Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts Series Book 1)

by Denise Moncrief

  It took a while to wind down the road from Fairview to Laurel Heights. He wanted to take his time, but didn’t. He had work to do and a schedule to keep. He had promised Laurel the completion of certain tasks by the end of the month. Chase intended to keep his promise, despite the fact that each completed task brought him one step closer to the day he’d have to leave.

  He dragged the project out as much as he could without being obvious. It was taking much longer to search every square inch of Laurel’s house than he had expected, and Rand was getting impatient. If Chase didn’t find the codes soon, Rand might send one of his associates to Arkansas to finish what Chase had started. The sudden appearance of one of Rand’s loyal subordinates wouldn’t be healthy for Chase or Laurel.

  He finally arrived at the house, parking his S-10 in the usual spot beneath the sycamore tree. The Chevy was an old truck, but it was dependable and had been with him since he was a teenager. He skirted the back of the vehicle and lifted two large five-gallon containers of interior latex paint from the bed. Laurel apparently intended to do some serious redecorating. She hadn’t mentioned the painting when she laid out the details of the remodeling she wanted him to do. Was she going to do the work herself? She might. Laurel didn’t mind lending a hand to the task.

  He deposited the paint on the back porch and headed to the truck for the next load. That’s when he noticed her staring at him from the usual window. He stopped and turned toward her, waving his hand as if they greeted each other the same way every day. Maybe the direct approach would eliminate any further observation. Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes popped wide open, and she disappeared.

  He continued to unload the truck, taking his sweet time. After he had laid the final load of material on the back porch, he rubbed his hands on his pants, walked the very short distance to the back kitchen door, and lifted his hand to knock. When she flung the door open, he noted she was still wearing the same clothes she had worn the previous day. That wasn’t good. Laurel was a fastidious person.

  Her eyes were red and puffy. No doubt, she’d been crying.

  Dread filled him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I expected you an hour ago.” A hint of hysteria tinged her anger.

  Her frightened face made his stomach muscles spasm. He had expected trouble, but not this soon. “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

  She gazed up at him with large, terror-stricken eyes. “There was someone in my house last night.”

  The intensity of her declaration made every one of his nerve endings fire. He made himself look at anything but her face. That’s when he noticed the baseball bat clutched tightly in her hand. It was dragging the floor as if she couldn’t quite manage to lift it.

  “Who was in the house?” He kept his eye on the bat, uncertain if she would take a swing at him.

  “How should I know? I don’t know anybody here except you.” She seemed indignant that he would ask such an inane question.

  He cringed at the vehemence in her tone. His question was merely a stall until he could process the situation. “Did you see him?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone...”

  He reached for the bat and gently pried it from her stiff fingers. “Then how do you know there was someone in the house?”

  “Don’t patronize me. I know what I heard. I thought it was just my imagination, but I’ve heard someone in this house more than once.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

  He grabbed her elbow and guided her into the house, urging her to take a seat at the kitchen table.

  “An old house like this has a lot of strange noises.” He persisted in trying to placate her even though she hadn't yet convinced him that she’d seen anyone or anything.

  He had been watching her house ever since he had arrived in Fairview. Over the last few months, he’d kept a look out for anyone sniffing around during the day or roaming around at night. He had spent as much time watching her place as he could.

  So far, she had not had any visitors. He had searched for signs of forced entry every day. No, he didn’t believe anyone had been in the house or on the grounds without his knowledge, but it was only a matter of time before trouble found Laurel. Surely, Chase wasn’t the only one looking for the travel drive. More than one interested party would gladly take it off Laurel’s hands with or without her consent.

  “I’ve lived with those noises for weeks.” She sat up straighter, her back rigid, not quite touching the back of the kitchen chair. Perfect posture. “This was different. I felt his presence.”

  He propped the bat in the corner near the stairs, pulled out a chair, and then sat facing her. “Did you call the cops?”

  “No, I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

  An amazing statement, considering the intruder was supposedly in her house. Why would she consider Chase’s wishes?

  He had been staring hard at her, holding her gaze with his own, but then he dropped his eyes, looked down at the wood floor beneath his feet, and sighed deeply. He needed time to think, but he didn’t have the luxury, so he glanced back at her, hoping she could see the sincerity on his face. “You have to do what you have to do.” It was a very odd response to a very odd statement. He couldn’t tell her not to call the cops.

  “I can’t afford to lose your help.” No guile. “I can’t do this by myself, and there was no one willing to work for me. You have to stay.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth sounding more like a plea than a demand.

  “You’re afraid to be here by yourself at night, aren’t you?” He had a good idea why. Violent confrontations littered her past. “Is that why you always try to stall me from leaving for the day?”

  “I don’t... Okay, yeah I do... I should have never come here,” she muttered.

  “Why did you?” The question had been burning in his mind for days. Arkansas seemed an odd choice.

  “I inherited the place from my father’s sister Celeste. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, not selling. I should’ve known I couldn’t turn this place into a bed and breakfast without help.” She glanced at him then, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Not that you haven’t been a big help. It’s just that the job seems bigger than the two of us.”

  “It is.”

  “Why haven’t you said so before now?” She could transition from embarrassed to irate in a heartbeat.

  “Not my place.” He cringed at the double meaning in his rebuttal.

  She opened her mouth, but then closed it tightly.

  He perceived her difficulty in expressing her concerns and bailed her out. “I promise I won’t leave before I’ve finished the job.”

  “I promise I won’t call the cops.”

  It seemed they had struck a mutually beneficial bargain.

  Suddenly, her eyes shifted away from his, and she stared at the wall over his shoulder. Was someone standing behind him? He glanced back, but no one was there. Then, he recognized the gleam in her eyes.

  “What is it? What are you thinking?” He had come to dread her thoughtful stare into space. It usually meant more work for him.

  “I know it would take some work to clear it out and make it livable...”

  She had to be thinking about the apartment over the garage. He had been up there once, and to him, it appeared that only rodents, very large rodents, had occupied the place for the last few years. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No.” He had other plans.

  What he wanted was a room in the main house where he could watch the place twenty-four hours a day. Eventually, someone would show up and try to make her give up the codes. He wanted to be around when that happened, but he sensed the time still wasn’t right for suggesting such an arrangement.

  He was about to reiterate his objection to moving into the apartment when she hit him with it. He saw it forming on the edges of her mouth, the expression that had the ability to strike fear into the heart of a normal, red-blooded male. He could never refuse the puppy do
g pout on a woman. The tactic wasn’t fair.

  “All right. I’ll…I’ll look at it. But…” He wasn’t about to guarantee anything.

  “But?” She smiled sweetly, ripping his objection from underneath him.

  “But it will push back the timeline for me to finish the job.” Lame. She doesn’t care how fast I finish the job. And neither do I.

  Without a doubt, keeping him on her place at night was her primary objective. At least, they didn’t have to work at cross purposes. Their goal was the same—for Chase to remain in her employ as long as possible.

  “That apartment is a flea-infested, rodent habitat. The floorboards are probably rotted out, and the plumbing will have to be totally replaced.” He was grumbling his objections more to himself than to her. “I might have to shower in the house for a while.” He suddenly realized what a very bad idea that was and wished he could take the suggestion back and eat it for lunch. Laurel had the only functioning bath attached to her bedroom.

  She smiled. “I’ll help you clean the apartment.”

  Her previous hysteria seemed to have evaporated. She could afford to be cheerful and upbeat; she’d gotten her way. At least, that’s what she thought. Little did she know she had fallen right into his plans. It wasn’t the main house, but it would allow him to stay close until he located Rand’s travel drive.

  He refused to confront her Rand’s way. Rand wanted him to force her to give the travel drive up, but Chase would never beat a woman to get what he wanted. He owed Rand, but he was nothing like him. Once he settled his debt, he would cease to have anything to do with his half-brother. He would have paid his obligation in full.

  “No, I’ll do it.” He nodded toward the back porch. “You’d better get to your painting. It looks like you have a lot to do before summer.”

  He had already turned to leave when she hit him with her best shot. “Thanks, Chase. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  He groaned. She might have had a different opinion if she knew he had followed her to Arkansas because of a promise he’d made to Rand.

  Chapter Five

  Later that afternoon, Chase left the home improvements store knowing Laurel would be disappointed. Fixing up the bathroom in the apartment would be astronomically expensive, as he had suspected it would be. Yet he still had felt like he should at least make the pretense of finding out how much it would cost. Unless she had kept some of Rand’s money in reserve, there was no way she would be able to afford such a costly renovation. Unless she sold the codes.

  Would she even know what to do with them if she had them? She could sell them to the highest bidder, but she’d have to make a deal with men even more dangerous than Rand to do so. If she had sold them, Rand would already be dead. Chase was beginning to believe she didn’t have them, and if she didn’t, who did?

  He was about to climb into his truck when a county patrol unit pulled alongside him.

  The deputy greeted him without any real cordiality. “I’m Sam Richards.”

  The cop’s manner seemed a little off. It was as if the deputy was making a point of introducing himself, as if he expected Chase to recognize his name.

  “Chase Brennan.”

  “You’re new in town.” Richards was expressionless, delivering his observation in a flat monotone.

  “I’ve been here a few months.”

  Richards remained mute as if waiting for an answer to an unspoken question.

  He decided to oblige the cop with a little more information. “I’m doing some renovations for Laurel Standridge out at her place down Highway 65.”

  The cop nodded. “Her place needs a lot of work.”

  Richards seemed to want Chase to know that he knew things. He smiled at the stereotypical, small-town cop attitude.

  “You say your name is Brennan?” There was definite skepticism in the cop’s tone.

  Chase scratched his neck where it itched when he faced a stressful situation. Did the cop suspect Brennan wasn’t his legal name? “That’s what I said.”

  The deputy remained silent long enough the pause made Chase’s calf muscles tighten in preparation for a hard run—an involuntary reaction to proximity with law enforcement.

  “You wouldn’t be wondering what everyone else is wondering, would you?”

  A slight change in subject. “About what?”

  Richards smirked. “About your boss.”

  It seemed everything the cop said had a double meaning. Boss was the slang term used to describe corrections officers. Did Richards know Chase had spent time in prison? Had the cop already done a background check on him?

  “I’m not sure what—”

  “Is she as crazy as Celeste?”

  “Crazy?” he sputtered in amusement, although it hadn’t been that long ago Chase had wondered about Laurel’s mental stability. “Laurel’s not crazy.”

  Her strange behavior had more to do with fear than with any psychological hang-ups.

  “Don’t know about Celeste. Never met her.”

  “You should watch yourself out there. Strange things happen in that house.”

  Not long ago, hadn’t a bartender said something similar? “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that.”

  Chase was tired of the conversation, and he had work he needed to do. He longed to move on down the highway. “I have to get going. I have a lot of work to do today.” He opened the door of his truck and turned once more to Richards. “Have a good day, deputy.”

  He smiled as if he had no idea the deputy had just been baiting him. For what purpose? Chase had no idea. The county seemed to be full of odd people with strange habits.

  Richards grunted in response but didn’t try to stall Chase further. He didn’t really wish the man would have a good day. Actually, he wished Richards would have a flat tire or something, just a small something to put a little aggravation in his day, just as he’d inserted some aggravation into Chase’s otherwise frustrating day.

  ****

  When Chase arrived at Laurel Heights, he wasn’t ready to face Laurel because he hadn’t yet decided if he would tell her about his conversation with the local cop. He had debated it all the way down Highway 65. Hesitation usually opened a person up for more trouble. He hated it when he didn’t have a clear idea of how to handle a potentially difficult discussion. It seemed tension filled quite a few of his conversations with Laurel.

  Instead of approaching her, he retrieved the machete from the storage shed behind the house and tackled the bush that had overtaken the south side of the garage. He was hacking and mangling when someone cleared a throat behind him. He startled because punishing the weed had absorbed him so much that he hadn’t heard anyone approach.

  He turned to find Laurel a safe distance away, her eyes on the machete.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t I look all right?” He lowered the machete, so that the tip of the blade touched the ground and his forearm rested on the butt end of the handle.

  Her gaze shifted to his eyes and then strayed back to the knife. Was the woman afraid he’d use the thing on her? The atmosphere between them had intensified quickly, just what he had been trying to avoid.

  “You’re taking out your frustrations on that innocent wisteria.”

  “Wisteria? This weed has a name?”

  “I was sort of hoping to keep it. Why are you cutting it down?” She didn’t seem angry about the bush’s demise, just kind of sad. She picked up a severed branch loaded with the promise of purplish-white flowers.

  “It was blocking the window.” If he planned to spy on her from the apartment, he’d need a clear view of her bedroom window. Not that he was a peeping Tom or anything. He just wanted to keep up with her nocturnal habits. No, that didn’t sound right. He was more interested in who might do something to her than what she might be doing... Wait. All of his thoughts made him seem like a pervy stalker.

  She sighed and tossed the branch onto the ground. “Why are you so mad at
it?”

  He stood with the machete in one hand, using a handkerchief to wipe his face with his other hand. “I’m not mad at the… What’d you call it?” He stuffed the drenched cloth in his back pocket.

  “If you’re not mad at the wisteria, what are you mad at then?”

  Not what, but who. “Have you met Deputy Sam Richards?”

  A look of distaste formed on Laurel’s face. “Sam?” She frowned. “What’d he want?”

  “You know him?”

  “No, not really. He came out here once or twice when he was investigating the accident that happened down the highway awhile back.”

  “Accident?”

  “Yeah. Before you started working for me, a woman ran over a man down the road. They had a hard time identifying him. First, some cop named Grayson knocked on my door and acted like he thought I should know the dead guy, which I didn’t. I don’t know anyone in Arkansas, except you, of course.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other and blew a stray tendril of hair out of her eyes. She was wearing her hair down, and Chase had a hard time not thinking about the way the style softened her face. He wanted to untuck the hair from behind her ear and watch it fall around the curve of her cheek.

  She was still yakking, so he refocused on her words. That’s when his eyes riveted on her lips. Had she applied some sort of lip stuff that made her usually dry lips shine as if she’d just licked them?

  “Sam came out here the next day asking a lot of questions that I didn’t think had anything to do with the accident—” The stop in her monolog seemed rather abrupt.

  “And?”

  “That man is a…he’s a...” She turned her head.

  “What’d he do?” The thought of all the things Richards could have possibly done made him go cold with fear, an unexpected reaction. Chase wasn’t on her property to protect her from sexual harassment, so why would he worry about something Richards had done? Unless Chase was starting to care about her.

  “Well, actually... Well, nothing really. It was just the way he did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “He asked me out. Well, it actually sounded more like he just wanted...” Her neck colored in various shades, ranging from pink to crimson.