01 Flip That Haunted House - Haunted Renovation

by Rose Pressey

  Praise for Me and My Ghoulfriends by Rose Pressey

  “Rose Pressey spins a delightful tale with misfits and romance that makes me cheer loudly.”

  Coffee Time Romance

  “Her characters are alive and full of quick witted charm and will make you laugh. The plot twists keep you turning the pages non-stop.”

  ParaNormalRomance

  “I absolutely loved this book! It had me chuckling from the beginning.”

  Fallen Angel Reviews

  More books from Rose Pressey:

  How to Date a Werewolf (Rylie Cruz, Book 1)

  How to Date a Vampire (Rylie Cruz, Book 2)

  How to Date a Demon (Rylie Cruz, Book 3)

  Me and My Ghoulfriends (Larue Donavan, Book 1)

  Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan, Book 2)

  Rock ‘n’ Roll Is Undead (Veronica Mason, Book 1)

  No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells (Mystic Café, Book 1)

  Flip That Haunted House

  Copyright © 2011, Rose Pressey

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published in the United States of America by Rose Pressey

  Dedication

  This is to you, and you know who you are.

  FLIP THAT HAUNTED HOUSE

  Rose Pressey

  Chapter One

  I’ve had a few not-so-good cash making ideas over the years. Nothing illegal—as far as I knew. But this time, I’d found my calling.

  Lacey and I sat in front of the house. A long driveway stretched down the middle with tall maple trees hovering over each side.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said.

  “But you’ve never flipped a house.”

  “How hard can it be? I’ve tiled a bathroom before.” I turned off the ignition.

  “Weren’t they stick-on tiles?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What about the door-to-door makeup sales fiasco?”

  I shook my head. “Wasn’t my fault.”

  “The pet grooming idea?”

  “In hindsight, not one of my better ideas, I’ll admit. How was I supposed to know a Chihuahua could chew through a leash?”

  “And your latest venture?”

  “Hey, I love interior decorating, but in good old Rosewood, Kentucky, there’s not a huge demand for matching curtains and coordinating wall paint.”

  “Good point.” Lacey lifted her sunglasses for a better view. “But this place is a mess.”

  “Don’t hold back, Lacey. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Well, look at the weeds. And the shingles are falling off,” she hissed.

  “Some paint, new floors, cabinets, appliances, and it’ll be good to go. Besides, money is tight—I’m sick of eating mac-n-cheese.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll be eating ramen noodles before long.” She shook her head while keeping her attention drawn to the neglected façade.

  “I don’t watch HGTV for nothing, you know.”

  “Drooling over Ty Pennington does not count.”

  “Ty’s not on HGTV.”

  “He’s not?”

  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Take a gander at this place.” I pointed to the house. “Envision the way it’ll look after I’m done.”

  She laughed. Smart-ass.

  Nestled amid the modern hubbub, the house looked like a mini-plantation—a glimpse of the past. Red brick with white columns and black shutters. Suburbia had taken over, but the home was still beautiful. More than likely the surrounding acres had belonged to the property. I envisioned the grand parties held on sultry summer nights spilling out from the house and onto the veranda—ladies in their beautiful gowns and gents in their finest suits.

  “Alabama Hargrove, you need to stop daydreaming. Let’s go inside.” Lacey stretched her long legs out from the car.

  I hurried out from behind the wheel. The pounding of a hammer disturbed the peaceful surroundings, but the house commanded my attention. I stopped and peered up. A porch spanned the front of the house and the large white columns stood proud. Lacey grabbed my arm and led me to the stone path. My heart thumped with excitement. We walked up the steps toward the front door. The floor creaked under my feet and I kicked the fallen leaves out of the way. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior. The space was dark and silent— dare I say, creepy?

  “Leave it to you to want to buy a haunted house.”

  “Those are the best kind,” I said.

  “Most people would run the other way at the idea of buying a house full of ghosts.”

  “I’m not most people. Besides, I doubt it’s haunted. People hear a mouse or something, and immediately the house is declared full of ghosts.”

  “Oh, it’s haunted.” She nodded.

  “It is?”

  “I see spirits, remember?” Lacey winked.

  “I know, but I didn’t think they’d appear so soon.”

  “You never know when they’ll pop up. There’s a spirit watching us right now,” she said.

  “There is?” I glanced over my shoulder.

  Walking back to the front door, I raised my hand to knock. Before my fist hit wood, the door swung open. I stumbled back, wobbling, and almost landed on my rear. Lacey snorted, but held her laughter.

  “Howdy, folks!” The boisterous male voice rang out.

  A fat, bald man stood in the doorway. He chuckled and his belly jiggled. If he’d had hair, a beard and a red suit, I’d call him Santa.

  “You nearly scared me to death.” I clutched my chest.

  “I’m Jim Richmond, the realtor. You must be Ms. Hargrove. Pleased to meet you.” He stretched his hand out. “Sorry if I frightened you.”

  By Jim’s voice over the phone, I had expected more of a young Elvis Presley-type. Gorgeous, with a silky southern drawl, invoked gold suits or hip shaking, not a too tight tweed jacket and slightly wrinkled dark pants.

  Lacey had talked me into using a realtor for my house-flipping project. I balked at first, but perhaps Mr. Richmond would be helpful in my search. I had been as busy as a stump-tailed cow in fly time—house hunting was hard work. Not to mention the stress—hours on the internet, and driving from house to house had gotten me nowhere.

  Lacey leaned against one of the huge white columns. I motioned for her. She strolled toward me, but stopped in her tracks.

  “Whoa. Come to mama.” She blurted out.

  “What are you talking about?” I followed her stare.

  “That tall glass of water.” Lacey pointed.

  Flexed biceps were visible all the way from were I stood. Next door, tall, dark, and handsome watched us. He wore a dark T-shirt and jeans. Lacey was right; he was a tall glass of water.

  “He needs to watch where he swings his hammer.” I pulled my attention away from him.

  “He can swing his hammer my way anytime he wants.”

  “Lacey!” I held in my laughter.

  Jim turned a dark shade of red and diverted his eyes. I grabbed Lacey’s arm and escorted her into the house. I stopped behind her and glanced out the door to catch one last glimpse. Big mis
take. Mr. Muscles looked up and caught me gawking. He laughed and I blushed. He may be easy on the eyes, but I had business to tend to, no time for goofing off. I hurried in behind Lacey before I had a chance to sneak another peek.

  Chapter Two

  “As you can see the home needs work.” Jim waved his stubby little hand around the room.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” I said as I knocked a cobweb out of my way.

  Jim chuckled nervously. “The bones are good, though. It’s a solid house.”

  Our footsteps echoed, filling the house with noise. Light from the open door highlighted the scratched floor. The peeling paint on the walls stood out. The fall air rushed in and stirred the staleness that encircled the room.

  Lacey stood in the foyer with her mouth agape. “Wow.”

  “Holy…,” I said.

  A grand staircase swooped down to greet us. I envisioned Scarlett at the top with her big hoop skirt and Rhett Butler bursting though the door to whisk her away. Of course, during my daydream I pictured myself as Scarlett. Too bad I didn’t have a Rhett.

  “Bama, come quick, you have got to see this,” Lacey yelled, snapping me back to reality.

  “What?” I tried to sound nonchalant. No need to seem overly anxious in front of Jim.

  Lacey marched around the room with an electrifying zest. I scanned the parlor and knew why she was excited. The space was stunning. All it needed was a good cleaning. Well…maybe a little more than cleaning.

  “Are these the original hardwood floors?” I shuffled my foot across the planks.

  “I do believe they are.” Jim beamed. Were those dollar signs in his eyes?

  I continued my walk around the room. “They’re beautiful. I can’t believe they’re in such good shape considering the age. Just a few scratches, of course.”

  More columns graced the entrance of the space—smaller than the ones outside. The room was enormous with a twelve-foot ceiling. A large fireplace adorned one wall.

  “Just stunning,” Lacey squealed. “Look at that.”

  A mural of gorgeous roses filled one wall. They climbed to the ceiling with a trellis painted around the entrance to the dining room.

  “Oh, wow,” I squealed.

  Jim jiggled about the room. “I can contact the owners for you, if you’d like to make an offer.”

  My nonchalant act was not working. If I didn’t calm down, the owner would ask double the price.

  Lacey’s eyes narrowed and she glared at Jim. So much for her excitement.

  “I think she needs to see the rest of the house first, don’t you?” She crossed her arms across her waist and strolled into the kitchen.

  Jim ignored her question and looked at me. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  The roses were beautiful. The colors had faded over the years, but the pinks, greens, and yellows still blended beautifully. An overwhelming urge to reach out and touch them rushed over me. I walked closer to the mural, but resisted.

  “The owner built a subdivision all around this place.”

  “I see that. What a shame.” I moved into the kitchen and Jim followed like my shadow.

  “The house is listed on the register of historic places, because of that, they wouldn’t let the current owner tear it down. I believe he would’ve in a minute, but he simply can’t.”

  “Has a soft spot for history, does he?” A cabinet door came off in my hand. I could screw it back on, no problem. “When did you say the house was built?”

  “1836, I believe. I can check on that for you when I get back to the office.”

  “That’s all right. 1836 or 1837, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”

  “You pretty ladies sisters?” Jim cut his gaze to Lacey.

  Flattery would get him nowhere. No doubt, he was attempting to entice me, but his efforts were futile. Lacey and I looked nothing alike. My hair was much darker and my complexion olive against her porcelain. My eyes are green and hers brown. I’m short and she’s tall. And, the differences didn’t stop there.

  “No,” I said. “Just best friends.”

  We made our way through the home and I loved it—from the cherry floors to the fancy molding. When I reached the foyer again, Lacey burst my flip-that-house bubble.

  “It needs a ton of work.” Her face scrunched up with concern.

  “Not that much.” I tried convincing myself.

  “The walls are in bad shape, even I can see that.” She touched the wall. “I’m not sure the electric even works. Not to mention the plumbing.” She ticked each one off on her fingers.

  I didn’t know what to say. Lacey made valid points, but when had I ever listened to something like that?

  “And those are just the ones I can see,” she exclaimed. “Who knows what kind of hidden disasters lurk within these walls.”

  As if she knew anything about restoring a house. She didn’t even watch HGTV.

  I shot her an annoyed look, but she ignored me.

  “The kitchen needs to be totally renovated, along with all four bathrooms. Did you see those bathtubs? Do you know how much that will cost?”

  “I’m a bargain shopper,” I protested.

  She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Plus, I think the house needs a new roof, and the shingles are falling off. Not to mention the electrical and plumbing work that it probably needs.”

  “You already said electric and plumbing. No need to list them twice. Are you done? You’re worse than my mother.”

  “Don’t ever say that,” she warned.

  “Sorry, I speak the truth.” I held my hands up in surrender.

  She rubbed her temples. “Sounds as if you’ve made up your mind. What about the ghosts?” she whispered. “There’s one in the kitchen now. It’s some old guy.”

  “There is? Really? In the kitchen, now?” I peered over her shoulder. Having a resident ghost could be cool, in my opinion. Unless, of course, he was evil. But other people didn’t see it my way. “Listen, that’s why it’s a bargain. We’ll burn some sage around and presto, no ghost.”

  Jim pretended not to be eavesdropping while winding his watch.

  “You’re crazy.” Lacey spat.

  She always called me bananas when I got a new scheme, er, idea, but I figured she was just jealous of my entrepreneurial skills.

  We stepped off the porch and I tried to suppress the bounce in my step. If I wanted to snatch this place up at the lowest possible price, I needed to act as cool as a frosty December morning. Jim locked the door behind him and hurried down the steps. I turned and gazed at the house, breathing in the scent of the fall air.

  “So, ready to make an offer?” he leaned against his truck, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and smiled.

  “No, she’s not.” Lacey shook her head. “You’re not.” She glared at me. “Tell him you’re not.”

  “I’ll meet you at your office,” I said.

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. I think she mumbled a few cuss words under her breath.

  Before climbing into my car, I asked, “Mr. Richmond, why hasn’t anyone restored this beautiful home yet? It’s not because it’s haunted, is it?” I winked at Lacey. She still sulked.

  Jim didn’t answer. He hopped in his truck, not even looking my way. I was sure he had heard my question. Did he ignore me on purpose?

  We headed down the driveway following Jim’s truck. Lacey sat in silence, arms folded. She would get over it—she always did. I glanced in the rearview mirror for one last peek at the house (not the hot guy)—with any luck, it would be mine soon. For a fleeting moment, I caught movement. When I looked up, a man peered out of the upstairs window.

  Chapter Three

  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 swag
gers 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.