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A Prickly Predicament: Mad River Mystery Series, #1
A Prickly Predicament: Mad River Mystery Series, #1
A Prickly Predicament: Mad River Mystery Series, #1
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A Prickly Predicament: Mad River Mystery Series, #1

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Mad River welcomes a pair of ghost hunters and their television show to town only for a murder to occur as the cameras were rolling. Now Shelby's ghost friends are being accused of the dirty deed and the good reverend is calling for an exorcism.

Can Shelby find the killer before the pastor exorcises her spirit friends away from the only homes and town they've ever known? Find out in the Mad River Mystery Series.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 1, 2016
ISBN9781540141668
A Prickly Predicament: Mad River Mystery Series, #1
Author

Constance Barker

Constance Barker lives in the Midwest with her husband and two Akitas where she can look out from her screened porch onto a wooded area brimming with activity. Since she was a young girl she read mysteries, often given to her by her grandmother. She loved figuring out who the culprit was and sometimes she was right and other times startled at who the author picked as the assailant. Now she enjoys writing mysteries herself. When she isn't writing stories, she can be found in her favorite vacation spot, Las Vegas or shopping for bargains.

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    Book preview

    A Prickly Predicament - Constance Barker

    by

    Constance Barker

    Copyright 2016 Constance Barker

    All rights reserved.

    Similarities to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental.

    Chapter One: Done Deal

    Okay. We’re set then. See you on the eighteenth. Matt hung up the phone with a satisfied air, and I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. Who had he been talking with?

    I was afraid I knew. Harriet, my sister, had been talking it up for weeks, first with her boss George and then with anyone else who would listen. Every time Harriet had brought the subject up at home, I had tried to talk her out of it, but Harriet wouldn’t be swayed. Lately I had begun hearing more and more about it every day from friends and neighbors in our small town of Mad River, West Virginia, and every time the subject came up, I cringed inwardly.

    Harriet and I live together in the pre-Civil War home our mother left us. On Bluebird Lane in Mad River’s Old Town, it’s perfect for the two of us. It’s the home we grew up in, for one thing, and for another, we both love it. We love all its familiar nooks and crannies, its creaking floorboards, its tall ceilings with their flourished moldings. Plus the fact that its Old Town location means we can both walk to work, Harriet at Mad River’s only hardware store—which is also the historic general store—and me at the business office for Mad River Old Town.

    The previous year was a difficult one for both of us, what with our mother falling ill in the early spring and succumbing to her illness within only a few weeks, when Harriet was only twenty-one and I was just a couple of years older. Fortunately, both of us were already on our career paths when she died, and she left us not only the fully paid-for home we grew up in but also a small cash inheritance.

    Our mother’s estate was fairly simple to settle, and as the only heirs, we were able to work things out between us in ways that suited both of us. Nonetheless, neither of us felt fully prepared for adult life, and we both often missed our mom, each in our own individual way. Mom’s death left me feeling lost, unmoored, for months, but I was beginning to feel better as time went on. Harriet, however, continued to suffer and had even reverted to her adolescent ways. As a result, I was feeling more and more like the parent in my relationship with my sister.

    Just that morning, for instance, as we were getting ready for our respective walks to our different workplaces, an argument between us about Harriet’s latest obsession flared again. I just wish you’d give it a rest, Harriet, I protested. The ghosts in this town will suffer with all that publicity. It’s a terrible idea!

    What ghosts? I think you—and Mother—were just putting me on all this time. There aren’t any such things as ghosts. And it’s a great idea bringing ghost hunters from that television show. Both George and Matt think so.

    Matt? You didn’t tell Matt, did you?

    No, I didn’t, but apparently someone did.

    This is awful. He’ll be all over it.

    Harriet grinned. He sure is. He thinks it will be great for business.

    You’re just jealous, I called out over my shoulder on my way out.

    Why should I be jealous? Harriet retorted just before I slammed the door. You’ve just got an overactive imagination is all.

    I stormed down the old brick sidewalk on my way to work, furiously kicking October’s brightly colored autumn leaves on the ground ahead of me, and walking so fast that I beat my own best time between home and office by nearly five minutes. The Mad River Old Town business office is housed in one of our town’s historic buildings, formerly the sole barber shop. Constructed of wood slats and covered with a tin roof, it’s as creaky and old as the home Harriet and I live in. I stepped up onto its old wooden porch that morning, savoring the scent of its antiquity despite my anger, and pulled the front door open.

    Morning, Shelby, Matt said when I walked in the door. Then, Hey, what’s eating you? he asked when he saw my face, letting me know that my demeanor was that of a storm cloud.

    Morning, Matt. It’s just Harriet again, I grumbled. How embarrassing! I was never very good at hiding my feelings.

    Matt laughed. For sisters, you two sure do fight a lot.

    Humph, I answered, hoping to put an end to the conversation by pointedly ignoring him as I booted up my computer and glanced at the office phone to see if there were any voicemail messages. There weren’t, as usual. I hung my coat on the rack behind my desk and settled in for the morning. Matt shrugged and walked into his office, toward the rear of the building, then settled in behind his own desk. He didn’t bother closing the door as I would have preferred, but I continued to ignore him anyway.

    Matt and I had been working together for several years, ever since I graduated from high school and came to work for him, and we had long since settled into a comfortable working relationship, despite our very different personalities. During the springtime, I was an actress in Mad River Old Town’s Civil War reenactment, but the rest of the year, I was Matthew Sharp’s administrative assistant, a position I was good at but which felt increasingly restrictive as time went on. It was in this role, as I was sorting through Matt’s morning emails and calendar notifications, that I overheard his troubling phone conversation, sending what started out as a pretty rough day totally down the proverbial tubes. I felt like screaming when I realized the import of that call, but instead I focused on my breathing and deleted three more spam messages from Matt’s inbox, forcing myself to focus on the work I was getting paid to do.

    Suddenly Jessamine, the young 19 year old ghost who perished during the Battle of Mad River during the Civil War swooshed down in front of my desk.

    Have you heard Shelby? They're bringing ghost hunters to town. She wrong her pale white hands.

    Can you help us? she asked anxiously.

    I don’t know, Jessamine, I told her, speaking softly. I’ll try. I didn’t want Matt to overhear me.

    Jessamine’s fearful plea left me feeling even more troubled. I was sure that my other ghost friends were probably feeling afraid, too. I wanted to protect my spirit friends, but I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. I knew they would pitch in wherever and whenever they could, but their physical abilities were practically nil, and I knew they would need my help. Whether or not I could keep them safe from these purported ghost hunters remained to be seen, and I had been hoping I wouldn’t have to try. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Jessamine swooped up through the ceiling and off to wherever it was she wanted to go next. I sighed. Oh, to be able to swoop away whenever life got uncomfortable, I thought.

    ~.~

    Put this on my calendar, Matt said, dropping a handwritten note on my desk in front of me. I’ll be back in a bit. He pulled his jacket up over his broad shoulders and gave me a quick wave as he headed out the front door. My heart dropped right through the floor when I read the scrawled note, even though I had half expected its contents.

    After I was sure Matt had gone, I lay my head down on my desk, willing tears to come, but no such relief was forthcoming. Sighing, I gave it up as a lost cause after a couple of minutes, blew my nose, and got back to work again. At least I was alone for the moment. No sign of humans, no sign of spirit entities, no one. That much, at least, was a relief. It’s not often I get to be alone, what with my living human friends as well as my ghostly ones, and I relished the feeling at that moment. Yes I loved my ghost friends, but once in a while I needed solitude to get my head on straight.

    I’ve been able to see, hear, and communicate with earth-bound spirits all my life. I have what Mom called the sight. Mom had the sight, too, and she gave me the understanding and compassion I needed as a child to fully develop my gift. Although this gift, if gift it is, is often passed down from parent to child, my little sister Harriet is not so blessed, and this lack on Harriet’s part is frequently a source of friction between us.

    Harriet was particularly miffed

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