by CeeCee James
We followed her into a room that I assumed was a study. The windows were streaked with grime, and clutter was everywhere. I glanced at Kari, wondering exactly what she expected me to do with this mess. I wasn’t a miracle worker.
Ms. Valentine brought out an antique pen and raised her eyebrows expectantly at us.
Kari jumped. “Oh yes.” She quickly went through the folder and pulled out the document, then directed Ms. Valentine where to sign and initial.
Ms. Valentine’s stubbed pen scratched across the paper. Her signature was beautiful calligraphy.
“Okay!” Kari said brightly when Ms. Valentine had finished. “Well, now. I’m going to leave you in the very capable hands of Stella O’Neil here. She’ll need to get familiar with the house to begin the staging process.”
My mouth dropped open. She wasn’t abandoning me here, was she?
“Excuse us,” I said to Ms. Valentine with what I hoped passed for a smile and then drew Kari outside to the hall. “You can’t be serious. How am I to get home?”
She jingled a set of keys. “You can take the van home. It’s the company vehicle anyway.” She pulled out her phone. “My Joe is here.” Then, sensing how nervous I was, she patted my arm. “You’ve got this. Nothing like jumping into the deep end of the pool to learn to swim. Relax, you’ll be fine. I’ll send you the number of a cleaning company to call, and this will all be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
I didn’t appreciate the cutsie encouragement, and that sentiment must have shown on my face.
Rather than be offended, Kari laughed. “You’ve got to start somewhere, and right now you’re on the bottom.”
Before I knew what was happening, she was out the door and hurrying to a waiting car.
“But Kari!” I yelled.
She showed me no sympathy. Just waved and sped off.
Slowly, I turned back to find Ms. Valentine watching me with a sour expression on her face.
“Well, are you coming in or were you born in a barn? We don't normally keep the doors open in these parts,” she snapped before walking away.
Feeling like a kicked puppy, I headed back inside.
Once in the hall, I heard a patter of little feet. The sound was jarring, and I glanced around for a child. To my surprise, coming around the corner was a woman who was scarcely taller than your average fifth grader. She exuded an innocent jubilance as her tiny feet danced across the worn floorboards.
“Hello! Hello!” she exclaimed, her hands clapping together. “Gladys! You didn’t tell me we had guests.”
Ms. Valentine turned stiffly and dipped her chin in my direction. “Sister, it seems the realty company has mistaken us for a babysitter. Starla is her name.”
“Stella,” I corrected and held out my hand. It was quickly grasped in the shorter woman’s plump hands.
“Oh, how do you do? Isn’t this so exciting!” she flushed and brushed a curl of her gray hair behind her ear. “Valentine Manor hasn’t seen so much action in years.” Her forehead puckered as she thought. “Not since the snowfall of ’98. Remember that, Gladys? The mailman got stranded here!”
The much taller Ms. Valentine rested her hand on her sister’s shoulder, the two sisters appearing like a lodgepole pine tree next to a squatty cabin. “Starla, this is my younger sister, also Ms. Valentine.”
This time, I didn’t bother to correct the wrong name.
“Oh, you can call me Charity. But, please. I don’t need any more reminders that I never found a beau.” She giggled. “It’s never too late!”
“It’s too late, sister,” Ms. Valentine said with an assertive nod.
“You never know!” Charity defended herself with a pout. “It’s not over until the fat lady sings. Or so they say.”
Ms. Valentine raised a thin eyebrow. “I seem to remember you singing during your bath the other day.”
Charity’s mouth dropped. “Oh! That’s unkind. That’s so very unkind of you, Gladys.”
Ms. Valentine ignored her and motioned to me. “I suppose you need a tour? Let’s get on with it.”
The first room was the formal living room. A stone fireplace, large enough to hold an enormous log, took up nearly one wall. As we stood admiring it, a crash came from the room to the left. I jumped and spun around.
Neither of the Valentine sisters reacted.
“Shouldn’t we check to see if someone fell and is hurt?” I asked.
Ms. Valentine leaned against her cane. “There’s no one here but us. You must realize, this house is very old. It will make an odd sound every now and then.”
Charity giggled again. “Maybe we are bugging the ghosts.”
I raised my eyebrows. Definitely not the answer I wanted to hear.
“So, why are you selling the manor now?” I asked, to change the subject. Casually, I walked around an old sofa, reaching to feel the thick tapestry covering. I immediately recoiled at the layer of dust.
“That’s none of your concern,” Ms. Valentine answered.
Okay. I tried again. “Will you be selling the furniture with the house?”
“Perhaps. If the price is right.” She led us briskly from the room. “The company mentioned they would be hiring house cleaners. I don’t trust them.”
“We got rid of our last housekeeper five years ago,” Charity said sadly.
“Might I remind you of our missing silverware?” Ms. Valentine responded. “If we kept her we’d be down to our last spoon.”
“We’ll make it as painless as possible. Just a light dusting and a bit of a yard clean up,” I hurried to reassure her.
In my head I was screaming, Liar. Liar. Pants on fire. It was going to take a heck of a lot more than a light dusting.
She took me through two more rooms and then we ended at a staircase. I pointed to the stairs. “Where do those go to?”
“This house has four floors. The upper level is completely closed off. We’ve taken to living in the three bottom rooms down here.”
It didn’t seem like she was offering to take the tour upstairs. That was okay. I figured I could check it out when the cleaning company was here.
Back at the front door, I assured the ladies I’d be back in the morning to help stage, and thanked them for their time.
As I walked out to the van, I called the cleaning company that Kari had texted to me. I made the appointment for the following day and then got in the van and strapped on the seatbelt.
Deep breathe. This could be done. Just need some rubber gloves and some glass cleaner. A whole lotta glass cleaner.
Feeling better, I put the gear in reverse and turned to look over my shoulder.
A huge man stood behind my vehicle.
I screamed and slammed on the brakes.
He lurched over to my door. I flinched, not sure if I should unroll the window or just get the heck out of there.
He had on a plaid shirt and jeans and appeared comfortable here. I vaguely remembered Kari mentioning there was a brother. I opted for the window.
“Hello, can I help you?” I asked.
“Did I scare you?” He stared with pig-eyes and showed no emotion.
“Ah, yes, you sure did.” I nervously smiled.
There was no response other than a deep exhale.
My nerves crawled. “Was there something you needed?” I asked again.
“I like scaring people,” he answered.
Well, now. The only thing that kept me from flooring the gas and getting the heck out of Dodge was the man’s age. He appeared to be in his late seventies. Still, his hands looked strong.
“Okay, I’m going to go now,” I said, slowly winding up the window.
“I’m Richard.” He stuck his hand through the partial opening.
I licked my lip, staring at it, before timidly giving it a little shake. “How do you do. Very nice to meet you. Well, don’t worry. I’m going to do a great job getting this house sold.”
This elicited the first real emotional response from him. He f
rowned, his brows beetling together as he turned to stare up at the house. “My sisters are glad to be rid of it,” he said. “But you can’t always get rid of ghosts that easily. They have a way of following you.”
Oh…kay. I was definitely ready to go. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Valentine.”
He backed away slowly. I noticed his boots were worn and mud-caked.
I reversed out of the driveway as fast as was politely possible. Once on the road, I chanced a quick glance in the rearview mirror.
He stood at the end of the driveway staring after me, his arms hanging by his sides.
And then he smiled. It wasn’t a good one.
Chapter 3
The morning started with a gurgle. A literal one. I’m not sure what happened, but a wet popping noise in the bathroom—of which terrified me more than any nightmare—reluctantly dragged from my sleep and into the room to see what had happened. I peeked between my fingers. Sure enough, the toilet was overflowing.
I have no idea what happened. I had to squelch across the floor and locate the little handle behind the toilet to turn off the water. Which brought me up close and personal to more than I wanted to see… ever.
After throwing down towels the previous renters had left behind in the linen closet and calling Mrs. Crawford the landlord (who, with properly horrified tones, assured me she’d have a plumber right out) I rinsed off as best as I could and got dressed. It was time for me to leave my mess and clean up someone else’s.
I had just pulled out onto the highway when my phone rang. My car’s blue tooth sent the phone call through its speakers.
I clicked the green phone toggle on the steering wheel and answered, “Hello, Stella speaking.”
“Stella. It’s Dad. I haven’t heard from you lately.”
“Hi, Dad! Everything’s going great here. I just got unpacked and I’m heading out to my first job. How are you?”
“Well, now. I was calling to see if you’d worked this so-called adventure out of your system yet and were ready to come home. I was able to wrangle an awesome job opportunity for you, but it’s not going to be available forever.”
Oh, he was trying to tempt me. Visions of the overflowing toilet, my bills and the lack of money spun in my mind. Not to mention the moving van still hadn’t shown up. Then there was my task at hand with preparing the Valentine estate, with the boxes, and the dust, and the cold looks and creepy stares of the elderly siblings.
Back in Seattle, it’s true, I had everything I could have ever wanted. But I was out here to push myself. To learn something. Dad, God love him, thought there was only one way to do things. And if I caved, I’d just be validating his belief.
I shook my head and said, “No, everything is going great here.”
“That’s not what your uncle says.”
“You’ve been talking with Uncle Chris?”
“Of course, I have. I want to know that everything is going okay with you. And he says you had a disaster in your house this morning.”
I frowned. How on earth could Uncle Chris have known about the toilet? Then I remembered that Mrs. Crawford was a friend of his. But why would she call to tell him about the bathroom incident?
“Everything is fine. Just a plugged toilet. Easy fix,” I said breezily, trying to wash the swirling brown truth from my mind.
“You’re stubborn, just like your mom,” Dad said.
His words cut like a knife to my heart. I took a deep breath. But, not knowing the woman, I didn’t know how to respond. Like usual. I felt a mixture of denying I was like her, and disloyalty that I was not defending her.
“Well, you always said not to be a push-over,” I answered finally.
He snorted. “At least leave that grandfather of yours alone. He’s dangerous. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
“I haven’t said anything to him, Dad,” I answered.
“I moved you out to Washington to protect you. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to watch you go waltzing right back into the fire, with no regard or respect for what I say.”
“I do respect you, Dad.” I puffed my cheeks to hold back a sigh. I’d heard those words before. They were his old standby in every lecture I’d ever gotten.
“You need to listen to me, for once in your life.”
“I hear you.” I hit my blinker and took the exit. At the bottom, I turned left and headed into the town of Brookfield.
He exhaled deeply. “It’s because I love you, Sweet Pea. That’s why I warn you and bug you.”
“I know, Dad. I love you too.”
We said our goodbyes and then I hung up. How much more could happen today? My emotions were feeling tattered along the edges. I squeezed the steering wheel. Okay, girl. Time to get my game face on. I’m in charge here. I’m going to be the best darn house stager Flamingo realty has ever seen. I’m going to—
A blaring horn caused me to scream and swerve. A car had shot out of a blind driveway.
“Not my fault, you crazy—” I shook my fist in the rearview mirror at the retreating vehicle.
“Okay, Stella. Get a grip,” I muttered to myself.
I pulled down the Valentine’s long driveway. My insides felt weak and wimpy. Luckily, the cleaning service was already there. I parked next to the green-and-white van and got out.
A gal climbed out of the driver’s side of the van.
“Hello!” she said, smiling brightly. She looked like a quintessential housekeeper, with a bandanna holding back her hair and a white uniform on. “I’m Denise. I guess we’re doing a bit of house cleaning today, hmm?”
I immediately felt fortified seeing her. “That’s right! I’m Stella, by the way.” I turned toward the house and straightened my shoulders. “Okay, you ready to tackle the beast?”
She’d been pulling out a plastic bucket filled with cleaning supplies from the back of the van when I said that. She paused and asked, uncertainly, “The beast?”
I smiled, not knowing whether I was describing the house or Ms. Valentine. “Let’s go,” I said, and marched to the front door.
It opened as I climbed the squeaking stairs. Richard hung on to the doorknob with a ham-sized hand and stared dully at me.
I could hardly believe this man was a prankster. He looked more like a serial killer.
“Richard,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “We haven’t formally met, but I’m from Flamingo Realty. Like I was telling you yesterday, we’re here to help get your place ready for the open house.”
“You going to try to get rid of the ghosts?” He stared with those tiny eyes. I glanced next to me. Denise was nowhere to be found. I turned and saw her reluctantly waiting on the bottom step.
Okay, then. Let’s get this job over with. “I’m not sure about that, but we’ll get it ready for sale.”
There was no movement, not even a flicker of an eyebrow to show he’d heard me. Nerves tickled up my spine.
“Out of the way, Richard,” Ms. Valentine came to the door and nudged her brother away with her cane. He moved heavily as though his boots were made of concrete.
“You’re late,” Ms. Valentine’s bony hand gripped the iron head of her cane.
Late? I resisted the urge to look at my watch. I knew I wasn’t late. I’m sure I’d mentioned I’d be here sometime this morning.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Denise rambled next to me, Ms. Valentine’s accusation clearly had taken her off guard. She shifted her bucket in her hand. “I was told to be here by ten and so—”
Ms. Valentine ignored Denise like she was a fruit fly, and continued to stare at me. “You stated that you’d be here in the morning. I consider morning to be seven. Eight at the latest. We don’t sleep away our lives here.”
I’m just going to by-pass that little comment. “So,” I said, with a million-watt smile. “We’re here now and we’d like to get started so we can quickly get out of your hair.”
“What a deplorable statement,” Ms. Valentine sniffed. She stepped awa
y from the doorway and we walked inside.
The house curtains remained closed and the interior was as dark as a tomb. I could hear Denise swallow as she walked next to me, the cleaner bottles softly clanking in her bucket. Ms. Valentine led us into the drawing room where Denise’s eyebrows flickered as if she were tallying up what needed to be done. They quickly smoothed down. I was impressed with the job she did keeping her face emotionless. It was overwhelming.
“Oh, more guests!” Charity tottered around the corner. Her hair hung in old-fashioned little girl curls which bobbed as she turned to smile at all of us. “Sister, should I get the pie?”
“Not now. Go back up to your room and practice your piano.”
Charity’s grin fell. “But—”
Ms. Valentine ignored her. “Ms. O’Neil, if I could have a word with you.”
“Of course.” I followed Ms. Valentine out in the hall, momentarily taken back when I saw Richard standing by the drawing room doorway. It took everything to control the shiver as I passed him.
Ms. Valentine walked quickly. Despite her age and cane, her long legs made it difficult for me to keep up without appearing like a puppy chasing after its owner. She turned the corner into the study. Unfortunately, I had to catch up.
As soon as I entered, she began, “Ms. O’Neil, that woman is not to have free rein in my house. I haven’t vetted her. I don’t know who she is. We have valuables here.”
That woman? Oh, Denise. And yet you left her alone to tell me. “I understand. However, she’s with a very reputable company. We wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t come highly recommended.”
“Regardless, you will monitor her movements in this house.”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well,” she waved her hand. Once again, I felt like that puppy, now being shooed away.
When I returned to the drawing room, Denise had disappeared.
Richard was standing in there with his hands clutched in loose fists. Just as I was about to ask him where she went, I heard the spitting of gravel from the driveway. I ran to the porch to see the green-and-white van leave in a cloud of dust.
What in the world had happened? Had he said something to her?