The Ghost Whisperer's Assistant: book 1, #1

By sandra baldry

 

In the small and enchanting town of Little Wigam, secrets veil the truth, and danger lurks in the shadows. When Hannah seeks refuge with her bad-tempered grandmother, little does she know that she possesses untapped psychic powers waiting to be awakened. As she unravels the mysteries of the village's past, she becomes entangled in a deadly game where two unsolved murders, spanning fifteen haunting years, hold the key to her destiny. Will Hannah's newfound abilities lead her straight to the chilling presence of the killer within their midst? Join her on a mesmerising journey of self-discovery, peril, and the irresistible allure of the supernatural that will leave you yearning for more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandie Baldry
• Release date: Sep 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215143018

Book preview

prologue

24 hours earlier

Joseph Murrey sat at the bar, surveying the Inn with a black coffee going cold. It was 1:30 p.m. and busy, as bodies jostled around him for a gap at the bar. The landlady hurried around serving customers. She was a thin woman expressing constant annoyance, while the man, her brother, was the social half of the partnership. He chattered to anyone, especially if they were attractive and female.

Looking at his mobile on the bar, Joseph checked for a response to the text he had sent earlier regarding Tracy’s enquiry. Had she expected him to have something for her already? Clearly, she was worried about paying £150 a day plus expenses. When you hire a private detective, you expect to pay. And that was cheap. He didn’t tell her that the price would typically be double that. How could he? The young woman was searching for the truth about her mother’s murder. She could hardly have been more than twenty, maybe younger. She had been so earnest and determined, holding him under her gaze as if he would dare turn her down.

He sipped at his coffee while scanning his research notes at the bar, the hum of voices around him discussing the warm weather and how to keep cool. All the while, aware of but ignoring, the landlady’s eyes flickering to him with anger between serving customers. He finally looked up, meeting those eyes.

‘Are you going to take space and drink that coffee all afternoon?’ she snapped. Customers beside him pulled back. This lady had the attitude of a pissed-off feral cat. ‘There is nothing more we can tell you. Good god, the thing happened fifteen years ago.’

‘As I said,’ Joseph answered, keeping his voice low and calm. ‘My client has asked me to investigate, and in the UK, we don’t have a statute of limitation on murder. A young woman was killed, and the loved ones deserve answers.’

‘You won’t get them here. Finish your coffee and leave.’

Joseph had touched a nerve; he smiled. ‘I’d like another coffee and a packet of salted peanuts.’ He wondered if she would make a scene to get him out and braced himself. Her brother came up behind her.

'Another coffee? That was black, wasn’t it?' He winked at his sister. 'I'll get this.'

With a huff, her long, thin finger snatched up a cloth, and the landlady moved away.

Halfway through his second coffee, Joseph started to feel sick. He slipped from the stool, holding onto the bar for support, his head spinning.

That was the last of his life he could remember as he stood by a tree looking down at himself, a rope wrapped around his neck. He thought he was looking at someone else; it didn’t take long, like some universal understanding. He was dead.

A glowing portal emerged to his right. A light so bright it obscured everything behind it. A warmth was generated within the brilliant ring, and there was something innate, an instinct drawing him towards it. Fingers beckoning him to enter.

He wasn’t ready to let go yet. The overwhelming guilt weighed on him; he had let that young woman down. A woman determined to clear her father’s name for murdering her mother. To discover what had happened fifteen years ago, one November night. He wasn’t a man who allowed his emotions to affect his judgement, to dictate what cases he would take. He remembered the murder. He had been in the force at that time. He hadn’t been involved since he had just been a police constable in the city, working his way via exams to climb to the rank of Detective Sergeant before retiring.

He was about to turn her down, and he didn’t understand why he hadn’t. Solving a cold case was a specialised job, and he didn’t think he would stand a chance. He had been blunt with her, and he told her as much. She insisted all she wanted was that he should try.

So, there he was, standing over his dead body, and it was a sad reflection that only his work clawed at his emotions. There had been nothing else in his life. The wife he once had was ensconced happily with a third husband, and there were no children. No one to miss him. Only that young woman who had wanted the truth about her parents.

Now, she would never know that truth, and the investigator in him couldn’t let it drop. The inviting portal was alive with energy, waiting to collect his soul; it would have to wait a little longer. As if linked to his conscious mind, it folded shut.

Chapter 1

HANNAH WAS POSSESSIVE about her space. The sign on her bedroom door warned it was by invitation only, and her mother usually left her to it. If she wishes to reside in a room resembling an impending storm, let it be. As long as she kept the noise of all that punk rock down. While Hannah’s stepfather rarely spoke to her, Hannah wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t like or understand her. Her mother had said he didn’t speak Goth.

Today was different. Hannah had been called down from her sanctuary while updating her social media site. She was more curious than annoyed. Still, Hannah wouldn’t hurry.

Tucking her phone away, she strolled down the stairs. She wasn’t petty, but she hated being ordered around; she was seventeen, not seven. Not a polite shout of, could we have a word? It was, Get your arse down here. We need to talk. It had always amused Hannah when her mother used her earthy London accent instead of what Hannah called her posh phone voice for her fans and anyone in a circle she desired to occupy.

‘There you are,’ Belinda said as she stood at the base of the stairs. ‘The house could be on fire for all you care.’

‘But it isn’t,’ Hannah drawled, sauntering past her mother and into the sitting room. Her mother’s perfume followed a sweet, sickly scent that would now stick to Hannah’s nostrils for hours. Her stepfather, Tom, stood by the window looking out the garden. His fingers twitched, telling Hannah this would be a confrontation. Then again, she had already sensed that from her mother. The rigid body language was a dead giveaway, the flared nostrils and tightened lips. But what? Hannah had been keeping a low profile the last few days. She hid in her bedroom while her mother flapped around in a frenzy.

Something was going on, and Hannah found it easier not to get involved, shutting herself away. And anyway, she didn’t care. If it were anything important, she would find out eventually. Belinda didn’t keep secrets, didn’t keep her disappointments to herself. Last time, it was her fashion collection—a flop. Hannah could have told her trying to compete with Stella McCartney or Victoria Beckham would punch above her weight. The howls continued for days, and Hannah found it easier to avoid her mother altogether if she could. Easier said than done when she insisted the family eat at least one meal together daily.

Hannah flopped on the sofa, kicking her boots out and braced herself. What drama now? She couldn’t think of anything she might have done since she had tried her best to stay out of Belinda’s way while on a college break. Not involving herself in her mother’s plans for organising her garden parties and press releases for her new, whatever it was—a new cosmetic line? Hannah lost track.

Belinda was standing over her, pinning Hannah under a pair of blue eyes from beneath dark, extended lashes. There was no scowl, so Hannah reasoned she wasn’t in trouble again. Something else was happening, and her mother was planning how to bring it up. Belinda fell beside her on the sofa, too close for comfort, forcing Hannah to shuffle over.

Had someone died? Or worse, was her mother expecting a baby? Oh please, God, don’t let it be that. Some other poor human subjected to her mother’s will, and worse, Tom would be the father! Perhaps she and Tom were divorcing? Not likely. He was too valuable to her mother, picking up after her, smoothing over the clangers she dropped in her blog, and propping her up when she drank too much at parties. He had started as her assistant before they married. Suppose it was cheaper than paying him a wage, Hannah mused. He helped her while her mother was busy ordering him around; she left Hannah alone.

‘I’ve been negotiating with a television company,’ Belinda said, allowing that to sink in. Phew, so not expecting. ‘They want to do a documentary on me.’

Hannah shrugged; what did it have to do with her? Her mother waited. And Hannah realised she was waiting for a reaction.

‘I can see you’re excited for me. They want to see the entire family and how we live together. ‘

There it was. Hannah shunted up from her mother again. She could see it now. Cameras and people running through the house, following her socialite mother everywhere, Belinda playing at being the perfect mother and hostess. No corner of the house would be safe.

Hannah fixed her mother under her gaze. Did she want to send her away, hide her? Hannah had no illusions; her mother considered her an embarrassment.

It was worse than that.

‘You’ll need to move past this ridiculous phase of being an emu.’

‘It’s emo, and I’m goth,’ Hannah corrected, feeling her chest tighten. And did her mother just pretend she didn’t know the difference?

‘Whatever, it’s embarrassing, dressed in black... and just look at your face.’ She paused, a softening crossing her eyes. ‘You are a beautiful girl. Why do you blacken your eyes? And I don’t understand these piercings in your eyebrows and nose. I’m surprised you don’t have tattoos all over your body as well.’

The annoyance bubbled away in Hannah’s gut. And the only reason tattoos didn’t cover her body was that she was underage and couldn’t afford them.

‘And your hair,’ she continued. ‘You are a natural blonde, well nearly.’ She sighed. ‘Black streaks!’ She grimaced. ‘I can’t have them seeing you like this. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m an influencer and designer on a global scale. What will people think? I’m sorry, darling, but all this,’ she gestured with her hands over Hannah’s body, ‘this has to go, and I don’t want any arguments, Hannah.’ She flashed a smile, showing off her teeth that cost a fortune to have both straightened and whitened. ‘Do we understand one another? Tom agrees,’ she continued as her eyes flickered over to him. He provided the obligatory nod with a turn of his head in their direction.

‘I get it,’ Hannah said. ‘You’re ashamed of your daughter.’

‘Good, then we understand each other.’

‘You won’t have to worry, Mother. I’ll leave. I’ll get my embarrassing arse out of the way of your reputation.’ Hannah stood. She didn’t expect this, a new low for her mother. And she shouldn’t have felt let down, but she did. Hannah’s fists tightened, and she needed to leave the room before she exploded.

‘Don’t be silly, darling. Where would you go? You might be goth or whatever, but you like your home comforts,’ she snorted. ‘You will find the real world a very different place. No one will cook your dinner, make your bed,’ she said, with a wave, dismissing the notion that Hannah could manage independently.

‘You don’t do any of those things,’ Hannah snapped. Maria, the live-in hired help, did all that.

‘Your mother has provided for you; the least you could do is cut her some slack,’ Tom said, surprising Hannah that he had spoken.

‘Unlike you, Tom, I can make my own way. I’ve been making my money for a year,’ she said. How dare the twat interfere? Hannah shot Tom a look of contempt. Tom was only a few years older than her. Belinda could almost be old enough to be his mother.

‘Don’t talk to Tom like that,’ Belinda snapped, then added, ‘and the money you make for your little goth blog wouldn’t keep you in black lipstick, darling.’

So, her mother knew about her blog and had seen it. Hannah raised an eyebrow.

‘Let her go,’ Belinda continued, glancing at Tom. ‘If she thinks she can survive in the actual world, let her try.’ She gazed back at Hannah. ‘I hope it will bring you to your senses. Earning a little money isn’t the same as earning a living. What do you do, anyway? Tell other girls how to ruin their looks by plastering their faces in black crap? I do hope you aren’t bouncing off my name.’ There was a beat, her face distorted. ‘Oh my God. You better not have been using the fact you are my daughter to sell that nonsense.’

‘No, Mother, I bounce nothing off your name. In fact, I’d rather no one knew who my mother was, and I don’t discuss cosmetics at all.’ Hannah was shaking, and she needed to get out of there. Her mother might have glanced at her blog but not taken enough interest to read it!

‘Then what do you do?’ Belinda called after her.

Hannah didn’t answer, taking the stairs two at a time.

Her mother was ashamed of her, and as she slumped down on the bed, she found tears running down her face. She had always known she had been an embarrassment. And Hannah played up to it. She wasn’t the beauty Belinda yearned for in a daughter—someone to take shopping and enjoy mother-and-daughter sessions. Hannah had never been interested in clothes like her mother wanted her to. Hannah could still see her mother’s face when Mr Henson, her lecturer, informed Belinda that her daughter was gifted in computing on an open evening at college. She had picked up Java programming with little effort. As he droned on, Belinda’s eyes glazed over. She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Her comments on leaving were on the peculiar smell of the school hall and had Hannah noticed the cheap suit the teacher wore. From being pleased that her mother had attended the open evening, Hannah felt ashamed as Belinda paraded herself, expecting to be recognised only to be disappointed.

And that Hannah wanted to do computer science at university bewildered her. And worse, her daughter, a goth who wasn’t interested in fashion! Initially, Hannah knew her mother thought of it as a phase, assuming that some boy she was interested in was a goth. Why else would anyone dress in black and listen to all that punk music?

Hannah had dug herself into a hole, telling her mother she would leave home, and, of course, Belinda didn’t believe it for a minute.

Hannah packed a backpack with the essentials like her jeans and several lightweight tops for the approaching summer. She kept it to a minimum, as she didn’t want to carry heavy suitcases. Everything had to fit into a backpack she could throw over her shoulder.

Done packing, she crashed down on the bed. She was now ready to go. But to where? Jade's best friend remained in America with her parents, so that was not possible. And most of her other friends had mothers that were also friends with Belinda.

The disappointment was lodging in her chest; she didn’t have anywhere to go, and what money she had wouldn’t last long if forced into a bed-and-breakfast.

A crash in the room made her jump. A gust of wind had forced the window blind into the room, knocking a decorative candle into an open drawer. On retrieving the candle, Hannah closed the window and noticed letters stacked in the drawer. She would need to make room in her backpack; otherwise, Hannah could see Belinda throwing them out. Hannah couldn’t allow that. They were letters from her nan to her dad. She remembered pawing through them a few years ago, but not since. Selecting the first on the stack, Hannah plonked herself back on the bed.

She had chosen a letter that was dated some years back. The handwriting was elegant, with lots of loops and detailed life in the village where her nan lived. The letter had described a visiting fair. And did her dad remember the circus that had arrived when he was a boy? Hannah’s eyes shot up to the address.

Chapter 2

AT STOWMARKET RAILWAY station, Hannah studied a map on her phone; she had a long walk ahead of her. She had neither a phone number for her nan nor knew if the woman she hadn't seen since she was ten was still alive. Now Hannah had committed herself; she was fighting off the panic.

Back in her bedroom, it seemed like a good idea. She wanted to show her mother that she couldn't be pushed around and could be independent. The ugly spectra of self-doubt settled in her stomach in the sun's heat. Her boots pinched her ankles, and she didn't feel like a long walk. What if she got there and found her grandmother had died? Hannah pushed the thought away and turned in the direction shown on Google Maps. Worst-case scenario, she would have to stay in a B&B and worry about it in the morning. She imagined her mother's smug face when she had to return home.

‘Need a ride?’ a man hollowed