GRAYSON MANOR HAUNTING
Cheryl Bradshaw
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and should be recognized as such.
First edition March 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Cheryl Bradshaw
Cover Design © 2014 Indie Designz
Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 1482741709
ISBN-13: 978-1482741704
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, etc.) without the prior written permission and consent of the author.
ALSO BY CHERYL BRADSHAW
Black Diamond Death, (Sloane Monroe Series #1)
Murder in Mind (Sloane Monroe Series #2)
I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe Series #3)
Stranger in Town (Sloane Monroe Series #4)
Sloane Monroe Series Boxed Set (Books 1-3)
Whispers of Murder (Novella)
Praise for Cheryl Bradshaw’s Books:
“Cheryl Bradshaw writes with flair and a page turning speed, never getting bogged down in too much detail, but always giving us a clear picture of settings and people.”
--Gerry McCullough, Author of the Angel Murphy Series
“Cheryl Bradshaw draws on both genius and talent for storytelling to hide the writing mechanics so well that in retrospect one wonders if they actually read the story or simply watched it unfold like a movie.”
--Borje Melin, Reader
“I am an avid follower of the Sloane Monroe series and any of Cheryl Bradshaw's books. I literally count down the days until a new book comes out.”
--Beth Sandlian, Reader
In a letter written to Fanny McCullough after the death of her father, Abraham Lincoln offered these condolences:
“In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares.”
DEDICATION
To good friends who have stuck with me,
navigating the way between calm and turbulent seas.
I dare say, I have the greatest friends of all.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my team who always makes it happen including my publicist, cover designer, editor, proofers, and formatter…I would be lost without each and every one of you.
Tom Adair, once again I thank you for your forensic advice and expertise and also to forensic anthropologists, Dr. Marcella H. Sorg and A. Midori Albert, PhD.
And to my readers. I wanted to bring you something fresh and new with this new series. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The theme song of this novel is Ghosts That We Knew by Mumford & Sons.
CHAPTER 1
Addison Lockhart watched the cab dart back down the dead-end country road, leaving nothing but a billowy dust cloud in its wake. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before spinning around on the heel of her boot. When her eyes reopened, she wasn’t prepared for the image before her.
You’re here now. You can do this. No more steps back. No more past. And no more death. Only life. Your life. It’s time to move forward.
The house was much older than she thought it would be. It was dingy and needed work—a lot of it. Several of the wood shingles were missing from the exterior. A piece of railing on the left side of the porch had been partially ripped off, its jagged pieces forming splinter-worthy spikes. Even so, there was a sense of grandeur behind the tattered facade—something regal in the architectural beauty of the domed turret and multi-gabled, steep-pitched roof. Even with all of its flaws, none of the windows on the house were broken, not even the magnificent stained-glass one in the center of the top floor.
The property surrounding the Queen Anne-style house was heavily wooded, its thick, mature trees stretching over the back of the mountainside. Addison stood silent and still, taking it all in, hoping she’d made the right decision in coming here. An owl sounded in the distance, making her aware of his presence. She glanced into the trees, knowing he could see her, even though she couldn’t see him.
Addison looked over the acreage to the house next door, noticing what appeared to be the pitch of a roof peeking through the trees. There was a good distance between the two houses, which was exactly what she was looking for. Peace and quiet. Serenity. No horns honking, no traffic jams, no sirens…just the faint sound of water coming from what she assumed was the Hudson River.
One week earlier, Addison had been seated in a stuffy lawyer’s office, only half listening to the man on the opposite side of the desk as he rattled off what she’d inherited according to her mother’s will: money, jewelry, the autographed record collection that she’d never been allowed to touch, and a house.
A house?
And not just any house. A manor.
“I don’t understand,” Addison had said. “My mother owned a manor in Rhinebeck, New York?”
The lawyer simply nodded, his eyes scanning the document for additional information.
“My mother never mentioned it to me before.”
The lawyer gazed over the rim of his glasses, staring at her like she was a child who asked too many questions. “From what I understand, it was the home your mother grew up in…or was born in. Are you sure you’ve never been there before?”
Addison shook her head.
“Says here your grandmother owned the house outright,” he continued. “It looks like it has been passed down over the last two generations from mother to child—first to your mother, now to you. There is one curiosity though.” Addison lifted a brow. The lawyer continued. “Your grandfather didn’t appear anywhere on the deed when it was transferred to your mother. It seems the manor has always been owned by a female.”
Addison slouched back into the sofa. “My mother was an only child, and so was I. There wasn’t much of a choice.”
“Well, I suppose you could just deed it to your father if you don’t want to bother with it,” the lawyer suggested. “Or you could sell it.”
Addison snapped out of the memory and stared back at the house again, wondering why it had been abandoned for so long, forced to deteriorate year after year. If no one wanted it, why hadn’t it been sold? It seemed a shame for such a thing of beauty to go to waste.
She placed a foot on the front porch step, testing its durability by tapping it with the toe of her boot a few times to make sure it wouldn’t cave in when she applied more pressure. When she felt confident it would hold her weight, she stepped forward, continuing the ritual on the next step and the next one after that. She made it onto the porch and walked to the front door, stopping to notice a metal nameplate drilled into place over the mailbox. It was too grimy to read. She looked around, seeing nothing she could use to clean it off. She pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hands and wiped the nameplate down, reading the words aloud as they came into view: “Grayson Manor.”
Addison reached into her pocket, pulled out a key ring, and inserted the largest of the keys into the door. It clicked, unlocking instantly, but when she pushed against the solid mass of wood, it didn’t budge. She tried again, this time ramming the side of her body into the door, shoulder first. It hopped forward only an inch, the door standing firm, like a bully blocking passage to the other side. She backed up, gripped the handle, and tried again, this tim
e with more force. The door swung open, almost flinging her to the floor in the process. She didn’t mind—she’d gotten what she wanted. She was in.
The interior of the house was run down, yet charming, just like the outside. Addison expected to find rooms full of furniture with sheets thoughtfully placed over the top, preserving their integrity. Instead, pieces were haphazardly strewn about in piles, many of them damaged from years of neglect.
Off to one side was a kitchen, although it didn’t look much like one. All of the appliances were missing, and the drawers and cabinets contained nothing but layers of dust and rat droppings—some fresher than others. Addison ran a finger across the front of a cabinet door, staring at the cakelike layer of dirt before wiping it off on her jeans. The dark walnut cabinetry was simple yet refined—elegant enough to suggest that great care had been taken to beautify the place at one time. She was determined to make it that way again.
She left the kitchen and entered a large, open living space with wood floors. The room reminded her of a dance hall, large enough for a banquet or a significant-sized party. A trio of sullied chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the one in the center being far more grandiose than the others. It may not have been what she expected, but with a lot of restoration work, she could create the house she’d always wanted. A house she could call her home. It felt good to finally be alone.
The only problem? She wasn’t.
CHAPTER 2
After exploring the main level, Addison ascended the stairs, enlisting the same precautions she’d taken on the porch steps outside. At the top, she came to a door. It seemed like such a strange place to have one, but she assured herself it was probably common in older houses. She turned the knob, relieved when it opened with ease. She took a few steps forward and looked around, tapping the air with a finger. “One…two…three…four bedrooms,” she counted aloud. Including the ones on the first floor, there were seven bedrooms in all. From what little family history she’d received, Addison had learned an interesting fact: every generation bore only one child. Why then were so many rooms necessary, and what had they been used for?
A mirror in the hall offered the first glimpse of Addison’s disheveled state. Her auburn, shoulder-length hair hung in unruly wisps, some curling into her face, others shooting out in various directions, all courtesy of a long ride on a stuffy, overbooked plane. She removed a hair band from her wrist, twisting her hair around it until it formed a loose bun. It wasn’t tight, the way she liked, but it would do. For now. The smeared makeup beneath her bright, hazel eyes would have to do as well. Every one of her freckles dotted her face like bits of scattered glitter, something that usually made her very self-conscious. Right now, however, there wasn’t anyone around to impress.
Addison had just begun to look around when the hallway door slammed shut behind her, sending a jolt through her waifish frame and causing her to jump back. That’s strange, she thought. All the windows in the house are closed. And she hadn’t seen or felt a draft anywhere. She stared at it, considering whether or not to open it up again, when her attention shifted to another door.
The first bedroom on the left had a different door than all the rest. The slim sidelites to the left and right of the center piece made it look a lot more like a front door than an interior one. Oddest of all were the white, roll down shades that covered the sidelites, maneuverable on either side of the door.
She tugged the middle shade to retract it. Nothing happened. Stiff and brittle, the shade almost broke apart in her hand. She pinched the bottom of the shade with the tips of her fingers, lifting it gently. On the outside of the glass, boards had been placed, blocking her view from the room.
Why?
Her curiosity was piqued.
She twisted the handle, hoping to enter the room and explore it further. The door was locked. She pulled the key ring from her pocket and began testing the various keys at the lock. None of them worked.
Frustrated, Addison abandoned the first door and tried the next closest one. To her surprise, it opened. In fact, all the doors in the hall were unlocked—all except the first. Each room was simply adorned with mattresses stripped of bed sheets sitting atop stunning, ornate, metal bed post frames. Night stands on each side of the bed. Nothing more. There were no dressers of any kind, no items on the walls. At least, not anymore. “Where is everything?”
A door creaked open. “My guess, the attic if they’ve got one,” a male voice echoed down the hall.
Addison took a step back and poked her head into the hallway. A stocky, but muscular man wearing tan steel-toed boots, jeans, and a black fleece hoodie with a large cross on the front stood in front of her, his fingers jammed halfway into his jean pockets, thumbs out. He grinned, revealing dimples that seemed to cut deeper as his smile widened.
“Who are you?” Addison asked. “And why do you think it’s okay to just walk into somebody else’s house without knocking?”
The man walked toward her, a strand of his straight, blond hair falling over his eyelid in the process. He stuck out his hand. Addison stepped back, staring at it for a moment and then back at him.
“I didn’t think anyone else was here yet; there’s no car out front,” he said.
Addison crossed her arms.
The man withdrew his hand. “Maybe we should start over. I’m Luke Flynn. You called me, remember?”
“You’re the historical restoration architect? I thought you’d be—”
“Older?”
“Something like that.”
“I get that a lot,” he said. “I’m older than you think. And besides, my age shouldn’t make a difference. I’m qualified to do the work you need—isn’t that what matters?”
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?” he shot back.
Addison had guessed he was closer to twenty-five, and several years her junior. She tried to get a good look at him, but the light filtering through the naked window into the room had started to fade. Addison stepped back into the bedroom, flicking the light switch. Nothing happened. “Why aren’t the lights working? I called the utility company. The electricity was supposed to be on today. I wouldn’t have come here yet if I knew it—”
Luke repressed a laugh. “How long has it been since anyone lived here?”
Addison shrugged.
“Okay…how long has it been since the power was on in this place?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I found the number to the utility company, called them up, and told them to turn it on—today. Maybe they got the day wrong.”
Luke shook his head.
“What’s so funny?” Addison asked.
“You don’t know how this all works, do you?” he said, swirling a finger around in the air.
“Isn’t that what I hired you for?”
“Yeah, but I figured you’d know something. It is your house.”
“I’m seeing it for the first time—same as you. Until a week ago, I didn’t know this place existed.”
“You just bought it?” he asked.
“It was part of an inheritance.” She flipped the switch again, as if she expected something magical to happen. “What about these lights, then?”
“I’m going to take a stab at it and say the electricity has been off for a while. Years even.”
“What does that mean?”
“My guess—it’ll have to be brought up to code before the service can be restored,” he said. “You can’t just pay a deposit and get the lights turned back on.” Luke ran a hand up and down the door frame. “Not in an old beauty like this.”
“When can you have everything up and running?” Addison asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“What’s most important to you,” he said. “Is that what you want to happen first?”
Addison nodded.
“There’s a good chance I’ll need to hire a contractor to rewire the entire house,” he said. “I’ll take a look around
tomorrow and get a better idea. Do you need me to run the cost by you before I—”
“I have the money as long as you’re reasonable,” she said, flatly.
“I’ll make some calls tonight then. What time should I meet you here tomorrow?”
“It doesn’t matter—come whenever you want. I’ll be here.”
He started to turn, until something she said clicked. “Wait a minute—you’re not staying in this old place—right?”
She hesitated. “I had planned on it. I had no idea it would be in this condition until after I got here.”
“There are plenty of decent hotels in the city. I can recommend a few if that will—”
“I don’t want to stay in the city.” Her coarse words slashed through the air before she could do anything to stop them.
The boxes she shipped wouldn’t arrive for another four days, and she was naïve to think she could manage until then with a mere two suitcases, the duffel bag of food she brought, and no car.
Luke backed up, holding his palms out in front of him. “Okay, okay, geez.”
“I didn’t mean to—I just—I came here to…get away from it all. I’d rather stay in a house that’s falling apart than return to where I came from. Besides, I’m already here.”
“That bad, huh? Hiding out?”
“What?”
“I can’t think of any other reason you’d want to stay here right now,” he said. “Not unless you’re running away from someone.”
Or something—a past life she’d rather forget.
Addison sighed. “It took me all day to get here, and I’m tired. Can we talk about all of this tomorrow?”
“Look—this place isn’t even fit enough for you to sleep on the floor right now.” He walked into the bathroom and back out again a minute later. “Water isn’t working either. You won’t be able to shower, and what are you going to eat? I looked at the kitchen when I got here. There isn’t a refrigerator or an oven. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here.”
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