Purrfect Haunt Read online

  “That’s it? No word on the victim or how they were killed?" She tried to keep her tone professional, but her mind kept slipping back to Celia’s story about Massacre Mansion, and her gut twisted. She hoped their scene wasn’t quite as grisly as that.

  “I hope it’s not another. . . you know."

  Hazel knew.

  Murder.

  They’d had enough of them in the last few months to last a lifetime.

  They rode in silence for a moment, then Sheriff Cross let out a huff. “Has Violet told you anything recently?"

  Hazel blinked in surprise at the sudden question. “She’s told me plenty of things. Why? What happened?"

  His face swam with shadows, but Hazel could imagine his expression—brows drawn and eyes pinched. She’d seen it often enough when it came to the fifteen-year-old niece who lived in his care. “I think she has a boyfriend."

  Hazel let out a sudden giggle, then bit it off. “Okay, if that’s the case, she hasn’t told me. But I’m sure she’ll let us know when she’s ready. Remember what I said about letting her grow up a touch? She’s not a little girl anymore."

  “I know! But I need to know who this boy is and do a background check and—"

  Hazel put her hand on his arm. “You’d better be joking about the background check. Violet has mostly good taste. But I’ll ask her if you want."

  Colton sighed. “Thanks. She listens to you."

  Hazel chuckled. “Most of the time." She didn’t mention all the times Violet hadn’t listened, but she figured it was wise not to. Especially when Colton was obviously stressed about this phantom boyfriend.

  Soon enough, they pulled up to a deputy car with flashing blue and red lights. Hazel squinted into the darkness, but didn’t see what awaited them. Still, she climbed out of the SUV and steeled herself for the scene.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked as they stepped around the deputy’s car.

  “I hope so. Otherwise we have two bodies in one night," Sheriff Cross said, his tone hovering between weary and sardonic.

  “Right," Hazel murmured and looked around.

  At some point, they’d turned off the main road that ran around Lake Celeste, the mighty subalpine lake that Cedar Valley huddled against. But this was a neighborhood Hazel wasn’t familiar with. That didn’t mean much, considering Cedar Valley had plenty of small roads that led to a few houses tucked on either side of the road.

  This road, however, led to a house that looked empty. Even without the aid of daylight, Hazel saw the branches that pierced the roof and the boarded up windows. However, the houses on either side were inhabited, and one of those inhabitants was Carol Collins. She was about the same age as Hazel’s mother and nosier still. If Hazel had to guess, she’d put money on Carol being the one who called the police.

  Hazel didn’t see the body yet, but there were a number of odd things strewn about.

  Stacks of hay were laying here and there in no discernible order. A few boxes joined them. One seemed to be full of nothing but a singular mass of that polyester stuffing used to fill toys with some plastic spiders dispersed throughout. Another was stuffed with glow sticks and those cheap glow-in-the-dark plastic skeletons.

  Had the local Halloween store unloaded over here?

  “The body is over here," Deputy Simmons said as he climbed out of his own SUV.

  “At least it won’t be hard to cordon off," Hazel said as they followed the deputy.

  Sheriff Cross frowned. “I thought this street was more heavily populated."

  Deputy Simmons shrugged. “From the way that woman went on, you’d think we were in Times Square."

  Hazel imagined that Carol Collins had. She saw the woman peeking out of her house now, wearing her bathrobe, though her hair was perfectly done up. She probably dolled herself up for this moment. Hazel didn’t envy Sheriff Cross’s job of questioning Mrs. Collins later.

  Usually, when waltzing around a crime scene, Hazel had her black fuzzy feline companion, Anthony Ray, for company. However, he was at home, no doubt getting more and more put out over the lateness of his dinner. And Hazel was alone with her camera and the sheriff.

  Her gut clenched as they neared the body.

  A dim light shone on it from above, a bare bulb hanging in the branches of a tree. It looked like someone did it on purpose.

  But why?

  To show off the horribleness of their crime or from some other disturbing reason?

  Sheriff Cross let out a sigh and pulled out his notepad. “Well, I’m gonna say the cause of death is that axe."

  Hazel swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, which tasted too much like pepperoni. “Yep. It remind you of anything?"

  He nodded grimly.

  They weren’t anywhere near the Pearl House, so this was just an unfortunate coincidence. At least, that’s what Hazel hoped.

  With a sharp breath, Hazel got to work.

  She didn’t want to get overly close to the still form of the man in the leaves. The axe was lodged in his skull—and if that wasn’t unpleasant enough, the blood was caked thickly around the weapon and in the man’s dull brown hair. Some of it had splattered on the leaves and branches around the corpse. She photographed that too.

  “Looks like one blow killed him. Whoever swung that axe has a massive amount of strength," Sheriff Cross said. “It cracked his skull."

  Hazel nodded and snapped another few pictures. She zoomed in on the hands, which were fleshy and limp. “Huh."

  “Huh what?"

  Hazel leaned back on her heels. “I don’t know yet. But look at the hands. You’d think they’d be balled into fists, or at least stiff, and not so limp. He’s been here for a while, I’d guess. So that’s odd."

  “Mrs. Collins called it in about twenty minutes before I went to get you," Deputy Simmons said, and Hazel noticed that he wasn’t looking too closely at the crime scene.

  “What did she say when she called?" Sheriff Cross asked, and crouched near Hazel.

  Deputy Simmons consulted his notepad. “She saw a few lights at this abandoned house and heard voices. But whoever was here left by the time we arrived. She didn’t know about the body, and no one has told her. She thought it was teenagers messing around since it’s so close to Halloween, and you know how she is." He didn’t say ‘nosy as a bear in a beehive,’ but Hazel got the meaning.

  “Any ID on the body?" Sheriff Cross said and lifted the hair from the man’s face with his pen.

  Hazel hoped he disinfected it later, but she took the opportunity to shoot a few pictures of the man’s face.

  At first glance, the vacant eyes and parted mouth sent a chill down her spine. Yet, as she zoomed in, something in the eyes was off, just like the hands. There weren’t any other wounds on him besides the one made with the axe. But that was enough, obviously.

  “Not yet. Does Hazel know him?" Deputy Simmons asked.

  Hazel shook her head. “I know I’m usually acquainted with everyone murdered in this town, but I’ve never seen this guy around. And I’m pretty sure his hair isn’t real. It looks like a bad plastic wig."

  Sheriff Cross raised an eyebrow at that. “He’s wearing a wig?"

  “Yeah," she said and pursed her lips. Usually, dead bodies had a particular odor—a bad one—but she didn’t smell anything like that this time. Instead, she smelled something slightly sweet. “And are we a hundred percent sure that’s blood? I haven’t been at many axe murder crime scenes, but the blood splatter is off. There should be more of it, and some of the blood should have dried by now. It’s cold enough and not damp today, but it’s still wet. And it’s too red, even in this bad light."

  “Blood that’s wet and too red?" Deputy Simmons said and held a handkerchief to his mouth.

  Sheriff Cross smiled. “Now that you mention it, his face is a bit on the soft side. And expressionless." He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and leaned in, probing the cheek with a finger. Then he dipped it in a dab of blood on the head and smelle
d it. “Corn syrup, if I had to guess."

  Hazel let out a snort and stood up. Corn syrup and a wig? This was a first. “So I’ve been shooting pictures of a fake dead body?"

  “Fake dead body? Who would—" Deputy Simmons started, but the bright lights of an approaching car cut him off.

  Sheriff Cross stood next to Hazel and yanked off his sticky glove. “And what have we here? I hope it’s not the medical examiner."

  The car, a jet black Mustang with a ridiculous spoiler on the back, skidded to a stop. After a moment, a group of people climbed out, though their entrance was somewhat ruined since the guy sitting in the back had to squeeze out from behind the seats. Once free of the car, two men in their mid-twenties and a woman around the same age stood facing them.

  “What’s going on? This is my property, man," the driver of the car said and stalked up to Sheriff Cross. His hair was gelled so much it stood on end, and he reeked of an overpowering body spray Hazel figured had a name like ‘savage freeze,’ ‘nuclear barbarian,’ or something else equally silly. He was broad in the chest, but shorter than Sheriff Cross’s six foot two frame by several inches. He looked like he was trying to make up for it by bobbing his head like an agitated pigeon.

  It wasn’t working.

  “Cool it, Cam. These are the cops," the woman hissed.

  “Listen to your lady friend. We got a call about some activity at this house. A neighbor was worried some kids might be playing around, but we found a body over there. Care to explain?"

  The driver, Cam, laughed. It was an obnoxious laugh that put Hazel’s teeth on edge. “Him? That’s Jimbo, and he’s a dummy. As in not real. Josh, did you leave Jimbo out in the open again? What did I tell you about that?"

  The other young man stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but the house is condemned and you’re the one who—"

  The woman stepped forward, a winning smile on her pretty face. Her hair was cut into a long bob and dyed blonde, and she was dressed like Hazel herself often did, in leggings and an oversized sweater. “This is Josh Hopkins, officer, and he’s a special effects artist. We were playing around with that dummy for some Halloween decorations. No big deal. And this man is someone you may have heard of, if you watch haunted YouTube. Cameron Killian. World famous ghost hunter."

  Hazel wasn’t sure if she imagined it, or if a cricket started chirping right then. It fit the situation. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Is YouTube haunted now?" Sheriff Cross asked.

  Cameron snorted. “No, it’s what they call the YouTubers who do what I do—investigate dangerous hauntings. I’ve got half a million subscribers, just so you know. I have the plaque to prove it and everything."

  “Well, if he has a plaque, I don’t think you can ask anymore questions," Hazel said with a grin.

  Sheriff Cross tossed her a smile, but no one else seemed to find the humor.

  “He’s a pretty big deal. Some TV networks are even in talks to give him his own show," the woman said.

  “Emma, it’s fine. We got permission from the owner to use this place for a bit. Do you want to call her?" Cameron said, and his chest puffed out like a bird trying to impress a mate.

  “That would be helpful. And we’re going to have to take a closer look at your friend, Jimbo, just in case," Sheriff Cross said.

  Hazel noticed Carol Collins still hovered on her porch, her phone in her hand. She assumed half the town knew about this now, only what version they knew was up to Carol, so it wouldn’t be wholly accurate.

  Josh wrung his hands and brushed the hair from his eyes. He was the exact opposite of Cameron. His shoulders slumped, and he wore a T-shirt that was a touch snug on his belly. He also seemed to have a hard time meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yeah. Come on over. I know it looks real, but he’s made of latex on a wooden skeleton. Inside, he’s stuffed with polyester filling."

  “Is that what those boxes are for?" Hazel asked and pointed.

  Even in the dim light, she saw the heat rise to Josh’s cheeks. “Uh, no. Those were for fake spider webs. We were going to use them for a haunted house, only, I’m not sure if the client—"

  “The client didn’t want that, so we decided to store them here for a bit," Emma put in with another smile. Hazel guessed she was used to cutting both Josh and Cameron off so they didn’t say too much, for whatever reason.

  “And who is this client of yours?" Sheriff Cross asked, his tone gruff with annoyance.

  Hazel knew why. Colton’s precious free time had been interrupted for this—a fake body and some people who should have known better.

  “Patricia Corning," Emma said and pulled out her cell phone. “I can call her right away. But she might be in bed."

  Hazel started at that. “Wait. Are you guys going to be working at Pearl House this week?"

  Emma’s smile widened. “Yeah, how did you know? Cameron snagged the exclusive rights to film there as a ghost hunter. We hope to find all sorts of activity in the infamous Massacre Mansion."

  Sheriff Cross looked back and forth between Hazel and Emma. He, thankfully, didn’t make a joke about Hazel’s new gig. “Why don’t you call Ms. Corning, Simmons."

  Emma frowned, but gave the deputy the number.

  It didn’t take long to verify that Patricia had allowed them use of the property, and a closer look at Jimbo told them that he was a dummy.

  “Told you," Cameron said with a snicker.

  Sheriff Cross narrowed his eyes. “Get that cleaned up. Real or not, it’s disturbing the public."

  As Cameron, Josh and Emma grudgingly did as the sheriff said, Hazel returned to the SUV.

  “At least it wasn’t a real murder victim," she said as they climbed in.

  Colton smiled, and his eyes pinched. “Yeah. That’s a first. And here it’s the right season for it."

  “Don’t remind me. I have to work alongside them this week. That’s going to be fun."

  “At least you’re in good hands. That twerp is a world famous ghost hunter, after all."

  Hazel groaned, and Colton laughed.

  Chapter 3

  "We're working with Cameron Killian from Ghost Hunters Extreme?" Michael, Hazel's photography assistant, said as they lugged their equipment toward Pearl House the next afternoon. His chubby cheeks squished into a smile, and a flop of dark brown hair fell over his forehead.

  It was only three days until Halloween, and Pearl House would be open to the public every night to give tours. Hazel and Michael were supposed to be on the premises as well, though Hazel wasn’t quite sure what their role would be yet. She hoped Patricia didn’t want them running some goofy haunted photo-booth.

  Hazel let out a sigh and wrapped Anthony Ray’s leash around her arm. Her black fluffy cat trotted next to her, content as usual. "Yeah. You've heard of him?"

  Michael nodded eagerly. "Oh yeah, he's done all kinds of famous haunted locations. Waverley Hills Sanatorium, the Myrtle Plantation, and he even did the Winchester Mystery House. In every single one of them, he found evidence of ghosts." His eyes were as wide as saucers when he finished.

  Hazel had to bite the inside of her cheek not to scoff. "You believe in ghosts?"

  Michael's cheeks reddened, and he shrugged. "I'm not sure. But it's fun to watch those shows."

  Hazel was pretty certain her assistant knew her stance on ghosts—they didn't exist. So, she didn't bother spelling it out to him. "I'm not sure we’re going to be working with Cameron. At least, I hope not."

  Michael chuckled. "I heard all about what happened last night. Fake dead body near Carol Collins place?"

  Hazel nodded slowly. Just like she imagined, Carol had been hard at work spreading the rumor. She was surprised her own mother hadn’t trotted into Hazel’s Wild @ Hart photography studio that morning to get the scoop.

  Then again, Hazel's mother had her own shop to run—Esoterica. It was a menagerie of different New Age items. October was one of the biggest sales months for her, outside of the typical summer tourist se
ason.

  As they headed toward the house proper, Hazel surveyed the grounds of the Pearl House.

  The black Mustang that Cameron drove the night before was nowhere to be seen. Hazel's red truck and Patricia Corning’s Jeep were the only vehicles there.

  She had to admit, as they walked up to the front porch, that it looked the part of a haunted house.

  The trees towered above it on either side, giving the grounds a claustrophobic feel. A hedge of roses surrounded it, overgrown and more thorn than anything else now. A few late blooms stuck stubbornly to the hedge, their petals dry and a deep blood red.

  Unlike the other grand mansions around Lake Celeste, Pearl House hadn't been kept up particularly well in the last eighty years or so. Hazel was sure that had to do with its tragic history. She wasn't sure when Patricia Corning's family came to own the house, only that as far as she knew, the woman had never actually lived in it since she was a girl.

  There had been a caretaker on the grounds, mostly to keep the worst of the wear at bay, and to prevent trespassing. Though, from Hazel's own experience as a teenager, the caretaker hadn’t done a particularly good job at that.

  While most of the houses around the lake were in a rustic style, Pearl House was made of red brick and whitewashed timber. Of course, over the years, the white had faded. The paint was peeling in many places, leaving the boards bare. However, scaffolding rose on one side of the great porch, and it looked like it was being repaired, albeit slowly.

  “I can't believe we’re going to have to go in there at night," Michael said and swallowed heavily.

  A chill autumn breeze blew around them, scattering orange and yellow leaves across the walkway. Anthony Ray darted after a few, his ears perked.

  Hazel grinned at him. "You think the headless ghost is going to get you?"

  Michael went pale. "Don't mention that one. It's the worst. But, I have this to protect me," he said and squeezed a pendant that hung around his neck.

  Hazel raised an eyebrow. It looked like a highly polished river rock with an odd symbol carved into it. She'd seen similar pendants being sold at her mother’s store. They all offered different kinds of protection. She guessed this was the ‘protection from an evil headless ghost’ stone.