Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House

Praise for Me and My Ghoulfriends by Rose
Pressey

“Rose Pressey spins a delightful tale with
misfits and romance that makes me cheer loudly.”

Coffee Time Romance

“Her characters are alive and full of quick
witted charm and will make you laugh. The plot twists keep you
turning the pages non-stop.”

ParaNormalRomance

“I absolutely loved this book! It had me
chuckling from the beginning.”

Fallen Angel Reviews

More books from Rose Pressey:

How to Date a Werewolf (Rylie Cruz, Book
1)

How to Date a Vampire (Rylie Cruz, Book
2)

How to Date a Demon (Rylie Cruz, Book 3)

Me and My Ghoulfriends (Larue Donavan, Book
1)

Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan, Book 2)

Rock ‘n’ Roll Is Undead (Veronica Mason, Book
1)

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells (Mystic Café,
Book 1)

Flip That Haunted House

Copyright © 2011, Rose
Pressey

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to
be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locale or organizations is entirely
coincidental.

All Rights Are 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 and reviews.

Published in the United States of
America by Rose Pressey

Dedication

This is to you, and you know who you are.

I’ve had a few not-so-good cash making ideas
over the years. Nothing illegal—as far as I knew. But this time,
I’d found my calling.

Lacey and I sat in front of the house. A
long driveway stretched down the middle with tall maple trees
hovering over each side.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said.

“But you’ve never flipped a house.”

“How hard can it be? I’ve tiled a bathroom
before.” I turned off the ignition.

“Weren’t they stick-on tiles?”

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What about the
door-to-door makeup sales fiasco?”

I shook my head. “Wasn’t my fault.”

“The pet grooming idea?”

“In hindsight, not one of my better ideas,
I’ll admit. How was I supposed to know a Chihuahua could chew
through a leash?”

“And your latest venture?”

“Hey, I love interior decorating, but in
good old Rosewood, Kentucky, there’s not a huge demand for matching
curtains and coordinating wall paint.”

“Good point.” Lacey lifted her sunglasses
for a better view. “But this place is a mess.”

“Don’t hold back, Lacey. Tell me how you
really feel.”

“Well, look at the weeds. And the shingles
are falling off,” she hissed.

“Some paint, new floors, cabinets,
appliances, and it’ll be good to go. Besides, money is tight—I’m
sick of eating mac-n-cheese.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be eating ramen
noodles before long.” She shook her head while keeping her
attention drawn to the neglected façade.

“I don’t watch HGTV for nothing, you
know.”

“Drooling over Ty Pennington does not
count.”

“Ty’s not on HGTV.”

“He’s not?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Take a
gander at this place.” I pointed to the house. “Envision the way
it’ll look after I’m done.”

She laughed. Smart-ass.

Nestled amid the modern hubbub, the house
looked like a mini-plantation—a glimpse of the past. Red brick with
white columns and black shutters. Suburbia had taken over, but the
home was still beautiful. More than likely the surrounding acres
had belonged to the property. I envisioned the grand parties held
on sultry summer nights spilling out from the house and onto the
veranda—ladies in their beautiful gowns and gents in their finest
suits.

“Alabama Hargrove, you need to stop
daydreaming. Let’s go inside.” Lacey stretched her long legs out
from the car.

I hurried out from behind the wheel. The
pounding of a hammer disturbed the peaceful surroundings, but the
house commanded my attention. I stopped and peered up. A porch
spanned the front of the house and the large white columns stood
proud. Lacey grabbed my arm and led me to the stone path. My heart
thumped with excitement. We walked up the steps toward the front
door. The floor creaked under my feet and I kicked the fallen
leaves out of the way. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered
through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior. The
space was dark and silent— dare I say, creepy?

“Leave it to you to want to buy a haunted
house.”

“Those are the best kind,” I said.

“Most people would run the other way at the
idea of buying a house full of ghosts.”

“I’m not most people. Besides, I doubt it’s
haunted. People hear a mouse or something, and immediately the
house is declared full of ghosts.”

“Oh, it’s haunted.” She nodded.

“It is?”

“I see spirits, remember?” Lacey winked.

“I know, but I didn’t think they’d appear so
soon.”

“You never know when they’ll pop up. There’s
a spirit watching us right now,” she said.

“There is?” I glanced over my shoulder.

Walking back to the front door, I raised my
hand to knock. Before my fist hit wood, the door swung open. I
stumbled back, wobbling, and almost landed on my rear. Lacey
snorted, but held her laughter.

“Howdy, folks!” The boisterous male voice
rang out.

A fat, bald man stood in the doorway. He
chuckled and his belly jiggled. If he’d had hair, a beard and a red
suit, I’d call him Santa.

“You nearly scared me to death.” I clutched
my chest.

“I’m Jim Richmond, the realtor. You must be
Ms. Hargrove. Pleased to meet you.” He stretched his hand out.
“Sorry if I frightened you.”

By Jim’s voice over the phone, I had
expected more of a young Elvis Presley-type. Gorgeous, with a silky
southern drawl, invoked gold suits or hip shaking, not a too tight
tweed jacket and slightly wrinkled dark pants.

Lacey had talked me into using a realtor for
my house-flipping project. I balked at first, but perhaps Mr.
Richmond would be helpful in my search. I had been as busy as a
stump-tailed cow in fly time—house hunting was hard work. Not to
mention the stress—hours on the internet, and driving from house to
house had gotten me nowhere.

Lacey leaned against one of the huge white
columns. I motioned for her. She strolled toward me, but stopped in
her tracks.

“Whoa. Come to mama.” She blurted out.

“What are you talking about?” I followed her
stare.

“That tall glass of water.” Lacey
pointed.

Flexed biceps were visible all the way from
were I stood. Next door, tall, dark, and handsome watched us. He
wore a dark T-shirt and jeans. Lacey was right; he was a tall glass
of water.

“He needs to watch where he swings his
hammer.” I pulled my attention away from him.

“He can swing his hammer my way anytime he
wants.”

“Lacey!” I held in my laughter.

Jim turned a dark shade of red and diverted
his eyes. I grabbed Lacey’s arm and escorted her into the house. I
stopped behind her and glanced out the door to catch one last
glimpse. Big mistake. Mr. Muscles looked up and caught me gawking.
He laughed and I blushed. He may be easy on the eyes, but I had
business to tend to, no time for goofing off. I hurried in behind
Lacey before I had a chance to sneak another peek.

Chapter Two

“As you can see the home needs work.” Jim
waved his stubby little hand around the room.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” I
said as I knocked a cobweb out of my way.

Jim chuckled nervously. “The bones are good,
though. It’s a solid house.”

Our footsteps echoed, filling the house with
noise. Light from the open door highlighted the scratched floor.
The peeling paint on the walls stood out. The fall air rushed in
and stirred the staleness that encircled the room.

Lacey stood in the foyer with her mouth
agape. “Wow.”

“Holy…,” I said.

A grand staircase swooped down to greet us.
I envisioned Scarlett at the top with her big hoop skirt and Rhett
Butler bursting though the door to whisk her away. Of course,
during my daydream I pictured myself as Scarlett. Too bad I didn’t
have a Rhett.

“Bama, come quick, you have got to see
this,” Lacey yelled, snapping me back to reality.

“What?” I tried to sound nonchalant. No need
to seem overly anxious in front of Jim.

Lacey marched around the room with an
electrifying zest. I scanned the parlor and knew why she was
excited. The space was stunning. All it needed was a good cleaning.
Well…maybe a little more than cleaning.

“Are these the original hardwood floors?” I
shuffled my foot across the planks.

“I do believe they are.” Jim beamed. Were
those dollar signs in his eyes?

I continued my walk around the room.
“They’re beautiful. I can’t believe they’re in such good shape
considering the age. Just a few scratches, of course.”

More columns graced the entrance of the
space—smaller than the ones outside. The room was enormous with a
twelve-foot ceiling. A large fireplace adorned one wall.

“Just stunning,” Lacey squealed. “Look at
that.”

A mural of gorgeous roses filled one wall.
They climbed to the ceiling with a trellis painted around the
entrance to the dining room.

“Oh, wow,” I squealed.

Jim jiggled about the room. “I can contact
the owners for you, if you’d like to make an offer.”

My nonchalant act was not working. If I
didn’t calm down, the owner would ask double the price.

Lacey’s eyes narrowed and she glared at Jim.
So much for her excitement.

“I think she needs to see the rest of the
house first, don’t you?” She crossed her arms across her waist and
strolled into the kitchen.

Jim ignored her question and looked at me.
“It’s great, isn’t it?”

The roses were beautiful. The colors had
faded over the years, but the pinks, greens, and yellows still
blended beautifully. An overwhelming urge to reach out and touch
them rushed over me. I walked closer to the mural, but
resisted.

“The owner built a subdivision all around
this place.”

“I see that. What a shame.” I moved into the
kitchen and Jim followed like my shadow.

“The house is listed on the register of
historic places, because of that, they wouldn’t let the current
owner tear it down. I believe he would’ve in a minute, but he
simply can’t.”

“Has a soft spot for history, does he?” A
cabinet door came off in my hand. I could screw it back on, no
problem. “When did you say the house was built?”

“1836, I believe. I can check on that for
you when I get back to the office.”

“That’s all right. 1836 or 1837, it doesn’t
matter. I was just curious.”

“You pretty ladies sisters?” Jim cut his
gaze to Lacey.

Flattery would get him nowhere. No doubt, he
was attempting to entice me, but his efforts were futile. Lacey and
I looked nothing alike. My hair was much darker and my complexion
olive against her porcelain. My eyes are green and hers brown. I’m
short and she’s tall. And, the differences didn’t stop there.

“No,” I said. “Just best friends.”

We made our way through the home and I loved
it—from the cherry floors to the fancy molding. When I reached the
foyer again, Lacey burst my flip-that-house bubble.

“It needs a ton of work.” Her face scrunched
up with concern.

“Not that much.” I tried convincing
myself.

“The walls are in bad shape, even
I
can see that.” She touched the wall. “I’m not sure the electric
even works. Not to mention the plumbing.” She ticked each one off
on her fingers.

I didn’t know what to say. Lacey made valid
points, but when had I ever listened to something like that?

“And those are just the ones I can see,” she
exclaimed. “Who knows what kind of hidden disasters lurk within
these walls.”

As if she knew anything about restoring a
house. She didn’t even watch HGTV.

I shot her an annoyed look, but she ignored
me.

“The kitchen needs to be totally renovated,
along with all four bathrooms. Did you see those bathtubs? Do you
know how much that will cost?”

“I’m a bargain shopper,” I protested.

She placed her hands on her hips and tapped
her foot. “Plus, I think the house needs a new roof, and the
shingles are falling off. Not to mention the electrical and
plumbing work that it probably needs.”