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A Winnie Parsons Mystery Single.
Is the luxury cabin where Winnie Parsons and her family are staying really haunted by its former owner?
Retired psychology professor—and clairvoyant—Dr. Winifred Parsons knows that ghosts are real. If the cabin is haunted, she wants to communicated with the ghost if she can.
But is it possible a ghost might have more to say than even Winnie can imagine?
Once again Winnie Parsons’s curiosity leads her to places no one could expect.
Don’t miss the other Winnie Parsons Mysteries, including the newest full-length mystery novels, THE SECRET JUROR and THE TRUTH CHAMBER.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
WINNIE PARSONS MYSTERIES
THE CABIN GHOST
A Winnie Parsons Mystery
By Robin Brande
Published by Ryer Publishing
www.ryerpublishing.com
© 2025 Robin Brande
www.robinbrande.com
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Vectorfair J/Canva
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-952383-48-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-952383-49-6
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
More from Robin Brande
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The Secret Juror
A Mind for Mysteries
Dove Season Series
The Miraculous Unknown
About the Author
Also by Robin Brande
“We’d love for you to come with us,” Rose said.
“Pleeeeze, Aunt Winnie?”
Winnie Parsons’s niece Rose and her six-year-old grandniece Annabelle gazed at her with irresistibly hopeful eyes.
The two of them had come over on short notice, just a quick text from Rose fifteen minutes ago.
Free?
Of course! Winnie was always happy to sit down with a cup of coffee and have a phone chat with her busy lawyer niece.
Coming over. Please say yes to what I’m going to ask you.
Intrigued, Winnie got ready.
She had made thumbprint cookies the night before, which happened to be Rose’s favorite. A classic chocolate chip cookie dough base, but instead of chocolate chips, Winnie made a thumbprint in the freshly-baked cookies and added a giant Hershey’s Kiss to soften in the middle.
Although Winnie possessed several different psychic skills, she didn’t recall any premonition that Rose might be coming over before she chose those particular cookies to bake.
It was the first week in October. Still a little too warm during the day—mid- to high-90s, and one day even back up to 100—but the nights were cooling off nicely. Tucson’s version of autumn wouldn’t really begin until at least November.
There were some years they all wore shorts at Thanksgiving dinner. Winnie didn’t mind. She loved the way the desert warmed her bones.
She had lived in Tucson, in this same modest, comfortable house near the University of Arizona campus, for more than half of her sixty-eight years. Before retiring, Dr. Winifred Parsons had been a professor in the U of A’s Psychology department even longer than she’d lived in this house.
Winnie made a fresh pot of coffee while she waited for the girls. Her yellow Labrador Clover snoozed on her puffy green dog bed and had no idea what treat was about to come.
When the doorbell rang, Clover sprang into action. She stood at the front glass-paned door, tail wagging, waiting for Winnie to release her into the front courtyard. Winnie walked with her out onto the brick pathway that led to the blue exterior door. Red and purple petunias, white daisies, and clusters of orange gladioli still vibrant at the end of their season grew on either sides of the path, keeping the inner courtyard always smelling like spring.
At the blue door, Clover sat without being asked. She knew the routine. But her tail swished furiously across the bricks. She must be able to smell her visitors through the gap at the bottom of the door.
As soon as the knob turned, Annabelle rushed forward with her arms open wide. Clover dove into her embrace. Winnie loved how much they loved each other.
Rose embraced Winnie instead of the dog, and Annabelle took a brief break to do the same. Then the four of them returned to the house, where Winnie could smell the cinnamon she’d mixed in with the coffee before it brewed.
“We’re going on a trip!” Annabelle announced.
“Are you?” It was the first Winnie had heard of it.
Even though she was clairvoyant, she didn’t know everything about everything. Her psychic ability was like a lamp lighting the darkness. She only saw what the lamp illuminated. She needed something to help narrow her focus so she could see what she should see.
“Nelson Kemmeries just finished renovating a cabin in the White Mountains,” Rose said. “He offered it to us next week, during fall break.”
Nelson Kemmeries was Rose’s newest partner in the law firm. Winnie had heard his name, but so far she hadn’t met him.
“Please say you’ll come!” Annabelle said. She stroked Clover’s soft yellow head and appealed directly to the dog. “Don’t you want to go with us to the mountains?”
Rose described the details: a four-hour drive, a five-day stay. “I asked, and Nelson said we’re welcome to bring a dog.”
“And Mr. Kemmeries said he thinks the place might be haunted!” Annabelle added.
“Oh, he was just teasing,” said Rose.
But Winnie couldn’t help the sudden rush of delight that brought a smile to her face.
“Really,” Rose told her, seeing it. “It was a joke.”
Winnie shrugged. She didn’t want to go into the situation with any bias.
But even though she had never seen one for herself, Winnie knew that ghosts were very real. She had talked to enough of her fellow psychics over the years to have been convinced of it a long time ago.
“I’d love to go,” Winnie told the girls. “We both would.”
Annabelle cheered and hugged the family dog.
Rose gave her aunt a knowing look. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Too late,” Winnie said. “They’re up.”
The little mountain town of Windy Pines, Arizona lay tucked in a quiet, wooded valley among impressive, snow-capped peaks.
Rose assured Winnie that she had checked the forecast for the week. Although there might be snow at the higher elevations, it should be cool and mild at the cabin.
Cabin. Not exactly. At least not anymore.
Winnie could see what must have been the original foundation and one-room wooden structure at the front of the house, but behind it, a two-story mountain mansion had blossomed and taken it over.
Eight bedrooms, four baths, a game room with pool table and pinball machine, a TV screen that covered most of an entire wall, an outdoor hot tub—none of which the original owner, a man called Dempsey, could ever have imagined.
Winnie heard the name as she stood in front of the house. Carl Dempsey. She saw a tall, thin man standing proudly at the top of the two steps that led from the foundation up to porch and the front door.