The Ghoul Next Door (32 page)

“
This
is where you grew up?” my boyfriend, Heath, asked me as our van came to a stop.

I stared up at the large plantation home of my childhood and tried to see it through Heath’s eyes. The stately six-bedroom, five-bath home sat atop a large hill, which I used to roll down when I was little. I had found such joy in rolling down that hill. And the grand, ancient sixty-foot oak tree that dominated the far right side of the yard, where I’d had a swing that I used to ride for hours. And the long wraparound porch, where I’d spent lazy summer days cuddled up with a good book and glass after glass of pink lemonade.

Of course, all of that was before my mother had died. Before all the joy went right out of my life and right out of that house.

Looking up at the dark redbrick manor with black shutters and a gleaming white porch, I could see that not much had changed about the house in thirty years. It still looked as grand, charming, and pristine as ever, but inside I could feel the ghosts that haunted the old Southern home. Literally.

“Are we there yet?” Gil yawned from the backseat. Gilley is my BFF. He’s been my best friend for more than twenty years, so he knows my history well.

“We’re here,” Heath said, arching his back and stretching. It’d been a long drive from Boston to the southern Georgia city of Valdosta. “I didn’t know this place was gonna be so . . . big.”

Gil sat up and leaned forward. “M.J. didn’t tell you?” he asked, like I wasn’t in the van. “Her daddy’s a very wealthy man.”

I scowled. Gil made it sound like that was something to be proud of. But since my mother’s death twenty-three years ago now, Daddy had always put his work before me, so I hardly thought it a positive thing. Plus, he’d never once offered to help me out in all those years Gil and I had struggled to make ends meet in Boston.

“Yeah, he’d have to be rich to afford this place,” Heath said. My gaze shifted to him. He looked intimidated, and I thought I knew why. Heath came from far humbler—but perhaps more honorable—circumstances.

“Hey,” I said, reaching for his hand. “It’s his money, not mine.”

Heath tore his eyes away from the house. “Yeah, but, Em, I mean . . . look at this place.”

“It’s just a house,” I said, leaning in to give him a quick peck before getting out of the van.

As we exited the van, the front porch door opened and out stepped Daddy. My breath caught in surprise at the sight of him. I barely recognized the man standing there.

My father had always been a tall and imposing figure. Well over six feet tall, he’d been a big barrel of a man who’d gone prematurely gray, then silver, and whose countenance had always appeared to be tired and overworked. The man on the porch, whom I hadn’t seen in several years, was still tall and imposing, but he’d trimmed down by at least forty pounds—pounds that he’d always carried around his middle and that he really had needed to lose. His hair was also darker, but it suited him and made him look ten years younger, and his face, normally set in a deep frown, was actually lifted into an expression I’d never seen him wear. The man actually looked happy.

“You okay?” Heath whispered and I realized he’d come right up next to me and taken my hand.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head a little. “He just looks—”

“Amazing,” Gil said on the other side of me. “Lord, M.J., is that really Montgomery Holliday?

“Hey there, Mary Jane,” my father called from the porch with a wave. “I was expectin’ you a little later. Y’all must’ve made good time.”

“Hey, Daddy,” I replied as we headed up the walk toward the stairs. “We did make good time.”

My father nodded and adopted something halfway between a grimace and a smile, but I couldn’t really fault the man for it. If you don’t ever smile even once in twenty years, I expect you’d be out of practice.

The porch door opened again and out stepped a lovely-looking woman perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties. She had a regal quality about her, with short-cropped and perfectly coiffed blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a trim figure. Her smile was brilliant and contagious, and she clapped her hands at the sight of us. “Ooo!” she exclaimed. “Monty, is this your daughter?”

I had climbed the steps and now stood in front of Daddy and the woman who must be his new fiancée, Christine Bigelow. “This is her, dear,” Daddy said, stepping forward to open up his arms to me.

For a moment, I just stood there, confused. Daddy hadn’t hugged me since the day my mother died. In fact, that was perhaps the last day he’d ever touched me tenderly, so this open display of affection was throwing me a little, and I didn’t know how to react.

Next to me I heard Gil clear his throat, then push me with his hand a little, and I sort of took two awkward steps forward. Daddy hugged me with three neat pats on the back before letting go. He continued to wear that strange half-smile, half-grimace too.

And then I was wrapped up in another hug from Christine. She squeezed me tight and added another “Ooo!” Then she stepped back and held me at arm’s length. “Mary Jane, I have heard so many wonderful things about you! Your father simply raves about how smart and amazing his little girl is!”

“You have?” I said. “He does?” I wasn’t trying to be a snot. I was actually really surprised that Daddy would say anything even remotely kind on my behalf. He’d spent decades letting everyone else know what a disappointment I was to him.

“Well, of course!” she said, and then her bright eyes turned to the two men at my side. “Now, don’t tell me. Let me guess,” she said to them. Pointing to Heath, she said, “You must be Heath Whitefeather, Mary Jane’s boyfriend, and you,” she said next, pointing to Gil, “must be Gilley Gillespie, Mary Jane’s best friend. Am I right?”

“What gave it away?” Gil said, and I wanted to roll my eyes. Gilley was actually wearing mascara and blush today, along with blue nail polish. He loved flaunting his flamboyant side in my conservative Southern Baptist father’s face.

“Your mama described her handsome son to a T,” Christine told him slyly. The tactic worked: Gil blushed and I knew she’d just claimed another ally.

“It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Heath said, extending his hand to her.

Christine laughed lightly and shook her head, stepping forward to hug Heath. “Oh, none of that formal stuff for family, Heath!” she said.

I hate to admit it, but the lovely warmth and charm of the woman had an effect on me. I liked her. A lot. And I couldn’t understand what she’d first seen in my father, but looking at the dramatic change in him, I had to be grateful because it was a world of difference.

Once she’d had her fill of hugs, Christine took up my arm and Gilley’s and said, “Now! Let’s all step inside and have ourselves a proper lunch, shall we?”

We were all set to follow her and Daddy inside when a pickup truck came barreling up the drive at an alarming speed, honking its horn to get our attention. Daddy’s posture and countenance changed in a second, and he edged forward to the top step, ready to handle whatever was to come next.

Heath moved over to stand next to Daddy, and I could tell that my father approved of the move and perhaps even of Heath at that moment. The truck came to a stop and out jumped a man in jeans, a plaid shirt, a stained cowboy hat, and work boots. “Mrs. Bigelow!” he called urgently.

“Clay,” my father said, his voice full of the authority that used to send me scurrying.

Clay removed his hat and nodded to my father. He looked out of breath. “Mr. Holliday, sorry to trouble you, but we’ve had another situation at the work site.”

Daddy moved down two steps toward Clay, and Heath followed him. Next to me, Christine stood rigid, biting her lip as if she knew the news was bad.

“It’s another accident,” Clay said.

“What happened?” Daddy demanded.

“The scaffolding in the ballroom gave way, sir. Two of my men were sent to the hospital.”

“Oh, no!” Christine exclaimed. “Clay, are they badly injured?”

Clay clenched and unclenched his hat. “Not real bad, ma’am, but bad enough. Boone’s got a busted ankle, and Darryl might have a broken arm.”

Christine’s posture relaxed a fraction. “Oh, that’s dreadful,” she said. “But I’m so grateful it wasn’t worse! Monty, after lunch we should go straight to the hospital to see the men. And of course I’ll cover their medical expenses.”

“Now just hold on here,” my father interjected. “Clay, that scaffolding is your responsibility. If it wasn’t properly put together, Christine ain’t gonna be responsible for no medical expenses.”

It was Clay’s turn to stiffen. “Mr. Holliday, sir, that scaffolding was put together right. Why, I checked it myself this morning. Just like I checked all the other equipment and rigging that’s somehow managed to come apart, or blow up, or fail on us and cause nothing but accidents at this job site. It ain’t us, sir.”

“Well, then, who’s responsible?” Daddy snapped.

Clay fiddled with his hat and looked at the ground. “It’s like I told you last time, Mrs. Bigelow,” he said, avoiding my father’s sharp gaze. “We think your place is cursed, and, ma’am, I truly am sorry, but I’m pulling my crew.”

“You’re what?” Daddy roared loud enough for Clay to jump.

But the foreman wasn’t backing down. Donning his hat, he looked directly at Christine and said, “I’m real sorry, ma’am. But that estate has somethin’ bad creeping through those halls. I’ve tried to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep messin’ with it, and maybe you’d best cut your losses too, before you or someone you love gets hurt same as my men. Anyway, we’re leaving. I just wanted to come tell y’all in person.”

With that, he turned and headed back to his truck, even though Daddy called after him to come back and talk about it.

As Clay’s pickup drove away, I turned to Christine. She looked stricken.

I knew from the gossip mill that Daddy’s new fiancée—a wealthy widow from Florida—was also new to our small city. She’d purchased the estate of what had once been a prominent family here, the Porters of Valdosta, only six months earlier. She’d hired Daddy to represent her during the purchase, and Gilley’s mama suggested that the two of them had taken to each other immediately. That Christine had managed to transform my old curmudgeonly father into a more youthful and happy man in such a short time was a true testament to her character, I thought.

And I also felt better knowing that it didn’t appear she was after Daddy for his money. If she had enough cash to purchase and renovate the Porter estate, then she was well-off indeed.

The Porters had made their money through tobacco, but as smoking declined beginning in the nineteen eighties, so had the family fortune. Through mismanagement and family greed, much of the Porter’s once-vast fortune had been squandered, and most of the family had fled Valdosta in shame.

A few members still lived in and around the area, but the estate, which the family had been trying to unload for decades, had become a huge tax burden. It too had fallen on hard times as it’d been all but abandoned since the early 2000s. The word was that Christine had picked it up for a song, but it needed so much in renovations that no one thought it a bargain.

“That’s the third contractor to quit on us in as many months, Monty,” Christine said, her voice holding a slight note of panic.

Daddy turned and came back up the steps, reaching out for her hand, which was still looped with mine. “Now, now, Christy, don’t you worry. We’ll find another, better contractor.”

I could see that Christine’s eyes were beginning to water, and she blinked rapidly to fight the tears. “But what if he’s right?” she whispered. “Monty, what if there really is something in that old place causing all those accidents?”

Daddy adopted a patient look, but I could see he didn’t believe a word of it. That didn’t surprise me—even though I’d shown him enough evidence through the years to convince mostly anybody, Daddy never admitted that he believed in ghosts.

“Bah,” he said. “Christy, Clay’s just covering his tracks, is all! He’s trying to avoid getting sued by his workers, honey. I’ll bet money he didn’t check that scaffolding, and it’s his fault it fell down.”

“We could check it out,” Heath said suddenly. “M.J. and I could go over there and tell you for sure if there’s a spook haunting the place.”

My eyes cut to him and I shook my head subtly. But he was focused on Christine, who was obviously distressed. I knew he wanted to help, but he didn’t know my father.

And just as I suspected, I saw Daddy’s own eyes cut to Heath and his lips press together in a disapproving scowl.

But Christine had already stepped forward and reached for Heath’s hands. “Oh, would you?” she cried desperately. “I’d be most grateful, Heath.” Turning to me, she added, “Most grateful to both of you!”

I stood there dumbstruck, not really believing what’d just happened. One minute we were headed in for a nice get-to-know-you lunch, and the next minute Heath was committing us to a ghostbust on our vacation. Which of course was my luck.

“It’d be our pleasure,” Heath assured her, nodding his head and smiling encouragingly at me.

“Of—of course,” I stammered as Christine hugged first Heath, then me and showered us with thank-yous.

Daddy cleared his throat, his irritation lessening but still simmering below the surface. “Well, now that’s settled, maybe we can all go in now and enjoy our lunch.”

As we filed into the house after Daddy, Gilley sidled up next to me wearing a mocking grin. He was enjoying this a little too much.

“Shut it,” I hissed at him.

Gil adopted an injured expression. “I didn’t say a word!”

I glared at him. “Oh, but you will.”

“Well,” Gil replied, “that’s a given, sugar. That’s a given.”