Cornish Gold at Summer's End by Laura Briggs

Author:Laura Briggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cornish romance, feel good read, halloween read, cornwall romance, cornish romance series, autumn read
Publisher: Laura Briggs

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"We'll set up some equipment along that part of the field, and see if we can capture the same manifestation," said Vic. "We'll analyze the data and tell you if we find out something significant."

"Maybe it's trying to communicate," suggested Troy. "That would be really amazing. All these sightings could be a cry for attention from beyond our dimensional sphere."

"Do you really think so?" The skeptic in me was coming back to normal levels, since I didn't speak paranormal lingo.

"Maybe," said Florrie. "We'll definitely investigate it. Every part of the local rash of sightings — that's pretty much what we wake and breathe for," she added.

"If it's okay, I'd like to keep this incident sort of private," I said to them, as I stepped out of the caravan again. "It's not that it's a big secret, I just ... don't like all the questions." I didn't want word getting back to Kitty that I followed up our haunted house exploration with a meeting of the local ghost and alien hunters.

More importantly, I didn't want Matt to know. It had been a mistake on my part not to tell him that night, and now I would have to slip that confession into a conversation at home and apologize to him. Unless, that is, the ghost stopped appearing tonight and all the gossip and excitement simply died away.

I walked back towards home, wondering if I had done something really ridiculous by telling the ghost hunters that I thought I saw a 'level one manifestation,' when I heard someone shouting. It came from over the next garden wall. Ahead of me, parked to the side of the lane, was a police car with its driver door left open.

Picking up my pace, I hurried to look over its hedges. On the other side lay a smashed pile of carved pumpkins that had formerly been a 'totem pole' that Quenten Henshaw, local woodcarver, had created to impress the local kids. I saw two teenagers scrambling over the other side of the wall, but a third was lying on the grass on his stomach, pinned down by Charlie.

I hopped down and unlatched the gate. "Is everything okay?" I said, pushing it open, discovering that Charlie had already managed to cuff the boy and prop him right side up against Quenten's summer house.

"Just a spot of vandalism," answered Charlie, climbing to his feet. He brushed some grass off the knees of his uniform trousers. "Looks like this lot finally slipped up. Thought Quenten being out of town for the week meant nobody would see, eh?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," muttered the boy, staring off towards the corner of the garden. I recognized him as Kenny Johnson, one of the local 'loafers and layabouts' as Dovie called them, the teenagers who seemed perpetually bored with life and looking for trouble or distractions when not at school. Charlie's number one suspect when this all began, I recalled.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Charlie answered, in a steely tone.

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