Ghost of Halloween Past Read online

  The Ghost of Halloween Past

  Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  The Ghost Who Came for Christmas

  Haunting Danielle Series

  Bobbi Holmes

  Unlocked Hearts Series

  The Coulson Series

  Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  The Ghost of Halloween Past

  (Haunting Danielle Series – Book 5)

  A Novel

  By Bobbi Holmes

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  Editor: Vivian Delchamps

  * * *

  Copyright © 2015 Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

  living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.robeth.com

  To the ‘original’ Walt, my dad, Walt Johnson.

  I like to think when loved ones leave us,

  they are somewhere around the corner—waiting, watching.

  Chapter One

  The shouting woke him. Max opened his eyes. Someone was in the house. Reluctant to leave his hiding place under the bed, he remained still, listening: male voices. It sounded like two men arguing—loudly. Who are they and why are they in the house?

  A single gunshot silenced the men. Max flinched. All was quiet. He lifted his head and glanced around. From the corner of his eye, he spied a cockroach scurrying across the dusty wood floor. There were too many cockroaches in this house; it was difficult to keep up with them all. Then he heard it again: more shouting. But this time there was a different voice. Is that Harvey yelling?

  Inching out from his place beneath the bed, Max peeked under the hem of the tattered and soiled bedspread. Aside from the double bed, the only furniture in the bedroom was a vintage oak dresser, its varnish worn and faded, layered in dust. The cracked mirror, attached to the dresser by just one bolt, hung lopsided, on the verge of falling to the floor. Dim lighting came from the bulb of the small lamp sitting atop the dresser. It flickered, periodically going out.

  The shouting continued. It sounded as if it was coming from downstairs. Who is Harvey yelling at? There was only one way to find out; Max needed to investigate.

  He made his way out from under the bed. Creeping into the dark hallway, keeping low to the floor, he headed toward the staircase. As he peered through the railing, he could see Harvey’s silhouette standing below in the darkened entry hall. There was a man with him. A man Max did not recognize. The overhead light flickered on for just a moment. It provided just enough light for Max to notice the body lying on the floor—face down—at Harvey’s feet.

  “Answer me! I asked you a question!” Harvey shouted.

  The man standing next to Harvey stood mute staring down at the motionless body.

  “I asked, who are you?” Harvey demanded.

  “Bart Haston. I’m Bart Haston,” the man finally managed to stammer. “This is all a mistake.”

  “Where’s the gun?” Harvey glanced around the room. There was no gun in sight.

  “I don’t know,” Bart shook his head.

  Max expected the man to start crying.

  “I heard the gunshot. And look…” Harvey pointed to the dead man’s back. “This is obviously where the bullet went in. So there has to be a gun. What did you do with it?”

  “I didn’t do anything with it, I promise. I don’t know what happened. But I didn’t shoot anyone!” Bart insisted.

  Harvey knelt by the body and started to roll it over.

  Bart reached out, trying to stop him. “Wait! Should you do that?”

  “Do what?” Harvey looked up and scowled. “I don’t think I’m going to hurt him any more than he already is.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?”

  “Police? Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. What should I do?” Restless, Bart combed his fingers through his hair. He started to pace back and forth in front of Harvey, who continued to kneel by the body.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Harvey roughly turned the corpse over. He paused a moment and stared at the dead man’s face. He then looked up at Bart.

  Bart stopped pacing and looked down. “What do we do?”

  “I’ll take care of the body, but you need to get out of here.”

  “I have to leave? But where should I go?” Bart asked.

  “I don’t care where you go. You just can’t stay here. Go. Get out of here, and I’ll get rid of this. Just don’t come back. I mean it!”

  Max watched as the man who called himself Bart Haston ran from the house, fleeing into the dark night. Harvey dragged the body from the entry toward the door leading to the basement. From his hiding place, Max could no longer see Harvey, but he could hear the squeaky hinges of the basement door as it opened, and then he heard the thumping sound of the body as it roughly made its way down the wooden stairs.

  Wanting a closer look at the dead man, Max crept stealthily down the stairs. He paused when he reached the first floor landing, thinking better of the idea. What if Harvey locked him in the room again? While Max had no aversion to small dark places, he didn’t want to be trapped without access to food or water. He wouldn’t have survived this long without exercising some degree of caution. Harvey was unpredictable: ally one moment, nemesis the next. Before Max could make up his mind about how to proceed, Harvey returned from the basement, slamming the door shut behind him.

  I guess that settles that. Max thought, preparing to slink back upstairs.

  “There you are,” Harvey said when he spied Max by the stairs. “You could have helped me, you know.”

  Sitting down on a step, Max stared silently at Harvey.

  Harvey sat next to him. “What am I thinking? When have you ever been of any help?”

  Max closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for Harvey to go off on the same old tangent. Harvey had been searching since the day they had met, and he continued to search. Sometimes he blamed Max for not finding it. Yet Max could tell Harvey had other things on his mind right now, namely a corpse in the basement.

  “The body is going to start smelling. But I imagine that’s going to bother you more than me.” Harvey smiled at Max. “That old trunk down there was going to waste. The body fit inside nicely, but it took a little convincing.” Harvey laughed. “Folded him up like a pretzel. Of course, once rigor sets in…well, I wouldn’t want to be the on
e to have to unwrap that package.”

  Max looked away and stared across the room.

  “Don’t look so smug,” Harvey chided. “It’s not like I shot the guy, and I’ve seen how you deal with some of the dead bodies you drag in here. At least I didn’t dismember the guy like you did the last one.”

  Max looked back to Harvey with lazy eyes. He blinked several times and yawned.

  “I suppose it was best you stayed upstairs during the commotion,” Harvey said. “You might have gotten yourself shot. And then, what good would that do me?”

  Max stood up and started to go back up the stairs.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Harvey stood up and watched Max make his slow way up to the second floor.

  “Fine, go hide under the bed. All you do is sleep anyway!” Harvey called out.

  When Max reached the second floor landing, he paused and silently looked down at Harvey, who had turned his back to him and started walking back to the door leading to the basement. Even the threat of being locked in a room hadn’t completely dampened Max’s curiosity. He wanted to get a closer look at the dead guy.

  Harvey stood over the trunk, its lid open. The overhead light flickered on.

  “I bet you had no idea you’d be spending the night in a trunk, in the basement of this old boarded up house,” Harvey said aloud. “How did you manage to get yourself shot? Is someone going to be looking for you?”

  Hands on hips, Harvey glanced around the basement, trying to decide what to do next.

  “I can’t really leave you down here. It isn’t just the smell; he could come back looking for you, and then I might never get rid of him. And frankly, I don’t need anyone else hanging around here. I have less than two weeks to find it, and I can’t do it if I have to deal with him.”

  Harvey scratched his head and considered his options. “Maybe I should leave you for those meddlesome kids to find.” Harvey laughed at the idea and then slammed the trunk’s lid shut.

  Max stood in the shadows by the open basement door and silently watched. Maybe Harvey would be gone after Halloween, but Max hadn’t planned to go anywhere. But now he might have to. How could he stay? It was one thing putting up with the teenagers who threw rocks at the windows on Halloween night or made dares to see who was brave enough to sneak into the house. Once inside they would run wild down the dark corridors while Max hid in one of his many hiding places. But he couldn’t stay if the police showed up, asking questions and poking through every room—every nook and hidey-hole. If they found him, which they might, they would take him, as they had before, and lock him up.

  Not wanting Harvey to notice he had been spying on him, Max hurried back up the stairs from the basement, treading lightly. When he reached the entry, he noticed the front door was ajar. Seizing his opportunity, Max slipped out of the house and into the dark night.

  Keeping in the shadows, he started down the street, searching for a new hiding place. If he didn’t find one by sunrise, he would have to go back. Maybe he could convince Harvey to move the dead body somewhere else—into the ocean perhaps, it was only a few blocks away. Although, he doubted that would be possible.

  Making his way down the street, he noticed it was trash night. When was the last time I had something to eat? Finding food suddenly became his number one priority. It proved to be his lucky night. In the first trashcan, he found a partially eaten chicken breast sitting atop the garbage. Looking around nervously, afraid something might jump out at him from the darkness, he looked back in the can and snatched the piece of chicken. Certain there was some monster in the night prepared to pounce and steal his prize, Max ran down the street with the piece of chicken, looking for a safe place to savor his meal.

  He found temporary shelter amongst the shrubbery between two houses. Ravenous, he used his teeth to rip every last bite of meat from its bone. When he finished, he left the evidence of his meal under the bush and continued on his hunt.

  Max had been wandering for over an hour when he came to a three-storied house, if one included the attic. Its dormer windows faced west. A row of homes separated it from the beach and Pacific Ocean. He approached the house and discovered someone had failed to shut the front gate. Glancing around, making sure no one was watching, Max slipped through the gate and made his way to one of the windows in the front of the house.

  The window was open, but it had a screen, preventing him from getting inside. However, it did make it possible for him to hear whoever was just inside the window. By the voices, he surmised it was at least two women. Careful not to make any sound, Max peeked in the window. He had been right—there were two women.

  “Are you going to be up much longer?” one of the women asked. She stood by the door leading to the hallway. Or at least, Max assumed it led to the hallway.

  “Not much longer. But I’d like to finish this book. I only have a couple more chapters,” said the woman who lounged on the sofa with a book in her hands.

  “Well, I’m going to head up to bed. After moving all my stuff back upstairs, I’m exhausted.”

  “Night, Lily.”

  “Night, Dani. See you in the morning.”

  The woman called Lily left the room. Max focused his attention on the remaining woman—Dani? Was that what her friend had called her?

  Max sat quietly in the darkness watching the woman. She continued to read, periodically turning the pages of the book. The room was well lit; he could clearly see her face.

  I like the way she looks, Max thought. Yes, I like it very much.

  Chapter Two

  Yawning, Lily stumbled out of bed and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. It was almost 8:30 a.m. I’ve gotten lazy, she thought. If she were still working, she would already be at school facing a roomful of rambunctious first graders. She missed her first graders. Grabbing her flannel robe from the chair, she slipped it on over her pajama bottoms and T-shirt.

  In the bathroom, she looked in the mirror and brushed her teeth. With her free hand, she ruffled her short red curls. Lily no longer hated her hair. For one thing, it had grown out some since Stoddard had ordered it to be cropped short like a boy’s. Now it almost reached her shoulders. Ian insisted the short hairdo accentuated her green eyes and looked sexy. Maybe he is telling the truth, she thought, or perhaps he is just being kind because he loves me.

  When she finished in the bathroom, Lily stepped back into the hallway. Until yesterday, she had been using the downstairs bedroom. But she had recently ended her IV treatments and was walking better now, so she decided to move back up to her old room to free up the only downstairs bedroom, just in case any of Danielle’s future guests requested a room on the ground floor.

  Lily noticed Danielle’s bedroom door was open. She peeked inside on her way down the hall. The room was empty. Heading down the staircase a moment later, she smelled coffee brewing. Taking a deep breath, she smiled and picked up her pace, hurrying down to the first floor landing.

  Before going to the kitchen, Lily went outside to grab the morning newspaper off the front porch. Danielle never seemed to remember to bring it in. Lily walked into the kitchen reading the headlines. She looked up only long enough to find her way to the coffee pot and pour herself a cup, while skimming through the front-page article.

  “Morning Lily. Something interesting in the paper?” Danielle asked from the kitchen table, where she ate her breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. Unlike Lily, Danielle was already dressed for the day, in black slacks and a lavender sweater.

  Lily glanced up from the article. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

  “What is it?” Danielle asked before taking a bite of toast.

  “Christiansen and Haston have disappeared.” Lily tossed the newspaper on the kitchen table.

  Danielle immediately snatched up the paper and looked at it. “What do you mean disappeared?”

  “Apparently, they skipped bail, both of them. They were supposed to appear at the cour
t on Wednesday and neither of them showed up. They’ve vanished. Poof. Into thin air.” Lily took a seat at the table.

  Shaking her head, Danielle said, “I thought it was stupid letting them out on bail. After all, Haston pretty much confessed to everything, so what’s the point? Just sentence the guy.”

  “I guess it doesn’t work that way.” Lily shrugged. “Especially when his attorney was claiming he only made his confession under duress.”

  “Yeah right.” Danielle rolled her eyes.

  “I imagine they’ll find them. Where are they going to go?”

  “Out of the country? I would assume they have some money stashed away. But, kind of odd they both disappeared at the same time. I can’t imagine they took off together. After all, Christiansen was pretty pissed at Haston.” Danielle tossed the newspaper back on the table.

  Lily was just about to take a sip of coffee when the newspaper floated up from the table, hanging in midair. Setting her mug down, she looked up at the newspaper and watched as the pages seemingly turned on their own volition.

  “Good morning Walt,” Lily finally said.

  “Tell Lily I said good morning.” Holding the newspaper in his hands, Walt continued to read the article as he took a seat at the table.

  “Walt says good morning.” Danielle said and then mumbled under her breath, “Why do I always feel like a translator?”

  Lily laughed at the comment and then glanced up at the kitchen window. Abruptly, she snatched the newspaper from Walt and unceremoniously slammed it on the table. She held her hand on the paper so Walt couldn’t pick it up again.

  “What was that for?” Walt grumbled. He didn’t expect an answer; after all, Lily could neither see nor hear him

  “Ian’s here,” Lily whispered.

  The kitchen door opened and Ian stuck his head inside and said, “Knock knock.”

  “Come on in, Ian,” Danielle greeted. “Coffee’s on, help yourself.”