southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits (7 page)

Her eyes briefly widened when she saw me and I took that as a victory. 

"You," she snarled, taking fresh aim. "Aren't you a little old for this malarkey?"

Definitely not the greeting I'd been hoping for.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hatcher," I said, the words running together. Without conscious thought, I found myself reverting back to the tone I'd used when I spilled tea on her skirt during one of my grandmother's church group get-togethers. "I needed something. Badly. And I didn't want to bother you."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do I have that you want?"

Okay, yes. This was bound to be an uncomfortable situation.

I racked my brain for a way to tell her that I'd come onto her property in order to find the cash she'd desperately sought all these years. Sure, I'd been rather enthusiastic about dashing out of the house with it. But I really had planned to give it to her.

It sounded suspicious, even to me.

"Well?" She demanded, adjusting her aim.

Maybe she was just shocked, scared like I was. She'd been sleeping very hard, if the hair sticking straight out from her head in clumps was any indication. Last time I'd seen Maisie, her tresses were thin, teased straight up, and stained an unnaturally orangeish auburn that could only come from a bottle. It didn't quite work, but I had to give her credit for making an effort. 

I knew I must look guilty. I felt guilty. And every moment I stood tongue-tied in front of Mrs. Hatcher no doubt made me look even worse. Only there was no plausible explanation for my presence on her property at this hour of the night. 

So I set my goal lower. Maybe, just maybe, I could get her to stop aiming her shotgun at my chest. 

It was a start. "Mrs. Hatcher, I…"

Right when I thought the entire sordid, unbelievable, damning story would come spilling out of me, I caught the glint of something out of the corner of my eye and found inspiration.

Josephine's locket.

It lay in the grass a few feet to my right, directly under the ghost's favorite window.

I took a deep breath. "I came here once on a dare," I said, the words spilling out of me as if they were true. "When I was a teenager, a young, dumb kid," I stressed that last part, ignoring the widow's huff of agreement, "I came here with some friends. While I was here, I lost my grandmother's locket." 

She wasn't impressed. "I always got kids sniffing around my 'haunted' property." She frowned. "This is private property. It ain't for kids."

"I know," I said, raising my arms higher, even though they were starting to ache. It was time for the truth, at least the part that didn't involve a ghost named Frankie. I cleared my throat. "I'm not sure if you've heard, but I had some money troubles."

She snorted. "We all have."

Indeed. "I've had to sell most everything my grandmother gave to me." I swallowed hard. Maisie watched me carefully. At least I had her attention now. "That locket," I said, motioning with my eyes, "lying right over there… It's the last thing I have left of her." I shook my head. "I know coming here was dumb and wrong. And rude," I added, "but I was only trying to get it back."

She hesitated, relaxing her stance a fraction. "Then why were you inside?" she asked, tipping her gun toward the door of the house.

I slowly began bringing my hands down, relieved when she let me. "I left it in the upstairs bedroom." A sharp, chilling breeze whipped up her hair and chilled me to the bone. Goosebumps raced down my sweat-slicked skin. 

"I never went up there," she said, her eyes darting to the side as she thought. "'Course, I've only been inside once." She eyed me carefully. "Once was enough."

She lowered her gun all the way. At least we were having a conversation now, and not a standoff. "I'm sorry," I said, quite honestly. "I shouldn't have come so late at night. But my house goes on sale tomorrow and I panicked."

"Had to find it, huh?" she asked, glancing at the upper bedroom window. She patted her hair down, or at least she tried. "I knew your grandmother pretty well, back in the day. We went to school together."

I hadn't realized, but it made sense. We only had one elementary. "I remember you from her ladies parties."

The corners of her mouth turned up and she coughed a little. "Now those were some pleasant afternoons. Your grandmother was a real nice lady."

"I know," I said simply. "Thank you."

I eased over toward the locket in the grass. And when Maisie didn't stop me, I reached down for it. Until that moment, I hadn't stopped to consider whether I could still touch a ghostly object. I hesitated for a split second before my fingers closed around the chilly metal. I'd take good care of it, I vowed, as I eased it into my pocket. 

When the widow's brows furrowed, I realized what I'd done. 

"The chain is broken," I explained quickly. I didn't feel right about wearing Josephine's necklace. 

I'd polish it up and return it to her later.

Maisie paused. "I didn't see it until you had it there in your hand." She rubbed a hand down the side of her face. "I must be more tired than I thought."

"It is late," I agreed. We were both a little stressed. I should have realized she wouldn't be able to see the ghostly object. But then I'd touched it and brought it into her reality. Amazing.

I glanced up to Josephine's window. The ghost stood over us, watching. She caught my eye and gave me a small wave.

The widow clucked. "I don't know why anyone in their right mind would set foot in that house." 

"It's not all bad," I said, surreptitiously returning Josephine's wave. I shivered as the necklace in my pocket went cold. I slipped my fingers over it and felt it melt away into nothing. Okay, so maybe I wouldn't need to go back.

Maisie frowned. "That place is more haunted than the Queen Mary."

"If there's a sprit lingering here, she's probably a little lonely." I glanced back at the house. The ghost still stood in the window. I was no expert on the paranormal, but, "Have you tried saying "Hi?" 

I mean, who wouldn't want to be acknowledged? 

Josephine had lived a hard life, a tragic one. And her afterlife was no picnic, either. It must be the worst feeling in the world to be feared, maligned—alone.

Maisie had to think about that one. She gestured toward the house, with a rolling motion of her wrist. "You think I should say 'hi' to Jilted Josephine? Like she's a person or something?"

"I'd call her by her Christian name only, for starters," I suggested. "But yes. When you walk your property—"

"Every day," she interjected proudly.

Why was I not surprised? "Every day," I repeated, "wave and greet her like you would any neighbor." I paused, thinking of the stark isolation of that girl inside. "I'll bet things in that house might even calm down a bit if you do."

She let out a small huff. Then to my surprise, Mrs. Hatcher raised her hand—the one that wasn't holding the gun at her side—and gave a small gesture of greeting. "Well hello there, neighbor." She blew out a breath. "Not that I want her returning the favor and coming by my place with greetings, but I know what it's like to crave a visitor from time to time."

 I didn't doubt it. Maisie didn't have a lot of people she could count on. There weren't many of her generation left. 

And with that, I was reminded of my true reason for being there. "I have to tell you something," I said, retreating to search for the box I'd dropped. It lay on its side in a tangle of grass, half-bathed in moonlight. My hemp bag with Frankie's urn lay nearby. I shouldered the bag and then picked up the box. Hope flared in my chest. I'd done it. I'd solved both our money problems.

"I found this with my locket," I said, carrying it back to her, eager to see what it held. "I think it might be what you've been looking for."

She gasped when she saw the wooden box with the oak tree emblem. 

She placed the gun on the ground. Shaking, she took the box from me with both hands. "It feels like I've been looking for this for half my life." She glanced up at me, wary, before her excitement got the better of her and she unlatched the metal clasp.

When she lifted the lid, we saw bundles and bundles of twenty dollar bills, neatly paper clipped together. My heart lifted.

She simply stared, her eyes welling with tears.

I grinned like mad.

"You—" she stammered, unable to find the words. She shook her head as she struggled to compose herself. "I—"

"Grandma told me stories of how your husband left money for you." He'd treated her poorly, but that was over now. She shouldn't have to struggle so hard, not at her age. And it seemed as if she had plenty extra. "This should be more than you need, right?" 

A single tear fell, bypassing her cheek and falling into the box. "Thank you," she said, suddenly quite proper, and for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the woman she'd been twenty years ago.

"You deserve it." Here was a woman who lived on her own, walked her property, and stood up for herself. She may not welcome all that many visitors, but she'd more than earned a helping hand and I was glad to be the person to give it. 

A cold spot materialized to my right. I didn't see Frankie, but I could certainly hear him. "Ask her for the money."

He was like the devil on my shoulder. 

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Exactly what does one say to persuade an old woman to part with a chunk of her long-awaited inheritance? 

"That's a lot to spend," I said, in the worst lead-in ever. 

Frankie groaned.

"Be kind," I muttered.

Truly, I could speak plainly with the best of them, but not about money, in the middle of the night, with an old woman who stood crying in front of me.

She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. "You don't know what this means," she said, blinking back grateful tears.

"Here," Frankie said, "you just take it. Like this." I watched the bills ripple under Maisie's fingers. "Well, not like that, but you get the picture."

I took Maisie by the shoulder and steered her away from the sticky-fingered ghost.

"Don't you be high-hatting me." Frankie chilled the air at my back. "She's holding at least forty g's in the box. She won't miss half of that." 

"Maisie," I began, "I don't know if you have plans for that money, but—"

She clutched the box to her chest. "I can pay my medical bills now. I was going to lose the house, the farm. This still might not be enough. But it's a lot. It'll go far, don't you think?" 

My heart grew heavy. "Yes."

She needed it just as much as I did. And it was hers. 

"I'm glad I could help," I said, fighting back the lump in my throat.

"Did my hearing go out or did you just let that dame off the hook?" Frankie's voice was incredulous. I waved him off. 

I'd made her happier. And I think I'd also helped Josephine. It would have to be enough, I decided, as I reached into my pocket for my car keys. 

Maisie was a woman alone. She and I both were. 

"I'll come by and visit you," I added, "this time in daylight." I'd bring cookies when I could afford all the ingredients. If I recalled, she favored oatmeal crunch. 

The urn bumped against my hip. "You're just gonna give up? On our house?"

My house.

It meant more to me than he could ever imagine, but there were some lines I couldn't cross. "This isn't right," I said under my breath.

"What's not right, dear?" Maisie asked.

I didn't realize she could hear so well. I turned back to her. "I'm losing Grandma's house." It hurt to even say it. "I wanted to ask you for a loan, but you need the money as much as I do."

Maisie sighed. "I love that old house. It used to be the heart of Sugarland when your grandmother was alive." 

I nodded. "Our family has so much history there, but after what happened with Beau and me, nobody in town will lend me the money to save it and I don't have a fortune buried in the backyard." 

She thought for a moment. "How much do you need?"

"Twenty thousand," I told her solemnly. 

She let out a surprised cluck of sympathy. "I can't give you that much."

I understood, more than she realized. "Three thousand would cover lawyer fees to put off the judgment for another month. If you could spare that much of a loan." Of course I'd still have to figure out another way to earn twenty thousand dollars. 

I doubted Frankie had another box of money up his sleeve.

Maisie Hatcher fingered the lid, not saying a word. 

Then she nodded hard, a tear spilling down her cheek. "Oh, sweetie. I can lend you that. I'd be happy to."

I couldn't believe it. "Thank you," I squealed, hugging her before either one of us could think about it too much. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can." 

She pulled back, flustered. "I'm sure you will."

I'd get a job, one that paid a lot better than having an art degree in a small town afforded. I'd work day and night if I had to. I'd even move away to Chicago if it meant I had a chance to make this all right.

She opened the box a crack and carefully removed three thousand dollars.

"Thank you," I whispered, as she gave it to me.

I was about to breathe the biggest sigh of relief ever when police lights flashed. I about jumped out of my skin when the siren blipped. 

Headlights turned on us, bright as day, and I realized Maisie was a frozen as I was, pressing a wad of cash into my hands. 

Surely that wasn't illegal.

Although there was the issue of me breaking and entering.

And I hoped she'd registered that firearm she'd been discharging.

"Stay where you are," the officer ordered, exiting his car. 

I knew that voice. And I ignored it long enough to stuff the three thousand dollars into the pocket of my sundress.

Right now, the officer was a tall, looming shadow surrounded by lights. But as he drew closer, I grew a bit dizzy.

Ellis Graham Wydell strode up wearing the badge of the Sugarland Sherriff's Office. He was the bold one, the black sheep, not to mention my ex-fiancé's brother. And he was very last person I wanted to see.