Witches of Palmetto Point Series Boxset Books 1 - 3: Haunting Charlie, Wayward Spirits and Devil's Snare

by Wendy Wang

  He looked directly at her with his mirrored sunglasses. “So you must be the psychic.”

  He took off his glasses, folded them up and stuck them in his pocket. He held out his hand and smiled, focusing his hazel eyes on her. The way his teeth gleamed it reminded her of an alligator with its mouth open. “I'm Jason Tate. I believe you’re meeting with my mother today.”

  “Yes,” Charlie said, not taking her gaze off of his hand. She didn't want to touch him. She often saw things when she touched people — sometimes it drew out the spirits that had attached themselves or were looking out for the person. Sometimes it was their heart or their mind or a memory. It could have been any of those things with Jason Tate — and any one of them gave her a bad feeling. She didn't want to know what was in his mind or his heart or his memories and she sure as hell didn't want to know about the spirits hanging around him. She forced herself to gaze up and smile, but left his hand dangling in the air. His fingers twitched and folded into a fist before he dropped it to his side.

  “So, is my mother here?” He glanced up at the house.

  “Yes, I believe she's inside. I was just looking around the property to see what we’re working with.”

  His jaw clenched and his lips stretched into a smile but it never touched his eyes. “Great,” he said. “So, have you figured it out?”

  “Have I figured what out exactly?”

  His smile twisted into a grimace. “That this house isn’t haunted. The things my mother experiences are all in her head.”

  “Maybe some of it can be explained logically but there are definitely things on this property that defy logic.”

  “And that's your professional opinion?” His tone was full of mocking. The energy pouring off him made it clear he was not happy that she was here.

  “If you want to call it that, yes. It is.” She crossed her arms and met his gaze. “I don't quite have a handle on it yet but—” She glanced toward the woods. “When I'm done, your mother won't have a reason to be afraid anymore.”

  “My mother doesn't have a reason to be afraid now.” He put his hands on his narrow hips and the muscles in his arms flexed. By his stance, he was a man used to using his authority to get his way, but Charlie refused to be bullied.

  “I’m afraid I disagree with you on that. I don't think your mother's in any physical danger. At least I haven't sensed that—”

  “Great—” he said. “Then she doesn't need you here, does she?”

  “That’s totally up to her. She may not be in immediate danger physically but that doesn't mean the spirits living in this house and on this property, can't do her harm.”

  He laughed, but it was a cold sound that sent a skittering chill across her skin. Stepping forward, he closed the gap between them and locked a heavy gaze on her. He was tall enough to make her crane her neck to look into his face and she didn't like the way her body reacted to the sharp cut of his jaw and his rugged handsomeness. She glared at him and took a step backward.

  “I'm going to say this and I want you to listen to me carefully,” he said, lowering his voice. “I'm on to you. Do you understand? You are not the first psychic I've ever dealt with.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then you know what to expect.”

  He made a scoffing noise, and a scowl twisted his mouth. “You know I take statements all the time from parents and grandparents, guardians and foster parents whose kids have gone missing or run away. Every psychic I have ever known has been nothing but a fraud.”

  “I'm sorry that's been your experience. There are plenty of people out there who will take advantage of a situation. But I can assure you, the only thing I want to do is help your mother.”

  “Well you better hope for your sake that’s the truth because I'm gonna be watching you.”

  “You go right ahead. Watch away,” she said, not backing down. “I have nothing to hide.”

  He glared at her, saying nothing.

  “Jason?” Susan’s sharp voice cut through their stare off. “What are you doing here?”

  Jason broke his gaze finally, and he smiled. “Nothing Mom. I just wanted to meet this psychic you hired. That's all. Make sure she understands what she's getting into.”

  Susan cocked her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Jason, you be good.”

  “Yes ma'am,” he said. “Can I talk to you please? Privately?”

  “Charlie, I apologize if he’s said anything to offend you. I’m afraid he's a little over-protective.”

  “Mom.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I'm standing right here, quite capable of speaking for myself.”

  “Charlie would you please excuse us?” Susan asked.

  “Certainly.” Charlie gave him a sideways glance and made her way up the porch, glad to be free of him. “I'll just go find Lisa.”

  “Thank you,” Susan said sweetly. Charlie walked into the house out of earshot. She didn't want to hear the two of them argue. It was hard enough dealing with her own family issues; she certainly didn't want to intrude on theirs.

  “Hey, there you are,” Lisa said descending the steps.

  “What did you find?” Charlie asked.

  Lisa shrugged one slim shoulder. “Well the house looks like an episode of Hoarders. Lots of newspapers and stacks of boxes and rotting furniture. Rat droppings. Spiders. Palmetto bugs—dead and alive.”

  “Nice.” Charlie’s lips curled in disgust. “Anything else?”

  “It’s an old creaky house. All the windows are drafty and considering how close it is to the water and how hot the days and cool nights are this time of year—it could definitely account for some of the noises she hears.”

  “Did you feel any cold spots?”

  Lisa shook her head. “No. Sorry. You?”

  “No. Just the two I felt earlier. I did see the spirits of several girls at the edge of the woods.”

  “Did you go talk to them?”

  “Not yet.” Charlie glanced over her shoulder toward the front door. Susan’s muffled voice rose. “I met the son.”

  “Yeah?” Lisa followed her cousin’s gaze. “And?”

  “He’s definitely not a believer.”

  “Great. Do you think he’s gonna be trouble?”

  Charlie sighed, frowning. “Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

  Chapter 5

  Jason had watched from the kitchen as his mother entertained the psychic and her friend in the parlor. Psychics. What a bunch of hooey. Even though no one in the Sheriff’s department would ever corroborate it, they had consulted psychics on occasion usually at the request of grieving desperate parents. All he had ever seen was a bunch of generalizations, guesses and nonsense. Lots of “leads” that never once led to anything but heartache and frustration to both the parents and the sheriff’s department.

  But his mother was a believer. After his father left, she’d gone to a psychic-witch to get a love spell, to get her husband back. It brought his father back all right, but that was not a good thing as far as Jason was concerned. The only thing his father was good for was a smack across the mouth and taking money out of her wallet. When he left for the second time Jason had to practically hold his mother down to keep her from going after him.

  He’d noticed the psychic with the pale blonde hair and angelic face glancing at him and he stepped out of the doorway before his mother noticed.

  He understood why his mother wanted this place to work. It was her last chance to really do something with her life. Sure the house creaked and had cold spots and hot spots and sometimes he would see things from the corners of his eyes but it was just his mind playing tricks. It sure as hell wasn’t real. He just didn’t know how to convince his mother of that, short of moving in here and proving it to her. If the place had decent Wi-Fi coverage he would have, too, but right now his mother had other things to worry about besides running cable this far out. For some reason he couldn’t explain, his phone battery kept dying out here too. That’s what he got for choosing the crappy, free smar
t phone.

  Finally, he heard their chairs scrape across the wood floor and their footsteps head into the foyer. He listened as they said their goodbyes and the front door closed. He folded his arms and waited for his mother to come into the kitchen. She breezed past him, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

  “I know what you’re gonna say Jason and I don’t want to hear it,” she said.

  “Mom—” He leaned forward and scrubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He had to choose his words carefully. “Just tell me why you feel this is necessary. Help me understand.”

  His mother didn’t meet his eyes. “Because I don’t feel safe here. Now that’s the last I want to hear about it.”

  Jason sighed and let his gaze drop to the floor. There was dirt ground into the dingy linoleum that would never come up no matter how much she scrubbed and a chunk of it was missing at the edge of the old Frigidaire. If she was going to make this into a bed-and-breakfast she was going to have to rip out this whole kitchen and put in a new one, but the wiring had to be done first.

  “Mom if you want to feel safe, get a security system or a dog. Anything but a psychic. I mean where did you even find her?”

  “You are too nosy for your own good.” She sniffed and tipped her chin defensively. “And if you must know, she came highly recommended to me. By someone I personally know.”

  “Who?”

  “My hairdresser.”

  “Oh my Lord.” He dropped his face into his palm and shook his head. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I am not kidding you. I completely trust this girl and these are her cousins.”

  “Well that’s just fucking great.”

  “Jason David Tate! Your language reflects your character and I raised you better than that.”

  His cheeks burned from being scolded like he was a little boy. He’d heard her philosophy on character his whole life and thought about it every time he opened his mouth and uttered a curse word.

  “Yes ma’am,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He folded his arms across his chest and met her eyes. “I just don’t want to see you be taken advantage of, that’s all.”

  “I know, honey. I know.” His mother stepped directly in front of him and pressed her hand against his cheek. “You have been my protector for a long, long time and I appreciate it. I really do. But I know what I’m doing here. This place can be great. But we have to get rid of this… this…” She waved her hands in the air and her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “Bad energy before that can happen.”

  “And you’re sure this girl can do that?”

  “Yes. I’m certain of it. I have a good feeling about her. I’ve met a lot of psychics in my life and she’s the real deal. You just have to give her a chance.” Her lips curved into a smile. Something crashed upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps rushing down the grand staircase. His mother’s wide, dark eyes fell on him and a shiver coursed through her thin frame. “Please tell me you heard that.”

  He took her hand in his and nodded. “I heard something, but more than likely it’s just the sounds of an old house.”

  “I wish I knew how to convince you that you’re wrong,” she said.

  “Sorry,” he said pulling his mother into his arms. She rested her head against his chest and they stood in the kitchen, not speaking for a moment.

  “Hey Mom, is there any chance I can have the number to your hairdresser?”

  “Jason I’m not going to let you harass her.” His mother pulled out of the embrace and frowned.

  “I’m not going to harass her. I need a haircut and she does a good job with your hair.”

  “Jason,” his mother said full of disbelief.

  “What? I’m not kidding. I just want to get my hair cut. That’s all.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But I swear I will take you over my knee if you start hassling her. Do you understand me?”

  He fought the urge to smirk. It was almost cute that his mother thought she could still take her thirty-two-year-old son over her knee. “Yes ma’am.”

  Susan took her purse from the counter and pulled a pink card from her wallet. “If you mention my name she’ll give you ten percent off your first cut. She’s very good by the way. No one has done such a good job with my hair.”

  He studied the card, brushing his thumb over the embossed name — A Touch of Glamour Salon — Daphne Ferebee, Stylist and Owner. “I have no doubt about that.”

  Chapter 6

  Raymond Kurtz wrapped his hands around the top of the push-broom handle and kept his head down, trying to ignore the voice in his head. Up until the other day—the only thing it had said to him was don’t drink, over and over again. It soothed him at first and reminded him of his mother—how she would rub her fat fingers over the cheap pink beads of her rosary. He’d even toyed with the idea that it was a prayer to that higher power they talked about at his meetings. But then the voice changed.

  He moved the broom across the dingy linoleum flooring of Hare’s Swifty Mart and Gas. Rounding the corner to the snack aisle, the voice started in on him again, making him look up.

  Look at that skin. So beautiful. Don't you just want to reach out and touch it?

  He shuddered internally, trying to keep his eyes on the trash and dirt accumulating in front of his broom. His eyes flitted to her back against his will. Her curly hair was pulled into loose ponytail and fell between her shoulder blades. The smooth, caramel-colored skin of her neck peeked from beneath her tight t-shirt. He licked his lips. What he wouldn’t give for a beer.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder at him. Her brow furrowed and her dark eyes glared at him.

  Look at that face. Notice how the blood makes her throat pulse—just a little. She wants you.

  “What are you staring at?” she said. Nope. No desire in that tone. His hands tightened on the broomstick and he continued pushing it forward.

  Are you really going to let her get away with talking to you like that?

  His shoulder twitched toward his ear and he kept his eyes down. Just one beer would make it all stop. Maybe he needed to call his sponsor again.

  He got to the end of the row and started to turn the mop around but caught a glimpse of her reflection in the soda cooler. Her young breasts pushed against the dark, pink cotton and the skinny jeans she wore clung to every curve. Maybe the voice was right. How could she wear those clothes and not want some sort of attention?

  That’s right. That’s exactly right. She wants it. Wants you. How would her skin taste?

  Raymond wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. If he could just have a couple of beers that stupid voice would shut up.

  You don’t need a drink Ray. You just need to touch her. That’s what will make all this go away.

  “No,” Ray said, startled by the sound of his voice.

  “What did you say?” the girl asked.

  Ray’s eyes met her gaze. Her don’t-mess-with-me stance made him take a step backward.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  She scowled at him and then went back to making her selection.

  I can’t believe you’re going to let her get away with that! Coward!

  Ray shook his head and threw the mop handle onto the floor. He stormed past her, letting the back of his hand brush across her butt as he went.

  “Hey!” She shot him a dirty look. “You better watch yourself.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. He stopped in front of the counter and stared at his co-worker Dave, sitting behind the register, flipping through one of the car magazines. “I gotta take a break now.”

  “It's not your time yet. Did you just throw that mop down? You can’t leave it in the aisle like that. Somebody could trip.”

  “I have to take a break now.” Ray scraped his short fingernails against the stiff denim of his jeans.

  “Fine.” Dave threw up his hands and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Take a break. So what if you've only been here an hour?” He folded his arms
across his chest and tugged on his blue and orange vest, skewing his nametag.

  Ray headed out through the back door, raking his hand through his thick, dark hair. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and quickly maneuvered through his contacts. Cool evening air slapped him in the face and he breathed in a few deep breaths. The briny scent of the marsh washed over him, soothing him. He opened his sponsor’s contact and chose the option for call. His old fogey of a sponsor had a flip phone and barely knew how to make a call, much less text.

  “Come on. Come on. Gene. Pick up. Pick up.” He tapped his fingers against his thighs.

  “Hi you've reached Gene Hayes. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave me a brief message and your number, I'll call you back soon as I can.”

  “Gene, it’s Ray Kurtz,” he said unable to stop the desperation from creeping into his voice. “I need you man. I want a drink so bad. I think if I don't have one soon something bad’s gonna happen.”

  She walked across the side parking lot, catching his attention from the corner of his eye. The phone drifted away from his head and his breath sounded harsh in his ears. She strutted, shaking that heart-shaped behind of hers before stopping in front of a little red Chevy not even twenty feet from where he stood. Her keys jangled in her hand.

  It wouldn't take much. Not much at all if he moved fast enough. Her sky-high heels put her at a disadvantage along with her small stature. If he struck her head first, there wouldn't be much of a fight.

  Now you're thinking. It would be even better if you could catch her around the throat. Squeeze a little of that attitude out of her. Just until she passed out. Her fate in your hands, quivering against you. You would own her and only you could decide to give her life or take it away.

  His breathing grew longer and steadier. He could do this. Maybe if he did, the voice would just shut up and go away. Maybe. He found himself halfway across the gap between them before he remembered the cameras. He glanced up at the corner of the building, unsure of the lens’s range for the side parking lot. He’d seen the monitors behind the counter and how clear the images were. The owner had even bragged about how good the video was when they were installed a couple of months ago. No. It was not a risk he could take. Not yet.