They went to her desk, where Anna sat at her computer and closed all of the browsers full of real estate listings. Then she pulled up a number of digital photos. Nate saw a miniature little Anna frolicking about in any number of situations. Swinging on a swing set at a park. Pointing to a missing tooth. Wearing little arm floaties as she splashed around in a creek. Anna was crouched down beside her in that photo, wearing a white bikini that caused Nate to pantomime a closer examination of the scenery so as to delay the flip to the next picture. Anna provided commentary about each occasion to go with the visuals. After a few minutes, Nate couldn’t help but marvel at the parade of photographs that allowed a brief glimpse into this amazing person’s life.
“You seem like you have a great little girl there.”
“Oh, she is. She’s my whole world. Everything I do is for her. But she can be a handful, too. Let me tell you. She’s got her mommy’s temper.”
“You have a temper?” Nate said, surprised. “I thought you handled your Ex there pretty calmly.”
Anna smiled and shook her head. “These days, I only get mad about things that matter. The Ricker is not one of those things.”
“Well, your daughter is a beautiful little girl. Just like her mommy.”
“Thank you!” Anna said, basking in the compliment. She stared happily into space for a few moments. Then she took a deep breath and blinked away the thought. “But anyway. What brings you into town today?”
Nate pulled out a chair on the other side of the desk and sat down. “What makes you think I didn’t drive out here just to see you?”
She dropped her chin and stared at him. “Okay, no really, why are you here?”
Nate looked long and hard at the girl across from him. The slightest of wrinkles around her eyes betrayed the strain of being a single mom. She seemed relaxed, but fatigue still radiated from her posture as if she had been up all night—maybe tending to her daughter, maybe arguing with Rick. She was young, fit, and beautiful. She clearly had her head screwed on straight. Nate was positive she got hit on all the time. But there was a hint of loneliness there, too, of someone who wanted more than what life was currently prepared to give.
All that said, Anna was correct in guessing there was a reason Nate had come by.
“You didn’t tell me that my Aunt’s place was supposedly haunted.”
Anna’s smile took on a plastic quality. She looked like someone not quite sure whether or not it was safe yet to pull on a superglue repair.
“Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“My neighbors. They came over the other day to introduce themselves. So—is that the story on my new house?”
A long pause. “Those are all just old wives’ tales,” she said with care. A tiny look of alarm crept into her eyes. “Why? Is something the matter?”
“No. No, everything’s fine.” Nate leaned back. “I mean, I don’t believe in that stuff. But I was thinking back to all those comps you pulled. I was wondering if you were factoring in all the haunted stuff into your price, and that’s why they were so low.”
Anna stared intently at him. Then she let out a deep breath and in an instant, her entire expression changed. Gone was the perky, animated realtor, replaced by a woman who suddenly looked very, very tired.
“Are you okay?” Nate said.
“Yes. I’m fine. Thanks.” Anna stared at her notepad for a moment. “Look, Nate, I’m going to level with you. Everyone for a hundred miles around knows the story behind the McAuliffe place. It is supposed to be haunted. Actually, since your mom first contacted me I’ve been working with Elvira next door to see if she can help me sell it. There’s a booming business in New Orleans for haunted real estate, and she has connections into those sorts of people. So we’re sort of business partners on this one.”
“So that’s why you’re expecting such a discount.”
“No, the haunted part should actually help. I’m discounting the comps because the place is a dump.”
“Huh,” Nate said.
Anna let out another sigh. “But to be honest, Nate, no real estate is really moving around here right now. It’s a tough market. A lot of the old money is already fat and happy with whatever they’ve got, and the new money is either in distress or moving away because the economy’s in the tank.” She scowled as she doodled on a nearby notepad. “I haven’t closed a deal in four months. It’s hard to put food on the table when the market is so bad.”
“Wow. That’s tough.”
Anna managed a weak smile. “Sorry for not sharing all this with you upfront.”
“Hey, that’s okay,” Nate offered. “It’s not your fault, looking for a quick sale at a discount. You’re just trying to get some business. It’s a perfectly natural thing to do, right?”
“Yeah,” Anna agreed half-heartedly.
“Besides, with the plans I’ve got—that house is going to be beautiful when I’m done. Just picture this, Anna.” Nate stroked the air in front of him with his palm. “A totally remodeled kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A master bedroom with beautiful crown molding for a really elegant feel. A second-floor bathroom with a great big claw foot bathtub, oiled bronze fixtures, and porcelain subway tile halfway up the wall. Can you see it?”
“It does sound nice, yes.”
“I’m telling you, Anna, it’s going to look great. And when we do the grand unveiling with a big Open House, people are going to flock to Lyon, Louisiana just to catch a glimpse of the stately southern mansion with a rich and exotic history.”
Anna frowned again at her doodle. “Nate. Are you sure you have the skills to pull off this remodel?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my friend Matt is a pretty experienced contractor. He, uh, had some serious concerns when we visited the other day.”
Nate dismissed the concern with a wave. “Oh, come on, we’re still in the demo phase here. Demolition is always going to look messy, right? Remember, Anna, it’s always darkest just before dawn.”
“Actually, it’s usually darkest in the middle of the night.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed as he considered this, but as usual, his optimism bounced back immediately. He arched his eyebrow at her. “But in our case, then, there’s a full moon.”
Anna laughed.
“You have a wonderful laugh.”
“Thanks,” Anna said. Her eyes took on a rueful look. “Are you mad about me not saying anything about the haunted part?”
“No, of course not. I mean, it’s your job to get the house sold, not provide some sort of commentary on the history of the place.”
“Thanks, Nate. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like it’s been a problem so far. No signs of any ‘haunted house’ activity, or anything silly like that.” Nate smirked as he made air quotes with his fingers.
“Well, that’s good,” Anna said, sharing in the joke. “Maybe your ghost went on vacation.”
Nate chuckled. “I didn’t know my Aunt very well, but what I remember placed her off the far end of the kooky scale. I bet living with her would be enough to make anyone take a trip, even a ghost.”
8
“And that’s how we ended up replacing the water wheel at that old mill,” said the ghost of Colonel Rufus Theodore Oliver McAuliffe. He strode a lazy gait through the grass field, enjoying the conversation with his new companion. “We had just gotten to the point where it was beyond repair, and the remaining course of action was quite obvious.”
Meow, said Gilligan.
“Oh, don’t I know it. It would have been much easier to simply replace the paddles. But with that bearing rusted through, it was ultimately going to cost far more. Best to do it right and be done with it.”
Meow.
“We did think of that, my friend. But don’t forget the age of that construction. It was a good fifty years old by that point.”
The morning sun was shining throug
h the leaves of the nearby pecan trees. It would have been unpleasantly humid—if a ghost could feel humidity. As it were, Rufus simply smiled a pleasant smile to himself as he basked in the imagined warmth of the sun, casting his memory back to the good ole days of mint tea sipped on his front porch. He was looking forward to being home again. His visit to the Georgia coast to spend time with his dearly departed great-great-grandnephew had been an unfortunate yet necessary trial to endure. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone had such a rude entry into the afterlife. Terrible things, those horseless carriages.
Gilligan ambled along next to the ghost as they made their way along the trail, occasionally pausing to pounce on an insect. At one bend, where the trail went down to an old, rickety bridge that spanned the Jacoby Creek just above the water level, a tiny frog met its demise in the mouth of the tabby.
“Those things can’t taste very good, can they?” Rufus asked.
Meowwrrrf.
“My mistake, then. And remember, it’s poor manners to speak with food in your mouth.”
They crossed the creek and continued for another five minutes before the house came into view. “Ah, so good to be home. Georgia was a fine state, but it simply lacks the same degree of charm as Louisiana. French-Creole heritage. A rich culture. Even today in this modern age Louisiana retains its antiquated charm, so much more so than Atlanta or even Savannah. Too much city livin’, with all the noise and crowds and—”
Rufus abruptly halted.
“Something’s wrong here.”
A heap of what looked like broken furniture formed a scattered semicircle on the side of the mansion. Shards of lumber jutted skyward from disemboweled cabinets. Another pile was comprised of pipe sections and broken plaster.
“What in tarnation?”
A large, plush sitting chair—that’s my chair from the solarium!—sat forlornly in a puddle of mud.
Rufus would have put his hands on his hips—if a ghost had hips.
“Something foul is afoot, my friend. This requires investigation.”
Meow.
“Indeed.”
Rufus walked closer. The front door to the house was wide open. No, that was incorrect; the front door was gone, as in missing altogether. He noticed more of his home’s belongings spread about in the yard and apparently categorized in some sort of rough manner. Cautiously, Rufus climbed the front steps and stepped across the threshold.
“Good Lord!”
The front parlor was gutted. Most of the furnishings were missing, from the old area rug his Uncle Fredrick had bought back in 1857 to the curio cabinet that held his cousin’s imported china. The only thing remaining was the ugly two-seat couch that old bat Edna had used for her knitting. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The room itself sat destroyed. Wallpaper had been ripped down and tossed carelessly into a pile of shreds in the corner. Smashed plaster was everywhere, except actually on the walls. The wall to the dining room had a giant hole in it.
“My … my parlor,” Rufus said in disbelief.
He reluctantly stepped over to the hole and would have caught his breath, if a ghost had breath.
“My dining room!”
More disaster. Plaster fragments and dust were everywhere. The great oak table that had been in the family for generations was covered in a giant cloth at least, but any number of strange-looking tools was lying on top. A toolbox and a halogen work light were stacked in the corner.
Continuing to the kitchen revealed another catastrophe. Half the cabinetry was gone. Rufus actually let out an audible cry as he cringed. All that was left was literally icebox and the kitchen sink, which had some weird-looking frame made of two-by-fours holding it up.
“What has happened here?” he lamented in agony. “My house is ignominiously destroyed!”
Gilligan sauntered up behind him and rubbed his back against the doorframe.
Meow.
Rufus snapped his attention downward. “Say that again?”
Meow meow.
“A reno—what?”
A long monologue of cat talk ensued.
“This isn’t a construction project, this is a tragedy! Look at my home. Who is responsible for this?”
Meow.
“Nate? Who is Nate?”
Meooooorrrrw.
Rufus’s eyes widened. “You say you came here with this idiot?”
Gilligan hunched down and folded his ears in embarrassment.
“I see.”
Rufus stood in silent contemplation. The mansion was under attack by an industrious fool and clearly something had to be done. But what? As a ghost, options were limited. It wasn’t exactly like he could easily interact with the physical world. He couldn’t even interact with himself. Rufus went to scratch his chin, which would have been fine if he had a chin. Instead, his hand passed through his face, adding to his annoyance.
The sun must have out from behind a cloud, because the light streaming through the small kitchen window intensified briefly. Rufus noticed a trickle of water at his feet. It was coming from the bathroom down the hall.
He squinted. Then his eyes widened in yet another shock. “I shouldn’t be able to see my bathtub from here.”
Yet there it was. Along with some water that under normal circumstances would be in it. Except right now, it was leaking onto the floor.
The cat sat down nearby and stared at him.
Rufus glared forlornly at the beautiful claw-foot tub cantered diagonally in the bathroom doorway. Then he cleared his throat and returned Gilligan’s stare.
“I am going to require your assistance, cat. It is time for Retaliation: Level One. No one messes with my stuff. No one.”
9
Nate pulled up to the house to find that his construction dumpster had finally been delivered. It was a great big green thing, dented and dirty but otherwise a far superior way to collect all the crap he had been ripping out of Edna’s house. Unfortunately, the heaps of debris were still in their little respective piles. Any expectation Nate had about the dumpster delivery men helping load it up were immediately dashed.
As he turned off the engine, he saw a cat walking toward him.
“Hey, Gilligan!”
Gilligan curled himself around Nate’s leg. He picked up the tabby and slung his front paws over his shoulder. “You doing okay, little buddy? Catch yourself any mice?”
Purr.
Ever since the first night they had arrived, Gilligan had started disappearing for long stretches at a time. But since he would reemerge whenever Nate started to get worried, Nate assumed he was simply being a cat—off chasing the numerous birds and rodents that lived everywhere on the property. He always came back in time for dinner or bed. It was a bit unusual to see him like this during the daytime.
Nate put him down and walked up the front steps. “It’s going to be a hot one again, bud. And I guess it’ll be up to me to fill that dumpster. I say we do it later tonight when it’s cooler. What do you think?”
Meow.
“Yeah, I agree. Better to stay inside during the heat of the day. I have to measure for drywall in the upstairs bathroom anyway.”
Gilligan suddenly took off, veering to the right and through a back doorway. Maybe he saw a mouse?
Nate went back into the kitchen and got a bottle of Gatorade out of the refrigerator. A couple gulps and he was ready to get to it. He strode purposefully into the dining room where he kept all of his tools.…
Where were his tools?
The big white tarp that covered the table was bare.
Momentarily confused, Nate retraced his steps back to the front door. Then he strode tentatively back to the dining room. This was very strange. Normally, whenever Nate was done with a particular room or task, he took all of his stuff and laid it out carefully on this very tarp in front of him. It was his impromptu toolbox, the home base from which all tools took off and landed in their flight plans of demolition. It had been a crude but effective way of making sure he didn’t inadverte
ntly leave something important in a corner bedroom when it would be needed for tearing down an interior wall.
Nate stared at the empty spaces usually occupied by his pipe wrench, crowbar, hammer, and everything else.
Where was everything?
Nate rounded the house. The kitchen—nothing. The back bathroom—nothing. Behind the toilet in the back bathroom—nothing.
He went upstairs. Had he taken his tools to the guest bath? He didn’t think so. Ever since he had (tried to) cap off the water pipe to remove the way-out-of-date sink, he really hadn’t needed anything. Boy, that had been quite the production. Punctured pipe. Water everywhere. Damaged walls. His little project.
And the tub? Sheesh. That had been, and still was, a major production. Edna must have liked her claw-foots because this one was massive and even bigger than the one downstairs. Nate had thought he was going to have to rip out the wall next to the door frame in order to get it out. And getting it out was going to be a big problem because for some reason the flooring under the tub seemed like it was sagging. Nate chalked it up to an optical illusion from the poor light. What was it that contractor Matt had said about a wall downstairs? Load-bearing something?
Regardless, Nate thought that if he had somehow neglected to return his tools to their home, then surely they would still be up here in this bathroom. He looked and looked. But there was no trace.
Okay, he thought, this was getting very frustrating. Nate went back downstairs and chugged the rest of his Gatorade. As he stood in the front room and stared out the open door, a terrible thought suddenly hit him.
The open door. There was no door.
Someone had robbed him.
It made complete sense. There was no way to lock up anything at his construction site here at the house. The tools were worth good money to any tradesman. Nate had been foolish in thinking that the isolated location of the estate meant no need for security. Now, his renovation was at a standstill.
Nate frowned. He’d have to buy some new tools at Home Depot. That was going to take a good bite out of his budget. And what if some hoodlum was still casing out his place? What was to prevent the same thing from happening again?
The House That Jack Built: A Humorous Haunted House Fiasco Page 6