Death by Haunting
Terrence Bailey awakes one night to find his mother-in-law standing in the corner of his bedroom. The only problem is that his mother-in-law has been dead for seven years.
Several weeks later Terrence dies of a heart attack . . . or does he?
Josiah’s nose starts twitching in a bad way when Terrence goes to the “Great Beyond” and she thinks his death has something to do with Jean Louis, a renowned portrait artist, who has come to the Bluegrass to paint Lady Elsmere’s portrait.
Josiah just doesn’t like Jean Louis and does some digging on him. What she finds will involve Detective Goetz and Interpol, and almost gets her daughter, Asa, shot.
Again, Josiah blames the black earth of Kentucky for spitting back secrets that should have remained buried in the dark and bloody ground. In the glamorous world of Thoroughbreds, oak-cured bourbon and antebellum mansions, Josiah struggles to uncover the truth . . . again.
Death By Haunting
A Josiah Reynolds Mystery
Abigail Keam
Worker Bee Press
Death By Haunting
Copyright © Abigail Keam 2014
Kindle Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.
The history is true. The art thefts are true. The artists are real, but the art may not be. The characters are not based on you. So don’t go around town and brag about it. Josiah Reynolds does not exist except in the author’s mind.
ISBN 978 0 9906782 0 5
Published in the USA by
Worker Bee Press
P.O. Box 485
Nicholasville, KY 40340
Table of Contents
Bonus Chapters from Death by Derby
Bonus Chapters from Last Chance Motel
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my editor, Patti DeYoung.
Special thanks to Sarah Moore for her insight.
Artwork by Cricket Press
www.cricket-press.com
Book jacket by Peter Keam
Author’s photograph by Peter Keam
To Susie, Debbie, Paul and Mike
By The Same Author
Death By A HoneyBee I
Death By Drowning II
Death By Bridle III
Death By Bourbon IV
Death By Lotto V
Death By Chocolate VI
Death By Haunting VII
Death By Derby VIII (2015)
The Princess Maura Fantasy Series
Wall Of Doom I
Wall Of Peril II
Wall Of Glory III
Wall Of Conquest IV
Wall of Victory V (2016)
Romance
Last Chance Motel
www.abigailkeam.com
Prologue
M
r. Bailey, who lived up Tates Creek Road from Josiah Reynolds, was awakened in the wee hours of the night to find that his covers had been pulled off. His growling Jack Russell terrier and clinging orange tabby were lying so close to him as to be almost pushing Mr. Bailey off his new mattress.
“What the . . .?” muttered Mr. Bailey, as he turned to push the cat away and question his wife of forty-seven years. “Mavis! What’s going on?” asked Mr. Bailey, as he turned on his side to find his missus wide-eyed and sitting straight up against the headboard of their new poster bed, staring into a darkened corner of their bedroom.
Mavis pointed toward the corner and croaked, “Mama’s here.”
Mr. Bailey followed his wife’s outstretched hand pointing to a dark corner where indeed stood his mother-in-law, Cordelia Sharp, wearing her favorite blue seersucker summer dress and lavender wig.
The only problem was that Cordelia Sharp had been dead for seven years.
1
M
y name is Josiah Reynolds. I was named for the Hebrew king in the Old Testament.
Old King Josiah purified the Temple from idolatry and cult prostitution. He ordered that all the priests who followed the pagan gods and goddesses be killed.
To be sure, it was the King’s way or the highway, buddy, for if his soldiers caught up with you, it meant an unpleasant death.
I am a widow-woman and until recently was the object of an extreme stalker who ended up falling over the Cumberland Falls and crashing on the rocks below. But not before the creep had shot my dog and two of my friends, one of whom is still fighting for his life.
But going over the Falls is not how he died. Someone put a bullet through his chest as he was trying to drown me in the Cumberland River.
I don’t know who killed my nemesis, O’nan, and I really don’t give a rat’s . . . well, you know. I’m just glad he’s dead.
My daughter swore on the Bible it was not she. I made her put her hand on the Good Book and swear an oath to me. I hope Asa is Southern enough to believe that if she lied, she will be cursed. But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have had someone else do it for her.
I have a few other names in the hat, but I really don’t care except that I am left with the repercussions of O’nan’s actions. And the repercussions are painful.
2
I
t was one of the most difficult decisions I had ever had to make, but I thought it the right one. I just have to tell Franklin. He would have a fit and there was a strong possibility he might never forgive me, but it had to be done. I would tell him later as I had to stop by the Big House first since I had gotten a call from my next-door neighbor, Lady Elsmere.
Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky, had the penchant for marrying wealthy men who died at an early age. Widowed twice, she was as rich as Midas and had come back to her Kentucky roots after living in England for several decades. She had been my friend for many years and she helped my deceased husband with his career by letting him restore her antebellum home, which is still a showstopper in the Bluegrass.
I call her home the Big House. Both Lady Elsmere and I like to pretend that we live in a Tennessee Williams’ play. Very often, we are not wrong.
After pushing in the code for the massive steel front gate, I drove up the pin oak-lined driveway and parked in the back of the house so I could go into the servants’ entrance where there were no steps.
I no longer relied on my cane but why tempt fate? You see, I had had a terrible fall. I fell off an eighty-foot cliff crashing into a ledge midway down. The fall busted my face, most of my teeth, lots of bones and my pride. As a result I limp, wear a hearing aid and pee on myself every time I burp.
On the positive side, I am no longer fat and when they were reconstructing my face, the docs gave me a little helpful boost in the age department. I look younger than I am and my new teeth are so bright, they positively glow in the dark. I never need a flashlight anymore. I just smile.
To tell you the truth, I am held together with spit and a prayer.
I tried the door. Of course, it was unlocked.
When would June realize that she and her staff could no longer live like it was 1959 when no one in Lexington locked their doors?
I entered through the mudroom, sat on a bench and took off my snow boots, putting on the slippers I had brought with me.
We had recently had a late snowstorm just when the fruit trees were blooming. Weather in Kentucky can be freakish at times as winter yields to spring begrudgingly.
While I was hanging up my coat, Bess poked her head inside and said, “Just wanted to see who came a’callin’.”
“Bess, you really need to start locking the doors. Anyone could have come in.”
“You’re so right. So right. There’s a lot of meanness in the world.”
“You’re not gonna start locking the back door, are you?” I complained, giving a look of consternation and following her into the kitchen.
Bess laughed while beating egg whites into a meringue. “Nope. Tired of living in fear. O’nan is dead and like the Israelites . . . we are set free.”
“There are other bad people out there, Bess,” I said, giving her a big hug from behind. “Remember that boy who tried to steal your Christmas jewels?”
“Get off with you,” laughed Bess. “Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of making a masterpiece here?”
“Where’s Charles and your mama?”
“Mummy went to Charleston to see her people and you know, where Mummy goes, so does Daddy. She wanted to show off her new jewelry that June gave her for Christmas.”
