I knew the reason and I now knew why that spot looked familiar to me. When we were eight, Rebel lost her favorite doll while we were boating with her dad. We searched and searched for it but couldn’t find it even though we knew right where she’d dropped it. It turned up weeks later in another spot not far away. A local man had hooked onto it while fishing for bass right off the shoreline.
My bruises made wading into the water slow going, but eventually I found the box tucked up in a ledge that ran right along shore. If not for finding Ben’s corpse, I never would have recognized the area and remembered the catch-all ledge.
I cut the mooring line that must have come away from the anchor, only to get caught on a tree stump. I sent Jesse away and called the town council. They were grateful someone had finally found it, and the timing was perfect.
When Rebel showed up at the cabin later, I was wearing my comfiest look–no makeup, hair in a bun, a tank top, and harem pants. I’d just finished kicking the crap out of my punching bag and I was ready to kick back.
Rebel looked like a zombie. Her eyes were puffy from crying.
Before I could get up off the couch, she raced across the room and threw her arms around me. “You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t,” I said, wincing. My bruises did not appreciate the attention.
“Are you feeling all right… I mean, considering?”
“Yeah. My body feels like I was jumped by a street gang, and I have a nagging headache, but given everything that could have gone wrong, I’m lucky this is the worst of it.”
We hugged in silence for a good thirty seconds before I finally pulled away to look her over. Rebel sniffed.
“How’re you doing?” I asked.
“Terrible.”
“You want to pretend my punching bag is Leif? I just did.”
She laughed and then cried.
The tears were rolling down my face now too. I hated to cry, but that was our motto. “You cry, I cry.”
“It hurts so bad.” She whispered. Then, she walked into my arms again and sobbed. By now, the sun was setting the lake on fire as it dropped in, clouds of pink and orange rising like steam on the horizon.
“I know, honey.”
“Please, sit back down,” she said. “You’ve done enough physical activity today.”
I didn’t even attempt to argue with her. The truth was, my body had taken a beating, and I felt every inch of it. I slid back down to the couch, my muscles practically sighing with relief as they relaxed.
“Can I stay here with you for a while? I can’t face the house. I think I’m going to sell it,” she said, abruptly.
My heart skipped a beat. She loved that old farm house. I clenched my teeth to hold back the slew of names I wanted to call her jackass ex. “Of course you can stay here, but if it’s about the money then don’t worry about it. I already talked to Rita at the bank and I told her I’m giving you the prize money. It’s going to catch you up, babe.”
“No way, Pen. I cannot accept that.” She paced the room in front of me.
“Well, since I have no home and I’ll most likely be living with you once Olivia returns, consider it an advance in rent.”
“What about Lucas? You don’t think you guys will get back together?”
I think I might have laughed, but it came out like a horse bark. “Umm, no. He made his bed and now there’s another girl lying in it. No, I’m back in Bohemian–I’m home and that detective is looking mighty fine.”
Rebel looked relieved, then amused. “I heard he kissed you.”
“How did you hear that?”
“Eve heard it from Mabel.”
“My goodness,” I squirmed. “Is there anything that Mabel doesn’t know.”
“And share.” Rebel grinned.
“Right?”
Rebel leaned in and touched the bruised part of my face. “I’m sorry that jackass husband of mine did this to you, Penelope. How could I have been so blind?”
My heart tumbled. “This is on him, not you. Come on, let’s forget about the outside world and just have a girls’ night like we used to, okay? I have tequila, salt and lime and I even have the midnight margaritas scene all cued up if you want to dance around the kitchen.”
She smiled. “You’re the best, but I don’t think I’d be a very good dance partner right now.”
She settled onto the couch beside me with her glass of wine. I pouted at the tequila on ice in the blender. I’d just ran through our Netflix options when my phone rang. My phone was on the coffee table closest to Rebel. She glanced at the display and handed it to me; my ex-boyfriend, Lucas Vallerand. “Oh lord, what does he want?”
I ignored the call.
A minute later I got a text. Apparently he’d married Tiffany Biltch–the biltch (minus the l) he’d left me for. He apologized for not telling me in person and hoped we could still be friends.
I handed the phone to Rebel to read. She let out a slew of curse words. Then she said, “Delete.”
“I will. Right after I read it seventy-three times and torch his car,” I responded, and resumed my movie surfing. “There’s nothing on here, but Olivia’s got a boatload of discs on the shelf. What are you in the mood for? Fried Green Tomatoes, Bad Girls? I’m feeling a little Thelma and Louise, myself.”
My phone dinged again.
“Goodness gracious, what does that bastard want, a pat on the back or a wedding present? Call him already and tell him to go to hell, Pen.”
“It’s not from him,” I said, glancing up. The second text was from the editor of the travel magazine I occasionally freelanced for. “It’s from my editor, Blake.”
“Your booty call? What does he want?”
His text was short and sweet: I hope you haven’t gotten so used to that down home cooking that you can’t still travel the world for us. I have a month long tropical assignment, and you’re my woman. P.S - I miss your pretty face!
I read the text twice then handed it to her. This would have been a no-brainer two weeks ago. Who didn’t want to get paid to travel? But I wasn’t so sure. My dad needed my help running the newspaper, not to mention the detective agency, and someone needed to handle Eve. And how could I take off on Rebel? Her world had just fallen apart.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you should go, babe. Don’t let my baggage with Leif hold you back.”
I made my voice stern. “Rebel, I’m here for as long as you need me, whether you like it or not. And I’ll know when you don’t need me anymore ‘cause we’ve been best friends since we were three and those are the kinds of things best friends just instinctively know.”
“Oh yeah, how will you know?”
“Well, for starters, you’ll stop holding my hand whenever you say his name.”
Rebel looked down at her hand as if she hadn’t realized she’d clung to me for dear life a moment ago. She started crying and relaxed her grip but I pulled it back. “Don’t pull away!”
“I’m sorry.”
“For another thing, you’ll stop crying and apologizing and you’ll swear at me like the filthy trucker woman you are.” I paused, getting serious. “This has been a tough year for both of us, and I need you just as much as you need me right now.”
“Are you sure?” she whimpered, wiping away a tear. “A tropical vacation might be just what you need after that text from jerk face.” That was her nickname for Lucas whenever he wronged me. I was quite happy with it.
I stuck my phone on silent and hit play on the movie. The soft guitar and percussion from the song Coconut began beating rhythmically from the television’s speakers. “The only way I’m going on vacation is if you come. I mean, your mortgage will be all caught up,” I said, starting to sway to the music.
She bit her lip like she was thinking about it.
“I guess there’s only one thing left to do, then?”
I smiled. I knew I had her.
She walked to the kitchen and kicked the blender into high gear.
Thanks for reading Murder, She Floats by Rachael Stapleton. What sort of trouble will Penelope find next? Sign up for my newsletter at www.RachaelStapleton.com for your chance to get an advanced reader copy of Murder, She Slopes.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first Haunted House Flippers Inc. novel: Cookies, Corpses & the Deadly Haunt. Due October, 2017.
Chapter One
_____________
J
uniper Palmer’s eyes cast around the space, taking in the history, the subtle scuffs and scratches that a home acquired over the years. Despite the dirty windowpanes and the dust motes swirling, she’d yet to meet a historic mansion she didn’t love, but there was something exceptional about this one.
“It was a grand home once upon a time,” said Jared Mitchell, the fiftyish, plump, rather pallid realtor standing with Juniper in the foyer. Their usual realtor—Jack’s dad—was out of town and had arranged for the selling agent to show it.
“What happened to it?”
“It just needs a little TLC, but that’s an easy task for renovating masters like yourself and your husband.”
“Mmm,” She grunted her go-to response when sleazy salespeople tried to butter her up. Jack was not her husband. He was her business partner and ex-fiancé but she wasn’t in the mood to open up that can of worms.
From the moment Juniper stood at the foot of the front steps, looking up at the still-intact Gothic Revival facade, complete with a widow’s walk and patterned shingle roof, she’d felt something. Nestled in the small, but bustling town of Bohemian Lake, the Doctor’s House needed someone to put a little love back into it. And if the past few home renovations completed by Spirited Construction, a company run by Juniper and her business partner, Jack, were any indication, they were that someone. Still she needed to play it cool if she wanted a better price. Spirited Construction had slowly begun to turn a profit by restoring ghostly looking homes to their former glory and then flipping them. This run-down Victorian mansion-turned-duplex in Jack’s hometown was pricey, but if they could make it work, then it would be their sixth. The original owner was a disgraced physician, most famous for having murdered his blushing bride on Samhain—a well-known tale that Juniper hoped would lighten the price tag.
Most of the residents of Bohemian Lake had lived in town all of their lives, with entire generations of families being wed and buried in the ancient stone church that perched on top of the hill just down the road. Including her business partner Jack and her best-friend, Pike Hart, owner of the town’s newest bakery, who now nudged her with her elbow and pointed. “Junie, just take a look at those moldings.”
Juniper nodded. She’d already admired the soft edges and refined imperfections that characterized hand-carved work.
“It would make the most charming inn.”
God bless Pike, she was doing her best to sell Juniper on the place. “Charming, yet eerie,” Juniper agreed.
Pike wrapped her hand around Juniper’s arm and steered her into the dining room. Juniper’s favorite thing about Victorian-era parlors and chambers were the paneled walnut pocket doors that discreetly separated them, not that she’d admit that little fact to cheesy-realtor-extraordinaire. She paced across the room to one of the original leaded windows then turned and stared up at the engraved plaster medallion and crystal chandelier. A common feature in the late 1800s—Jack would be so happy to see they remained.
“Take a look at that carved limestone fireplace with the cupids.” The realtor shook his balding head. “A real selling feature. Most expensive property in town,” Mitchell boasted. “Well worth it, for the right buyer. It’s a massive home, with ten bedrooms. Ten. And this location is priceless, of course. Have you checked out the gardens on the hill? Not enough money in the world for something like that—what’s not to love?”
“Yet you haven’t been able to sell it,” Juniper shot back.
His face grew a shade of red that matched the lips on Pike’s rock and roll t-shirt. “That’s where you come in. You’re a general contractor, a partner of Spirited Construction. You and Jack specialize in renovating historic homes. Why not this one?”
“I don’t know. It’s a big project. The roof needs to be completely redone and that’s not cheap or easy on a mansard roof especially considering the decorative style it would require.”
“You have experience with that sort of thing, don’t you?” He glanced desperately at Pike. “That’s what I was told.” Mitchell hedged. “You’ve flipped a few of these second empire houses before and made quite a profit from what I understand.”
“And why exactly hasn’t it sold as of yet?” Juniper asked, feigning innocence. She knew why. But it was better to make the realtor admit it.
“I’m not sure.” A tic appeared over his right cheekbone and he shuffled through the papers in his hands.
Pike smirked. She knew what Juniper was up to. For the past several decades, The Doctor’s House had earned a reputation.
“Jared… don’t lie to me. Is there something people don’t like about it—perhaps something that sends them running?”
“Damnit… fine, all right, I’ll tell you, it’s spooky.” The tic in his cheek sped up.
“You don’t say? Black cats are spooky and people still love them. Is there something in particular people have a problem with?” Juniper asked.
He shook his head. “I can’t say exactly.”
Another long pause and then finally Juniper said, “Well, we’d better go. It was nice meeting you.”
He stared at Juniper. “Wait.” His voice changed. Juniper wasn’t sure what it was, but it gave her the creeps. “The ghosts, or whatever it is, appear to be running off prospective buyers. Every time there are clients touring the house, something… happens.”
“What makes you think I want a haunted house?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Pike says you’re fearless… and the best at what you do.”
Just then Juniper heard a squeaking floorboard overhead and looked toward the ceiling.
“Is someone else here?” She asked.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Mitchell groused.
Juniper listened carefully. She could hear the music now—a waltz.
“At least it’s not death metal,” She said.
Jared gave her a sour look.
“It starts and stops randomly throughout the day.”
“And there’s no other possible explanation? Who has access to the house?”
“Just my client and his wife Lucinda. She occasionally comes here. She’s an Atherton. It’s her family home, and she inherited it but there would be no reason for her to scare away potential buyers.”
“True. Do they have teenagers? Perhaps they like to play tricks.”
“No kids. I don’t really believe in this ghost stuff but most buyers are now refusing to even look at the place, so last month the owners called in help.”
“Nana Vianu?” Pike questioned.
“Who’s Nana Vianu?” Juniper asked.
“Oh sorry, Junie, I forget sometimes that you didn’t grow up here. Nana Vianu owns the manor estate on Bohemian lake. Her granddaughters Mallory and her adopted daughter Dani run themed retreats and host murder mystery parties. It’s basically an eccentric resort.”
“So, why would the owners of this house have called in Nana to help with ghosts?”
“Oh right. Well, they’re gifted. Nana and her family descend from… err… well, they are a powerful group of women…”
“They’re gypsies.” Jared cut in. “They can see the future, and talk to spirits and all that other voodoo.”
“It’s not voodoo,” Pike cut in.
“Anyway, no, they didn’t call Nana. They called that girl from across town to come in—the one who does the Fall ghost tours and claims to commune with the dead.”
“Who?” Juniper asked.
“I can’t remember her name. She’s friends with Axl and Kaitlyn Patone.”
“And wh
at did she make of the Doctor’s House?”
Again with the tic. He massaged his cheek. “She says the ghosts of the family that used to live here are angry that it’s been neglected. She says the only way to appease them is to sell the house to someone who will restore it and love it.”
Once or twice Juniper thought she heard—or felt—wisps of conversations just out of reach of hearing, although she searched her peripheral vision and no ghosts appeared.
A stained glass window at the top of the stairs lit the second floor. The landing opened onto a wide hallway with doors leading into several small chambers. Juniper could see through one of the bedroom doors that there was an old built in bookshelf. The books had all been left behind, caked with spider webs and the grime of neglect. A quick perusal revealed there was a history book on the town, a slim volume of poetry. Tons of old mystery novels and one of her favorites, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
To the left of the hall was another set of stairs. Juniper yanked back. She was freezing cold.
“What is it?” Pike stood right behind her. “You feel that draft?”
Juniper nodded. “Is this the attic?” Juniper said, heading up the staircase.
“Yes. The two rooms to the side were the former servants’ quarters, and this—,” said Jared Mitchell, reaching for the doorknob. He rattled the knob. “Dammit! Who locked it?”
“Maybe the ghosts,” Juniper said.
He glared at Juniper as though she had been egging on the spirits to get a better price—perhaps she had.
“It’s alright. I’ve seen enough.” Juniper stated.
“So, how soon can we sign some paperwork?” Mitchell asked as we descended the stairs.
Jared Mitchell was a little much, but no big deal. Juniper wasn’t particularly compelled to help him out for his sake… but this house was calling out to her. The Doctor’s House had been sorely neglected. To restore it would take another big chunk of change, and to do it right would take time. Time was not the house flippers friend, but still she was interested in a challenge. She glanced at Jared Mitchell, who was jangling his car keys—BMW, of course—as though he could barely contain his agitation.
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