Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (10 page)

My thoughts whirled and my mind was dazed.
The blue mass of steel and chrome zoomed past in a blur. I whipped
my head to the side and glanced over my shoulder for a better view
of the car, but all I managed to make out of the license plate was
one letter. Better than nothing. I needed to get the heck out of
there before my pursuer returned. Of all the luck, I landed in
someone’s yard. It could have been worse, I supposed. I might have
ended up in a ditch. The yard was large—maybe an acre—and I’d just
missed the two deer statues. The older stone house was surrounded
by similar homes, all with the same spacious acreage. As I tried to
remain calm, I twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. I
twisted again. This time, my car roared to life. The old clunker
may not be much to look at, but it came through when I needed
it.

Thoughts of the maniac driver returning
played in my head. I needed to hightail it out of there. The
driveway of the small ranch house whose lawn I occupied was empty
and a large dog barked at me from the fenced-in backyard. I’d come
back later to pay for the mailbox and the damage done to the
landscaping. It didn’t look as if anyone was home, anyway.

Glancing back again, I didn’t spot the
hostile driver. In fact, no cars were in sight. I switched on the
windshield wipers to knock the twig fixed across my window off, and
slowly steered back out onto the road. I punched the gas and headed
for Maple Hill as fast as I could legally go. Maybe I should have
driven to the police station and filed a report, but the mini
mansion was closer. And my legs shook too badly to drive too far.
But, thank goodness, I was still alive and not bloody and broken in
a crumpled up car. Things could have turned out horribly wrong if I
had not veered off the road.

Within a few minutes, I pulled into the
driveway. Reed sat on his front porch, sipping from a coffee mug.
When he noticed me, he stood, placing his hand above his eyes to
block the glare from the sun and get a better view. A look of
astonishment spread across his face. How badly did I damage my car?
His eyes grew wide as he placed his cup down and stepped from his
porch. He saw me watching him and pointed to the car, shrugged his
shoulders, and held out his hands.

“What the hell happened?” he mouthed.

Not only was my car wrecked on one side, but
now I had managed to smash the front, as well. The red paint gave
way to visible metal. It had its fair share of scratches in other
areas, too. I shut off the ignition and clambered out, glancing
over my shoulder for the blue sedan. My hands still shook. I was
pretty sure my cheeks were flushed from the stress.

“You’ve got an extra dent or two,” Reed
said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” His gaze was on me, I felt it,
but I walked past, never returning his stare. “I hit a mailbox.” I
hurried down the stone pathway.

As I reached the veranda, I glanced back.
All right, I didn’t last long, but with a smile like his, who could
blame me?

Reed stood in the middle of his lawn with
his mouth agape, trying to form words. Nothing came out. He glanced
from me to the car and back again.

Finally, he asked, “How did it happen? Are
you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, but I’m a lousy driver.” I
sifted through my purse for the house key.

“I can’t help it, I’ve always been bad. I
barely passed the driving test,” I said matter-of-factly.

My purse overflowed and I couldn’t spot the
key. I knelt down on the porch and emptied the contents, sorting
through until I finally retrieved it. I needed to add it to my car
keychain to avoid this scenario in the future.

“You know this porch would be great for some
rocking chairs.”

As I stood, I turned to find Reed standing
on the porch at the edge of the steps. He nearly took my breath
away. I hadn’t expected him to join me. I gave him a long look.
“Yes, it would.” I smiled.

He leaned on the large porch pillar and
folded his arms across his chest. He wore the usual jeans and a
T-shirt. “This porch is great. I could see spending every evening
out here. Listening to the birds and enjoying the breeze.” He gazed
out into the distance.

His sexy drawl drew me into his vision; me
sitting on a rocker beside Reed, the breeze caressing my face. I’d
get lost in Reed’s smile. We’d rock in the chairs side by side
until the stars appeared, and then we’d retire to the…okay, that
fantasy had quickly gotten out of hand.

“Here’s the estimate.” He stretched his
muscular arm toward me and
startled me out of my
reverie.

I took the folded piece of paper, but my
thoughts wandered to what it would feel like to touch his tanned,
toned arm.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Just give me a call when
you decide.”

I nodded. “I will.” My knees felt like
rubber around him. No way. I would find another handyman tomorrow.
He wouldn’t do. Someone could do just as good a job, maybe better,
and not cause distractions, either.

“What did you do, wash this with your
jeans?” I unfolded the crumpled up page.

“I had a bit of an accident with it.”

“Oh.” I looked at the paper and up at him
again. “I see that.” My eyebrows rose.

“By the way,” he said as he stepped off the
porch. “I heard those footsteps you told me about. It was strange,
and I have to admit, I can’t explain it.”

“I told you.” I smiled. It felt good to be
right for a change.

“You did.” He wiggled his eyebrows, then
turned and sauntered back to his yard.

I hurried inside so he wouldn’t catch me
staring.

After a few minutes of being along in the
house, and figuring the coast was clear from crazy drivers, I
decided to go home, shower, and change for my visit to
Carolyn’s—but, before I left, I made an important call. I had to. I
didn’t want to, but I knew it needed to be done. Two crazy drivers
was not a coincidence and I didn’t want it to happen a third
time.

As I waited for Sheriff Bass to pick up, I
stood in the kitchen and tapped my fingernail against the
countertop. Rolling the words around in my head, I contemplated
what I would say when he picked up.

“Hello. Bass.” His voice was rough.

More like Sheriff Ass, if you asked me.
“Sheriff Bass, this is Alabama Hargrove. I need to report an
accident.” I rushed the words before I changed my mind.

“Where is this accident? You need to call
nine-one-one.”

“Well…I just hit a mailbox, so no one was
injured…,” I said.

“Ms. Hargrove, I don’t think you need the
police for a fender bender. Just let the owners of the mailbox know
you’ll pay for a new one.” He didn’t try to hide his agitation.

“No wait, Sheriff… There’s more to the
story.” My voice shot up a decibel.

“I’m waiting,” he said tersely.

“Someone’s trying to kill me and I think
it’s the same person who killed Payne Cooper. They ran me off the
road. That’s when I hit the mailbox.” Just saying the words out
loud made me uneasy all over again.

He paused, and then let out a deep sigh.
“I’ll tell you what, Ms. Hargrove, how about I send an officer over
and he can take a report.” He didn’t hide his condescending
attitude well. I envisioned him leaning back in his chair, maybe
propping his feet up on his desk and folding his hands across his
well-nourished belly.

“Fine, Sheriff Bass. Thanks,” I said
tartly.

I rattled off my address and the sheriff
clicked off before I uttered another word.

He didn’t like me. His tone said as much.
And the feeling was mutual. If I didn’t want to end up toe up in
the morgue, I’d have to figure out who had it out for me on my own.
I couldn’t rely on help from the police. Since the detective was
headed to my home, I needed to hurry. Time was running out before
my trip to Carolyn’s.

On my way to the door, a loud bang echoed
through the house. It was so loud it seemed to rattle the ceiling
above me. Heavy footsteps boomed down the staircase from the top
floor. Did I move and find the source of the noise, or wait for it
to find me? I hardly dared to breathe. Who would materialize at the
bottom? I inched my way toward the foyer, through the dining room,
on to the parlor, and then to the staircase. Silence once again
enveloped the room. I paused to listen.

Again the sound of footsteps returned, this
time approaching me. Footfalls stopped what seemed like just a few
feet away. My heart pounded. I know I’d experienced the paranormal
before, but I never found it easy to witness it in action. Chills
danced down my spine. As I stood frozen in the middle of the room,
I felt lightheaded. A dark mist materialized, forming a round mass
before my eyes. It almost looked…human. I took a few frightened
steps backward, then hit the wall with my back and let out a gasp.
The mist vanished. Just like that, it was gone. What kind of ghost
hunter was I? My camera and other equipment were in the car. Just
when I needed them the most.

When I parked in front of my tiny cottage,
the feeling of being watched had a grip on me. I swung out from
behind the wheel, and brushed past my rose bushes, hurrying down
the gravel drive to the side door. The entrance led into my small
kitchen. The quiet, dark space did nothing to ease my fear. I
tossed my purse and keys on the table and lifted the shade on the
little window above the sink. The last remnants of sunlight flooded
the butter cream colored walls.

Before the officer arrived, I locked the
deadbolt on the door, then marched straight to the bathroom and
slipped into the hot shower, allowing the warm water to relieve my
stress. Wishing I could stay longer, I wrapped the towel around me
and trudged toward my closet, pulling out the first clothes I saw.
Studying my reflection in the tall dressing mirror, I realized I
looked like a clown—orange top and red pants. All I needed was
white face paint and a large red nose.

I trudged back to the closet and retrieved a
pair of jeans and a black blouse. No need to dress up for Carolyn.
After all, she lived on a farm. I wasn’t going to a cocktail party.
Although, for an extra bit of fun, I finished my outfit off with a
pair of leopard-print pumps—probably not appropriate for a farm,
but I rarely got a chance to wear them. Unlike my mother, I knew
how to use animal print in moderation.

A loud knock boomed at the front door.
Didn’t anyone know how to use a doorbell? I pulled my hair back in
a ponytail and rushed for the door. I looked like hell, but what
could I do? My life was at stake—I didn’t care much about my
appearance. I had no one to impress. Well…maybe one person.

I pulled back the plaid curtain that covered
the side window and peeped out to make sure I wasn’t letting in a
killer, then yanked the door open. “Please come in, Officer
Butcher,” I said, as I glanced at his nametag.

“Thank you.” He ducked as he entered the
door.

“We can have a seat in the living room.” I
gestured to the room on our right. “Please just sit wherever you
like.” I waved my hand toward the furniture.

Was I supposed to offer refreshments? I’d
never entertained a policeman before.

He sat ramrod straight in the leather chair
and pulled a small notepad from his uniform shirt pocket. I perched
on the edge of my overstuffed sofa, falling back into the golden
hue cast across the room from the back windows. Officer Butcher
made my furniture seem miniature with his long legs.

“Do you want to explain exactly what
happened? What did you say your name is again?” he asked
curtly.

Another great representative of the Rosewood
Police Department. Forget the offer of coffee or tea.

“Alabama Hargrove.”

“As in the state of Alabama?” He eyed me up
and down, then gave a smirk. “Alabama?” he scoffed.

“Yes, that’s my name, Alabama.”

“Uh-huh.” He snickered.

Alabama is a fine name, in my opinion.
People named their children Virginia and Carolina all the time. So,
what was the problem? Fantastic interview, so far.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was driving down highway thirty-four
when, out of the blue, a dark blue sedan began tailgating me. The
next thing I knew, the car had bumped mine, and I swerved. I hit
someone’s mailbox and landed in the landscaping.”

“Did you contact the homeowners about their
mailbox?” He lifted his wrist and examined his watch.

“Well…no. I plan on going back later, no one
was home.”

“You need to contact them right away. How
would you feel if someone damaged your property, then just drove
off,” he scolded.

Was he serious? Someone tried to use their
car to kill me and he was worried about a stupid mailbox. I stared
at him for a minute. I’m sure my mouth hung wide open. His gaze
never left mine.

“Well,” I snapped, “I didn’t want to stay
around to see if the crazy person came back to finish me off.
Forgive me for not wanting to die.”

He frowned and glanced at his watch again.
“You need to calm down.”

“I’m calm,” I said keeping my voice at an
even level. What was this guy’s problem.

“You’re not acting calm.”

Arguing with him wouldn’t help. He wasn’t
interested in what had happened to me. His actions made that known
loud and clear.

“Did you get the license plate number for
said vehicle?”

“No. They zoomed by faster than college kids
going on a beer run,” I huffed.

He furrowed his brow and folded up his
notepad.

“I got the first letter. M.” I picked a
piece of fuzz off my pants. “But nothing else.”

“M, as in Mary? Well, that narrows it down
quite a bit,” he quipped. “And you didn’t get the make of the
vehicle?” He blew out a breath and pulled out his notepad yet
again.

“No. I told you, the car went by quickly. I
was parked in someone’s shrubbery at the time.” What part of my
story didn’t he understand?

He shoved the pad and pen in his pocket,
stood, then walked toward the door. I guess the interview was over.
His shiny black shoes squeaked as he moved across the floor.

He paused with his hand on the knob. “Okay.
We’ll keep an eye out for a dark blue sedan with the license plate
beginning with M.”

Smart-ass.

“Thank you, Officer Butcher,” I said through
gritted teeth.

“This is a murder investigation, Ms.
Hargrove.” His dark eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pinched together
in a frown. “Leave the work to us. You’ve done enough already.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ll be in touch,
Alabama
.” He
gestured, then trudged down the steps and got into his Ford Crown
Victoria with
Rosewood Police
written on the side. He never
looked back, although he probably felt my stare.

I walked over to the window and watched as
he pulled out of the driveway, his wheels kicking up gravel as he
pulled onto the road. His visit had yielded nothing for me—it was
nothing more than a waste of time. The tangerine tinted sky
reminded me of the time, so I grabbed my purse and hurried to my
damaged Volvo with new resolve. The police wouldn’t help, so I’d
hunt the killer down myself. After all, my grandmother always said,
if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. I
began to devise a plan. First thing, I’d take the job with Mrs.
Cooper. If she were behind my near brushes with death, I’d find
out. Maybe she even owned a blue car?

On my way to Carolyn’s, I phoned Julia
Cooper with the news. To say she was excited would be an
understatement. What was I getting myself into by taking on her
offer? Was I biting off more than I could chew? I didn’t have a
choice, though. It was do or die. I shuddered at the thought. She
wanted me to stop by tomorrow after her meeting with the funeral
director. They were probably planning a party instead of a memorial
service. The whole mess sounded strange, but I digress. Maybe our
meeting would explain her hurry for a decorator. Interior design
isn’t normally an urgent matter.

My foot punched the gas more in a hurry than
ever after my little game of car tag. I maneuvered through the
almost non-existent evening traffic. My fear amplified as I
contemplated my get-together with Mrs. Cooper. Perhaps I needed a
weapon to take with me. I shook the thought out of my head. Better
to think of my lovely dinner plans for the evening instead.

A short time later, I pulled up to Carolyn’s
cabin at the end of the long dirt road. A cozy place in the middle
of eighteen rolling acres shadowed by the expanse of pine trees.
The tranquility of the country setting swept over me and eased my
stress. Lights shone from all the windows. The smell of burning
leaves filled the air. I stepped onto the wooden porch, approached
the door, and drew my hand up to knock. Carolyn burst through.

“Oh, I’m so excited! Look at you. Come on in
here!” She wrangled me into her arms and gave a big squeeze. For
practically a stranger, she was friendly.

“Come in. come in. I’d like you to meet my
husband, Frank Flanagan.” She gestured to the burly guy beside the
fireplace. His dark hair was sprinkled with grey, but his neatly
trimmed beard was completely white. He wore a plaid long sleeve
button-down shirt with brown pants.

“Nice to meet you, young lady.” He reached
his hand out toward me. “Welcome to our home.” Instead of the
normal handshake he engulfed me in a bear hug. His musky aftershave
tickled my nose.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, struggling to breath
in his robust confines.

Movement to my right caught my attention. I
turned my gaze and then froze. Reed O’Hara stood on the opposite
side of the room. A huge smile spread across his face. My stomach
tingled against my will. He knew I’d be here tonight and hadn’t
said a word.
He wore a dark green sweater with a
white t-shirt peeking out from the edges and jeans again. A candle
on the table beside him flickered making his eyes sparkle under the
light. Glad I’d at least dressed up somewhat, since he’d gone to
all the trouble. Purely because he’d made the effort, not because I
wanted to impress him.

“Alabama, this is my nephew, Reed O’Hara.”
She draped her arm around Reed’s waist. She couldn’t reach his
shoulders. Her eyes lit up as she gave him a squeeze.

“You look beautiful.” He gave me a long,
appreciative look. His masculine voice drifted across the room,
knocking thoughts of his cockiness out of my head. I felt blood
rushing to my cheeks.

Carolyn glanced from Reed to me. A small
smile crossed her lips.

I blinked. “Thank you.” My voice dropped to
almost a whisper. I was sure I blushed.

“You’ve met already, I take it?” She winked.
Somehow, I think she already knew our status and was acting
coy.

“Well, we are neighbors,” I said.

Why did I feel she planned this meeting?

“I may be working for Alabama…if she’ll have
me,” Reed offered.

I gave a mirthless chuckle. I wasn’t
touching that statement. Time for a subject change.

“Well, thanks for inviting me, Carolyn.”
Smooth subject transition, I thought.

“I, for one, am starving. I’ve been thinking
about Carolyn’s cornbread since this morning.” Frank patted his
belly, and then plopped down on one of the rustic log chairs in
front of the roaring fireplace.

“Oh, Frank.” Carolyn giggled. “You’re always
thinkin’ about my cooking. I’ll check on the food. Y’all chat.
Alabama, sit wherever you want. There’s a spot by Reed.” She
gestured.

Ha. Nice try. “I’ll help in the
kitchen.”