Prologue
A Little Background.
In case you missed the first two books in the Moon Lake Small Town Paranormal Mystery Series, let me give you a little background.
Moon Lake is haunted. It always has been, and it always will be, but not by evil spirits. Some will see us. Some will hear us. Some will feel us. Some will never know we meddled in their lives.
Me name is Lily Collins. I am one of those Spirits. Please forgive me if I sometimes revert to me Irish tongue. Me father and I left Ireland under a new moon with howling winds chasing us through shadowy streets to an anonymous dock. I don't recall the exact date—early 1830's. We boarded the first ship we could find with only a few clothes, a picture of me departed mum, and a pouch full of gold me father had just acquired in a business deal.
A year later, at a remote fur trading post deep in the Ohio Valley, we met Josaiah Collins and his handsome son George. Pa and Josaiah were kindred spirits with complementary skills. A few months later, we all settled here in Moon Lake, IN.
When the government forced the Indians off their land, Pa did one of his deals. George and I were married. We became the owners of most of Moon Lake.
Nia, the Indian Chief's niece, was too sick to be dragged across the country on foot, so we hid her and a few others from the politician’s marauders. Pa never trusted the government after the Indian’s Trail of Death. He said if they did it to the Indians, they would do it to anyone. Pa took precautions.
I wonder if Pa knew if he could see. I hope he decides to come and help us now. We are in for a fight.
George and I had twelve children. Three of my precious boys died in Southern prison camps during the Civil War.
I have another spirit friend Anna. Anna is a healing-witch. She is off on assignment and will join us again for book four—Moon Lake Music.
Okay, that's all you need to know for now. We will talk again.
CHAPTER 1: Monday
Moon Lake, IN. 9:00 AM
I can stare at this invoice until the cows come home. The amount is not going to change, thought Sydney Hovan. It is still going to read $5,363.62. At this point, the renovations to the old three-story brick building that had served as a church, a schoolhouse, and a moonshine distillery over the last 150 years or more were already so far over budget what was another $5,363.62? That amount was chump change compared to what she'd already spent.
‘Surround yourself with the things you love,’ that’s what Monique, her cousin, and Faith, her Feng Shui consultant, kept telling her. Well, this bar, pictured on the attachment stapled to the invoice, handmade by highly skilled Amish craftsmen from Nappanee, Indiana, filled that want.
When you asked people to drive fifteen more minutes to learn to dance, you needed to reward them with an experience worthy of the trip. Transport them away from reality and draw them into a dream, even if only for an hour or so. In just a few more days, the renovations would be complete, and their dreams would begin. That was the plan anyhow.
To be brutally honest, the only reason she looked at the invoice was because it was the top piece of paper in her to-do drawer. So full of documents, they hung over the sides and halted the closing of the drawer, battering her leg every time she sat down at her desk. In forty-two years of living, she never learned to like paperwork.
Today she couldn't seem to get her act together. Everything distracted her. Fragrance from the fresh honeysuckle on the jungled bushes in the meadow overpowered the windows and enveloped her office. A slight breeze ushered in the sounds of horsetail swishes as Smitty and Thunder devoured the banquet of grass laid out before them under 72 degree sunny skies. So why was she feeling so—what was she feeling? Off? That’s what she was feeling, off. Like two plus two, equal five off. Not sad, not angry, not happy, just off.
Ringing interrupted her thoughts. Her students teased her all the time that her traditional ring was un-hip and that a dance instructor’s phone should play either a swing or a waltz. Oh well. She had her reasons.
“Moon Lake Dance.”
Not allowing her the opportunity to continue, the caller announced,
“Hi, Sydney, Link Carter here with the Indiana Department of Natural Resources. Thank you for taking my call.”
“Yes, Mr. Carter,” her fingers tightened on the phone as she squeezed the words between his breaths, hoping her short and crisp tone would telegraph 'Don't mess with me.' Nearly a year since that almost kiss, her heart flip-flopped at the mere mention of his name. But, her gut still said, “warning, warning.”
“I’m back in town and behind on my work. I’m calling to schedule the soil sampling appointment mentioned in my numerous emails. I will be there Tuesday at 10 AM. A couple of hours tops. If you don’t want to see me, I get it.” His tone grew softer. “You don’t have to be present.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. Tuesday does not work. Perhaps you could take samples from the Fox Ranch down the road. We share the same soil. I’ll have my assistant email you their phone number. Goodbye, Mr. Carter.” And exhale. It felt good to breathe again. Link Carter had a force that penetrated the phone lines. Hopefully, he got the message, but doubtful.
In the last however many months since she’d seen her father’s ghost, she dropped her “No Men, No Drama, No Heartache rule.” She’d been on one or two dates, but she was busy. She had an old school to renovate. And once again, she was under a deadline.
Melanie Martin, her twenty-something assistant and beloved right hand, invaded the office and decreed.
“Wow, that was downright witchy.” Closing the office door, Mel continued, “I don’t get it. He’s hot. According to social media, he is single, he is a nature freak like you, and he’s into you. What’s the problem?”
“Hot and single are dangerous, done that. Not ever again.” Hoping to end the conversation, she began typing the invoice info into her computer.
Melanie would not be discouraged.
“And fun!”
“Go away. Melanie.”
Melanie didn't move.
“You know as well as I do that with the TV comp bearing down on us, I don’t have time, and you, my dear, have better things to do than stalk him on social media.” That sounded like a plausible excuse. Right? “Get back to work and leave my love life alone.” She grabbed her orange pop, silently sending a telepathic message to end the conversation.
The telepathy thing didn’t work. Melanie planted herself on the desk.
“You don't have to help him. Just be here. Since you live on the property, come up with a better excuse to shut me up. It’s time you got out and started seeing someone,” the last line ringing with concern.
“I’ve been on a couple dates.”
“Abel Heinz isn’t your type, and you know it. As for Arie Bracken, he’s a player. You said so yourself. You just went out with him to spy on him for his sister.”
She stretched in her chair.
“Faith is my friend. She was concerned about her brother. I didn’t not spy.”
Mel crossed her arms.
“Sure you didn’t.”
“You know you can be a real pain sometimes.” She smiled. Mel was the daughter she never had. “Okay, you want the truth?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I've got a bad feeling about his request; feels fishy, as if he is using the soil sampling for an excuse to search the property.”
“For what?” Melanie asked, folding her legs Indian style. She was settling in for a long chat.
“Beats me,” pain radiated from her shrugging shoulders, too much painting yesterday. Melanie stared at her. “What?”
“I know that look,” Mel said, leaning forward. Your feeling, it’s intense?”
“Yes.” Yes, it was, and she’d just realized it. “Like I am dancing a Tango, and disaster is my partner.”
Mel's ultra-strict father taught her that intuition was akin to devil talk. But over the years, Mel seemed to become more comfortable and maybe even trust The Collins’ Family intuition.
Good thing because right now, that intuition was screaming, “Danger, Danger.” A sensation so intense, it pushed Syd up out of her chair. The drawer knocked to the floor. Her body needed to pace.
Mel seemed not to notice, still fascinated with Link Carter.
“You know he isn't going to give up. Right?”
“I know.” Something was about to happen. She could feel it. A shiver ran down her spine.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Put him off as long as my feeling holds on.” Honeysuckle scent choked in her throat.
“You ride the horses across the property several times a week and walk the dogs. What could he find that you have missed?”
“I don’t know.” Three SUVs with whirling hubcaps were speeding up the driveway. “Do you recognize these cars?”
Melanie hopped off the desk and peered out the window.
“No. Something tells me that I don’t like the looks of them.”
“Warning, warning,” wrenched up and hammered her stomach.
“I think it’s time to try out our new automatic locking system,” Syd said, hitting the locking button and silently praying the newly installed steel entry doors would obey the technology.
“You might want to try that voice and video feed feature you paid for,” Melanie said as she ducked behind white lace curtains.
“Already done.” Nothing much happened here in the tiny village of Moon Lake, so everyone thought she was crazy when she purchased a bells and whistles security system given her family’s history. At this moment, she was grateful for crazy.
As the offending cars passed the front doors on course for the dock, she grabbed a satchel out of her desk.
“Follow me. Stay close. Storage.” They raced for the basement. Which was louder, the pounding of her feet or her heart? She wasn’t sure. At the base of the stairs, a check of her phone revealed ski-masked men firing at her brand-new high-efficiency windows. One attempted to climb through the kitchen window.
Great, and it was only 9 AM.
“What the heck did I do to tick these guys off?”
“Keep running,” a voice yelled from the ethers.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mel was a few paces ahead. She'd passed the first dance practice room on the way to the storeroom that occupied the entire north side of the basement. A few more feet and they should be safe.
Mel barred the old oak door as Syd disappeared behind the curtain at the back of the storeroom out of the security camera’s vision and tripped the hidden lever. She had declined a safe-room. The cost was excessive. Right now, she understood why people spent the money.
Thank goodness, she’d paid for the package that sent the system’s video and audio to their phones. Those phones indicated a masked man coming down the stairs.
The hidden door at the back of the storage room swung open.
Relief flooded her system.
A couple more steps, she and Mel were safe. Reaching for Mel, she pulled her behind the secret door.
Syd tripped the lever closing the door. Using their phones as flashlights, they descended the sloped path into the tunnel system below and slumped against the wall.
Doors swung open and closed above them. Ping, ping, ping, the sound from the guns above penetrated the quiet tunnels. She opened the pouch and handed Melanie a small handgun.
“Do you remember how to use it?”
“Yes,” Mel said, shaking a little.
“Okay. Only if it’s our last resort.”
Rhythm-less pounding from above scratched at her nerves.
Melanie voiced Syd's thoughts.
“Sounds like they’re trying to get into the storeroom. Can they open the tunnel?”
“Only if they know where the lever is. The robot vac swept the storeroom yesterday, so there shouldn’t be any dust for footprints.” No one, besides Melanie, outside of the family had ever been in these tunnels. A chilling thought crossed her mind. If the masked men found the lever then, someone in the family must be in trouble.
“Ouch,” yelled one of the gunmen.
“What happened?” said another.
“Fell over that broom.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She said silently to the ethers.
“What do we do now?” Melanie asked, shaking.
Securing her pistol in her waistband, she contemplated their options. They could stay where they were and wait for the police or get as far away as possible. Their pursuers might find the secret passage into the tunnel system. It was a very long shot, but still a possibility. Stay and fight or run? We are outgunned, and a trial would last forever. A trial would suck an enormous amount of valuable time. Their phones weren’t receiving cell signals, so their security feeds were useless. They were blind to the activity above.
“Some places along these tunnels have vents to the surface. If we can find one and get a signal, we’ll know what to do next. Hopefully, the police are on scene.” She helped Melanie up, and they began moving through the dimly lit tunnel.
The tunnel system was old, built by her paranoid great, great, great, great grandfathers. In their day, they used the system for a variety of not so legal, but always moral activities over the decades. Big enough for cows and horses to pass side by side, the passages were a godsend during Michiana blizzards.
Melanie grabbed her arm.
“Do you think they hit your house or the house your aunt and mother share?”
“I don’t know what to think.” In fact, she was concentrating on not thinking about that.
Thankfully, her stomach quit hammering. Where was one of those darned vents?
“We need a signal. Mel, when we get back upstairs, make a note to get this signal problem down here fixed.”
“Etched in my brain.”
She hoped to hell; ops heck, the security company had done their job and relayed the video feed to the police. The security system linked Lois’s house, Syd’s home, the dance studio, and the barns, as well as Grace’s Rare Books and Moon Lake Cinema. By now, Aunt Lois and Mom were sure to know something was wrong. Grace would fret. Stay at the bookstore, Mom. Do not come over here. Like Grace would listen.
Did they remember how to work the new system? Would they enter the tunnels or fall apart worrying about her?
In their younger days, both women could have single-handedly taken down the gunmen with only one shotgun between them, but their hands were not as steady as they once were.
“Please, God, let them be safe.” She prayed aloud. “And thank you, Gramps, for your paranoia.”
These tunnels had saved her life and Melanie’s twice. The first time Melanie was only five years old. A severe thunderstorm threw a tornado while Syd was babysitting. Sydney, Melanie, Grace, and Lois sought shelter in the tunnels until the storm passed. Angie, Melanie’s mother and Syd’s best childhood friend, was not so lucky suffering severe back injuries, which still plagued her.
Grace and Great-Aunt Lois used these tunnels often during the winter. They had inherited the family tradition of hating unpredictable and brutal Northern Indiana winters. The tunnels allowed easy passage from building to building on the property. They used the tunnels today, didn’t they?
“Please, God, let them be okay.”
A doorknob on her left turned. The door was ajar. As children, they were forbidden to enter any of the rooms off the main tunnel except the toy storage room. Lord knows they had tried, but the rooms were locked, and although she and her cousins thoroughly searched every corner of every building on the property, no key seemed to exist. Today, however, it appeared someone had found the key. Beeping phones indicating a signal interrupted her puzzlement.
The police were on scene, and it looked as if Link Carter and his sidekick were about to jump through her office window.
“Are they the good guys or the bad?” Melanie asked.
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