Madness in Brewster Square: A Brewster Square Mystery

Madness

in

Brewster Square

A Brewster Square Mystery

Narielle Living

Cactus Mystery Press

An imprint of Blue Fortune Enterprises, LLC

Cactus Mystery Press Titles by Narielle Living

Brewster Square Series Cozy Mysteries:

Madness in Brewster Square

Birding in Brewster Square

Paranormal Mysteries:

Signs of the South

Revenge of the Past

Children of the Tribe

MADNESS IN BREWSTER SQUARE

Copyright © 2018 by Narielle Living.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact :

Blue Fortune Enterprises, LLC

Cactus Mystery Press

P.O. Box 554

Yorktown, VA 23690

http://blue-fortune.com

Book and Cover design by Wesley Miller, WAMCreate, wamcreate.co

ISBN: 978-1-948979-00-9

Second Edition: April 2018

Dedication

To all of my aunts:

Violet Marino, Rose Lagasse, Terri Nigro, Nancy Slavin, and to Linda Bunker and Nancy Ciaramella, the real Claudia and Estelle.

You helped me become the person I am today because of your love.

Chapter One

I USUALLY AVOIDED THOUGHTS ABOUT whether or not ghosts really existed, because it’s not like there was going to be a test. I should have known better, at least with my family.

I counted three hundred and thirty-seven steps from the bakery where I got my breakfast to my job at my brother’s store. I count things when I’m bored, restless, or trying not to think about something, and I was trying not to think about the current direction of my life and the never-ending Connecticut winter. The cold would go away, eventually, but I was also bored with my work and my life. Jumping into something new wasn’t so easy, though, since I had obligations—family obligations—and I couldn’t just dump them and follow my dream.

Not that I even had a dream.

A nameless dread began to fill me. The back of my neck tingled, and I was certain that something bad was about to happen. I’d had these feelings before, but they weren’t specific and I never knew exactly what was coming. Burnout. I’ve read about this.

With my hair blowing into my eyes, I made sure to look both ways twice so I wasn’t flattened by some commuter in an SUV, and hurried across the street. I didn’t want to be late for work. Maybe Scentsations is going out of business. I was the assistant manager for my brother’s store, so I knew that wasn’t possible. Business had been good in the little aromatherapy store. Besides, my good luck would be my brother’s bad luck. I can’t think those kinds of thoughts.

Juggling a muffin, cup of coffee, oversize purse, and book I reached for the door handle. One quick glimpse inside stopped me in my tracks. I took a step backwards, hoping to get away before either of them saw me… Two heads inside the store swiveled, looking out the window. Crap-a-roni, I was too late. They saw me. Now I had to go in.

The gentle tinkling of the wind chimes attached to the door was a direct contrast to the fight brewing inside the store. Taking a breath, I forced myself to step over the threshold.

Ava Maria Sophia Cecilia, how are you? The voice greeting me was trying for maximum warmth, drawing my name out like butter on a hot pan. But I knew better. Plus, he used my full name, a sure sign he wanted something. He winked at me before turning away, a gesture I found repulsive. Ex-boyfriends should not wink at ex-girlfriends. Ever.

Turning back to my brother, the sleazy ex moved a step to the right. Doing this positioned him in front of the mirror better, a habit formed in high school enabling him to make sure his slicked back hair was still slicked back and his gold medallion still sparkled from the confines of his hairy chest. For the millionth time, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking when I dated him.

Joey, you gotta listen to me. His sharp words were a contrast to his attitude toward me. I stood in front of the door and closed my eyes, wishing that for once I’d been late. I needed a new job.

My brother stood on the other side of the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and spoke through clenched teeth. My. Name. Is. Giuseppe.

My creepy ex, Kenny, smiled. I’d known Kenny for most of my life, and I knew what a rat he could be, but whenever he smiled he had this ability to appear warm and sincere. Even though I should have known better, I relaxed for a moment, hoping everything would be all right. Until Kenny opened his mouth again. You’ll always be Joey to me. I can still remember little Joey O’Dell cryin’ for his momma the day he lost his lunch box.

Ouch. It looked like this fight was shaping up to include past insults all the way back to elementary school. Clearly I needed to step in and defend my brother. Kenny, I don’t—

Giuseppe cut me off. First of all, that was a long time ago. Second of all, you’re the one who stole the lunch box. Now, what do you want?

My head swiveled back to Kenny. Giuseppe had a legitimate question, especially since we weren’t on the best of terms with Kenny. What did he want?

And then, wasn’t it just last week I saw you crying, again, down at the beach? What were you crying about then? Maybe something to do with that sweet little wife of yours.

You’re an idiot, Kenny, a big, stupid, idiot. And you can shut up about my wife. I don’t even want you thinking about her, you hear me?

Crossing between them, I set my coffee and muffin on the counter. Kenny, what brings you here? I asked, hoping he’d leave soon. My coffee was getting cold, and I really wanted to eat my carrot muffin. With my Italian heritage reflected in my shapely figure, I probably should have just had carrots without the muffin, but I liked to eat when it was cold outside.

"Yeah, don’t you have work to do?" My brother was not helping the situation.

Kenny strode over to the counter, trying to act casual. Pretending to examine the array of organic lotions and soaps, he put his arms behind his back.

I came to make you an offer.

Did he really say that? I always thought if you wanted to do business with people, you made an effort to be nice to them. Silly me. But Kenny has always talked to others as if he were a very important person.

My brother didn’t stop to think about it. No.

Hear me out, then you can say no. Kenny’s voice continued to ooze charm, but it was wasted on us. I would like to offer my services to you. He raised a hand in protest before Giuseppe could say anything. It would be mutually beneficial to present a united front to the community tonight.

What’s tonight? I asked.

We’ll talk about it later, Giuseppe answered me before turning to Kenny. No.

Talk about what later? I asked. My voice was low, but not because I didn’t want Kenny to hear me. With him standing right there, I knew he could hear every word. My voice was low, which is what happens when I get mad or upset. I don’t scream, I whisper.

Plus, I had a bad feeling about whatever my brother had planned for me, but not from worry about the actual event. Something felt wrong. Maybe the tingling anxiety thing was about tonight. Why would Kenny want to tag along on whatever my brother was doing?

Ava, we’ll talk about this later, Giuseppe whispered back.

Sometimes when Giuseppe has something in mind for me it isn’t anything I want to do, but for whatever reason he decides it’s an absolute necessity. Like the time when we were kids and he decided we needed to see if aliens really existed. He convinced me it was important to all of humanity for us to stay up all night to see if we could send or receive some sort of communication. He rigged up something on his short wave radio that he was convinced would work and to this day I have no idea what it was. He was the person in charge of the radio, and I was the person in charge of direct contact. That meant I spent the night on the roof, and he spent the night in his room. When it got to be around four in the morning and I could hardly stay awake and had to pee, I climbed back into the house through the upstairs window and found Giuseppe sound asleep.

In his bed.

Snoring.

You’d think I would’ve learned from that experience, but through the years I have found myself being somewhat forgiving toward my brother. Even though he’s a few years older than I am, he acts like the second or third born child. Creative, disorganized, and charismatic. He is the type of sensitive man who women always claim to want, but most couldn’t handle it when he cried about famines in distant lands or the demise of the spotted toad. Thankfully, he met his match in Janine, an equally sensitive and all around good person. Even better, he married her. Unfortunately, Janine shared most of his views regarding the paranormal. And even more unfortunately for me, he talked a lot about those views.

Frankly, he scares the bejeesus out of me when he brings up ghosts, aliens, and demons.

But it’s not like I believe in any of that stuff.

You guys are doing a ghost hunt tonight, Kenny told me.

No, I said.

Apparently you two need some family time right now, Kenny said. I’ll come back later. As he turned and walked out the door, it briefly flashed through my mind that Kenny’s diplomacy was uncharacteristic. I didn’t really care, though, because at the moment my focus was on making sure my brother understood when I said no, I meant no.

I must’ve told him a thousand times I’m not doing ghost hunts with him anymore. Period.

What the hell are you wearing? Giuseppe demanded.

Momentarily thrown by the abrupt conversational switch, I didn’t know what to say. Good morning to you, too. Yes, I’m fine, how about yourself? Keep a Zen attitude, stay in the moment and maintain balance, I told myself.

How many times have I told you that color is not good for you? You can’t wear black, it’s all wrong for your skin tone and it throws Janine’s aura off. You have to wear positive colors, reflections of the energy of life.

I have to wear what’s clean and will keep me warm. Janine was the main reason I worked at Scentsations, and she and I were friends, but I never once heard her talk about her aura. She talked about other people’s auras, but never her own.

Giuseppe shook his head, clearly disgusted by my lack of understanding when it came to auras. You can throw the day into chaos by not being careful about these things, you know. He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, before adding, Although it might work for tonight. Yes, that would be good.

I told you, I’m not doing it, I said, glad I hadn’t gotten him a muffin from the bakery. I’d almost ordered him his favorite, lemon poppyseed, but Janine had him on a diet and I didn’t want to get on her bad side. And right about now I had a feeling Giuseppe was going to say something I didn’t want to hear, so I was glad I hadn’t wasted the money.

I have you scheduled to come out with us tonight on our latest paranormal event, he said, turning away to open a box. I knew he was so busy unpacking inventory right now because he couldn’t look me in the eye.

What if I don’t want to? So much for my Zen attitude. You know I hate doing those things. I can barely stay awake, and nothing ever happens.

We have an investigation, and I’m short an investigator. I need you to come to the house with us. I have a few new investigators, and they don’t understand the intricacies of all the equipment.

No. I wouldn’t do it, no matter what he said. He couldn’t make me be part of that group if he offered me a million dollars.

I really should look for a new job instead of putting up with this manipulation.

I’ll pay you fifty bucks.

I hesitated. I hadn’t expected him to offer me money, so now what? Fifty dollars didn’t sound like a lot, but I was trying to save every little bit I could for a vacation. Of course Giuseppe used that to his advantage.

It’s not a lot, he said, looking up from the box, but some extra cash will get you a little closer to buying the plane ticket you want.

Damn him. He knew how much I wanted to go to Ireland, but working with those people always tried my patience—made me want to scream, actually. Ghost hunters can be weird.

Tell me again why you’re doing this.

Why I’m doing what? he asked.

This group you’ve put together. You must be losing money on this business. I’ve seen all the advertising you’ve done, and it’s not cheap.

Giuseppe straightened to his full six foot height and rolled his shoulders. We are truth seekers. We are investigators, and we have standards. Which is more than I can say about some paranormal groups.

My brother’s paranormal group, or ghost hunters as they were commonly called, was known as AA Energy and Spirit Investigators. He started this little side business only after Kenny started his, which was called AAA Paranormal Investigators. And anyone who knows anything about alphabetical listings in the internet yellow pages or old fashioned phone book would realize why my brother chose AA, even if it did mean he got more than a few phone calls from drunks looking to stop drinking.

I wasn’t finished. Other issues were bothering me. Seriously, G, when are you going to ban Kenny from the store? Asking him to stay out is the best thing you can do. You don’t like him, and people don’t want to shop in a place where you guys are standing around arguing.

Giuseppe scowled at me. First of all, don’t call me G. You know I hate that almost as much as being called Joey. And second of all, it would be bad for business to ban him. How would it look to the rest of the town if I forbid him from coming in here for no good reason? Kenny has his own business venture, I have mine. I can go into his if I want, he can come in here. That’s it. The end. Period.

I put my hands up in front of me to ward off any more ranting. Okay, fine, whatever you say. Where’s this thing going to be tonight? I needed to change the subject if we were going to make it through the day working together. If anything caused a fight between us, it was Kenny.

At the old McAllister place, the one over on Chartres Drive.

I was shaking my head and backing away from him before he even finished his sentence.

Have a good time, I said.

You agreed. Fifty bucks.

Sure, before I knew where you were going. Sorry, G, but there is no flippin’ way you’re going to get me to go into that house. Ever.

Chapter Two

I WAS TEN YEARS OLD when the old McAllister woman died. Until now her house had remained unlived in, completely deserted with dusty old furniture. I’m sure mice, raccoons, or squirrels were crawling around and making a home in there. For whatever reason, no long-lost relatives came forward to claim the house, a major mystery since you would think a big old house in Connecticut was prime real estate. I always assumed the relatives didn’t want to brick up the entry to hell in the basement or whatever supernatural ick that made the house so darn creepy. It sat empty for years and gained a deserved reputation as a menacing place.

In fact, the reputation of the house was so solid not even area drug dealers or criminals used it as a hangout. Nobody wanted to go there.

Rumor had it the house was built over an ancient burial site and it was haunted even before the old lady kicked off. To my adult self, the rumor sounded lame. As a kid I’d believed it with my whole heart. I didn’t know the history of the house, but I did know I was not inclined to step anywhere on, near, or in it.

I wasn’t a big baby or anything, but the distinct memory of my thirteen-year-old self running out of the yard after hearing very clear snarls and growls coming from the basement made for an easy decision. And they weren’t earthly snarls and growls, I’d like to add. They were demonic, definitely not-from-around-here sounds. I might claim I didn’t believe in the paranormal, but I wasn’t stupid, either. I knew when to leave things alone, and this house needed to be left alone.

I’ll give you sixty dollars.

I shook my head. Dude, that place is scary. You don’t have to go in there looking for things, everyone knows it’s haunted.

Exactly, Giuseppe said. This is our chance to get some real proof of ghost activity, which could be groundbreaking. Don’t you see what an opportunity this is?

Nope. I see what a mistake this is.

It’s not scary anymore, he wheedled.

Really? It suddenly got un-scary? I didn’t know that could happen. My brother was always good at making things up to fit any situation to his needs. This time it wasn’t going to happen. Whatever he said would not change my mind.

I am not going in there. Period.

The old house has finally been sold to someone, and the new owners have been in and started to clean the place up. They’ve done a bunch of renovations.

My silence was all the answer I would give him. I said no, I meant no.

It looks nice in there, he said. "They put in a new garden, and the inside has fresh paint and period furniture, with the hardwood floors all redone. The place sort of reminds me of that television show, what’s it called? Oh, yeah, Make It Pretty."

Only my brother could so consistently manipulate me. He knew he had me as soon as he mentioned Make It Pretty. The show was one of my favorites, where the hosts went into crappy old houses and made them look elegant and sophisticated. It always amazed me how they could work magic with a little fabric, paint, wood, and tools. I loved the entire design process, and I especially loved the ending where they unveiled the new look of the home.

It’s really cool in there, my brother continued. With all the work they’ve done the house looks like the end result of the show. Amazing, really.

He was devious. This was so unfair.

Okay. My hand covered my mouth a moment too late. I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth. What the heck was I thinking? Although, now that I thought about it, the old house had probably cleaned up pretty well. If they knew what they were doing, it might look darn good in there, and they’d probably sealed up the entrance to hell in the basement or fixed whatever had made it scary in the first place.

I’ll do it, on one condition.

My brother knew he had me then, so he waved a hand in my direction. Sure, what do you want?

I want to be able to take a friend with me tonight.

The bell on the door jingled and a new customer stepped in, meaning I was going to have to wait a few minutes before convincing my brother to let me have my way. Since I was helping him out with the evening’s events at the house of hell, the least he could do was give me the couple of things I asked for.

The customer, tall, silver-haired, with a military bearing, strode in, blue eyes scanning the room until he saw Giuseppe.

I’m here for a… marble, he said.

I looked at him, wondering what he meant. Linwood Cosgrove, a retired Army Colonel, was always very pleasant. I usually saw him around town with his wife, Valerie, who had the same polite-yet-distant demeanor as her husband.

She changed her order and decided against the marbled design, Giuseppe said. Here, they just arrived yesterday. Reaching under the counter, Giuseppe pulled out a box and set it next to the cash register. Three beeswax candles with grapefruit and lemongrass essential oils. Giuseppe smiled at Linwood. I think this is what you’re looking for.

Linwood hesitated, eyeing both Giuseppe and the box with suspicion. After a moment, he nodded. Okay. How much do I owe you?

Giuseppe rang the order up and looked up at Linwood. That’ll be ten dollars and seventeen cents. Do you need this gift wrapped?

Linwood stared at him for a moment, then reached into his wallet and extracted some money, handing it to my brother. Giuseppe stood, waiting in silence.