No Ghouls Allowed (14 page)

What bothered me most—and hogged most of those thought-filled miles—was the fact that
my mother seemed to be inadvertently connected to all this. And I didn’t for a second
believe that my out-of-body experience with Mama had been a figment of my imagination.
In fact, I believed something that was hard even for me to wrap my head around.

The planes that expand beyond our physical world can be incredibly mysterious. I’d
been a part of the paranormal community for most of my life, and I certainly didn’t
have all the answers as to how it was possible to have the consciousness travel outside
of the body, but I’d had enough experiences to convince me that it was possible.

In fact, one of my first experiences being aware that I was out of my body was when
I was quite young, and I’d woken up floating in midair, looking down at the back of
my head. To make it even more confusing, when I’d woken up and was floating above
myself, I’d been lying in midair in the exact same position I’d been sleeping in.
It was crazy even now to contemplate that, but in a weird way it did make sense to
me—especially because I’d experienced it firsthand.

So I’d known about the other planes of existence for a long time, and truthfully,
they’ve always frightened me. There’s a rather constant fear in the back of my mind
about waking up out of my body—namely, what if I couldn’t get back into my body? What
if I ended up on a lower realm and couldn’t make it back?

There are things that haunt the lower realm that are so frightening that they defy
description. I know. I’ve not only encountered a few of them; I’ve personally sent
some of them back to the lower realms, to be locked up there forever.

Somehow, this Sandman had escaped from that realm, not once, but twice. The first
time to haunt my mother, and the second time to commit murder at Porter Manor.

And then I nearly tripped when another thought occurred to me. What if the Sandman
had been responsible for another death as well? What if that evil spook had killed
Everett Sellers back in 1971?

That might explain why the Porter family had worked so hard to cover up Everett’s
death. Perhaps they thought they could lock up that room and its terrible evil spirit
too. If they’d exposed Everett’s murder, then they risked an investigation that might
allow the spook to roam freely within their home, and also land them in the pool of
suspicion, because who would believe that an evil spirit could kill a person?

Well, other than me, Heath, and Gilley of course.

Still, I believed that the Sandman had used that construction worker to carry out
its evil act upon Mike Scoffland, and then it’d used Deputy Cook to try to kill Sheriff
Kogan, so whom had it used to kill Everett Sellers?

An involuntary shudder traveled across my shoulders as I was rounding the lake. Something
deep down made me feel like that was a question I really didn’t want to have answered.

At least, not until I learned more about the Sandman. Figuring out where he had come
from was going to be tricky—all I had for a clue was my mother’s confession that Everett
Sellers had been the one to call him forward, and he’d likely used that Ouija board
to do it.

So the Ouija board could be the key to figuring all this out. I recalled it in my
mind’s eye, such a seemingly beautiful board, hand-painted, well crafted, not at all
like those terrible knockoffs sold on toy store shelves.

No, the Ouija board from the playroom had been crafted by a master. Someone who had
taken great pains to make it beautiful. So where had it come from? Was the artist’s
name scrawled somewhere on the board? And that planchette was a pretty elaborate device
as well. Most planchettes were made of wood, but this one looked like it’d been cast
in sterling silver, and set with a semiprecious stone.

My pace picked up a little when I considered that, in order to answer the questions
about the Ouija board and the planchette, I’d have to retrieve them, which meant I’d
have to go back to Porter Manor. I hated the idea of ever setting foot in that place
again, but it had to be done and I didn’t see any other way around it. I also shuddered
at the idea of having that board and planchette anywhere near me, but then forced
myself to acknowledge that if I separated the board from its planchette, perhaps they
would both become tame enough to handle.

I just had to hope that I didn’t get attacked while inside the manor trying to retrieve
them. I’d take Heath along, of course, but I didn’t want him getting attacked either.
Still, I didn’t think I was brave enough to go it alone, and I knew he’d never let
me head back there by myself. We’d have to be covered in magnets and ready for anything.

Around the eight-mile mark I realized that I’d probably have to get permission from
the sheriff’s department to go back to the manor and retrieve the Ouija set. I almost
hoped that Beau said no. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered how he could
possibly say yes. The board, after all, was an item found at the crime scene of a
murder. No way would he let me back into the manor to take what could be evidence.

So then I debated some more about even asking permission. Better to ask for forgiveness
than permission, eh? Still, I wondered if I’d have to ask a judge for that forgiveness
right before he threw my butt in jail for obstruction. My pace picked up once again
while I racked my brain for a solution.

The answer came around mile nine and a half when I concluded, with immense relief,
that I held the answer on my person. My phone was filled with crime scene photos,
and I’d taken a few of the board itself. I didn’t need to return to the scene to take
the board; I merely needed to download the photos from my phone, enlarge the images
to hopefully reveal the name of the artist, and do some additional research.

By the time I rounded the final corner to Mrs. G.’s, I was practically sprinting.
I felt euphoric from all those glorious endorphins and the fact that I’d managed to
figure out a productive direction for our investigation that wouldn’t put me, or Heath,
or anyone else, in harm’s way.

All that changed the second I spotted the parked car in Mrs. G.’s driveway.

Coming to a hard stop on the sidewalk, I paused long enough to pant my way into a
more regular breathing pattern before heading through the gate and up the steps. As
I was about to pull on the handle, it opened on its own, and out stepped Deputy Breslow.
“Mary Jane!” he said, looking surprised to see me.

“Beau,” I replied, wiping my wet brow. “Everything okay?”

He looked me up and down—I imagined I was a sweaty mess after ten miles of hard running—and
then he said, “You’re just the person I was looking for.”

I fidgeted nervously, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. At least not yet.
“Oh?”

Before he could continue, Heath opened up the door. As typically happened when I had
my first glimpse of him during the day, my breath caught. Heath was so incredibly
sexy, with his long black hair, dark olive skin, deep brown eyes, masculine features,
and gorgeous lean muscle everywhere you could see . . . and a few places you couldn’t.

This morning he wore loose pajama bottoms and lots of sex appeal. It was my favorite
look on him actually. “Hey, babe,” he said, taking me in as hungrily as I was taking
him in. “I heard you went running.”

“Just got back.”

“How far?”

“A hard ten.”

“Pace?”

I glanced at my sport watch. “Seven thirty-seven.”

Heath raised a hand to high-five me. He’d been the one to get me under an eight-minute
mile.

“Excuse me,” Beau said, stepping between our high five, “but can I talk to Mary Jane
for a second?”

“I told you already, Beau,” Heath said with an edge to his voice. “We were nowhere
near the Porter place last night.”

My brow furrowed. What on earth was this about?

“Well,” Beau said, clearly irritated that Heath had sabotaged his efforts to grill
me without giving away details, “like I said to you inside, a black SUV was spotted
going off the road last night not a quarter mile from the Porter house around nine
p.m. and the license plate matches exactly to the rental you’ve got parked in your
driveway.”

Heath glared at Beau, but I knew there was no way to hide it. The tires on the SUV
were covered in mud from the ditch I’d landed in, and of course the tread marks would
match if they did a comparison.

I waved two fingers in the air. “That was me.”

Heath’s brow shot up. “You went to the Porter house?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I was heading home from Daddy’s, and, I don’t know, I kinda
got turned around. My mind was on other things last night, and somehow I ended up
near Porter Manor.”

“Were you drinking, Mary Jane?” Beau asked, and I swore I heard a note of apology
in his voice.

I nearly laughed. “No, Beau. I’d had nothing but tea while I was at Daddy’s, and I
ended up in that ditch because something darted out from the side of the road and
I swerved to avoid it.”

“Ah,” Beau said, and I was surprised to see that he seemed relieved by my explanation.
“Lots of deer in that area.”

I nodded because there was no way I was going to explain what’d
really
happened.

“So is that it?” I asked. “You were just checking up to make sure we weren’t back
over there? ’Cause you don’t have to worry. We’re not going anywhere near that place
if we don’t have to.”

Beau pulled off his brimmed hat and began to slide the rim through his fingers. “See,
that’s just the thing, Mary Jane.”

Heath crossed his arms and spread his legs, setting his mouth in a firm scowl. I had
a feeling I’d missed a small argument between the two while I was out.

“What’s just the thing?” I said.

Beau pulled his gaze from his hat and eyed me squarely. “I need your help.”

I squinted at him. “With what?”

“The body’s missing.”

A cool morning breeze stirred the leaves on the trees overhead and I shivered. I’d
completely cooled down by now and was still soaked from my run. “What body?”

“The young boy in the hidden playroom.”

I looked at Heath and he shrugged his shoulders. Then I looked back at Beau to see
if maybe he was kidding. His expression said he wasn’t. “
How
could it be missing?”

“Matt, Roy, and me went back there this morning to get the boy’s body, and when we
went inside to the playroom, the body was gone.”

I shook my head. “But . . . how could it be gone?”

“Somebody stole it,” Beau said.

My jaw dropped. “It was
stolen
? Why would
anybody
steal an old skeleton from a haunted house?” Even saying it out loud, it sounded
absurd.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Beau said.

“You know who it could be,” Heath said, rubbing his chin.

“Who?” Beau and I both asked.

“The killer.”

I felt another chill and shuddered violently. “You cold?” Heath asked.

“I’m okay.”

He turned around and went inside and I focused on Breslow. “I have no idea what happened
to the boy’s remains, Beau.”

“Okay, but, see, here’s the thing, Mary Jane. As you can probably tell, I’m a little
over my head in this. Normally I’d turn this over to the state police, but I went
to see Kogan this morning and he doesn’t want them coming in here and taking over.
He was planning on running for mayor next year, and he’s all worried about the bad
press. It’ll make him look extra good, though, if he gets to claim that he ran the
investigation from his hospital bed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so, what’d he tell you to do?”

Heath came back out of the house again and wrapped his big sweatshirt around my shoulders.
I looped an arm through his and squeezed it. Such a thoughtful man I had.

“Kogan wants me to deputize the two of you and ask you to help us out on the investigation.”

I let out a small laugh. “He wants you to what?”

“Ask you for help.”

“Would we get to wear a badge?” Heath asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was making
a joke or not.

“Well, no,” Beau said, looking uncomfortable. “But I’d let people know you were working
for us, and I’d be with you at all points along the way.”

“How much does it pay?” Heath asked next, and that seemed to stump Beau.

“Uh . . . well, I think Sheriff Kogan was hoping that you’d volunteer your services
and in return he’d be most appreciative.”

Heath cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “Gratitude doesn’t pay my cable bill, Beau.”

The deputy nodded and twirled his hat a few more times, and that’s when I stepped
in. “Listen,” I said, “before we agree to anything, I need to know why you’re asking
for our help. I mean, we don’t know the first thing about investigating a murder.”
This wasn’t exactly true, but I wasn’t in the mood to add
Solve Murder
to my list of things to do when at the top of that list I already had
Kick Evil Spirit’s Ass
.

“Like I said, I’d be right there with you two,” Beau said. “Sort of directing things.”

“But don’t you already have several other deputies to assist you on this?” I pressed.

Beau sighed heavily. “Mary Jane, nobody—and I mean
nobody
—at the station knows how to deal with all this occult stuff. I mean, Cook is still
unconscious and they had to sedate Cisco with enough drugs to put an elephant to sleep,
and none of the docs know why those two went nuts. On top of all that, I now have
a dangerous haunted crime scene I haven’t thoroughly investigated, a missing body,
and another body in the morgue that I’m scared to death is some kind of zombie just
waiting to come alive again and show up on my doorstep ready to eat my brains.”

I couldn’t help it; I gave in to a small smile. “Scoffland’s no zombie, Beau,” I told
him. But that was all the reassurance I could offer. The rest of what he’d said remained
both troublesome and true.

“Yeah, well, I’m still not gonna rest easy until whatever is going on gets figured
out. And we’ve all heard about you, Mary Jane. I even watched one of your shows last
night on demand. You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. I mean, I haven’t slept
a wink and it wasn’t just from what happened yesterday—your show could scare the warts
off a toad.”