Under The Big Top
The Soul Seekers - Book Seven
Alice J. Black
Copyright © 2019 by Alice J. Black
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by The Parliament House
www.parliamenthousepress.com
Edited by Maria Pease and Ashley Conner
Contents
Under The Big Top
About the Author
A Request from Peyton
Also by Alice J. Black
The Parliament House
Under The Big Top
Olivia spun around in her chair as I stepped into the office and dropped my bag at her feet, then hopped onto the bench and sighed. It had been a month since the whole train fiasco when we went for a relaxed weekend together and instead ended up embroiled in a real murder mystery aboard a train with a ghostly passenger. I wasn’t sure she had forgiven me yet.
“What’s with the dramatics?” She raised her brow and crossed her arms as she stared at me.
“That’s twice I’ve been to the house on their insistence that something’s going on. They won’t take it’s not haunted for an answer.” I shook my head.
The couple who’d called Soul Seekers several times a day for two weeks was draining my energy. I’d been to their house twice, performed tests, listened, but there was nothing in that house, apart from the bad atmosphere they both perpetuated. Yet no matter how many times I told them there was nothing I could do, they were insistent.
“It’s not ideal, but at least we get paid each time.” Olivia shrugged.
“I know, but I feel bad taking their money when I know it’s not haunted.”
“Peyton, this is a business. These people are paying for a service that you’re providing. You can’t do it for free, and it’s up to them to decide what to do with their money.”
I sighed again. “I know, you’re right.”
“Damn right. It’s a good job you’ve got me.”
“I just hope they get the hint now. I was pretty stern today, and I asked them to stop calling.”
“You did?” Olivia’s mouth turned down in a display of pride. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, but I’m not so sure it’ll make a difference. Maybe we need to get caller ID.”
I slipped down off the counter and set the kettle to boil. I found my stained mug and heaped a spoonful of instant coffee into it.
“You want one?” I asked.
“Sure.” She handed me her cup.
Compared to mine it was immaculate, just like my best friend. We were polar opposites, Olivia and I, but somehow it worked.
I made the coffees and passed her mug across. She cradled it for a few silent moments. She inhaled, then her eyes snapped to me and she just stared. For thirty seconds. Without saying anything.
“What?” I finally caved.
“We had a call while you were out.”
“Why do you say it like we never get calls?” I sipped my coffee and relaxed against the counter.
A few weeks ago I might’ve shared her enthusiasm, but now we got regular calls and regular cases.
“Peyton,” she said.
“Okay, okay.” I set my coffee down and held my hands up. “Tell me about it.”
“It was from a man who’s bought a new business and wants some help.”
“So why all the secrecy?”
“I'm not being secretive.” She shook her head. “I just . . . this isn’t going to be easy to hear.”
“Out with it,” I demanded. My stomach sank more each second.
Olivia didn’t mince her words and this was putting me on the back foot. I slipped down from the counter and crossed my arms as I stared at her.
“Fine.” She sighed, relenting. “Do you remember Vic Reeves?”
“The man from The Grand Hotel?”
She nodded.
I remembered him, all right. A well-dressed man amongst a hotel full of ghost hunters and thrill seekers. He was attacked in his bedroom after switching rooms and had come out with a bruise that looped around his neck and lasted for days.
“What about him?”
“He bought the funeral parlour, Peyton. He’s got your old home.”
I would’ve fallen if I hadn’t been resting against the counter. My fingers gripped the surface, and the blood drained from my face as my stomach knotted.
For the first time in a long while, I wanted a drink. I craved the taste and the oblivion that came with it. It was time I went to a meeting.
Recently life had gotten in the way of my attendance and though I still remained sober, there was always a thin line between my past and my present and I think I had just come across it.
Vic Reeves had bought my home—the home I grew up in—and he had called here. Why?
“Peyton?” Olivia’s voice was thick with concern.
My mouth opened and closed, but there were no words. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Nothing she could say would make it better.
“Hey.” She stood up, stepped forward, and rubbed my upper arms. “Are you okay?”
I focused my eyes and realized she was searching for understanding. Normalcy. There was that word again. Normal. Nothing was normal. Not in my world.
“Why did he call here?”
“He wants to reopen as a funeral director, but he says . . .” Her lips clamped shut.
“He said what, Olivia?”
“He said the place is haunted.”
* * *
I lay awake long after I climbed into bed, my eyes closed, mind reeling. After a couple hours, I decided to get up. With a sigh, I shoved the covers back and swung my legs out of bed. I wished, for the first time since sobriety, that I wasn’t alone in the middle of the night. I couldn’t sleep, and there was nothing to settle me into the deep funk of darkness that preceded slumber. A year ago, I would’ve drank myself into slumber. Now, I had no way to force sleep.
I glanced at the covers, ruffled from restlessness, then drifted downstairs. I filled a mug with milk, jammed it into the microwave, and set the timer for a couple minutes. Leaning back against the bench, I sighed. Maybe what I needed was a dog. A dog would keep me company during those long nights when sleep was absent.
No, a dog wouldn’t help. Nothing would cure my wakefulness.
Tonight was the exception to my normally peaceful slumber, and it was because of the news. Vic Reeves wanted me to investigate the funeral directors. It was laughable. A joke really. My family home was on top of the shop and the place I’d spent all of my childhood years. It was the home where I'd not only grown into a young woman but also began to hear the spirits of the dead, developed a problem with alcohol and lost my parents. It was coming up five years now. Five years since I was locked in my room as a teenager and then escaped and went on a days-long binge only to find out a fire had ravaged my home and my parents along with it.
And now it had been bought by businessman Vic Reeves who decided he wanted to revamp my old family home and turn it into a business, but of course, there was the problem of it being haunted.
The microwave dinged and went black, snapping me out of my daydream. I grabbed the cup and took a sip, sinking into the warmth. Instead of heading back to bed, I wandered into the living room, sunk onto the sofa, and flicked on the TV. There was nothing on of course. I took another sip of my milk but it wasn’t enough. I was lonely, and as I contemplated the Vic Reeves situation, the urge to drink got stronger. I wasn’t about to give up, but the more time went by, the w
eaker my willpower became.
I scrolled through my phone book and stopped at Jake. Even just his name sent a thrill through me.
We first met at Pete and Jessica's wedding at the Manor House where we ended the night having a little party of our own and after that—when he fell out of the window and broke his arm while trying to escape an angry spirit—I thought I'd never see him again. But I ran into him last month when I did a murder mystery experience with Olivia on The Sapphire Bay. And running into him certainly wasn't the most unusual thing of the night either.
Jake had been on my mind since the Sapphire Bay. After we finished getting interviewed by the police after the Murder Mystery Tours gone wrong, which turned out to be late afternoon, he stood on the platform and gave me his number. He asked me to call him. I hadn’t called him yet because I was scared that he might’ve changed his mind since things always turn out wrong when he’s with me. But as I sat there in the early hours of the morning, I knew he was exactly what I needed.
I dialled his number and pressed the phone to my ear. It rang and rang. I bit my lip and vowed to hang up after the next ring.
“Hello?”
“Oh, shit. I woke you up.” I glanced at the clock.
It was two in the morning. What was I thinking?
“Peyton, is that you?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
There was some shuffling, and then he stilled.
“Yeah. Um, hi.”
“I seriously hope you didn’t call to say hi at this time.”
“Well . . .”
“Peyton.”
“I couldn’t sleep, and I was thinking about you.”
“You were?”
I heard movement and pictured him sitting up in bed. I wondered what the sheets looked like, whether he was naked beneath them, if he was alone.
“Yes. But not like that.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“So why were you thinking of me?”
I bit my lip. How did I answer that question without sounding desperate?
“I . . . I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened to me lately. To us. And I got some weird news today.”
“Weird, how?”
“Someone has bought my old home and the business beneath it.”
“Oh.”
“And he wants me to investigate it.”
“You mean—”
“He thinks it’s haunted.”
“Shit.”
I heard more movement, covers shuffling.
“I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Peyton, you called me at the two in the morning. Clearly you need someone to lean on. What’s your address?”
I told him, then he gave me a quick goodbye and hung up. I set the phone down and stared at it. Had that really just happened? Calling Jake in the middle of the night had been spontaneous, and now he was coming over.
My body went into panic mode. Jake was coming here, tonight. He answered my call in the middle of the night and he was coming to my rescue. Not that I needed a knight in shining armour, but he was willing to play the part all the same.
And I looked a mess.
I got up, grabbed the coffee cups and chocolate wrappers that had been left on the table for days, hurried into the kitchen, and dropped everything into place. I filled the kettle, then did a sweep of the living room, straightening cushions and throws, and made sure I hadn’t left any unmentionables lying around.
The kettle boiled just as the knock came. My heart thudded and my stomach knotted. He was here, and I was acting like a crazy woman.
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and focused. Jake was coming over to chat, as a friend. That was it.
The rap at the door came again, sending my heart into another spasm. Cursing under my breath, I hurried to open it. It wasn’t cool to leave him standing in the cold.
I reached the door, flicked my hair behind my shoulders, and turned the knob.
“I was starting to think I’d gone the wrong house,” Jake said. He flicked his eyes past me and then back to me again.
“No, I was just in the kitchen.” I offered a half-smile as I stood aside and ushered him in.
“Nice pyjamas.” He looked me up and down and smirked.
I blushed. I had checked the whole place to make sure it was respectable but hadn’t given a thought that I was wearing fleece-lined sleepwear with pink sheep strewn across them. It was one of the only pairs of pyjamas I had, gifted to me by Olivia's Aunt Theresa for Christmas. Any other night and I would’ve been wearing the traditional tank-and-shorts combo.
I cringed, wishing I’d thought to change into something a little less kid-like. But never mind. I had no excuse to get out of them.
I shut the door and walked toward the kitchen.
“Do you want a coffee? The kettle has just boiled,” I said.
“Only if you don’t mind.” He followed me.
“It’s the least I can do.” I set two cups on the bench. “Do you take sugar?”
“Not usually, but I think I need something a little sweet to perk me up.”
If I had called Olivia over at this time, she would’ve been sure to use her sarcastic tone with me, but Jake was different.
“Sugar it is.” I nodded and heaped a spoonful into each cup.
Jake was quiet as he watched me work. I made the coffees, taking my time stirring. I felt stupid. I had called him, and now that he was here, I felt like I had made something out of nothing, and I wasn’t sure how he was going to react.
“Come on, we can sit in the living room.” I ushered him out of the kitchen and away from the mess that I’d left on the table, glad he didn’t comment.
“You have a nice house.” He meandered into the front room, where he took a long look around.
“Thanks.”
I sank down onto the sofa, and he did the same, the cushion jostling. There were only inches between his jean-clad leg and my sheep-infested one. I took a deep breath. I never thought Jake would be in my house. I never thought that I would work up the courage to call him, yet there we were.
He sipped his coffee and winced at the heat, then set it down. “So,” he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, “what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” I stared into my cup.
“Come on, Peyton. You call me at two in the morning, when you haven’t bothered to call since the Sapphire Bay. I know something is up.”
“It’s not that I haven’t bothered calling you,” I set my cup down, unable to meet his eyes. “I just feel stupid, that’s all.”
“Stupid? Why?” He frowned.
“I don’t know. You’ve given me your number twice now and I guess I just worry that things aren’t normal enough.”
“Peyton, that’s daft. I wouldn’t give you my number if I didn’t want you to call.”
“I feel silly for calling you tonight, too.”
“I don’t mind. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
I looked up to see he was gazing at me.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Like I said on the phone, I got some news today that my old house has been bought by Vic Reeves.”
“Should I know him?”
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “I met him when I helped a couple at The Grand Hotel.”
“I saw that article in the paper.” Jake grinned.
“Vic is a nice enough man, but he wants to revamp it and turn it into a business again.”
“But?”
“But it’s haunted.”
“Your old house?” His eyebrow hitched.
“Exactly. The house and the business beneath it. My family ran a funeral parlour. We lived above it, and that’s when I started hearing voices of the dead.”
“Wow. That must’ve been tough.”
“Tell me about it. I did everything I could to push them away, forget about them. But I coul
dn’t, so I turned to drinking.”
“Ah.” He nodded, then took another sip of coffee. “I get it now.”
“It’s no excuse, but that’s what happened. So this Vic called Soul Seekers, and he wants me to go back there and deal with it.” I waved my hand.
“And that would be too hard?”
“My parents died there in a fire. That’s what destroyed the house, and that’s where I first thought I was losing my mind. Then when I realised what was really going on, things just got worse. It would definitely be hard.”
“Oh, Peyton.”
He shuffled closer, his knee resting against mine as he took my hand in his. He cupped my palm within both hands, a cocoon of warmth and in that moment I knew I had done the right thing by calling him.
“I think it’s just come as a shock. When I opened Soul Seekers, I never for one minute thought I might be asked to investigate my old house.” I shook my head. “Absurd, really. I should’ve known.”
“There’s no way you could’ve known. For all you knew the house was going to stand empty forever.”
“That’s what I thought. And I guess that’s what I hoped, too. There are so many memories there. Knowing that it doesn’t belong to me anymore, well, that kind of hurts.”
Jake nodded. “Nobody can blame you for that. It’s still an open wound.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” The corner of my mouth twitched.
“You know, you don’t have to do it, right?”
“What?”
“You don't have to investigate the house. I mean, you’re a ghost hunter, yes. But there’s no reason why you can’t turn down work. As long as the business is floating?”
“It is.” I nodded.
“Then don’t accept it.”
I mulled over that. He was right. Here I was, agonising over something I thought I had to do, but I didn’t. This was my business, and I could turn down a case if I wanted. Hell, I would even try to refer the guy somewhere else. Or ask Olivia to do it.
“Peyton?”
Jake roused me, and I realised I had drifted off.
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