Poltergeist Party Girls

  Poltergeist Party Girls

  Cloverville Mystery Series Book One

  M. J. Waverly

  Copyright © 2018 by M. J. Waverly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Jack!

  About the Author

  M.J. Waverly writes quirky fantasy and cozy supernatural mystery. Look for Sidney’s latest adventures in Cloverville with the release of Trouble at Thunder Mountain. Check out www.mjwaverly.com for the latest information on upcoming releases.

  If you want to read how Sidney and Emma the ghost become friends, download, Eternally Emma A Cloverville Mystery Short Story.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Trouble at Thunder Mountain Excerpt

  Prologue

  "There's nothing to these bikinis." The surfer ghost girl hovered three inches off the wooden store floors.

  I ignored her as I folded more tee-shirts.

  It was the same old complaint day in and day out with Tiffany. She'd died in a surfing wipeout forty years ago. As far as she was concerned, it was still the seventies. Not very inspiring for a wannabe screenwriter. Now if you add a sea monster to her story you've got something.

  Before you ask, I’m Sidney Latimer, and I sort of have abilities. Special abilities. The most annoying one is that I can communicate with ghosts. Recently, I started moving objects. What’s it called? Telekinesis. Yeah. That.

  Something I can’t put on an employment application. If there’s a moldy, moth-eaten, lonely ghost within a few miles of my locale, they’ll find me. I tingled as my ghost radar swept through me. Yep. Something strange was in the air.

  `Tiffany swooped over to me. “Look, some of these bikinis don’t cover the bottom.”

  "They're thongs." I continued to fold the tie-dyed tee shirts that I had to have out before the end of the day, and then I had to do an inventory of the surfboards. I'd broken one of my grandmother’s rules when it came to Tiffany. Don’t acknowledge a ghost. Don’t look them in the eye, and don’t communicate with them.

  I’d been new to work, and she just appeared one morning, and I thought she was a customer. I said, ‘hello.’ Next thing I knew, the surfer girl ghost haunted the store. That had been a year ago.

  “Sidney, have you finished with those shirts.” My boss, Ace called out.

  “Almost.”

  “He’s so handsome.” Tiffany gazed dreamily in his direction. She adjusted her bikini top.

  I rolled my eyes. Ace was handsome, but a total narcissist. He’d asked me out on

  several dates, but I'd declined. Some of the best advice I can give: Don't mix business with pleasure. I learned the hard way with my ex-boyfriend.

  I’d been living in Sun Ray Beach, Florida after I moved from Los Angeles. I wasn’t ready to move back to my North Georgia small town of Cloverville.

  Now, a year later, I'm working at the tee-shirt shack. "Sid, when you finish the shirts, don't forget to take the inventory of the footwear."

  I spun around and was about to tell Ace that I still had the surfboards, and that’s when a sensation hit me full-force like a knock-out punch to the face. I stilled.

  Coldness like a dank, January night filled me. Nana, my grandmother. Something was wrong with her. Great danger.

  Tiffany’s face took the shape of Nana. “They’ve come for me. Protect yourselves.” It was her voice.

  I sucked in a deep breath.

  Tiffany’s face returned to her own, but then she winked out.

  Outside, the store’s window, the skies had darkened. I shivered.

  “Storms coming in. I need to check the air conditioner,” Ace shouted from the cash register. “Keep an eye out for customers.”

  Frost covered the tee-shirts I had folded. "Nana," I whispered. Something had happened to my grandmother. I pressed my hand against my churning stomach.

  The phone rang. It would be news about Nana.

  The coldness in the store coalesced and sank deep into my bones. I'd be returning to Cloverville, Georgia.

  Ghosts. Danger. Evil.

  "Hello," I answered.

  “Sidney.” My sister, Laney’s voice choked.

  “Yes.”

  “Nana has disappeared,” she said.

  One

  One Month Later

  Cloverville, Georgia

  I held my cup of coffee I purchased the Crooked Spoons, the town square coffee shop. I sat down on a bench near the statue of Cloverville founder, Rudolph Clover. I took a sip of the coffee and leaned my head back.

  I had a double whammy, today. Thirty minutes until I had to be at my job as assistant to college administrator Ingrid Smith and my late night writing class. My teeth chattered. It was the middle of September, and I still wasn't used to the colder temperatures. After four years in California, and one year in Florida, I didn't think I'd adjust to autumn.

  Why had I signed up for the writing class? Oh yeah. Mom gave me an ultimatum. Live in my house. Get a job and return to school to finish your degree. From a family of educators, having three daughters not finish college led to bitter disappointment and a constant reminder that we possessed our father’s frenetic creative energy.

  I sipped my coffee and stared at the nearly bald tires on my truck.

  A shimmer shone around the statue of Rudolph Clover. Strange. Had to be the morning light.

  Since I'd returned home, there hadn't been any news about my grandmother. Nobody. No clues. Poof! She simply disappeared. We still hadn't found Nana. No sign of her. Poof! She disappeared. The sheriff's department detectives had investigated. Uncle Joe, my mom’s brother was a deputy sheriff, and he kept us apprised of the investigation.

  However, I don’t think the culprit behind my grandmother’s disappearance was of this world, but from the Void, where the spirits that hadn’t passed onto the Bright Place dwelled.

  “I think it’s going to rain,” a man’s voice said.

  The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and my ghost alarm system clanged within my head. I whipped my head around. About to ask who was there? I bit down on my tongue.

  Stop. Nana’s voice from my childhood echoed in my mind. Don’t acknowledge them. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t speak to them.

  “I know who you are, Sidney. You’re Elizabeth Latimer’s granddaughter. I think it’s time we met.”

  “Who are you?” I asked out loud.

  “I’m Rudolph Clover.” The statue shone with a bright light, and out stepped the ghost of the town’s founding father. A luminescent middle-aged and balding Rudolph Clover dressed in Revolutionary War clothes sat down next to me on the bench. “I used to talk to your grandmother, here.”

  He was vibrant and more colorful than some of the ghosts I’d seen in the pat.

  “You’ve always been there.” I pointed back at the statue.

  “Well, I’ve occupied that particular statue they erected in nineteen forty-five after th
e tornado that wiped out the town square. The other statue was swept away and broken into several different pieces thus scattered all around town. They did find the head twenty years later in someone’s backyard, who had turned it into a water fountain.”

  "I thought Nana didn't speak with ghosts," I said more to myself than to him.

  "No. She didn't want you communicating with ghosts and experience the complications that come with such an ability. Elizabeth was friends with many ghosts in this town. Most of us are nice, and then there are some who are not.”

  I gripped my coffee cup. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  Rudolph shook his head. "I hoped you might know. It was as if

  Elizabeth disappeared from this world and dimensions."

  My heart raced. “Could it be one of these not-so-nice ghosts?”

  Rudolph shrugged. “I don’t know, but darker entities recently have crossed from the Void to Cloverville.

  Within my mind’s eye, an evil dark-cloaked figure formed, and I shivered not

  from cold, but as fear clutched my entire body.

  My phone dinged with an incoming message, bringing me back to the here and now. Glancing down, I winced when I saw the time. I only had five minutes to get to the main building from the downtown square. Fortunately, Cloverville Community College was two blocks away.

  Hitching my sizeable brown leather messenger bag over my shoulder, I motioned in the direction of the school. "I'm late for work."

  “I can meet you here, tomorrow,” Rudolph suggested.

  “Okay.”

  I whirled around, ready to bolt to the administrative building in my wedged

  sandals. “Sidney.” Rudolph the ghost shouted.

  I turned around. “What?”

  He hovered near his statue. “Did your grandmother mention her Book of Shadows?”

  Cloverville Community College

  “What are you doing?” Emma the ghost’s head rose from the center of the desk as I tried to focus on the computer monitor.

  “I need to finish inputting Dr. Smith’s schedule for the next three months.” I tried to ignore Emma.

  Her dark curls bounced as she stared at the monitor. “I watched the latest episode of Zombietown.”

  I flinched. “Why?”

  “Because I found something about it on your hard drive.”

  “You invaded my hard drive.” I sucked in my breath. “What did you find?”

  Emma rose up from the desk. Her Victorian white gown matched her shoes. She’d once been a student at Cloverville College when it’d been a young woman’s finishing school in the nineteenth century.

  “Just some notes about the characters. That’s all. You’re very insightful to their development.”

  I bit down on my tongue. No one must know my secret.

  I keyboarded Dr. Smith’s meeting agenda into her calendar. She would be having a luncheon with huge sponsors next week. Also, she had a meeting with the Regents week after next.

  Dr. Smith wasn't the nicest boss. She only hired me because she'd been friends with Nana, who had taught psychology at the college. Typically, Dr. Smith barked out orders, and I learned to make a list and have it completed by five o'clock.

  Emma floated an inch above the monitor. The rhinestone buckles on her shoes sparkled in the overhead light. I kept glancing at the notes on the desk.

  “You’re going to ignore me today?” Emma adjusted her dress sleeves. “Did you watch Zombietown last night?”

  I lowered my voice but spoke in a harsh tone. "Dr. Smith is in her office. If she hears me speaking out loud, then she'll have a reason to get rid of me."

  “She’s bluffing.” Emma tossed a brown curl across her shoulder.

  The front door creaked open.

  Emma faded into a shimmery outline.

  The door opened and in walked three good-looking guys. I took a mental inventory of my black sweater, white blouse, and blue jeans, wishing I had worn something sexier.

  “Nice,” Emma whispered.

  I agreed.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “Yes, we’re here to speak to Dr. Smith.” The first handsome guy with dark brown hair and a small beard said.

  “Do you have an appointment?” I asked, hoping to get his name.

  I looked at the schedule, but I didn’t see anyone written down for this appointment slot, but this wasn’t the first time that Dr. Smith had a meeting and neglected to inform me.

  “I’ll check. Who shall I say is here?”

  "I'm Jason Hunsinger," I remembered him from high school. He'd been a senior when I'd been a freshman, but I'd seen him in something or somewhere else more recently, but I couldn’t remember what.

  “And these are my friends, Todd and Cyrus.”

  They waved, but each carried their cell phones and some other strange device.

  “Let me check to see if Dr. Smith will see you.” I pushed my chair back and walked around the desk. Tapping on the door, I waited.

  “What?” Dr. Smith barked.

  “I have someone who says they have an appointment with you.” I waited.

  “Very well, bring them inside.”

  I opened the door and stepped into her office. She scowled when I gestured toward Jason Hunsinger and his two friends.

  Emma floated over next to Dr. Smith. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “Did you turn up the air conditioning?”

  “No ma’am,” I answered.

  “Well get maintenance in here to check it, “Dr. Smith said.

  Emma laughed as she circled Dr. Smith, making the temperature drop even more... Jason frowned and gazed directly at the ghost. I couldn't tell if he saw her or not.

  Something loud crackled from a device in one his friend’s hands. “The readings are off the wall.”

  Jason nodded at me as I picked up the phone from the cradle and pressed the button for maintenance as soon as possible. I would have to speak to Emma to calm down. I’d seen her work herself in a frenzy one other time, and it affected the electricity in the office.

  Emma glowed brighter.

  The lights flickered off and on.

  Too late.

  “You have a ghost,” Jason said matter-of-factly.

  Dr. Smith scowled. “What? You’re one of those ridiculous ghost hunters, aren’t you?” Dr. Smith scowled.

  “Well, yes we are.” He cleared his throat Jason removed a card from his back pocket. “We’re with Third Eye Investigations, and we’re here to speak to you about the ghost of Emma Bailey.”

  That’s where I’d seen Jason Hunsinger. I’d seen the Third Eye Investigation videos on YouTube.

  A glowing Emma drifted forward. “They want to know about me?”

  I couldn’t say anything to stop her.

  I flicked a quick glance over at Dr. Ingrid Smith. She glowered with eyes like hard flint at Jason and his friends.

  “You will have to leave. Miss Latimer call security and have these men escorted off the school premises.”

  Good thing I hadn’t called maintenance.

  Emma transformed from Victorian virgin to spooky wraith. Her eyes turned black, and her dress became gray surrounded by a roiling mist. Emotional temper tantrum.

  I tried to reach out with my ability to soothe her, but it buoyed off a wall of thick resistance.

  The room darkened, and the computer crackled as lightning and sparks popped from the keyboard, from the monitor, and from the tower.

  Fear and dread washed through me as the phone slid out of my hands. I’d forgot to hit back up the hard drive.

  I hope I hadn’t lost my job.

  9:00 p.m.

  "You must know your antagonist's motivations," Dr. Hawthorne paced in front of the blackboard. Dr. Hawthorne spoke with a British accent. He had an old-world air about him. Even the way he dressed, had this old-fashioned sophistication that seemed out of place in Cloverville.

  I repressed a yawn. This day had dragged on and on. Why did Dr. H
awthorne only teach at night? I had classes on Tuesday and Thursday from eight to eleven o'clock p.m.

  And then Emma’s little dramatic display hadn’t helped matters. Dr. Smith had shouted for me to take my things and never to cross her doorway again.

  “Think about an actor you would cast as your villain,” Dr. Hawthorne said.

  When I wrote my screenplay for this class, I had my villain already cast, Dr. Ingrid Smith. She’d lost her temper, and her mind after Jason Hunsinger and his ghost hunting crew left. Emma’s little dramatic display hadn’t helped matters. Dr. Smith had shouted for me to take my things and never to cross her doorway again.

  The computer died, and the information on the hard drive hadn't been backed up. Yep. I figured tomorrow when I returned to work at the dean's office I would be fired, and I'd have to find another job. Not that I'd complain. Taking a break from Emma would be fantastic.

  Dr. Hawthorne was very pale. Not a sickly pale, but like he didn’t step outside very much.

  "I want to make you aware of an opportunity." He held up a flyer. This contest features a hefty prize package including the opportunity for an option sponsored by Trollhead Pictures.”

  The palms of my hands sweated profusely.

  What sweet revenge it would be to win this contest! I would land back on my feet after what Camden had done. Bitterness and the desire to win, an acidic combination burned at the back of my throat. Imagine if I’d won, Camden wouldn’t be able to claim it was his idea, his characters, and his concept.

  Dr. Hawthorne strode to the bulletin board and pinned the flyer onto the wall. “There is an opportunity if you those that want to write a horror screenplay.” His eyes landed on me, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Even if you don’t plan on writing a horror screenplay, come up with three ideas. We’ll work on loglines for our next assignment.”