01 Flip That Haunted House - Haunted Renovation

by Rose Pressey

  “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.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  With still thirty minutes to go, I plopped down on the sofa. My stack of home improvement and home décor magazines had piled up, so I grabbed one from the top and relaxed back into the cushion. I leafed through, then read an article on kitchen makeovers. The one in the pictures had a hand-painted backsplash and custom stone hood. Maybe I could do something like that. After finishing the magazine, I glanced at the clock. If I left now, I’d get there right when they opened.

  The phone rang and my stomach flip-flopped. Was it Carolyn? Or, Frank calling with, God forbid, bad news. He said he’d call when he heard anything.

  “Alabama, it’s Frank.” Dreaded filled his voice.

  My hand shook. “Have you heard anything yet?” I twisted my hair with my index finger.

  “They found her car.” His words trembled.

  “Oh my God. Where?” I knew my instincts had been right.

  “In the parking lot shopping center over on Main. The police say she left on her own accord.” Frank let out a slight sniffle. He’d been crying. “She would never do that, Alabama. She’s happy. She’d never leave like that.”

  “I know, Frank. We’ll find her somehow. Maybe she’s stuck somewhere and can’t call, but we’ll find her.”

  I tried to comfort him, but I wasn’t sure she was all right myself.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Headed home. I’m driving south as fast as the law will allow. I had to go to Chicago on business. Now I wished I’d never left. If I’d been home this would have never happened.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He sighed. “I tried to catch a flight, but it was just as fast to drive.”

  “When did you speak with Carolyn last?”

  “The night before she went missing. Everything was fine. She said she was going to lounge around until I returned.”

  “Just be careful. You can’t help Carolyn if you’re in an accident.”

  “I will. I’m just trying to keep my mind busy with other thoughts. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.”

  “Does Reed know?” I asked.

  “Yes, I just talked to him.”

  I didn’t ask questions about Reed. As long as Reed finished my roof, I didn’t need to know his business.

  “Call me when you get home. I’ll come over if you’d like.”

  He didn’t need to be alone at a time like this.

  “I’ll do that. Thank you, Alabama. You’re so kind.”

  “You’re welcome. Drive safely, all right?”

  “Will do.”

  How terrified must Carolyn be? I imagined the worst. Was she lying lifeless in a ditch somewhere? How could someone just vanish without a trace? I knew it happened every day, but I never imagined it could happen to someone I knew. In the short time since I’d known Carolyn, I’d grown to think of her as a friend. Sometimes there are people you click with instantly, and she was one them.

  A short time later, I headed to Maple Hill Road. My car raced along the tree-lined street. I hung a right and a half-mile down turned left. Trudging up the hill, at the peak, I picked up speed, slowing at the bottom so as to not miss the turn. Trees arched thick over the road, blocking the sunlight.

  The cookie cutter subdivision—appropriately named Cooper Acres, of course—came into view. All the houses looked similar; the only differences were the colors. A couple of neighbors began to recognize my car and would wave and smile every time I passed by. The older couple at the end of the block sat on their front porch as they often did. I waved back as I passed. Almost there, my phone rang again. Was it news about Carolyn? Unknown caller was displayed on the caller ID window.

  This time, I clicked on the speakerphone to avoid an accident. I’d finally figured out how to use the feature. I almost didn’t want to answer, but braced myself for the worst and pushed talk.

  “Hello?” I paused, waiting for a response.

  Silence filled the air.

  “Hello?” I repeated.

  Heavy breathing sounded through the car.

  “Who is this?” I asked, not bothering to hide my anger.

  The line went dead. Was Carolyn calling me?

  I bounced up the steps of the house. Reed was nowhere in sight. No men worked on the roof. No shingles tumbled to the ground, and no men drank coffee instead of working. The place was quiet. So much for my flipping project. I needed to kick it into high gear, or my flip would be a flop. But who could work with so much chaos around.

  A large piece of floor tile leaned against the door. With my hands trembling, I picked up the tile. A car whizzed down the road
and made me jump. I glanced around to see if anyone watched. Clutching the tile, I leaned against the column and looked at it. Where had it come from? Why was it there? I flipped it over and gasped. Written in caulk were the words: I have what u r looking for. I gasped and my hand flew to my mouth.

  My grip loosened and the tile dropped onto the porch. What did it mean? I looked over my shoulder again. Was someone watching me? The warning was creepy as hell. But who the heck writes with a caulk gun? Maybe kids were just playing a joke on me. But how would they know to write such a thing?

  Someone had been messing around out there. Again. I shivered all over. My heart pounded and my stomach tumbled. I felt as if an electrical charge ran through my body. As if a thousand volts had shocked me to my core. I had to do something fast. I knew exactly what the letter meant—the killer had Carolyn. Should I call the police right away?

  I plunked down on the step and rummaged through my purse for my murderer suspect notes. My hands trembled as I scanned my comments. If only I’d found a clue at Payne’s office. No doubt, anything of significance the police took. I shouldn’t have expected to find something worthwhile. I stared at the page of my writing, then glanced down at my purse.

  The pad of paper with call M scribbled on it called to me from the depths of my bag. I retrieved it and twisted my pen in my hand, staring at the page. I stared as if answers would magically pop into my head. It was definitely a man’s handwriting, kind of like chicken scratches. Must have been Payne’s. I held the pad out. When I did, the sunshine gave me an entire new view of the page. My heart thumped. I grabbed the pad and slanted it toward the light, letting the sunshine stream across it. As I studied the paper, I soon realized how the police would have overlooked it. I couldn’t believe the clue had been right in front of me the whole time, yet barely visible. I knew where Carolyn was. There was one person I needed to talk with and I ended that call with my suspicions confirmed.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I jumped up and ran to the Volvo. Before even closing the door, I shoved the key in and turned the ignition. Nothing. I turned it again. Still nothing. Of all the times for the heap to finally give up on me. I paced around across the yard, trying not to gnaw on my fingernails. Reed’s truck was gone. Barney Fife, er, Sheriff Bass and his gang were convinced Carolyn had left on her own free will. Frank and I knew that was bull. I stood in the driveway and looked around as if a ride would magically appear. Across the way, a couple of neighbors worked in their yard. I couldn’t ask them. They didn’t know me and they’d surely think I was crazy for asking them to take me to a potential scene of a crime. Frank hadn’t had time to return home, so I couldn’t call him. I dialed Lacey’s number, but she didn’t answer. What could I do? I’d find a way, I had to. The killer would get more than they bargained for when they messed with me. But who would drive me there?

  “Mama, I need a favor.”

  I’d bought her a cell phone for Christmas last year. Even if she barely knew how to use the thing, it was worth every penny at that moment.

  “Sugar, what’s wrong? You sound upset.”

  “I need you to drive me somewhere.”

  “I’m shopping right now. Can you wait until I’m done?”

  “No!”

  “All right, calm down, sugar, don’t yell at your Mama. Where is it you need to go?”

  “Mama, listen to me. I’ll have to explain everything when you get here, right now I don’t have time. I need to go find my friend Carolyn. She’s in a bit of a bind.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Let’s just say it’s off the beaten path.”

  “In the woods or something?”

  “Yes, in the woods, Mama, lots of trees, animals, and such. We have to keep this a secret. I don’t want anyone to see us. Now, how fast can you get over here?”

  My frustration mounted. She asked too many questions.

  “Faster than you can say hair on a biscuit,” she sang.

  I think that meant she could be here in a jiffy, but I wasn’t about to ask.

  “Please, just hurry.” I clicked off before she could utter another “Sugar.”

  I hurried back to the porch steps and sat down. Pulling a page from Payne’s notepad, I scribbled a note to Reed. After explaining the situation as best as I could without sounding crazy, I placed the pad down and glanced at my watch. Where was she? Taking a hair tie from my purse, I pulled my hair back in a tight ponytail, the perfect style for my dangerous mission. I glanced at my watch again. She should be here soon. I told her to hurry and it had been almost an hour. My mouth was dry and my pulsed thumped. I fidgeted from side to side as I waited for her. When push came to shove, I could count on my mother for anything.

  A loud clanking echoed through the neighborhood. I stood, placed my hand above my eyes to shade the sun, and peered down the street. That’s when I saw it. Coming down the road with a trail of sooty air emitting from it, as if a theatrical fog machine on wheels, was my father’s old white truck. He’d owned the thing since before smog covered cities.

  I watched as she steered into the driveway, the smoke making a black Z behind it as the truck turned. Something bright and shiny glimmered from inside the truck, but I couldn’t make out the source. As the clunker came to a stop in front of the house, it let out one final putter, releasing a large puff of smoke. The large gasp from its tailpipe could have easily been the one last cough the truck spit out before it died.

  With one swift movement, my mother flounced from behind the wheel. Just when I thought she couldn’t shock me with her wardrobe, she did. There was no time to ask about her lovely costume. I’d wait until we were in the truck.

  She spotted me and threw her hand up, a smile from ear to ear.

  “You’ve gotta love her,” I said aloud.

  The whole neighborhood probably heard the junker pull up. With the note in my hand, I hurried to the door and stuck it between the crack. A small portion was visible. If Reed came over, he’d find it. Where was he anyway? I turned, scooped my purse from the step, flung it over my shoulder, and ran to the truck. I pulled the door open and hopped in, knocking coffee cups and papers out of my way.

  “Get in. Hurry,” I said.

  “I’m coming. She scuttled over and slid behind the wheel.

  “Come on, Mama. We have to hurry before it’s too late.” I gestured for her to turn the key.

  “What’s wrong with your car?” she squawked.

  “That’s it. Switch sides.” I hopped out and moved around to her side. “I’m driving.” My mother tumbled out and scuttled over to the passenger seat. “I’m fine with driving, you’re too impatient. You’ll have a hard time figuring out how this truck works. It’s not easy, you know.”

  I slid in and scanned the area to familiarize myself with the gears. “Nothing Daddy drives is easy. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You have to pull on that black knob over there,” she said, pointing to a large round object.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, your father added it. The truck won’t start without it.”

  The large black knob didn’t come with the truck out of the factory—another one of my father’s inventions. I cranked the ignition, praying it would start, but expected it wouldn’t.

  A loud vroom rang out and a murky cloud of gray flew up in a big veil from behind us.

  “Please don’t let this thing blow up,” I said under my breath.

  “Oh, we’re on our way now. I feel like a spy on a mission or a ninja,” she chirped.

  I glanced at over at her, “Yeah, you look just like a ninja, Mama,” I scoffed. “You look more like an overstuffed GI Jane doll. What’s with the outfit?” I asked, almost afraid of her answer.

  She wore baggy camouflage pants with matching jacket. A pair of orange high top sneakers with a matching sequined baseball cap completed the look. The woman loved her sequins.

  “I figured it would hide me on our mission.”

  “Uh-huh.”r />
  I couldn’t believe it, but she did have a point. Hiding would be good but…

  “The orange kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” I glanced at her again, then twisted the steering wheel. “No power steering?” I mumbled. My arms felt as if they might fall off.

  “I’ve seen hunters wear orange with their outfits before.”

  “Where exactly have you seen hunters? Last time I checked, you’ve never been hunting.” I navigated the streets in the Sanford and Son truck. The theme song was on a loop in my head. We looked as if we’d just come from the junkyard.

  “On TV and in Wal-Mart. Besides the man who sold me the outfit said I’d need one of those orange vests. But the vest just didn’t work for me, so I improvised.”

  “Right.” I shook my head.

  A man had actually sold her that hideous outfit? I should hunt him down like a deer for such a dreadful crime.

  “Let me get this straight, you bought that to wear on purpose?” I struggled with the wheel as we moved away from town. “Is that what took you so long? I told you to come right away.”

  “I sure did,” she stated proudly. “As a matter of fact, I bought you one to match.”

  “Oh my God. No way.” I looked at her in horror and the truck veered off. A passing car slowed down, then swerved to avoid us.

  “You need this,” she said.

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Well, you don’t want to be spotted, do you?” She gazed at me, waiting for my answer.

  “You’d better get your money back, because I’m not wearing it.”

  She glared at me. I kept my eyes on the road and didn’t acknowledge her stare. A short sniffle escaped her. Then she let out a sob. I couldn’t believe she pulled the crying move on me. Of all times. I was stressed and I didn’t need her high jinks. I looked over. A tear fell down her cheek, slowly dropping onto her not-so-concealed chest.

  “Oh, for the love of sequins. All right. I’ll wear the darn thing.”

  She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and smiled. Definitely an Oscar-worthy performance.

  “Watch your mouth, young lady.”