Victoria House (Haunted Hearts Series Book 2)

by Denise Moncrief

  She sighed as she pulled her mind back to the present and flipped the nearest light switch. The large foyer remained dark. Despite being late afternoon, very little light filtered into the room.

  Before she headed to the lake, she’d stuffed a flashlight into her jacket pocket at the last minute. She pulled it out and swept the floors, walls, and ceilings with its yellow-white beam. With careful steps, she moved into the front room.

  Heavy velvet drapes hung on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Large pieces of furniture peeked from beneath grayish-white covers. Graffiti on the far wall reminded her that the house had been unoccupied for years. No, more like decades. A caretaker supposedly looked after the place, but it didn’t appear Earl Johnson had done a very good job.

  Her grandmother Pearl was the last of the Hamiltons to live in the house. Pearl moved out long before she died. Rumors floated around the family that something tragic had happened to her while she lived in the house, that she refused to tell anyone exactly what had caused her to leave and never look back.

  Tori tried another light switch, and still nothing happened. Had the electric co-op not been out to turn on the power as they said they had? Maybe the electricity had been cut off inside the house.

  Reluctant to venture further into the dark to search for the breaker box, she headed toward the door, but before she reached the foyer, her eyes gravitated to the beautifully carved staircase that ascended to the second floor. Even in the dim light, the fine craftsmanship caught her attention.

  The house had obviously been a showplace in a former life. If she could just clean it up, she might manage to tolerate living there, or if she couldn’t, it might actually bring her a decent sales price. Someone had already approached her about buying the property with plans for turning the house into a wedding destination. She had politely ignored the enquiry, but maybe she should have given it more consideration.

  Without electricity, she wasn’t going to explore the upper floor. Once again, she turned to leave, but her feet refused to move toward the door as if glued to the ratty, threadbare red carpet. A cold wave passed through her, not over or around, but straight through her. Nausea rolled in her stomach and the room began to wobble. She blinked to clear her fuzzy vision. Shivering and wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to force her heavy limbs to take the first step. Panic swept over her as a sharp pain sliced across her throat.

  Her hand flew to her neck and she withdrew it quickly. No blood. Was the sensation just her overactive imagination? No. The pain was real. She was very familiar with the sharp sting of a knife wound. Her hands began to shake. Her fragile psyche couldn’t endure the horror of being attacked again.

  She forced herself to draw in a deep calming breath. If her throat had been cut, she wouldn’t be having an internal discussion. Would she? She’d be unconscious or dead.

  Whatever was happening to her wasn’t normal, if the word could even be applied to the situation. Paranormal was a better word. On a deeper, instinctive level, she sensed the house was trying to hold her captive...or worse, trying to hurt her. She attempted once again to move, but she still couldn’t budge her legs.

  “Let go of me,” she shouted as if someone could hear her, and she immediately realized how silly her demand might seem to an observer, not that there was anyone around to hear her scream.

  As if she’d been suddenly released from an invisible grip, she broke free and nearly tripped over a wrinkle in the carpet. She glanced over her shoulder, fearful of what might be looming in the darkened house behind her. Movement caught her attention. Just a flash in the corner of her eye. Her gaze shifted to the top of the stairs. For an instant, she could have sworn something blacker than the darkness moved on the upstairs landing.

  She didn’t want any part of something that even appeared paranormal. Once in a lifetime was enough. From a past littered with inexplicable experiences, she had learned that some things were better left unexplained.

  She rushed to escape the oppressive heaviness of the house, shaking off the weird, unexplained feeling that had enveloped her. This time her feet cooperated. She burst onto the smooth stone of the front porch, banging the heavy front door shut behind her. Pressing her hand against her chest, she stopped to catch her breath. Then she held her shaking hand in front of her.

  The urge to flee grew in intensity with each beat of her hammering heart. She raced across the yard to the pebbled driveway, yanked open the door of her car, and climbed into the driver’s seat, clicking the lock as if that could keep something unnatural away from her.

  Once inside the relative safety of her vehicle, she turned her gaze on the house. A light flickered through a second floor window. It grew brighter and then dimmed before moving from one window to another. In turn, it glowed for just a moment in every window on the second floor. She puzzled over the phenomenon. Surely, the house had multiple rooms on that floor. How could the light move from room to room, seemingly passing through interior walls? Unless...

  She fumbled in her purse, grabbed her key and jammed it into the ignition, and then gripped the steering wheel. She shuddered as she drew in a shaky breath. Before she slammed the shift into drive, she glanced up at the second floor windows once again. The house appeared completely dark. Not even a glimmer of light.

  Then a bright figure appeared in the nearest window, the translucent form of a woman. Tori blinked and the image disappeared. The glass shimmered as if she were looking at it through an energy field.

  The urge to escape overwhelmed her. She couldn’t explain her odd feeling, but she sensed the house didn’t approve of her intrusion. Like it had lain silent for years and was happy with its dormant state. Like her presence had stirred up things that preferred to remain at rest.

  The fear she’d been holding in erupted, and she screamed like someone was committing bloody murder. She slapped her hand over her mouth even though she was alone in the car.

  Get a grip, Tori. She was a grown woman acting like a scared little girl. There was no reason for her to be frightened of a house. Her clinical, scientific mind didn’t allow for things that couldn’t be analyzed, quantified, or classified, and things that went bump in the night certainly fit into that category. She wouldn’t let brick, wood, and mortar scare her. That was ridiculous. Besides, she needed to go back and lock the front door. Not that a locked door would keep anyone from trespassing and vandalizing the house again.

  A security system. That’s what I need. A security system and a Rottweiler.

  It took less than a minute to hurry across the front yard and make sure the front door was locked. Nothing in the world could have enticed her to walk the perimeter to make sure the house was secure from trespassers. If there were other doors and they remained unlocked, then so be it. Besides, her years in law enforcement had taught her that if someone wanted to get into a locked building badly enough, nothing could keep the intruder out.

  As she turned the car around and headed down the driveway toward the road, she glanced toward the shoreline. Through the trees and across the gently breaking waves, for just a moment, she had a clear line of sight to the other side of the inlet.

  The finger of the lake was thin enough and the opposite shore close enough she had a good view of the trailer on the other side of the water. Something wasn’t right. She sensed it, stomped on the brakes, and stared at the mobile home on the other side of the water. A truck peeled away from the singlewide trailer and sprayed rocks and dirt behind it as it sped down the drive toward the two-lane road that circled the lake. Something about the truck’s departure seemed urgent. Desperate even. Kind of sinister.

  She shook off the feeling. Pearl’s house had spooked her. That had to be why she was having so many weird thoughts.

  Yet the truck seemed familiar and in the wrong place, but where had she seen it before?

  ****

  Lt. Mitchell Grayson of the Hill County Sheriff’s Department slid into the booth across from Crime Scene Specialist Josh McCord. A
fter leaving Laurel Heights, they’d traveled down the highway to a meeting with a specially organized joint task force that included members of law enforcement from five North Arkansas counties as well investigators with the Arkansas State Police and agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives.

  At first, Gray hadn’t wanted to bring Josh along to the meet, but the sheriff had insisted. The old man must have gotten some sort of perverse pleasure from forcing the two of them to work together. But the workday was over—unless someone discovered another dead body—and Gray was glad to be headed home. They still had about another half hour of travel before they’d reach the Fairview city limits.

  Josh complained he was starving to death, so Gray pulled off the highway and stopped at a barbecue joint that had a reputation for fall off the bone ribs. Josh ordered them a couple of Bud longnecks while Gray went to the restroom. When he returned to the table, Josh had already spotted the prettiest woman in the room and was busy flirting with her from across the restaurant. Well, it was hardly a restaurant. It would have probably been called a roadhouse in his grandfather’s day.

  Gray glanced at the woman Josh had his eye on. Another buxom blonde.

  “You never learn, do you?”

  Josh laughed. “No, I don’t.” He picked at the peeling label on his bottle. “Jeffers wants to be the Lone Ranger.”

  He was revisiting their interrupted conversation from before they stopped to eat, referring to a member of the task force who was particularly vocal about how to proceed. The glances Josh and Gray had exchanged during the meeting conveyed their mutual distaste for the loud-mouthed jerk.

  “He wants control of the operation, you know. This could turn into a high profile bust if it’s handled right.”

  Gray grabbed his bottle and gulped down a long swig of the brew. The cold beer wet his dry mouth. He set the bottle on the table in front of him.

  “He can have it if he wants it that bad. It’s not like we don’t have enough going on without getting involved in his political campaign.”

  Josh snorted. “You think that’s what his posturing is about?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s going to run for sheriff over here. Probably wants to claim he wiped out the drug trafficking in this part of the state single-handedly.”

  Josh laughed derisively. “I don’t think he can wipe his own—”

  Gray cleared his throat as the waitress approached the table. They were, after all, still in Jeffers’s jurisdiction. The waitress might be his aunt or his sister or his mistress or one of his ex-wives.

  She smacked her gum a time or two before getting down to business. “Are you ready to order?”

  Once they’d both ordered a full rack of baby back ribs apiece, Josh settled in to consume another bottle of beer. There were already four empty bottles on the table, and only one of them was Gray’s. “You need to slow down, Josh.”

  He didn’t want to have to pour Josh through the front door of his house again. He’d done that one too many times in the past. Josh’s drinking was part of the rift that had torn their friendship apart. Only part of it. Josh still maintained he wasn’t an alcoholic. Maybe he wasn’t, but if he wasn’t he was sliding that direction. He was one more screw up from losing his job.

  “Are you my mother, Gray?”

  He didn’t want to get into it with Josh. For some reason, he always seemed to say the wrong thing. “Forget it. Not my business to monitor your behavior.”

  He turned his head away just as someone dropped coins into the jukebox. The joint had an old Wurlitzer that could still turn a disk.

  “No, it’s not.” Josh’s voice rose above the beginning strains of Patsy Cline singing Crazy.

  Josh had established the limits. With those terms and conditions specified, Gray knew asking him about Ashley Rivers was out of the question.

  When he got down to it, Ashley was the real reason the two men had quit being friends. Gray didn’t like the way Josh treated her, especially when he was drunk. Ashley was obviously hung up on Josh, but he was just stringing her along. Josh would never settle down with one woman.

  “I heard Victoria Downing is buying Victoria House.”

  Gray lifted his eyebrows. Josh somehow managed to acquire the most interesting tidbits of gossip. He was almost as good at collecting them as old Timna.

  “Really? What’s she want with an old dump like that? She seems like the kind of woman that would want something modern.”

  “She says she’s going to renovate it.” Josh’s tone was sickeningly sarcastic.

  Gray wasn’t sure why he had the sudden urge to defend the woman. It’s not like they were tight. In fact, he was certain Victoria Downing didn’t like him very much.

  “She won’t last long in that house.”

  Josh leaned forward. “You remember when you and me and Ashley got caught sneaking into the place? I thought Ashley was going to pee her pants.”

  Gray laughed at the memory. “What were we thinking?”

  “Well, it was Halloween and we wanted to do something stupid. We weren’t thinking.”

  “If old man Johnson had a good aim, we might have a load of buckshot still embedded in our backsides.”

  Josh smiled. “Good times, bro.”

  It had been a long time since Josh had called him bro. It hurt to hear it coming from Josh’s mouth again. Who knew the end of a solid friendship could be as painful as the break up of a marriage?

  Gray’s cell phone vibrated against his hip. He glanced at the display, groaned, and then answered the call. After conversing with the dispatch operator for a few minutes, he saw his night off slipping away. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Jared and Courtney Crenshaw are missing. I need to go out to their trailer and have a look see.”

  Josh swayed a little as they made their way toward the front door.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  Josh placed a hand over his mouth and burped. “Nope, can’t go home. I’m on call. I need to go out to the Crenshaw place with you.”

  “No, you’re not. Downing is already headed out to their place. I’m supposed to meet her there.” The lie had slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

  A storm settled across Josh’s features. “Fine. Then, take me to the office, so I can get my truck.”

  Gray smirked. “No way. I’m dropping you off on your front porch. I won’t be responsible for—”

  “I am not drunk.”

  Maybe he wasn’t. Josh had developed a tolerance to alcohol. He could out drink anyone before he was too impaired to function.

  “Whatever you say.”

  No point in arguing. He’d take him to his front door whether Josh wanted him to or not.

  By the time he pulled into Josh’s driveway, it didn’t matter what Josh had wanted. He had spent the last ten miles snoring with his chin planted on his chest.

  Chapter Three

  Gray stood in the center of Jared and Courtney Crenshaw’s mobile home halfway between the small living room and the kitchen. According to Courtney’s mother, neither Jared nor Courtney had been seen or heard from since the previous Sunday. When she had knocked on the trailer’s door, it had swung open. It hadn’t taken the poor woman long to determine something bad had happened. He had relied upon all of his persuasive charm to get Courtney’s mother to go home with another deputy with a promise he’d call if he had anything to report.

  Odd thing...the dispatcher said the order came straight from Halsey. Now, that was unusual. Apparently, the woman hadn’t made the call through 9-1-1. No way she would have called Halsey directly. No, Gray would bet she had called old man Haskins for help. Involving Fred Haskins was unnecessary. The Department would have responded to the call anyway when she mentioned the large amount of blood on the bedroom floor.

  Someone had lost a hard fight and lost it badly. Definite signs of a struggle, but when the
struggle had actually occurred would be anyone’s guess. Jared could have fought an attacker or Courtney might have gotten enough of Jared’s abuse and fought back. Either way, there was more to the chaos than bad housekeeping. Yes, something violent had happened in the Crenshaws’ trailer.

  His nose crinkled. What was that putrid smell? The odor was irregular, to say the least. Was that the unpleasant stench of decomp? No. Something else had stunk up the place. Gray glanced around the trailer and couldn’t figure how the Crenshaws lived in such squalor.

  The new crime scene specialist would arrive any moment, and if Gray hadn’t yet come up with a clear game plan as to what to bag and tag, Downing might take control of evidence collection. He hadn’t worked with her enough to know how diplomatic she was, so he had to maintain control of the scene.

  He nudged a discarded soda can with the toe of his shoe. There was so much potential evidence he didn’t know where to begin. Maybe a bad guy had left a nice, fat juicy fingerprint on one of the many available surfaces. There was probably trace all over the place, but how to separate the Crenshaws’ trash from useable evidence was a huge concern. Might be impossible. He puffed out his cheeks and scratched the back of his head.

  Deputy Lucy Kimbrough entered the mobile home through its lone door, stepping around the remains of a brownish-black blob on the worn black and white vinyl flooring.

  He glanced at her and then retrained his gaze on the unidentified object in front of him. “You got something?”

  He wanted her out of the mobile home. The less she observed, the better. When she arrived, he had sent her outside to search for any signs of breaking and entering, hoping to keep her busy and out of his way.

  “Not really. Just a lot of junk. What happened in here?”

  Too late. She’d already seen too much. He couldn’t pretend there was nothing to investigate. The mess in the trailer screamed loud and clear that something terrible had gone down.