I Want You to Haunt Me, page 1
I WANT YOU TO HAUNT ME
ELLEN RIGGS
I Want You To Haunt Me
Copyright © 2021 Ellen Riggs
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-989303-89-4 eBook
ISBN 978-1-989303-88-7 Book
ISBN 978-1-990613-63-0 AudioBook
ASIN B0974YKT9G Kindle
ASIN 1989303889 Paperback
Publisher: Ellen Riggs
www.ellenriggs.com
Cover designer: Lou Harper
Editor: Serena Clarke
2405061771
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
What’s Next
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
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CHAPTER ONE
I am not a witch.
People stuck that label on me when I was a teen, and it made me drop out of college and hit the road. Okay, I got kicked out of college, but whatever. Running seemed like the educated thing to do. I never regretted the decision, although itinerant life wasn’t easy. I started as a carnie and then moved into hospitality, climbing from housekeeping to management at resorts all over the world. By the time I turned 30, I was bored, lonely and ready for more. Even if that meant turning to stare the “w” word right in the face.
Witches aside, I knew a thing or two about magic. I could see ghosts, or at least one. I could read minds, at least some. And I could zap people with a little energy burst that scrambled their brains, at least for a while. I wasn’t accomplished at any of it, unfortunately. Gran said I was a late bloomer but I felt like a dud bud. I certainly didn’t qualify as anyone’s idea of a… well, you know.
I didn’t go poking around for information. The only person who could tell me more was my mother, and we hadn’t spoken in ages. I’d planned on keeping that silence, but my decision to go home to Wyldwood Springs and the old family manor with its secrets meant we’d need to have a little chat at some point.
But not today. Today I was still on vacation from my life in a rather unique situation. Three months ago, I’d come to visit Gran at the Briar Estates, a gated retirement community in the sunny south. After discovering corruption in the condo administration, I’d stayed on to sort things out. Here I was, still surrounded by senior citizens who appreciated my hard work and ingenuity. I was beginning to think I’d found my true calling and place in the world.
Gran had other ideas.
“Time to go home, Janelle,” she said, as we walked together down Main Street in Clarington, the closest town to the Briars. It was like she’d read my mind, but it was just good timing. Although she claimed to be psychic, there was zero proof of that to date.
“We just got here,” I said, deliberately misinterpreting her. “This daytrip is the highlight of everyone’s week, Gran.”
That was true and also sad. Clarington had very little charm. It existed almost entirely to serve the many gated communities in Strathmore County, which in turn existed to protect the residents of those communities from their storied pasts. Many, like Gran, had made enemies of the magical kind in their hometowns and didn’t have the skills to protect themselves. Clarington had security staff on every corner, yet we still brought our own special constables and capped attendance at 20 to keep an eye on everyone.
I picked up the pace along the faux cobblestones. You’d think a town geared to seniors would make a more sensible choice for people using canes, walkers and scooters. It wasn’t great for stilettos, either, but I still wore them. Even when I worked as a carnie I’d dressed well. Presentation was everything when you didn’t necessarily have the goods to back it up.
Gran panted as she tried to keep up with me. “You know what I mean, Janny. And you’ve stalled long enough.”
“I’m not stalling. I’m visiting my beloved grandmother and calming the storms in her fractious community.”
“You’ve worked wonders,” she said. “Without you, I’d have been terrified to stay at the Briars after what happened.”
What happened was murder. Two residents had been killed just before I arrived. My cousin, Jilly Blackwood, and her best friend Ivy Galloway had come down from their farm near Wyldwood Springs to deal with a vicious swan at the Briars and been sucked into the investigation. Gran had worried about their getting chewed up by gators—either the real ones in the local swamps, or the ones wearing tropical print shirts and blouses—so she asked me to come and help. Ivy and her brilliant sheepdog did most of the heavy lifting, but the killer wouldn’t be behind bars mumbling utter nonsense right now if I hadn’t added a well-timed zap to seal the deal. When things worked properly, I was like a human taser.
“Then what’s the rush?” I said, scanning the stores along the strip and making mental notes about my errands. “Maybe I like it here.”
“You know exactly why you need to go home. Your mother can’t handle the trouble brewing in Wyldwood Springs on her own.”
While the Briars’ murders had been committed by a regular sociopath, some powerful magical people had come out of the woodwork at around the same time. I still didn’t know why, but it wasn’t a complete surprise. I’d expected them to catch up with Gran and me eventually, which is why I kept rolling all those years. Protecting Gran from organized crime was the main reason I stayed now. My mom had impressive talents, but she’d apparently failed in managing magical politics in Wyldwood Springs. We’d annoyed the wrong people once upon a time and they had long memories.
Sighing, I turned to face Gran and her arms came up automatically. She believed that four eight-second hugs per day were the key to good mental health. A lot of things made me question Gran’s mental health, but not that. Hugs were in short supply leading up to our current visit, so despite an aversion to public displays of affection, I accepted gratefully. The needle on my hug bank was about to start moving in the wrong direction.
“I couldn’t be prouder of you,” Gran said as we parted, “and I’d love nothing more than to keep you here. But the Briars isn’t a place for young people. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Janny.”
It didn’t feel that way at all. One wrong move in Wyldwood Springs and my whole life would be behind me.
“So, you’re kicking me out of the nest?” I asked, leaving one arm over her shoulders. Gran kept me grounded as no one else ever had. When I was with her, I didn’t need to fake confidence. Maybe that was her true gift.
She smoothed her long-sleeved safari shirt before answering. Until recently, Gran had worn flowing bohemian dresses and plenty of gaudy jewelry. Now she was keeping it simple in cargo pants, with her long curly gray hair twisted into a knot and no visible jewelry. The makeover was a result of meeting Ivy Galloway’s persuasive prepper neighbor, Edna Evans. She’d gotten Gran all worked up over the prospect of a looming apocalypse by casually dropping that hungry zombies would pick off people in gated communities first. As if Gran didn’t have enough real monsters to worry about.
“Janny,” she said at last, “you can’t afford to get too comfortable. You know that. I worry you’ve been letting down your guard here.”
“I’m still on guard,” I said. “At worst I’ve dialed it back to eight out of ten because we have security.”
“That’s it, exactly. You need to stay at eleven till things get sorted in Wyldwood. If you’re not ready for that yet, go visit Jilly and Ivy in Clover Grove. Take Edna’s survivalist seminars and learn some new skills. But go. And have some fun, too.”
Two women caught up with us in time to hear her final words. We were standing outside Old Wonders, a clothing consignment store. I’d recently cleared out a storage locker and was offloading as much as I could to travel home light. Old Wonders was turning my extensive wardrobe into savings that would help me start fresh in my hometown. I wanted to open a small business. It didn’t much matter what, as long as it was all mine.
“Janny, please don’t leave. We can’t do without you.” The plaintive voice belonged to Elsie Cornwall, one of my Briars favorites. I was happy to see that her hair was officially mauve again. It had faded to dove gray after a recent stint on the wrong side of the Briars’ rumor mill, but she was coming around. Her ornately carved wooden cane clicked briskly, too.
“Elsie’s right,” said Alba Fletcher. “You really must stay, Janelle. Thanks to you, we have our husbands back on track. No more gambling and games. They’re so busy with your projects we hardly ever see them.”
Many residents had felt so bored and trapped before I arrived that bad habits formed. Some were in arrears and carrying weighty secrets. I’d worked hard to transform the Briars on many fronts, and it w
as good to see results.
“That’s the secret to a good marriage,” I said, laughing. “Or so I’m told.”
“You’ll know from experience soon enough, I imagine,” Alba said. She was tall and stately, favoring pastel pant suits with matching scarves. I quite liked her, although she’d also been in arrears until recently. I’d had to apply a little pressure on several people, and ultimately sold the community’s airboat to cover some deficits. Not before taking a wild ride with Gran through the marsh, first.
“Chief Gillock is smitten with you,” Elsie said.
“Completely lovestruck,” added Shirley Mills, rolling up to us in her motorized wheelchair. “You’d almost think someone had cast a spell on him.”
“Maybe someone did,” Elsie said. “Lottie’s spell book was stolen before the chief took her things away.”
Lottie Greenwich had been the first murder victim at the Briars, and Elsie herself had taken a crystal ball from the dead woman’s home. Maybe she had snatched the spell book, too. The chief had chosen not to make a fuss over it. He probably considered it harmless entertainment, like the tarot cards and crystals that had also disappeared from Lottie’s collection. If there was a black market in witchy paraphernalia, maybe I could shut it down before leaving. There were small minds with big ideas in the community.
“Ladies, far be it from me to brag,” I said, “but I’ve never needed magic to attract a man. The Bridie Brighton charm I inherited generally does the trick.”
Alba and Shirley puckered in a silent protest over Gran’s supposed allure. The worst of the feuds had died down on my watch but there were still cliques and factions. Cherise Heatherington was a holdout. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t win that woman over. She was committed to being grumpy.
Gran raised a jangling hand. Her trademark stack of bangles hadn’t yet vanished in the apocalyptic makeover. They were just hidden in her sleeve. “Janelle doesn’t have time for romance right now. She has other priorities.”
Alba shook her head at Gran. “She’s not getting any younger, Bridie. I think she should settle right here and have the first Briars baby.”
The multi-woman stare-off kept them from noticing my scowl. I liked Chief Andrew Gillock very much, but even if I were the marrying kind—and I wasn’t—the idea of raising a family in a gated seniors’ community wasn’t exactly appealing.
Gran caught my eye and smirked. Maybe she’d enlisted her buddies to use reverse psychology to drive me out of the Briars. I wouldn’t put it past her.
I texted Larry Helms, our chief of security, to come and collect the women so that I could run my errands. Once they were gone, I mentally conceded defeat to Gran. This had been a wonderful hiatus, but it was over. I should mark the occasion with a farewell gift to her.
The bangles told me her lifelong love of trinkets would resurface when Edna’s influence faded, so I walked over to Haute Baubles, the jewelry boutique where Ivy had found the perfect engagement ring for her brother to give Jilly. Ivy had said the ring tingled on her finger when she tried it on, which told me two things: that Ivy had a bit of magic running through her veins, and that I’d need to avoid touching anything in the store. Jewelry often packed a punch of unwelcome visions—mental clutter I did not need. But today I felt compelled to visit for the first time.
A bell tinkled over the door as I walked into the small store and the salesclerk looked up. She had dark curls and eyes, and a frown she didn’t bother turning upside down. Someone needed a customer service refresher.
“Good afternoon,” I said, glancing at her nametag. “How are you today, Lexie? I’m Janelle Brighton.”
Lexie buffed the glass on the only display case with a shammy for a long moment before answering. “What can I do for you?”
“You could show me some pieces my grandmother might like,” I said. “I’m looking for a very special gift.”
The sullen salesclerk pulled out a tray holding an array of staid brooches.
“I need something unconventional,” I said. “Quirky and fun.”
“That’s not what we do at Haute Baubles,” she said, her scowl deepening. “We’re all about classic design here.”
I scanned the case and saw she was right. There were pearl necklaces, gold hoop earrings and dozens of ornate brooches. Who wore brooches anymore?
“Everything’s lovely, but not right for my gran.” I walked the length of the display case, musing. Something had pulled me in here, and I must be missing it. “Is there anything else, Lexie? Anything not on display?”
“There’s nothing for sale that’s not on display.” Lexie chose her words carefully and then tapped the case. “I’ll bet your gran would love this brooch. Amethysts are crowd pleasers.”
I noticed a blue velvet tray on the counter behind her. “What’s over there?”
“Just a few odds and ends my aunt—the designer—made,” she said. “They’re not part of our collection. And not for sale.”
“I’d love to take a look,” I said. “Your aunt’s work is brilliant, and I want to see it all.”
Lexie’s onyx eyes were defiant. Normally I was good at cajoling difficult people, but she was stubborn.
“Not. For. Sale,” she repeated.
It made no sense. Why have items in view that weren’t available to clients? “Wouldn’t your aunt like to have her art appreciated?”
“That stuff isn’t art.” Lexie rolled her eyes. “It’s kitsch and it doesn’t fit our brand.”
“I completely understand your concerns,” I said. “But I’d still love to see it.”
She relented with a huff of disgust and reached for the velvet tray. “Like I said, it’s—”
“Adorable!” I clasped my hands to resist reaching for them. There were pendants, earrings and brooches all in the form of cavorting dogs of various breeds. “So precious!”
“So stupid,” Lexie muttered.
“Wait, wait,” I said, as she pulled the tray back. “The little wiener dog pendant… the one with the ears flying like wings and the emerald eye. That’s the one!”
I managed to grab the pendant just as Lexie snatched the tray away. The whimsical little dog sat in the palm of my hand for a moment before she grabbed it back.
“What part of ‘not for sale’ did you miss?” she said.
“The part where the client’s always right?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. That wasn’t like me. I’d worked in customer service far too long to just blurt.
“Not at Haute Baubles,” Lexie said, smirking.
She was managing to get under my skin for the very good reason that the tiny golden dachshund had already done so. There was a mild burning sensation in my palm where the pendant had sat briefly. When I took a quick look, I saw the imprint of the wiener dog. Clearly, the pendant wasn’t meant to be Gran’s, but mine.
Now all I had to do was convince Lexie of that, which meant reversing course. I would need to dial up the Brighton charm and fast.
“Lexie, I understand how you feel about the store’s image,” I said. “But I really want this piece for myself and I’m moving out of state. No one will ever know where it came from. Does that help?”
“No,” she said. “And furthermore… no.”
She was immune to the Brighton charm, which I had to admit was always more effective on men. “Whatever it costs, I’ll happily pay. Name your price.”
Scanning me from head to foot, she sneered. I was wearing a classy dress and even classier heels, yet it felt like she could see right through them to my days working as a carnie. To my stint couch surfing. To my brief and uncomfortable period living out of my old car. Lexie had deemed me unworthy of her aunt’s jewels, that much was clear.
“The piece may be kitschy but it’s priceless,” Lexie said. “Like our reputation.”
