South of Salem (2) Read online

  South of Salem

  By Janni Nell

  My mother thinks my job is crazy. I’m a paranormal investigator; she’s Nancy Reagan crossed with Martha Stewart. She’s always preferred my sister, Lily, who is following in her perfect footsteps.

  But this time Mom needs my special skills. She believes my stepfather is possessed. I admit he’s not his usual dapper, charming self, but sleepwalking doesn’t sound that weird. Until the sleepwalking spreads through the family and cousin Donna walks right out of her apartment window to her death. Then my sister goes missing and I have to find her and solve the mystery before Lily and her unborn child are harmed.

  Normally I would have assistance, but my right hand, a hunky angel I’ve nicknamed Casper, has business of his own to take care of—business that might take him out of my life forever. The stakes are too high for me to lose, but I’m not sure I can do it alone…

  66,000 words

  May 2011

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always loved May, because it heralds the beginning of one of my favorite seasons—beach season! I’m fortunate to live close to the Atlantic Ocean, so every year in May, I start dreaming about the sound of waves on the sand, dolphins swimming off the coast, and me, lying in a comfortable beach chair, with a frosty beverage in one hand and my eReader in the other. Part of the fun is, of course, planning what I’m going to load onto the eReader for my beach adventures.

  This month of Carina Press releases has provided me with plenty of reading material for my upcoming beach days—not that I’ll be able to wait that long to read them (I do get sneak peek copies in advance, after all). So, with everything from fantasy, to mystery, to contemporary, historical and paranormal romance, it doesn’t matter what I’m in the mood for, Carina Press has something to help me while away the time until I can make my beach dreams a reality.

  I’m especially happy to introduce new novelists Maureen Miller, and her romantic suspense, Endless Night, and Diane Dooley with Blue Galaxy, a science fiction romance that’s out of this world (sorry, I couldn’t resist going for the corny joke). Of course, we also have several return authors as well, with sequels you want to be sure not to miss, including Tangled Past by Leah Braemel, South of Salem from Janni Nell, Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty, Maria Zannini’s Apocalypse Rising and Three Wishes from Jenny Schwartz.

  These books are only a sampling of the tremendous lineup we have for May, so I hope you’ll be sure to take a look at all of the releases, as well as taking advantage of the weekly sales offered on the Carina Press website. And whatever you choose to read, may it help take you one step closer to your own summer getaway!

  We love to hear from readers, and you an email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  According to my brother, the only thing wrong with my first book was that it wasn’t dedicated to him. Well, as this book is about siblings, it seems appropriate to rectify the situation. So this one’s for you, Paul. (Ha! Ha! You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?)

  Acknowledgements

  I got all kinds of lucky when my editor, Elizabeth Bass, read the first Allegra Fairweather book. It’s been a pleasure working with her on book two. I hope we’ll do many more books together.

  Very big thanks to Kimberly Cannon for the fabulous copy edit.

  And to Felicity and Doris, who were there at the beginning. Thanks for your encouraging and insightful comments on Allegra and Casper.

  Contents

  Copyright

  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 One

  “Thank God you’re here.” Mom charged across the airport, ash-blond hair flying every which way, and hugged me in a death-grip that threatened to cut off my circulation. This was highly unusual behavior from a woman who prided herself on behaving with decorum at all times.

  Clutching me to her breast like the desperate heroine of a soap opera, she whispered, “Steven seems to be—” She stopped abruptly as a group of tourists milled around us giving me time to reflect on the Steven in question.

  My stepfather, Steven Richard Hampton, the thirty-second of that name, was a politician and pillar of the community. I tried and failed to imagine what he had done to send Mom rushing through the airport tossing aside her treasured principles of decorum and immaculate grooming like so many how-to-vote pamphlets after polling day.

  When the tourist group had been herded away by their harassed leader, I asked, “What has Steven done?”

  “Sshh—keep your voice down.” Her mascara was smudged and lipstick had bled into the tiny lines near her mouth. “Steven hasn’t done anything. He is p-o-s-s-e-s-s-e-d.”

  div>

  If spelling possessed was her way of keeping his condition secret, she needed some serious lessons in secrecy. “Mom, I think the other people in the airport can spell.”

  “Well of course they can, but I can’t bring myself to say the word. It’s obscene that Steven should be p-o-s-s—”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Can you help him?” Her bloodshot eyes pleaded with me.

  “Hey, I’m a paranormal investigator. It’s what I do.”

  “Keep your voice down. We don’t want everyone to know your profession. Now we won’t mention the P word again until we’re in the car.”

  I asked innocently, “Which P word is that? Paranormal, possessed or profession?”

  “All of them,” she snapped and strode off toward the parking lot. When she realized I was lagging behind, she called over her shoulder, “Keep up, Allegra. What’s wrong with you?” She’s a petite woman like my sister, and she knew my long legs could out-stride her even when she was scurrying. I hurried to catch up. Soon we were in the car and she was telling me everything, speaking so fast I only caught half of what she said. “…he’s p-o-s-s-e-s-s-e-d…become a…different person…hasn’t washed…changed underwear…for days.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” I said.

  Steven was the best-dressed man I knew. He was voted Sexiest Politician of the Decade. Okay, he didn’t have much competition, but still.

  Mom revved the car hard. “You’ll see,” she said darkly, and sped out of the lot. It was a miracle she didn’t get a ticket on the way home.

  After screeching down Mayflower Avenue and into her driveway, she risked a hernia pulling my suitcase out of the trunk. When I offered to carry it—let’s face it, I’m bigger and stronger—she said, “No, I want you to assess Steven’s condition immediately. I’ll put this in your old room.”

  Arguing with Mom was a waste of time when she’d made up her mind. As she lugged my suitcase up the stairs to the bedroom I hadn’t lived in for seven years, I followed the noise of the TV to find Steven. He was slumped on a sofa, bloodshot eyes fixed on the screen. Despite Mom’s attempt
to prepare me, I was astonished by his disheveled appearance. I hadn’t realized he owned a T-shirt and jeans, let alone ones sporting multiple holes. His thinning blond hair stuck up in filthy clumps, exposing the pale scalp beneath. There was dirt under his nails and a smear of something that looked like ketchup on his chin. As I struggled to close my gaping mouth, he lit a cigarette and sucked until the tip glowed like a demon’s eye.

  You might be thinking, So what? Plenty of people smoke. But Steven had been boring everyone for years lecturing on the evils of tobacco.

  Behind me high heels clicked anxiously on the polished floorboards. Mom plucked at my sleeve and, in a futile attempt at normality, said, “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Sure, Mom.” I hoped the activity would drain her nervous energy. Her constant fidgeting set my te, on edge.

  “Come with me, Allegra,” she said, beckoning me toward the kitchen.

  “But I thought you wanted me to assess—?” I glanced at Steven.

  “You’ve seen him. Anyway, you won’t be able to talk to him until the game is over.” Mom took hold of my hand and dragged me to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t the same kitchen I’d known as a teenager. They’d had it updated right after I moved to San Diego, so I had no happy memories of being here amid the smell of baking cakes and cookies. Not that Mom had ever baked. I was imagining a 1950s ideal that had probably never existed even in the 1950s, which was way before I was born anyway.

  Even at its best this kitchen couldn’t be called cozy. Not with all the stainless steel and stark white tiles. Now it was more like a horror movie, what with Mom running around like a chook with its head off, as my Australian father used to say. Dad had disappeared in the vast desert of the Nullarbor Plain ten years ago. His body had never been found but he’d eventually been presumed dead, allowing Mom to remarry.

  I’d often wondered whether Dad was really dead and recently I’d learned the truth with a little help from my guardian angel, Casper, which isn’t his real name by the way. I’d called him Casper because, when we’d first met, I thought he was a ghost. I was only six at the time and he did have this habit of appearing and disappearing at will.

  Anyway, a few weeks ago, Casper had looked Dad up in a heavenly register and discovered he was still alive. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy about Dad’s survival or sad that he apparently had no interest in reconnecting with his family. Naturally I hadn’t told Mom or my sister, Lily. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, and if Dad never returned, Mom’s bigamous marriage to Steven wouldn’t be discovered.

  Returning to the less-than-cozy kitchen, I told Mom to calm down and switched on the coffee machine. She stumbled to the kitchen table and slumped into one of the chairs. “Oh God, I can’t cope,” she wailed, burying her head in her hands.

  Slipping into the chair beside her, I smoothed down her hair. She’d forgotten to coat it with half a can of hairspray and the strands were soft as fairy wings. When she started to cry, I draped my arm over her shoulders. Being like this with Mom—being the strong one who was in control—was a new experience for me, but it didn’t last. She suddenly sprang to her feet and hurried to pour our coffees. As she handed me a mug, liquid sloshed over the rim. She seemed not to notice.

  “Come with me,” she said. “We’ll talk outside.”

  “Are you crazy? It’s freezing.”

  “Nonsense, it’s quite mild for fall.”

  No point telling her that where I lived fall was swimming weather. I was in Mom’s world now. I had to shape up or ship out.

  She had forgotten cushions, a breach of hospitality she’d usually have considered unforgivable. The seats of the summerhouse were ice cold. Grey clouds choked the sky and Mom’s perfectly pruned shrubs danced about in the breeze trying to get warm. There are few things more depressing than a summerhouse on a fall day, bt talking to Mom about Steven’s possession was certainly one of them.

  Plucking at the hem of her skirt, she told me about the event that had triggered the changes in his behavior. “It happened two nights ago. We’d returned from my fundraiser to assist with the education of underprivileged children. We’d had a marvelous night. Steven’s speech was brilliant and the auction raised a huge amount of money. Much more than we’d anticipated. When we returned home, he was in a boisterous mood, so we went up to bed.”

  I interrupted. “Just to clarify—by boisterous mood do you mean he was horny?”

  “Don’t be crude, Allegra. Steven doesn’t get horny.” She pursed her lips, as though she had a bad taste in her mouth. When we were kids, my sister, Lily, and I used to call her Pruneface. Of course, that was before Lily became the poster girl for the perfect daughter.

  “Okay,” I said, returning to the subject at hand. “So you had sex with Steven…”

  “And he went to sleep right afterwards, which he never does, so I lay awake for a while, daydreaming about Harrison Ford. Then the room became very cold. As I sat up and reached for the covers, I saw mist outside the window. It wasn’t evenly distributed, but seemed to clump together. It almost looked like a person floating in midair. I told myself not to be silly, that it was my imagination—but you know our street is very well lit. It really did look like a person up until the moment it thinned out and began to ooze through that little gap where the windows open. Once it was inside our bedroom, it took the shape of a beautiful young woman in an old-fashioned gown. Ignoring me, she walked across the room, bent over Steven and kissed his forehead. Then she walked back to the window, transformed herself into mist and oozed out again.”

  “If that’s the way it happened,” I said, hoping to reassure her, “Steven isn’t possessed. If he was, the ghost would’ve fused with him. She’d be inside him.”

  Mom held up her hand. “Don’t be so impatient, Allegra. I haven’t finished. After the misty woman left, Steven got out of bed and got dressed. I said, ‘Where are you going?’ but he didn’t answer. It was like he was sleepwalking.

  “He went downstairs and got in his car. When he pulled out into the street, I jumped in my car and followed. I wasn’t even dressed. If anyone had seen me in my robe and pajamas, it would’ve been all over the papers. I could’ve ruined Steven’s career.”

  I said gently, “Focus on what’s important. Tell me about—”

  She pursed her lips. “Steven’s career is the most important thing.”

  “Sorry, Mom, I meant focus on what Steven was doing. That way I can help you save his career.”

  She nodded and her prune face disappeared. “Steven drove out of town. He went west until he reached that place they call The Hollows. Do you remember it?”

  “Hilly area. Lots of caves. Said to be haunted.”

  Mom nodded. “Steven stopped his car. The moon was full, so I saw him get out and hed toward the nearest hill. That’s when I called SJ for help.”

  SJ, a.k.a. Steven Junior. Mom’s stepson. Lily’s husband. (It’s okay—they’re not related by blood.)

  “SJ said he’d come right away, but in the meantime Steven had begun to climb that first hill. I didn’t know what he planned, although in his sleepwalking state there was a strong possibility he’d walk off the edge. I rushed after him. When I caught hold of his arm, he stumbled and fell to his knees on the hard rock. I suppose it was the pain in his knees that woke him. He rubbed his eyes, looked around. ‘Where am I? What’s happened, Sondra?’ He remembered nothing of the drive to The Hollows or the misty woman. The last thing he remembered was being intimate with me after the fundraiser.”

  “Must be nice to know your lovemaking is memorable.”

  Pruneface returned with a vengeance. “I wish you’d be quiet and listen. Now, where was I? That’s right—I had called SJ, and by the time Steven and I returned to our cars, SJ was there. Steven was in no condition to drive safely, so we did a bit of driving back and forth to get all the cars home…but that’s irrelevant. The important thing is that ever since then Steven’s been—well, distracted. Not his usual self. And he’s be
en sleeping badly—waking up in a cold sweat and—”

  “What about you, Mom? Have you slept?”

  She looked at me as if I was crazy. “Of course not. I’ve kept watch over Steven.”

  “Has the ghost come back?”

  She shook her head. “I suppose her work is done. She’s p-o-s-s-e-s-s-e-d him.”

  Hadn’t Mom been listening when I said he wasn’t possessed? More importantly, was the paranormal involved here? Despite Mom’s insistence she’d seen a ghost, I had to take into account that she’d been tired and maybe a little drunk after the fundraiser. This could be a simple case of Mom’s imagination, limited though it was, and Steven’s stress-induced sleepwalking.

  “Mom,” I began, knowing she wouldn’t like my question, “has Steven been under unusual stress lately? Could he be having some kind of breakdown?”

  Predictably she bristled. “How dare you! Steven isn’t that kind of man.”

  “Anyone can have a breakdown if they’re under sufficient stress.”

  “Not Steven,” she said firmly. “I thought you of all people would recognize this is a paranormal problem. I saw that ghost. I swear it.”

  This was getting weird. And I wasn’t referring to the ghost. Our role reversal, where Mom was pushing the paranormal and I was resisting, was about as strange as things got. And why was I resisting? Was it just that I didn’t want to agree with Mom? Well, that was unprofessional. Time to start treating her like a regular client by believing what she told me and trying figure out how to fix it. Not that I intended to charge her like a regular client. I didn’t think dealing with Steven’s problem was going to be as difficult as my last job in Scotland, where I solved a case involving banshees, a homicidal ghost and a trio of drunks, who were more problem thanthe paranormal.

  I began by explaining the basics. “There are two types of ghosts—misty and solid. The solid ones are the most dangerous, since they can use weapons and physically harm the living. Misty ghosts can’t do anything much but appear and scare people, so essentially they’re harmless. Neither type of ghost would have the ability to change Steven’s personality. Real possession is, thankfully, extremely rare. Assuming this is not a stress-related incident and the paranormal really is involved, the most likely possibility is that Steven saw the misty ghost and the changes in him are due to fear.”