Page 29 of Aberrant Monsters
Nandi sat with one foot resting on her seat, the other stretched out and propped on the chair parallel to her, while Uncle Fred spread jam on a scone.
They all looked up as I entered.
“How are you feeling?” Uncle Fred asked.
“Much better.” I glanced out the window at the orange sky. “I guess my handler isn’t here yet.”
“Nope,” Nandi said. “But we do have a job we need to discuss.” She eyed me warily. “Unless you won’t be working regular jobs any longer?”
“What? No, I’m not giving up on our business because of the Order.” I grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee from the pot before joining them at the table. “Tell me about the job.”
“Well, our client is convinced that her son was murdered.”
My brows shot up. “Whoa, wait a second, isn’t this a police case?”
Archie snorted. “He died of a heart attack. Coroner’s report confirms that. No drugs in his system, no evidence to suspect foul play.”
“You spoke to the coroner?”
Archie gave me a look that said, honey, I don’t have to speak to anyone to get my intel. “I read the files.”
In other words, he’d hacked the system. “Okay, so how is this a murder?”
“She believes he died of fright, caused by something he saw in the old Huntingdon mansion.”
The name rang a bell. “Wait, isn’t that the haunted house you can rent out for the weekend? The one on Woodling Track?”
“Yep, that’s the one.”
I’d seen it advertised in the local paper. The owners had been renting out the place for about four months now, living in a lodge on the grounds and allowing thrill seekers to pay for a walk-through or stay a few nights and experience the excitement of being spooked. No one had ever died before, though.
“She believes the haunting is a scam,” Nandi continued. “That they’ve added scares that caused her son to have a heart attack. She wants to sue them.”
The law was clear on businesses such as the Huntingdon mansion. Natural hauntings could be monetized. Clients signed a waiver stating that they were entering the building of their own volition, and any harm that came to them on the premises would not be the property owners’ responsibility. But if the haunting was a scam, if there were no real ghosts and props or “tricks” resulted in a death, then yes, it would be considered murder.
I sipped my coffee. “When do we go in and check it out?”
“I’ve booked the house for next weekend. I had to pay off another customer to take their slot, but it was worth it. Our client offered us a fat check to do this, enough to cover two months’ expenses.”
I looked to Archie. “What do you think?” He’d researched the background and history of the house. “You think it’s a scam?”
He finished his mouthful of noodles. “There’ve been a couple of deaths in the house. The Huntingdons moved in three years ago and there was no mention of hauntings until a few months back. Spoke to some other people who’ve rented out the place previously—non-humans mainly, psychics and the like—and they all say there’s an energy in the house. No reports of actual sightings, though. They said they came out feeling drained. They could just be imagining it, though.” He shrugged. “Hard to tell with the sensitives.”
“And the owners have no idea who we are or what we do?”
Nandi shook her head. “Used fake names and ID cards. We’re good. There is no way they’d be tipped off.”
“Good work, guys.” My insides trembled and I took a gulp of coffee before setting it down and glancing out the window.
The sun was dipping, sky turning red.
Nandi followed my gaze.
I pushed my chair back. “I’m going to—”
“No.” She gripped my wrist. “You don’t have to hide. We’re not afraid.”
“Or grossed out,” Archie said. “Just saying.”
