Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (23 page)

May 13, 1875

When the gunshot rang out, I feared the
worst. I ordered the children to stay put and when I reached the
door, I truly never expected what I saw. James stood with the gun
grasped in his hand. Smoke seeped from the barrel and his hand
shook. He had murdered Corbin Berger. Never in all my days had I
thought James was capable of such a horrendous sin. The day had
started so beautifully, cool for this time of year, but ended with
sorrow.

Corbin had ridden up. The children had been
playing, and I ran inside with them, as James confronted Corbin.
After the gunfire, I made my way down the hallway, but I stopped
abruptly. My heart sank when I saw Corbin lying in front of the
house, blood pooled under his body. I mustered up every ounce of
courage I owned and joined my husband on the veranda. I stared in
shock at the lifeless body. The Lord knows I tried to comfort
James, but the look in his eyes let me know it was impossible. I
knew in an instant this wasn’t the man I had married.

Things had changed forever. Corbin had a gun
and threatened James, or so I thought at first. Corbin had been
angry because he had felt we had stolen his business. I reckon he
was partly correct. We did move to town and take his customers,
something I hadn’t seen until now. James said he had no choice,
that Corbin would have killed him. But James lied to me. I begged
him to do the morally right thing and fetch the sheriff. James
refused. He ordered me to help him rid the body. I’ve cried so much
today. I don’t know if any tears are left to shed. I must be strong
for the children. However, I fear my husband. Evil glows in his
eyes. The devil has possessed his soul. Never again will happiness
be mine. We buried Corbin in the back yard near the pine trees.
James hid his belongings, I think in our home.

News spread quickly of Corbin’s
disappearance. However, no one will think it odd. The whole town
believes Corbin had lost his mind. Rumor has it he took off for
Texas. However, I know differently.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt the
woman’s pain. She’d obviously discovered the man she loved, the
father of her children, was a monster. He hadn’t killed Corbin in
self-defense, he had murdered him. I flipped through more entries.
My stomach churned at what I read. Apparently, Corbin hadn’t been
the only person James Mitchell had murdered.

When they moved to Kentucky from Tennessee,
she’d suspected he had murdered another man. That was why they’d
packed up and moved from their home state. As James showed more of
his evil side, he confessed he’d murdered both men. Time slipped by
and I read more, turning page after page. The entries at the back
grew sadder and sadder. Martha wrote how Corbin had discovered
James was a murderer and had come to confront him that fateful day.
If James left town, Corbin wouldn’t tell anyone, but he wanted his
home back, too. Corbin Berger ran a store in town and owned the
house on Maple Hill Road. The Mitchell family had moved to town and
opened a store of their own, stealing Corbin’s customers. Corbin
was no longer able to afford his home and had to sell. The
Mitchells bought it and Corbin couldn’t live with that
.
So
when Corbin demanded his home back, James shot him.

I closed the book, tears streaked my cheeks.
I couldn’t believe what a treasure I’d found. The diary was the
reason the ghost wanted me in the basement. All those years, and no
one had discovered the diary. He must have been in such anguish.
And poor Martha. The things she dealt with were terrible.

As I sat on the step, the familiar cold
enveloped me. Goose bumps rose on my arms. I glanced up and before
me stood the ghost—Corbin. He reached out to me with his
expression. His face was different. A smile spread across it, well,
a half-smile. He seemed happy, as happy as anyone could be when
dead. At least maybe he’d move on to another dimension and free
himself from this limbo. I watched as his spirit faded away—into
the white light, I hoped. He was gone and free to move away from
his tragic demise. I knew I’d never see Corbin again and I prayed
he found peace at last. He had reached across the years and sought
help. That was what I called one heck of a paranormal
encounter.

I needed to call the police. There could be
a body in the backyard—according to the diary—and a man had been
murdered. But the last person the police department wanted to hear
from was me. They’d had their fill of me. Sheriff Bass wouldn’t
miss me if I left town and never returned. As far as he was
concerned, trouble followed me like stink followed a skunk.

“You all right, Ma’am?” A man asked as he
stepped off the ladder.

“I’m fine.” I wiped my tears. “Thank
you.”

With the adrenaline from the ghostly
encounter still swimming inside me, I jumped up. I needed to look
for Corbin’s belongings. Were they in the basement, too? How had
the diary ended up buried? Those were questions I’d probably never
get the answers to.

Navigating the stairs, I trudged over to the
broken dirt where I’d unearthed the diary. I kneeled and dug. After
a couple of minutes, I found a man’s old gold pocket watch. The
initials
C.R.B.
were engraved on the back. My eyes widened.
I’d found Corbin’s watch.

With my emotions drained, I rushed home. I
tried Carolyn again, but still no answer. Although I didn’t know
her well, I didn’t think she’d disappear without telling anyone.
Was Reed looking for her? Is that why I hadn’t seen him? With my
mind crammed full of thoughts worse than Uncle Oscar’s garage full
of junk, I barely remembered the drive home.

***

My comforter called to me like a siren
beckons a sailor. Since Payne Cooper’s murder, I’d been too upset
to sleep much, and I prayed tonight would be different. I fell into
bed and flopped around from side to side. I pounded the pillow and
changed positions too many times to count. When I did sleep, I
wrestled with nightmares. With very little sleep, I woke early the
next morning in a sea of twisted sheets.

The sun shone through the window. I perched
myself on the edge of the bed and studied the floor for a few
seconds, trying to will myself to stand. It was hard to keep my
pessimism at bay. Something calamitous was rising, climbing up and
about to reach the peak. How bad, I didn’t know. I had no way of
knowing. I hoisted myself off the bed and slid into my slippers,
then grabbed my robe. I ambled over to the window and drew back the
curtain.

Not a single cloud was in the sky. Studying
the colorful fall leaves, I stared out the window. Bright yellow
shafts of sunlight covered the lawn, buttering the landscape and
everything surrounding. A couple of squirrels skipped between the
two pear orchard trees that flanked the sidewalk leading to my
front door. They jumped around like the thoughts in my mind.
Thoughts of Carolyn, Corbin Berger, Nick Patterson, Ron Spencer,
and Julia Cooper whirled. Details played over and over in my head.
I massaged my temples with my hands. It was so much to think about
so early in the morning.

As soon I finished my coffee, I called
Sheriff Bass.

“I have something that may interest you,” I
said as soon as he picked up.

“Is that right?” he snorted.

“Yes, that’s right. I found an old diary in
the house.”

“Plenty of people find old things in old
houses, Ms. Hargrove. Why would I be interested?”

“Because it says someone was murdered in the
house and their body was buried out back.”

My statement was met with silence. That
really threw him for a loop.

Finally he choked out, “Another murder.”

“Hey, just like the other one, I had nothing
to do with it. It happened in the 1800s, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’ll come check it out. I’ll be right
over,” he said without further questions.

Although, still not exactly Mr. Nice Guy,
his icy demeanor thawed. Would he want the diary? Of course he
would, it was evidence. I worried about handing over my treasure,
but it was the right thing to do. Maybe he’d return it after
everything was said and done.

Sheriff Bass kept his word and showed up. In
record time, for him. And to my delight, the scowl normally on his
face was lessened.

“Hello, Sheriff, please come in.” I tried
being a polite hostess.

He sauntered through the door. I showed him
to the living room. He eyed the space as if unsure of his
surroundings. What did he think I had set a trap for him?

“Would you like to have a seat?” I
asked.

“I’m not here for a tea party Ms. Hargrove.
I’m busy. I have a lot of work to do.” Typical Sheriff Bass style.
Once an ass, always an ass.

“Oh, like how busy you’ve been trying to
find the kill—” I bit my tongue, which was no easy task.

He glared at me. More than likely, he was
daydreaming about cuffing me and shoving me into a tiny cell. The
sheriff’s uniform was starched and pressed, but still ill fitting.
He’d probably worn the same blue pants and shirt since he joined
the force. His pants were one inch too short and exposed his socks
when he sat down. Buttons on his shirt screamed for relief. His
belly had consumed one keg too many. Sheriff Bass was medium
height, square-jawed, with dark eyes. Hair parted to the left was
in need of a trim—a month ago. His mouth was open partly in a
mocking loose grin. He leaned back, folded his fingers together,
placing them over his stomach. His eyes didn’t blink.

“Here’s the diary.”

His face held a blank stare. He outstretched
his hand. I handed over the book. He snatched it from my hands and
immediately leafed through it, flipping pages quickly.

“You have to be careful with it, the pages
will fall apart. It’s very old.”

He flipped it over examining the back and
then the binding. Finally, he opened the cover. His expression
remained blank as if unimpressed. As he scanned the pages, he
frowned.

“You’ll have to read all of it. When I went
down into the basement, I spotted it, covered in dirt, only a small
portion of the edge sticking up. I couldn’t believe it when I read
it.”

“So you just stumbled on it in the
basement?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“I can’t believe after all these years no
one found it until you.”

“Me either.”

He sat still as he read a few lines. He gave
a quick curious glance, then flipped the cover shut. He rubbed his
face, then grasped the diary and stood.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Well, I’ll be in
touch.”

In other words, don’t call him, he’d call
me. I’d probably never see that diary again.

“Have you heard from Carolyn?” My stomach
dropped.

“I’m afraid we haven’t. Frank’s on his way
home now.”

“Do you think they’ll look for Corbin Berger
soon?”

“Probably.” He answered and walked toward
the front.

A man of many words. Getting info out of him
was like pulling teeth from a wild bear.

He opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.” He
tipped his hat to me.

“Come again. Next time we’ll have tea.” I
waved.

I slipped out of my tank top and lounge
pants and jumped in the shower. Once I forced myself to climb out
from under the soothing water, I dressed in a cardigan with tiny
pearl buttons and wool slacks. The perfect outfit for a research
trip to the library. The library opened at ten, so I had a little
bit of time to waste. I grabbed a quick breakfast, then tidied up
the house. Really I was just trying to occupy my mind and get rid
of the dreadful thoughts.