Ghosts Are People Too
A Chantilly Adair
Psychic Medium
Cozy mystery
Table of Contents
Title Page
Ghosts are People Too (The Chantilly Adair Psychic Medium Cozy Mystery Series)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Deal Gone Dead | A Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery | Chapter One
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Other Books By | Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
COPYRIGHT AUGUST, 2019
CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION:
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Cover Design by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Paperback Cover Design by Tatiana Villa
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
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For Genevieve
Thank you for being my WT
Chapter One
Ghosts are a lot like people—high maintenance and full of issues.
“One more time,” she whispered. “Let me see it one more time.”
I stood in front of the teenage spirit, my body shaking with both excitement and a smidgen of fear. “Stop that. That’s just cruel.”
Her beady little eyes glared straight through me and up at the arboretum in Castleberry, Georgia’s town square. “One more time.” She repeated it over and over like an old LP album with a scratch on it. “One. More. Time.”
I exhaled. “Why are you torturing him like that? Let it go, and move on already.” Sensitivity wasn’t my thing when I was annoyed.
I wasn’t sure if she could actually see me, so I waved my hand in front of her. “Hello? Anyone there?”
“One more time. Let me see it one more time.”
“Oh, bless your heart. You can’t see me, can you?” I walked back along the concrete sidewalk toward my car, mumbling to myself. “Can’t help a spirit that can’t see me.” Before I got to my car, I turned around and watched as she continued to whisper toward the Union soldier hanging in what was now the town’s small botanical garden of our town square.
Some spirits spent their eternity reliving their personal torture, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. After all, I couldn’t make people do what I wanted them to, and ghosts are people too, or they were at one time, anyway.
I started my car and watched as the spirits faded away.
During the Civil War, Ellie Habersham’s family owned the local pub that was located just on the west side of the arboretum. When the North set their sights on Georgia, though we didn’t suffer the brutal burning most of the surrounding area had, Castleberry was taken by them, and the townspeople suffered. A Union soldier hanging was rare, but historical documents showed it had happened twice in our small town, and the particular hanging I viewed was one of great significance in Castleberry.
Fifteen-year-old Ellie Habersham’s family home was infiltrated with a starving, tired, angry mass of Union soldiers. They’d brutally murdered most of her family, leaving just she and her twelve-year-old sister for their personal, disgusting pleasure. The rest of the story was hazy, and I intended to dig deep to discover the truth someday, but the story says that when the Union finally abandoned Castleberry, one of the soldiers in Ellie’s home, having preferred the company of two teenage girls to a sweaty group of men, decided to stay. Town folk came upon him when they checked on Ellie and her—dead unbeknownst to them at the time— sister, dragged him to the middle of town and hanged him in front of the surviving townspeople, Ellie included. Doing her best to keep her sister safe, Ellie had taken the brunt of his actions, but it hadn’t mattered. Belle Habersham took ill with syphilis and ended her life before the disease could, just days before the hanging.
Ellie had lost everyone she loved, and the day that Union soldier was hanged, she gladly stood in front of him and watched, repeating, “One more time. Let me see it one more time.”
Given the circumstances, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same.
I drove off thinking about what I’d just witnessed, and what I could do to help Ellie Habersham as well as the unnamed Union soldier swinging in the middle of town. A recent tumble down the last half of a flight of stairs at the Castleberry Historical Society and museum where I worked rendered me with a handy little skill I was pretty sure was permanent. I could see and sometimes even communicate with the dead.
Most people would probably be spooked by the thought of seeing spirits hanging around among the living, but I’d gone with the flow as best as possible, and I’d actually enjoyed it. In the past year I’d lost both my parents to illnesses and my husband—to divorce, not death—and I’d survived. It wasn’t easy, but I made it through the hard part, and considered myself better for surviving. Because of that, dealing with the random ghost or two was like taking candy from a baby. I’d forgotten though, babies were strong little boogers, and like ghosts, they didn’t make things easy.
I drove the short drive back to my house, pulled into the garage, and shut off my car. I sat there for a moment to center myself before going inside to my son, Austin. I’d yet to tell him about my gift. He was old enough to grasp the concept, but too young to know how to handle it, and I felt it best to keep him out of the loop for the time being.
He was already in bed when I walked in. I crept to his room and kissed him on the forehead.
“Night, Mom.”
“Oh, did I wake you?”
“Nah, I just turned off my light.”
“Good. Get some sleep. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“I will.”
Cooper, our cat, had followed me into Austin’s room and tucked himself up against my son’s left side. I rubbed his ears and said goodnight to him, too.
I made myself a cup of decaffeinated tea and opened my laptop. Over the last few weeks I’d been on a mission to test each Castleberry story of ghost sightings, and so far, every single one—I’d hit four—didn’t disappoint. The small town had a heck of a lot of ghosts, and it appeared they’d all shown themselves to someone other than me. A few someone’s most likely.
I’d created a spreadsheet of the various stories and made notes of what I’d discovered for a reason. I wanted to create a haunted Castleberry tour for the Historical Society. I’d gone on a few ghost tours in the Atlanta area, driving to places like Roswell, which I thought had the best one, and took each tour. I only saw one ghost on the Roswell tour, but the history behind every story was always the most exciting part for me. I thought bringing something like that to Castleberry would be fun and financially beneficial for the historical society, and I’d scheduled the first official tour for Halloween. That was only a little over a month away, and I still had a lot of work to do.
; I made notes in my spreadsheet, copied the links to the websites that told some of Castleberry’s stories, saved the document and smiled as I shut off my laptop. The tour was going to be a hit, I just knew it, and I couldn’t wait for opening night.
“WHATCHA DOIN’ THERE, sweetie?” Thelma Sayers, one of the local women in town, and a friend, ambled over from the counter in Community Café, her best friend’s café, and popped a squat in the chair next to me. She shifted in her seat. “These chairs are so much better than the ones at the other tables, but still, they put a crick in my behind like nothing I’ve felt before.”
Little Thelma wasn’t much taller than the chair she sat in, but she had a heart of gold, and her entertainment factor never failed. Her Dolly Parton wigs and flashy clothing filled with bejewels, both part of her signature style, didn’t take away from the bright, sparkly smile permanently attached to her face. Thelma had experienced a lot of loss; first her son in the Vietnam War and then a few years ago, her husband, but she never let it get her down, or at least she never showed it. Thelma always had a kind word and a smile for everyone. Everyone except her best friend. Del got poked like a bear every chance Thelma had, and they both loved it.
Delphina Beauregard, the owner, hollered over to her wiggling a freshly poured, Styrofoam to-go cup. “You think I’m bringing this over to you, you got another thing coming, missy. You’re old and you need the exercise, so come get it.”
Delphina, or Del for short, was a spitfire of a woman. She stuffed a whole lot of personality into a five-foot-tall body and packed a verbal punch that sent shockwaves across the state. Her bleached blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail—the usual style–bounced as she hollered to Thelma. “I ain’t kidding, you old biddie.”
Thelma sighed. “It’s not me that needs the exercise,” she whispered as she sauntered back to the counter. “She might could exercise keeping her mouth shut a time or two.”
Delphina shoved the cup toward her. “I heard that.”
“If the shoe fits.” Thelma sang like the chorus of a song. “If the shoe fits.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I loved those two women to death, but sometimes they acted like the mean girls in high school, though only to each other. Thelma, for the most part, didn’t have a clue when Del poked at her, but every once in a while, when she threw back a zinger to one of Del’s slams, I knew she knew. The other times I wasn’t sure if she was oblivious or dingy. It felt like a toss-up.
Del on the other hand, could spew out an insult better than anyone I’d ever met, and most of the time, whomever she’d hit with it walked away with their tail between their legs and their ego bruised. Del didn’t mess around, and because of that, people feared her. Those times didn’t worry me, but the ones where the person left smiling without realizing Del had just given them a lashing? Those did. Those kinds of verbal assaults were telltale signs that Del’s anger was about ready to boil over.
Del placed Thelma’s and my coffees on a tray, poured another one for herself, and brought them to us as Thelma shuffled her way toward the counter.
Thelma smiled and plucked her coffee carefully from the tray. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. They had a little routine of sorts. “Why thank you, Del. How kind of you,” she said.
Del growled.
I giggled. “You two are full of spice today, aren’t you?”
“Ain’t no different than yesterday,” Del said.
Thelma leaned toward me, her nosy self all up in my business, and I didn’t mind a bit. “So, what’re you working on now? Something for the ghost tour?”
I nodded. “I’m almost done with my list of places to check out. I’m going again tonight. Would you two like to come with me?”
Thelma’s eyes widened. “Oh, heavens, no. I’m washing my hair.”
Del almost spit out her coffee. “She ain’t asking you to go out on a date. Besides, you wear wigs. Who knows if you’ve got any hair under those things?”
“Sure I do. And Chantilly knows she’s not my type.”
“Del? How about you?”
“Nope and nope. I’ll wait till opening night. I don’t want to use up all my courage before then. I’m still suffering from that séance we did at Hamilton House. The ghosts are your department.”
“Del, you can’t use up all your courage,” Thelma said. “That’s silly.”
Del patted her hand. “Thanks, Thelma. It’s nice to know you think I’m brave.”
“Well now, I didn’t say that. I meant you don’t have any courage to use.”
I bit my lip to stop from myself laughing. “It’s okay. It’ll be fun for you to come on opening night, courage or no courage.”
“It’ll be a fun event for Castleberry,” Thelma said.
“Darn straight,” Del said.
We chit-chatted about what I had planned, but our table went silent the moment Jack Levitt, the head police detective in town and my son’s lacrosse coach, entered the café.
“Now’s your chance,” Del whispered. “Go on. Go talk to him.”
My body stiffened as I quickly glanced at Jack and then away. I hushed Del. “I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I just can’t believe that,” Thelma said. “He’s such a nice young man, and you’re such a lovely young woman. The two of you would make the perfect couple.”
“Yes, well, considering the fact that I did what I did, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t agree with you.”
“Oh, that’s just bull crap and you know it. He’s not talking to you because he’s embarrassed of what he did, that’s all.”
“I’m not discussing this now,” I whispered.
Jack greeted another customer, and when he finished his small talk, nodded to us as he walked to the counter.
“See? Not interested in talking to me.”
Thelma placed her palm on my forearm. “Sweetie, he’s not ignoring you because he’s upset with you. He’s ignoring you because you chopped off his manhood when you solved Bobby’s murder before he did.”
“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
Del hustled her sixty-five-plus-year-old body over to the counter and took Jack’s coffee order. “Go on and have a seat. I’ve got to brew up a fresh pot.” She grabbed the coffee pot and headed into the kitchen.
Jack stood at the counter and waited, keeping his back to me.
Thelma nudged my arm. “Go on, sweetie. Now’s your chance.”
“No, I’m not talking to him here. Austin’s got a lacrosse game this evening, so I’ll say hello to him then.”
Just days after Bobby Joe Pruitt, the owner of the historic property and his restaurant, Hamilton House, was murdered, Jack hit the high road, at least where our friendship was concerned. He just flat out stopped talking to me. Okay, so yes, I might have played a part in discovering the murderer, and he might have suggested, strongly, I stay out of the investigation, but still. Barely acknowledging my existence was a little over the top in my book.
If the big tough guy he portrayed wasn’t big and tough enough to let that go and be my friend, I was better off without him.
That’s what I tried to tell myself anyway, but even I didn’t much believe it.
I guzzled down the last portion of my lukewarm coffee and packed up to go to the office.
Thelma pouted. “You’re leaving? But you never leave this early. We haven’t had a chance to get to the good stuff yet.”
“I have to go to work, and—” I flitted my eyes toward Detective Levitt. “I don’t want to upset Mr. No-More-Manhood any further.”
Thelma rotated in her chair and stared at Jack. “He doesn’t look like he’s lost all of his manhood.”
I shrugged. “That part that matters to me is gone, that’s for sure.”
“Then sweetie, you’ve got your priorities out of whack.”
Del saw me leaving and rushed over. “You really think avoiding him is going to change things?”
“I�
�m not avoiding him, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to change things. Besides,” I pushed out my shoulders as I hung my computer bag strap over one. “Maybe I don’t want to change things anyway. The last thing I need is relationship issues.”
Del tilted her head toward Jack. “Looks like you already got them.”
I shrugged. My cell phone rang, and I glanced at it on the table. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” I plucked the phone from the table and made a beeline for the exit.
“Yes, Mayor Tyson. I’ve reviewed the files, made some suggested changes and emailed them to the committee. They should have a decision for us in a day or two.” I paused and listened as he spoke. “Thank you,” I said. “You have a nice day, too.”
I hadn’t needed to answer the Mayor’s call, but it was the perfect reason to skedaddle out of Del’s café and the awkwardness in the air.
I jumped in my car and headed over to the historical society’s office. I could have just left my vehicle parked in the spot in front of Del’s and walked, but I didn’t like to do that to her. Her customers could use the space, and the museum had an actual driveway.
Olivia Castleberry, the only other paid employee for the historical society, was already at work prepping the museum for a day full of kindergarten tours. There were five small kindergarten classes at Castleberry’s only elementary school, Castleberry Elementary. The town wasn’t big, but with the flood of Atlanta residents building homes in the new subdivisions popping up, it was bigger than ever, and since the county liked to keep classroom sizes under twenty, we needed five kindergarten ones.
I would never say this publicly, but I wasn’t sure I liked the growth. More people meant more traffic and the likelihood of big box stores and corporate owned restaurants infiltrating our small community and killing the mom and pop shops. So far, our city council hadn’t let it happen, but that didn’t mean they’d keep that up. The taxes were the big attraction to some of the council members, and old farms were popping up for sale all over the place.
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