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

by James J Cudney

  Hope's elongated neck craned upward, a splotch of alarm forming in her composure. “Oh, certainly. I've had lots of assistance with the technology programs and library processes. Dr. Ayrwick,” she paused and gently placed a hand on my shoulder, “has been incredibly kind with his time and knowledge. I couldn't imagine a stronger mentor than him.”

  “If I haven't made myself clear enough, please tell us how your classes are proceeding and how the students are responding.” Myriam cleaned an imaginary spot on her glasses and puffed the dust in my direction. “Though age from folly could not give me freedom, it does from childishness.”

  I cringed at Myriam's quote from Antony and Cleopatra, staring as my boss gently touched the tender spot under her eye. Hope summarized the two classes she taught, then passed the baton to me. I remarked how well I thought she was adjusting to the change in styles from her former campus. Myriam belittled my attempt to praise our newest visiting professor like a whirlwind, then continued with the rest of our colleagues. After snootily resuming control of the meeting, she issued guidelines for working in Memorial Library during the upcoming renovations.

  “Has there been any news on the skeleton they found?” Hope inquired, staring around the room until everyone failed to respond. “Is there anything we should do to assist with the bizarre mystery?”

  “It's clearly none of our concern, Dr. Lawson. We are here to teach. I suggest you remind students of their purpose at Braxton and leave the investigations,” she curtly stated, then exaggeratedly wrinkled her nose at me, “to those who are qualified to handle such endeavors. Wharton County has a highly skilled and expertly trained team of police officers and detectives who will, I'm certain, work tirelessly to close this case. Bombastic busybodies need to mind their own business.”

  Had Myriam forgotten I'd solved the mystery surrounding her wife's stalker and potential killer? While April and Connor had helped to research the international connections, I'd found the body and discovered the murderer's identity before he added Ursula to his list of victims.

  “I understand. It's just that the Grey family holds tremendous clout on campus. I'm a little concerned whether this county's judicial system has the appropriate checks and balances,” Hope interjected with a noticeable equilibrium of passion and decisiveness. “I've heard a few students talking about the skeleton potentially belonging to the magistrate's first wife. I believe her name was Prudence. Some even suggested he'd been responsible for her death.”

  “What precisely is your worry, Dr. Lawson?” Myriam stood and melodramatically threw her hands to her hips. “Perhaps because you are new to this town, you might not realize the sense of camaraderie we have for one another. I won't tolerate someone on my staff spreading vicious gossip about a key leader on our Board of Trustees. Judge Hiram Grey is a well-respected man who hails from one of this college's original founders.”

  “I think what Dr. Lawson is trying to convey,” I chimed in, bent on preventing a larger squabble from occurring but also to clarify Hope's exact connection to Braxton, “is what—”

  “Dr. Ayrwick, I didn't ask for your opinion. Dr. Lawson, please respond to my question from before your discourteous colleague's interruption.” Myriam sat, the feet of her chair painfully scraping the floor as she slid under the table.

  “Pardon my frankness, but I'm curious how Braxton plans to address the situation, substantially if Hiram Grey is indeed connected to a fifty-year-old missing persons case. We've just discovered a skeleton from around that time in a place where the victim had last been seen. Wouldn't you be wary of the man's involvement?” Hope peered around the room for anyone who might support her concerns but found no one willing to verbally back her.

  “At the risk of Dr. Castle biting my head off again, I understand Hope's apprehension. There needs to be a consistent message and process, and while I'm confident in the fortitude of the Wharton County Sheriff's Office, there's been nothing official released from Braxton's administration.”

  “I acknowledge what you are both blathering about,” Myriam surrendered, then waved her hand toward the door to indicate the end of the meeting. “I'll discuss this with Ursula Power and update everyone in the next few days. I'm assured our president has a suitable plan in place.”

  Everyone but Dr. Lawson and I exited the room. She sighed heavily. “Is Dr. Castle always that stubborn and dismissive?”

  “You caught her on a good day, Hope.” I suppressed the urge to laugh. Myriam might be listening on the staircase, ready for round two without a leering audience.

  “I've been researching the Grey family. Did you know Hiram stole his first wife's inheritance?” Hope fervently massaged her temple before collecting various belongings strewn about the table.

  “What do you mean?” I wondered why she held such an extreme curiosity about the Grey family. “By the way, you suggested your mother might've grown up in Braxton. What is her name?”

  “Forgive me, I must get to my next class. I'll email you my research about the Grey family. Suffice it to say, Hiram had no money before he married Prudence. When she died, he inherited millions of dollars and became one of the richest men in the county.” Hope tossed a colorful tote over her shoulder and marched toward the door. She stiffened with her last comment, losing the normal breezy and friendly demeanor I'd come to know and appreciate. “My mother's name is Raelynn Lawson, but I never said she grew up here. I found a picture of her in front of the library, that's all.”

  Once she left, I remembered the portrait Maggie had provided and grabbed my satchel. I eagerly ripped open the envelope and glanced at a black-and-white photo from before the Vietnam War protest had erupted on campus. Two women stood with their arms entwined. The girl on the left looked exactly like Imogene Grey, a former student, also Lara Bouvier's daughter. Given Imogene was also Damien's daughter, it became clear which woman was Prudence. I couldn't believe how similarly they resembled one another. The woman on the right was taller and darker skinned—at least in terms of the shading present in the photograph—and her expression offered a mix of respect and intimacy. The quality of the snapshot was grainy, yet it didn't seem important once locating the caption underneath.

  I'd been correct in identifying Prudence Grey, but nothing had prepared me for the shock of learning the other woman's name: Raelynn Trudeau. Though the resemblance between Hope and the second woman in the photo wasn't as strong, the name Raelynn couldn't be that popular in a small place like Braxton. There were minimal chances of two African American women with identical, unusual first names in the same town, both somehow connected to the Grey family. Were they all close friends? A strange notion dawned upon me; Hope had referred to an auntie back home in New Orleans. People often referred to close, older family friends as aunts and uncles. Could Hope's auntie actually be the long-lost Prudence? Assuming the skeleton wasn't Prudence, there was a remote chance Prudence was living with the Lawsons. If the skeleton was Prudence, then I had some urgent and awkward questions for the Lawsons. What could Hope and her mother be hiding about Prudence's disappearance?

  After Hope's hurried exit, I pondered why everyone was extremely caught up in Prudence Grey's vanishment fifty years ago. Hope Lawson had intentionally accepted a role at Braxton because she wanted to check into the Grey family. Father Elijah had passed out when I'd relayed the news about the skeleton discovered in Memorial Library. Bartleby Grosvalet had been anxious to access the house Prudence once lived in with Hiram, who'd practically knocked me over to explore the construction site hours earlier. Lloyd Nickels was incredibly shocked when he'd heard about the skeleton on Lara's news report. Had something happened fifty years ago that they were all afraid would be unearthed?

  Nana D might have additional information, or at the very least shed some light on the Trudeau and Lawson family history in Wharton County. I didn't have enough time to visit her downtown office before Bartleby would arrive at my house, so I called instead. While waiting for her assistant to connect us, I exchanged a few
texts with Eleanor about Madam Zenya's theory on my potential ghost.

  “Solve your haunted house problem yet?” Nana D teased once joining the line, humming The Twilight Zone theme loudly enough for me to thrust the phone away from my ear.

  “That all depends. According to Madam Zenya, as conveyed by Eleanor, restless souls usually stop haunting people once we discover their remains.” I wasn't sure I believed my sister's revered idol or her flimflam advice. The famed psychic would arrive in town the following day and had offered to perform a reading on my house, if I still encountered any issues.

  “Sounds like a possibility. She deals with this stuff all the time,” Nana D encouraged, citing Prudence just wanted to pass into the next realm. “How's work, brilliant one?”

  “We have a new professor this semester. Hope Lawson, a transplant from New Orleans ironically teaching a class on paranormal literature. I wonder if you might recall her mother, Raelynn Trudeau. I'm not entirely sure she lived in Braxton, but….”

  “There was a Trudeau family who used to live in Woodland decades ago. Not familiar with Lawson. I vaguely recall the name Raelynn, but I can't put my finger on why.” Nana D mumbled to herself a few times before finishing her thoughts. “Nope. Gone at the moment. I'll get back to you.”

  “Fair enough,” I surrendered, highlighting the people who'd been acting strangely since we had found the skeleton. “The most unusual was the way Father Elijah passed out and called her Prue.”

  “Lots of people use nicknames. Prudence came from a religious family. Father Elijah might've been her confessor or counselor when Damien was born. That's when he was in training to become a priest. You should ask him.” Nana D indicated she didn't know a lot about the Garibaldi family as they'd kept to themselves when she was a child. “Garibaldi was Prudence's maiden name. Her parents also died tragically in an international incident earlier that year. Left her oodles of money. No other relatives, I believe. The library has minimal data on the last generation, almost as if they never existed.”

  “Hope will send me her research.” I considered my nana's inclination that Father Elijah had been addressing Prudence's post-pregnancy depression and organizing Damien's baptism. Many Catholics were often close to their parish priest and sought their advice for personal problems and health matters.

  Before we ended the call, Nana D updated me on the spooky corn maze being built at Danby Landing. During the two-week Fall Festival, we'd offer scary haunted house tours and authentic Victorian horse-drawn carriage hayrides—of varying degrees from whimsical to bloodcurdling, to accommodate all ages and temperaments of our guests. They'd converted an old barn into The House of Horrors where patrons walked through three levels of disturbing and gruesome scenes from Wharton County's history. Each was embellished to ensure maximum screaming and shock. The Victorian horse-drawn carriage hayrides would follow two different paths around the farm, depending on one's tolerance for being frightened. The most terrifying route navigated dark trails behind the haunted house that were stocked with fake dead bodies and animatronic wild, ravenous beasts. The lighter course transported passengers over a covered bridge across a small pond, stopping to participate in various autumnal experiences: families carving pumpkins into famous Wharton County citizens, brewers offering nonalcoholic apple cider drinks, and local bakers sharing slices of their seasonal pies and cakes.

  “Will Lloyd Nickels be your headless coachman again this year for the haunted hayride?” He'd served in the role for the last decade since retiring from the company who managed Braxton's cable car service. There were rumors that he'd hinted at stepping down from his Fall Festival duties.

  “We made a deal. He'll finish out this year and prepare his apprentice to take over. Not everyone in my generation has as much stamina as I do, Kellan.” Nana D reminded me to get cracking for my meeting with Bartleby. We never got to discuss Lloyd's hasty exit from The Big Beanery.

  I confirmed Ulan would be home from school on the later side. He'd agreed to join the debate club in the hopes he'd learn to interact more and gain confidence in himself. The bus would drop Emma at five-thirty on a corner not too far away from Dead End Lane, where we would soon live. I drove there to meet Bartleby and found the loon peering into a side window on the house.

  “Looking for me?” I confirmed his partaking in Sock Day by the presence of gray ones with bats.

  Bartleby jumped back. “No, I assumed you'd get here soon enough. I was searching for ghosts.”

  “Find any?” It'd be best to humor the batty man if I wanted to elicit information from him.

  “You've seen her, haven't you?” He winked at me and walked toward the front door. “Come on now, don't keep her waiting. I think she wants to introduce herself to you.”

  Had I heard him correctly? I knew our former mayor had a predilection for the strange and unusual, but was he so indelibly out of his mind that he thought he could communicate with a ghost? Between him and Madam Zenya, my faith in the world's mental faculties had fallen a notch.

  “I guess that means you don't think Prudence Grey stopped haunting me, now that we've found her bones?” I unlocked the door and ushered him inside swiftly. Although the neighbors didn't have a clear view to my front door, I wasn't risking any ruthless gossip about the ex-mayor's freakish dances.

  “Who said I believe your not-so-friendly visitor is the late Prudence Grey? I'm not too certain of that.” Bartleby scurried from room to room in the immediate vicinity, leaning his ear against the wall and tapping on various spots. At one point, he brayed and clucked as if he were summoning a demon.

  I decided not to take part in the insane and ghoulish experience. “If it's not Prudence, then you must assume someone human is playing games with my contractor's crew?”

  Bartleby shook his head. “Don't be a skeptic. I might know who or what it is. I'm just not entirely sure why she's chosen to communicate with you through such a chilling medium.”

  “Well, whoever she is, she's been oddly quiet for a few days. There have been no objects moving of their own accord, nor any peculiar noises or glowing lights.” I was glad Nicky sent daily reports to notify me of progress before leaving the premises. Ever since the skeleton had been found, the reports contained zero references to problems or concerns about a ghostly visitor or messages elaborately written in red paint. The notion that Ulan was still the culprit hadn't escaped my thoughts.

  Bartleby ascended the staircase in the front hallway, stopping halfway. Nicky had hung a giant plastic sheet to prevent any dust or dirt from floating upward. “Have you been upstairs?”

  My jaw clenched. “Nothing is on the second floor except empty rooms. Do you think someone's hiding out there? Maybe the brilliant Madam Zenya can flush her out.” I'd meant it as a joke, but the severe shudder plastered across Bartleby's face showed he believed differently.

  “She's quite the intriguing woman. Did Madam Zenya tell you she's coming here? To this house?” Bartleby shuffled back down the steps. “I'll be a monkey's uncle. That's surprising.”

  “I appreciate you stopping by. Is there anything you can tell me of value? It's not that I don't enjoy your conjecture and vivid theories, but how about some facts, sir?” I appealed to the side of him that was enticed by respect and authority.

  “Excellent point. Let's brush aside all the spectral phantoms and focus on what I know for certain.” Bartleby motioned for me to join him in the kitchen. “It's much quieter in here. I don't think she'll overhear us, not with all that newly installed stainless steel. Good choice to block the voices.”

  Bartleby shared his reasons for wanting to access the house and what he'd researched to date on the Grey family. While the house had been famously dubbed The Old Grey Place, Hiram had only owned it for the last fifty years. It had formerly been part of the larger Garibaldi estate. When Prudence married Hiram, her parents had given it to them as a wedding gift. “They originally built your house during the 1860s amid our country's Civil War. The Garibaldis kept posse
ssion for one hundred years before Prudence disappeared. The eccentric family suffered from varying degrees of psychological disorders, but they were also wealthy and donated money to the county. Most people deigned to accept them. During a cruise around Africa's Cape of Good Hope, shortly after Prudence and Hiram married, international pirates attacked the Garibaldi ship. In an ensuing struggle, an explosion killed everyone on board, ensuring Prudence inherited everything.”

  “I had no idea. I knew she'd tragically lost her parents somehow but not the exact details.” Hope had told me the truth, regarding her own research on the Grey family.

  “From everything I've been able to gather about this house, the Garibaldi family had big plans for it throughout the years. I suspect you haven't discovered the full extent of its reach.” Bartleby walked toward the basement door in the hallway near the kitchen and smirked at the message. “You haven't repainted over it?”

  “It's on the contractor's list for the end of the week before we move in. You're correct. We haven't gotten into the basement either.”

  “I suspect Hiram or his real estate agent failed to take you on a full tour?” Bartleby grinned mischievously; his pupils narrowed so that two caterpillar eyebrows arched in my direction.

  “No, he didn't. My contractor wanted access before construction, but we couldn't find the key. In the interim, all the repairs have focused on ensuring we could at least live here.”

  I'd asked for a complete tour and formal inspection, but the irritable judge insisted he'd lower the price rather than deal with mounds of paperwork. Nana D had lent me the money to buy the place, eliminating several months to procure a mortgage approval or sell my house in LA. I owed her my monthly payments now. Nicky had climbed on the roof and tested the overall wooden beams, floor joists, wall studs, roof rafters, and related components throughout the first two floors. He'd verified the foundation from the outside, but we knew nothing major could happen until we completed a structural analysis with an engineer. We planned to bust into the basement soon to check for any issues.