01 Flip That Haunted House - Haunted Renovation Read online

  Had the person been in the office when I discovered Payne Cooper? I shuddered. What was taking the police so long? I glanced at my watch. They’d find my strangled body discarded in the middle of the parking lot before long. A killer may be on the loose and I would be an easy target. I contemplated driving off, but that wouldn’t look good in the eyes of law enforcement, I’m guessing. They’d think I’d killed Payne Cooper. Or, at the very least, was somehow involved. The thought of spending twenty-to-life in prison for a crime I hadn’t commit didn’t sound appealing. Eating soggy bread with an indistinguishable meat substance, along with making license plates was not on top of my professions-I-want-to-try list. But, if I didn’t drive away, the assassin may annihilate me. Shadows lurked behind every tree. I was paranoid. Was the murderer watching me?

  I envisioned the killer hiding behind a tree, waiting for the perfect time to pounce.

  Before I had a chance to contemplate his means of murdering me, a loud pounding on the window reverberated through the car.

  “Holy mother…” I jumped, hitting my arm on the steering wheel.

  My eyes widened. I screamed as I stared at a man in a black uniform. A bewildered look spread across his face. I knew the killer would come for me. Now he stood beside my car, pleading with me to open up and let him in. No way. I shook my head. I should have hightailed-it out of there when I had the chance.

  “I’m not ready to die,” I screeched. “I’ve called the police. So step away from my car.”

  Icy-cold eyes glared at me.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” He pecked on my window again. “Are you all right in there?”

  “Go away, creep. I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.” So what if I didn’t have one, he didn’t know that.

  He flashed the insanely bright flashlight in my eyes.

  “Beat it, I said.” I gestured with my hand, trying to shield my eyes. “What do you want?” I shouted.

  “I noticed you sitting here and heard you screaming. It’s my job to make sure you’re all right.” He yelled, his voice coming through the glass, loud and clear.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He lowered his flashlight and I blinked to regain my vision.

  “I’m the custodian for the building. I came by to lock the place up.”

  “There’s a…dead man in there,” I stuttered and motioned toward the building. My body shook as I relived the event again.

  “You saw a dead man in there?” He looked in the direction of my pointing finger. His face scrunched into a frown.

  Before I answered, sirens blared, growing near. Within seconds, police cars descended on the area. Lights flickered wildly like a nightclub light show. I clawed at the door, fumbling to unlock it. When the door swung open, I almost knocked the custodian down, and ran for my life. I raced toward the officer who approached. Thank goodness, I was saved.

  “You called the police?” His gaze moved the length of my body.

  “Yes.” I panted. “Second floor. The office with the open door.”

  He opened the door to his cruiser. “Have a seat, Ma’am. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He ran toward the building, joining the horde of officers. I didn’t want to be alone again. Being there, in the darkness made, me feel vulnerable. The police officers attention was focused on the crime scene and I was left to wonder who was out there just beyond the dark trees. Police surrounded the area like a swarm of locusts. A few set out into the wooded area and others searched the perimeters with flashlights exploring the ground. The rest went into the building.

  As I sat shaking in the police car, a few spectators gathered behind the yellow crime scene tape draped across the parking lot and around the building. I’d been there for at least forty-five minutes and wondered how much longer I’d have to wait. I’d watched the police come and go as I fidgeted in my seat.

  After another few minutes slipped by, an officer in a too tight, blue uniform sidled up to the police cruiser. He propped his arms against the car and leaned in close. His paunch protruded over his waistband. I longed for a breath mint to shove in his mouth. He pulled out his notepad and scribbled down a few notes.

  “My name’s Chester Bass, I’m the sheriff.” His voice was cold.

  “Alabama Hargrove.”

  He didn’t offer a handshake. No pleasantries.

  His dark eyes narrowed as he studied my face. Fear danced in my stomach. He made me even more nervous, which I hadn’t thought possible. I wanted out of the car and away from this place.

  “Tell me everything, Ms. Hargrove. What are you doing here at this time of day?” His gaze on me didn’t falter.

  “I came for keys.” I muttered.

  His brow lifted. “Keys?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you know the victim?”

  “Well… yes, I did. Sort of.” I looked down, then picked at the torn leather on the seat. His stare made me uncomfortable. He reminded me of my creepy sixth grade P.E. teacher.

  “Which is it? You knew him or not? It’s a straightforward question.”

  “I bought a house from him today and I came to pick up a key.” Finally, I met his gaze.

  “Did you kill him?” Resolve covered his tone.

  “What?” My mouth gaped open. “No. Do I need an attorney?” I frowned.

  So, he was murdered. I knew it. But did the police suspect me?

  “I don’t know, do you?” He scribbled in his notebook again.

  What was he writing in that thing? I leaned over, but couldn’t see what he wrote.

  “Am I being arrested?” My voice faltered.

  “No.”

  Thank heaven for small miracles. “It feels as if I am.”

  “What did you touch?” he snapped as he glared at me.

  “The body.” I felt sick. Why had I touched the body? “I was checking his neck to see if he had a pulse.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, he didn’t. That’s when I called the police.” I shuddered.

  He frowned, finished writing, and flipped the notebook shut.

  “I’ll need you to come by the station and sign a statement.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  He whirled around to walk away, but stopped and turned. “Why’d you wait until closing time to come get a key?”

  “The bank forgot to give me one earlier and I just realized I didn’t have it.”

  In my opinion, Sheriff Bass was surly and suspicious. He need not look at me as the killer.

  “Is that blood on your hand?”

  The remnants of crimson paste had dried. I nodded. “A little.”

  “Not good.” He shook his head.

  “It’s not?” Maybe I did need a lawyer.

  He didn’t answer my question, but instead said, “Just sit tight for a bit, okay?” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and gave me a look of pompous annoyance. The man didn’t know any expression other than a scowl.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” However, from the looks of the current situation, I may go to jail. I prayed I wouldn’t end up at a small table, sitting on a hard chair with a bright light shining on my face, playing their intimidation game.

  I leaned back in the hard seat and took in a deep breath. I felt numb from the life-changing experience. Police swarmed the scene like bees over honey, moving back and forth from the building. A few stood in groups, talking. The scene wasn’t as glamorous as they depicted on TV. The van marked Coroner pulled up beside the ambulance and my stomach turned, again. They’d bring out the body soon. I wouldn’t look at it again. I couldn’t.

  More gawkers milled around, trying to catch a glimpse of the action. A news station van sat on the street near the parking lot—the reporter desperately tried to cross the barrier and get the scoop, but police held her at bay. Her brown curls bounced as she moved from side to side looking for her chance to slip past. A young detective stood with the custodian next to tall magnolia trees on the edge of the parking lot. They glanced my wa
y several times.

  Perhaps I did jump to conclusions a wee-bit, but I was under a lot of stress. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t the killer? I lowered my head into my hands and closed my eyes, willing myself away from the entire scene. How much longer would they keep me? I felt like just sneaking away. With all the action, they wouldn’t notice. They’d arrest me for sure if I did that, though. Footsteps approached. I snapped my head up and scanned the area.

  Tears welled in my eyes. I tilted my head back and wiped my eyes to keep the moisture away. I had discovered a dead person. Not the end to the day I had expected. My body felt frozen from the trauma as if an ice storm swooped in leaving me immobile. The lights from the cars swirled, making me dizzy. The mixture of leather and body odor in the car made me want to gag. I caught a glimpse of my face in the side mirror of the car as the unforgiving blue glow glared across my face. I stared at my reflection. Streaks of mascara smeared down my face making me look like a raccoon. Police walked past, staring at me. Were they blaming me for the murder? Judging me?

  Chapter Eight

  After a drive to the police station—with a cruiser following me—and the sheriff warning me not to leave town, I stumbled through my door. Much to my chagrin, I forgot to leave the outside porch light on when I left home early in the day. Of course, I didn’t think I’d be late and didn’t think I’d have a killer to worry about, either. Without wasting any time, I hurried in the door, then turned on every light along my path through the house. I tossed my purse on the sofa and headed to the bathroom.

  My stress level was through the roof. I tied my hair up in a ponytail and climbed in the shower, letting out a deep sigh. As the hot water fell over my face, I tried to shake the vision of Payne’s limp body slumped in the chair. The image of blood on my hand and the realization that I had been so near a murder scene wouldn’t leave me alone. The pictures were scorched into my mind. Creepiness settled in and I couldn’t shake its grip. Not only did the fear from finding Payne Cooper haunt me, but the eerie silhouette running from the building, as well. It was almost more than I could handle. I slipped into my favorite pajamas and climbed into bed. The soft comforter was my only security at that moment.

  I settled under the covers, then the phone rang. I knew who was calling before I answered it.

  “Baby. It’s Mama.”

  Her twang grew more pronounced with stressful situations. Allow the twenty questions to commence. I rubbed my temples.

  “Hi, Mama.” I fell back onto the bed.

  My mother may not be very tall, but you wouldn’t know it by her voice. It was larger than life. “I am sick with worry. What happened?” she demanded.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. It was traumatic.” I let out a deep sigh.

  How the heck did she find out so soon? The rewards of small town life.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “What? No, not tonight. I’m already in bed. Plus, it’s a thirty minute drive down that dark dirt county road. You live in the boonies.” And they wondered why I had moved away.

  She sighed. “Fine. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning. I wish you’d let me come over tonight. I want to know exactly what happened.”

  “I promise to tell you everything tomorrow and I promise I’ll be fine.”

  “Are your doors and windows locked? I knew we should’ve bought you a watchdog.”

  “I’m all right, really.” I needed off the phone.

  Actually, her visiting tomorrow might not be a bad idea, as much as I hated to admit. I could use a little help with the new place—but not too much.

  “Mom, I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. Just come by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there in the morning with bells and whistles on.” Her smile almost came through the phone.

  That’s what I was afraid of…her literally wearing bells and whistles.

  “Get some rest now,” she said.

  “Oh, wait. Come by the old house. I’m going to work there early.”

  Before I settled back in, I called Lacey to let her know what had happened and to check on how she felt. She had wanted to come over too, but there was no way I’d allow her to pamper me just because I discovered a dead guy. I promised to call her tomorrow. At least Lacey hadn’t held my driving skills against me. The trip to the hospital was an honest mistake, it could have happened to anyone. She was always there when I needed her—a true friend.

  Sleep hadn’t come easy. I tossed and turned like a child waiting for the boogie man to jump out of the closet. My night had been full of dreams that I couldn’t recall. I’d woken once with my heart pounding and covered in sweat. Probably best that I hadn’t remembered them. I looked at the clock throughout the night almost hourly.

  The next morning, I headed out early. With so much to do, I didn’t want to waste a single minute. Time was money, or so I’d heard. The police had spotted the key with my name on it at Payne’s and were nice enough to hand it over. I was shocked they hadn’t considered it evidence. The murder scene still filled my thoughts, but I had to work.

  Leaves and twigs crunched beneath my feet as I crossed the driveway toward the house. The morning sun illuminated the mini-mansion highlighting the dirt, decaying cobwebs, and chipped paint. Walking up the path made me feel at home, though. The house and its surroundings encompassed many of my favorite things. I wanted to grab a blanket, spread it out, and nap under the shady umbrella of drooping branches from the weeping willow trees.

  The history of the home fascinated me—the lives of previous owners and the fact that so many years ago they walked the same floors was amazing. I navigated around the broken spots in the stone pathway. Birds chirped overhead, but otherwise silence surrounded me. Dew covered the grass and the crisp air carried the scent of damp earth. The place definitely had that old haunted house look, but it wasn’t exactly the Bates Motel, either. I wasn’t afraid—well, only slightly. I was walking into unknown territory.

  As I marched up the steps, I couldn’t believe I owned the place. The big old house was mine, which left me feeling excited and terrified at the same time. I shoved the key in the lock and turned the knob. I sighed with relief when the key worked.

  I opened the door and stuck my head in. “Hello?” As if I had expected the ghosts to answer.

  Honestly, I prayed I wouldn’t get a response. I’d had enough excitement to last me for a while—a relaxing morning wasn’t too much to ask for. The stale, musty air hit me—I’d have to air the place out. I turned to my right and entered the parlor. Walking over to the mantel, I ran my hand along the intricate details, trailing the scroll pattern. They didn’t build houses like that anymore.

  I twirled my keys between my fingers and whistled as I made my way through each room, trying to memorize every detail so I could daydream later. A cobweb dangled from the large once-gold chandelier in the dining room and I knocked it down on my way through to the kitchen. I sauntered into the room and surveyed the mess. The leaky sink faucet dripped a rhythm. A large piece of duct tape repaired the cracked window at the back of the room. Maybe I’d throw some paint on the cabinets and bring them back to life. I set my keys on the countertop and opened the cabinet doors for a closer examination. The orangey-colored oak cabinets were outdated, but there was no way I’d replace them.

  Through the hallway was a small door. I wrapped my hand around the tarnished brass knob and yanked on the door, almost afraid of what I’d find. Dust motes escaped and floated through the air as I poked my head in the cramped space. A narrow staircase loomed all the way to the third floor. Where did the stairs lead?

  The stairs were steeper than I’d thought, but I kept my eyes forward. My heart pounded. It wasn’t just the climbing that made me have that reaction. The spirit of a serial killer could haunt the place for all I knew and I might be walking into his trap. A mean ghost wasn’t something to mess around with.

  A loud thump echoed and I felt a sickening drop in my stomac
h. Was it the wind? I forced my feet to move up a few more steps. The bang rang out again from somewhere nearby. The clomp of footsteps echoed across the space. What if the killer was in the house? After all, it had been Payne’s property until yesterday.

  I tiptoed the rest of the way up the stairs. My eyes widened with fear and goose bumps broke out on my arms. I could handle a haunted house, but if the real-life killer found me, I would be helpless. I looked to the large bedroom on my left. No intruder or ghost in sight. A dark and foreboding feeling enveloped me. Shadows from the swaying branches outside played off the walls. Dirt covered the window blocking a considerable amount of natural light. I eased across the room, trying to quiet the click-a-clack of my shoes against the plank floor.

  “This is one heck of a house.” The oh-so-familiar twang tone floated through the air.

  “Mama.” I groaned.

  She stepped from the room across the hall and stood in front of me, wearing zebra-print skintight pants, and a red sequined blouse. Red high-heels completed the outfit. She held her little white dog in her arms.

  “My gosh, Mama, what are you doing here? You almost gave me a heart attack.” I clutched my chest.

  “I’m sorry, but I came to help, remember? I told you I’d be here early. You all right? I was so worried.” She wrapped her arms around me. Her citrusy scent hung in the air.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, and then nodded. “I’m fine. How did you get in here?”

  “The front door was open.” She gave a flash of curiosity.

  “It was?”

  A chill ran down my spine. It was locked when I arrived, and locked yesterday when I had tried to enter. What was going on?

  “I heard you found the body. It’s just horrible. My poor baby. You want to talk about what happened?”

  “Maybe later.” I grinned halfheartedly.

  “This place is gorgeous. We can do so much with it.” Her finger glided across the worn wallpaper.

  I was thankful she hadn’t pushed the murder subject.

  “We can do no such thing. I’m doing this all by myself.”

  She snorted. “We’ll see about that.”