Read Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House Online
Authors: Rose Pressey
Tags: #paranormal mystery cozy mystery women sleuths paranormal romance romantic mystery paranormal
Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (11 page)
Chapter Nineteen
Before she had a chance to object, I fell in
behind her. Seeing Reed in this relaxed informal setting made me
tense. No doubt, I’d fumble over my words and stick my foot in my
mouth several times.
I wanted to get Carolyn alone and out of
Reed’s earshot, anyway, so I followed her through the living room
into the kitchen. The combined living and dining area exuded
warmth. Folk art and exposed beams added to the home's rustic
appeal. The perfect backdrop for Carolyn’s antiques. In the
kitchen, a 1920’s gas stove, which seemed to be in perfect working
condition, sat on legs, next to the far wall. The refrigerator was
more akin to an icebox. Cabinetry varied between cream-colored
pie-chest style doors and bead-board.
“So, how long you lived in Rosewood?” I
asked, admiring the room.
“About six months now. Frank fell in love
with this farm.” Carolyn held her hands under the stream of water
at the sink, then grabbed the hand towel on the counter.
“Well, I can see why. Your cabin is cozy. I
love the old porch.”
“Thank you, dear. I love it, too. There’s
nothing better than sitting out there on a fall morning with a cup
of coffee watching the sunrise.” She patted her hands dry.
“You know, I’m surprised we haven’t met
before Suzie introduced us.” I leaned against the counter. “I know
everyone interested in the paranormal around these parts.”
“I don’t know if I’d say I’m interested in
the paranormal, per se. I’ve talked to spirits since I was a child
though. Would you grab silverware out of the drawer?” She
pointed.
“Where you from originally?” I reached over
to the drawer, pulling out forks, spoons, and knives.
“Atlanta. Of course, Reed’s from there,
too.” She hovered over the stove, stirring the ingredients in the
big black pot. She didn’t look at me when she mentioned his name.
“I talked him into moving here when I saw how great Rosewood
is.”
Lucky me.
“Plus, he needed a fresh start after his
mother remarried. He still hasn’t grieved properly since his father
died.”
“I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“Listen to me. I’m sure he doesn’t want me
telling his life story. He needs to share this information with
you.” She reached for glasses, still not meeting my gaze. “How’s
the house project coming along?”
Was she asking on Reed’s behalf? How would I
tell her I wasn’t using her nephew’s services? Things were moving
along just fine—without the help of Reed O’Hara.
“Well, I’m sure it’s haunted.” I leaned back
against the counter again.
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t bat an eye as she
placed the cornbread in the oven to warm. “I know the place is
haunted,” she said matter-of-factly.
“You do?” I arched a brow.
“I went there with Reed once. I had to leave
soon after we arrived. The minute I stepped inside, I got the worst
headache ever. There was at least one spirit there, but I couldn’t
stay long enough to find out more than that.” She grabbed a knife
and sliced a large ripe tomato.
“Wait. You went there with Reed? Why?”
“Oh, I guess he was proud of the place and
wanted to show me around.”
“Proud?” I asked.
“He planned on buying the house, you know
that, right?” Her gaze met mine, then she continued. “I guess you
beat him to it.”
“I had no idea,” I stammered. “He said he
thought about it, but he figured it was too much work. I mean, I
wasn’t trying to buy it out from under him or anything.” My heart
sank a little.
She grinned. “He knows. The men in our
family are proud.” She patted my arm. “But don’t worry about that.
With his help, the place will be just like you want it. He is the
best, you know.”
“He acts like it, too,” I said, almost to
myself.
“You like him.” She wiggled her finger in my
direction.
“I don—”
Reed stuck his head around the corner.
“Dinner ready?”
“Almost, dear. Tell Frank, would you?” She
asked.
He flashed a wicked grin my way before
disappearing around the corner again. Maybe he wasn’t so cocky.
Before Reed returned, I had to ask,
“Carolyn, I want you to come to the house.” I grabbed the plates
from her hands. “You could help my group a lot.”
“Your group?”
“Paranormal investigators,” I said, as I
placed the plates around the table.
“I don’t know, Alabama, I’m not sure I can
handle it. My headache was bad.” She rubbed her temples as if
remembering. “There’s a lot of emotion trapped in that house.” She
didn’t look up as she stirred the soup again.
Was I making her nervous? I didn’t want to
put her on the spot, but I needed her. Lacey couldn’t hobble around
that big house and it would drain too much of her energy. Plus, it
never hurt to have two psychics.
“Please?” I gave my best attempt at a
pleading look.
She sighed. “All right. How could I say no
to a face like that?” She smiled. “How about in the morning? I’ll
swing by around ten?”
“Thank you so much. Ten sounds perfect.” I
pulled the old wood chair from the table and sat.
Maybe Carolyn could meet the rest of my
ghost hunting gang. I hoped Lacey didn’t think I’d replaced her.
Carolyn set the breadbasket on the table, then retrieved the pot
from the stove.
“Oh, I almost forgot something in the other
room. I’ll be right back,” she said.
When she bounced out of the room, I stood
and walked through the kitchen, studying the art on the walls. A
couple of vintage signs hung behind the stove. Footsteps sounded
behind me and I turned around.
“My aunt likes her antiques,” Reed said.
I nodded. “Yes, she does. It’s nice and
cozy. I like it.” I smiled, then lowered my gaze. He was being
extremely nice for someone who’d had property stolen out from under
them.
“Sorry I didn’t mention this get together
earlier.”
“So you did know?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, I was aware.”
Typical behavior for him, it seemed. To
distract from the conversation, I reached for extra napkins for the
table. As I reached for the linens, they slipped from my hand. Reed
and I bent to pick them up at the same time. His hand touched mine
and I turned to face him. Our eyes met and our faces were mere
inches apart. My gaze wandered down to his lips. I wasn’t sure, but
he seemed to be moving closer to me. My stomach whirled and I
wondered what his lips would feel like against mine.
“So, who the hell killed Payne Cooper?”
Frank blurted out as he stepped into the kitchen.
I jumped up so fast I almost pulled a
muscle. My cheeks burned. I was an adult, no need to be
embarrassed. Was Reed about to kiss me? I may never know.
I sat at the table before my legs gave in.
Frank pulled out a seat opposite mine, sat down, and then pinched
off a sample from one of the muffins, popping it into his
mouth.
“I hear you where at the scene of the crime
with a bloody hand, no less,” Frank said in his booming voice.
I almost choked on my water.
Chapter Twenty
“Sorry, Alabama. Frank lacks subtlety.”
Carolyn smacked him on the arm and took a seat next to him. “Reed,
sit next to Alabama.” She pointed to the vacant chair next to
mine.
She was in full-on matchmaking mode. Reed
pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. I shifted in my seat.
He flashed me a compassionate look as he grabbed a muffin from the
basket. He knew I was on the list of murder suspects. The whole
room did. How did I get into this mess? Would he still want to kiss
me after being reminded of my brush with the law?
“I’m pretty sure Sheriff Bass has no idea
who did it,” I said.
Carolyn handed me a bowl of steaming
soup.
Better to talk about it. Ignoring the issue
wouldn’t make it go away or make me feel any less
uncomfortable.
“His engine’s running but nobody’s driving,
in my opinion,” Carolyn said.
I laughed in agreement.
“It’s my own special recipe.
Navy beans, Great Northern beans, lima beans, kidney beans,
garbanzo beans, black beans, black-eyed peas. Garlic, onions,
peppers—”
“Carolyn, you don’t have to give her the
whole darn recipe.” Frank chuckled.
“I get a little excited about cooking.” She
popped the spoon in her mouth.
“That’s a heck of a lot of beans,” Reed
said.
Garlic and onion breathe while sitting next
to Reed, how nice. Kissing was out of the question.
No one mentioned my potential felony status
the rest of the evening. We discussed living in Rosewood, work, and
anything else that came to mind. Frank described his time in
Africa. Carolyn and Frank married thirty years ago. Needless to
say, they had a ton of entertaining stories to share. After dinner,
we lingered over coffee and bread pudding with bourbon sauce. I
understood why Frank always longed for Carolyn’s cooking.
“I’ll walk you out,” Reed grabbed his jacket
as I headed toward the door.
“Thanks for dinner, Carolyn. It was nice
meeting you, Frank,” I called over my shoulder.
“Come back anytime.” Carolyn waved.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Frank said.
The chilly night air hit me and I wrapped my
jacket tighter around my neck. The day had been balmy in the middle
and crisp around the edges.
“Allow me.” Reed’s fingers brushed mine as
he reached to open my car door.
He tilted his head and looked at me. “I’m
glad you came tonight.”
Was he really? Would he kiss me goodnight?
Wait. This wasn’t a date.
“Carolyn’s sweet and an excellent cook to
boot,” I offered. I looked back at the cabin and saw Carolyn’s head
peeking out the window.
“She is…” He shuffled his foot as if he
wanted to say more.
When he didn’t, I said, “Well, I’d better
head home.”
He stared at my lips. At least, I think my
lips. I felt that familiar tiny tingle in the pit of my stomach
again. He leaned his hip against the car and placed his hand on the
roof.
“Let me know about the work. Business is
slow and I can squeeze you in pretty quickly. I think you should
replace the sink in the kitchen. I know where you can get a good
deal on a farm sink.” His clean-shaven cheeks reflected the porch
light and gleamed healthy.
“Whoa. Hold your horses.” I tossed my purse
in the car. “Maybe I don’t want to replace the sink.” I crossed my
arms in front of my chest.
“You saw the movie,
The Money Pit
,
right?” He smirked. “You know the one where the house falls down
around them.”
“Ugh.” I jumped in the car.
Right before I slammed the door in his face,
he said, “You’re a remarkable woman, Alabama Hargrove.”
“And you’re chauvinistic pig.” I slammed the
door and didn’t look back as I sped down the driveway, gravel and
dust bellowing out behind my car. Did I just call him a
chauvinistic pig? I couldn’t have thought of anything more
original? Maybe I could hide from him from this moment forward.
***
The next day started like any other. I
grabbed a quick breakfast, made a stop at Home Depot, where I got
great paint samples and beautiful new knobs for the cabinets, then
I headed to the house to meet the other contractor I had found.
As I waited on the porch, I spotted the old
black truck slow down, then turn in. With extra large tires, it
bounced down the driveway, coming to a hasty stop behind my car.
The dark tinted windows concealed the driver. Reed wasn't home—at
least, I didn't see his truck—and I prayed he wouldn't find me
talking to another handyman. I felt as if I was cheating.
A scruffy looking short guy that kind of
looked like Danny Devito hopped down from his truck and approached
me. He wore jeans. Ripped fabric dangled from one sleeve of his
dirty blue jacket as if he’d fought off a Rottweiler on his way
over.
“May I help you?” I asked.
My father would have said that the man had a
face only a mother could love.
“I’m here about the remodeling job. Is this
the right place?” His lined face broke into a smile of crooked
teeth.
“This is the place. Thanks for coming on
such short notice. Did you have any problems finding it?”
“No, no problems. I thought I remembered the
place. Of course, I left town for a while and recently just came
back. My name's Max Daniels, by the way.” He held out his
weather-worn hand. “Of course, you knew that already.”
I took his hand and said, “Alabama Hargrove.
Where’d you come back from?”
He followed as I moved up the steps.
“I moved back from Dallas. I lived there for
almost ten years.”
“What made you come back here?”
“I still have family here, and I decided to
come home.”
Was I asking him too many questions? He was
a stranger, though. And before I gave someone I didn’t know money,
I needed to ask a few questions, at least.
“So, what needs to be done? A lot of
cleaning, I see.” He pointed to the porch.
“Well, I'm flipping the house. Of course,
I'm not very handy with a hammer, although, I can do some things
myself. I can paint, clean, and that sort of thing. I patched the
plaster wall myself.” He nodded and smiled. “I need help with the
most important stuff. You know the roof, electric work—nothing
major there, though—and the floors. Of course, the kitchen needs a
complete makeover.”
“Whoa, that’s quite a list.”
“It is?” I stopped, with my hand on the
doorknob.
He nodded. “It may cost quite a bit, but I’m
sure you’ve budgeted for the expense already.” He stared.
That’s not what I wanted to hear. I was on a
fixed income with this project, every penny mattered.
“Well, let’s take a look inside.” He pointed
toward the door.
For a second, I wondered if I should go
alone into the house with this strange man. He could be a killer,
for all I knew. No, if I was going to do this thing, I couldn’t
live in fear. I had to show everyone that I was strong and capable
of flipping a house. Women can work on houses, too. It’s not
totally a man’s job.
I trudged through the door with him
following close behind. A little too close in my opinion. I shook
off the uneasy feeling and moved into the parlor.
“The plaster walls look to be in good
shape…” He tapped on the wall. “But these cracks need to be
repaired.”
I nodded. “Well, I told you I know how to do
that.”
“I’m afraid it requires a little more than a
simple patch.”
I had no idea about the walls, but I didn’t
want him to know that.
“You said that you would do all of the
painting?” He frowned.
“I planned on it,” I said.
“It looks like a whole lot of painting, and
that foyer ceiling is huge,” he said.
“Well, maybe I’ll paint it all but that
area.” I frowned.
“I’m sure you want to maintain the original
character of the house as much as possible, right?”
He pushed the swinging door and sauntered
into the kitchen.
“Yes, of course, I do. There’s nothing I
hate more than the inside of an old house that looks too modern.” I
followed through like a child eager with questions.
“What’s going on in this room?” He tapped
the old countertop.
I hated the counters. Years had faded the
base cream color and wild streaks of green and gold speckled
throughout in what was supposed to be a faux marble look.
“The kitchen? Oh, I thought I’d redo the
floors and repaint these cabinets. I’ve already bought some new
knobs and pulls. They’re in good shape, don’t you think? Well,
other than that one with the door off.”
“Yeah, they look to be in pretty good shape.
Solid construction and pretty decent craftsmanship. What color are
you thinking about?” He leaned over and examined the cabinets, then
opened and closed the refrigerator door.
Did it matter? “I’m not sure yet, I have
some samples to look through.”
I walked over toward the broken cabinet
door. It was propped up against the wall covering a hole. I wanted
to stop him from moving it, he may charge more if he saw that.
