Southern Bred and Dead (Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 9) Read online

  “Ha,” I said, trying to sound as if I could afford it. “I think I’ll save my dinners for the gorgeous and not-available-anymore Ellis Wydell.”

  She grinned and fanned herself playfully as my boyfriend walked up from the side of the church, right on cue.

  “Music to my ears, darlin’,” he said, brushing a kiss across my cheek.

  Ellis was the most handsome man in three counties, and no, I wasn’t exaggerating a bit. He had the broad-shouldered strength a man could only earn through real-life labor and not in a gym. Better still, he possessed a rugged lean-on-me quality. He watched out for the people he cared about. He had a soft spot for kids and animals. And he topped that with a devilish grin that undid me every time.

  “You look like you’ve been working,” I said, running my hands down his broad arms. His dress shirt was damp with perspiration and his hair mussed.

  “I was clearing some brush out from around some of the tombstones out back. My mom has me running a security station at the rear of the church,” he said, clearly enjoying my attention.

  “Why does she think she needs security?” I asked. “Have the deer been getting out of hand?”

  Ellis laughed. “I think she likes organizing things, and I’m always ready to be of service,” he said. The corner of his mouth hitched up. “So, yes, I’m manning a completely unnecessary ‘command station’ in case of emergency because we need a full police presence at each and every society fundraiser,” he added with no shortage of irony.

  “I do always feel safe in Sugarland,” I teased.

  He tipped his hat. “I allowed myself to take a break when I heard your car coming.”

  “Ah, yes. The distinct rattle of an old transmission. You never miss a clue.”

  “Or an opportunity to see you,” he said, making me go a little melty. “Listen, I have to head back, but I wanted to mention I saw your grandmother’s friend Jorie. She brought me a cookie.” At least someone was eating the cookies. “She said she’d be inside by the bell tower stairs. She has something for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, kissing him on the cheek, holding his hand a second too long before he winked and made his way back through the side graveyard toward the rear of the church.

  “I promise I’m not looking at his butt, but I think my ovaries just clenched,” Emily said under her breath to me.

  “I’ve never kicked him out of bed for eating crackers,” I teased.

  “I’d let him crack open some crab legs and pour a beer,” she vowed before we said our goodbyes and I headed inside to see what Jorie had for me.

  I took cover behind the ladies drinking lemonade and deftly ducked past a welcome banner, barely avoiding Virginia Wydell as she charged down the main stairs. She wore an icy, professional smile, and her youngest son—my ex—Beau Wydell, followed her closely, snapping pictures with his professional-grade camera.

  Beau saw me and waved. I was a tad embarrassed to be caught between a Kinko’s banner and a forsythia bush, but it didn’t matter. The bone-thin, steel-spined Virginia was too busy greeting Myrna Jackson, one of the richest women in Sugarland, to notice me brushing a few leaves out of my belt.

  I slipped up the stairs behind Virginia and into the cool, dark interior of the church, breathing in the scent of lemon furniture polish and old wood.

  “Would you like a tour of the steeple?” asked longtime volunteer Fiera Marlow. She’d wound her long gray hair into a braided bun with an accent braid framing her face, which proved she was way better at YouTube tutorials than I’d ever be.

  Fiera might be older than me, but she’d also worked a farm for sixty years and would no doubt enjoy besting me in a trip up to the top of the tower. “The stairs are small and steep, so we’re taking it one at a time,” Fiera said, “but the view is amazing, and we’ll even let you ring the bell.”

  “I’d like to, but first, have you seen Jorie?”

  “She’s somewhere around here,” Fiera said, her focus turning to a woman walking down from the front of the church. “Hello, Bree. Care to tour the tower? There’s no line right now,” she added, sweetening the pot.

  “Hey, Bree,” I said, brightening. I hadn’t seen her since I’d helped her solve a ghost-dog haunting. Bree, an African American girl with natural hair and cat-eye glasses, worked at our local animal shelter. The honey badger tattoo on her arm never failed to tickle me.

  “Verity!” She gave me a big hug. “It’s so nice to see you. A tour sounds great, Fiera,” Bree added, smoothing her orange and green daisy print dress. “Will you be around?” she asked me.

  “Sure.” I waved her off. “Go explore.”

  I’d find Jorie in the meantime. The church wasn’t that big. I ran a hand along the wooden benches, as old as the church itself, as I walked down the center aisle.

  My friend Maisie Hatcher crowded up front behind the altar with several others, listening in rapt attention to Pastor Clemens as he gestured to the large wood carving of the three angels.

  The ladies fawned over him, which didn’t surprise me in the least. Pastor Clemens was a handsome man.

  He resembled a younger Harrison Ford, his gestures and manner both grand and down-to-earth. I watched as he murmured a joke that caused the group to titter.

  It wasn’t immediately clear if Jorie stood with them, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Instead, I slipped into a pew a few rows back to wait for the tour to end.

  Pastor Mike Clemens descended from one of the eight sons of the legendary Pastor Delmore Clemens, who led the church through the Great Depression and remained in charge until he died at the pulpit, mid-sermon, in 1957.

  Each of the eight sons of the esteemed pastor were pillars of Sugarland society in their own right and had made it very fashionable to donate to the upkeep of the old church.

  Frankie shimmered into the seat next to me.

  “How’d it go with Davey?” I murmured.

  The corners of his mouth turned down. “He stole my shoelaces.”

  I tried to hide my smile. “Can’t say you didn’t see that coming.”

  “I was distracted,” Frankie said defensively, straightening his suit jacket and settling back. “The kid was acting strange.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said, leaving it at that.

  “Well…death.” It could be tough on anybody.

  “It’s more than that,” he said, and I could see the wheels turning.

  On the bright side, Frankie wasn’t thinking about the stakeout anymore.

  “Why don’t you try finding another old friend?” I suggested. “They can’t all be like Davey.”

  The gangster snorted. “The former members of the Three Angels Church aren’t exactly the people I hung out with.” I geared myself up for another pep talk, and he must have seen it coming because he cut me off at the pass. “Why don’t you take a look and see for yourself?”

  “I hardly think—oh,” I murmured as his power trickled over me. He’d taken care to be gentle this time, and still it felt like a thousand hot needles prickling over my skin.

  I straightened as the ghostly side of the historic church began to appear. When I had Frankie’s power, I could see the other side in black and white, almost like a sheer layer over the real-world version. I could smell the things they smelled, hear the things they did.

  And if things turned bad, I could be shot by ghostly bullets or struck by ghostly blows. They were as real to me as the wooden bench under me and the antique chandelier above.

  And as the last of Frankie’s power settled over me, I tuned in to the low, rich tones of organ music floating from the front, a somber, haunting hymn.

  The ghostly stage reflected the vision of the strongest ghost present. I called it the dominant ghost. And as I took in the altered state of the church, I tried to locate him or her.

  “Do you know who’s in charge here?” I murmured.

  “Not sure.” Frankie shrugged. “Maybe her.”

/>   I followed his gaze to the serious-looking spirit of a woman playing the organ.

  The song ended on a long, lingering note.

  “That was lovely.” I resisted the urge to clap for a performance no one living could hear. The figure remained seated at the bench, unmoving, her fingers lingering on the keys. “Is she okay?”

  “How should I know?” Frankie glanced behind us. “I was trying to show you this crazy-eyed golfer holding a nine iron, but now I don’t know where he went.”

  “It’s just as well, I’d probably try to talk to him,” I teased.

  “I did,” Frankie countered. “He don’t talk back.”

  “You’re not the easiest person to get to know,” I reminded him. Frankie tended to be as friendly as a fire ant. I’d only broken through to him because he couldn’t get rid of me.

  “Let’s go,” Frankie prodded. “I’m bored stiff and I don’t like the vibe.”

  “Not yet.” I still had to talk to Jorie. And I felt bad for the poor organist. She stared straight ahead, her mop of hair limp, the chains of her glasses dangling, her hands frozen on the keyboard.

  She seemed out of sorts.

  And as long as I had a few moments to spare… “I’ll be right back,” I told him.

  “I tuned you in to get you out of here,” he hollered after me, “not to make friends.”

  Too late. It would only take a minute to make sure everything was okay.

  I approached the organist slowly. “That was a lovely song,” I said gently to avoid startling her or disrespecting this holy place. “You play so well.”

  She didn’t speak, but I saw her pinkie finger twitch.

  Perhaps she wasn’t used to conversation. Especially with the living. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t move.

  “I’m only visiting,” I continued, keeping it light. “And I don’t mean to intrude if it’s none of my business.” She could be perfectly alright, merely shy. “I wonder. Do you play all the time here, or are you just visiting, too?”

  She straightened and looked directly at me. That was when I noticed a knife buried in her chest. Poor thing!

  No wonder she seemed distressed.

  I tried not to stare. It wasn’t her fault she’d been stabbed.

  I made myself smile at her, never mind her gray-rimmed, wild eyes or the blood dripping from the knife. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  I didn’t let it bother me when she didn’t respond. “My name is Verity Long, and I live a few miles from here.”

  She looked to her chest and slowly tugged the bloody knife free.

  “Oh, ouch,” I stammered.

  Blood bubbled out of the wound, soaking her dress.

  “Oh, goodness. My.” Truly, I hadn’t meant for her to do that. “Maybe put that back.”

  It had to hurt either way.

  She looked up at me. “You,” she rasped wetly, holding up the bloody, gleaming butcher knife.

  “Come here,” she hissed, surging straight at me.

  Chapter Three

  I dashed out of the church and into the yard. I ran past the parking lot and kept going. I didn’t stop until I nearly collided with the ghost of a bloody golfer wandering trancelike across the front drive. I dodged him and dared a glance over my shoulder.

  “Now can we leave?” Frankie’s voice sounded in my ear.

  The church doors hung open. Kelli and Bree stood on the steps, looking at me like I was ten shades of crazy. I didn’t care. The doorway behind them remained dark. The ghost with the knife hadn’t given chase.

  Thank goodness and hallelujah. I bent over, hands on my knees, breathing hard.

  I heard the next thing before I saw it, glancing up through my disheveled hair. A posse of society ladies gathered around the lemonade, snickering at me. Myrna Jackson stood behind them, glaring at me as if this scene were my fault.

  My stomach dipped a little. Sure, my calling was a bit unusual. It would have been nice to get through the afternoon without a scene, but I didn’t always have control over that.

  “If you’ve got time to gossip, you’ve got time to sell raffle tickets,” Emily called, waving her roll of pink tickets, earning a few sour looks herself.

  I directed a small smile Emily’s way. Thank heaven for small favors and kindly dance instructors. Shake it off. I straightened. I was used to the talk. And glad the ghost hadn’t chased me because I’d blown clear past my car. Where did I think I was running? Home?

  I smoothed my skirt and took a deep breath to calm my racing pulse, not in any hurry to face the music.

  “It’s fine,” Bree announced, trying to usher them all back inside. “Come on. Verity just needs a little space.”

  It only made them dig in more. It was like they sensed a show coming.

  Two seconds later, they had it. The growing crowd on the steps directed their attention to Ellis striding down the left side of the church, past Emily’s tent, and right for me.

  “Hey,” I said, meeting him halfway in the parking lot. I offered him a sheepish wave as he scooped me into his arms.

  I thought I’d been doing all right, but as soon as I buried my head in his chest, a shudder ran through me and I had to fight to keep it together. I clung to his shoulders and forced myself to steady my breath.

  “What happened?” he asked, drawing a lock of hair out of my eyes, shielding me from the crowd with his body and the back of a GMC Canyon Denali. “My mom saw you talking to nobody by the organ, so I turned on my ghost app.” Ellis’s app was a work-in-progress, invented by ghost hunters we’d met on our last adventure. The technology interpreted spiritual energy into words, but it wasn’t always accurate. “My app said, ‘Knife. Stab.’”

  Oh, okay. Well, in this case, the technology worked perfectly.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and told Ellis about the organist who seemed to have it out for me.

  “That’s it,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I’m taking you home. I’ll fix you a late lunch and we can relax.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, and not just because Ellis couldn’t boil water. “I’ve been threatened by ghosts before. I’m fine.” Many of those situations had been even more terrifying than this, although I tended to keep that sort of thing to myself.

  The best and worst thing about Ellis was his protective nature. He’d gone into law enforcement to protect people, and that included keeping a keen eye on me. Still, he couldn’t help me deal with the other side when he couldn’t see it.

  That part drove him crazy.

  “Look,” I said, running a hand down his arm, trying to calm us both down. “Truth is, I think this one got to me because I wasn’t expecting it.” The ghost worked as a church organist, for goodness’ sake. And once I’d stopped to take a breath, it really hit me how strange the haunting on this property felt, especially since I’d tuned in.

  The sky was blue, the breeze lovely. Yet my pulse raced. I’d come here to relax and have a nice afternoon out, to connect with my grandma’s old friend. Why did I feel inexplicably angry?

  “When did people abandon this church?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ellis stated, trying to move on. “We need to talk about what’s going on now.”

  But it did matter. I could feel it in my gut. “Something happened here. I can feel the anger in the air like a living thing.”

  “There’s a lot bothering me, and it’s not the air.” Ellis ran his hands through his hair, his jaw tight and his manner stiff. Whatever had me on edge appeared to be affecting him, too. “Verity, we need to talk about this ghost-hunting thing.”

  On our last adventure, I’d overheard Ellis spilling his troubles to Frankie, not that he could even see my ghost. But Ellis had confided that he didn’t like me taking the kind of chances I did while ghost hunting and how he wished I’d stop. How he found it impossible to protect me when I opened myself to an entirely different plane of existence.

  He’d told my ghost and not me. A
nd that hurt. It frustrated me to realize Ellis hadn’t trusted me with his worries—that he’d kept his feelings hidden. I’d fully expected to have a rational discussion when the time was right.

  I didn’t care how long he had been holding it in. This was not the time.

  “You’re still shaking,” Ellis said, like an accusation. “This is crazy. Ghost hunting is taking over your life. You need to stop.”

  Like I could simply turn it off. Well, technically, Frankie could. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. “We are not going to have this conversation now,” I warned him. Not in this place. Not with these people watching. He’d had every opportunity to tell me how he felt on the last fifty dates we’d had; he didn’t need to tell me now.

  “I swear to heaven, Verity,” he gritted out. “We can’t put this off forever.”

  Maybe not forever, but he could certainly wait a few hours. It wasn’t as if I were the only one who’d been putting this off.

  A half dozen more ladies had already filed out of the church to watch. No, make that a dozen. It was like they could smell gossip from twenty paces.

  This was impossible. To be honest, my relationship troubles might have been the reason I’d gone overboard on self-help books lately. “Look, this is neither the time nor the place to have this talk. You’re not the kind of guy who confronts someone in public about a private matter,” I reminded him. “Actually, we don’t fight at all.”

  “Maybe that’s our problem,” he said ruefully.

  Oh boy.

  As if pulled on a string, Pastor Mike emerged with another gaggle of ladies. The poor man tried to get the other rubbernecking do-gooders back inside, but now we had a grandstand going on the steps of the church.

  Virginia Wydell stared down on us from the bell tower. She gripped the wooden ledge like she wished she could yank it off and toss it at me.