southern ghost hunters 02 - skeleton in the closet Read online

  Contents

  The Skeleton in the Closet

  Also by Angie Fox

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  COMPLETE BOOKLIST

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The Skeleton In The Closet

  By Angie Fox

  ALSO BY ANGIE FOX:

  THE SOUTHERN GHOST HUNTER SERIES:

  Southern Spirits

  A Ghostly Gift (short story)

  The Skeleton in the Closet

  Untitled Book 3 - coming early 2016

  THE BIKER WITCHES/

  ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER SERIES:

  The Accidental Demon Slayer

  The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

  A Tale of Two Demon Slayers

  The Last of the Demon Slayers

  My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding

  Beverly Hills Demon Slayer

  Night of the Living Demon Slayer

  Date with a Demon Slayer

  THE MONSTER MASH SERIES:

  Immortally Yours

  Immortally Embraced

  Immortally Ever After

  SHORT STORIES:

  The Tenth Dark Lord 'A Leaping: Lizzie and Dimitri's first Christmas (a demon slayer novella)

  Gentlemen Prefer Voodoo

  Love Bites

  Murder on Mysteria Lane (from The Real Werewives of Vampire County anthology)

  What Slays in Vegas (from the So I Married a Demon Slayer anthology)

  Chapter One

  I CLOSED MY eyes, breathing the clean fall air, still tinged with the warmth of the fading summer. And I nearly ran smack-dab into the large Civil War reproduction cannon sponsored by the Sugarland Heritage Society. In my defense, it hadn't been there yesterday.

  The lawn outside the library—heck, the entire town square—had been transformed.

  With good reason.

  Today was the first day of the annual Cannonball in the Wall Festival.

  As far as parties went, Cannonball in the Wall Day was right up there with Christmas, Easter, and the biscuits-and-gravy breakfast at Lulabelle Mason's house.

  This year would be even better. A History channel documentary crew had rolled into town to film the celebration, and it seemed every man, woman, and child from four counties had descended on us like bees to honey butter.

  "Melody?" I called, spotting a blonde with a ponytail through the crowd. I strained to get a better look. "Melody!" I waved.

  The woman turned and I realized it wasn't my sister. This perky blonde was an actress I'd seen on television. I didn't know whether to be impressed or frustrated.

  I'd told Melody I'd meet her near the library, but that was before we realized what a spectacle this year's event was going to be. It might take some doing to pick her out of the larger-than-usual crowd.

  I ran a hand along the gun barrel of the old cannon, over the layers of caked-on paint, warm from the sun. During the war, Tennessee was one of the most divided states in the nation, and our boys had gone off to fight on both sides. That left the town vulnerable when the Yankee army came through in 1863. The local militia fought to keep everyone safe, but our homes and businesses were on fire all around them. We thought it was over when the Yankees got their cannon up and shot straight into the town square. Wouldn't you know it, that ball did not explode. It lodged deep in the wall of the Sugarland Library for everyone to see. That small victory gave our ancestors the extra bit of spit and vinegar they needed to drive the invaders out and save our town.

  The preacher at the time declared it a miracle. While I wasn't so sure faulty explosives qualified as the hand of God, the entire town had assembled to celebrate every year since. We'd come together—people of all different backgrounds and walks of life—and we'd saved the place we loved. The Cannonball in the Wall Festival reminded us to be grateful for that.

  A smile tickled my lips and I couldn't help but gaze at the rusting iron cannonball still embedded in the white limestone near the foundation of the historic library.

  Soon everyone would know our story.

  "Five dollars for a picture with the cannonball," barked a scratchy voice to my right.

  I turned to find Ovis Dupre's thin, bent frame nearly on top of me. The old man didn't understand the concept of personal space. Instead, he drew even closer with his vintage Polaroid.

  "No, thank you," I said, doing my best to duck around him while taking care to be kind. He meant well. Besides, I couldn't afford to alienate any of my neighbors after a recent event had left my reputation a little questionable.

  But Ovis was eighty if he was a day. And he did not get subtleties at all.

  He lowered the camera to reveal the bushiest pair of silver eyebrows south of the Mason-Dixon line. They stood out starkly against his mahogany skin. "Pretty girl like you deserves a picture," he said quickly. "Five dollars."

  Ahem. Problem was, he'd trapped me between the cannon and the crowd, and I didn't have five dollars to spare. Not after the incident involving my ex-fiancé. I'd managed to avoid selling my house—barely—after my ex-almost-mother-in-law had forced me to pay for the wedding she'd orchestrated, the one that didn't happen. But I'd had to empty my savings and sell most of my furniture. I scarcely had enough left for the things that really mattered, such as food.

  Ovis cocked his head. "All proceeds go for historic preservation," he added, as if the cannonball needed my five dollars more than I did. "Did you know my great-great-granddaddy stood in almost this exact spot when he helped save Sugarland?"

  He was good. If I'd had the five dollars, I would have produced it right then. But I didn't.

  The entire town knew my predicament, but they didn't realize I was so strapped that I'd been forced to eat Royal beef ramen noodles for breakfast this morning. And for dinner last night. I'd kept those sorts of details to myself, along with the fact that I couldn't have preserved my own slice of Sugarland history, the historic home my grandmother had left to me, without the help of Frankie, the gangster ghost I'd grounded in my grandmother's heirloom rosebush, and Ellis Wydell, an unexpectedly sweet man who was tall, gorgeous, and very much alive.

  To tell you the truth, I still didn't know what to do about either one of them.

  "I've got it," said a familiar voice.

  "Ellis?" I turned and saw my recent partner in all things spooky. He wore a Sugarland Deputy Sheriff's uniform and a smile that showed off the dimple in his chin.

  I shot Ellis a bright smile as he slipped a five into a box marked "Historic Preservation."

  Ovis captured my grin with a sharp click.

  "Thanks for that," I said to the deputy sheriff.

  He shrugged a broad shoulder. "I saw a damsel in distress."

  Ovis watched us for a moment too long as he pulled the Polaroid photo from the camera. Ellis stiffened, and I fought the gui
lty flush that crept up my cheeks. We'd have to be careful how friendly we appeared together. Hardly anyone knew how close we'd grown after our recent adventure, and if any man in this town was off-limits, it was Ellis Wydell.

  He was the brother of my ex-fiancé, the middle son of the woman who would give her eyeteeth to ruin my life. And even though I was highly intrigued by the black sheep son of the Wydell family, events like today had a way of reminding me of my place.

  I turned to the elderly photographer. "I saw some people earlier with commemorative picture holders. If it's not too much of a bother…"

  Ovis appeared pleased that I'd noticed. "I was just about to get you one." He weaved through the crowd toward a nearby table while I took a second to admire the scenery right in front of me. I'd almost forgotten how tall Ellis was, and how well his uniform fit over those work-sculpted muscles. He still had a slight scar under his eye from when he'd saved me from a killer. If anything, it made him even sexier.

  "I see you're working today."

  He gave a sharp nod. "Crowd control." He glanced over his shoulder at the reenactors lounging on the lawn. "Plus the Yankees have been drinking since ten o'clock this morning."

  Oh my. "I suppose you can't blame them." Everyone who was anyone wanted to play a town hero in the reenactment. But the militia parts went to the older families in town, the ones with ancestors who fought. Anyone whose family had settled here less than one hundred and fifty years ago had to play the part of an invader. On television, no less.

  "Poor Yankees," Ellis mused. "It must be tough to lose every year."

  Yes, well they should have thought about that before they shot at our library. "Your mother has to be loving this."

  He shook his head. "She's convinced the family story is Hollywood material."

  "More power to her," I said, meaning every word.

  My ex-almost-mother-in-law may be slightly evil, but this time was using her power and sizable fortune for good. She'd formed a film production company dedicated to promoting the history of Sugarland, and her family's legacy, of course. So far, she'd managed to attract today's documentary crew, and also finance an independent movie about the skirmish that forever entrenched the cannonball in the wall. Filming would start next week.

  That kind of national recognition would do the town good. Plus, the more she focused on her family's fame and glory, the less time she had to meddle in my affairs.

  Ovis handed me the picture, complete in its commemorative cardboard Cannonball in the Wall Day frame. I was stunned to see how happy I looked.

  "For you," I said, handing the picture to Ellis. He had bought it. Plus, I sort of wanted him to have a picture of me.

  He took it gallantly, but I saw how the tips of his ears reddened.

  I was glad to see I wasn't the only one who might need to work on reining things in.

  Blood-curdling screams sounded from across the square, and from behind city hall, I heard shouts: "The Yankees are coming!"

  Ellis checked his watch. "Twenty minutes early. Somebody needs to get them under control."

  "Hop to it, lawman."

  He shot me a wink and left to go check out the action while I wondered for the hundredth time whether I'd been blessed or cursed.

  I also wondered if anyone besides Ovis had noticed me talking to the good-looking sheriff.

  Melody made me jump when she drew up behind me and whispered in my ear. "Boo."

  My hand went to my chest. "Can't you just say hello like everyone else?"

  "So you're saying that scared you?" she asked, her blue eyes twinkling. "Impossible. Not after—"

  "Never mind," I said quickly. "I'm just glad you found me." Melody and Ellis were two of the very limited number of people who knew about my ghost-hunting skills, and I intended to keep it that way. "Besides, I'm finished with that business." I wanted to forget about haunted houses, hidden passageways, and buried secrets. "The ghosts of Sugarland have caused me too much trouble."

  Melody gazed down on me, thanks to her impossibly high platform sandals, and handed me a piping hot bag of kettle corn. "If you're serious about keeping out of hot water, you should stay away from Ellis."

  "I know," I said, plucking a piece off the top. Nobody would understand the way Ellis and I had bonded over our adventure. They'd only see me chasing after the older brother of my ex-fiancé. "But he's like kettle corn. You can't have just one little taste."

  Melody tsked. "You just like him because he saved your life."

  "Yes, well, I saved his too," I pointed out. "Besides, you know it's more than that."

  He was funny and brave. Kind. He was a darned good police officer, even though his family would never forgive him for joining the force instead of the high-powered Wydell legal empire. I admired a man who wasn't afraid to follow through with what he felt in his heart. I frowned. That kind of thinking could get me all tangled up if I let it.

  Melody glanced out over the crowd. "We'd better get moving. The grandstand is filling up."

  Portable metal benches took up the entire east side of the square. They were sponsored by the two leading families in these parts: the Wydells and the Jacksons. The Wydells ruled the roost in Sugarland. The Jacksons owned most of the land surrounding the town. Both families were careful to sit as far as possible from each other on account of a feud that had been going on since Lieutenant Colonel Lester Jackson may or may not have forgotten to salute Colonel Thaddeus Wydell during the War of 1812.

  Melody took my hand and dragged me along. "Come on. My boss said he'd save us some seats."

  "No kidding?" Montgomery Silas was not only our library historical expert, but he was also the man who literally wrote the book on the Battle of Sugarland, the one that was being made into the movie.

  Melody waved to Montgomery as we made our way over..

  "We are in high cotton," I said as he waved back. The eccentric scholar wore an ill-conceived pair of muttonchops and had a personal style that relied heavily on tweed and bow ties, but he was the closest thing to a celebrity we had around these parts. At least until filming started.

  I couldn't wait.

  We were just about to enter the grandstand when Darla Grace, Sugarland Heritage Society Volunteer of the Year—every year—closed a hand over my sister's arm. Darla stood five feet nothing, not counting her stacked auburn hair, done up with daisies for the celebration. It looked nice, and I could tell she felt pretty.

  She gave my sister a conspiratorial grin. "Thank you so much for all your help in the library this morning. I don't think I could have handled that fiasco without you."

  Melody let out a small laugh. "It was nothing."

  "I really appreciate it," she continued. "I mean, who in their right mind would think it's a good idea to add Myra Jackson's false eye into the jewelry display? Even if it is a family heirloom." Darla Grace shuddered.

  My sister chuckled. "You just need to learn how to say no."

  "No," I said under my breath as Virginia Wydell sat down in the front row, right next to Montgomery. "Those were supposed to be our seats. He just let her take them."

  "Oh." Melody cringed. "Well, the Wydell Family Foundation is funding the movie. He probably didn't think he had a choice. Don't worry. We don't have to sit anywhere near them."

  "We won't," I said. Not while I was still breathing. "But we'd better find a spot. And soon."

  Melody and I started toward the stands with Darla in tow when one of the young college volunteers rushed us. Panic widened her ice blue eyes and her bangs tangled in the sweat on her brow. "Disaster. Anarchy. I need you and Darla right now. The Jacksons are demanding we expand the exhibit."

  "Don't you dare," I told them both. "I'm sure you've already done a wonderful job." They deserved more than political bickering in return. "Let's go, or we're going to miss the whole Yankee charge." I'd witnessed every reenactment since I was three years old, and I wasn't about to be left out this year.

  "Expanding the exhibit is the only way to keep
the peace," the student pleaded. She held up her phone. "I have a text from Montgomery. He says to work it out."

  Darla groaned. "We don't want to offend the Jacksons or the Wydells, not at this hour."

  Melody shot an apologetic glance to Darla. "I shouldn't have put out the Wydells' vintage corsets and lingerie. That might have tipped the scales."

  "It did." Their panicked coworker looked ready to swoon. "The Jacksons retaliated with two muskets and a fainting couch." She drew a deep breath before rushing on. "Rumor has it Virginia Wydell just sent her eldest son to go dig into the family taxidermy collection."

  "Perfect," I said. I had the solution. "This is a fine time to teach our fellow citizens the meaning of the word no."

  Both Melody and Darla Grace's heads whipped around to cast equally horrified stares at me. "No!" they sobbed in unison.

  Hmm… Perhaps this is why I tended to get into trouble, while they did not.

  Melody touched her forehead, gathering her wits. "Don't worry. We'll sort everything out. As long as the heirlooms don't keep coming." She dropped her hand. "Verity, I have to handle this. You might as well go ahead and enjoy the reenactment."

  "Not in a million years," I told her. I couldn't have fun while Melody and Darla were in such a spot. Besides, I didn't want to be anywhere near Virginia Wydell without my sister there for moral support. "If you simply cannot leave this undone, then you can count on me to help." Besides, it would be neat to see all the old relics and knickknacks.

  Darla's brows pinched together. "We'd love that, but you can't. We had to sign papers. Approved personnel only."

  Melody cast me a helpless look. "I'm afraid the rules are pretty strict."

  "Okay, then." I felt for them, I truly did. "Just think," I said, trying to make it better, "after tomorrow's brunch it will be all over."

  Both of them winced.

  "Thanks for the deadline reminder," Darla groused.

  Shoot. I hadn't quite thought of it that way.

  "Go," Melody urged. "Find a seat."

  That could be hard. The crowd had thinned around the grandstand, which meant most of them were in it. I watched as Melody and Darla made their way toward the library, trailed by the volunteer. I wished I could have done more.