Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (27 page)

“That’s all right,” I muttered. I wasn’t
sure what else to say. Every conversation with him had been
awkward.

“We never suspected Jim Richmond. There were
no fingerprints at the scene, no DNA evidence found. We had nothing
to go on.”

If they had nothing, why had they never
believed me and attempted to follow my leads? The blue car and the
brick. I wanted to believe he regretted not following through, but
I was positive he didn’t.

“Did you ever research the blue car or the
note?” I asked hesitantly.

“We tried, nothing came up.” He averted his
eyes.

Liar.

“Apparently, not only did Jim want to
collect his money, but he felt he was somehow entitled to this
house. Because he was related to one of the original owners. He
never could prove he was their kin, though. Plus, it was never
willed to him, anyway. And since Payne was the great-great-grandson
of the builder of this house, that gave Jim even more reason to
hate Payne Cooper.”

“Wow, that’s crazy.” Why hadn’t Jim told me
this information during his long rant?

“Anyway, they found bones in your neighbor’s
yard, just where the diary said they would be.” He turned to walk
away. “Oh, and by the way, I wanted to let you know we looked into
why Nick Patterson was following you around,” he said, spinning
around to face me once again.

“You did?” I asked, shocked.

“We did.” He nodded. “He’s in jail on
unrelated charges, so we questioned him about why he followed
you.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Apparently Julia Cooper had hired him to
spy on her husband before he was murdered. She wanted to catch him
in the act of having an affair, I guess. Anyway, when Payne was
murdered they believed you were involved, so they were doing a
little investigating on their own.”

“You’re kidding? Wasn’t it dangerous for
Julia Cooper to ask me into her home if she thought I was the
killer?”

“Isn’t that what you did to her?”

I smiled. “Yes, I guess so. So, he was a
wannabe private investigator?”

“Yes, I suppose he was.” He shifted his
feet. “Well, he won’t be bothering you for a while. I think he’ll
get at least one year in jail.”

“What’s he in for?” All right, now sounded
like a cop.

“Let’s just say he’s been stopped more than
once for drinking and driving. Hopefully this time he’ll have to
spend more than one night behind bars.”

“Thanks, sheriff.” He didn’t respond, but
then again, I hadn’t expected him to. I was shocked he’d even taken
the time to question Nick Patterson for me. He probably only did it
to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Oh, we need you to stop by the station
later and sign a statement.”

I nodded. “I’ll be there. Thanks for letting
me know and stopping by.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled. He tipped his
hat, turned around, and walked back to his car.

I hurried back to the kitchen. The large
window facing the back yard had a nice view of several neighbors’
yards. I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of what the
police were doing. Sure enough, an area to my left beyond Reed’s
yard was taped off. Police moved about the lawn. I wasn’t surprised
Corbin Berger’s grave was no longer a part of my yard anymore. But
I was shocked his grave remained undisturbed while construction
went on around it for several years while the subdivision was
built.

Down a little hill and under a large pine
tree was the spot. Finally, the poor soul would have peace. My head
still reeled from the shock of the turn of events. It would take me
a while to come to terms with everything that had happened.

Reed entered the kitchen, prying my eyes
away from my very own CSI episode. He pulled a newspaper from the
waistband of his jeans where he’d hid it. He handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I unfolded the paper.

“Look at the main story,” he urged.

I turned the paper over. My eyes widened.
The headline on the local paper read:
Local woman solves
kidnapping and two homicides—one over a century old.

“Wow. I’m a celebrity. I’ll admit, though,
I’m a little freaked out. How’d they take that picture of me?”

He leaned over my shoulder. “It looks like
when you in front of the cabin. See your mother’s right there.” He
took the paper from me and pointed to her.

“You’re lucky they captured the outfit. Now
you will always have this to remind you of it.”

“Give me that.” I snatched the paper from
his hands. Other than the outfit, the photo did not look terrible.
No twisted mouth, no shut eyelids. Heck, not even smeared mascara
down my cheeks, or a mangled up mess of hair. I fought a killer and
didn’t even smudge my makeup.

The only other time my picture had ever
appeared in a newspaper was for the local beauty pageant. Years
ago, my mother forced me to compete in the humiliation. When all
the contestants lined up for the photo, I caught a glimpse of my
mother entering the room. Since I spotted her before the other
girls, they all had normal expressions in the photo. I, on the
other hand, looked like a deranged beauty queen.

My mother served up her usual humiliation
that day by showing up in an electric blue latex bodysuit and
coordinating legwarmers. She had claimed to just come from aerobics
class, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. When the picture appeared
the next day, to my horror, I discovered my contorted mouth twisted
into a strange smirk and the camera had caught me at just the right
moment when I had blinked. I didn’t win the contest that year and
my mother still has the photo proudly displayed in a golden frame
on the mantel at her home.

Reed glanced up at the cabinets, and then
stepped back a few paces. He studied my handiwork.

“Well? What do you think?” I asked.

He was silent while tapping his finger
against his chin.

“I want to modernize.” I waved my hands for
emphasis. “All while keeping the integrity of the home.” I stared
at him, then continued. “Oh, and I think I’ll refinish the light
fixtures.”

He turned to me. “It costs too much.”

“What? What do you mean, it costs too much?
Don’t you worry about that.”

“You should just buy new fixtures.”

“I don’t want new ones,” I said tersely.

“You need to hurry if you want a for sale
sign in the front yard any time this century. There’s no time for
refinishing in house flipping. Restoring, maybe, but not
flipping.”

I rolled my eyes.

“When are you tackling those electric
problems?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to mess up the
plaster walls. I need to find a
good
electrician. He can
just snake wires through the walls,” I said.

“How’d you come up with that?” He asked.

“I read. I’m not illiterate, you know.”

He laughed. I smiled in return despite
myself. Reed’s arms surrounded me.

“We make a good team,” he said, lifting me
up, then planting a kiss on my lips.

Rose Pressey enjoys writing quirky and fun novels
with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her
interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained
fascinates her.

When she's not writing about werewolves, vampires
and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes
with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening
to oldies from the fifties. Yeah, she loves Elvis. She can't help
myself.

Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky
with her husband, son, and two sassy Chihuahuas.

Visit her online at:

http://www.rosepressey.com

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Rose loves to hear from readers. You can email her
at: [email protected]