Spirit Caller: Books 4-6: The Spirit Caller Series, #2

Spirit Caller Volume 2

By Krista D. Ball

Copyright

MYSTERY NIGHT

Rachel finds herself investigating a ghost's murder and his accusations cause her to dig into the pasts of the dead and the living to uncover the truth. Only, all roads lead back to the same horrible place: her elderly neighbour's doorstep.

Book 4 of the Spirit Caller Series

Published by Krista D. Ball

Copyright 2014 by Krista D. Ball

Cover Design by Indigo Chick Designs

Editing by CG Hewitt

DEAD LIVING

In this fifth installment of the Spirit Caller series, Rachel faces off with the dangerous men known as the Whisperers. New friends and old allies show up to help her in a heart-pounding race across Western Newfoundland.

Oh, and Rachel answers a rather important question about her future.

Book 5 of the Spirit Caller Series

Published by Krista D. Ball

Copyright Krista D. Ball 2016

Editing by M. L. D. Curelas

Cover by Indigo Chick Designs

BLOOD FAMILY

Dema decides to go into party planning, while Rachel’s mother becomes obsessed with cheese. Get ready for the series finale: A Spirit Caller and a Tall Man are getting hitched.

Book 6 of the Spirit Caller Series

By Krista D. Ball

Copyright Krista D. Ball 2016

Editing by Indigo Chick Designs

Cover by Indigo Chick Designs

Spirit Caller Reading Order

Rachel has no trouble believing in spirits. It's the living she has a tough time believing in.

Spirits Rising

Dark Whispers

Knight Shift

Mystery Night

Dead Living

Blood Family

Author’s Note to the 2023 Edition

A lot has changed over the past twelve years since I first wrote this story. Language evolved. Themes changed. Major events took place. Culture shifted. I changed.

In preparing this new edition, I’ve decided not to remove/change concepts or themes or phrases that aged in the past decade, except for a couple of very minor incidences. I resisted rewriting parts of this book, which is difficult for both a writer and someone who is always trying to evolve. I also did not modernize technology. Nor add 911 service to areas who didn’t have it when I wrote this series.

I did make a couple of small adjustments to format, and fixed a few typos.

I kept the Canadian spelling, and the Newfoundland accent. I know some people found the uncommon accent difficult to read, but the accent is a part of the story, a part of Newfoundland, and a part of me.

I hope you enjoy!

Mystery Night

Book 4 of the SPIRIT CALLER Series

Krista D. Ball

Chapter 1

Home is Where the Whiskey Is

I was on a treadmill and there wasn’t a gun in my face. You probably need a little context about why this is a shocking statement. I hate exercise. Squats? Why? There’s nothing on the floor to pick up. Crunches? Why on earth would I do that to my guts? Treadmills? So, basically, you want me to walk and go nowhere? How is any of this not the definition of insanity?

With all that said, it might come as a surprise that I was on a treadmill in my home gym. Oh yeah. I have a home gym now. Since I’m mostly healed from the psychic attack from a year ago, I can’t even blame Evil Doers of Evil (trademark pending).

My spare bedroom in my quaint, two-bedroom home now houses a medieval torture device called a Bow Flex. That came in a box featuring a very fine looking young man on it. Sadly, there was no such man inside the box. False advertising at its finest. In the middle of the room is a rowing machine, which I can use for a full five minutes if I pretend I’m Charlton Heston in the belly of a ship getting up to ramming speed.

And, finally, the dreaded treadmill.

So Jeremy was on the Bow Flex thingy painstakingly working through a booklet of exercises his physiotherapist had given him.

And I was on the treadmill.

Running.

More accurately, I was panting, gasping, and wheezing. My feet barely lifted half a centimetre off the rubber track. But they were moving, so this counted as running.

I’ll forgive you for thinking I’d been possessed by the spirit of a fitness instructor. It wasn’t that, nor was it to lose the weight I’d been gaining rather rapidly since moving to the tiny outport community of Wiseman’s Cove. I wasn’t doing it to help keep my joints limber after the physical attacks I suffered a year ago.

Nope. I was doing it because Jeremy needed the company.

Jeremy is my boyfriend. Nine months, and I still get a puppy dog smile whenever I so much as think about that. We didn’t get the honeymoon period that newly-in-love couples get. We’d only been granted a couple of hours with each other before he was shot multiple times in a showdown with Manny, our young, possessed friend.

It was a tough road, but I was up for the challenge. Jeremy endured several surgeries, and was finally on the mend. He’d taken a turn for the better around February, and had been improving daily.

He still limped, but it was becoming less noticeable. He was getting stronger, adding more weight to his exercises. When we started, he couldn’t even lift a soup can in a bag attached to his ankle. Now he was up to twenty pounds without his eyes welling with tears.

My fit, athletic, muscular Jeremy, a kind and gentle Mountie, was a shadow of what he’d been, but I didn’t care. He was still the most handsome man I’d ever laid my eyes on. I loved him with all of my heart.

Jeremy let out a relieved groan. That’s it for me. He slumped over, resting his head in his hands.

I hit STOP on the treadmill and my lungs cried out in relief. I’d been doing this for a few months now. Why wasn’t it getting any easier? Was I doing it wrong? Up for lunch?

He took a couple of deep breaths before sitting up. Sure. He closed the photocopied booklet that rested on a music sheet stand and moved the stand out of the way. I made it through the entire set without stopping. He grimaced. That was tough. He wobbled when he stood.

I moved quickly to hand him his cane. He took it in silence. He still needed it to get up and down the stairs, and for anytime he was feeling off-balanced.

I don’t feel up to helping, though, he said.

It’s cool. Soup and sandwich?

Sure. He eyed me. You should do a cool-down first and stretch out.

I glared at him. If I stay on that thing any longer, I’ll have a heart attack. Besides, who’ll make your soup and sandwich?

He snorted and we walked out together and down the stairs. Jeremy eased himself down onto the sofa and put his leg up, long sighs coming from him. I went to work in the kitchen, making ham sandwiches and serving up the vegetable barley soup leftover in the fridge.

And, no, Jeremy didn’t make that soup. I did, thank you very much. I’ve turned into quite the little domestic bee since Jeremy moved in with me. Okay, that’s not exactly true. My elderly neighbour, Mrs. Saunders, just celebrated her ninety-fourth birthday and isn’t as stable on her legs as she used to be. I’ve taken over doing most of the cooking for her these days, which means I’ve had to learn how to cook. She loves soup, so I’ve taken to making a huge pot twice a week. That way, Jeremy always has something to eat—do all men eat this much?—and Mrs. Saunders has something nutritious that doesn’t force her to stand over a hot stove.

Sometime in the last year, I’d become a grown up. It sort of snuck up on me.

I waited for the microwave to beep and found it impossible to hide my smile. I was loving the domestic life. I wished it could’ve happened under better circumstances, but it felt good to be useful. Jeremy was practically living with me these days. He still needed help, and I had enough room for the exercise equipment. Plus, he owned a manual transmission car and couldn’t drive the stick anymore, so I drove him around. He was often on too much pain medication to drive anyway.

He still had his place, where Javier was staying. Javier showed up out of nowhere last year, magical invisible spirit sword in hand, to protect me from the Boogiemen. He was still around working as a social worker at Manny’s correction housing. I guess his work wasn’t done yet, which was fine by me. Jeremy needed a guy friend, so I was happy to have him around.

And Jeremy had ended up here. It wasn’t ever talked about, really. I brought him back here and he’s never left.

In my house.

Living with me.

Sleeping in my bed.

Who cares that a supernatural gang of crazy people were after me and my friends, while I was sharing a bed with the man of my dreams?

I might be a grown up now, but I was still working on my priorities.

What are you smiling about? Jeremy shouted out.

Nothing.

What? he asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

I shot him an irritated look and said, I was just thinking about how nice it was having you here. Then you spoke.

Jeremy snorted and gave me the middle finger.

You wish.

He flashed me a wicked grin, a glimmer of the old Jeremy. Oh, I do wish.

You can barely stand right now.

There is more than one position, love.

I swatted the top of his head and put his plate on the coffee table, then pulled the table closer to him. I put his pill bottle next to the plate. That was always the hardest part for me; a constant daily reminder of how much pain Jeremy was in. The meds made him angry and sullen a lot of time, but the pain made him even worse. He was often stoned or sleeping. He knew he was getting too used to taking them, and was trying hard to cut back.

It broke my heart knowing this was the third reduced prescription in two months, and it was always hard for him to adjust. The doctor told him it was normal and it was one of the challenges of chronic pain.

Chronic pain. Jeremy might always be in pain. Because of me. Because I’d failed at being a Spirit Caller.

Jeremy gazed at the painkillers for a moment. There’s something I need to tell you.

Hmm? I focused on eating my soup while it was still hot.

I’ve been offered a desk job in Halifax.

I stared at him. Halifax, Nova Scotia was a province and a lot of ocean away. It was a long milk run flight from St. Anthony, the nearest regional airport, across the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It was just a couple of hours to fly from Deer Lake, but I’d still need to make a six hour drive. This wasn’t a quick weekend jaunt.

I also knew the offer of a desk job in Halifax was a promotion. My dad was a retired Mountie and I knew how relieved Mom was when Dad finally came off patrols and out of harm’s way. I was angry when he took the job, because it meant we had to move—again. Now I understood, because I was feeling all of the things I saw in Mom’s eyes but was too young to understand.

What are you going to do? I finally asked, pushing through all of my fears and worries. I wasn’t his wife and we weren’t even really living together. It was Jeremy’s decision. I’d assumed he would move back into his apartment once he was strong enough.

I said I’d have to think about it.

When do you have to give them an answer?

A couple of weeks. His gaze dropped back to the bottle of pills. The doctor isn’t sure if I’ll completely recover. I’ll get close, he hopes. I’ll never be able to work for the coast guard rescue now.

I’d seen him cry enough in the last few months from pain and frustration to know the look. I put my lunch down and moved to sit next to him. I rested my hand on his knee and smiled at him. I love you.

Jeremy smiled back, even if his eyes were wet with unfallen tears. I love you, too. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t do what I wanted. I can’t even get off the pills long enough to drive. He sucked in a breath. Maybe I should take a desk job, get a beer gut, and be done with it.

I didn’t know what to say, so I intertwined my fingers with his to let him know he wasn’t alone. It was hard seeing my Jeremy hurt and hurting.

What do you think? He finally asked.

I’m happy they offered you a promotion. You deserve it. But… I said cautiously, Halifax is a long way away.

You could come with me.

Leave Wiseman’s Cove? That was quite a request. Mrs. Saunders needed me. She lived alone and it wasn’t fair for Amy, her nearest-living granddaughter, to have to do all of the work. Moving Mrs. Saunders to a home before she was ready would be a death sentence to the independent woman’s spirit. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

Then there was Manny. He was still in transitional housing. Basically, it was a halfway house for minors between sixteen and eighteen. Not juveniles, but not legal adults. Normally, institutional housing and sentencing is bad for youths, but it was a boon for Manny. For one thing, he was now able to practice his own religious beliefs. He was exploring paganism and finding his own spiritual path. He was also getting help for his depression, which is always a good thing. The last I’d heard, he was on medication and it was helping ease out the edges for him.

Javier was there to keep his eye on Manny’s spirit, too. So the kid finally had a chance to suck in a deep breath without the oppression of his well-meaning parents, or that of the dark spirits that tended to seek him out. I didn’t want to leave until he was released, and even then he’d need a champion against his parents once he was back in their house.

Then there was me. Last on my list of priorities, but there nevertheless. I’d never belonged to a place the way I belonged here on this wind-swept cliff of a port. I was growing stronger and more confident in my own abilities, both supernatural and mundane. I had a life here and I loved it. This was where I’d learned to accept myself for who I was, and if I left I was not convinced I’d be as strong anywhere else.

So I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and I said, I’m sorry, Jeremy. I couldn’t move with you. At least, not yet.

Jeremy gave me a sad smile. I figured, but I had to ask.

Why can’t you stay here, with the Force?

He shrugged. I could, provided I get better. I’d need to be able to drive, for one thing, and my hip still feels like two pieces of metal rubbing together. He paused. I suppose that’s natural considering how many pins are in there.

Silence slipped in between us, heavy and stifling. Didn’t I just say I was a grown up now? I sucked in a breath and tried to act like one. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I’ll do my best to make it work, too.

Really?

Of course. We’ve gotten through this. We can get through anything. I reached up and kissed his mouth. Besides, you got hurt because of me. I feel responsible for my share.

You didn’t pull the trigger. Jeremy’s tone said he was tired of saying the same thing over and over, but knew he’d be saying it again. Manny wasn’t even the one who did it, not really.

I still feel responsible. Or at least guilty. I looked at the soup on the table, no longer hungry. I should have been able to help Manny. I feel like I have to fix all of this.

There’s nothing to fix, Rachel.

I know, Jeremy. I know.

Listen to me. You don’t have to fix anything. I don’t understand all of this magic, spirit stuff, but I’ve seen far too much of it to doubt it. I’ve also seen you do some incredible things and some downright terrifying things. I know you’re doing everything you can to help and protect everyone around you. He smiled at me, but it was a weary expression. I love you for it.

I handed him the plate with his sandwich. Eat.

He swatted a finger across my nose, like I was a naughty kitten, and took a bite of his food. The phone rang and I grabbed the cordless from the coffee table.

Hey, Mrs. Saunders, I said.

Are you still comin’ over dis afternoon? That child in St. John’s got me all flustered about dis trip.

I chuckled. Yes, Mrs. Saunders. I’m going to get a shower first, and then I’ll be over.

I rang off with the old lady and turned back to find Jeremy asleep on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap. He usually fell asleep after exercising.

His pill bottle sat in the exact same position where I’d left it. He hadn’t taken any. That made me smile.

Chapter 2

A Blast from the Past

While Jeremy slept off his workout, I headed across my large yard to my neighbour’s house. Mrs. Saunders soon had me up on a step-stool pulling down box upon box from the closet’s top shelf. She sat on the spare bed, directing me to put everything within easy reach for her.

Now, are you sure we can use your house while you’re away? I said. We won’t come over if it’s going to upset you.

Don’t be foolish, she admonished. She pointed to a spot next to her. Put those right here. I don’t understand why you needs my ’ouse, maid. What’s that t’ing you live in already? A shack?

I chuckled as I shook out my arms and let them hang limp for a bit. I’m not anyone’s definition of tall, and that shelf was difficult to reach, even with the stool. A sad pang hit me, thinking that Jeremy would have loved to do this for the old lady. I told you already, Mrs. Saunders. Amanda LeBlanc got engaged.

Yes, yes, I know that. Good for her. What does dat have to do with my ’ouse?

I wisely didn’t explain that there was going to be a LARP—a live action role play. Nor did I explain that there were plenty of different kinds of LARPs, such as vampire, dark fantasy, high fantasy, science fiction, and ones based on popular novels and television shows. Instead, I tried to stick to the basic details. She wants to have a murder mystery party to celebrate.

Mrs. Saunders eyed me. Who’s you gonna murder?

I gave her a dirty look before climbing on the stool again. We’re going to dress up and investigate a pretend murder. It’s a party game.

You’d think she’d have enough of that nonsense every day to not want to do that for fun. Corporal Amanda LeBlanc was Jeremy’s boss, the head of the St. Anthony RCMP detachment. She was a sensible and capable woman, and I thought of her as a friend.

It’s just a silly, fun thing. Some folks from the police detachment, some friends, and all that. Just a couple dozen of us.

There’s going to be a couple dozen people in and out of my ’ouse? Mrs. Saunders exclaimed in horror. I haven’t cleaned the bathroom this week.

They’ll only be in your kitchen and I promise I’ll clean before and after.

You don’t clean the way I like it, Mrs. Saunders complained. You don’t fold the towels right, either.

I pulled down the last of the boxes. Are you sure we can use your house? We just wanted another kitchen to cook in and to get together. We won’t do it if you’ll be worrying the entire time you’re gone.

She waved off my concerns. Don’t be foolish. Whatcha take me for?

I put the boxes on the floor and climbed the stool once more. I think I saw some loose pictures up there. Why are you taking all of the pictures?

Shirley wants her granddaughter to map our family tree or some nonsense. She wants to put the pictures into that computer of hers. Mrs. Saunders looked up. How would she do dat?

She’ll use a scanner. It’s like a photocopier, only instead of printing out paper, it prints the copy of the picture to the computer. Then the computer can save it.

Can she get it off the computer?

I nodded. That way, it makes it harder to lose the pictures.

They can do anyt’ing these days, Mrs. Saunders marveled. She wants to know who everyone is in the pictures. I might be dead tomorrow, so they’re finally wanting to spend time with me now.

I gave Mrs. Saunders a patient look. Maybe it’s more that you’re not as stubborn in your old age and are willing to go visit them.

I’m not stubborn, Mrs. Saunders said sternly, though her eyes twinkled and she couldn’t hold back her laugh. And it’s yer fault I’m gallivanting round all of the time these days. I should be sitting at ’ome with my feet up.

You’ll be back before you know it. Do you want me to make you anything for when you come back?

She was picking through the box of photos on her lap, frowning at the images.

Mrs. Saunders?

What? Oh, that’s fine, dear, if you want to cook. Don’t put yourself out.

I pulled out a handful of loose, faded photographs from the back of the shelf. I climbed back down the stool and looked at the pictures in her hand. Is that you?

She nodded and her eyes filled with tears. There’s not many of us left now. Back then, we all thought we’d live forever. What foolishness. Who wants to live like this? Slow and crippled.

My heart broke as the tears ran down her cheeks. Her spirits were rarely low and it pained me to see her like this.

Who’s that? I asked, indicating the photo in her hand. It showed two young women, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. They wore snappy hats along with low-heeled pumps, and smart dresses that tied at the waist, buttoned down the front, and hung below their knees. Both women had huge smiles on their faces as they stood on a wharf.

That’s Mildred Reid on the left. Me on the right. Me and Milly were the best of friends. I haven’t spoken to her in years. She took a deep breath. We lost touch after my husband died. She had cancer, last I heard. She must be dead by now, poor thing.

You were both quite the lookers.

Even with tears in her eyes, Mrs. Saunders flashed me a wicked smile that was a mirror of the young girl’s in the picture. It’s why all the boys loved us. We were on our way to St. John’s in that picture. Our first time going. We were going with Milly’s older sister, who’d just got married. We caused some awful trouble that month.

I could only imagine how much trouble a good-looking, witty, lively, opinionated, strong-willed, and feisty seventeen-year-old girl could get into in the city. I laughed. Was it the good kind of awful trouble or the bad kind?

Mrs. Saunders made a pleased sound, before she laughed at herself. I loved those boys back then.

You found your prince, though, didn’t you?

He was Milly’s brother, ya know?

I didn’t know you married your best friend’s brother. Was she upset?

Her idea, my dear. Her idea.

Wait, weren’t you pregnant when you got married?

Mrs. Saunders gave me a tiny smile. That one was my idea.

I flipped through the photos in my hand. These have fallen out of the boxes. Say, this one looks like Milly. Who’s that with her?

A sour-faced Milly stood next to a stern-looking man significantly older than her. He had his hand around her waist, and Milly stood straight as a board. She doesn’t seem all that happy.

Where’d you find this? Mrs. Saunders demanded.

It was in the corner of the closet, I said, confused. Why?

Mrs. Saunders grabbed the photo and ripped it in half. Her face turned red with rage and she tossed the pieces on the floor. Then she spat on them. I never want to look at that man’s face again. I hope he’s rotting in hell and if that means I go there to join him, it’ll be worth it.

I stared at her. Mrs. Saunders was the most devout Catholic I’d ever met. She practiced what she preached. This woman could banish spirits with nothing more than a Hail Mary. She never wished anyone to Hell, since she believed it was a real place.

She pushed herself up off the bed and shuffled out of the room.

I watched her go, shocked. I’d never seen the old lady angry in the entire time I’d known her—not like this. She rarely got more than annoyed at things. Hate oozed off her. I didn’t even know she was capable of that.

Mrs. Saunders?

Help bring those boxes downstairs. I gots to pack. I heard her making her way down the stairs. I scooped up the ripped photograph and stuffed it in my pocket. I’m not sure why, but something about the exchange felt wrong; there are secrets, sure, but Mrs. Saunders willing to go to hell? It made no sense.

I scrambled after her and offered her a hand down the stairs. She swatted me off angrily. I don’t need no ’elp.

I went ahead and repositioned her walker so the grips faced the stairs. She took the walker and made her way to her bedroom. I needs all those boxes brought down. Amy’s comin’ at t’ree to load up her van. She went into her bedroom and closed the door.

What the hell just happened?

Chapter 3

Is Everyone Crazy?

It was after supper before I had some quiet time to myself. Jeremy was downstairs watching a movie and Mrs. Saunders was all packed and ready for the morning. She was spending the night at her granddaughter Amy’s house, so that Mrs. Saunders could get an extra hour of sleep before they left.

Jeremy and I had talked a little more about the job offer. There were advantages. Halifax would be convenient for medical services. Newfoundland was well equipped, true, but we lived seven hours away from the nearest major centre, in Corner Brook. We took advantage of whatever service was possible in St. Anthony, but sometimes we had to go to the city.

He’d still be close enough to his family in Deer Lake that he could make it home quickly if something happened. Halifax had several flights every day, and he could easily hop a flight, then grab a bus to his parents’ house if he had to.

It would also give him a chance to keep working while he healed. They’d help him find a place to live, I was sure. Dad always worked in isolated locations, and they’d always given us a place to live, but they still helped Dad when he moved to Ottawa. I was sure they’d help Jeremy, who had been injured taking down a gunman.

I shivered. The idea of Manny O’Toole being a gunman was terrifying. Gunman was a horrible enough word, invoking a crazed asshole with a weapon, killing innocent people. The idea of Manny being that person…

I shook it off. I couldn’t wrap my head around it and I needed to focus.

I sat on my bed with my notebook. I’d taken to making daily notes to keep track of what was happening around me. Thirty minutes a day I was quiet and wrote about how I was feeling. I jotted down the spirits I’d seen and recorded any problems or oddities. Sure, it was very twelve-year-old girl, but hopefully I’d catch major problems in the future by being more observant of the other around me.

The habit was still new enough that I hadn’t quite gotten the knack of things. I’d spent nearly thirty years running from spirits; now I was purposely watching them and analyzing them. It was a strange reversal and old habits kept interfering. But if I wanted to protect the people around me, I needed to suck it up and accept my fate. I was a Spirit Caller, for better or worse. I had a skill. I needed to cultivate it or else it might put more people in danger and there might not be a surgery or pill that could fix the damage next time.

The grunts of a moose from the other side of my window disrupted my thoughts. My bedroom was on the second floor of the house, so I knew there wasn’t a moose outside. I looked up and found Dema, with a beaming smile on her face, staring back at me.

Come in, I said to the spirit.

She melted in through the window and stood in my bedroom, tall and regal as ever. She had long, straight black hair that glistened the way that a crow’s does in the sunlight. Her skin was much darker than mine, and there was no mistaking her for one of the First Peoples of this land. She always appeared to me as a young woman, probably around my age, though I guessed she was thousands of years old.

She also had an odd sense of fashion. Today she wore a matte gold flapper dress with fur mittens.

I motioned at her dress with my pen. What’s with the outfit?

Is this not the appropriate era for your party?

I mean, I said with an exasperated sigh, why are you dressed up?

A confused look spread across her face. I do not understand.

Whatever.

I went back to writing. In the last year, the elder spirit had become a mentor to me. The psychic attack I’d taken previously meant Dema could now talk to me without driving me insane. It was a double-edged sword, because