Addictive Paranormal Reads Halloween Box Set

by Nana Malone

  “Devon, please come in.” I opened the door wider as he stepped through.

  He gave a soft whistle. “Man this place looks worse than when I first saw it with your uncle.” He turned to look at me, genuine sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Mr. Wilkins was a nice man.”

  “Thank you.” The concern from this virtual stranger caused a flood of emotions to well up, catching in my throat. I tamped them down the best I could. “Maxwell Black, my uncle’s attorney, said you’d done some work here in the past.

  “Small town, so there are only a few of us with experience in these kinds of restorations.” He walked around, examining everything, touching here and there as he noted the peeling paint and wallpaper, the small holes where fixtures had been torn from the walls.

  I wondered what it would feel like to have Devon focus his laser–sharp attention solely on me. Apparently I’d been too long without a man, concentrating on my career instead.

  “It’s weird though. You’d think with it being such a small town, they’d jump at the chance for a job like this. But you’re the only one that agreed to come out today. I have some tentative for tomor—”

  “They won’t show.” He continued to study the room.

  I couldn’t believe how certain he sounded. “Why would you say that? They said they’d try to make it.”

  “Hmm ... oh.” He dragged his attention away from the peeling wallpaper, took a few long strides and was back in front of me. “I guess Max didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” I asked, tired of the innuendos from him and Max and the weird looks the people in town gave me. There was something I wasn’t being told.

  He swore under his breath. “The idiot. Well, darlin’, the truth of the matter is, you’ve inherited a haunted house. Or so they say.”

  Stunned, I was speechless for a moment. And then I laughed.

  “They? Who are they? And what makes you think it’s haunted?” I thought back over my conversations with Beth. Could this be what she was talking about? Couldn’t be. I didn’t believe in ghosts. And neither did she as far as I knew.

  “I don’t think it’s haunted. But others do. Rumor has it your uncle thought so after he’d been here awhile.”

  I followed him to the formal living room, where he promptly sat in the chair I’d been warming earlier. I made room for myself on the sofa where the huge, soft leather cushions practically swallowed me.

  “I guess Max was right. My uncle was crazy.”

  His hands formed into fists. “Max said that?”

  “Well, not exactly. He said Uncle Frederick had mental health issues. Same thing though, right?” I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to conjure an image of my late uncle as he’d been when I was a child.

  “Listen, I don’t know what happened with your uncle. I don’t know if he really developed some mental problems or if the wacky townspeople here convinced him there were ghosts in his home. But the man I knew was not insane.” His gaze wandered over the chaos and he lowered his voice. “But something obviously happened to him.”

  I sat, deep in thought about my uncle, Beth’s dreams, the unnatural cold spots in the house. Stupid.

  “I beg your pardon?” Devon’s eyes widened and his mouth twitched.

  What the …? Suddenly my thoughts found their way into the open. I needed a muzzle.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking out loud. It’s stupid to think the house is haunted. There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I declared—almost as a dare to the house.

  “Of course not. Now, how ‘bout I get started with the estimate?”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Devon was right. The others never showed. Nor could he find workers to come to the house to help. After a great deal of discussion, we decided to do it ourselves. He would tackle the big projects. I’d do the cleaning, sorting and some painting.

  I thought about leaving town and just selling the house as is, but I wanted to see it restored to its former glory. Basically, I wanted to prove the house wasn’t haunted and stop all the rumors. And I wanted to find out exactly what happened to my uncle.

  At times though, I found the whole town unnerving. I’d walk down the block and people would call their children to them, stop whatever they were doing and go back inside their homes, until I was gone. They whispered to each other whenever I entered a store and I often heard comments about Uncle Fred being crazy. Occasionally, the word ‘haunted’ filtered through, but I couldn’t discern how it related to my uncle.

  After returning from my recent trek into town for cleaning supplies, I shrugged off the town’s bad vibes and tackled the kitchen. I took out bags of garbage, dusted, swept, mopped, and washed dishes, throwing out those that were just too gross to even contemplate trying to clean.

  Once I’d made a clean path to the pantry, I looked over the shelves and picked a can at random. I opened it and though it had not quite reached its expiration date, it stank and appeared black, mottled. I decided to toss everything. I couldn’t stand the thought of eating anything that had been amongst the putrid smells—not even those items in cans and jars. I felt guilty at all the wasted food and made a note to donate cash to a local food pantry once I sold the home.

  A crash echoed. The broom had fallen from the corner where I’d stood it. But at the same time, a louder clatter came from the library.

  I hurried to the massive room only to stop as Devon stood facing the entrance, hands on his hips. I joined him at the closed door.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “The floor must not be level here. The door just slammed shut and wouldn’t open. I’ll have to take it off …”

  I’d reached out and turned the knob, the door opened with ease.

  “Maybe you just needed to jiggle it a little.”

  He rubbed his chin through two days’ worth of whiskers. It made him look even sexier.

  “Maybe.” Devon shook his head and then looked at me and grinned.

  He pulled out a handkerchief and swiped my nose. Startled, I stepped back and then laughed when he held up the blackened material.

  “Guess that kitchen was pretty dirty.” He stuffed the cloth back in his pocket.

  I eased the band from my ponytail and rubbed my head where the hair had pulled. “Yeah. It reeked. But I’m done for the day and going to head back to the hotel. I want to work on the bedroom tomorrow. The sooner I can stay here and stop paying hotel bills, the better.”

  “I’ll call it a day, too. Tomorrow, I’ll help you in the bedroom and see if we can’t get some of Fred’s stuff out of there.”

  Devon followed me outside and waited as I locked the door. “Hey, Serena. Don’t go in the library if no one’s here. That door really was jammed. I don’t know what caused it, but I wouldn’t want you to get stuck in there. I’ll look at it as soon as I can and see what I need to do to fix it.”

  “Okay. I’ll have enough to do in the master suite the next few days, anyway.”

  I watched him saunter down the walk to his pickup, the tight jeans molding to his butt. My hands wanted to follow suit. Sheesh. I needed to stop thinking about him that way.

  I groaned and got in my car.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  The next couple of days passed in a blur of dirt, grime and sneezes. I went through all of Uncle Frederick’s clothes, emptying pockets and folding them. Once packed, I helped Devon load the boxes into the back of his truck and watched him drive off. He returned a short time later.

  His face flushed red. A vein throbbed in his temple. “There are a bunch of idiots in this town.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “The homeless shelters wouldn’t take the clothes. They know I’m working here and that those were Fred’s. All three made it clear they wouldn’t take anything from this house.”

  I was just beginning to understand the realities of small town life. Everyone knew everyone and everything about everyone. My poor uncle. Who could blame him if he went a little mad with all the r
umors, innuendo and small–mindedness.

  “It’s not like he died from an illness someone could catch from his clothes.” I threw my hands up. “The man had a heart attack for Pete’s sake.” Unexpected tears ran down my cheeks. It had all been too much. Sorrow over my uncle’s death and the lost years crashed over me.

  Devon was by my side in an instant pulling me to his chest. “Shhh. It’s not really Fred they’re afraid of. He was well–liked when he moved here. It’s just the stupid superstitions, myths.”

  My fingers curled around his shirt. I breathed in his scent—all male. I became aware of his hard chest beneath my cheek, the way my body pressed against his. I pulled back, wiping the tears from my face.

  Devon kept a steadying hand at my waist. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I guess I’ve needed to do that since I heard about his death. I’m sorry I did it all over your shirt though.” I tried to smooth out the wrinkles I’d made.

  He caught my hand against his chest. “It’s fine. It’ll launder. If not, I’ll give it to the shelter.”

  I laughed. It wasn’t that funny but in that moment, it was. I needed the laugh, like I’d needed the cry.

  “Go wash your face. We’ll drive into Asheville, drop the clothes off at a shelter there and have some lunch while we’re out.”

  “But …”

  “No buts. Go on now. You need a good meal, too. I’ve seen the junk you’ve been bringing for lunch.” He smiled and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

  He was right. Protein bars and chocolate—not exactly the most nutritious of lunches.

  “Okay. Be right back.”

  Stepping into the bathroom, I again thought I saw something in the mirror from the corner of my eye. I whipped around, but nothing was there. Tired. That’s all it was. Plus the crying jag had left my eyes watery.

  I washed my face and toweled it dry. Voices raised in anger filtered through the wall. An icy cold passed over me, making my spine tingle. The temperature dropped until I had chill bumps on my skin. What the heck? Who was Devon arguing with? Had he turned down the thermostat? I shivered and rubbed my arms.

  Entering the living room, I saw him sitting on the couch, his head back, eyes closed.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  He opened one eye and looked at me. Opening the other, he said, “What? I wasn’t talking to anyone. Just waiting on you.”

  “Devon. I heard two people arguing. We’re the only two people in the house that I know of, so it had to be you talking with someone. Did they leave?” I opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, looking down the street. The heat of the August sun warmed me enough that I could almost forget about the unnatural cold I’d felt in the house.

  He walked up behind me and closed the door. “No one else was in the house. Maybe the noise filtered in from the neighbors.”

  I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was telling the truth. But, since he didn’t look as if he’d just been in an argument, I shrugged it off.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  The bedroom, finally clean and all personal items removed, looked even more massive. With some light paint on the walls and soft fabrics around the windows, it would be sophisticated.

  I needed to go buy paint, so I searched for Devon to see if he wanted anything while I was out. I called, but he didn’t answer. The house was so big though, it wasn’t unusual not to be able to hear each other.

  Something hit the floor in the library with a small thump. I figured Devon was there, so I stepped inside. The room was empty. I hadn’t spent any time in the room so far, as I’d focused on getting the main living areas habitable.

  Uncle Frederick had a treasure trove of classics. Books lined the floor to ceiling shelves and littered the floor and desk top. A large mahogany desk sat on the far side of the room, covered in dust, like everything else in the room. Gossamer cobwebs joined unrelated objects. Papers were scattered all around the room and stacks of what looked to be personal leather journals rested open on the desk. Some lay on the floor as if thrown there. I picked one off the rug and my gaze locked on the hand–written words.

  No more will. no more fight. one’s in me now no escape

  jesse edgar gretchen why why why

  no one believes

  help me help me helpme helpme helpme help. me. HELP ME!!!

  A bolt of cold fear shot through me and I dropped the journal on the floor. From other documents, I’d gone through, the ramblings looked to be in my uncle’s writing. Even though I didn’t want to touch it again, I picked up the journal and flipped to the front. Frederick T. Wilkins had been carefully handwritten on the first page.

  What had happened to my uncle? Had he been crazy like the people in town whispered? I couldn’t bear to go through any more of the journals just now, so I stacked them on the corner of the desk. Just the thought of reading more incoherent passages caused my stomach to twist. A prickly sensation crawled over my skin and I felt physically ill.

  Devon made an appearance as I picked up scattered paperwork.

  “Hi, Serena. Did you call me?” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The muscles bulged in his thighs and biceps.

  “Hmm …” My gaze locked on the man and I definitely appreciated the view. Six feet of snugly clothed muscles and those green eyes which smiled wickedly at me as if he knew what I was thinking. “Oh. Yeah, I did about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Devon looked confused. “No. Just before I walked in. I thought you called out for Jesse. Hurt my feelings a little you called me the wrong name.” He winked.

  Now it was my turned to be confused.

  “No, I’ve been here straightening up for at least fifteen minutes, although you can’t tell it. And I came in here looking for you when I heard a noise.”

  Doubt shadowed Devon’s face as he took in my reaction.

  “I definitely didn’t call you Jesse or any other name. I don’t even know a Jes—” I stopped. A chill crept over my body, and something flickered in my memory. Jesse. The journal. Jesse, Edgar, Gretchen.

  I raced for the stack of books and unearthed the bottom one. Scanning through the pages, I found the one I wanted and handed it to Devon.

  “Look at this. What do you think?” I watched him as he read; looking for signs that he was as freaked out by the writings as much as I was.

  “Weird. What is it?” He eyed me briefly before he started flipping through the pages of the book.

  “I’m not sure. It looks like my uncle’s writing. But, it makes no sense. I’ve never heard of the people he mentioned. I don’t think they’re family.” I chewed on my bottom lip, a nervous habit I’d picked up in the last few days.

  “Well, that explains the Jesse part. I guess I heard you readin’ it.” He shrugged and held the journal out to me.

  I didn’t want to touch it.

  “Devon, I wasn’t reading out loud. I didn’t call you Jesse. I don’t know who or what you heard.”

  We stared at each other for a full minute. I have to confess, for a second, part of me thought maybe he was trying to scare me. Make me a little uncomfortable, so he could be the big hero and swoop in to the rescue. He’d made no effort to hide his attraction to me, which I still found unbelievable considering what a hunk he was. His type usually went for the Beths of the world.

  No. Even though I’d only known him a week, Devon wasn’t like that. He had integrity; he faced things head on. He didn’t play silly head games.

  “Well, maybe it was someone outside,” I suggested, not really believing it, but wanting even less to believe what I was thinking. We did have the windows raised in several rooms to air the place out.

  “Could have been, I guess.” He nodded. “So what were you looking for me for?”

  I paused trying to remember. “Oh. Paint. I’m ready to start painting the master bedroom and bath in the morning. I’ll go by the hardware store first in the morning. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?”


  “I’ll text you a list of supplies. Just a few things, nothing big.” He shut the window. “I’ll lock up.”

  “Great. I could use a shower. I’m afraid every time I walk into the hotel they’re going to send me around back to hose off before they’ll let me enter the lobby.”

  He laughed. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As I got to the door, Devon stopped me. “How about having dinner with me?”

  With reluctance, I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I have a ton of things I still need to do.”

  My refusal had nothing to do with lack of physical attraction. I’d wanted him since I opened the door that first day. Devon and I could definitely have some fun together. No doubt about it. And even though he’d been all business, lunch the other day had been fun and relaxing.

  But, there was more to it than that. I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good contractor. If we messed things up by starting a relationship, or more likely ending one, then I was left with no one to do all the repairs to my humble abode.

  “Please, Serena. I want to get to know you better.”

  Just a simple statement, but my heart did a little flip within the confines of my chest. And I relented. He did say please after all.

  “Okay. You can pick me up at seven.” I smiled.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Devon arrived right on time wearing jeans and a nice dress shirt which made the green in his eyes dark and smoldering. He looked me up and down, taking in the heels and the little black dress, I’d chosen, and when his gaze met mine, my breath caught in my throat. Butterflies performed a ballet in my stomach. Before I could do something stupid like pull him into the room and to my bed, I grabbed my purse and closed the door.

  While not as chic as some in Miami, the cozy Italian restaurant Devon selected offered small–town charm, bordering on cliché with red–checked tablecloths and candle–dripped wine bottles. The food was heavenly, the air filled with the aroma of sauces, spices, and garlic.