Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1

by Nyx Halliwell

  The office is like him, beautiful in a down-to-earth way. Warm browns and rich oranges, a few splashes of ocean blue. He leads us into a room with a large wooden desk and comfortable chairs. Moxley climbs into a dog bed in one corner.

  As Logan reads through my aunt’s last will and testament, I feel slightly stunned. It’s not a complete surprise that I inherit the land and the business, but apparently there are more secrets to be revealed.

  Logan reaches in a drawer and hands me a safe deposit box key. “This might explain what she was doing with her money. She gave it to me the day she died, said to keep it for you as part of the will.”

  Mama and I exchange a look. Twenty minutes later she’s convinced Mr. Randall, the bank manager, to open up and let us in. Being mayor does have perks, I guess.

  The safe deposit box contains a number of important documents, including the missing bank statements that I never got back to looking for. There’s also a fancy business card with a woman’s name and phone number. None of us know Gloria Stone, so I dial the number and hold my breath.

  She doesn’t seem surprised when I tell her who I am, and I love her French accent as she responds. “Willa told me you’d be coming soon to see your creations.”

  “My what?”

  “How soon can you get here, cherie?” She reels off directions to a place several miles outside of town. “It would be best if I show you what we’ve accomplished so far.”

  Logan joins Mama and me as we head out of town. Mama is as confused as I am about where this trip is leading.

  Inside a rambling two-story farmhouse, Gloria offers us tea and cookies in her fashionable sitting room. She’s a slight woman with fine features and is dressed in a wool skirt and silk blouse.

  Sunlight pours through a set of double doors on the far end of the room, overlooking a sweeping view of a tree orchard. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says to me. “Your aunt thought you had what it takes to be a fashion designer with a line of unique wedding dresses, and I have to agree.”

  I grip my tea cup. “Sorry. I don’t think I follow.”

  She rises from her lushly upholstered chair and goes to an antique French-style desk. The metal handle on one of the drawers clanks as she opens it and withdraws a slim stack of papers. “Even as a young girl, you had an eye for design.”

  Returning, she hands the stack to me. I set down the cup, realizing these are copies of the dresses I sketched as a teenager.

  Mama and Logan lean in to see as I flip through the dozen or so sketches. “She gave you these?” I ask.

  “Those and her life savings.”

  Mama gasps, a hand going to her lips. “Oh my.”

  I still don’t connect the dots. “Why?”

  Gloria smiles and motions for us to follow. Mama, Logan, and I all exchange a look and then do so.

  The house looks like it’s straight out of a Home and Garden spread. Everything is high-end and immaculate, but I hardly notice as we walk through the first floor toward the back door. Anticipation of what’s waiting for us makes my pulse skip.

  “My partner Joseph and I believe in the value of handmade items,” Gloria says, “and we only work with a select few Georgia designers whom we feel have a nostalgic Southern bent and, most importantly, understand this momentous day in a bride’s life.”

  We exit the house and walk along a meandering collection of stones covered in moss. Arriving at a large metal building, the entrance is a beautiful sliding barn door with a painted illustration in apothecary script, announcing Miss Jasmine’s Boutique Bridal Designs.

  “Wait.” I stare at the sign. “I know who you are. Southern Bridal carries your Josephina vintage line.”

  A gleam lights her eyes. “One of my favorites, the first I ever designed.”

  Inside, there are numerous wedding dresses on display in various stages of completion. A man with a bushy mustache and headband looks up from a sewing table and waves.

  We wave back, assuming that’s Joseph. Gloria leads us to a display area on the left and I can hardly believe my eyes. “Willa had us construct several prototypes from your drawings.”

  Hesitantly, I walk forward to the beautiful dress closest to me. With tears in my eyes, I gently brush my fingers over the luxurious silk material, noting the incredible hand-sewn beading along the neckline.

  Gloria turns the dress form to show me one side. She draws back a lace panel to reveal a set of tiered layers of white satin underneath.

  “The hidden staircase,” I murmur.

  “What?” Mama asks.

  I can’t believe it—my vision has come to life. “I designed this one after reading The Hidden Staircase.” At Mama and Logan’s blank looks, I explain. “The Nancy Drew story?”

  “The lace is detachable.” Gloria demonstrates. “And the top ’stair’ contains a pocket for the bride, just like Ava’s model.”

  Logan smiles. “Practical.”

  “Isn’t it? I hate clothes that don’t have pockets.” I fiddle with the satin to peek inside. The lining is perfect and elegantly trimmed with more tiny beads. “Every bride needs a discreet one in her dress.”

  As though my aunt is there with us, I feel her arms go around me. I sigh. “Thank you, Aunt Willa.”

  In my ear she whispers, “I love you, Ava. I’ll always be with you.”

  Chapter 44

  That afternoon the wine tour goes off without a hitch, except that I keep catching sight of odd energies hanging around. None of them fully form or engage me, and I’m so busy I leave them alone. They return the favor and do the same for me.

  My arm feels better. I mixed up some of the herbs from Aunt Willa’s cache according to a recipe Winter sent me, and it’s allowed me enough pain relief that I don’t need the strong meds that Doc prescribed. He and I have a lunch date to get together and talk about my aunt next week, and I’m looking forward to it. Tomorrow, Mama and I plan to finish off the funeral arrangements, and I’m sure Aunt Willa will make an appearance again.

  By noon, the Cross family estimates the tour guests have already doubled this year, and I have to admit part of the reason is me. Not because I’ve done a better job than Aunt Willa did in previous years, but because I’ve become somewhat of a celebrity after taking on Preston Uphill.

  Many folks stop to ask about my injury and if I’m hanging around to take over the business. It feels good to say yes, and think about the wedding dresses that are all mine and may sell next year to help bring in money to buy back the mansion.

  Some of the people who approach inquire about hosting events for them around the holidays. There’s no shortage of parties around here during this time of year, and Rosie delights in setting up appointments and penciling things into our calendar all afternoon.

  That evening, as the tour winds down, Logan brings me a glass of peach wine and a few stolen chocolates. Moxley, his constant companion, moseys over to sit at our feet. We toast and Logan congratulates me on all of my hard work, including solving Aunt Willa’s murder, pulling off the wedding, and having a successful tour. “I hear you’re sticking around for a while.”

  I bite into a chocolate cordial and smile. “Seems I have a few good reasons to.”

  He winks at me. “Better than the ones in Atlanta?”

  Gloria Stone gave me the names of buyers interested in my line of dresses, one of them in Atlanta. I have the feeling I’m going to be busy between keeping The Wedding Chapel going and this offshoot of my childhood dream. “I’ll probably have quite a few trips in and out of the city,” I tell him, “but home base for Avalon Wedding Designs is going to be here.”

  “I like it,” he tells me, clinking his glass against mine. “You know, the Winter Ball is only six weeks away. The chamber will need someone to take care of the details.”

  “Rosie can do it.”

  He frowns, chewing a bite of candy slowly. “It’s a big deal, think she can handle it?”

  “I hope so since I plan to go as a guest, not the event
coordinator.”

  He grins slyly. “Did someone already ask you to the dance?”

  “I’m keeping my dance card open.”

  He sips his wine and eyes me over the rim. “I happen to be looking for a date, myself, and was hoping you might do me the honor.”

  I finish the chocolate and sigh with delight. Suddenly, I remember Aunt Willa’s entry in her ledger—Candy Lane—and understanding hits me like a lightning bolt. “You’re Candy Lane.”

  “What?”

  “CL. The letters…she reversed them. Cross, Logan. I thought she was referring to Ty Durham, but it was you, wasn’t it? You’re a candy nut. What did you hire Aunt Willa to do for you?”

  His eyes go wide at my announcement, and then he looks away. “It’s nothing.”

  “You weren’t surprised at all that I have her gift, were you?”

  A heavy sigh. “Nope.”

  I can’t remember what service was listed next to his moniker and start to ask again when he waves a hand. “Look, it was no big deal. I was trying to decide whether to stay here or leave town, maybe head to Atlanta like you did. She pulled a few cards, looked into her magic ball, and told me if I left I’d have financial success, but if I stayed I’d find my soul mate.” His gaze comes back to mine. “Corny, right?”

  Corny, but the fact he chose love over money makes me want to kiss him.

  I catch his mother eyeing us from several feet away, where she’s chatting up several country club board members. She doesn’t look exactly happy about our relationship, but she’s not staring a hole through me either, so I smile at her and turn back to her son. “Is that true? Did she really tell you that?”

  “She did. I think she knew a lot more than she ever let on.”

  Boy, did she. I have the feeling I’ve only uncovered the tip of the iceberg. I bend over and scratch behind Moxley’s ear. “I want to design a new dress to wear for it. The ball.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  I step closer to him and touch his cheek. “Maybe I’ll make a matching tie for you.”

  Grinning, he kisses me. I kiss him back.

  Later, after Logan drops me at home, I go to the trunk and pull out a few of the items under the watchful eyes of Tabitha. She should be able to talk now about the curse, or anything else, but she stays silent. I don’t pressure her, but I do promise to restore her original home one of these days, as soon as I’ve paid off the house loan.

  Aunt Willa’s spirit doesn’t make an appearance, but I do feel her presence. Tabby paws at a scarf in the trunk, so I take it out and wrap it around my neck. The faint scent of my aunt’s perfume engulfs me and I hug the material to my nose, breathing it in. I move Teddy and the crystal ball downstairs and place both on her desk. I swear I see a vision inside ball. Possibly a trick of the light, but it looks like Logan holding me in his arms.

  Braxton shows up, tells me I look fabulous, and together we head to the Thorny Toad.

  That evening is filled with odd encounters and interesting discussions, and I even get my cards read by a gal who specializes in tarot. There are a few cards that look like bad news, but overall the reading sounds positive.

  Several people ask me about seeing ghosts—Miranda spilled the beans on me about her dad showing up at the wedding, and the word is out. Here, no one seems all that surprised, and I wave it off, telling them that was Mina the Medium’s area of expertise.

  I have so much on my plate to think about, I’m not sure I want to establish being a medium right now, regardless of the fact I see plenty of spirits hanging around the place. There’s so much to learn, and I don’t know what I’m doing yet, so it’s best to stick with what I do know.

  I’m sitting with Brax and twin sisters who are private investigators. They have some pretty strong psychic abilities, and I enjoy hearing about a few of their cases but pray they’re not picking up stuff about me. Although, at this point, what do I have to hide?

  The four of us are deep in conversation when someone stops at our table, dressed all in black with a hat and sunglasses. The woman shifts the glasses and stares down at me. “May I speak to you in private, Miss Fantome?”

  It’s Logan’s mother. I’m gobsmacked; she’s the last person I expect to see here.

  Excusing myself from the table, we meander to a booth in the far back corner.

  Although it’s shadowed here, she still seems nervous and doesn’t take off the hat and sunglasses. They’re so dark I can’t believe she can see much. “I don’t want anyone to know I believe in this stuff.” She glances around, ducking her head slightly even though no one’s paying any attention to us. “But I need your help.”

  Oh boy, this should be good. “Of course. I’ll do what I can. What is it?”

  From her bag, she removes a necklace and lays it on the table between us. “This was my mother’s.”

  I glance at the embossed gold locket, feeling a repressed, heavy energy encircling it. I wait for her to explain more, but she simply looks at me as if that explains everything.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s cursed.”

  I sit back, as if getting too close might allow it to rub off on me. I’m done messing with that stuff. “Cursed how?”

  “It’s not the necklace itself that I need help with.”

  I’m confused. “Then what is it?”

  She shifts uncomfortably, wringing her fingers and shooting another anxious glance at the bar. She lowers her voice. “The ghost inside.”

  I pause. “There’s a ghost in the necklace?”

  She nods and stiffens her back slightly as if in defiance. “Yes, an evil spirit put there to stop it from harming me.”

  I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone again and shake my head. “And what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

  She leans forward and lowers the glasses so her eyes make contact with mine. “I want you to get rid of it, and it has to be done before the Winter Ball.”

  I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know, but I ask anyway. “And why is that?”

  “Because if you don’t, the two-hundred-year-old curse that’s contained her this long will expire, and the ghost is going to be free.” She grabs my hand with a claw-like grip. “It’s going after Logan, Ava. You have to save my son.”

  * * *

  Magic & Mistletoe, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 2

  Coming September 2020!

  Ready for more?

  Enjoy this excerpt from Ava’s next adventure!

  Magic & Mistletoe

  * * *

  December is my favorite month, Christmas my favorite holiday.

  It’s only a few days away and Rosie and I are decorating the front window of The Wedding Chapel with a bride scene I woke up with front and center in my mind this morning.

  Aunt Willa would love it.

  Hopefully, her spirit is hanging around and is delighted to see my idea. Equally important is that if she is, she’s also satisfied with how I’m running her event planning business.

  Bing Crosby plays through the stereo speakers that my friend, Brax, set up for the front area. Long ago, my aunt turned her beautiful Victorian home into her office, opening the rooms on either side of the grand door to create one big floor space. Each side sports a giant bay window where displays of wedding themes and other formal party events showcase the business’s offerings.

  The three cats—Arthur, Lancelot, and Tabitha—laze by the fireplace where the smell of wood smoke mixes with the fresh scent of fir tree. Tabitha is grooming her marmalade colored fur; Arthur and Lancelot watch her through sleepy-lidded eyes. Rosie has spiced cider brewing, the cinnamon and cloves recalling memories of holidays spent here with my beloved aunt.

  The smaller artificial tree in her window is done in silver and blue, and we’ve spotlighted a snowy scene, filled with sparkling icicles and snowflake ornaments. The contemporary bride in that scene wears a dress from my line coming out in the new year, along with one of my aunt�
��s faux fur wraps that resembles white mink. The prototype is a favorite of mine, and I’m still wrestling with the official name for it.

  “The Madison?” I try it on for size. “It needs a modern name.”

  Rosie leans back and eyes it. She’s wearing an ivory sweater with miniature jingle bells lining the collar. Every move produces a sleigh sound. She’s tamed her thick, dark hair into a ponytail with a festive bow. “How about The Emery? It’s on my list of modern baby names.”

  “Sort of sounds like a nail salon.” My aunt used emery boards all the time. There’s a stash in her antique desk I can’t bring myself to toss yet. “Do I want to know why you have this list?”

  She gives a sly smile. “Just dreaming a little.”

  Rosie and her husband have a five-year-old boy. The kid keeps her hopping and this is the first she’s mentioned wanting to have another. “I can just see you running around with a miniature Rosie at your feet,” I tease.

  Her laughter is soft and wistful. “I’ve always wanted a girl. Maybe one of these days.”

  In the matching window, I’m stringing lights in a more vintage scene. With my boyfriend, Logan’s, help, I’ve moved the grandfather clock into this large space and set the hands at midnight. The chimney and fireplace are made from cardboard but you wouldn’t know it from the detail Brax and I painted on it.

  Arthur meanders over and hops into the window, rubbing his lanky gray body across my leg. Rosie and I created a comfy scene with stockings hanging from the false, but very real-looking, mantle. Giant presents are wrapped in shiny foil, and all the touches are white with gold trim.

  This bride-to-be sits in the midst of the gifts under the tree, the mannequin so lifelike, I almost feel as though I could talk to her. She’s staring into a blue velvet box with a giant diamond ring inside, her handsome fiancé by her side. She’s wearing a vintage lace dress I found in a closet upstairs. My mother claims it was once worn by my great-great grandmother.