A Guilty Ghost Surprised (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Cozy Mystery series)

A Guilty Ghost Surprised

by

Gwen Gardner

Copyright 2013 Gwen Gardner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, or by any information storage system without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the internet, any web address or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

Cover design and illustration by Corona Zschusschen
http://www.sjusjun.com
.

ISBN 978-9884195-2  (ebook)

To Chance, who pawsitively rocked his role in this novel.

…Blank misgivings of a Creature

Moving about in worlds not realised,

High instincts before which our mortal Nature

Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised…

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

~By Walt Whitman

Table of Contents

Chapter 1
- Angels Among Us

Chapter 2
- Spider Man

Chapter 3
- Investigation Begins

Chapter 4
- Remote Control

Chapter 5
- Light Display

Chapter 6
- No Police, Please

Chapter 7
- Envy and Energy

Chapter 8
- Never on a Monday

Chapter 9
- Frankincense

Chapter 10
- Quixley Street

Chapter 11
- Suspicious Minds

Chapter 12
- Good Timing

Chapter 13
- Hannah’s Suspicions

Chapter 14
- Dog Psychometry

Chapter 15
- Confession

Chapter 16
- Party Discussed

Chapter 17
- Tricks of the Trade

Chapter 18
- Power in Numbers

Chapter 19
- Simon

Chapter 20
- Bloody Bastard

Chapter 21
- Going Home

About The Author

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

Untethered Realms

Chapter One

Angels Among Us

I sensed a change in the house. Childish giggles woke me from slumber. More than one night I dragged Simon to the kitchen to share in my sleepless misery. He swore he didn’t hear a thing. A terrible wrong on my part since he practically sawed down a forest a night with his snoring. Asking Uncle Richard about it would never do. But after this morning, dread sat like an elephant on my chest. If it meant what I thought it did, trouble had arrived on our doorsteps, front and back.
Deep trouble
.

A run will clear my head and help me think things through.
The trunk at the foot of my bed held everything I owned, including my clothes. I cut a glance to the closet, still empty after seven months. One day I might hang something there…not yet. Opening the trunk, I dressed in a pair of running pants and shirt, then shoved my feet into sneakers. Although steep and narrow, I slipped through the almost-hidden door at the end of the hall and traipsed down the old servant’s staircase—the fastest way to the kitchen.

I nodded to the tweeny—the between stairs ghost girl servant—and continued on my way. I’ve encountered more than a few former servant ghosts in that passage, still going about their daily routines.

Downing a quick coffee and toast, I headed toward the village at a jog. My feet pounded against the cobbled streets, remnants left over from the Roman occupation in medieval times. Historically protected and blocked to vehicular traffic, it made running in Sabrina Shores ideal.

Jogging down the tree-lined lane past Victorian houses, I thought about what to do with my suspicions. I couldn’t tell Simon. Not just yet.

Badger.
I could discuss it with Badger. It’d be the perfect excuse, er,
viable reason
to stop by the Blind Badger. I hadn’t seen Badger since the celebration of life for his father. Since Bart’s death, Badger kept busy helping run the pub, taking care of his brothers and now school. Too busy for me -
I meant friends
- too busy for spending time with friends. Yes, that’s what I meant.

Focus, Indigo.

*

My mind wandered back to being chin deep beneath my blankets when a downy white feather floated from nowhere and landed on my face. Then I picked it up…

A little boy plays on a steep set of concrete steps. A huge building stands beyond, like the Lincoln Memorial with Greek columns. Everything sparkles blindingly white. A blond-haired, blued-eyed tot turns around and shows me his wings, bright white fluttering angel feathers. “Tell Simon I can fly – I have wings.” He giggles and skips up the steps.

That’s when I sprang from bed and frantically glanced around. Bryan died three years ago in the hit and run that took his mother, but spared my cousin Simon. So what in the world was that vision about?

*

Gray clouds threatened to dump on me any minute. I sped up and headed toward the old market square. Nearing the ginnel, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek up the alley. Nothing but winding, cobblestoned path and a couple of tourists came my way.

I sighed in relief.

When I first arrived after my father’s death, I ran through the ginnel and got chased by a dark shadow. I since found out that those spirits existing in-between worlds referred to it as the Soul Collector; a dark entity surviving on the energy of others, both living and dead. And it wanted me.

I just turned back when…

Oof!
  “What the
hell
…” Badger sputtered as I barreled into his chest, upsetting his balance. His arms encircled me to keep us both upright. Not a bad place to be, all things considered. “Indigo! I should have known. Don’t you ever walk anywhere?” Too true. I did always seem to be running from something.

“Badger! I am so sorry!” My cheeks flamed and surely I looked like Miss Tomato Face. Poor Badger frequently felt the repercussions of my mishaps.

He tilted his head to the side and stared at me. Gold flecks glinted in his brown eyes. “So, what brings you barreling through the neighborhood at this hour of the morning, blue eyes?” He tugged the ends of my long black braid and bent to pick up the broom he’d been using to sweep the walk in front of the pub. He jerked back around in afterthought. “Not the Soul Collector again?”

“No, no. Not this time.”

He sighed in relief. “Good.”

“You do know he—
it
—hangs out in the Blind Badger, right?”

“Only until we figure out how to get rid of him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I muttered.

“What?”

“It’s something else. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

One look at my face and he ushered me inside. Not yet opened, we had the pub to ourselves. Out of habit, I glanced down the long bar. Bart Bagley, Badger’s dad, used to be the resident ghostly occupant of the far left stool but he had moved on.

Years of cigarette and fireplace smoke blackened the low, wavy, oaken-beamed ceiling. Apart from the odor, though, the place had a homey appeal.

Badger poured two mugs of coffee and led me to a table by the lit fireplace.

“What’s up?” He looked tired, the blue shadows under his eyes color-coordinated with his long-sleeved shirt. Helping out the family since his father’s death took a toll.

I pulled the wispy down feather from my pocket and laid it on the table.

He picked it up and studied it. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’ve been finding these around the house for the past couple of days. At first, I thought maybe someone brought it in on their shoes. But one landed on my face this morning.”

“Okaaay.”

 “The pillows in our house are not filled with down, and neither is anything else.” Our eyes met. I had his complete attention, so I continued. “The atmosphere at home has changed. I hear childish giggles. There have been pranks around the house, like knocking, but nobody’s there.”

“You’re always seeing and hearing ghosts. What’s so unusual about that?”
Dude’s come a long ways, I’ll give him that
.
Not so long ago, he didn’t believe a word of it.

“My vision is what’s so unusual.” I explained about Bryan playing on the steps of heaven, showing off his white wings. “The vision, it didn’t occur until I touched the floating feather. I think it was a psychometric vision. It all means something.”

“What are you saying? That Bryan is here?”

I nodded. “Yes. I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

He shook his head. Lifted his mug to his lips without taking a sip. Set the mug back down. Shook his head again. “I’m not seeing it, Indigo. I mean, Bryan and Amanda have been dead for three years. Why would he come back now?”

“Because the third anniversary of their deaths is coming up?” I shrugged. Who knew why the dead decided to become
un
-dead?

“Yes, but why now? Why not the first anniversary, or the second?”

“I don’t know.” I played with my napkin, trying to sort my thoughts and make sense of what I feared. I looked up. “Badger…the thing is…” Crap. How do I tell him what I suspect?
What I know?

I took a deep breath. “Why do you think Simon wanted to investigate your dad’s murder? Besides the obvious, I mean?”

“Sorry? I don’t understand.”

“He feels guilty about the deaths of his mother and brother. He blames himself. They picked him up from soccer, er, football practice.” Being American, I sometimes forgot the British words for things. “He lived, they died. They wouldn’t have been driving if they didn’t have to pick him up. They’d still be alive.”

“But that’s daft. He didn’t make someone crash into them and take off.”

“I know that. Survivor’s guilt doesn’t always make sense.” And sometimes it did. I ought to know.

 “You don’t know for sure that Bryan’s back, right?” Hope entered his voice. I hated to dash it. 

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I’m sure as can be. Psychometric visions are of things that happened. So what I saw when I touched the feather? It happened.”

Our eyes connected for a long moment before he spoke. “What do we do?”

I sighed inwardly. He actually believed my latest bizarre tale! “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

He got up and paced. “But
why?
Why
now?
”

“Unfinished business. Simon feels guilty. He’s sad, depressed. His grief could have brought Bryan back. I don’t know and I’m not sure how we can help.”

He sighed deeply. “I am.”

“How?”

He reseated himself and leaned across the table. “We investigate.”

Oh crap!

Chapter Two

Spider Man

Investigate?! An exorcism, maybe. But investigating again? Hard didn’t begin to describe the last time we decided to investigate. The experience drained every ounce of energy from us and Badger nearly called off the murder hunt when my psychic abilities went on overload. Sure, the psychometric visions helped, but at a price. I could only do it through touching an object or person in order to read the history; it burned and blistered my hands, and even made me drunk. The Soul Collector kept turning up, while Badger kept getting knocked down. Disaster ensued from beginning to end. In a moment of frustration Badger called
me
a disaster. Sure, he apologized. But the truth hurt. It nearly destroyed the investigation and friendships, to boot.

“Bu - Wha - Huh?” Yeah. I never claimed to be eloquent.

“We investigate,” he repeated, while waiting patiently for me to use my words.

“N-n-no. We c-can’t. It’s been too long. The trail is cold. And you know what happens to me. I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it.” No way did he forget my drunken walk of shame after just
touching
a half-f pint glass. My wonky stomach upchucked all over his shoes -
after
I wallowed on the pub floor for a bit first.

“Look, Indigo. My dad couldn’t cross over until we solved his murder. It makes sense - we find the person responsible for the deaths of Bryan and Amanda, Simon gets closure and Bryan moves on.”