Ghost of a Promise

It might be love…but will they survive the night?

The ghosts of her family’s estate on the coast of Maine never troubled Ava Trumble. When she finally inherits the historic mansion, however, there’s a small string attached: Ava has exactly one year to solve a 200-year-old mystery of a missing girl, or lose her family’s home...

The lead investigator for paranormal TV show Phantoms, Jackson Granger, is prepared for any metaphysical encounter—until now. It’s not just the uncanny sense of “coming home” or even his reaction to the fiery redhead who seems to consume his every waking thought. No, it’s that the ghosts are using Jackson and Ava’s attraction to play out a centuries-old tragedy. Heartbreak. Loss. Overwhelming passion. Now Jackson and Ava must determine if they’re sharing something real...or if they’ve been possessed by a love that never died.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Kelly Moran. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Covet is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Allison Collins

Cover design by Curtis Svehlak

Photography by Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-63375-194-1

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition January 2015

This book is for my own mangy crew of ghost hunters. To my dear friends Lynn and Marcia, and my husband, Darren, who never mind sitting down to watch something spooky with me. And for my mom and dad, (Deb and Clay), who are just like Ava’s parents in the book--fearful of ghosts but supportive nonetheless.

A huge shout out to my agent, Dawn. Thanks for believing in me. To my Entangled editors, Candy and Allison, thanks for loving this story and helping to make it better, and to Curtis, for still returning the marketing emails from this crazy, excited writer.

I’m blessed to have a wonderful street team of awesome people. Special mention to: Raquel Perryman, Donna Antonio, Melissa Aguire, Michelle Hart, Jessika Harper, Barbara Martoncik, Tammy Hall, Tabitha Jones, Nancy Wolfe, and Jenn Marr.

Terms

Ghost:
The disembodied spirit/soul of a dead person imagined as haunting the living or a location.

Haunted:
Inhabited or frequented by ghosts.

Types of Hauntings:
Residual, Intelligent, Demonic, Poltergeist.

EMF & EMF Meter:
Electro Magnetic Field. Meter that measures electric and magnetic fields and indicates the magnitude of currents produced by each type of field. High EMF fields can cause paranoia, nausea and hallucinations.

EMF Pump:
A man-made EM electronic box to give a spirit an extra dose of EMF to try bringing it closer or make it more active. It is theorized spirits draw from EMFs to manifest.

EVP:
Electronic Voice Phenomenon. Recordings of voices or noises the human hearing range cannot detect.

Digital Recorder:
An electronic device used to record or detect EVPs.

Digital Camera:
A camera that takes still photos. Some activity has been seen in pictures not seen by the human eye.

Thermal Imaging Camera:
A camera/recorder that displays thermal sensitivity to capture calibrated temperature fluctuations in every image, to produce a complete thermal picture to detect where hot/cold spots and other heat-related problems are.

Full Spectrum Camera/Lights:
A camera/recorder or floodlight that can help change ultraviolet light into visible light in the infrared spectrum. Used to detect manifestations not seen by the naked eye.

E-Pod Amp:
Used for static field proximity range detection. Can detect various energy charges.

ITC Device/Voice Box:
A speech-synthesis device that talks. It says words depending on environmental readings, including electromagnetic waves, which some believe come from spirits.

Spirit Communication Prop:
A device such as a flashlight or yes/no box to allow spirits to answer questions during sessions.

White Noise Dowsing:
An electronic box that creates multi-tone, complex white noise to enhance EVP sessions.

Chapter One

Ava swallowed hard, trying to hold her tears back. She should’ve been ready for this reading of Aunt Lois’s will, but now that it was here, the finality of losing her aunt hit hard. Across the long, polished mahogany table, the family attorney, Fred Sawyer, sat at the head, staring her down.

God, what the heck was taking so long? Acid was eating away the lining of her stomach already.

She went back to her sketch design ideas for the B&B’
s logo, hoping to distract herself from the ache in her chest. The B&B she might not get to open if this meeting didn’t go well. Should she go with an elegant font? Something swirly, or would that be too feminine? Block letters just seemed too bold, too out there. Pushy. She didn’t want to be pushy. She wanted guests to come in and curl up in a chair with a book and a cup of something sweet. Tea or cider, or fresh-squeezed lemonade.

Since she was six years old and had first set foot inside the Trumble mansion, her great-aunt had promised Ava would inherit the old house. She loved Aunt Lois. She really did. The woman had more bats in her belfry than the Batcave could ever hope to produce, but she was good to Ava. She missed their long conversations, making plans for the B&B Aunt Lois had encouraged her to open.

Forcing down the lump in her throat, she continued her sketch to get her mind off the wait and the nerves causing a riot.

From the seat next to her, Mom fidgeted. Her parents had come with her today for moral support, but she knew they didn’
t want her to inherit the mansion. Neither one wanted anything to do with the family grounds. They believed, as did everyone else in the small town of Kerrick, Maine, that the Trumble mansion was haunted. Not just haunted, but no-one-ever-sets-foot-inside-and-lives-to-tell-the-tale haunted.

Ridiculous. For argument
’
s sake, it was really just men who had the unfortunate luck of maybe
—
sometimes
—
having strange
“
accidents
”
leading to death on the estate. Women were relatively safe. Relatively. Assuming she believed in the claims of spirits.

Which she did.

She was as likely to admit that aloud as she was to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, though. Kerrick
—
population: don
’
t blink or you
’
ll miss it
—
could go right on making up stories for all she cared. At least she
’
d never get robbed.

Sitting directly across from her parents were the Hansens: evil, wretched people who were on the Kerrick Historical Society. Thus, her big worry. They
’
d been after the Trumble mansion for years, and couldn
’
t wait to pounce on the chance the house would be deeded to the society. They were both in their late sixties, with more salt than pepper in their hair. Their thin, angular faces never cracked a smile, and they sat like broomsticks had been shoved up their
—

“
Fred, come on,
”
she sniffled again.
“
Can we pretty please get on with this?
”

His eyes narrowed, but he showed no other outward sign of irritation.
“
It
’
s Mr. Sawyer now, Ava.
”

Uh huh. Fred went to elementary and high school with her, what seemed like so very long ago now. She
’
d never call him
“‘
Mr. Sawyer
’”
on principle. Plus, she was certain she
’
d kissed him once on a dare but couldn
’
t remember if it was any good. Unlikely, since she couldn
’
t remember. A girl never forgot a great kiss.

She hadn
’
t had a great kiss in a decade.

Before she could say anything more, his secretary strolled in carrying a box of donuts and a carafe of coffee to a cart in the corner.

“
I
’
m so sorry I
’
m late. Would anyone like some coffee?
”
Her voice was two octaves above human hearing.

Ava resisted the urge to bang her head against the table. Knocking herself unconscious would only delay the reading of her great-aunt
’
s will.

“
Right,
”
Fred said, coffee in hand, and glanced at the papers in front of him as if he didn
’
t know what they said.
“
Lois Elizabeth Trumble
’
s last will and testament.
‘
It is my wish to be buried in the cemetery plot on the Trumble estate
—’”

She closed her eyes. Aunt Lois
’
funeral was last week, thus making her burial requests moot. Fred had been in Barbados on vacation at the time, which was why the will reading was a week late. She must have made a sound of agitation.

“
Sugarpea,
”
her mother cooed in her thick, southern accent, and patted her hand as if to say,
Now, now. Good things come to those who wait.

Mom was born in the not-so-great state of Mississippi and didn’
t move north until she met Dad in college. She still refused to believe herself a Yankee.

Ava bit back another sigh.
“
I
’
m sorry, guys. I
’
m just
…
stressed. Please continue.
”

Her face heated and she sucked in a deep breath to calm down. She wasn
’
t this person. Fred meant well, as did her parents. Okay, maybe she had a teensy weensy bit of a temper problem, but it rarely showed itself, and she
’
d been dreaming of this moment her whole life. She had plans for that house. Big plans. When Aunt Lois was on her deathbed, she said something very strange. Something that stuck with Ava until right this very moment, causing many sleepless nights and jarring her more than any ghost.

Don’t be angry with me when they read the will, Ava. It’s time to figure it out. Time for a change.

Fred cleared his throat, apparently ready to continue. “‘
I hereby leave my bonds and whatever stocks remain to my nephew, Albert Trumble. To his wife, Marjorie Trumble, I leave all of my jewelry and costume pieces, with the instructions that the heirlooms not be sold but kept in the family.
’”
Fred sighed and leaned back in his chair to take a sip of coffee as if this was the most exertion he
’
d made all day.
“‘
Lastly, I leave the Trumble family mansion, estate, and grounds to my great-niece, Ava Trumble.
”

Ava stood and hunched over in relief.

“‘
With the stipulation that
—’”
Fred paused.

“
Stipulation? What stipulation?
”
She groped for her chair and plopped back down, becoming anxiously deflated already.

Fred looked at her and then quickly to the paper he held.
“‘
With the stipulation she uncover the mystery of what really happened to Sarah Kerrick within a year of my death.
’”

Mom gasped. Dad laughed.

Was this a joke? She waited for the punch line.
“
What?
”

Fred heaved a dramatic sigh.
“
She wants you to investigate what happened to Sarah Kerrick. If you uncover a viable scenario to her disappearance within the year, then the house is yours.
”

A really, really effed-up joke.
“
So, let me get this straight.
”
She spoke slowly, as much for her benefit as for the others present.
“
I
’
m supposed to investigate the disappearance of a woman from more than two-hundred-and-thirty years ago?
”

“
Within the year.
”
Fred gave a definitive nod.

“
Absurd!
”
Then she realized the latter part of the stipulation.
“
Or what? What happens if I don
’
t find something within the year?
”

“
Then the deed to the mansion and property will be transferred to the Kerrick Historical Society.
”

Oh God. All her dreams
…
Poof. Her hands shook with such force she fisted them to hide the tremor.

She looked at the Hansens, both looking smug and superior. They
’
d wanted to turn the house into a museum for twenty years now, hounding her great-aunt constantly. A freakin
’
museum. And they liked to contort history to embellish legend, like claiming her ancestor, Peter Trumble, killed Sarah Kerrick, when there were no facts to back up that claim.

No. No way were they getting the estate. Over
her
dead body.

“
But that house has been in the Trumble family for more than two centuries.
”

“
Sorry, Ava.
”
Fred shrugged.
“
Your great-aunt
’
s wishes.
”

This wasn
’
t a joke. It was a nightmare.
“
Who deems whatever information I uncover to be viable? You said
‘
a viable scenario.
’”

Fred grinned, and her blood turned to ice.
“
That would be me. Your great-aunt left specific instructions as to what would qualify as viable information.
”

Ava clenched her fists tighter.
“
For instance?
”
she ground out.

“
Finding Sarah Kerrick
’
s remains, her supposed journals, evidence on film of a ghostly reenactment of her death. That kind of thing.
”

“
That kind of
…”
She snapped her mouth shut. Sat quiet for a beat. Panic was quickly turning into hysteria.
“
This isn
’
t some Hollywood horror story, Fred. What am I supposed to do? Dig up the cellar for her bones? Walk around with a camera whispering,
‘
Did you hear that?
’”
She crossed her arms, full snarkiness emanating, her blessed natural defense.
“
No, no, I
’
ve got it. I should tear down the walls to find a secret journal that isn
’
t even reputably proven in existence!
”

Fred stood up.
“
All great ideas. See, this won
’
t be so hard.
”

Her dad wrapped an arm around her waist.
“
Come on, honey.
”
Though his voice was gentle as always, amusement laced his tone.

She strode out of the conference room with her parents and into the small lobby, then pushed past the glass door and onto Trumble Street. She drew in a lungful of air.

This wasn’t happening.

The main drag in the town square, named after her ancestors, was quiet for midday. A few patrons walked the cobblestone sidewalks, window shopping in the quaint shops or sitting outside at café tables and benches chatting. Curbside, dried cornstalks were fastened around the Belle Chase century lampposts. Between the posts, flower boxes encasing mature oaks were decorated with pumpkins and gourds. Though only September, red and orange leaves contrasted the cobalt sky and fell to the ground.

Mom struggled into her fleece jacket as they stood on the sidewalk.
“
Maybe this is for the best, sugarpea. That house is a curse, and Lois knew it. I don
’
t think she wanted you to fall into the same trap. I think she gave you a year to come to terms with it and to say good-bye.
”

She looked into her mom
’
s kind, green eyes and knew she meant well.
“
I
’
m still not giving up the house, even if you think it
’
s a curse.
”

Her father barked out a laugh, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening.
“
What are you going to do, honey? Call the Ghostbusters?
”

She opened her mouth but swiftly shut it again. That wasn
’
t a half-bad idea.

Okay, so she wouldn
’
t be dialing up Bill Murray anytime soon, but paranormal investigations were popular right now. There weren
’
t a lot of other choices. A year was a long time, but not nearly long enough to go back more than two-hundred years to find information on what, up until now, had been mostly legend and rumor. She
’
d need all the help she could get, even if it was a crazy notion.

God, Aunt Lois, what were you thinking?

“
I
’
ll see you guys later.
”
Ideas were already forming.
“
I love you.
”

“
You call us if you need anything,
”
her mom said.

Unless it involves coming within twenty feet of the Trumble mansion.

She hugged each of them. They walked in the opposite direction she was going. Around the town center and small shops were several subdivisions woven like a broken cobweb. Her parent’
s cozy ranch home was only a few blocks away on one of those intricate streets.

Kerrick got a lot of tourists in June through October. Right before she was born, just inside the city limits and next to a still-functioning lighthouse, a three-story hotel was erected to support the tourism market. Several seafood restaurants soon followed, and an inn as well.

Ava hoped to tap into that. She
’
d wanted to convert the mansion into a B&B since graduating college with her business degree. Hotels were fine, but inns and B&Bs were cozier. The location couldn
’
t be any more ideal: right on the cliffs, smack in the center of town, and within walking distance to just about everything.