The Ghost Maker Read online

  The Ghost Maker

  The Ghost Maker

  Book 1 of the LaVaigne Mysteries

  By Kara Lane Barstow

  Copyright © 2018 by Kara Lane Barstow

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  ISBN 978-0-578-41120-0

  [email protected]

  karalanebarstow.com

  Chapter One

  She couldn’t outrun him. He was too fast, much too fast. She didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know why he was chasing her. She only knew what his eyes had told her, the hate and anger they held when she first encountered him had screamed for her to run.

  Her sandals slipped on the dry dirt, forcing her to slow down to avoid falling on her face or into the surrounding grapevines. She couldn’t hear him, but she knew he was right behind her. The image of his hand grabbing her shoulder or her hair, and dragging her backwards gave her the energy to run faster. She could see the end of the row close, but it was still much too far away. She strained to fight the urge to glance behind, to see just how close he was. At the end of the row would be help, there had to be, she prayed there would be.

  Unable to resist the urge any longer, Daphne glanced behind her only to find nothing. He wasn’t there, he was no longer chasing her. But where did he go? Why had he stopped? Relief flooded through her as she bent over gulping in air. She studied her feet as the pain in her side subsided. They were dusty and dirty from the run and she knew she’d end up with a few blisters. When worn and dusty boots came into her line of vision, she jerked her head up as she stumbled backwards. She fell to the ground, scrambling backwards.

  “Wait, I’m not going to hurt you,” He said, his brown eyes softer and no longer hard with hate and anger.

  “Then why are you chasing me?” Daphne asked, gaining her feet and keeping some distance between them.

  “I just wanted to talk to you.” he said.

  His breath and speech were even and unlabored as Daphne continued to wheeze while her heart pounded.

  Daphne frowned at him. Why wasn’t he out of breath? He had been running just as much as she had. Even though the day was cool and overcast, she felt the sweat running into her eyes. “Why didn’t you call out?” She asked him, still expecting him to grab her.

  “I didn’t know your name.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t know your name, I didn’t just want to say, Hey, you, that would have been rude.”

  “But chasing me and scaring me was polite?”

  He hunched his shoulders before running his hand over his hair. Standing across from him, she was better able to make out his features. He had the brownish red skin of someone who spent most of their days in the sun, but his skin wasn’t vibrant with life, it held touches of gray and a paleness that often comes with a sickness. He wore the standard uniform of those who worked in the vineyards of Napa, a flannel shirt in reds and blues over a navy blue tank and jeans. She knew he wasn’t one of the workers from her family’s estate.

  “Sorry about that. You’re right. I should have just called out. I was just so surprised to finally find someone who could see me,” he explained.

  “See you?” Daphne asked.

  “Everyone seems to be mad at me, I can’t get anyone to talk to me.”

  Daphne recognized the signs she had missed. He was paler than he should have been. He had not only kept up with her, but had managed to get in front of her without passing her. The trellises for the grapes wouldn’t have allowed him to use another aisle to pass her. Seeing ghosts wasn’t new to her, she’d been seeing them for as long as she could remember. However, speaking to them was something she had always tried to avoid. “You’re a ghost.”

  “A ghost? No, I don’t think so,” he replied shaking his head. “Why would you think I was a ghost?”

  “You said people are ignoring you,” Daphne explained.

  “They’re just mad at me,” he frowned, “but I just can’t remember why.” He was young, in his mid-twenties. Not much older than she.

  “What’s your name?” Daphne asked in more gentle tones. She would need to help him see the truth, but it could wait a little longer.

  “Miguel, Miguel Sanchez. Who are you?”

  “Daphne LaVaigne.”

  “Of course, I guess I should have known. I remember seeing you with your brother when he came to visit Frank.” For decades, Frank Ashe had owned the vineyard that butted up against the LaVaigne property. Even though Frank had been the same age as their grandparents, she and her brother Brandon had been good friends with the man. “Are you here to see Frank?” He glanced at the grapes still heavy on the vines. “We haven’t finished the harvest.” His forehead creased as he stared at the nearest bunch of grapes. Daphne could see where the birds and insects had been feasting.

  “Frank died several months ago,” Daphne told him, watching his reaction.

  He frowned at her and then nodded. “That’s right, heart attack back in February.”

  “Do you remember Albert Ashe taking over the vineyard?” Albert Ashe had been his nephew, the son of his youngest brother. Albert had been born and raised in New Jersey and, according to her brother, someone who had no business running a vineyard.

  The rage returned to Miguel’s eyes, the same look that had sent her running away from him. She took a step backward, but his temper cooled when he looked at her again. “I remember him. He’s a buffoon. He has no clue how to run a vineyard. He ignores every suggestion my father makes.”

  “Who is your father?”

  “Emilio Sanchez, he’s the foreman.” Miguel said this with such pride, Daphne smiled.

  “He’s mad at me, won’t talk to me,” Miguel continued. “I don’t know what I did to make him so mad.”

  Daphne knew that now was the time to help him understand the truth, understand why his father wasn’t speaking to him. “Miguel, do me a favor and grab that bunch of grapes.”

  He gave her a questioning look, but then reached out to the grapes. His hand went through them. He tried again before trying with his left hand. He stared at his hands before turning back to Daphne. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry Miguel. I hate to be the one to tell you, believe me, but I think you’re a ghost. You died. If you remember Frank’s death and Albert’s running of the vineyard, then I’m guessing your death was pretty recent. What do you remember last?”

  He shook his head and stared hard at the grapes. “I don’t know. I remember working, I remember pruning the vines and checking the readiness of the grapes. I remember that we were close to harvest time. What day is it?”

  “Yesterday was Thanksgiving.”

  He gasped and looked at her and then back at the grapes, “but that’s not possible, these should have been harvested weeks ago. I know Al wanted to delay the harvest; he wanted more grapes. Even though we told him that the quality would diminish if we waited. Idiot.”

  “My brother Brandon doesn’t think too highly of him either. He was able to buy the vineyard from Albert just last week. He’s meeting with your father now. How about we find them and I’ll see if your father has any idea what happened to you?”

  Miguel nodded. He followed alongside Daphne as she exited the vineyard and approached the main house. The property boasted a Victorian-style ho
me at the center of the vineyard only a few feet away from the buildings that stored grapes and the equipment used to care for them. Several workers stood around the area, most clustered around one man. His black hair and tanned skin would have had him blending into the group, but instead of flannel and jeans, he wore khaki’s and a bright blue sweater. He also stood at least a foot taller than the other men.

  “There’s Brandon. Is the man he’s talking to?”

  Miguel nodded.

  “Let’s go see what he knows.”

  As Daphne drew closer Brandon glanced up and start to smile, but then he gave out a cry and rushed toward her. “What happened to you?”

  Daphne looked down at herself and grimaced. She had forgotten how many times she had fallen down as Miguel had chased her through the vineyard. Her feet were dusty, her pants were torn and she could see that her knees were covered in dirt mixed with a little blood. She lifted her hands to her hair and pulled out some twigs. She imagined the parts of herself that she couldn’t see probably looked roughed up as well.

  “I tripped,” she offered lamely.

  “How many times?” He asked circling her, brushing off leaves and dirt. Her black hair was a mess of dirt, twigs and leaves. Her clothes were torn and dusty, was some of that blood? Like their grandmother, who was a descendent of the Washoe tribe, Daphne’s tan was more of a reddish-brown, but she was now pale.

  “A couple. Look, we have a situation,” she whispered to him. “I ran into a ghost, I think he used to work here. He hasn’t been a ghost for very long, maybe a few weeks.”

  Brandon was one of the few people who knew and believed that Daphne could see and speak to ghosts. “Who?” He whispered, aware of the men cautiously moving toward them.

  “Miguel Sanchez. Emilio Sanchez’s son. Do you know what happened to him?”

  Brandon shook his head before turning to the men. “Emilio, you have a son, Miguel, right?”

  “Si,” the man responded, nodding his head. Now that Daphne was closer to him, she could see the resemblance between father and son. They had the same soft, brown eyes and generous mouths.

  “Is he here?” Brandon asked.

  “No, he left town.”

  “Left town?” Daphne asked, frowning and looking at Miguel. “Are you sure?”

  “Si.” He responded, giving Brandon a questioning look, who in turn looked at Daphne. Daphne looked at Miguel.

  “Why did he leave?” Brandon asked.

  Emilio shrugged, “he was angry and tired of working for Albert Ashe.”

  “When did he leave?” Daphne asked.

  “Monday evening or early Tuesday. He worked Monday but I didn’t see him again after that.” He looked around to the other men and they all nodded, one added a comment.

  “I saw him talking to Ashe that Monday afternoon, said he wanted to talk to him that evening.”

  Daphne wanted to ask Miguel if he remembered any of it, but she didn’t want to ask in front of all the men gathered around them. She knew most of those who worked for the LaVaigne vineyard knew of her gift, but she didn’t know these men. They were all religious and very superstitious. They may all work for her brother now, but it didn’t mean they could or would accept his sister’s idiosyncrasies. However, she didn’t need to ask Miguel any questions because he suddenly grabbed her arm.

  The chill ran up her arm and spread throughout her body. Her stomach flipped as she tried to find her equilibrium. As the horizon shifted and day turned to night, her eyesight blurred before coming back into focus. New thoughts from a new mind pushed her own thoughts into the back of her mind. Finally all the shifting and change slowed down and stopped, leaving Daphne sharing the memories and thoughts of Miguel Sanchez.

  “Miguel, what do you want?” came a belligerent voice steeped in New Jersey. “The Jets are playing, I’m not missing it, so make it fast.” Daphne could see a black blob at the end of the aisle. As he stepped into the light of Miguel’s flashlight, she got her first real look at Albert Ashe. He was only a few inches taller than Miguel, but she figured he outweighed the younger man by forty or fifty pounds. Most of it spilling out of his stained t-shirt and over the elastic of his even dirtier sweats. He carried a good five pounds or more in hair. The man had it everywhere.

  “You have a problem. Remember when my father and I told you the vineyard next door was dealing with spider-mites? Remember how we wanted to plant the rose bushes as an early warning system so we could deal with them before they reached the vines? Well it’s too late now. Your vines are infected. The whole crop is probably ruined.” As Miguel talked he flipped over one of the leaves and shined his flashlight over it. Daphne could see the tiny little insects crawling all over the leaf. She moaned knowing how much trouble this news was going to cause Brandon, but then she forgot all about Brandon when she saw the look on Al’s face.

  He stared at the spider-mites without saying a word. As Miguel spoke emotions played across Al’s face first confusion, then calculation and finally rage. He locked eyes with Miguel. Daphne felt Miguel’s fear. He had miscalculated. Daphne wanted to yell at him to run and hide, but she knew there was nowhere to run, knew how this would end even before Albert grabbed the heavy flashlight from Miguel’s hand. “You did this,” he hissed as Miguel backed away. “Those rose bushes, you planted them to infect the crop. You and your father have been plotting against me. Hell, probably all of you spics have been trying to ruin me.” He raised the flashlight as he roared more accusations, before slamming it down on Miguel’s head.

  Chapter Two

  Daphne woke to find herself back in the vineyard, Brandon helped her up from the ground. “What happened?” she asked, blinking her eyes against the sunlight. Emilio looked on with concern as he stood next to Brandon. The other men were staring at her, but keeping their distance. Many were whispering amongst themselves as they avoided eye contact with her.

  “You tell me,” Brandon said, holding her until her feet and legs could manage the task. “You looked as if you were about to say something but then you just froze, you didn’t move and you didn’t respond to anything I said. I was about to pick you up and carry you to the porch swing, when you started walking. You came here, looked at the vines and then started talking.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Something about spider-mites and rose bushes. Then you just stopped talking and dropped to the ground.” Brandon ran his hand through his hair before leaning closer to Daphne’s ear. “You were talking funny. Your voice was deeper and you had an accent. You sounded almost like a man.”

  “It was Miguel,” Daphne said, grabbing hold of Brandon’s hands. “Albert Ashe killed him.”

  Her announcement set off murmurs from the men around her. She saw a few back even further away, saw even more making the sign of the cross. She didn’t have time to concern herself with their fear, Miguel had been murdered.

  “What do you mean Miguel’s dead?” Emilio asked. “My son is dead?”

  Daphne released Brandon so she could focus her attention on the little man who seemed to be aging before her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but yes. I saw his ghost, he…”, Daphne paused trying to figure out how to explain what she’d experienced so that he would understand. “He showed me what happened. He was talking to Ashe, he showed him the spider-mites…” Daphne released the man and grabbed the nearest leaf, flipping it over. The mites weren’t as visible in the day as they had been at night in the beam of the flashlight, but you could still see them. She heard Brandon groan. “Ashe got angry and blamed Miguel. Well he blamed everyone for infecting the crops and ruining him financially. He then attacked Miguel, killing him.”

  “Are you certain my Miguel is dead?” the old man asked.

  Daphne could only nod. “I’m so sorry.” She rubbed her hand against the same side of the head as where Albert had landed the first blow on Miguel’s head.

 
“Are you alright?” Brandon asked her, “Were you hurt?”

  Daphne didn’t realize that she had been rubbing her head. While she felt a slight pain and her scalp was a little sensitive it was the overwhelming exhaustion that left her unstable. “We need to find Miguel’s body,” Daphne told her brother. “Ashe needs to pay for what he’s done.”

  Brandon nodded. “You’re right. I’m going to call Tom, see if he can help.” Tom’s father was Brandon’s foreman. He had been the foreman since before Brandon was born. Tom and Brandon had grown up together and were best friends. Tom was also a Detective with the Napa Police.

  While Brandon waited for his friend to answer his phone, Daphne wandered up the steps to the porch and sat on the swing. Her headache was spectacular, she closed her eyes hoping it would help. Then she heard Brandon’s voice, “Daphne, honey, you need to wake up. Tom is here.”

  Daphne sat up and glanced around. It took her several seconds before she realized where she was. She looked around for Miguel, but didn’t’ see him. Her headache had dulled, leaving her with the minor aches and pains from her race through the vineyard. She must have slept for over an hour if Tom had arrived, although she still felt tired.

  She shook away the headache and sleepiness to focus on Tom. Standing next to Brandon, they could have been mistaken for twin brothers. Both had black hair, that shown blue in sunlight. Both were several inches over six feet with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Their skin tanned brown in the sun. The only difference was in the eyes. Brandon’s were a bright green and usually full of mischief while Tom’s were a deep brown full and very serious. Both men watched Daphne with concern.

  “Tom,” Daphne said, getting up.

  “Hey kid, I hear you saw a ghost.”

  Daphne nodded. Tom was one of the few outside her family who accepted that she could see and talk to ghosts. He, like Brandon, believed in her ability.

  “Miguel Sanchez. I stumbled on him in the vineyard when I was on my way here to see Brandon.”