A Brady Paranormal Investigations Box Set Read online

  We answer “yes” in a chorus then hurry down the hall before she changes her mind and calls security.

  “That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” Jess murmurs.

  Russ elbows her in the side. “Don’t jinx it.”

  Graham gives her a smug grin. “I used to mow her lawn when I was in middle school,” he says. “She baked me cookies. She never had kids of her own, so she kind of adopted me.”

  Wouldn’t that have been nice.

  The door to Mr. Rasputin's room is barely cracked open, so Graham knocks, but it swings open the rest of the way under his gentle touch.

  “Come in,” a raspy voice says.

  With one last glance at us, Graham leads the way, and we follow suit.

  Only one bed in the sterile white hospital room is occupied. The shades are drawn over the window, leaving the room bathed in shadows. The old man on the bed looks smaller than he had on the floor of his cottage. Paler, too. His skin is a ghostly white that’s only a shade or two darker than the white linens on his bed. The top of his head is wrapped in a thick bandage, and an IV snakes into his left arm.

  Graham pulls a chair up next to the bed. “Hi, Mr. Rasputin,” he says.

  The old man doesn’t respond. If he hadn’t told us to come in, I would have thought he was asleep.

  Graham reaches over and squeezes his free hand. “Can you hear me? It's Graham MacIver. My friend and I”—he glances over at me—“we’re the ones who found you at your house, and we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Once again, I’m glad he only told a partial truth. The reality is too confusing. I’m sure it’ll come out someday, but for now, it’s enough to stick with the basics. Mr. Rasputin’s pale-blue eyes flutter open. “Who?” He coughs with a thick, hacking sound, and I cringe when I think about how much it must hurt him to talk.

  “Graham MacIver, sir. You remember me, right?”

  The old man nods. “Are you okay, son?”

  My eyes meet my teammates’ in surprise. Maybe Mr. Rasputin saw more than we thought. Seeing him on the bed, so fragile and alone, makes me want to avoid talking about anything that might upset him.

  Russ pulls out a voice recorder and presses record, which I catch out of the corner of an eye. It’s not as good as video, but it’s better than nothing. Smart thinking. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh yeah, because it’s probably illegal. I need to watch which side of the law we’ve been skating on lately.

  “We’re okay,” Graham says after a long pause. “He didn’t hurt us.”

  “Good,” Mr. Rasputin says. “That bastard thought he could get away with it, but I told him that the truth would come out someday. He couldn’t keep it hidden forever.” The vehemence in Mr. Rasputin’s voice surprises me.

  “Who?” Graham leans forward. “What did they think they could get away with?”

  Mr. Rasputin coughs. “The house. It’s cursed. You’ve got to stay away, or it’ll kill you, too.”

  Graham’s face pales, but his jaw firms resolutely. “I can’t. I have to find out what happened to my mom.”

  “I know, boy.” Mr. Rasputin pats Graham’s hand, kindness glimmering in his eyes. “She loved you, you know. You and your sister both. But searching for the truth is dangerous. What would happen to your sister if something happened to you?”

  Indecision crosses Graham’s face. “She wants to know, too. We can’t just wait for the cops to do their job, especially since they haven’t done it yet.”

  Mr. Rasputin laughs, which turns into a hacking cough. “No, I suppose they haven’t. All right. If you want to know what happened, you’ve got to search the house. The truth is in there. Find it before it’s all destroyed.”

  “Who would destroy it?” Graham asks. A frantic, burning desire chases his words, giving him energy. He grabs Mr. Rasputin’s hand and squeezes it. “Do you know who attacked you?”

  Mr. Rasputin frowns. “He was wearing a mask.”

  Russ and I share a knowing glance.

  Mr. Rasputin didn’t answer Graham’s question. “Search the house. Maybe now, she’ll be willing to give up her secrets like she gave up my son.”

  “Your son?” Graham drops his hand, confused.

  Mr. Rasputin coughs again, this time hacking painfully into the back of his free hand. “Yes, my son.” An apologetic look settles into the deep grooves around his eyes and mouth. “Don’t you remember? You’re the one who found his body.”

  Chapter 17

  “We have to go back to the house.” Graham leans against the side of the van in the hospital parking lot, exhaustion weighing him down.

  “I know,” I say, but I don’t like it. My mind reels with Mr. Rasputin’s claims, even though we don’t have any actual proof from the cops. I believe him though; there was an ache of truth in Mr. Rasputin’s voice that wouldn’t have been there if he wasn’t one hundred percent positive we found his son. And who knows, maybe he did sense it for all of these years, and that’s why he stayed on. We still don’t know what he was doing with Graham’s mom’s locket though, or how he ended up buried beneath the rose bushes to begin with.

  “I think he’s always known he was there,” Jess says, her expression pensive as she echoes my thoughts. Russ trains a video camera on her. With the clouds darkening the sky and everyone’s solemn attitude, it’ll look perfect for our viewers. “Maybe not exactly where his son was buried, but he knew. I bet that’s why he stayed here.”

  “Maybe,” I say, even though I think the same thing. We just don’t have enough information for me to say it.

  “I just don’t know why he wouldn’t have told the cops,” Jess says.

  Graham stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know, either. What do we do with this? Do we tell the cops what we think, or keep it to ourselves since we don’t have any proof? It’s like we’re so close, yet none of the pieces are fitting yet, and we don’t have them all. But if Mr. Rasputin says the truth is in the house, we have to go check it out.”

  “Didn’t the cops already search the house?” Jess asks, more for the audience than for us. This is bonus material, stuff to go along with the rest of the footage. Our subscribers will eat it up.

  “Maybe they missed something, I don’t know.” Graham pushes himself away from the van and paces between our vehicle and his truck. “Or maybe they don’t know what to look for.”

  “And you do?” I ask.

  Russ snorts and zooms in on my deadpan expression. Jess stifles a laugh.

  Graham grimaces, and Russ focuses the camera on him. “No, but I know something’s there. I doubt the police investigated much differently back when my mom disappeared than they do now. They probably did a cursory walk-through, dusted for fingerprints, and left it at that. My dad was a prominent judge who was above the law. He probably still is, to some extent. And he’s for sure a legend around here. I don’t know what they came up with, but I doubt they searched too hard.”

  “Which leads us back to what you said a few minutes ago.” I sigh, a feeling of inevitability filling me. “You want to go back.”

  “Yes,” Graham says. “Tonight. I want to talk to my sister and call my dad again. I haven’t been able to reach him, and that bugs me. Uncle Jay says he’s in Atlanta, visiting an old friend, but I’m sure he would have told me.” He lets out a hollow laugh. “Not that I’ve been preoccupied or anything lately.”

  I glance at my teammates. Russ gives me a thumbs-up, and Jess nods. “Sure, why not?” I say. “It’s not like we can leave town anyway until Detective Dan lets us go.”

  Graham grins, relief painted across his face. “Thank you, Meredith. You won’t regret this.”

  Uh huh, famous last words.

  We agree to meet at the MacIver house at a quarter to seven. Plenty of time for Graham to brief his sister and find his dad, I hope. Something doesn’t sit right with me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it, so I don’t say anything. We have a few hours, enough time to upload our latest foo
tage and update our subscribers. Jess does a half hour Q and A for the dozen or so who log on after her mass text message, and Russ says he’s already seeing a jump in our views and half a dozen new subscribers.

  “You know,” he says, “if we branched out and did other paranormal stuff, we could reach a whole new range of viewers.”

  Jess shakes a bottle of bright-purple fingernail polish before twisting the cap open. “If you think I’m going to go running around in the woods, looking for some swamp monster, or camping out and searching the skies for aliens like Finn keeps talking about, you’re nuts. At least with ghosts, we don’t have to be outside all the time.”

  She’s got a point. I don’t want to pick ticks off of places unknown for a few extra bucks, either. There are limits.

  Graham and Shelley wait outside the truck, as if afraid to go inside. Graham leans against the fender with his arms crossed over his chest. The impending sunset and thick storm clouds drifting across the sky make the perfect backdrop.

  Russ pulls out one of the cameras. “We’ll add this as a teaser while we set up.” He opens the window as I slow down and starts filming. “It’ll be great. They already know we’ll be broadcasting, and the new hot spot Graham bought us should extend even farther than the other one we had.”

  “That’s awesome.” If only everything were so easy.

  Once we park, Russ leaves and walks around the side of the house to get a few more shots. Jess and I join Graham and Shelley.

  “Where do you want to start?” I ask, hefting one of the duffel bags onto my shoulder. “We can go room to room, but it’d be nice if we knew a little bit about what we were looking for.”

  Graham glances at his sister. “Do you remember what Mr. Rasputin said about the house giving up her secrets?”

  I nod.

  “It made me think about my mom and how she used to sneak outside to meet my dad. I think we need to find the secret passage.”

  Damn. I wish Russ was back with the camera. My blood sings with the rush of finding something new, something the cops didn’t find, something that might crack this whole thing wide open. “Do you know where it is?” I ask Graham.

  He shakes his head. “No, but I figured you and I would go upstairs to my parents’ old bedroom. It was my mom’s room when she was a kid, so it’s a good place to start. Russ, Jess, and Shelley can start outside. There are several outbuildings and cellars that might have the exit. If my mom used to sneak out to meet my dad, then she had to have found a way outside without their maid catching her. I think it could save a lot of time if we split up into two groups again, as opposed to searching all in one group.”

  That makes sense. Russ will protect my sister, so I know she’ll be safe. After the last time, I don’t think he’ll let her out of his sight.

  “Sounds good. Let’s get set up.” Part of me doesn’t want to let Jess go, but I can’t protect her from everything, and Russ needs a solid teammate. But Shelley is less than a novice. I’m not sure we can count on her for much help.

  Russ returns with a wide smile on his face. “This is going to be great, guys. We’re going to find something, I can feel it.” He turns the camera off and stuffs it into his pocket.

  After we fill him in on the less-than-stellar plan, he nods and says he’s in. I can’t tell what he thinks about being paired up with Shelley again, but she’s standing right next to him, playing on her phone, so he’s probably trying to be nice. “I’ll set up the split-screen program to see if it can live stream three cameras. It’d be really cool if we could get it to work.”

  Shelley shoves her phone in her pocket. She turns and stares at the house with a pensive look on her face. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea, guys. Maybe we should just tell the cops what Mr. Rasputin said. What if that guy comes back?”

  Graham takes his sister by the shoulders. “Do you really think Officer Fontaine is going to investigate this as thoroughly as we will?”

  She shakes him off. Russ surreptitiously pulls his camera out and starts filming again. “We’re not cops. Let them do their job. They know what to look for, but we don’t.”

  Graham sighs. “No, we don’t, but we have to try. Look, if you don’t want to help, you can go home. Maybe talk to Russ about monitoring the website and answering questions, I don’t know. Something like that. You could do that from home if you want. It’s okay. I’m fine with it.”

  Shelley sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, mulling over the idea. “But I want to help. I can’t back out now.”

  Graham pulls her into his arms and gives her a quick hug. “Then don’t. We can use your help here or back at home. Either way is fine with us.” He squeezes her shoulders before letting her go. “Why don’t you think about it while we set up and then let me know, okay?”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  “Good.” His eyes meet the rest of us, one after the other. He looks determined and resolute. He’s made up his mind, with or without the rest of us, and he’s investigating this house. “Let’s go.”

  For the next hour, we set up our gear in the kitchen. I connect a camera in there as well, partially because there has been activity and partially to catch anyone who tries to destroy our equipment again. But with the way things are escalating, I don’t think whoever it was will be satisfied with smashing a few SD cards. Not after what they did to Mr. Rasputin.

  After shutting the front door, I unclip Bear’s leash, and he wanders off, nose to the ground, sniffing away in the kitchen. His animosity toward Graham seems to have taken a hiatus after the beef jerky, so I feel relatively safe that he won’t all of a sudden change his mind and attack, or go Cujo, as Graham called it earlier.

  “You’re almost a pro at this,” I tell Graham as he checks the batteries on various devices and pairs them with their tripods and cords.

  He flushes, and a self-conscious smile flits across his face. “I’ve been getting enough experience lately.”

  “Yeah, we have had that.” I pat his hand. “It’ll be over soon, though, and then your life can go back to normal.”

  He stares at our hands for a few seconds. “I don’t know if I want it to. I’ve kind of gotten used to all this paranormal stuff. It’s growing on me.”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Long nights, little sleep, and a lot less actual evidence than the TV shows portray. The reality of what we do is a lot different than most people could imagine.

  Russ clears his throat. “I hate to break up the party, guys, but we’re all set.” He waves a selfie stick in front of my face.

  My cheeks burn, and I duck my head. “Thanks,” I say, grabbing the stick. It might come in handy, not only to see into tight places or record myself and Graham, but also to clobber someone with if he annoys me. I take one of the new GoPro cameras too. “This will work perfectly.”

  Graham pats his pocket. “I grabbed an extra one in case it runs out of batteries. I think you told me that sometimes electronics don’t work well on investigations.”

  “That’s true. It’s better to be safe than sorry. I have my phone for backup, too, if need be.” My phone vibrates, and I pull it out. Aunt Mary. I send her straight to voice mail with more than a twinge of guilt. I’ll call her back later, I swear I will.

  Jess perches on the edge of the chair and leans over the laptop. “We already have a hundred and one people logged in,” she says. “Three more subscribers, too!”

  Russ whoops. “Maybe I can get that raise I’ve been asking for.”

  I punch him lightly in the arm. “Don’t get your hopes up. You can be replaced.”

  He snorts. “Impossible.”

  Jess hands Russ a camera harness, and he slips it on. “I’ve got the cameras set up and linked to the live stream,” he says. “We’ll do the intro and get yours started. As soon as you press Record, you’ll start streaming.”

  “Great.” I heft the selfie stick in my hand. “Let’s find this secret passageway.”
<
br />   In the front of the house, Russ and Jess film the opener while Graham and I poke around in the kitchen, waiting for them to be finished. I’ll be on camera if I have to be, but I’d much prefer to be behind the lens.

  After they’ve finished, Russ, Jess, and Shelley disappear out the front door, so Graham, Bear, and I make our way upstairs. Graham gives Bear a wide berth. I roll my eyes at the dog’s antics. Bear lifts his lip, baring one pearly-white fang. Graham should consider himself lucky. A little growl is as close to love as Bear gets to most people.

  “So these tunnels that we’re looking for,” I say when we reach the top of the stairs. “You think one of the entrances is in your mom’s room?”

  He stares down the hall. “It’s a guess. I don’t know for sure.”

  I train the camera on Graham’s face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Either that, or he’s growing used to it and doesn’t care anymore.

  “It’s as good a spot as any, and I don’t want to waste any time. I don’t know about you”—his eyes meet mine—“but I feel like we have to hurry. Time’s running out. Something is going to happen, sooner rather than later, and maybe Mr. Rasputin is right. We need to find whatever evidence is left before someone else comes along and destroys it.”

  He’s right, and this could be our last chance to look for clues for both his mother’s disappearance and for whoever attacked his neighbor and us.

  Our steps echo down the dark hallway, our flashlights illuminating two wide swaths in front of us. Bear follows close to my heels. Even he doesn’t feel like straying tonight.

  Graham stops in front of his parents’ old room. The door’s shut. Did we leave the door shut when we left last time? We were in such a hurry, I don’t know. I rack my brain. This is important. What if someone was here after we left? They could have booby-trapped the place, or they’re lying in wait, or...