Soul Food Spirits (Southern Ghost Wranglers Book 1) Read online

  Anita extended her hand. I shook it. Her lips coiled into a slithery smile. “Then we’ve got a deal.”

  TWO

  It was flipping hot. Sweat brimmed my upper lip. It soaked my shirt to the point that I didn’t know where my skin ended and the cotton began. It was only the beginning of October, and it was still so hot Satan would’ve tucked tail and returned to hell just to keep cool.

  I slid my twenty-year-old Land Cruiser down Haunted Street, the main drag in this podunk town.

  If Halloween had been on steroids, Haunted Hollow was it. Being the second most haunted city in the country, the small town in the eastern part of Alabama was decked to the hilt in all things ghostly.

  Cotton blossoms hanging from strands of silk made a set of wind chimes. There were cutouts of Haunted Hollow’s more famous ghosts—a Confederate soldier, a widow who lost her family to Confederates, a man hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. Yeah. Cutouts that you could get your picture taken with. Brilliant.

  Children ran down the street in ghost masks. The wine shop I cruised past posted a Specters and Spirits tasting night.

  “Great,” I mumbled. “I’m supposed to find one ghost in this mess? When no one else has done it before? Piece of cake, right, Dad?”

  I glanced at the photo of my dad I’d glued to the dashboard of the vehicle. It was old, faded. I was eighteen, had just been accepted to the team. Dad and I were shooting thumbs up to the camera. It had been a great day.

  And now here I was.

  I was not going to cry over spilled milk. I was going to pull my big girl panties on and figure out how the heck to maneuver in this place. The first thing I needed in order to do that was food.

  Serious food.

  My gaze landed on a sign that read SOUL FOOD AND SPIRITS. Sounded perfect. I could use a comfort meal. I’d been driving for hours. My joints hurt. My muscles were stiff.

  I slid into a spot, killed the engine, pulled the emergency brake and got out. A layer of grime coated my face and arms. I stretched and headed into the restaurant.

  I entered to a cool blast of air along with hanging ghost mobiles, tarot cards and one of those gypsies in a box that spit out a card with your future branded onto it.

  “Welcome to Soul Food and Spirits.”

  The hostess was dressed in all black. She sported heavy makeup and a nose ring. I wasn’t sure if it was a costume or her regular day wear.

  “Table for one,” I said.

  I followed her through the busy restaurant. It was lunchtime, the weekend was approaching and Haunted Hollow was bustling.

  I’d just popped open my menu when it started.

  “Psst, hey, you. I know you can see me.”

  I lowered the menu slightly. Normally I’d ignore the voice. I was in public, after all, and didn’t need the distraction. But I was here looking for Lucky Strike, and the sooner I found him, the sooner I could get back to my life.

  “Keep going,” the voice said.

  I dipped the menu until it was touching the table. Standing beside a potted elephant ear was a young woman. Her blonde hair was teased high. She wore green mascara, bright pink lipstick, a twisted bead necklace, a yellow shirt with the collar flipped up and red heels.

  She was also transparent.

  If I had to place her date of death, I’d say mid-1980s.

  I pretended to stare at my menu as I waited for her to speak again.

  “You’re totally new here,” she said. “That’s so rad. I can always tell. I’m always watching. It’s my thing. What I do. Watch.”

  I gave a slight nod.

  “They have great chicken casserole. But you know if you’re watching your weight, you’ll want to stay away from it. Or you could just, you know, barf it up later.”

  Apparently she’d had an eating disorder when she died.

  “Hmmm,” I said. I was thinking more salad, but you never knew, I might change my mind since I wasn’t one for puking my brains out after a meal.

  “Afternoon. I love your hair.” The waitress bobbed up to the table and smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “How’d you get it that color? I would love to do that to mine.”

  She was a strawberry-blonde with perfect golden skin and a tiny little nose. If I had hair as gorgeous as hers, I’d never want to touch its color.

  “Oh, I just dye it,” I said, not wanting to go into it. “I think I’ll have the chicken salad.”

  “That’s a mistake,” the ghost grumbled. “The chicken was cooked yesterday.”

  “Change that to the chicken casserole,” I said quickly.

  “And to drink?”

  “Sweet tea. No lemon.”

  She snatched the menu. “I’m Charlie. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  The ghost drifted over and sat across from me. “A ghost gave you that hair. It was a gift, wasn’t it? It’s so gnarly. I just love it. Like, totally love it. Ugh. I wish I could do that to my hair, but it’s just so…great to tease, you know?”

  I hated it when ghosts talked to me in public. Especially a chatterbox like this one. It’s not like I could just start spouting off to them without looking insane. I’d practiced this plenty of times, though, and found it best to answer with slight nods or shakes of the head.

  So I nodded. My violet hair color was permanent. It wasn’t natural, so I couldn’t exactly have told that to Charlie the waitress.

  “I died somehow,” the ghost said. “I just have no idea how. It’s so crazy. I know I’m dead, though. I’m not one of those stupid spirits who thinks they’re still alive. Totally clueless. I mean, gag me with a spoon because I’m dead, but I just deal with it. They call me the Teenybopper. Go on. Check it out.”

  My gaze flickered to the pictures hanging in the restaurant. I lasered in on one of a young woman. It was her—the ghost. I rose and read the plaque beneath it.

  Susan Whitby’s ghost haunts Soul Food and Spirits. She was murdered. No one was ever charged for the crime.

  I sat back down. Susan studied me. “It’s so rare I have the chance to interact with someone. You are a breath of fresh air. I mean, like totally. Few ever see me, and when that happens, it’s only a glimpse but they act like it’s this huge deal. Of course the whole town is, like, spirit infested. Must be something in the water.”

  “What do you want?” I said just barely above a whisper.

  She stretched her arms behind her head. “Well, I guess what anyone wants. Find out why they’re dead. But really I just like being able to talk to you. So that’s all I want. Just to talk.”

  Great. A spirit who needed a friend. Awesome.

  I glanced around. No one was looking at me. “I’m looking for Lucky Strike.”

  Susan laughed. “Wow, why don’t you just ask for the devil himself to show up? Well, if Lucky Strike ever shows up, he can eat my shorts.”

  “Why?”

  “That guy—” Susan started. But our conversation was interrupted by a shrill voice from behind me.

  “Look over there! Mom, I see a ghost!”

  I twisted my head over my shoulder. An entire table of folks sat with jaws hanging wide, staring directly at Susan.

  Sometimes that happened. If a ghost interacted with me, their presence became stronger and their shape more defined to the point that regular people could see them.

  “Oh my gosh,” said Mom, “grab your cameras!”

  I sat frozen as the table whipped out their cell phones and snapped off about a hundred pictures.

  Then what seemed like the entire restaurant crowded into the dining room and snapped away.

  Susan turned and smiled for the cameras. Her gaze darted back to my unsmiling face. “Smile! We’re gonna be famous!”

  I groaned inwardly.

  “I’m uploading this to Facebook,” came a voice.

  “I’m putting it on YouTube.”

  “I’m posting to Snapchat.”

  “I’m putting it on Inst
agram.”

  As cell phones clicked away, Charlie the Waitress strolled up. She smiled. “Looks like you’ve just become the new town celebrity.”

  Great. Just what I needed. To draw attention to myself. I’d never catch Lucky Strike at this rate.

  THREE

  I ducked into a store as soon as I could make a break from the restaurant. So many people had crowded around, breathing on me and touching me that I felt dirty, like I was about to be infected with some sort of nasty bacteria that would keep me laid up in bed for a week.

  Nah-uh. Not gonna happen. Not on my watch.

  “Welcome to Blustery Books.”

  I jerked my head in the direction of the voice. An older man with round spectacles on the edge of his nose stood behind the counter. “We carry all sorts of tomes on the supernatural. I’m Mr. Hodges. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “Uh. Thanks,” I said, surprised by his friendliness. Apparently I was such a cynic that when someone was nice to me, I expected ulterior motives.

  Movement flickered in my eye. I took a slow, calculated step toward it. My gaze settled on a young boy, about ten or eleven. He sat in the corner playing with a ball. His clothes were fairly modern—a striped shirt, jeans and sneakers.

  He smiled. A ghost of a grin dusted my lips. Funny I used the word ghost, because that’s exactly what the boy was, a spirit haunting a bookstore.

  An older lady stepped toward the counter. “Is it true that this store is haunted?”

  Mr. Hodges whipped off his spectacles. “It is. Little boy we think is named Ricky. Be careful. He likes to steal things off your person.”

  As Mr. Hodges spoke, Ricky rose, dipped his hand in the woman’s purse and then dropped several coins to the ground.

  I laughed behind my hand.

  The woman whirled around. “What in the world?”

  Hodges peered over the counter. “Sounds like Ricky’s at it again. Looks like you dropped some change.”

  “But that’s impossible,” blustered the woman.

  Mr. Hodges smiled widely. “Not in Haunted Hollow, where nearly every shop is haunted.”

  Ricky winked at me. I gave him a slight nod and glanced out the window. No one had followed me from the restaurant. Thank goodness. Time to go. I turned back to wave goodbye to Ricky, but the boy was gone.

  “Like, the entire world is totally going to know you now.”

  Susan had popped up in the Land Cruiser’s passenger seat. She filed her nails as I stared blankly ahead.

  “Yep, you’re gonna be Haunted Hollow’s next celebrity. I can just see the headlines.”

  “I need a place to stay,” I said.

  “Oh, there’s a great bed-and-breakfast in town. Haunted something or other. It’s just off the main drag. Totally hot guy runs it, too. At least that’s what I hear at the restaurant.”

  The folks in the restaurant had pestered me endlessly about whether or not I saw the ghost. I played dumb. But that hadn’t stopped them from following me outside trying to chat.

  “The B and B it is.”

  There were a ton of tourists, so I doubted I’d find an empty room but it was worth the shot.

  “Turn right at the next street,” Susan said.

  “Ghost Avenue?”

  “That’s the one.”

  A pale gray Victorian with white trim sat squarely on the corner. The wooden sign out front read HAUNTED HOLLOW BED AND BREAKFAST.

  “Original,” I said.

  “Not really.”

  I made sure no one was around, and then I turned to Susan. “Back at the restaurant you said that Lucky Strike could eat your shorts. What did you mean?”

  Susan blushed. For goodness’ sake, ghosts blushed? I’d never seen it before. “Let’s just say that Lucky and I have unfinished business.”

  “But you don’t know where he is.”

  “Like, if I totally knew, I’d be seriously angry at him and would use one of my ghost gifts to make his head fall off.”

  “Ghost gifts don’t work that way.”

  She smirked. “Too bad.”

  I climbed from the Land Cruiser. My feet touched the running boards of the truck before settling on the asphalt.

  When I opened the door to the B and B, the wonderful aroma of cinnamon wrapped me like a well-worn blanket.

  “Cozy, huh?” Susan popped up. Looked like I had a new best friend. Yay me.

  “Hmm,” I replied.

  “Afternoon,” came a voice from the back.

  “Afternoon,” I said, following the sound of the voice. I walked past the foyer and through the dining room until I reached a kitchen filled with industrial-sized appliances.

  A man stood at a sink drying his hands. I cleared my throat, and he turned around.

  My pulse fluttered in my neck. It was immediate. Automatic and uncontrollable.

  The guy was about six-three with muscled shoulders that looked like they were earned through work. These weren’t gym muscles. This guy chopped wood every morning for a living. Collar-length dark brown hair was brushed straight back, and his brown eyes were so intense I looked away.

  His smile was way too friendly.

  His white T-shirt looked soft enough to be made of velvet. Jeans were slung low on his slender hips.

  My mouth dried at the very sight of him.

  “Yeah, the women in town totally think he’s hot.”

  Yep. He was. Too hot. Way too hot. This guy was so good-looking women probably ovulated when he gazed their way. No telling what his touch did—spontaneous pregnancy, maybe?

  But I wasn’t one for a pretty face. I’d been won by them before, and it always ended in disaster.

  Disaster.

  “Sorry,” he said in a low rumble of a voice. There was a slight Southern accent. Not too strong, not too weak. “I would’ve come out and greeted you, but I had to finish up.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m passing through and was wondering if you had an empty room. I only need it a few nights.”

  He smiled again. It was a great smile. Enough to make my knees shake. So I locked them. “You here to sightsee the ghosts?”

  “No. The last thing I’m interested in is hanging out in some stupid podunk town in the middle of Alabama. I’m on business.”

  The air shifted. I suddenly realized that this podunk town was where Really Hot Guy lived.

  He dropped the towel on a counter. “Sorry. No vacancies.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Susan said before disappearing.

  “Anywhere else in town I can stay?” I said.

  He studied me. I realized his eyes weren’t completely brown. There were flecks of gold in them. Not that I was staring.

  “This podunk town isn’t big enough to have two bed-and-breakfasts.”

  Oh, I guess I hurt his feelings. “It’s a tourist town.”

  He glanced at something in the oven. “There’s a motel up the road. They have a pool.”

  This guy might be hot, but he certainly wasn’t engaging. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said.

  “It’s not like I’m going to get lost before I reach the front door.”

  A slight smile tinged his lips. “You must be from the big city. Atlanta?”

  “DC.”

  “Even bigger. Well, I’m sorry our little town is too small—”

  A scream split the air. “We’re leaving! Right now!”

  A woman ran down the stairs, dragging a disheveled man behind her. “But Brandi—” he started.

  “Don’t you Brandi me, Ronald.” She reached the first floor, her suitcase overflowing with clothes. Brandi laid her eyes on the owner. “You didn’t tell us the place had a spirit! There’s a horrible woman in our room. You can keep your money. We’re out of here.”

  “But we came for the ghosts,” Ronald pleaded.

  But it was too late; Brandi was out the door, dragging Ronald behind her.

  Good work, Susan. Sometimes it paid to have ghosts
for friends.

  The owner raked his fingers through his hair. I hitched a shoulder. “Looks like you have a vacancy.”

  He tapped his hips. “I’m sure the room is too small for you. You being from the big city and all.”

  “I’m used to a studio.”

  He slid his hands into his jean pockets. “It’s really frilly.” He dragged his gaze over my violet hair, taking his time until our eyes locked. “And things are very tall in it.”

  Oh, he pulled the short card. I was five foot and a half inch tall. On a good day when I’d stretched, I reached five-one. He was like a giant beside me.

  “I take a step stool wherever I go,” I countered. “I can reach things. Don’t worry about me.”

  “It’s apparently haunted.” He wasn’t giving up. Something flared in his eyes. Amusement?

  “Ghosts don’t scare me.”

  He ruffled the back of his hair. “Give me an hour for housekeeping to clean it up. I’m Roan Storm.”

  I ignored the introduction and turned to head out to my car.

  “You have a name?”

  I was so tempted to say no. Every cell in my body screamed for me to. I had the door open. I turned. “Blissful Breneaux.”

  I kept walking as I spoke, thinking I’d memorized the layout of the place. I was about to stop when Roan called out, “The step!”

  I tumbled down the porch, falling flat on my butt. Pain ripped up my tailbone, radiating to my jaw. I threw my hands out, trying to stop the fall, and managed to bang my head in the process.

  My skull throbbed. I wasn’t seeing stars, but it was close.

  Roan was beside me in half a second. “Here, let me help you.”

  I pushed him away. “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t need help, darn it. Especially not from some hot guy thinking he was a knight in shining armor. I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I wasn’t even in distress, for goodness’ sake.

  The kind look in his eyes made my heart do something weird. I think it lurched. Stupid heart.

  His hands were wrapping around my shoulders. “You hit your head.”

  Would he stop trying to help me? It made it hard to avoid him.

  I turned to the side. “I said I’m fine. I promise. I’m good. I’m great. I just need to get up.”