A Prickly Predicament (Mad River Mystery Series Book 1) Read online

  A Prickly Predicament

  A Mad River Mystery

  Book 1

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2016 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental.

  Chapter One: Done Deal

  “Okay. We’re set then. See you on the eighteenth.” Matt hung up the phone with a satisfied air, and I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. Who had he been talking with?

  I was afraid I knew. Harriet, my sister, had been talking it up for weeks, first with her boss George and then with anyone else who would listen. Every time Harriet had brought the subject up at home, I had tried to talk her out of it, but Harriet wouldn’t be swayed. Lately I had begun hearing more and more about it every day from friends and neighbors in our small town of Mad River, West Virginia, and every time the subject came up, I cringed inwardly.

  Harriet and I live together in the pre-Civil War home our mother left us. On Bluebird Lane in Mad River’s Old Town, it’s perfect for the two of us. It’s the home we grew up in, for one thing, and for another, we both love it. We love all its familiar nooks and crannies, its creaking floorboards, its tall ceilings with their flourished moldings. Plus the fact that its Old Town location means we can both walk to work, Harriet at Mad River’s only hardware store—which is also the historic general store—and me at the business office for Mad River Old Town.

  The previous year was a difficult one for both of us, what with our mother falling ill in the early spring and succumbing to her illness within only a few weeks, when Harriet was only twenty-one and I was just a couple of years older. Fortunately, both of us were already on our career paths when she died, and she left us not only the fully paid-for home we grew up in but also a small cash inheritance.

  Our mother’s estate was fairly simple to settle, and as the only heirs, we were able to work things out between us in ways that suited both of us. Nonetheless, neither of us felt fully prepared for adult life, and we both often missed our mom, each in our own individual way. Mom’s death left me feeling lost, unmoored, for months, but I was beginning to feel better as time went on. Harriet, however, continued to suffer and had even reverted to her adolescent ways. As a result, I was feeling more and more like the parent in my relationship with my sister.

  Just that morning, for instance, as we were getting ready for our respective walks to our different workplaces, an argument between us about Harriet’s latest obsession flared again. “I just wish you’d give it a rest, Harriet,” I protested. “The ghosts in this town will suffer with all that publicity. It’s a terrible idea!”

  “What ghosts? I think you—and Mother—were just putting me on all this time. There aren’t any such things as ghosts. And it’s a great idea bringing ghost hunters from that television show. Both George and Matt think so.”

  “Matt? You didn’t tell Matt, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t, but apparently someone did.”

  “This is awful. He’ll be all over it.”

  Harriet grinned. “He sure is. He thinks it will be great for business.”

  “You’re just jealous,” I called out over my shoulder on my way out.

  “Why should I be jealous?” Harriet retorted just before I slammed the door. “You’ve just got an overactive imagination is all.”

  I stormed down the old brick sidewalk on my way to work, furiously kicking October’s brightly colored autumn leaves on the ground ahead of me, and walking so fast that I beat my own best time between home and office by nearly five minutes. The Mad River Old Town business office is housed in one of our town’s historic buildings, formerly the sole barber shop. Constructed of wood slats and covered with a tin roof, it’s as creaky and old as the home Harriet and I live in. I stepped up onto its old wooden porch that morning, savoring the scent of its antiquity despite my anger, and pulled the front door open.

  “Morning, Shelby,” Matt said when I walked in the door. Then, “Hey, what’s eating you?” he asked when he saw my face, letting me know that my demeanor was that of a storm cloud.

  “Morning, Matt. It’s just Harriet again,” I grumbled. How embarrassing! I was never very good at hiding my feelings.

  Matt laughed. “For sisters, you two sure do fight a lot.”

  “Humph,” I answered, hoping to put an end to the conversation by pointedly ignoring him as I booted up my computer and glanced at the office phone to see if there were any voicemail messages. There weren’t, as usual. I hung my coat on the rack behind my desk and settled in for the morning. Matt shrugged and walked into his office, toward the rear of the building, then settled in behind his own desk. He didn’t bother closing the door as I would have preferred, but I continued to ignore him anyway.

  Matt and I had been working together for several years, ever since I graduated from high school and came to work for him, and we had long since settled into a comfortable working relationship, despite our very different personalities. During the springtime, I was an actress in Mad River Old Town’s Civil War reenactment, but the rest of the year, I was Matthew Sharp’s administrative assistant, a position I was good at but which felt increasingly restrictive as time went on. It was in this role, as I was sorting through Matt’s morning emails and calendar notifications, that I overheard his troubling phone conversation, sending what started out as a pretty rough day totally down the proverbial tubes. I felt like screaming when I realized the import of that call, but instead I focused on my breathing and deleted three more spam messages from Matt’s inbox, forcing myself to focus on the work I was getting paid to do.

  Suddenly Jessamine, the young 19 year old ghost who perished during the Battle of Mad River during the Civil War swooshed down in front of my desk.

  “Have you heard Shelby? They're bringing ghost hunters to town.” She wrong her pale white hands.

  “Can you help us?” she asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know, Jessamine,” I told her, speaking softly. “I’ll try.” I didn’t want Matt to overhear me.

  Jessamine’s fearful plea left me feeling even more troubled. I was sure that my other ghost friends were probably feeling afraid, too. I wanted to protect my spirit friends, but I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. I knew they would pitch in wherever and whenever they could, but their physical abilities were practically nil, and I knew they would need my help. Whether or not I could keep them safe from these purported ghost hunters remained to be seen, and I had been hoping I wouldn’t have to try. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Jessamine swooped up through the ceiling and off to wherever it was she wanted to go next. I sighed. Oh, to be able to swoop away whenever life got uncomfortable, I thought.

  ~.~

  “Put this on my calendar,” Matt said, dropping a handwritten note on my desk in front of me. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He pulled his jacket up over his broad shoulders and gave me a quick wave as he headed out the front door. My heart dropped right through the floor when I read the scrawled note, even though I had half expected its contents.

  After I was sure Matt had gone, I lay my head down on my desk, willing tears to come, but no such relief was forthcoming. Sighing, I gave it up as a lost cause after a couple of minutes, blew my nose, and got back to work again. At least I was alone for the moment. No sign of humans, no sign of spirit entities, no one. That much, at least, was a relief. It’s not often I get to be alone, what with my living human friends as well as my ghostly ones, and I relished the feeling at that moment. Yes I loved my ghost friends, but once in a while I needed solitude to get
my head on straight.

  I’ve been able to see, hear, and communicate with earth-bound spirits all my life. I have what Mom called “the sight.” Mom had the sight, too, and she gave me the understanding and compassion I needed as a child to fully develop my gift. Although this “gift,” if gift it is, is often passed down from parent to child, my little sister Harriet is not so blessed, and this lack on Harriet’s part is frequently a source of friction between us.

  Harriet was particularly miffed with both me and our mother at this juncture in our lives because I hadn’t been able to establish contact with Mom since she died. I tried and tried to explain to Harriet that I have no control over such things, but Harriet was angry, and that was that. She would not be reasoned with, no how, no way. And once Harriet is angry, one thing leads to another that leads to another, which is how this latest predicament had come about.

  What happened was that Harriet took it upon herself to promote the idea among Mad River’s townspeople that perhaps there could be ghosts in our town, which of course there are. The spirits in this town are those from the Civil War era. In fact, one of the many raging battles during the Civil war occurred right outside Mad River town. Many of the ghosts that occupy the buildings in the reenactment village of Mad River Old Town were killed during the battle. I’ve often wondered if it was their violent and sudden deaths that kept them earthbound. That perhaps they felt robbed of their time on earth and wanted to stay just a bit longer to enjoy it in their own way. But now I was afraid that another type of battle might be waged. And this one might expose my ghost friends, forcing them to move on, just like the Civil war battle forced them from their peaceful existence into an early grave.

  Harriet’s job at the local hardware store, which is also the historical general store, gave her ample opportunity to state her case to a good many people, and the idea caught on like wildfire. Most agreed with Harriet that if there were ghosts among us, it would be a good idea to call in a ghost-hunting crew. The idea caught hold of the imagination of Mad River’s citizens, it wound its way to the decision-makers, and now it was apparently going to happen.

  It’s not that I don’t love my sister. I do, unswervingly. She’s all the family I’ve got, after all. Our father disappeared before Harriet was born, so neither of us remembers him at all. Our mother didn’t like talking about him, and out of loyalty to her, neither of us pressed her about it. All we know about him is that he wasn’t from around here. So now that Mom’s gone, Harriet and I only have each other. I love her and I want the best for her, as I know she wants the best for me. We just go through some of this sibling stuff from time to time. Doesn’t everyone?

  And it’s not that I don’t understand my sister’s point of view. I do, or at least I try to. You see, I’ve never developed an overwhelming fear of death as Harriet has, as most living humans I know have. I don’t get angry or grieve when people die, at least not so much; those purported steps of grief are somewhat muffled for me as compared with other human beings I know.

  While I might feel sad for a while when I miss the physical presence of someone I was close to, someone such as Mom for instance, the emotions aren’t debilitating for me. See, I know Mom’s okay. I know this deep inside me, just as I also know that one day I’ll join her on the nonphysical plane. So I’ve been able to grieve for a while, then let her go and get on with my life. It doesn’t mean I don’t still love and miss Mom. I do. I just don’t suffer so. Harriet, on the other hand, has no such comfort, and she fears death enormously. Our mother’s death in particular has left Harriet with an immense dread about her own mortality as well as profound grief over the loss of the only parent she has ever known.

  For several months after Mom’s passing, I was awakened in the middle of nearly every night by Harriet’s heartbroken sobs. There was just no comforting her, and I finally gave up on trying. Then, after all that terrible sadness, even despair, Harriet finally made it up to anger, and boy did she ever get angry. She’s angry with Mom for dying, with me for any little thing at all, with anyone who crosses her path. It has gotten so bad that on some days I really wish I had someplace other than home to go to after work.

  ~.~

  When Matt strode back into the office, both Calinda and Eliana were with him. With a perverse sense of satisfaction, I noticed that the expression on Calinda’s beautiful face matched my own dark mood, but Eliana was bubbling over with happy elation. “Daddy!” she exclaimed as she unwound her scarf from around her neck and shook out her luxurious blonde curls, “this is the most thrilling thing that’s ever happened in this town!” Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her eyes were bright with barely contained excitement.

  Matt laughed. It’s no secret that he adores his only daughter, his only child, and he still treats her as if she were a child even though she’s nearing middle age. “It’s true, my love,” he said. “Here’s your chance for a breakthrough with your acting career.” He smiled warmly at Eliana and patted her cheek.

  It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, but Calinda, his wife and mother to Eliana, was not so restrained. “Oh, don’t be absurd,” she chided, rolling her eyes. “Those two are frauds. Mad River Old Town will be the laughingstock of the entire tri-state area.” She was talking about Nathan Bright and Adam Gaunt, who investigate reputedly haunted sites in our region for their show on public-access television.

  Even though she was at least a quarter of a century older than her daughter, Calinda was every bit as beautiful as the younger woman. I reflected that while Eliana had gotten her coloring from her sandy-haired father, she definitely got her looks from her mother, as Calinda’s flowing curls were brunette, not blonde. On this day, Calinda’s lovely mouth was colored in a rich raspberry tone, a color that was obviously calculated to enhance her beauty, a beauty that was not in the least diminished by her lower lip’s present pout.

  Calinda and I respected each other, and sometimes it seemed to me—and perhaps Eliana, too—as if I had more in common with Calinda than her daughter Eliana did. I admired Calinda enormously, and I think she knew that, even though I had never come right out and said so. She and I share a love of history, for one thing, although we come at it from very different angles.

  Not only was she beautiful, but Calinda was brilliant, too. It had been her passion and drive that had brought Mad River Old Town into being in the first place. A teacher at the local high school, Calinda spent hours on weekends and in her spare hours ensuring the accuracy of both the site itself and of the costumes and the roles of the actors who participated in the reenactment each spring. She was a well educated expert in American Civil War history, with an advanced degree in that field; she was even invited to lecture occasionally at the state university, located a little less than an hour’s drive from Mad River.

  “It won’t matter whether they’re frauds or not,” Matt argued. “The publicity will be just what Mad River Old Town has always needed during the off season.” He laughed again. “I don’t have to tell you that business booms during the reenactment season, but it slows to a trickle during the rest of the year. I’ve been looking for a way to even out the cash flow over the course of the year ever since I got into this business. You should be glad I’m such a good businessman.” He winked at Calinda in a failed attempt to take some of the sting out of his words.

  Calinda harrumphed herself down onto the couch across from my desk and crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, as if daring anyone to try to storm her castle. “And furthermore, young lady,” she said to her daughter, ignoring her husband, “just how is it going to further your ‘acting career,’” and here she held up both her hands, each with forefinger and middle finger curled down then up a couple of quick times to indicate quotation marks, “to be seen on local public television with a couple of bozos who are out hunting ghosts, of all things?”

  “Oh, Mother,” wailed Eliana, “you just don’t understand! You’ve never wanted me to succeed as an actress. You belittle me at every turn.
” Tears threatened to roll down from the inner corners of Eliana’s beautiful blue eyes. With no small surprise, I just happened to notice tiny crow’s feet also beginning to form at the outer edges of those lovely eyes. The childish Eliana is a full decade older than I am. She’s already been married and divorced, but she moved back in with her parents only a few months ago, much to Mad River’s detriment, in my humble opinion.

  “Sweetie, you know I love you,” Calinda began. This time Eliana rolled her eyes.

  “For whatever it’s worth,” I broke in, hoping to forestall another familiar family argument in my presence, “I agree with Calinda.”

  “There! You see?” Calinda exclaimed triumphantly. “You two are the crazy ones. Any reasonable person would object to the circus you two are planning.” She gave me a pleased grin. “Go on, Shelby,” she said. “Tell us more.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said, “I just don’t think….” It wouldn’t do to give them the real reason, that I’m worried about the welfare of my ghost friends. Matt and Calinda and Eliana—especially Eliana—already think I’m strange. Despite Calinda’s implication in this moment that she thought of me as a “reasonable” person, I knew that she usually did not think of me that way. The other two knew it as well.

  I scrambled to put some reasonable-sounding words together. “It’s just that….” I took a deep breath and tried again. “I just don’t think it would be good for the town,” I managed.

  “Oh, nonsense!” countered Matt. “That’s just utter nonsense. How can more business be bad for the town?” Eliana supported his retort by vigorously nodding her head, bouncing her golden curls and flipping them back off her shoulders with an insouciant flick of one beautifully manicured hand.

  “But Mad River is so charming during the off season,” I argued. That much was true. I love all things old, and Mad River, especially Mad River Old Town, is my favorite old thing of all. Not only is it old, but it’s quiet and spacious, too, or at least it is during the off season. Most importantly, Mad River Old Town is my home. “When the tourists flood in during the reenactment season,” I continued, “it just isn’t the same.” I paused and looked at their faces. They were all still listening, although Matt’s left brow was cynically arched as if he were composing a smart retort. “That time of year is exciting and fun,” I said, “but I’m always glad when it’s over and our town can get back to its quiet, old, lovable, normal self again.”