Torrie gaped at the amount, but managed to keep her mouth shut. “Thank you,” she forced out. “This will certainly get things started. You understand, of course, I’ll need to make sure this clears the bank without any problem.” With the amount of this check, he was like the dream come true when it came to her business. And this was only the beginning. Of course she still had to step once again inside the Hargrove House. When he’d first offered the job, she wasn’t certain she could. The idea still freaked her out, but she was an adult now, not a scared child on a dare. And she wouldn’t be alone. There would be workers.
“Of course.” He finished off his tea and set the cup down with a clink. “And one more important thing…”
“Yes?”
“The conservatory, the room with lots of glass on the back side of the house, the room where you believe your desk may have been?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“I don’t really plan to put a lot of plants out there, just a few. However, I would like the windows checked and sealed. I plan to call it my get away room,” Will explained.
“Get away room?”
He grinned at her and watched her expectantly. “It will be the room where I can get away from everything.”
Torrie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Like a man cave?”
He chuckled. “Whatever you’d like to call it.”
“You don’t want to put your man cave in the basement? That’s where most men want it.”
“The cellar is dark and musty and might have bodies buried in it. I think I’ll keep the man cave, as you call it, in the conservatory. Anyway, I’d like to have a desk there—something perhaps like your desk and also a grand piano.”
For a moment, she thought he was teasing her, but the look on his face told her he wasn’t teasing at all. “A grand piano?” It was easier to think about the piano than the idea of bodies.
“Preferably black. I’m sure you’ll have to order one, so I wanted you to know as soon as possible. Let me know if the check I gave you isn’t sufficient.”
“I will,” Torrie had to choke out. If she found out this was all a joke or an early April Fool’s prank, she would wind up in jail after she killed him.
Torrie had to force in a deep breath. She couldn’t have asked for a bigger job had she dreamed it up. “All right.” She stood when he did. She extended her hand to him and when he took it, she could have sworn something like warm oil flowed up her arm.
Something else happened when he held her hand. Torrie wasn’t sure what, though. Did the world stop moving? Did time stop? Did her heart stop beating? She had the strange sense that time did stop or perhaps it simply jumped. Did her office change? For a moment she thought she was somewhere else, and Will held her hand. Then she thought he might kiss her.
She was disappointed when he didn’t.
All she knew was uncertainty as she struggled to understand if he held her hand for days or seconds as she was lost in the deep ocean of his eyes.
Chapter One
Two weeks later, armed with samples, her laptop and a fully charged cell phone Torrie was ready to start the biggest job of her life and career. She stood outside the Hargrove House and swallowed hard. William Dalton might not be afraid of a few ghosts, but he hadn’t grown up hearing stories. And he obviously hadn’t heard anyone call his name when there shouldn’t be anyone there.
She told herself she shouldn’t be afraid. She was a grown woman, not a child or a teenager frightened by myths and legends, no longer a child hearing voices which were most likely nothing more than the wind whistling through the cracks of an old house. The reassurance didn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest as she stared up at the house.
And yet, it wasn’t exactly fear or terror that had her heart hammering in her chest. Torrie didn’t know what it was—apprehension? Perhaps.
If she didn’t know better, it compared to the thrill of climbing into the seat of a roller coaster or a Ferris wheel. One with no safety belt or safety bar.
Yes, it was going to scare her and thrill her.
At the same time, she wanted that fright. She anticipated it.
She needed it.
She needed to do this job. She needed to face her fear. With the Hargrove House, she could certainly make a name for herself. Torrie took a deep breath and worked to calm herself. It didn’t help. The air was cold against her lips as she licked them. Thoughts of Will Dalton both calmed her and caused her heart to skip a beat at the same time. That shouldn’t happen, and yet she couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to. She wished to hell she could remember where she’d met him. She just knew she had. Somewhere.
She was amazed at what his words, “Money is no object,” could accomplish. Not only did the bank clear the check he gave her, but she soon discovered there was an abundantly sufficient account set up just for the preservation and renovation of Hargrove House. And those words of money being no object not only moved past any ghosts that might have scared local construction workers, but they also brought about the curiosity of the rest of the folk of the small town of Liberty, Illinois. She was able to secure work teams quickly, and within two weeks, the house was stable and sound. Not only were all the windows of the conservatory repaired and sealed, but all were cleaned. Within a few days, the plumbing was up to date and in working order, with two fully functional bathrooms despite the lack of decoration and modern fixtures—that would soon be her job. And although the kitchen was far from finished, there was a sink with running water, a working microwave and a new refrigerator so Will could live in the house during the renovation. Now she could get down to actually doing her part of the job—the decorating and furnishing. She hadn’t seen William Dalton again, although he’d called several times giving her updates on the work. The outside work was scheduled to start today. William Dalton had agreed to her idea of country blue for the paint color and white for all trim. Hopefully by the end of this week, the house wouldn’t look so haunted or neglected.
She stared at the Victorian house, seeing its beauty and potential as she never had before. It had a towered room that extended up all three levels. The windows on the tower were arched. The wide porch snaked around three sides. Torrie followed the rail of the porch that turned the corner and disappeared to the side of the house. It needed replacing because of the numerous broken rungs. The decorative trim and soffits needed to be replaced more than the porch rail. Every window had shutters. One shutter hung haphazardly. The front door had a large oval pane.
Torrie remembered stepping through that door.
Now she saw how beautiful it was. She hoped the door didn’t need to be replaced.
It was easy to see the house painted and restored. It was easy to see it with wicker furniture with fluffy cushions—blue stripes she thought—on the porch. There would be a white swing at the corner, and a small table for entertaining. She smiled at the thought and took a bold step forward, feeling ready to begin.
She wondered if all the work on the house would be enough to stop the stories, or if it would just create more. She wondered even more if this job would keep her busy enough she wouldn’t hear her name being called.
Then she took a deep breath and reached into her pocket and felt the crystal from the chandelier that she’d brought with her. Strange, it felt warm and comforting. It calmed her heart, a little. The stories didn’t matter. What mattered was the money William Dalton paid for this job. She also had two appointments for the end of the week with potential new clients. Her business was no longer on a downward spiral for now, and Jane was back to work answering phones and taking messages every day.
“It’s stupid to be afraid of a house, anyway. I never heard my name. It had to be just the wind,” Torrie muttered out loud. Her words were lost to the breeze, but it didn’t stop her from continuing. “It’s only rooms, walls, windows and doors—just a house. William Dalton has lived there for several days, and he’s still walking and talking enough to call me on my cell.
So calm down and do the job.”
Her cell vibrated, startling her. She glanced at the caller ID, then muttered, “Sorry, Nick, I have no more time for your stupidness.” She pressed the side button to halt any further vibration before slipping the phone into her jacket pocket beside the crystal.
The front door opened, and Will Dalton stood in the doorway. Wearing jeans and a black sweater that accented all the right muscle groups, he stood out in contrast with the bleak house. Seeing his smile inspired her to restore the house. She smiled, wanting to work with him, for him. For a split second, Torrie contemplated the idea of asking him to stop right where he was so she could take a picture with her cell.
“Welcome, Torrie,” he called to her before she could get out her phone. “Do come in.”
She moved toward the house with mixed feelings. There was still something frightening and cold that moved up her back, and at the same time, the warm welcoming call of the house touched her. Perhaps it was Will Dalton that brought the warmth. Torrie couldn’t be sure. She pretended her hesitation was caused by the need to watch her step on the cracked walk.
After she climbed the steps of the porch, he didn’t readily move out of her way to allow her to enter, but he stood before her and studied her, looking at her closely and apparently liking what he saw. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you, too.” she said.
He extended his hand to her.
Torrie placed her hand in his. But this time, he didn’t shake her hand. This time as he took her hand, he held it as if helping her from a car or perhaps as if he thought to place his lips on the back of her hand. And he held it long enough again to make her flush with warmth. Then, with her hand still in his, he ushered her into the house.
Into Hargrove House.
Torrie hadn’t been near Hargrove House since that night when she was eleven, had never been closer than the corner, and had avoided even that at every opportunity. Her heart raced and yet, at the same time, she looked around at the old woodwork and simply fell in love with it. In the daylight and with the work that had been done, it wasn’t really frightening. It had all the potential of home, she tried to convince herself.
Then he shut the door behind her with an audible click of the latch that sounded loud in the quiet.
Torrie fought to catch her breath as she listened, half expecting to hear her name echo down the hall.
All she heard was silence. She let out her breath in a huff of relief.
Will obviously didn’t notice her forceful breathing as he smiled warmly and still held her hand. “Welcome to Hargrove House. I’m so glad you’re here. But I can tell you’re nervous,” he commented. “And your hand’s cold. “ He covered her hand completely using his second hand in a comforting gesture.
“You must understand. I’ve lived in this town all my life. I’ve heard lots of stories about this place, and I’ve been terrified of it. And when I was younger, I...I guess I’m just waiting to see if I hear chains rattling or something.” She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “Now here I am. I’m sorry. I’m talking about your home, but I just want you to understand.”
“You’re inside the mouth of the dragon,” he put in. “I do understand. I mean, just look around. I can tell you every worker has muttered under his breath wondering why anyone would want to live here.”
“So you do understand.”
He smiled warmly and squeezed her hand. “Well, allow me to put you at ease. I’ve been sleeping under this roof for the past nine days, and haven’t heard a single moan, bump in the night—except for some shifting of the new plumbing—chain rattle, or seen a misty apparition.”
“You haven’t heard anyone calling your name, have you?” she had to ask.
He studied her intently before he shook his head. “I’ve heard hardly a creak, I assure you. And the workers who all muttered under their breath are pretty much at ease now, too.”
“Now, I feel better.” It also helped that he still held her hand. He was incredibly warm.
“Good. Come into the parlor. It’s the cleanest. There’s also a table where you can work, lay out samples, whatever.” He grinned at her. “We’ll call it your office until I get the desk for the conservatory.” He let go of her and took the cases she carried.
“Speaking of the desk for the conservatory, I’ve looked online and haven’t yet found anything I thought was suitable. Do you have a picture of what you might like out there?”
He paused as he led her through the large foyer and he met her gaze. “In my mind, I do. I gave you the best description I could. Perhaps when you see the conservatory, you’ll get a better idea about what should be in there.” Then he continued leading them down a short hall and into another large room. New windows covered the south wall and filled the room with light and a brilliant view of a million fall colors. The table turned out to be an old dining table and four chairs that didn’t quite match. “I prepared tea for us. Since we drank it before, I assumed you prefer tea over coffee,” he admitted.
“Tea is wonderful, thank you.”
He set her cases down on the table.
“I had to warm the water in the microwave oven. I was wondering, however, if I could have one of those dispensers like you have in your office that puts out only hot water.” He poured tea.
“I’m sure that would be no problem.” She took out her pad of paper and made a note.
“Good. I thought that was one of the greatest inventions,” he said.
Torrie smiled. She took the cup he handed her and found he’d made tea exactly the way she liked it, with just a bit of sweet. “I brought samples. The painters can begin painting the day after tomorrow if you can pick out colors—”
“Why don’t you pick the colors?”
“Excuse me? It’s your home. You should pick the colors.”
“I think you certainly picked the right color for the outside. I trust you’ll do the same for each room and for the hall.”
“But—” she tried again.
He shook his head to stop her words. “You’re the decorator, so decorate. I have more important things to do than worry about colors. I’ll leave that expertise up to you. I have, however, found a few old photographs that might help you.” He pulled three large, very old, photos from an envelope that had been near the teapot on the other end of the table.
She took a large drink before setting her cup down. “Where did you get these?” Torrie couldn’t help but ask as she stared down.
“I made a friend with someone in the historical society who let me have them.”
“Really?” Torrie was certain his money didn’t hurt, either.
“I’ve always found a man cannot have too many friends.”
“That’s true,” she muttered, taking in the second photo.
In excellent condition, the three black and whites showed nothing in the way of color except for black, white and every shade of gray in between. And yet, they illustrated detail of the exposed rooms. Will pointed to the first. “This was a photo of the ballroom, which is on the third floor.”
“Oh, so those blurry things are dancers. I see the long skirts now,” Torrie said.
“What’s even better is you can see the wallpaper. It looks like flowers set in circles,” he pointed to the photo.
Torrie looked closer. She smiled. “I don’t know why, but even despite the lack of color, I have the distinct impression the wallpaper was gold and the flowers were deep pink. And look at these innate carvings on the columns that are in each corner of the room. They capture all the attention.”
“They’re still there.”
“Wonderful,” Torrie muttered as she studied them. “Good grief, the floor looks polished and smooth as glass. And I know the chandeliers were nothing less than crystal.” She felt the piece of crystal in her pocket.
“Well, it’s a good thing you replaced them with the same.”
“They’re fully installed already?
” she had to ask. She hadn’t heard.
“The lighting was all finished yesterday. It’s strange, though, but I think it looks like the one in the foyer above the staircase is missing a crystal.”
“Well, I’ll check it out, but getting the light reworked happened quicker than anticipated.”
The second large photograph had been cut smaller. There was a single hand in the cut off left corner, telling Torrie that someone had been photographed and removed. The room beyond that mystery person was obviously a bedroom, displaying a large canopy bed and a lady’s dressing table with a mirror and fancy chair. The wallpaper here was scroll work. What could be seen of the room was tastefully and artfully put together in balance.
“This is the master bedroom,” she commented.
“Yes, but that is my private domain. I only showed you this so you could capture the essence of the house and the way it looked. I’d prefer you finish the rest of the house first and not invade that space.”
“I see. Whose hand do you suppose that is?” she had to ask.
“The owner’s wife, so I would assume.”
“Mrs. Hargrove? That’s a big assumption,” she muttered, staring at the photo.
He shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter, does it?”
For some reason Torrie couldn’t fathom, it did matter knowing whose hand she saw in the photo. She fought down a shiver looking at it before moving her gaze to the next photo.
The third photograph captured her attention the most. Given the fireplace, it was a photo of the room where Torrie now stood—the parlor. This photo, too, was missing part perhaps a person sitting on a chair, due to a tear. Yet, there was nothing remaining to tell what or who might be missing. It was a clear shot of the beautiful mantel, which was no longer present, the striped wallpaper, candled sconces, the ornate sofa and chairs, and an eloquent desk and matching leather chair.
“Do you want it to be the same as these?” Torrie asked. “Exactly the same?”
“I understand it cannot be exactly the same, but I would like the same richness, so to speak. The wiring has been updated, and I know the lights have to fit certain criteria, but please do your best and spare no expense. ”
Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One Page 2