Nicole answered, "Yes, Aunt Alice. No, Aunt Alice. I'm sorry, Aunt Alice."
Finally, Alice went back into the house, closing the door with a bang.
"I'm sorry," Nicole said when we were alone again. "I'm afraid we're gonna have to cut our visit short. But we'll talk again. This is just the beginnin' for us. I promise. Charlie doesn't lie." Nicole reached for my hand and squeezed it before pulling me close and giving me a hug. "I know there's a lot goin' on right now," she whispered so closely that I felt her breath tickling my ear. "Please trust me, sweetie. Help's comin'. I can feel it. Just hang on, okay?"
Chapter Six
Tyson
Natchez, Mississippi
September 24
"This here is what you might call a hotbed of paranormal activity," I said, peering through the tall oaks draped thick with Spanish moss to study the antebellum house in the deepening twilight. "I've been wantin' to get my mitts on her for five years now and for one night â tonight â she's all mine. You couldna picked a better place to get branded, cowboy."
The mansion, built in the late 1810s in the Federalist Style, reminded me of something out of ancient Rome, with its tall, stately columns and grand marble portico. But it was the second-story gallery and high cupola that told of its true southern nature. I could almost imagine carriages winding along its gravel drive, delivering their cargo of hoop-skirted belles for a formal cotillion.
I pulled off my black cowboy hat and removed the pack of cigarillos I kept there, drawing a stick of the machine-rolled tobacco from the box with my teeth. The flame from my lighter illuminated us in the fading light.
"How long you been a ghost hunter, Tyson?"
I narrowed my eyes by way of showing my irritation, puffing on the end of my cigarillo until its end began to glow. "Not 'ghost hunter'. Paranormal investigator. "
"Sorry. Paranormal investigator, then."
I flicked the lighter closed with a jerk of my wrist and tugged my cowboy hat back down over my head. "Since I was seventeen. Just about six years now."
I puffed out three perfect smoke rings and watched them drift like phantoms in the still, sultry air. I liked Rex and hoped he might eventually join the team. Rex reminded me of myself when I was just getting started. He had the same curiosity. The same sharp, critical eye. I saw potential the minute Rex had been hired on as an apprentice mechanic at the garage where I worked. But tonight was the true test.
"You know, it's liable to get pretty dicey in there tonight," I warned him. "Crazy things can happen. All this is just theory until the manure starts hittin' the spreader. The trick ain't just explainin' the thumps and bumps in the night, it's keepin' your head screwed on tight when somethin' you can't see grabs you from behind."
Rex chuckled. "I think I can manage."
I raised my eyebrows and exhaled more smoke. "Ohhh-kay. Whatever you say."
Plymouth Plantation was the quintessential haunted house. The mansion and the land that sustained it had seen more than its share of lives taken prematurely. In 1729, two hundred and twenty-nine settlers had been massacred here by Natchez Indians, enraged by the French fort constructed on what had been for countless generations Natchez land. When the plantation was built well-on ninety years later, it was dependent on the dozens of slaves who were housed there in the worst of living conditions and subject to the high mortality rate of the times. During the War Between the States, Federal troops occupied the plantation after the fall of nearby Vicksburg. Hundreds of soldiers camped here, many dying of dysentery, typhoid, and other diseases common before antibiotics existed.
But it was the Pendleton sisters who interested me most. Ruby and Agnes Pendleton had lived their young lives as mistresses of Plymouth, just long enough to get a taste of the life they would soon be denied. When Lee surrendered to Grant in 1865, the two young women had done everything they
Finally, Alice went back into the house, closing the door with a bang.
"I'm sorry," Nicole said when we were alone again. "I'm afraid we're gonna have to cut our visit short. But we'll talk again. This is just the beginnin' for us. I promise. Charlie doesn't lie." Nicole reached for my hand and squeezed it before pulling me close and giving me a hug. "I know there's a lot goin' on right now," she whispered so closely that I felt her breath tickling my ear. "Please trust me, sweetie. Help's comin'. I can feel it. Just hang on, okay?"
Chapter Six
Tyson
Natchez, Mississippi
September 24
"This here is what you might call a hotbed of paranormal activity," I said, peering through the tall oaks draped thick with Spanish moss to study the antebellum house in the deepening twilight. "I've been wantin' to get my mitts on her for five years now and for one night â tonight â she's all mine. You couldna picked a better place to get branded, cowboy."
The mansion, built in the late 1810s in the Federalist Style, reminded me of something out of ancient Rome, with its tall, stately columns and grand marble portico. But it was the second-story gallery and high cupola that told of its true southern nature. I could almost imagine carriages winding along its gravel drive, delivering their cargo of hoop-skirted belles for a formal cotillion.
I pulled off my black cowboy hat and removed the pack of cigarillos I kept there, drawing a stick of the machine-rolled tobacco from the box with my teeth. The flame from my lighter illuminated us in the fading light.
"How long you been a ghost hunter, Tyson?"
I narrowed my eyes by way of showing my irritation, puffing on the end of my cigarillo until its end began to glow. "Not 'ghost hunter'. Paranormal investigator. "
"Sorry. Paranormal investigator, then."
I flicked the lighter closed with a jerk of my wrist and tugged my cowboy hat back down over my head. "Since I was seventeen. Just about six years now."
I puffed out three perfect smoke rings and watched them drift like phantoms in the still, sultry air. I liked Rex and hoped he might eventually join the team. Rex reminded me of myself when I was just getting started. He had the same curiosity. The same sharp, critical eye. I saw potential the minute Rex had been hired on as an apprentice mechanic at the garage where I worked. But tonight was the true test.
"You know, it's liable to get pretty dicey in there tonight," I warned him. "Crazy things can happen. All this is just theory until the manure starts hittin' the spreader. The trick ain't just explainin' the thumps and bumps in the night, it's keepin' your head screwed on tight when somethin' you can't see grabs you from behind."
Rex chuckled. "I think I can manage."
I raised my eyebrows and exhaled more smoke. "Ohhh-kay. Whatever you say."
Plymouth Plantation was the quintessential haunted house. The mansion and the land that sustained it had seen more than its share of lives taken prematurely. In 1729, two hundred and twenty-nine settlers had been massacred here by Natchez Indians, enraged by the French fort constructed on what had been for countless generations Natchez land. When the plantation was built well-on ninety years later, it was dependent on the dozens of slaves who were housed there in the worst of living conditions and subject to the high mortality rate of the times. During the War Between the States, Federal troops occupied the plantation after the fall of nearby Vicksburg. Hundreds of soldiers camped here, many dying of dysentery, typhoid, and other diseases common before antibiotics existed.
But it was the Pendleton sisters who interested me most. Ruby and Agnes Pendleton had lived their young lives as mistresses of Plymouth, just long enough to get a taste of the life they would soon be denied. When Lee surrendered to Grant in 1865, the two young women had done everything they
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