Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (2 page)

Jim stepped down from his big F-250 as I
pulled up to his office. Well, the truck seemed big to me, but I
was short, so any truck seemed huge to me. Jim hadn’t put me in
mind as the truck-type. When I thought of trucks, I envisioned
handsome, rugged cowboys with dirty jeans, Stetson hats, boots, and
swaggers to match. Jim was far from that.

He led us into his cramped office and
gestured toward the seats in front of his desk. I sat on the chair,
shifting from side to side trying to find a comfortable spot. Jim
shoved papers around his desk while I studied the surroundings.

His office was decorated as if from the 60s.
Straight off
The Brady Bunch
set. On his desk sat a couple
of framed photos—grandchildren maybe? Stacks of papers covered the
top, only exposing small glimpses of wood. Lacey picked a piece of
candy from the jar in front of her.

Jim slapped a few papers down on the desk
and snapped me out of my trance. He plopped down in his leather
chair, smiled, folded his hands together, and placed them in his
lap.

“Have you decided what you want to offer?”
he asked.

“I have,” I said without hesitation.

Lacey mumbled under her breath.

“Well, all right. A woman who knows what she
wants. I like that.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Lacey
snorted.

“Just write your offer in this space on the
sheet and we’ll see what the owner thinks. I doubt he’ll accept it,
not the first offer, anyway.” He shuffled papers about the desk
again, then placed a pen in front of me and pointed to the space to
sign.

The owner was not getting off that easy. I
knew what I wanted to pay and I was sticking to it. Plus, the bank
wouldn’t loan much. My pulse increased as I finished off my
signature. This wouldn’t turn out like the pet grooming debacle,
would it?

“I’ll fax the offer. Be prepared to wait a
few days before he answers.” He stuffed the pages into the
machine.

“By the way,” I said, trying to sound
nonchalant again, “you never answered my question of why the house
has been empty so long.”

Jim snatched up his phone and held it to his
ear. Apparently, an important call needed to be made rather than
answer my question. With a gesture of his index finger, he excused
himself and disappeared into the other room. If he thought a little
haunting would scare me away, he was mistaken. I had been a part of
a team of paranormal investigators for years. It was the one
activity I hadn’t quit—figures I didn’t make money doing it. But a
little thing like a few ghosts didn’t faze me. I guess many people
don’t want a rundown haunted house, though.

***

I sat at the table and munched on my bowl of
soggy cornflakes, staring at the back of the cereal box blankly.
The phone rang and I almost fell out of my chair. I seriously
needed to change my ringtone from the Monster Mash ringtone. The
stacked boxes of unsold beauty supplies made an obstacle course for
me as I dashed for my purse. The continuous ring pulsated through
my head as I rummaged in the abyss known as my handbag for the
cell. After dumping all of the contents from my oversized bag on
the table, I spotted the shiny pink object and looked at the caller
ID window. Displayed on the screen was Jim’s number.

My hand trembled as I punched the button. My
heart rate spiked. I let out a pent-up breath.

“Hello,” I shouted into the phone before I
realized my voice needed to drop a few decibels.

“Ms. Hargrove is that you?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s Alabama.”

He could call me by my first name for
heaven’s sake.

“How are you today?” he asked.

Enough with the small talk. Get to the
point.

“I’m well, Mr. Richmond.”

I didn’t ask how he was in return—maybe he
would get to the point of the call. Rude of me, I know. My
grandmother would turn over in her grave at my lack of manners. He
cleared his voice after a second, clearly surprised I hadn’t
inquired on his well-being. Sensitive fellow.

“Right…well, anyway,” he continued. “The
reason why I called…”

“Yes?” I said, agitated.

He had me on pins and needles. Did he have
bad news?

“I have news,” he exclaimed.

News. I knew it—bad news. A counteroffer? I
tried to comfort myself. The suspense got the better of me.

“Get to the point, Jim.”

“Right. Sorry, Ms. Hargrove.”

I felt a tinge of guilt for being impatient
with him.

Finally, he said, “I can’t believe this, but
he accepted your offer.”

“I got it!” I threw my arms up in victory.
The phone fell from my hand as I did a happy dance around the
room.

“Ms. Hargrove? Ms. Hargrove? Are you still
there?” he asked, his voice faint from the floor.

I snatched the phone from the floor. “Yes,
I’m here.”

“Congratulations! You got a great deal. I’m
excited for you.”

“Thank you, Jim, for all of your help.”

All right, he hadn’t done much in the help
department, but I felt generous with my compliments. After all, I
was going to make a ton of cash. No more mac ‘n’ cheese.

“The seller wants a fast closing. Is that
all right with you? I told him I’d ask.”

“The sooner the better as far as I’m
concerned. I’ll call the bank immediately.” I paced around the room
still feeling the urge to dance.

“I have to say, I still can’t believe he
accepted the offer, and so quickly, too. He’s usually hard to work
with, but he seemed eager to sell.”

“Well, whatever floats his boat,” I said
with a chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“He must like me,” I added.

“Yes, that’s probably it.”

I clicked off and continued my dance.

***

The morning the supposed haunted house on
Maple Hill Road became mine arrived—for better or for worse. I
rolled off the bed and shimmied into my old tattered pink bathrobe.
The ancient thing was broken-in and comfy—just the way I liked it.
I shuffled into my fuzzy bunny slippers and staggered across the
room like a zombie. With sleep still in my eyes, I caught a glimpse
of my reflection as I passed the mirror.

“Oh my word.” I gasped when I saw my
frightful mug.

A night of tossing and turning left my
tresses wild and downright terrifying. If nothing else, I’d scare
the ghosts away. Worry had kept me up most of the night. I had
signed on for a huge project—would it work out? I sighed and
slumped my shoulders at the thought of untangling my disheveled
mop—and straightening out a rundown house with ghosts. I trekked to
the bathroom.

As I stepped into the shower, the phone
rang. I stumbled out and grabbed it.

“Hey,” Lacey chirped. She was too chipper
that early.

“Humph.”

She giggled.

“Hurry up and come get me. We’ll grab
breakfast before you close on your little project.”

“Excuse me? Little project?” I huffed.

“House…before you close on the house.” She
smiled and batted her eyelashes.

“I should say no just because of that snide
comment.”

“Come on. Get me out of this house. Rob has
the day off and he’s trying to build a bookcase for the office. He
can’t even use the power drill correctly. He’s driving me crazy.
Get me out of here.”

“All right. All right. Take a deep breath
and calm down, I’ll break you out of there.”

“By the way, there’s something I want to
talk to you about.” Her voice held a hint of concern.

“Is it serious?”

“No…I guess not.”

“You guess not? Are you okay?”

“I’ll fill you in at breakfast.”

“You’re making me nervous,” I said, still a
little perplexed by her statement.

“Calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay…if you’re sure. How about we head over
to Lucy Tucker’s?” My mouth watered at the thought.

“Oh, sounds great,” Lacey squealed. She let
go of her secretive air. “I’ve been dreaming about their Peach
French Melba toast for a week.”

“I’ll be there soon. Just let me jump in the
shower.”

“See you in a minute.”

With that, she hung up and I reluctantly
schlepped back to the shower. I should be excited. Invigorated. I
needed to get motivated—now was not the time for laziness. Work
needed to be done—floors refinished, a new roof, updated electric
and the list went on. Could I really handle this?

As I dabbed some lip-gloss and mascara on,
my mind wandered to Lacey. What was it she wanted to tell me? She
didn’t keep secrets…well, not that I knew of, anyway. She was to
the point and honest. A real no-nonsense type of person. Once, I
asked her if my jeans made my butt look big. She responded with a
resounding “Yes.” Needless to say, I never asked her again.
Sometimes the truth hurt. I liked her bluntness; a trait I lacked.
We complimented each other that way.

I stood in front of my jam-packed closet for
what seemed like an eternity. My eyes started to glaze over, so I
grabbed my wardrobe staple of jeans and a light pink sweater. I
tugged my jeans up to fix the inevitable butt cleavage that came
with the fashionable low riders.

The sky looked as if it would let loose at
any moment, so I grabbed my umbrella to be safe. I slipped on my
favorite pair of sneakers and headed out the door. Within a few
seconds, I was on my way in my blemished Volvo—the dents in the car
were courtesy of that week last year when I’d thought I’d attempt
private investigating as a career choice.

Before picking up Lacey, I needed to make a
stop. Jim couldn’t attend the closing, so I decided to drop off a
thank you card—the polite thing to do. I pulled up in front of his
office, right next to his truck. The air was chilly—a typical fall
day. I wrapped my jacket around me a little closer for warmth as I
hurried across the parking lot. The place was quiet, but it was
still early. The stairway was in front of the main entrance. I
climbed to the second floor. As I turned the corner, I stopped in
my tracks. Jim stood in the hallway with his back to me. What I
heard next surprised me, to say the least.

“I told you I’d find a sucker to buy that
ramshackle joint,” Jim’s voice was full of satisfaction. “She’s a
clueless sap. She’s never remodeled a home.”

As I listened, I bit my tongue and remained
quiet, but what I really wanted to do was let him have it.

“I still get thirty percent of the profit,
right?” He paused to listen to the response. “Yeah, she’ll make a
mess of it, but who cares, as long as you’re rid of the dump. I’ll
call you later.” He clicked the phone shut.

I watched as he closed the office door
behind him, never glancing in my direction. Despite what he
thought, I was not a clueless sap. I’d show him. I should have
known Jim was a snake. If I hadn’t wanted the house so badly, I
would have told him to shove it. He thought he’d suckered me into
buying the house, but I wanted it. I knew what I was doing. Let him
get his stinking thirty percent.

After hearing his true feelings, I sure as
heck wasn’t going to show my gratitude. I tossed the thank you card
in the trash can beside me, pivoted on my heel, and headed back to
my car. I hurried across the parking lot before he noticed me. When
I’d almost reached the rattletrap, my cell phone rang. I pulled it
out, and flipped it open.

“Hello?” I huffed. More visits to the gym
were necessary—running shouldn’t make me winded. Being furious
couldn’t help lack of fitness, though.

“Ms. Hargrove.” Fiddle sticks. I should have
looked at the caller ID first.

“Yes, Jim.” My heart rate increased and I
spun around. Did he see me? Had he seen me run away?

“I’m glad I reached you before the closing.
It’s the big day, huh?” he asked cheerfully.

I didn’t respond.

After a pause, he continued, “Well, good
luck with everything. You will call me if you have questions? Call
me if you need help finding a sub-contractor and that sort of
thing.”

Thank goodness, he didn’t know I overheard
his conversation. I shoved the key into the car lock. Maybe I could
escape before he spotted me.

He kept talking. “I know a couple of
handymen. It helps to have referrals.”

If he thought I’d use one of his
recommendations, though, he had another think coming. Not after
what he called me.

“Thank you, Jim. I’ll make sure to call if I
need anything,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Okie dokie. Well, again, good luck.”

I clicked off. Being somewhat polite had
been hard. I shifted the car in gear, backed up, and sped away.
Visions of bumping into Jim’s big Ford crossed my mind, but I shook
thought out of my head. I wouldn’t let him spoil my happy time.

Lacey lived only a few miles from there, so
within two shakes of a sheep’s tail I pulled up to her house—a cute
craftsman bungalow with black shutters and flower boxes on the
windows. It looked as if it belonged on the cover of a magazine. I
honked the horn. My stomach rumbled from the lack of breakfast as
visions of French toast with tons of maple syrup flooded my
mind.

Lacey emerged and sprinted down the sidewalk
toward the car.

“Whatcha got going on with the bangs?” I
stared at her forehead, then pointed to her hair.

“I tried to cut them.” She frowned as she
plunked down in the car.

“Well…they’ll grow out,” I offered. Too late
though. My foot was inserted in my mouth. “That’s a cute top you’re
wearing. I like the little flowers on it.” I dug a deeper hole for
myself.

“Thanks,” she said dryly. Her eyes shot
daggers my way.

Lacey complained about her husband as we
zoomed down the street toward Lucy Tucker’s Tea and Sandwich Shop—a
southern café with the most divine food. After a couple of minutes,
as we neared the historic building, the sign came into view.

I zipped the car into the parking lot,
squeezing between a mini-van and a Buick.

“A spot right in front,” I yelled in
triumph.

“Oh, yeah!” Lacey shrieked.

I glanced over at her, surprised by her
enthusiasm over a parking space—only I did that.

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.” She grinned.

I stuck my tongue out. “It is a good spot,
you can’t deny it.”

Lacey shook her head, climbed out, and
closed the door behind her. She made her way up the shrubbery-lined
sidewalk. When she reached the door of the old building, she yanked
and it opened wide. She motioned for me to come on, so I turned off
the ignition and jumped out. As I reached the sidewalk, Lacey
backed up to make way for exiting customers. As she moved out of
the way, she stumbled backward and fell off the porch, her arms
flying above her head. Her newly trimmed bangs swooshed up and her
top made the same movement. Her expression looked like someone
who’d just taken their first roller-coaster ride. Her mouth opened
wide and she yelled just before landing in a shrub.