Southern Haunts Read Online Free Page B

had been parked beneath the window and faced a large, wall-mounted flatscreen. A chipped coffee table sat between them, covered in newspapers as well as a shoebox. The air smelled of dog.
    “Charming,” Drummond said as if could still smell.
    In one corner, a video camera sat on a tripod. Behind the camera, a man waved. Jack lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he cruised by on his way to the kitchen.
    Libby placed a hand on her hip. “Carl. I didn’t notice any holes outside. Did you bury the stones like I asked?”
    Carl stepped from behind the camera. Max saw right away that Carl was a man at odds with himself. His thick, bottom lip protruded in a permanent pout and his clothing — ratty jeans and an orange t-shirt half-tucked-in — made him seem like a petulant fool. However, his face and hair were groomed with impeccable care. He spoke with a thick, wet voice that sounded dull-witted, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence.
    “Sorry, Ms. Broward. I haven’t got to it yet.” Carl did not look sorry at all. “I figured it was more important that I maintain the equipment. Right? What’s the point, if we fail to capture any evidence because the cameras don’t work properly when we need them to?”
    “Your main focus is the cameras, but your job is to help us in our investigations. That means in every way.” Libby clamped down any further words before throwing her briefcase on the sofa. “Fine. I’ll take care of the stones. You come meet Max and Sandra Porter. They’re consultants. Give them a tour of the house.”
    “Be happy to do so.” Carl smiled broadly.
    Libby picked up the box on the coffee table and checked its contents. Max gave a quizzical look. With an annoyed huff, she showed him the box. “Four stones. Rose Quartz attracts loving things. Black Tourmaline fights off negative energy. Hematite acts like a shield and citrine clears the negative and attracts the positive. I’m not a big proponent of stones, but I’m also not taking chances in this case.”
    “You bury these?”
    “One in each corner of the property. If there’s any truth to it all, the stones will help protect the house.”
    Max frowned. “I thought we were protecting the Darians.”
    Sandra slapped his shoulder hard. “I apologize for my husband. Sometimes his mouth gets the better of him. Go take care of the stones; we’ll be fine in here. We’ll take the tour with Carl.”
    Libby shot holes into Max with her glare as she walked outside.
    “I’m gonna like you,” Carl said. “Follow me.”
    He led the way through a small, modern kitchen and down a narrow staircase to a dusty basement. Wooden shelves lined the tiled floor as well as the walls. Moldy cardboard boxes filled every shelf. Old clothes and empty bottles and rusting cans filled with rustier screws crammed every available space. A new washer and dryer sat on bricks in the back with a hose running to an open drain in the floor.
    Scratching his nose, Carl gestured with his elbow. “Here’s the basement, if you couldn’t guess. Any spookiness going on down here?”
    Sandra ignored Carl as she walked up and down the two aisles. Drummond swept through the area and shook his head at Max.
    “Y’know, I thought this job was going to be a bit more interesting,” Carl went on. “Not that I believe in any of this, but I mean, come on. You’d think there’d be a creaking door or a thump or something.”
    Max blew the dust off an old album — Chubby Checker. “Why take this job if you don’t believe in any of it? I can’t imagine the money is any good.”
    “The money sucks. I could make a ton more filming weddings and birthdays. But then I’d be stuck filming weddings and birthdays.”
    They went back upstairs through the kitchen and living room and up to the second floor. All the while, Carl drolled on about the doldrums of filming things people wanted to pay him for. “I mean, why should I spend my days filming corporate training crap just to make a