Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts Series Book 1)

by Denise Moncrief

  “That should keep the thing shut.”

  “Chase?” Laurel sounded breathless. “Grayson said he thought the garage was the locus for all the paranormal activity in the area.”

  He glanced at her. Laurel’s face had turned a grayish-white. The woman was obviously frightened. She didn’t do well with garages. Add strange, otherworldly disturbances and she was likely to freak out. Between the human intruders and the paranormal activity in her house, Laurel couldn’t get any rest.

  He pulled her into his arms. “Is that what he said that upset you so much?”

  She only resisted his embrace for a fraction of a second before she leaned her head on his shoulder. “No.”

  “Then what did he say?”

  “He said you killed your wife.”

  Her revelation sucked the wind from him. He had to catch his breath before he could respond, and he was sure Laurel was anxiously awaiting his reaction to Grayson’s lie.

  He stepped back from her to look her in the eye. “It’s a lie. He’s done a background check on me. He knows what happened. I told you he would try to drive a wedge between us.”

  His anger erupted, a tendency that had gotten him into trouble in Alabama. He pounded the wall behind her so hard it rattled the building.

  She flinched but didn’t move. “You went to jail, Chase.”

  He didn’t need her to remind him.

  Laurel was persistent if she was nothing else. She pushed him for answers, even in the face of his anger. He had to give her credit. Despite all her hysterical episodes, she was the bravest woman he’d ever met.

  “I didn’t kill my wife. I went to jail because I tried to murder the man that killed her.”

  Sudden comprehension flashed across her face, followed closely by compassion. She reached for him, but he backed away from her even further.

  “I can’t talk about this.”

  His reaction surprised him. It had been years since Angie died. He thought by the time Laurel got enough nerve to ask him why he went to prison he’d be ready to talk about it, but obviously he wasn’t. He turned and walked away before she could see the tears in his eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Laurel stared through the window at Chase’s backside as he retreated to the house. The man looked fine coming and going. She wanted to toss a shoe at his head though. How could he walk off and leave her alone in the garage? He knew how frightened she was. Surely, he understood how much courage it had taken to climb the stairs and confront the mess when there was only a hardwood floor between the apartment and the garage below.

  She rubbed her forehead where a headache was forming and turned toward the door. Then she did a double-take and swiveled around. The window was open again. A cold dread passed over her. Get out of here. You have to get out of here now.

  The window could stay open. She wasn’t hanging around to argue with a window that didn’t want to remain closed. She rushed out of the apartment. No sense in locking up behind her either. Locked doors couldn’t stop whatever was happening on her property. She flew down the stairs and ran toward the house.

  Once inside, she leaned against the back door, her head swimming from the adrenaline rush. Flight or fright had overtaken her, and she had chosen flight.

  When she caught her breath, she pushed through the swinging kitchen door, hoping to find Chase. Just as she entered the living room, the door to the downstairs room he had claimed as a bedroom slammed shut.

  She dropped onto the sofa and leaned her head back on the cushions. Why did life have to be so hard? Why did every relationship she’d ever had with a man have to be so difficult? She kicked her shoes off and propped her feet on the coffee table.

  The surprises just kept hitting her. She didn’t know what to do with all the information bombarding her. Why couldn’t she live a simple life? What was wrong with finding a job, getting married, and having 2.8 children? Her life was exciting. True. She couldn’t deny that, but she could stand a bit of the monotony that some people complained about. A mundane existence would suit her just fine.

  Everything that Grayson had dumped on her was finally catching up to her frazzled nervous system. She should grieve for her father, but she couldn’t find the emotional energy to do so. When she was four or five years old, her father had locked her in the garage for several days as punishment for some small offense. Laurel couldn’t even remember what she’d done. It took her years to realize she hadn’t deserved the harsh punishment.

  She closed her eyes as the memory resurfaced against her will. Her mother’s anguished sobs had penetrated the garage door. Laurel had misinterpreted her mother’s tears. For years, she believed she deserved to be locked in the garage and that her mother had cried because she was disappointed in her.

  Somehow the hard memory from her early childhood was tangled up with the more recent memory of discovering Skip Watson’s dead body in her garage. Mix it all up with what Rand had done to her, and her memories were toxic, her nightmares an amalgamation of all three traumas.

  Her mother had tried to warn her about Rand Peterson, but she wouldn’t listen. Thinking about how she’d messed up her life hurt. What if she’d just listened to her mother? How would her life have been different? She’d mentally traveled down that road many times and knew every bump and curve in the highway, so she decided to take a detour. Laurel didn’t want to traverse that way again. She had other things on her mind.

  Like Chase. What was she going to do about Chase? The physical attraction between them was obvious, but they could hardly have a conversation without tension arising between them.

  The sounds of banging and then clanging drifted down from upstairs. Chase was probably replacing the fixtures in the spare bathroom. At least, she assumed Chase was making the noise and not some otherworldly manifestation. Or some jerk trying to drive her crazy.

  When had Chase left the downstairs bedroom? Had she dozed? Maybe. Drowsiness had weighted her eyes. Shadows had lengthened through the western facing windows. She must have slept for hours. Too tired to move, she remained on the sofa, not yet ready to find Chase and finish the discussion they’d started in the apartment.

  Her eyes drifted toward the part of her front yard she could see through the window. She focused on the sign on the front gate. Why had her aunt named the property Laurel Heights? She had intended to change the name, but quickly realized people in the area recognized the place that way. If she managed to turn the dump into a bed and breakfast, she’d need their word-of-mouth support to rent the rooms. Reluctantly, she’d kept the name, even though it screamed to every passer-by who she was. Anyone from her past could figure out where she lived if they knew enough to look for her in northern Arkansas.

  Should she tell Chase about what happened right before Grayson knocked on the front door? Perhaps she had simply experienced a panic attack, but she’d had those before and knew what they felt like. This was something different. She had gone up to the apartment to tell Chase about the attack, but somehow their conversation had gotten away from her and she hadn’t said what she intended to say.

  She needed to quit stalling, so she climbed the front stairs and sauntered down the hallway until she found him in the spare bathroom.

  She stood in the open door and watched him work for a little while before she spoke. “How’s it coming?”

  He glanced over his shoulder but then returned his focus to his task. “Not so good. Everything’s corroded. If I could just put a little more force on this rusted washer, it might turn.” He grunted as he tried to turn the wrench, his face turning red from his efforts.

  She wanted to rub the tension out of his back but didn’t dare touch him. When he refused to talk to her about his wife’s death, he had blocked her out of his emotional world once again.

  “Can I help?” She meant with more than just the plumbing.

  Chase turned and gave her a testosterone-laden glare. She was about to insist—the room was after all in her house—when he tilted hi
s head toward the sink.

  “Grab the wrench there.” He indicated the spot just behind where he gripped the tool. “On a count of three, we’ll yank on it together. Okay?”

  She nodded her understanding.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  Not only did the washer give, but also the elbow joint to which it was connected. Laurel lost her balance, pushing Chase into the cold-water intake. The thin pipe couldn’t withstand the pressure of his weight and gave, pulling out of the sink above.

  Water spewed everywhere.

  “Oh no,” Laurel cried over the splash of the sudden deluge.

  She tried to rise from the floor where she’d fallen, but slipped and fell into Chase again, who was still lying under the sink.

  “Where’s the cut-off for this thing?” Chase spat water with each word.

  The sink was so old there wasn’t a valve. The hot and cold water intakes connected directly to the pipes.

  He pushed her, roaring with frustration. “Get off of me, woman.” He bumped another pipe with the heavy wrench and busted it. “Where’s the main cut-off?”

  “How should I know?” She was still trying to extricate herself from him.

  He managed to wiggle from beneath her and stand, offering her a hand. She took it and faced him. The water had drenched him from head to foot. A dark scowl covered his features. She put her hand over her mouth to suppress the giggling that threatened to erupt.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re soaked.”

  “So?”

  She smirked. “So I think you look better when you’re wet. It gives you a cleaner look.”

  Chase’s mood lightened as if by magic. “Oh, you do, do you?” He sloshed water at her from the gushing pipe. “Well, you’re all wet, too.” She squealed and backed up a step. “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, you won’t be laughing when the rest of the house floods. This has probably already caused more damage than your budget can handle.”

  She pushed down the remains of her laughter. “Suppose we go find the cut-off.”

  She backed out of the small bath and allowed him to take the lead. It wasn’t long before they found the cut-off attached to the well out back.

  “This thing is being stubborn.” He huffed as he tried to turn the cantankerous handle.

  “You want me to help?”

  He turned toward her. “The last time you helped, it caused more trouble than it was worth.”

  She grinned. “Aw, come on, Chase, don’t be mean.”

  He returned her grin. “Are you going to help me with this or just talk about it?” He made talking about it sound so weak.

  With them both exerting themselves, they finally turned the cut-off.

  He dropped the wrench on the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Now, we don’t have water.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to fix the bathroom tonight.”

  “I think you should help since this is mostly your fault.” His eyes revealed a glimmer of a tease.

  “Of course, I’ll help. You need all the help you can get from what I’ve observed.”

  “How’d you get dirt on your face?” He used his wet handkerchief to rub the spot from her face.

  “Dirt on my face is the least of my worries right now.” She hadn’t meant to get serious again, so she shook the mood off before he latched onto it and wallowed in it. “Besides what will you do if you can’t shower in my bath?”

  Water dripped from his nose and slicked down his dark hair. His shirt clung to his chest in all the right places. She refrained from licking her lips at the sight.

  She ventured a comment, hoping it would lead them to finish the conversation that started in the apartment. “I was afraid you’d hide in your room all evening...and not stay with me tonight.”

  “Hide in my room? No. Why would you think I’d do that? I promised you I wouldn’t let you face this alone. Didn’t I?”

  “Well, when you went into your room and slammed the door—”

  “My room? You mean the one behind the stairs? I haven’t gone in there all day.” A bright glow lit his eyes. Then his face set into a solemn frown. “Did you say the door slammed?”

  She bit her bottom lip. Was he saying he wasn’t the one who slammed the door?

  “Did you go straight upstairs to work after you left the apartment?”

  He nodded. She could see the wheels in his head turning over all the possibilities of what the slamming door meant.

  “I’ve always said someone was getting into my house. I keep hearing things like that, but I never see anyone. If I never see anyone, then... I’ve started to wonder if this house really is haunted.”

  Chase rubbed the back of his neck. She’d seen him do that a lot and had come to believe it was a sign he was stressed.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. There have been some weird things happen. Some of it can be explained, but some of it... I can’t figure out what’s going on. But I do know one thing... There is another way into this house besides the obvious.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “One night I went into the kitchen to get a drink of water and someone nearly ran over me getting out of the living room. He pushed me into the wall, ran into the kitchen, and then left the back door open. I felt the flesh of his upper arm when he ran into me. Human flesh. Someone has to be getting into the house another way because I made sure the doors were locked for the night.”

  Her heart pounded a little harder. “When did that happen?”

  His eyes locked with hers. No longer did he avoid eye contact with her. “The night you had that nightmare.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She tried hard not to sound accusatory.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. The moment when it would have been right to tell you about it passed by.”

  He sounded apologetic. What was the use of getting all bent out of shape over what he hadn’t told her when there were so many things to say? The important things could easily get lost in the clutter.

  “I didn’t want to tell you when you were upset—”

  “Hum. I have been upset a lot lately.”

  The tension in his face relaxed a little. “Yes, you have.”

  He appeared to be waiting for some sort of verdict from her.

  “And you’re sure the thing that bumped you was human?”

  “A man. I have no doubt.”

  Someone running around her house wouldn’t explain the strange feeling she’d had of being choked nearly to death.

  “Could it be that there is more than one thing going on here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe a living human is trying to harass me or drive me crazier than I already am, but I think there is also something supernatural going on here—”

  He laughed. “I don’t believe in the paranormal, but lately I’ve come to believe something unexplained is going on.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  He stepped closer to her, hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him in a tight embrace.

  “I promise I won’t let you be alone. Ever. Not until we find out what’s happening.” He waited a moment before continuing. “But I’ve told you that before. When are you going to believe me?”

  They were both still damp, but the sun had started to dry their soaked clothing. She laid her head on his wet shirt and whispered into his chest. “I believe you.”

  “I know you need to trust me, so I need to be honest with you. I’m not trying to hide anything from you anymore. I want to tell you what happened to my wife...Angie.” His chest moved beneath her cheek as he drew in a sharp breath. “Just give me a little time. I thought I could handle telling you about it, but it’s still a little raw.”

  “It’s okay, Chase. I’m not pushing.” Even though she was dying from curiosity. “It’s just...Grayson shocked me. I can’t believe he’d l
ie to me like that. You know what else he said?” She waited a moment. “He suggested you already had some sort of previous connection with my cousin.”

  “Oh, babe, cops will say anything to get you to trust them and admit something you shouldn’t. He was going for the shock effect.”

  He didn’t hesitate. She could detect no dissembling in his reaction. He was good at lying, but she wanted to believe him, so she chose to do so.

  “He really is trying to get us to turn on each other.”

  She trusted Chase so much more than she trusted the cop.

  “I would bet that’s his end game.” He stepped back and rubbed her upper arms, warming her against the chilling wind. “Let’s go change into some dry clothes. I’m starting to get a chill.”

  The sun was setting over the western horizon, shooting streaks of orange-yellow light through the tops of the trees on the ridges of the far hills.

  “Then we need to fix the sink, and that means a trip to the home improvements store.”

  She groaned. “Yes, I guess it does because the local hardware store will be closed by the time we can get to town.”

  “Well, we better get started if we’re going to get this done before the sun comes up tomorrow morning. We should get something to eat while we’re in town.”

  “I don’t mind fixing us something.” She could go back into the house as long as Chase came with her.

  “You could use a break from this place. When was the last time you went into town?”

  He was right. She needed to get away from the heavy tension that seemed to fill the house, but going into town wasn’t a better alternative.

  “I don’t want to,” she muttered. “When I go to town…” She stopped and made a disgusted noise.

  “When you go to town…what?”

  “People stare at me. They are probably calling me crazy behind my back. Okay, so maybe I had a little conniption fit at the home improvements store one day, but that’s no reason to label me crazy, is it? I might have said something… They don’t know me.”

  “You had a conniption fit?”

  “Never mind,” she snapped.

  “In the home improvements store? Is that why you prefer the hardware store?”