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  Frogs, Snails, And

  A Lot Of Wails

  Janet McNulty

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents wither are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or location is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Frogs, Snails, And A Lot Of Wails

  Copyright © 2012 Janet McNulty

  Cover Illustration by Robert Henry

  Interior Text Design by Janet McNulty

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Printed in the United States of America

  If you purchase this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

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  Look for Book 3 in the series:

  About the Author

  Look for the first book in a new series by Janet McNulty:

  Enter the Lands of Tesnayr

  Other Books in the Mellow Summers Series:

  Sugar And Spice And Not So Nice

  —For my grandmother.

  Chapter 1

  My name is Mellow Summers. In case you aren’t already aware, I have gained a bit of a reputation as a sleuth who speaks to ghosts. That is completely thanks to Rachel.

  At the end of last summer I moved to Vermont to attend college. My friend Jackie accompanied me and managed to find us both jobs. That is when I met Rachel and found myself investigating a year old murder case. Of course, Rachel is gone now. I think it unlikely that I’ll ever see her again.

  Now it is spring and I am looking forward to Spring Break. I never go anywhere during that time, but having a week off from my classes will be a nice respite before finals arrive. I hadn’t seen a ghost since all this time and was beginning to think that maybe I was done with talking to them. Perhaps now I could just have a normal life. I should have known better.

  A few days before Spring Break, Greg and I were enjoying a romantic evening alone in my apartment. Jackie had gone out for the night. She’s very good at being scarce when Greg and I wanted to be alone. We had just finished a movie on TV and had just started kissing when—

  “Oh, that is disgusting,” said a voice, “Get a room you two.”

  Both Greg and I looked up. A young man stood in the far corner of the room watching us. He looked about eighteen and wore a button up shirt with high-water pants. He also had on a puke green sweater vest. The big square glasses he wore added to his geeky appearance. This guy had “nerd” written all over him.

  Oh no, I thought to myself. Not this again. Sure enough, just when things got back to normal, that is when anything but normal strikes.

  “Look,” said the kid, “I need your help.”

  “Let me guess,” I replied, “You were murdered.”

  “How’d you know?” asked the kid.

  “Lucky guess.” I was being sarcastic, somewhat.

  “We’re not alone are we?” asked Greg. “I can hear a man’s voice.”

  “You know hearing voices isn’t a good sign,” said the ghost, “It could be an onset of some kind of psychosis. You might want to get that looked at. I can recommend a good psychiatrist.”

  Yep, total nerd. “The only voice he is hearing is yours,” I said.

  “Oh.” The guy looked at his feet a moment before continuing. “Look, I hear that you are good at helping us spirits solve our own problems.”

  “What is there, a spirit hotline?”

  “Yes. Rachel told us all about you.”

  Great. Leave it to Rachel to still find a way to make my life interesting. If she were alive I’d kill her. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Timothy. Now, get up. We have a case to solve.”

  “Look,” I said, “I am a bit busy. Perhaps you could come back later, say in the morning.”

  Timothy stared at both Greg and I. Realization slowly dawned on his face. “Oh, you guys were…uh…I’m sorry. I guess tomorrow can wait. But I really do need your help.”

  “Tomorrow then,” I said.

  Timothy disappeared and once again Greg and I were alone. Of course, the mood had been ruined so we just said good-bye and Greg went back to his apartment.

  I awoke the next morning in a fog. Groggily, I stumbled into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I sipped it slowly relishing the aroma. I love the smell of coffee. Always have. Some people add sugar and cream, but I think that it ruins that flavor.

  “Morning!”

  As usual Jackie came bursting into the kitchen all bright and happy. Her pajamas made mine look as though I had gotten them from a dumpster. They were just plain flannel pajamas, but somehow Jackie made them into a fashion sensation.

  Sometimes that woman made me envious. She could be fashionable even when sleeping. How did she do it? Even without doing her hair and makeup she looked picture perfect. Of course, anyone would look photogenic compared to me and my frizzy, bed hair.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I took another swig of coffee.

  “So, how was your date with Greg?” Jackie poured herself a cup of coffee and then proceeded to add about a cup of sugar to it. How did she stay skinny?

  “It was great,” I said, “Until Mr. Nerd barged in.”

  “Mr. Nerd?” Jackie looked at me over the rim of her cup as she took a drink.

  I relayed to her how Timothy showed up last night demanding that I help him solve his murder. I left out the part about blowing him off. What can I say? I wasn’t happy about him showing up. I did not want to get involved in another murder.

  “I’m hoping he doesn’t show back up,” I said.

  “You know he will,” said Jackie. “You must be famous in the spirit world.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Hey.” Timothy popped in right on cue which caused me to spill my coffee. I couldn’t even get a morning shower in.

  Jackie jumped a bit. This was the first time in a while she had seen a ghost. Did I mention that ghosts can let whomever they want to see them? Or in Timothy’s case, he was so excited about solving his murder, that he didn’t realize he was visible to the entire world.

  “Why is she looking at me as though she can see me?” asked Timothy.

  “Because she can see you,” I said.

  “Oh. You mean others can see me?”

  “Anyone can see you,” I said, “If you want them too.”

  “Really?” Timothy started to fade in and out. “Now you see me. Now you don’t. Now you see me. Now you don’t,” he kept saying to himself as he appeared and disappeared.

  “Timothy,” I yelled.

  “Oh, sorry,” he replied. He solidified. “How about we get started?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, no
w. I was murdered. My killer is still out there.”

  I stared at Timothy. “You know, I have responsibilities. I can’t just drop everything because a ghost shows up claiming to have been murdered.”

  “Rachel always spoke very highly of you.”

  I held up my hand silencing him.

  “Perhaps,” said Jackie, “You should start by telling us what you remember. “

  I sat on the couch. Jackie had a good idea.

  “Well,” began Timothy, “I don’t know who killed me, but I do remember being at the Pen Mills Estate.”

  Jackie choked on her coffee. “Pen Mills?”

  “Yeah.”

  I was confused. What was so special about the Pen Mills Estate? “What does it matter where he was at?”

  “The Pen Mills Estate is the most haunted place around here,” said Jackie.

  I laughed. Haunted houses? You’ve got to be joking.

  “No, really,” continued Jackie. “I’d been reading up on local folklore. The Pen Mills Estate was built in 1739 by William Nate Mills. He called it Nate Manor but changed the name after his daughter Pen was born. Anyway, it passed from one generation to the next until about 1915.

  “That is when Howard Mills went bankrupt and was forced to sell the estate. The Brighton family bought it. In 1921 they lost it because of back taxes. Now no one really owns it. Maybe the state does, but no one has lived there since 1921. It just sits empty.

  “But it does seem to be a favorite spot for teenagers or ghost hunters. Everyone goes there looking for a good scare.”

  “A haunted house. Are you kidding me?” I said.

  “No,” said Jackie.

  “The first sighting there was in 1922,” said Timothy. “Ever since people have reported strange happenings: things moving, strange sounds, real spirits. Everyone goes there.”

  “So why were you there?” I asked.

  Timothy fidgeted a bit. “I never fit in anywhere. It is my senior year and I just wanted to be normal. So I thought if I took a dare and did something really brave people would think of me as something other than a nerd.”

  Jackie and I glanced at each other.

  “So,” continued Timothy, “I convinced a bunch of jocks to allow me to tag along on one of their outings. They agreed as long as I proved to them that I had guts. I was supposed to enter the Pen Mills house and walk around for about ten minutes before meeting them back outside.

  “I went in. Walked around and managed to get to the second floor. After that, I remember nothing.”

  “Did you see any ghosts?”

  “Jackie,” I scolded. “So all you did is walk around?”

  “Yeah,” replied Timothy.

  “You didn’t see or hear anything unusual?”

  “The place is creepy,” said Timothy.

  “You know what I mean,” I said.

  “No, nothing,” said Timothy. ‘Except there did seem to be voices all over.”

  “Voices?”

  “Yeah, they came mostly from beneath the floor boards. Or from behind the fireplace.”

  “We’ll have to go out there,” I said.

  “All of us?” Timothy suddenly looked scared.

  “Yes, all of us,” I replied. “Greg might join us too. Perhaps this afternoon after my last class.” I had one class today and then I was free until the end of next week. Unfortunately, my break was shaping up to be anything but relaxing.

  “I’m in,” said Jackie.

  “I’ll meet you there,” said Timothy.

  “Three o’clock,” I told him. I had a feeling he was planning on bowing out.

  Chapter 2

  Luckily I had only one class that morning. It started at ten, but only lasted an hour. Unfortunately, it was the most boring class: Math. Usually I don’t mind math, but Mr. Hartweit had a way of transforming even the most interesting of subjects into horrible bores. His monotone voice was legend on campus.

  I sat in my usual seat in the back willing the class to hurry up and end. The clock couldn’t have moved any slower if it had tried. This particular semester had been long and arduous and I was ready for a break. I had hoped that my class would go by quickly and without incident, but of course that was not to be.

  Timothy showed up flustered and impatient. “I thought you were going to help me.”

  I tried to ignore him.

  “You promised to help me find my killer,” he persisted.

  “Go away,” I whispered out the side of my mouth. “I said this afternoon.”

  “But I don’t want to wait. Every minute I wait for you to help me is a minute that he gets away.”

  “I said ‘not now’,” I repeated.

  A few people in the class glanced in my direction giving me funny looks. I smiled at them and they turned back to the professor.

  The professor’s voice finally got Timothy’s attention. He eyed the writing on the board. His brows scrunched together as he studied it.

  I finally looked up and stared at the board as well. All that was on there were a few math problems. They looked all right to me, but then math was never my strong suit. I only took this class to fulfill my general education requirements.

  “Those problems are wrong,” said Timothy.

  “What do you mean?” My curiosity got the better of me.

  “The problems on the board are incorrect,” said Timothy. He began to explain why he thought they were wrong. Most of what he said went right past me.

  “I’m sure the teacher knows what he is doing,” I said, “Besides, those are the answers in the book.”

  “Well, the book is wrong.”

  Timothy marched up to the white board. He picked up a marker and began erasing certain parts of the problems on the board and writing in his corrections. To everyone, but me, it looked as though the marker moved on its own.

  People watched in horror as the problems erased themselves only to be filled in with a marker that had a mind of its own. I could only imagine how it looked to everyone when Timothy tapped the marker to his nose in concentration.

  Someone pulled out a cell phone and began recording the event. Others followed suit. Professor Hartweit stared at the board in horror. As a man of logic he must have been having a heart attack from Timothy’s antics.

  Then, Timothy began to explain what he was doing. “You have to get rid of this and square that,” he droned on absorbed in his work. Now there was a disembodied voice accompanying the moving marker.

  I placed a hand over my mouth stifling my groan. This was not going to end well.

  Timothy finally realized that the room was too quiet. He turned around and eyed everyone. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He walked toward a girl in the front. Her eyes grew wide in fear. All she saw was a marker floating toward her.

  “Here,” Timothy said handing her the marker.

  She screamed.

  “No. No. Don’t run away,” said Timothy as she ran from the room.

  Everyone jumped from their seats and hurriedly squeezed through the door. Even Mr. Hartweit scurried away.

  “Why is everyone running?” asked Timothy confused.

  “Because you scared them away,” I replied.

  “What?”

  “You just had to correct the teacher’s math. Now everyone will think this room is haunted,” I said. I gathered my things and walked out of the room. “I said to meet me at the Pen Mills Estate at three. Please do as I ask.”

  I left the building. I marched across the campus furious at Timothy. Why is it ghosts never listen? The only good thing about his little show is that class ended early, which is what I wanted anyway.

  In my steamed state I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Before long I heard a shout and then ended up on the pavement of the sidewalk with the air knocked out of me. I sat up checking my injuries. Only a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major.

  “You alright?”

  I looked over and saw
a man disentangling himself from his bike. Then, I realized I must have run into him thus causing our little accident. Way to go, Mel, I scolded myself.

  “I’m fine,” I replied.

  “You know, most people look where they are going,” he said.

  “Sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like I could tell him I had just had a fight with a ghost. That wouldn’t have gone over well at all.

  “Must have had a lot on you mind.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. I got to my feet and brushed myself off.

  “Jeremy,” said the man.

  “Mel,” I replied.

  We shook hands. He seemed friendly enough. I picked up my bag. “See, ya,” I said.

  “Hey, where are you off too?” He chased after me.

  The last thing I wanted was another guy chasing me. “Work,” I said. “And I’m late.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  This guy didn’t give up.

  “Look,” he said, “You ran into me and knocked me off my bike. The least you can do is let me walk you to work.”

  His logic seemed flawed, but I wasn’t in the mood for arguing. Besides, the Candle Shoppe wasn’t far and I usually walked to work when the weather was nice. I relented.

  “So, you new here?”

  A talker. Just what I needed. “Somewhat,” I said. “This is my second semester.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “The Candle Shoppe.”

  “I’m familiar with that place,” said Jeremy. “You like all that scented stuff?”

  His questions started to annoy me. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but there was something about this guy that didn’t seem right. And I was not in the mood for talking.

  “Not really,” I said, “But it is a job and the manager works around my class schedule.”

  “There are a lot of places that will do that,” he said.

  “I like my job.” Almost there.

  “I transferred here from California. This is my first semester here. I’m studying biology. Want to be a marine biologist.”