Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5)

by James J Cudney

  “I don't have time for nonsense,” Hampton stated exasperatingly and thumbed through his wallet. “Read the red-lined summary at the end of my report to protect yourself and prepare for a potential custody battle. Based on everything I've deduced, she and Cristiano will probably avoid prison time, but the trial doesn't begin until next month.” Hampton rose, collected his briefcase and jacket, and thrust a brand-new fifty-dollar bill at me. “That's the smallest amount I carry. Can you make change, so I can leave a gratuity for that pitiful waitress? I always pay my bills, and your time is up.”

  I pushed the money away. “Doubt it. I usually pay with a card, but I've got at least a buck to tip.”

  Hampton angrily stomped out of the diner. I laughed at his mini-meltdown and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. It was more than necessary, but Calliope had suffered enough by waiting on him.

  I kissed Emma goodbye in the kitchen and bolted to the office. Although it was technically a weekend at Braxton, I wanted to use the time to grade papers and architect next semester's syllabus. My boss, the indomitable Dr. Myriam Castle, had issued a deadline at the end of the week.

  Upon arriving in Diamond Hall, I encountered our newest visiting professor. Dr. Hope Lawson taught two courses this semester: one on mysticism and another on paranormal literature. I'd interviewed her several months ago and thought she'd be a perfect addition to the department, albeit temporarily. As part of Braxton's expansion from a college to a university, Myriam had secured a surfeit of funding to hire two new full-time professors the following academic year. She'd hinted that I might be one of them, reminding me I was currently considered only part-time, adjunct faculty.

  While Dr. Lawson was supremely qualified for the role, she'd mentioned something during our interview that had raised alarm bells. When asked why she wanted to relocate from New Orleans to a small town in Pennsylvania, the visiting professor confirmed her mother had once lived in the area. Upon further exploration, Dr. Lawson curtly revealed that someone had wronged her family, and she intended to correct it. I'd sensed the potential for danger and notified Myriam about that part of our exchange. Myriam rejected my additional input—stating she had little interest or time in staff's personal lives, assuming they'd be intelligent enough to follow the college's rules and keep themselves out of trouble. I'd covered my responsibility for passing along the message and diverted focus to my own duties. Dr. Lawson subsequently arrived on campus in late August, becoming an exemplary addition to the department and a potential friend who insisted I call her Hope. I hadn't yet inquired if she'd addressed the unfinished business but enthusiastically wished she'd share her progress with me.

  “Kellan, I thought I might be the only one working today,” Hope greeted with a toothsome smile. Her ebony hair was swept up in a silver clip, several strands cascading across a sloped forehead. She had a tawny complexion, a few shades lighter than Connor, who was Caribbean and South African. Crow's feet suggested the professor was about a decade older than us, but I couldn't be certain.

  “Me too. Duty calls, I suppose. We have Myriam's looming deadline to adhere to, or she'll toss us out like stray cats.” I grabbed a fistful of candy corn from the bowl on her desk and smirked.

  After laughing over our boss's penchant for random Shakespeare quotes, Hope surprised me by mentioning her original interview. “Do you know the Grey family? You might recall I hinted about something in my family's past which prompted me to consider the opening at Braxton.”

  “Yes, I do,” I affirmed indifferently, secretly psyched to discover what she'd meant. “I've dealt with a few members of that clan. Judge Hiram Grey has been on the bench in Wharton County for thirty years. I'm unhappily working with his ex-wife, Belinda Nickels Grey, to plan the upcoming Fall Festival, and I've taught two of his granddaughters, Imogene and Carla.” Even though Hope's primary field of study was paranormal literature, I chose not to mention the possibility that Prudence Grey's hostile spirit was threatening to murder me if I moved into her house. Some people would think I was crazy.

  “I might ask for an introduction. May I count on you?” Hope's expression matched her namesake, but a hint of despair also undercut her diffident tone. She fussed with a sleeve on her trim ivory-colored jacket until it lined up with an underlying tangerine silk blouse.

  “I don't mean to pry, but you mentioned righting some wrong from the past. I'll help as long as you have good intentions, but I'd prefer not to get involved in anything problematic or confrontational.”

  Hope settled against the chair. “Nothing at all to worry about. To be honest, I have extraordinarily little to go on but the rambling words of a woman who's sadly developing a touch of Alzheimer's.” Hope explained that a doctor had diagnosed her mother with the disease after several bouts of forgetfulness during the year. While it wasn't serious yet, Hope had convinced her mother and a close aunt to move into her own home while she was out of town. During the moving process, they'd found personal items that prompted her mother to share stories about the years she'd lived in Braxton.

  “How long did she spend here?” I wondered if Nana D had known the woman.

  “I'm not sure. It's possible she grew up in Wharton County, but Momma never talks about her childhood. I first learned of her connection when we were cleaning the attic and found a picture of her in front of the school library.” Hope rested a palm against her chest, revealing the pain she'd been harboring over her mother's illness. “It looks different now, but it's definitely the same building.”

  Hope noted that the college's final meeting on Memorial Library's upcoming renovations was about to begin, citing how Maggie Roarke had suggested she attend the event to get acquainted with others on campus. I wanted to join myself but realized April would arrive soon and Maggie could update me the following day. As Hope exited, a tangy citrus scent emanated off her skin and hung in the air.

  Although I had no idea when Hope's mother had lived in Braxton, could the woman have a connection to Hiram's missing first wife? I exited the building, pondering whether there were any available pictures of my not-so-friendly apparition. I entered notes on my phone's to-do list, reminding myself to check the college's archives for the photograph and to ask Hope for her mother's full name. Something told me the solution couldn't be that simple; was it only a coincidence that a potentially vengeful ghost or irrational human being had vandalized my new house at the same time Dr. Hope Lawson moved to Braxton?

  Excising irrational thoughts from my head, I rambled through cozy, tree-lined residential streets toward my block, Dead End Lane. While my house was exceedingly close to Memorial Library on Braxton's North Campus, the winding streets and uneven terrain made it much longer to transition from one place to the other. The cul-de-sac had been aptly named. It bordered a wooded area full of blackened tree stumps, was inaccessible except by one dark, gloomy road, and resided on the peak of a hill where criminals and a trio of witches had been hung to death centuries ago. Leaves swirled and danced in the errant and damp air, almost scampering to safety from something lurking in shadows.

  In the spirit of the Halloween season, many homes in the neighborhood tied scarecrows to their lampposts and draped cotton cobwebs across their front porches. Pine trees dropped sharp needles to the rustic ground, roaring fires burned intoxicating cedar plank scents in nearby fireplaces, and various passersby devoured tart apple cider with cinnamon spice sticks. My favorite house had installed giant blow-up pumpkins that would glow nightly with brilliant orange, green, and yellow lights. My next-door neighbors had even assembled a skeleton family that feverishly dug fake graves on their front lawn, which explained the reason for my intense nightmare that weekend.

  April parked in my driveway and exited her car, fixing several platinum-blonde strands of hair as the wind carelessly blew them out of place. “Hey, stranger,” she called out as I walked the pathway. The front yard had once been attentively landscaped, but lack of proper care over the years had left it overgrown and muddled.


  Although exhaustion sprang from April's freckled skin and sparkling lime-green eyes, she greeted me with a smile. A growing hint of wariness was mixed in too, as we hadn't seen one another in a month because of our schedules. “It must relieve you not to travel back to Buffalo again.”

  April leaned forward, then scoffed. “Yes, it's done. From what I hear, you kept yourself out of trouble while I was gone. The Unlikely Death Locator has been quiet for three months.”

  “Of course. We didn't have any murders while you were away. Maybe I'm not such a blight on the county's record, huh?” My body tingled and flushed at being so close to April, despite her newest nickname referencing my knack for stumbling upon cadavers.

  “Yet a ghost is theoretically threatening you. You're not as squeaky clean as you'd like, Kellan.”

  I unlocked the spider-free front door and showed April the message that the vandal had written near the basement. She stressed the same questions I had posed to Nicky and the rest of the workers. “Not a single person was here, nor did anyone see anything. Still no keys. I might make one up.”

  “I'm not inclined to believe it was a homeless person eager to stake his claim,” she advised, thumbing the crack between the doorjamb and its molding. “It's sealed tighter than Scrooge's wallet.”

  The sun had just begun setting, pouring through the kitchen window and enveloping April's body as she leaned forward. Though not one to easily fall prey to enchantment, the experience felt magical. Stepping forward, I rested my nervous hands on April's curvy hips. Just inches away, the aromatic floral perfume she'd generously splashed on her wrists enticed me. “It's been a long time since the wedding.” We'd kissed briefly that day but were interrupted from engaging in anything intimate.

  “You look too sexy for your own good, Kellan. The kids are gonna be here any minute, and we've never finished chatting about this chemistry between—”

  “Do you want to talk, or do you want to go with the moment?” I pulled April closer and locked our nervous lips together. Her hands gripped my neck, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine, not to mention other places I couldn't ignore. You always remembered your real first kiss, but it's rare when the intensity blindsided your ability to think straight.

  “Did that answer your question?” she teased, letting one hand tickle the space between my pecs and abs before traveling toward my waist. When she found my belt buckle, she yanked me closer and nuzzled against my cheek. “It's good to be home.”

  “That… was worth waiting for,” I whispered, then gently bit her neck. I was about to focus on her lips again, but a disturbing noise got in the way. “Is it possible to ignore whoever is calling you?”

  April shook her head and angled away from me. Our bodies still pressed together, leaving only enough room to retrieve the phone from her pocket. “Not this time. Connor's updating me on the unexpected events at Braxton's latest meeting on the Memorial Library renovations. Things got ugly earlier, and I am concerned about something far worse happening.”

  “That doesn't sound good.” I cursed my best friend for interrupting my moment with April. Yes, Connor was the newest detective in the Wharton County Sheriff's Office, and she was his boss, but couldn't he disappear for ten minutes? “I'll drop a heavy weight on his foot at the gym tomorrow morning. They say payback's a b—”

  April put a finger to my lips and pressed accept on the screen. “Hey, Connor. What's going on?”

  If she wouldn't let me speak, I'd distract her. I unfastened two buttons on my shirt and began what I hoped was a seductive striptease worthy of Magic Mike. Unfortunately, her eyes looked frightened as she turned away from me and blasted Connor. “You couldn't break up a fight between a crowd of academics twice your age? What kind of crazy people are we dealing with now, Connor?”

  Chapter 3

  Though intrigued by the shocker, I stepped away to give her privacy. Augie's car engine roared while pulling into the far side of the driveway. April had found him an inexpensive yet reliable sedan after he'd passed his driver's exam, then he decked it out with many improvements that suddenly made him über popular at school. Connor's disruption was a good thing, principally since the kids didn't understand there was something stronger than a friendship brewing between April and me.

  April ended the call and squeezed my hand. “I've got to jet. Now there's been an assault.”

  “You're kidding. The project kicks off tomorrow when they raze that decrepit old wing last rebuilt in the sixties,” I fussed, confused over what would cause such a ruckus at a college meeting.

  “Neighbors with property abutting the construction site are still trying to persuade Judge Grey to issue an injunction that could block tomorrow's groundbreaking.”

  Braxton College's president had already reasoned with the homeowners. It made no sense why the opponents continued to argue. She'd given them tons of concessions concerning the days and times the crew would engage in any noisy construction. My new house was close enough that I'd hear the racket too, but it was an important investment in the college's future. “Ursula Power solved that problem. Who started the fight?” I attempted to sneak in a kiss, but April responded too quickly.

  “I'm not entirely sure. Belinda Grey is against the new building. Damien Grey tried to stop his cousin, Calliope Nickels, from confronting your boss, who's heavily in favor of the renovation. Calliope is fighting it because she's Belinda's niece and wants to back her family. Somehow, it escalated, and when Damien let go of Calliope, she supposedly accidentally popped Myriam Castle's left eye.”

  Oh, that would cause a major war. “I can't believe someone hit my boss. I wish I could've been there. I guess I'll see her shiner in the office tomorrow. Why is the reno unresolved again?”

  “Belinda claims Hiram might grant a favorable ruling to their cause. There is a rumor he's personally on his way to the site right now.”

  “The amazing sheriff is back for ten minutes and already rescuing the county from itself. Good luck,” I yielded with a huff, disillusioned because we didn't have a lengthier private moment together.

  “I'll call you later. We need to schedule a catch-up.” After our quick but tantalizing embrace, April briefly chatted with Augie on her walk down the driveway, then sped off to save the day.

  By the time I checked on my renovation's progress, fumes from the various paints and stains had made me woozy. While cracking open the bay window, I heard Augie and Ulan whispering on the front steps. Emma harbored out of earshot, pulling weeds at the end of the path—my little gardener.

  “Why did you do it?” Augie cajoled Ulan, his voice heightened with alarming concern.

  “I don't like the place. Using the paint was a stupid idea, but there was no other way to stop him. What would you have done?” Ulan groaned and waited for Augie to respond.

  “If Kellan finds out, he might ship you back to Africa. Is that your goal, dude?” Augie tried to reason with his friend, but it didn't appear to be working.

  Ulan gasped. “No. I guess I screwed up, huh? Come on, let's see if he's discovered it already.”

  The front door opened, and the boys clomped into the hallway. I contained my shock and confusion, despite an eagerness to establish the subject of their conversation. Was Ulan intending to confess his role in leaving the red paint message on our basement door?

  “I'm in the living room, guys,” I breezily called out, stepping further away from the window, in case they realized I might've overheard them. A heady front of sweaty teenage boys overwhelmed me.

  Augie tossed his jacket on the spiral staircase banister leading to the second floor. Already as tall as me, he ran several fingers through his platinum-blond hair and belched obnoxiously. He had a buzz cut on the sides, and his pale skin and lime-green eyes, just like his sister April, made for a striking countenance. “Miss Eleanor sent me home with dinner, Dr. Ayrwick,” he stated, handing me a canvas bag with several to-go boxes and fidgeting with the waistband on his tapered sweatpants. They'd become a tr
endy style in the last few months in our town, strikingly among the under-thirty crowd. “She's so cool. No plastic bags at her diner. Very conscious of Earth's future. Emma ate already, but we brought an extra box for my sister. She just passed on it because of some emergency over a brawl.”

  “You can call me Kellan, Augie. I appreciate your attempt at respect, but we've discussed this previously.” April had encouraged him to refer to others by using Mr. or Mrs. or using their title. Knowing she had few acquaintances, I was certain the only people she'd introduced Augie to were colleagues at the sheriff's office. “I'm a friend, remember?”

  As Augie gave a thumbs-up gesture, Emma animatedly rushed down the hall to wash her hands in the bathroom, claiming she'd touched something yucky in the flower bed. Ulan cautiously strolled into the room, his oval-shaped, dark-brown eyes darting to a pile of mail I'd left on a small makeshift table. “Hey, Kellan. How was your day, cousin?”

  Should I ask about what I'd overheard or wait for him to confess? He hadn't been around when Nicky showed me the message from the ghost or vagrant, nor had I spoken about it in front of Ulan when I'd updated Nana D and my mother. Nana D had specified he was studying at the library. “Good, but busy. I thought it'd be ideal for us to meet here tonight to chat about the big move next weekend.”

  “Oh, yeah, sounds good,” he mumbled, walking toward the table to flip through the pile. Ulan also wore a pair of the popular sweatpants, despite my initial objection. Once Nana D raved about the abominable trend, I'd lost any chance of arguing with the kid or his Tarzan-like hair. The heather-gray color of the fabric offset his exceedingly tanned skin. Having spent a year in Africa working on a safari, he'd escaped our family's normal aversion to the sun. “Anything about me? From my dad, I mean.”

  I shook my head and turned my back to him while moving a heavy tool out of the way. “Not sure, I collected it from the mailbox but haven't yet checked. Ready for your history test tomorrow?”