Lions and Tigers and Ghosts, Oh My! by Harper Crowley

Author:Harper Crowley [Crowley, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Crowley
Published: 2019-09-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Lauren Higgins’s dad agrees to meet with me if I come right over, so I shoot Russ and Jess a quick text and then head over. I have to strike while the iron is hot. On the way there, I coach myself on how to be careful, how to be kind, and how to shut my mouth when I need to. I’m not used to doing interviews alone, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.

The house at 221 Stonyfield Street is white with black shutters and a small front porch with enormous lilac bushes on either side. The cement sidewalk leading to the front porch is broken and pitted in places, and weeds sprout through the cracks, matching the unkempt lawn in front of the house. I pull into the single-car driveway and check my bag, making sure I have release forms, a tripod, a working camera, and a voice recorder.

I clutch my bag in one hand and Bear in the other. Butterflies swirl in my stomach, but I chalk that up to being alone. I knock, and the man who answers the door looks old enough to be my grandpa. Wispy white hair stands out at every angle over a face creased deeply with grief. Permanent shadows darken the fine skin under his eyes, and a hooked nose holds up a pair a gold-rimmed glasses.

“Hi,” I say, pasting a bright smile on my face. “My name is Meredith Brady, and I run Brady Paranormal Investigations. We have an online TV show that we broadcast to subscribers around the world. I talked to you earlier and you said to come by. Is this a good time to talk?”

“As good as any, I suppose.” The man peers over my shoulder. “If you have a show, where is your crew?”

“We have a small production budget, so we do a lot on our own. It’s easier that way, and our viewers seem to like it.” The spiel gets easier every time I say it. “If the camera’s a problem though, we don’t have to record the interview. It helps us with our research and investigation, but we’ll do whatever you feel is best.”

He nods, satisfied with the answer. “I’m Marshall Higgins, Lauren’s father. Why don’t you come inside?” I follow him in and take off my shoes next to the door. The living room right off of the front door contains wall-to-wall shelves filled with ceramic angel statues, most of them praying.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” he says. “There’s enough room to sit and talk in there.” He leads me to a small, round wooden table in a breakfast nook next to a kitchen decorated with more angels. Three chairs are tucked up against the table, and he pulls out one, gesturing for me to sit. He grabs a stack of papers on the table and tucks them into a drawer under the counter, but not before I see a familiar name: Turnpike Zoo. That’s strange.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me.” I pull out a waiver and a voice recorder.

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