A Haunting Affair Read online

  A Haunting Affair

  By Ursula Bauer

  Copyright 2011 by Christine D'Allaird.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  First Smashwords Edition: June 2011

  Cover design: Glendon Haddix of Streetlight Graphics (www.streetlightgraphics.com).

  DISCLAIMER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  LICENSE NOTES

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then this book was pirated. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Books By Ursula Bauer

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Immortal Protector

  Excerpt from Immortal Illusions

  Chapter One

  Emma Bishop’s father was king of the con men, and her mother, his queen. As the heir apparent, she’d learned every trick, including how to spot trouble an hour before it hit town. All her years since her escape at age eighteen had been legit, but you didn’t ever lose the skills you gained growing up in the life, or ‘on the grift,’ as it was known. Holloway Lodge, the estate grounds, this job, they were trouble. Pure. Plain. Simple.

  The late October wind rattled trees like knuckle-bone chimes, and everything smelled dead. Not mountain fresh, not clean and healthy, but wet and dead and rotten to the core. Emma took the measure of the timber monstrosity that passed for a home from the safety of her car, and knew, deep down in every single one of her bones, coming was a bad decision. Staying was worse.

  Here the air worried, and the land carried the stamp of sorrow and menace. For generations, the shadowy Adirondack great camp was a Vaughn family compound. Five years ago it became the scene of a sensational, unsolved murder, when the elder brother’s wife was killed. This spring death struck again, taking that same brother in a freak car accident. Tragedy was nothing new to the cursed line. Each generation Vaughn wives died under mysterious circumstances, and the sons found early graves as well. Few if any children were born, and when they were, trouble was their shadow. They had wealth, prestige and the mother-load of bad karmic debt.

  She took a cleansing breath and tried to shake the heebie jeebies loose. When a tentative calm settled around her, she released the steering wheel and opened her psychic channels. Emma reached deep into the preliminary energy read, searching for truth and connection in the sinister undercurrents. Instead of picking up the more of the vibe, she ran head first into her own better judgment telling her to cut and run.

  Initial impressions of doom aside, she needed to sort out her priorities. Emma bit back a frustrated curse and pressed the mental reset button. Whether a con or a legit gig, the start of a job was the start of a job. You either committed all the way or moved on. Half way never brought anything but disaster. The choice to engage always came down to the simple debate of risk versus reward. Was the game worth playing? Was the prize worth the danger?

  If she wanted the kind of fortune and respect her boss, world renowned medium Eric Savitch commanded, then she needed Holloway Lodge and the unprecedented opportunity it offered. Eric was counting on her, she couldn’t let down the man who’d become her surrogate family. These were the reasons she took the job, these were strong enough rewards to shut out her fear and get on with things. If she ran, she may never get this chance again. If she ran, what was her word worth? The risk of loss was too great. On both counts.

  Pushing off her earlier reservations, Emma climbed out of the car and shrugged into her coat. At least the driving rainstorms were at pause. She thought she’d dressed for the hostile climate, but what passed for warm and dry in the southern locale of New York City didn’t quite cut it in the great white north of the Adirondack high peaks. Standing against the night, she kept her eyes open and let her mind drift, riding the strange currents of energy as far as they’d take her.

  The wind gained strength, stirring up the smell of sodden earth and decay. Malice radiated from the main building. The yellow light hazing through windows was swallowed by the darkness, leaving the wrap-around porch swathed in uncertain shadows. The sharp roof edges stood blacker than the evening gloom, creating a sinister presence that all but breathed.

  How she could have been so wrong in her initial assessment of the job? Research was a mainstay for her. Somehow the place didn’t look as bad in the pictures she’d been given, or the ones she’d pulled up on the internet. Settling inside, calming her core as her boss called it, she tried to absorb, filter and spin out the psychic energy. She was the conduit. She was the guide. Mentally, she pictured the grounds, trying to pull in more of the ambient vibe.

  To the left and right of the sprawling menace, small guest cottages hunched warily along the shore of a bottomless lake she knew existed, but could not see. Beyond would be the foundation remains of a large building that once housed a laundry to serve the estate, and had in more modern times been converted to a sumptuous guest annex before becoming a burned out grave. Farther into the woods were skeletal remains of derelict buildings. During the gilded age, an army of servants lived there while providing support to the active lodge.

  Everywhere the marks of ghosts were present, and the thought gave Emma the kind of chill she couldn’t shake. When several moments passed without event, she breathed a sigh of relief and let the real world flood back into view. She squeezed the key fob and popped the trunk. The normal sound anchored her back into the firm safety of reality.

  So what the place gave her the creepy-crawlies, she thought, hefting her suitcase from the trunk. So what evil choked the frigid air and the spirits of the wrongfully dead did anything but rest in peace. She was here to do a job no one else could seem to get done. This would make or break her in that next level of professional recognition, and she was gunning for the make and not the break.

  Emma pulled out a large garment bag and slung it over her shoulder, slammed down the trunk, and popped the handle to her rollaway suitcase. The wind roared without mercy as she crossed the crunchy gravel drive. The sound grew strange and distorted. She cocked her head and listened closer. The wind died suddenly and all went still. Then, from nowhere and everywhere at once, a human cry filled the emptiness. The pitiful weeping fell from the mountain side, landing deep into the surrounding valley, where it shook the very earth. Electricity crackled along her exposed skin. She drew her arms to herself in protection. The weeping sound multiplied with echo upon echo, and though she crammed her hands over her ears to block the horror, it continued.

  Focus, she told herself. Focus and forget the fear.

  This whole communing with the dead thing wasn’t her forte, but she could bend her own talent enough at times to make connections. Emma lowered her han
ds and opened herself to the sensations, and as she did the sound gentled, became more distinct. Soft spoken words, whispers she strained to make out, teased on the edge of comprehension. The words repeated but she couldn’t catch the meaning no matter how she tried.

  As fast as it had started, the spirit contact ended. The electric energy vanished, and the wind became the wind again, rustling mindlessly around the clearing that served as a parking lot. Breath heaved out of her lungs in a grateful rush. The psychic event was powerful. And promising. If she was that tuned into the spectral energies right out of the gate, the game was hers. If you survive, a small voice cautioned.

  Grabbing the roll away handle, she approached the front entry with her shoulders squared and her senses open and ready. A shadow detached itself from the gloom on the porch and her heart leapt into her throat.

  “Spooky, isn’t it?” The shadow had a man’s voice. A nice one at that. Deep and resonant, the kind of voice that could talk a woman into all kinds of crazy things.

  She found her own voice and answered the darkness. “It’s the scene of a brutal, unsolved murder. Spooky is part of the package.”

  “Some people say it was suicide.” The shadow stepped closer to an anemic swath of light, revealing a long body, wide shoulders, and a strong profile, but not much more in terms of detail. What was there, however, was promising.

  “People say a lot of things about Jennifer Vaughn’s death. Murder at the hands of an obsessive stalker. Death at the hands of her jealous husband. Robbery gone wrong. I’ve even heard the Lakeside Ghost is responsible,” she countered.

  “Eric said you’re always on top of your facts. Looks like he was correct. As to the theories, knowing the Vaughns and their history, any one is a good possibility.”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To help you figure it out once and for all?” She advanced as they talked, eager to get a better look. She couldn’t resist a good mystery, or a good man, two top runners on her fatal flaw list. She cleared the last shadows, and looked up the stairs at his silhouette. “I’m Emma Bishop.”

  “Sam Tyler. I was wondering when you’d show.” He took the steps with an easy grace at odds with his brawny frame.

  “The last storm slowed me down. I had to pull off into a diner parking lot on the outskirts of town for almost an hour until it finally let up enough to drive. Cell reception’s pretty sketchy. I tried calling a few times from the road but had no signal.”

  “Meyerville’s a town that likes its mountains pure. They’re against too many cell towers. Dead spots all over town and the surrounding hills. Welcome to the outback.”

  Sam reached for her suitcase and she let him take it, enjoying the chivalry as much as the wave of heat radiating from his solid body. The view held up pretty nice, too. He was old school man, ruggedly handsome with black, close cropped hair and cool gray eyes. The polar opposite of the overly groomed metrosexuals who were the steady fare in the circles she frequented.

  He also wore ‘cop’ they way those men wore the latest fragrance from Dolce and Gabana. She knew from Eric’s email that the ‘ex’ in Sam’s ex-cop status was permanent, but some, they had it in the blood, the way the Vaughns had nothing but trouble. Taking away the badge didn’t take away the inner cop. Guys like Sam were the original white knights. Stick them back in the times of old and they’d be first in line to slay the dragon of the day.

  He regarded her with a level gaze. “It’s been a bad season so far. Between the rain and early sleet, we've had road closings, mud slides, and fatality after fatality. I’m glad you showed up in one piece. I was worried.”

  Emma found him instantly intriguing, and vaguely dangerous. A hold over from her old life. It didn’t do to get close to anyone, make yourself vulnerable. Casual, however, was completely acceptable. Which was good, because the way his muscled body filled out those faded jeans and that dark fisherman’s sweater held too much promise to pass up. “I’d worry more about living here than getting here.”

  “I agree. It’s a perfect setting for murder. Remote, exclusive town, with primarily seasonal, rich residents, a token municipal police force, and no one for miles around this estate. There’s even an abandoned sanitarium on the other side of town. It’s a wonder more bodies haven’t turned up. It’s a killer’s dream.” On that cheerful note, he slipped the garment bag from her shoulder.

  As they walked towards the stairs, she debated informing Sam of the spectral event she’d experienced. He’d hired her, after all. But he was still cop to the core, which meant skeptic. She’d have to prove herself all over again. Then again, it would be a good test. Tell him something minor, see how he took it, and determine if she could trust him for heavier things. “I’m amazed anyone voluntarily lives here.”

  “We’re more expensive per square foot than Lake Placid. Older families, more swank, better pedigrees. No simulated bob sled rides, though, and Placid is closer to the good ski trails.”

  “Meyerville has more ghosts,” she said, testing the waters.

  “At least here at Holloway Lodge,” he replied, not missing a beat. “The Lakeside Ghost’s over in the center of town, by Rose Lake. So I guess you’re right. Might even be more. Meyerville’s a weird town.”

  He had a disarming manner and seemed to be a very earnest man. If she told him the truth would he dismiss her out of hand? Mock her? She was used to it from cops, one of the reasons she hated working cold cases at all. He seemed so genuine, with that white sheen of good guy ringing him like a halo. She weighed the risks and figured Eric wouldn’t have stuck her with a jerk, especially on such short notice.

  She stopped him on the porch as he reached for the door.

  “I had an attempted spirit contact a few minutes ago.” When he regarded her again with that potent, unblinking gaze, seemingly clear of judgment, she continued. “The area’s hot, which is a good sign. I don’t normally get hits this quick, or this strong.”

  “I don’t know much about this psychic stuff,” he started.

  Her heart sunk a little, but Sam continued unaware.

  “You’ll need to bring me up to speed, probably more often than not.” He appeared thoughtful as he considered his own words. “Eric says your unique background and particular set of psychic skills puts you at the top of your game. Between the two of us, if there’s anything else to find on this case, we’ll get the job done.”

  He wasn’t one to rush to action, she thought. A man so self assured and sturdy he made her feel safe despite Holloway Lodge’s evil presence. Part of her wanted to sink into the safety, the rest of her recoiled at the thought. She took care of herself. The risks of leaning on someone were way too high. “I’ll explain what I do as we go. I have the crash course version, but you strike me as the type who likes the details.”

  “Big picture’s always good, but it’s the little things that tell the most.” That whiskey smooth voice tickled her ears, turned up the heat in her blood another dangerous degree. “Connecting so quickly, it’s a good thing, right?”

  “It’s a good thing.” Emma was off kilter and more than a little stunned by how open to her twilight zone he seemed. If he was playing her, she’d lost her edge. She’d need to be careful with this guy. “It is a little unusual for me, but the grounds amplify horror. I wouldn’t be surprised by anything that happens here.”

  Sam tossed a challenging look back at the murky darkness. “I used to love this place when I was a kid. Ever since Jen’s murder, it creeps me out. Reminds me of a blind alley on a dark night—you think twice about going in, and you don’t drop your guard for a second.”

  She liked him, she decided. He certainly took the edge off the fear. As to his ability in the cops and robbers department, according the information Eric had conveyed, he’d single handedly brought down a team of corrupt police and politicians operating covertly for years. It had ended his career, but cleaned out a poisoned squad. Then he stunned everyone by going back to his roots in software engineering. He designed a l
ucrative computer program designed to ferret out industrial espionage deep inside corporate computer systems, then used the money he made to go private with his own security concern, Lost and Found. Which meant the guy was gold in the crime and punishment area.

  Super smart. Super cop. And worst of all, super hot. She needed to watch her step. “You and Jen’s husband Keith were close friends?”

  “Closer than brothers. I’ve known him since kindergarten. We were inseparable until college graduation.”

  What it was like to have that depth of history with someone other than a blood relative? Friends, especially best friends, were off limits for her as a child. She’d done better as an adult, but still, it was awkward, and her social circle was something she kept small and compartmentalized. Better not to think too hard on that, the thoughts were too uncomfortable. “What if we turn up something that pegs Keith as the killer?”

  “Won’t happen. Keith was devoted to Jen. When you see some of the things I have to show you, you’ll understand.”

  “Your loyalty is admirable. In this kind of inquiry, the best approach is with mind wide open. If you go in with too many fixed ideas of what is and what isn’t, you setting yourself up for failure.” She smiled at him, the same way she did with clients who weren’t being entirely truthful, either with her, or with themselves. “Perception is nine tenths of the law. And it’s often faulty. That may be why none of the psychics, shamans, mediums, and, cops, failed to turn anything up over the years.”

  “You don’t like cops very much.”

  Was she that transparent? She was losing her competitive edge. “Not usually. Lucky for you I do like white knights.”

  Something shifted in his gaze. Transforming. Speculative. And predatory.

  “I put you in the guest suite next to mine to keep you close. Things have been off here since Keith’s death last spring, and I don’t want to take chances. I hope that won’t be a problem.”