was I really going to allow her to manhandle me? And what if it wasn’t her? I thought I heard something, like paper crumpling, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “I heard it again. Keep talking.”

  “Estella, are you upset because you didn’t get to go on? Are you looking for someone?”

  And then I heard her whispering. Sierra hit rewind and played the tape.

  Martin!

  “Oh my God! She’s talking about
Martin Hankins! Keep talking, Cassidy.”

  “Yes, we know who Martin is, Estella! We know that he hurt you!”

  And then I heard a growl. Evidently she didn’t want to talk about him—or it wasn’t her we heard. “Estella, I saw you perform. I heard you sing. You had a beautiful voice and were a great actress. Too bad you didn’t get to show your sister Anna how great you were.”

  A sudden blast of perfume filled the stuffy room. I could feel her approval. Yes, this is how you deal with Estella. I understood how competitive she was because somehow, I’d had the chance to walk in her skin. And that thought gave me chills. She wanted her turn. But did she deserve it? “Estella? Do you want to perform again? Is that what you want? You need to tell us. We want to help you.” I heard her weeping now. Sierra did too; I could see her eyes widen as the moonlight filtered through a small high window and bathed the bathroom with white and gray light.

  “They didn’t understand how important you were, did they? They didn’t understand your talent.” I felt sickened saying all this. The truth was Estella Winters was a monster who’d murdered her brother and maybe others just to land this role.

  Sierra touched my wrist and whispered to me, “Let’s swap equipment.”

  “Okay.”

  We waited a minute or two, and then Sierra picked up our session. Her voice took on a surprisingly sarcastic tone. “I heard that Martin Hankins was the real talent behind that show. I can hardly believe he would demean himself enough to work at the Carmichael and with an untrained actress like Estella Winters. He must have been hard up for cash. Or something.”

  Why was Sierra being so aggressive? She didn’t like it when I did it, and now she was deliberately trying to tick off the spirit. I couldn’t understand it, but it was as if she took all this personally. “Sierra, what are you doing?”

  “I’m getting to the bottom of this. I’m sick of pussyfooting around with her. Let’s get this show on the road and get out of here.”

  Before I could answer her, something heavy struck the wall beside me and a massive boom shook the room so hard that the mirror over the bathroom sink suddenly crashed to the floor. Shards of glass flew all over us and the bathroom.