A Brady Paranormal Investigations Box Set Read online

  Like a Bad Penny, When Nature Calls, and If the Boot Fits

  Copyright ©2019 Harper Crowley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or

  transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the author.

  Nor can it be circulated in any form

  other than that in which it is published without the written

  consent of the author.

  Published by Kindle Direct Publishing

  Edited by Red Adept Editing

  Cover by Covermint and Pink Ink Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to locales, events,

  business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  http://www.harpercrowley.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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 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 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 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  On my computer screen, a pale, wispy human shape glides down the wooden staircase, its ghostly hand caressing the bannister.

  “Mom?” a young, female voice squeaks, her voice barely audible through my laptop’s speakers. “Is that you?” The image shakes, blurring slightly, before whoever’s holding the camera tightens their grip.

  I point at the video. “What the hell is this, Russ? Some amateur trying to get rich and send us something they cooked up in photoshop?”

  My teammate shrugs, propping his elbows on the table next to me, but he won’t meet my gaze. “I thought so too, but Jess said one of our subscribers sent it in. Top tier. I thought you might want to see it.”

  That changes things. “Top tier” means someone who knows what we do. Someone who knows we oust the fakes for the world to see. Most people won’t risk the humiliation. I replay the video, and as the figure once again floats down the stairs, excitement bubbles inside me. This could be it. This could be the evidence we’ve been looking for to take things to the next level. An internet-based paranormal investigative show is one thing, but I want primetime. I want network.

  The person behind the camera gasps, her breathing short and panicky. She’s either a really good actor, or she’s not acting.

  As the figure approaches the bottom of the stairs, I pause the video, my interest piqued. “What do you think?”

  Russ’s long, bronze fingers tighten around his can of Mountain Dew. He chugs the rest of the vile drink before crushing the can. “I don’t know. At first, I thought it was another fake dead-bride video, but she called it ‘Mom,’ and she’s one of our subscribers—has been for a year—so it’s a tough call. If it’s fake, it’s a good one, and the subscriber who sent it in has been planning this for a long time.”

  “Did you look her up?” A good fake was almost as good as the real thing, if only because our audience loves it when we reveal the fakes.

  Russ nods. “Yeah, and I think it’s worth checking out. Real or fake, the subscribers will love it.”

  And that’s good enough for me. I minimize the video to check the user information. ShelleyBelle03. Russ’s right. Even I recognize the name, and I rarely go on the forums. That’s my sister’s domain.

  Russ reaches over me and presses Play. “Wait until you see the next part.”

  “There’s more?” That’s weird. Russ doesn’t usually only show me a partial clip.

  I don’t have to wait long to see what he’s talking about, though. The ghostly woman reaches out one hand, as if beckoning us closer. The camera shakes, and the apparition’s mouth opens. It screams with a shriek so piercing and otherworldly that I fall out of my chair and cover my ears.

  “Damn it, Russ. What the hell was what?” I scramble to my feet and slam the laptop shut. “You should have warned me.”

  He smirks. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  “Jerk.” I punch him in the shoulder.

  Russ rubs his arm and opens the laptop to resume the video. As soon as he presses Play, another scream rips through the laptop’s tiny speakers, this one definitely human. ShelleyBelle03 stumbles backward with the camera bobbing wildly before dropping it to the floor. Dust motes float in front of the lens, and the door slams. Then there’s silence for a few seconds before the screen cuts out.

  I lean back in my chair. “At least she went back for the camera.” This is definitely not our run-of-the-mill cell phone videos or yellowed Polaroids of strange lights. If it’s real, and that’s a big if, this could be some of the best footage we’ve gotten in a while, which would be awesome. We’re way overdue for some good evidence. I can’t wait to get out there, if Russ and Jess are both on board.

  “Do you want to go for it?” Russ studies me, waiting for a response.

  I fish for the right words without showing him how excited I’m getting. “It’s different than our last case, that’s for sure, and I think our viewers would really like it.”

  Russ snorts. “True, but it was funny when that guy threw the plastic flamingo at us after we called them out for faking everything.”

  I chuckle at the memory. “Our subscribers would like it, too. Might even bring more in.” And we can really use that. The van needs a tune-up, and Jess needs books for classes. “I say let’s do it. Where is it?”

  “Awesome,” Russ says. “It’s in Georgia, um, a town called Oak Cliff. North of Atlanta.”

  “Have you shown it to Jess?”

  He hesitates, and I suck in a breath, catching his guilty look. “You already told her, didn’t you?” I bet my little sister is all over this. No wonder he wants me
to agree so badly. Jess loves this gothic horror crap.

  At least he has the grace to look embarrassed. “Maybe.”

  I groan. “Of course you did.” Even if I didn’t want to investigate, I’m outnumbered now. “Jesus.” He knows I can’t say no to Jess, not after everything we’ve been through. “Fine, but if I see a cat in a tutu like the last case, I’m blaming you.”

  Russ grins. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  I do, too, but I don’t want to tell Russ. It’d ruin my pessimistic reputation if I told him.

  “And who knows,” he says, “maybe this will be the one that’ll help us get a TV series or a movie deal.”

  Which is exactly what I’m hoping, because you never know what’s going to go viral, and who’s going to see it. “I’d settle for paying for our expenses,” I add, my voice dry.

  “Always the optimist,” Russ quips, his eyes sober. “If it’s real, and the homeowner wants us to take care of it, will you let me film it this time? I think it’s something our subscribers would find really interesting.”

  “It” means the ghost. I shake my head. “No. That’s private, and if this is ShelleyBelle’s mom, then it’s more private than most of the others. You know how I feel about that.”

  He flushes. “Right. Well, I’ll go tell Jess we’re taking the case.” Seconds after he leaves, I hear my sister whoop from the next room. The little brat had probably been waiting for him to convince me.

  “And I guess I’ll call ShelleyBelle.” I glance down at the scruffy black-and-white mutt lying by my feet. “What do you think? Should we take the case?” Bear cocks his head and thumps his tail. I take that as a yes. Outside the window, the sun begins to set, sending brilliant rays of orange, red, and gold across the horizon. For a second, I revel in the sunset, but then I pull out my phone and scan the yellow sticky notes littering the table. Russ’s notes about our cases, past and present, the website, the forums, and ideas for the future. Stuck next to the screen, though, is one with a name and a phone number: Shelley MacIver.

  While Russ and my sister rehash the video in the other room, I dial her number, hoping that Russ is right and we don’t get a plastic flamingo thrown at us again. Those things can really do some damage.

  Chapter 2

  Two days later...

  “They don’t even have a Starbucks here,” Jess whines as she taps furiously on her phone from the seat next to me. Her long black-and-purple hair hangs in front of her face, and she tucks it behind her ear angrily. “If I woulda known that, I would definitely have picked somewhere else. Someplace more civilized.”

  “Brat.” She’s not that far off of the mark, though. Oak Cliff, Georgia isn’t the smallest town we’ve been in, but it’s close. Outside of Atlanta, it has a few restaurants, hotels, and one of those roadside coffee huts in a supermarket parking lot, conveniently located right across the street from the widely acclaimed Oak Cliff Motel, which has a Vacancy sign blinking in fluorescent neon red.

  “Look.” I point at the coffee kiosk. “I’ll stop there and grab you some coffee as soon as we check in, okay?” Kid drinks more caffeine than I do. Hopefully, that’ll sweeten her attitude a bit.

  “Fine,” she harrumphs.

  Yeah, maybe after the tenth cup.

  “I thought you liked small towns?” Russ pokes his head out of the back seat of our Brady Paranormal Investigations van.

  “I like malls, and shopping, and high-speed internet.”

  “You could have stayed in Michigan,” he says. “I bet Violet would have come.”

  Jess flips him off. “She hates long road trips. She can’t sleep in the car, remember? I’m much better company.”

  My lips twitch, but no one sees it except Russ, who rolls his eyes.

  “At least it’s better than being in Detroit,” I reply. Two days in a van does not bring out the best in people.

  Jess glances out the window. “As long as you don’t make us wander through another Civil War cemetery, I’ll be fine. If I never have to step foot in another one for as long as I live, I’ll die happy.”

  “I love cemeteries,” I protest. “They’re eerie and spooky and gothic, and—”

  “I know,” she says. “But I’m sick of tripping over crumbling headstones at two o’clock in the morning and landing on spiders as big as my head. If you’ve seen one cemetery, you’ve seen them all.”

  “Subscribers pay the bills. We go where they want us to go.” Before she can lodge another objection, I turn the van into the Oak Ridge Motel, a one-story building covered in faded brick and skirted with a cracked parking lot. “Honey, we’re home.”

  “Charming,” Jess says.

  Russ snorts. “We’ve stayed in worse.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she replies.

  The tires on our van crackle over the old pavement as I park in front of the office. A bright-red OPEN sign flickers in a small window.

  “I’ll be right back.” I hop out of the van and slam the door behind me. At least I don’t have to listen to their bickering for a few minutes. Thank God for small favors.

  After checking in and noting that the older woman behind the counter looks suspiciously like Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter series, I rejoin Russ and Jess at the van, twirling a set of hotel keys in my hand.

  “No key cards?” Russ shakes his head. “This place is really kicking it old-school.”

  I toss him one set. “Yeah, well, it was within our budget, and they didn’t ask too many questions when I called to see if they had any rooms available. Not many hotels will rent rooms to young people like us who only pay in cash.

  I open the van door, and Bear jumps up on my chest, slathering me with wet doggy kisses. I laugh. “Jeez, boy. You’d think I’d been gone forever.” I scoop up the little mutt and plop him on my lap after sliding into my seat. Ears perked, the dog stares out of the window, ready for an adventure.

  “At least he doesn’t hate me anymore,” Russ says.

  “He only tried to bite you once when we first found him,” I grumble. “He’s not Cujo.”

  “You love us, and you know it.” Russ grins.

  I sigh and start the van. This is going to be a long investigation. “We’re in rooms 116 and 117.” They’re connected, and they’re the farthest away from the office, which is what I prefer, if I have the choice. Fewer people to notice the odd hours we keep or the fact that my sister, who’s sixteen but looks younger, doesn’t have a parent with her. I don’t like the scrutiny or the questions.

  “Right.” We back out and drive slowly through the lot, passing a few other parked cars. “Remember that no-tell motel in Texas? That place was disgusting. This one has got to be better.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Jess quips from the back seat as I pull into the parking spot on the end. “We haven’t seen the inside yet.”

  “This isn’t a vacation, you know,” I say. “We stay in what we can afford. You know that. We’re here to work.” I clip Bear’s leash to his collar and get out of the van before the other two. They think they’re so funny. One of these days, I’m going to leave them behind.

  “Ladies first,” Russ says, as we stand in front of the two closed doors.

  “Such a gentleman.” Jess plucks the key from my hand and opens 117, swinging the door so hard it bounces off of the thin plaster wall inside.

  A pair of twin beds line up against the left side of the room, their faded brown-plaid comforters pulled tightly across each mattress. On the opposite side, a cheap pressed-board dresser holds a boxy TV, and next to that is a matching desk with a worn Bible resting right on top. Twin nightstands complete the ensemble, each bedecked with gaudy brass lamps. The bathroom is in the back, but I don’t bother going to inspect it. If it’s broken, I’ll use Russ’s. A thin door with a deadbolt connects the two rooms.

  Russ grins. “Living the dream.”

  “Smart-ass,” I mutter. I need to find a cheaper web hosting plan if it means we have to keep staying in
places like this. Either that or save up enough to get an RV.

  He chuckles. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to start unloading.”

  Jess collapses onto one of the beds and dramatically throws her arm over her face. “If you don’t need any help, I’m gonna take a nap. I’m exhausted from all that driving.” We do need help, but I don’t bother saying that. Jess is about as much help as my dog.

  “Just wait. As soon as you get your license, I’m making you drive.” I unhook Bear’s leash, and he wanders through the hotel room before jumping on the bed next to my sister. Hopefully he won’t pee on anything.

  “I can drive without a license.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not paying the ticket. Besides, you have more of a lead foot than Russ.”

  She grabs the pillow and throws it at me.

  “I’m going across the street to get us something to drink from that little coffee kiosk in the parking lot.”

  “Thank God. Double shot mocha espresso if they have that, please.” Because only my sister takes some impossible-to-remember drink after doing absolutely nothing to help earn it.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Bear’s ears perk up when he realizes I’m about to leave on some amazing adventure without him.

  “Fine, you can come too,” I say, clipping the leash back onto his collar.

  After getting Russ’s order, I stroll through the parking lot and across the street. It’s quiet here, a lot quieter than our aunt’s house in Detroit. That city is always buzzing with activity, good and bad, and where Aunt Mary lives, it’s tough to get a moment outside to think in silence.

  I take a deep breath, relishing the warmth and the quiet. I haven’t been this far south in a long time. For some reason, most of our recent cases have been in the Northeast. Maybe we should make this a seasonal thing and stick to warmer climates for the winter months. I bet Russ and Jess would be game for that.

  I hadn’t noticed before, but the supermarket isn’t the only thing in the mall. While half of the storefronts are vacant, their windows empty and gaping, there is a hair salon, a flower shop, and a payday-advance store. A truck pulls in next to the coffee kiosk right before I get there. The guy that gets out is about my age, tall, with a broad set of shoulders and a pair of worn blue jeans. From the backside, he looks pretty good. I’m certainly not going to complain about the view.