If You've Got It, Haunt It: A ghost romance (The Peyton Clark Series Book 4)

  IF YOU’VE GOT IT,

  HAUNT IT

  Book 4 of the

  Peyton Clark series

  by

  H.P. Mallory

  Copyright ©2019 by HP Mallory

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  Acknowledgements:

  For my son, Finn, who makes my sun shine.

  To my editor, Teri, at www.editingfairy.com: Thank you for a job well done, as always.

  ALSO BY H.P. MALLORY

  Fantasy Romance Series:

  The Lily Harper Series

  The Dulcie O'Neil Series:

  (Over 1 million downloads of the series!)

  Reverse Harem Series (Writing as Plum Pascal)

  The Sacred Oath Series

  Paranormal Romance Series:

  The Jolie Wilkins Series:

  (New York Times Bestselling Series!)

  The Sinjin Sinclair Series

  The Peyton Clark Series

  Virtual Reality Romance Series:

  The NuLife Series

  Standalone Contemporary Romances

  Contemporary Romances

  About If You’ve Got It, Haunt It

  Having two men in your life, vying for your attention, is hard enough, but what if one of those men is dead?

  Peyton Clark moved to New Orleans with two thoughts in mind--to escape a bad marriage and to fix up the huge mansion her great aunt left her. While her bad marriage becomes a thing of the past, her ownership of the house on Prytania Street is threatened. By whom? None other than a relative of Drake's, the ghost who happens to be haunting Peyton's house. Luke Montague is the embodiment of Drake in everything but disposition and he's proving to be a big thorn in Peyton's side.

  To make matters worse, Peyton's health and her very sanity is suffering by some unseen force. Visions of ghosts dance in her head, warping her understanding of what's real and what isn't. Furthermore, these visions prove to be a warning of a larger threat that's impacting the city--antiques are going missing, stolen by the ghosts of children.

  When Peyton gets involved, she'll face more than she bargained for--including witches, possessed dolls, a strange dog, ghostly pirates and her teenage niece.

  Join Peyton Clark on her fourth adventure and prepare yourself for an ending that will knock your socks off!

  Chapter One

  The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The flowers flavored the air with an aroma that was so sweet, it was almost cloying.

  Yes, it was a beautiful day in New Orleans. And I had every reason in the world to be happy. But I wasn’t.

  Why? Because I was in love with two men.

  Not that unusual, right?

  Wrong.

  One of those men just happened to be dead and had been for over one hundred years.

  Yeah…

  Ryan, my very much alive boyfriend, and I were walking down Royal Street, in search of antiques. Not just any antiques. No, I was in search of occult antiques—pieces of history that had paranormal powers linked to them. And, yes, many antiques do have ghostly stories and histories surrounding them just like you might find with old houses. But I wasn’t browsing for whispered accounts of bygone eras. I was looking for artifacts that radiated power and paranormal ability—anything that could help me strengthen my connection to the spiritual realm.

  I was a bit of a paranormal investigator but as with all trades, I was nothing without my tools. And my tools, in this case, happened to be items of the occult.

  Ryan held the door open for me as we walked into “Aunt Jessie’s Curios,” which was my favorite antique store because every item Aunt Jessie sold had a detailed history behind it.

  “Good morning!” Aunt Jessie greeted us in her sing-song voice as she waddled out from behind the counter and embraced me before kissing me on either cheek, no doubt leaving behind flaming, orange lipstick marks.

  “Good morning,” I responded as Ryan gave her a quick hug and she returned it.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come in today, Peyton!” Aunt Jessie said, grinning broadly, making her plump face even more cherubic. She was round in general and fond of pillbox hats and Jacqueline Kennedy overcoats. She looked like she was caught in permanent loop of the 1960s. Her processed red hair was always pulled into a low bun at the nape of her sloping neck.

  “I’ve got a new shipment to tell you about!”

  “Pey, I’m going to run across the street and grab a coffee, okay?” Ryan said with raised brows. It was no secret that I enjoyed these antique outings more than he did. But he was still a good sport.

  “Can you get me a caramel…” I started.

  “Ice-blended frap?” he finished for me with a handsome, boyish smile.

  I nodded and returned his smirk.

  Aunt Jessie took me by the hand and led me over a narrow path of carpet. With her overly wide backside, it was always a wonder she didn’t bump into anything, considering what lay on either side of us: stuff, stuff and more stuff. Furniture, boxes, clothing, knick-knacks, and more lined the walls of the small store, extending into the room until the only navigable areas were few and far between.

  Aunt Jessie continued wending and winding through the towering bunches of antiquities, leading me to the back of her store.

  “Oh, Peyton, I’ve been wondering when you were going to come in again!” she hummed.

  “Really? Why’s that?” I accidentally brushed against a leaning wall of hats and had to reach up and balance them to keep them in place.

  “I just got a shipment of dolls from England, and there’s one in particular I’d like to show you.”

  In general, I don’t like dolls because I find them the creepiest of all paranormal antiquities. “Dolls?” I started, failing to keep the hesitancy out of my tone.

  “I know how you feel about dolls,” Aunt Jessie began as she shook her head and held up her hands in supplication, revealing her overly jeweled fingers. “But just listen, these dolls aren’t your usual fare. The woman who owned them, a widow from Liverpool—her name was Mary—became famous because of these dolls. People from all over the world would visit her because they believed the dolls had healing and protective properties.”

  “Hmm,” I started, but still wasn’t convinced.

  Aunt Jessie gave me a knowing expression. “Just take a look at them?”

  Then she reached inside her pocket and produced a key. She pushed aside a black lace curtain that hung in front of a door that led to her storage room. She unlocked the door and pushed it wide as she walked inside and I followed her.

  “Every doll in Mary’s collection is in fantastic condition,” she continued. “There were a total of twenty-three hundred in the set.”

  “Good God, that’s a lot of dolls,” I grumbled, shaking my head and shuddering when I imagined all those sets of doll eyes on me at night.

  The inside of the storage room was dark until Aunt Jessie flipped a switch and one lightbulb, hanging from an exceptionally long cord, lit the space around us.

  “Did you purchase all twenty-three hundred of them?” I asked.

  “Goodness no!” she answered with a scoff. “That would have cost me a fortune! No, I only acquired four and here
they are.” She motioned to a table, which stood in the center of the room. Surrounding the table were loads of boxes stacked on top of each other all the way up to the ceiling. Sitting on the table were four dolls of various sizes. Beside them were a lined notebook and a stack of labels.

  “Wow, they’re beautiful,” I said as I approached to study them. Aunt Jessie flipped another switch and turned on the overhead halogen lights, bathing the room in a jaundiced yellow.

  “Yes, they are,” she said as she stood beside me and admired her recent acquisition. “I haven’t even had time to catalog or price them yet. But as soon as I saw you, I wanted to introduce you to them.”

  I swallowed as I looked at each one. They were definitely Victorian in style and all equally attractive with their pastel frills, sausage curls, round eyes and rosebud mouths. But one in particular caught my eye, one that I couldn’t seem to stop staring at.

  “They were in every room of Mary’s large house, including the attic, basement and garage. Mary never married or had children. The dolls were all she had in the world and she loved them as if they were her children,” Aunt Jessie continued, sounding like she knew Mary personally. This was exactly the reason why I loved coming here—Aunt Jessie had a story for every one of her precious possessions.

  “Interesting,” I said as I focused on the doll before me.

  She was strikingly beautiful and possibly two feet tall with long, curly, chestnut hair and crystal blue eyes with extremely light skin that made her appear ethnically European. She was wearing a blue plaid dress with a thin red ribbon around her waist. Underneath the dress, she wore red pantaloons and white lace socks inside white leather shoes. She was also wearing a small necklace of the Blessed Mother, Mary. The chain was tarnished but the pendant held a blue gem of some sort that appeared to be in pretty good shape.

  “I see you’ve taken a liking to Lizzie,” Aunt Jessie said with a knowing smile, like she’d expected I’d like this doll best.

  “She’s very pretty,” I answered. But she’s still a doll.

  “Yes. She represents European immigrants coming to Ellis Island in 1900. She's in exceptionally good condition for her age.”

  “Is that all you know about her?” I wanted to reach out and touch the doll but before I did, I needed to get as much background information on her as possible. Once or twice before, I inadvertently touched an occult object and received an imprint from it that I wished I hadn’t. Now I was much more careful about innocently touching random occult items.

  “Is that all I know about her? Oh, goodness no,” Aunt Jessie said and her expression told me I should have known better than to ask such a silly question. “Mary believed the spirit of her best childhood friend, Elizabeth, resided within the doll.”

  “What happened to Elizabeth?”

  “She passed away while she was in her fifties. It’s quite a tragic story, really. She got trapped in a fire in a hotel room while vacationing with her husband. Mary was quite inconsolable. Poor dear,” Aunt Jessie finished, looking at Lizzie as if she were Mary, herself. “Mary purchased the doll in the 1980s because Lizzie’s name and appearance reminded Mary of her dear friend. Mary claimed the spirit of Elizabeth became attached to the doll shortly after she bought it.”

  I nodded but wasn’t convinced, as was the case with most things. People love to perpetuate a good story or curse but it’s my experience that most of those beliefs are simply wishful thinking. There was only one way to know if the doll had any paranormal energy and that was by touching it.

  Ever since being possessed by the soul of Drake Montague, a nineteenth-century policeman who was formerly haunting my house, I developed a connection to the spirit world that fortified and strengthened my uncanny sensibilities. Even though Drake no longer possessed my body, I was indelibly linked to things that went bump in the night.

  “Do you wish to touch her so you can see for yourself?” Aunt Jessie asked. She was well aware of my process.

  I inhaled deeply. “I’m a little nervous.”

  Aunt Jessie nodded. “The doll has an extremely pleasant but serious energy. Her essence is one that is very kind and helpful. It reflects Elizabeth's personality in life. When Mary's great niece was a teenager, she lived with her and became emotionally attached to Lizzie. Those were the years the doll was most active.”

  “Active?” I repeated as I focused on Lizzie’s pretty face. A sudden sense of ease washed over me. “What do you mean?”

  “Lizzie warned Mary when a fire broke out in her home.”

  My eyes went wide as I looked at the doll with renewed interest. “Wow.”

  Aunt Jessie nodded in quick succession. Clearly, she was excited about Lizzie. “Mary woke up to Elizabeth's voice saying, "fire," and the doll was standing straight up next to her on the bed. Mary didn't see or smell anything until she went down the two flights of stairs to her kitchen where she smelled smoke and saw a fire quickly spreading.”

  “How did you learn all of this?” I asked.

  “They include the background information when the dolls go to auction,” Aunt Jessie answered with a shrug. “Apparently, the history of each doll was documented by Mary’s great niece, the same one who lived with her and bonded with Lizzie.”

  “Ah,” I said as I nodded.

  “According to Mary, the doll has spoken several times over the years, using words and complete sentences. She can stand straight up on her own as well.” That part didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a doll that could randomly move around the house and speak to me. When it comes to the macabre, even the spiritual have their limits.

  “Has Lizzie moved since you’ve had her?”

  “She hasn’t stood up yet, but I’ve noticed she can move her arms, legs, and head on her own. Her energy is positive and welcoming, and she seems to enjoy a home with children, teenagers, and pets. She also gets along well with other spirits,” Aunt Jessie finished as she nudged me with her elbow to let me know she was referring to Drake, who was back to haunting my house again.

  “Well, that’s important,” I said, even though I stuffed most of my spiritual relics away in my attic, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thought to keep one out in the open. If it had good mojo, that is. And, apparently, Lizzie did.

  “If you’re drawn to her, that must mean she’s meant for you!”

  I glanced at Aunt Jessie and smiled. “You are quite the saleswoman.”

  “I’ve been in business for forty-six years,” she answered with another smile. “And I ain’t been gettin’ by on my good looks,” she continued with a wink. “Go on! Touch her and tell me what you feel.”

  I nodded, figuring since I had the background on the doll, chances were, she wouldn’t zap me with some hidden angry energy, or paint a chilling scene in my brain that wouldn’t go away.

  I felt like I was in slow motion as I reached forward and placed the fingertips of my index and middle fingers on the doll’s face. The first thing I felt was the cold porcelain. But just beneath it was a rhythmic purr of energy, one that suffuses every spiritual object. It was like the tiniest little buzz underneath my fingers but a pleasant sensation. A few seconds later, I was overcome with feelings of friendliness and gratitude.

  “You’re right, she does have positive energy,” I said and warmth began to encapsulate my hand and travel up my arm. I felt myself smiling without even realizing it.

  “So what do you think?”

  I glanced from Aunt Jessie’s hopeful expression to Lizzie’s demure face. “How much are you asking for her?”

  “Well, I purchased her for four hundred dollars and I’d like to make a small profit,” Aunt Jessie started as she studied the doll. She propped her hand under her chin as she did whenever she was deep in thought.

  “You need to make a profit on her, Aunt Jessie,” I reprimanded her. “You can’t treat me any differently than you would any other paying customer.”

  Aunt Jessie nodded and smiled at me lovingly. “What abo
ut five hundred dollars?”

  “How about six hundred? That seems more fair to me.”

  Aunt Jessie beamed. “Peyton, you’re a good sort, you know that?” she said as she reached down and picked up the doll, leading the way back to the show floor.

  “And you are an incredibly gifted saleswoman because I never thought in a million years I’d walk out of here with a possessed doll that can talk and move.”

  Aunt Jessie looked back at me and smiled. “Sometimes we’re attracted to things we don’t even realize we need.”

  I could have sworn Lizzie winked.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan and I were seated in the courtyard of an eighteenth-century brick building, blinking against the spring sunlight. This was one of my favorite places—the Place D’Armes Hotel in the historic French Quarter of New Orleans. We were staying here for the weekend, which might seem silly to some folks considering both Ryan and I live in New Orleans.

  We were sSharing a single slice of pecan pie, with only one bite left, neither one of us wanted to be the one to take it.

  “Polish it off, Pey,” Ryan said.

  “You can have it,” I answered in a tone of feigned exasperation.

  “I say we split it.” He was wearing a blue, short-sleeved, button-down shirt that did little to hide the ample swells of his biceps. His shirt and white khakis made him look like a man who intended to spend the rest of the day golfing.

  “There isn’t enough left for both of us to get a decent bite,” I argued, crossing my arms over my chest. I was in a mood but I wasn’t sure why.

  “You have it.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I know you want it.”

  “You... have... it...” I finished, shoving the plate away theatrically. “Or leave it for the rats.”