Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 01 - Haunted Hijinks

Haunted Hijinks

An Agnes Barton Paranormal Romance

by

Madison Johns

Copyright © 2014 Madison Johns

Haunted Hijinks, Madison Johns

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Note from the Author

I want to thank all of my readers, new and old, who have bought and continue to buy this series and love Agnes and Eleanor as much as I do. Writing about them is truly a labor of love, but I have wanted to do something much different, thus the subtitle, An Agnes Barton Paranormal Mystery. As always, please feel free to contact me anytime via my contact page on my website. I enjoy hearing from readers. If not for you, I would not still be here, doing the one thing I love the most—writing.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Eleanor and I gathered our purses, rushing out the door. When we were settled in the car, Eleanor gushed, “I’m so excited. I can’t believe the Butler Mansion will be turned into a bed and breakfast and that we were chosen to oversee preparations.”

I massaged my brow thoughtfully. “You do know that we’ll be working, right?”

“Yes, but it’s not like we’ll be pushing a broom.” Eleanor gave me a concerned look. “Are you okay, Agnes? Maybe it’s too soon for you to be out and about. I mean, since the accident you’ve not been yourself.”

I cranked the engine over and tore off down US 23. I tried not to think about that day a few months back when I was sideswiped by an SUV as I was trying to avoid hitting a tourist who crossed on the green. They never even looked in my direction. Well, let’s just say that the driver was as surprised as I was when my Mustang slid across his vehicle. We even locked eyes for a fraction of a second—that was before his side mirror flew off and grazed the side of my head through my open window. I was knocked out cold and didn’t wake up for three whole days. And when I did come to, a muscular man with a full beard was sitting at my bedside at the hospital, among others. It took some prompting from my daughter, Martha before I remembered I even had a son. I guess that’s what happens when you have a concussion. I can’t remember exactly when the last time I’d seen Stuart was.

My fiancé, Andrew, was there, too, and my ever-faithful friend, Eleanor Mason. They told me my granddaughter, Sophia, had just left with my great-granddaughter, Andrea. All of this made sense to me. I had everyone around who loved me, but what I didn’t understand was the ghostly apparition of a woman that also was there, and totally unseen by everyone else. At the time, I chocked it up to taking too many medications, but when everyone left and the gray shadowy figure remained, I hid under my covers for a while. Luckily, the next morning she was gone … that was, until she showed up later that day. She kinda has a habit of appearing and disappearing, which is hard to get used to. Not that I could ever get used to seeing a ghost. My heart jumps a little every time and I can’t help but wonder if I was injured more severely than Dr. Thomas had told me. I’ve pondered the how and why of the ghost’s absences and wonder if she had ghostly business to take care of, because sure enough, she reappeared when I was released from the hospital later that week.  

The glaring sunlight jarred me out of my deep thoughts and I stared in my rearview mirror, and sure enough, El and I had the same ghostly passenger parked in the backseat, one that only I could see. At least, Eleanor had never admitted to me that she’d seen a ghost. Eleanor’s the type of person who would be scared to death at the prospect of seeing one. The ghost was quite slim and wore a quite-transparent green dress. Her bob-cut hairstyle was glowing about her head.  As of yet, she hadn’t spoken a word to me, which I’m eternally grateful for since I was already halfway ready for the loony bin, or so I had convinced myself.

I’m Agnes Barton, and I have been solving mysteries with my best friend, Eleanor, for quite some time in and around East Tawas, Michigan, much to the chagrin of ole Sheriff Peterson.

Eleanor cleared her throat, bringing me out of my thoughts. “I asked if you’re okay, Agnes?”

I stared straight ahead on the road and turned into the drive of the notorious Butler Mansion. It’s been the scene of more than one murder through the years, and Eleanor and I almost bought the big one ourselves in the mansion, but luckily, with our quick wits and a warning from the Butler descendants from beyond the grave, we managed to see the light of day. I didn’t see a ghost that day, but we sure heard a warning just in time. We thoroughly believe that the ghosts of days gone by at the mansion didn’t want us to die that day. Why, we’ll never know.

I braked hard, and Eleanor and I, along with the ghostly apparition, left the confines of the car, striding toward the door. I rang the doorbell and waited for it to be answered, but after a few minutes, Eleanor slapped a hand against the door, impatiently knocking.

I stared curiously over at a blue Impala parked in the drive. “Someone has to be home.”

The ghostly figure left the porch, walked toward the back yard and I followed suit. Perhaps it knew more than El or me.

“Let’s check the back door,” I called over to Eleanor who left the porch to follow me.

In the rear of the house, there were newly added French doors on the patio deck. The ghostly apparition didn’t wait for us and glided through the door. Then, with a whoosh of air, the door magically opened a crack, enough for us to be able to push it open and enter the mansion.

“Maybe we shouldn’t just go in,” Eleanor said.

I whirled and gave her one of my looks, asking, “And why not?”

Eleanor fidgeted with a button on her shirt. “Well, every time we just up and waltz into a place we weren’t let into, something dreadful happens, like the cops showing up.”

I smiled. “Well, you’re right about that, Eleanor, but we were expected,” I said as I led the way inside.

Eleanor stopped right inside the door. “Maybe nobody is here yet to receive us.”

“There’s a car outside,” I pointed out.

Eleanor shuddered as she gasped, “It’s freezing in here. I just know this place is haunted.”

I stared at the ghost, who seemed to be having a fit of the giggles, although soundless. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” I said this so that Eleanor wouldn’t run screaming from the mansion since we had promised to oversee preparations.

“Humph. What about that time in the attic when we heard a warning from a ghost?”

The ghost shrugged and I insisted, “There’s no proof that it came from a ghost.”

“No, b-but—”

“But nothing,” I interjected. “Let’s check out the place and see if someone might actually be here. There might be a legitimate reason why that door wasn’t answered, and I fully intend to find out what it is.”

With the ghost’s arms folded across her chest, she nodded in agreement. I was quite positive by now that I had really lost it. Seeing a ghost can’t be normal. I promised myself that I’d check with the doctor about the medication I was on, and soon.

The walnut walls smelled freshly cleaned with the fragrance of lemon oil that wafted in the air. As I neared the staircase, I saw the body of a woman crumpled at the foot of the stairs. I shook my head. We’d done it again—found yet another body. The strangest thing was it didn’t nearly rattle me like it used to, since El and I routinely managed to find a body or two. But, I never looked forward to the questioning we’d be sure to get when the cops showed up.

Before I had a chance to spit out much of anything, Eleanor sputtered, “What did I tell you, Aggie? I told you we shouldn’t have come inside. I told you it was a bad idea and now we’re in a fix. We should call the sheriff from the car so we don’t get into any trouble.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the point? We already came inside, and it’s from here we’ll make our call.”

Eleanor crossed her arms and sighed. “Oh, great. We’ll be hauled off to jail for sure now.”

“Eleanor, why would the sheriff do that when we’ve only just arrived?”

“Beats me, but you know how he feels about us getting involved in murder cases.”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions just yet. We don’t even know how the woman might have died.”

I dialed 911 and reported we’d found a body at the Butler Mansion, and then ended the call. I stepped closer to the body to get a better look. “Do you notice anything odd about her, Eleanor?”

“Not much besides that it’s a body of a dead woman.”

“How do you think she died?”

“Fell down the stairs.”

I shook my head. “Wrong. Do you see any blood? Because I don’t! If she had fallen down the stairs, she’d have wacked her head on the way down, or at least on the marble floor here.”

“Sounds about right. Then how do you think she died?”

“Not sure, but it might not have happened here.”

“So you think that—”

Eleanor never got a chance to finish what she was going to say when sirens sounded in close proximity, and flashers were visible through the sheer curtains of the drawing room from where they stood near the staircase.

I hurried over and let Trooper Sales inside. He was one of the Michigan State Police’s finest, and married to my granddaughter, Sophia.

Sheriff Peterson entered next, yanking up his trousers, and instead of reading us the riot act, he simply asked, “Where’s the body?”

Surprised but relieved, I led the way. “We just arrived. We were supposed to oversee the preparations of the mansion opening as a bed and breakfast,” I explained.

“Sophia told me,” Sales said. “Was the door open when you arrived?”

I froze as the ghost stood close by and pointed toward the French doors.

“Nobody came to the door when I knocked and when we came around back, the door somehow opened.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Like a ghost opened it.”

“Perhaps the latch is simply broken,” I suggested, not willing to believe the ghost I kept seeing was real.

Sales checked for a pulse and asked, “And this is how you found the body?”

“Of course. I know better than to move it. I also couldn’t help but notice that there’s no blood, like you’d expect to see if she fell down the stairs.”

“Oh, and what do you make of that?” Peterson asked.

“That her body was moved—that she might have been killed elsewhere.”

“Good observation, but we don’t know how she died just yet. We’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report,” Peterson said.

“Her neck might be broken,” Eleanor said. “But what are those marks on her neck? They look bite marks of some sort, like a vampire bit her or something.”

I rushed over there to take a look, and sure enough, there were two puncture marks on her neck. “How odd, but I doubt that it’s the work of a vampire, El, since they don’t really exist.”

“Says who? People told us Bigfoot wasn’t real and look how that turned out.”

“I’d rather forget, if you don’t mind. Besides, Bigfoot hasn’t been seen in quite some time.”

“Do you know who this is, Agnes?” Peterson asked.

I rummaged through my purse, came back with a piece of paper, and read off the name, “Katherine Clark was the name of the woman we were supposed to meet here. I’m not certain it’s her, but it most likely is.”

“What do you know, if anything, about Katherine?” asked Peterson.

“Nothing at all. I was just told that she would be running the place. It looks like someone didn’t want her to.”