Another Stab at Life

by Anita Higman

  Spyglass Lane Mysteries presents:

  The Volstead Manor Series Book One

  Another Stab at Life

  By

  Anita Higman

  Copyright 2011 by Anita Higman

  Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Dedication:

  To my husband, Peter. Happy silver anniversary. And thanks for your encouragement all these years. Your faithful support has made all the difference.

  Acknowledgments:

  A warm hug goes to my aunt Reny “Beanie” Powers. You taught me that laughter and joy are presents from God, and that we should most certainly open them. What a blessing to watch you live the scripture, “A cheerful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22 niv).

  Gratitude also goes to Barbour editors Susan Downs and Lynda Sampson for their insightful editorial assistance, to author DiAnn Mills for her generous help, and to my daughter, Hillary, for her creative input.

  Learn more about Anita Higman at: http://www.anitahigman.com/

  Psalm 121:8

  The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

  1 – Irony at Its Best

  What a steamy night for breathing. The August air dripped with a tropical heat that could make sweating an amateur sport. It’s one reason I vowed never to call Houston home.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror at my dissolving makeup and wooly hair. “Wow. Serious meltdown.”

  I groaned one of those long and inward groans that only God could hear. How did this happen? Here I am, driving to my newly inherited home, a sinister-looking mansion nestled in the heart of. . .Houston.

  “Irony at its best,” I whispered. “Bailey Marie Walker, you will not have a nervous breakdown,” I muttered to myself. “There’s no time for it, and there’s certainly no money.”

  I assessed my surroundings. Towering pines jutted up on both sides. The darkening sky sealed off the tomblike passage. Storm clouds. I hoped they didn’t decide to stay and play.

  Suddenly my car’s right front tire plunged into a hole. I yanked the wheel to the right, sending my vehicle careening toward a tree. I swung back just in time to avert a disaster. With a clawlike grip on the wheel and ragged breathing, I steered my car ever so slowly back onto the road. I wondered if the pothole was allegorical somehow.

  I felt like pounding something, but I knew it would be wasted energy. Okay. God, maybe I need some help here. I’ve lost everything. My family. My job. My apartment. Our friend Job is starting to look like a long- lost relative. Lord, I’m really not talking to myself here, am I? I felt my forehead, noticing my recently sprouted frown lines.

  I turned the corner onto my new street, Midnight Falls. Is that supposed to be a joke? I cut the engine to take in a deep visual drink of the surroundings. In general, the neighborhood didn’t look too dire, since some of the other houses appeared refurbished, but a little gasp escaped my mouth as my gaze landed on my ghoulish- looking mansion. The house, which was illuminated only by the full moon and the street lamps, rose up like a medieval horror with its two stories of wood and stone, a third-story belfry-looking tower with a spire, and Gothic windows. But hopefully, no dungeon.

  The house had been an indulgence when Granny was young. She’d purchased the home not to live in, but because it looked exactly like a house from one of her nightmares. Granny had been madcap in her approach to life, but this house was certainly more macabre than madcap.

  “Wow. And I’m going to make my home in that thing?” I mumbled. I think my frown lines deepened just then. Out of desperation, I decided to think of a positive. The house did appear very spacious, and it certainly had a lot of personality, but besides the creep factor, its chipped gray paint, moldering stone, and drooping balustrades stole away any possible bragging rights. Portions of the house were even covered with vines as if it were hiding like a guilty child.

  Bottom line—no putting a pretty face on this ugly reality—the house was one gargantuan wreck. In fact, if I did an appraisal tonight, I’d probably be in the hole because somebody would want to charge me to tear it down.

  Shame pinched at my heart. I’m not acting grateful for this love-gift from Granny Minna, am I, God?

  Still, too bad Granny’s attorney, Mr. Lakes, hadn’t given me more information. He’d just licked his slightly bluish lips and said, “You might discover a certain. . . unwholesomeness about the house. . .which you may find on occasion. . .disconcerting.” Then Mr. Lakes took a long puff on his cigar as he tossed me the key. And that was that. Before I could inquire as to what horror awaited me, I was jostled out the door with a deed, a key, and copious amounts of anxiety, all offered by a lawyer who sported a fake British accent and an unmatched plaid suit. I hadn’t known which to be more terrified of—the house or the malodorous Mr. Lakes.

  I drove up to the house and got out of my car.

  Come on. I’m a survivor. Not a wimp. I rolled the corroded key around in my fingers as I glared up at the house. This is a really old building, but I can make it a home. Somehow. Eventually. But why was there always a prologue to every story in my life? And why can’t I get my hands to stop shaking?

  I looked from the house to my meager possessions in my pretend luxury car with no air conditioning. How could a Realtor get into such a mess? We’re not the kind to feed off angst. I sighed, grabbed some of my belongings, and started up the walk.

  The key in my hand suddenly glowed. I stared upward. The full moon, which had broken free from the storm clouds, bathed the neighborhood in an unearthly radiance. How fitting. I wondered if one could get a werewolf howl as a freebie along with the lunar show.

  The house also brightened in the moon’s light, but it looked older and peelier than ever, with a sufficient number of bare windows to keep the local peeping toms in business for years. Even the square tower with the spire had casements. Or was that a turret instead of a tower? Guess if I’d learned my architectural terminology better while I was training in Oklahoma City, I would have made more money as a Realtor. And if I’d made more money as a Realtor, maybe they wouldn’t have let me go.

  I yanked the iron gate open a little harder than I needed to. The pathetic thing wobbled off its rusty hinges and fell with a loud clanking sound on the sidewalk.

  Smart move, Bailey. I glanced around. All quiet again. “Whew.”

  With cautious steps, I headed up the path to the front door. Some creature, which gave off a quack like a duck, ceased its performance. Now all my own noises seemed amplified. My shoes crunched on the cement walkway as if they were attached to microphones. Like the weighty cadence of an Edgar Allan Poe poem, each grinding step made its own lonely statement.

  Oh brother. My imagination had definitely kicked in. Come on, Bailey. Just a few more steps.

  As I walked toward the house, I quietly sang what- ever popped into my head. I tried “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” to a jazzier rhythm. Even when I was a kid, singing had always helped me melt away all things frightening.

  I caught a whiff of roses. Nice. But brambly weeds tore at my legs. I swiped away a vine caught on my capris and then climbed up the steps to the front
door. I peered in the bare windows hoping a Cyclops wouldn’t appear. No faces materialized, one-eyed or otherwise. No one at all. In fact, except for the attorney who’d given me the key, no one on earth knew I’d come.

  I steadied my right hand to get the key into the hole. “I have nowhere else to go, so this is it,” I said, giving myself a pep talk. My finances were in such disarray, I couldn’t even afford a hotel. “Open this door, Bailey!” I yelled. “Now.” Then I shushed myself so the neighbors wouldn’t release a pack of mongrels on me.

  I expelled some air I’d been holding in. Fortunately, there was substantial space between the houses, and each home was made more private by enormous cedar trees. But in spite of the seclusion, I noticed something coming from the neighbor’s house—a strange blinking light, which appeared to come from the upper window. Not just a flashing light, but what appeared to be Morse code. Whatever happened to cell phones?

  I stopped for a second to see if I could make out the signal. I’d learned a bit of the code from a mystery I once read entitled Laid Out in Lavender.

  Okay, there’s a dot and dash. And then a dash. A and T. The word “at.” What does that mean? I must have missed the first letter. Okay, this is ridiculous, Bailey. It’s just some kid messing around with a flashlight.

  I turned my attention to the business at hand, and bit by bit, I turned the key. Success. I smashed the lever down and pushed the huge ornate door. Nothing. No movement. Okay, looks like you’re going to put up a fight. “You want trouble?” I asked as I gave the heavy door another prizefighter shove with my left arm. Either the key didn’t work, or the door had swelled shut just like the rest of my life. Probably swollen with the same humidity that made my wiry hair look like Medusa.

  Maybe I could sleep out on the damp, insect-infested lawn tonight. With that thought, I gave the door one more heave with my shoulder. The door flew open in a wild swing, causing me to burst into the house.

  After I recovered, I dragged my stuff inside and flicked on my jumbo flashlight. I shined the beam around, stepping gingerly about, half expecting the floors to give way into another dimension.

  I shined the beam upward and took in a rather formidable-looking entryway with a vaulted ceiling. The heat and moldy odors nearly snatched my breath away. Such an oppressive, airless place, as if the rooms were waiting to inhale.

  Bailey, get a grip.

  The words of Mr. Lakes could almost be heard in the still room: “There’s an unwholesomeness about the house, which you may find disconcerting.” I should have come in the daylight. What was I thinking?

  As I maneuvered my light around, I saw a large dining hall to my right and, to my left, an even larger living area, which was embellished with a gray stone fireplace. On both sides of the hearth, carved figures were positioned as though they were holding up the mantle. I moved in closer.

  Gargoyles, no less. Oh, my. If I hadn’t been so shaky I would have laughed. “Granny, you had the most remarkable sense of humor of anyone I’ve ever known.” The sound of my voice echoed slightly through the living room, making me shudder.

  I backed up slowly and then bumped into an old couch. Rather than sitting, I took in a deep breath for support. Okay. What next? I swiveled my beam between the two main rooms and discovered a rather decrepit- looking staircase curving its way up to the second story. Just left of the staircase was a hallway crowned with a pointed archway. I stood there for a moment, taking in the whole of what I’d seen so far. The house must have been grand when it was built ages ago, but now it was definitely a timeworn relic. “It probably has hieroglyphics for wallpaper.” I chuckled nervously at my own joke.

  I suddenly noticed a switch on the wall. Well, someone must have modernized a bit. But surely the lights didn’t work. I flipped the switch up. Lights! I couldn’t believe it. That was way too easy. Even though the lights were bare bulbs, a bit of my confidence returned. The house certainly gave me the creepy crawlies—kind of like a tarantula tiptoeing on my bed pillow—but I knew the worst was over. Light had come into my shadowy world. But who had turned on the electricity? Certainly not the illustrious Mr. Lakes.

  Taking advantage of the illumination, I glanced around again. Boy, this house certainly wouldn’t show well to a buyer. My gaze fell, and I noticed something by the staircase. A big box with a pretty bow sat there as if just waiting to be opened. A present for me? Couldn’t be a housewarming gift from Lakes, yet he was the only one who knew I was coming. Oh, well. Maybe there’s a glimmer of humanity in him.

  As I tugged at the orange bow, I realized the container was taped shut. Heavily taped shut. I picked up the box and gave it a shake or two, but the weight seemed unbalanced as the insides shifted awkwardly. Well, whoever sent it, I hope they have expensive taste. I set the box back down, and with one grappling movement, I raked my finger across the tape. My stomach growled, and I suddenly hoped the contents of the box included something to eat.

  I lifted the lid and took a peek inside. I stumbled backward, shattering the air with screams. A cat lay lifeless in the box, its green eyes still open. My hands slapped against the floor, trying to catch myself, but I landed hard. I scooted myself away from the box until I backed against the front wall. I hugged my arms around my knees, hoping for comfort.

  One short phrase echoed in my head. Who would do such a thing to a helpless cat? Was it Lakes? How could it be? He was an insensitive moron with a weird gleam in his eye, but Granny must have found something redeeming in him, especially since she’d kept him as her attorney even after she’d moved from Oklahoma. And surely Lakes had better things to do than drive all that way just to give me a dead cat.

  Was someone trying to scare me? But why? Who would want this place? I don’t even know if I want this place. It’s a mess. It’s one huge, gargantuan mess! And my housewarming gift is a dead animal! I screamed again for good measure. I felt a little better.

  From across the room, I glared at the package, which was really a tiny casket. The box seemed to stare back, mocking me.

  Okay, the situation did indeed fall into the category of ghastly, but I could get through ghastly. I had before. Maybe another scream would be helpful. I paused, ready to let another one fly, but decided to groan instead. My throat already hurt from screeching. I was grateful I hadn’t eaten much all day, since a dry heave seemed to be working its way up my stomach. I coughed and swallowed hard.

  A plan. I needed a plan.

  Okay, I’m going to get up and mosey over to the box. Then I’m going to place it outside and bury the poor thing in the morning. I sat still. Apparently, I hadn’t heard my own orders.

  I shivered. God help me. What do I do?

  I finally rose and strolled over to the box. As I peered over the edge of the package and gazed at the cat again, I couldn’t believe how alive it looked. The animal had no injuries, yet I knew the thing was dead by the way its neck was resting at an odd angle.

  Even though my mind was reeling, I forced myself to focus. If the cat had been dead for days, the stench would have been stifling. Yet there was no odor. I moved in for a closer inspection. The sides were lined with plastic, and claw marks were visible all around the inside of the container. Whoever did this deed was a monster. The cat had obviously been put in the box alive, and then it gradually suffocated.

  Bailey, stay calm. I could place the cat outside on the front porch tonight and then bury the poor thing in the morning.

  I suddenly thought of the more menacing ramifications of my grisly present. If no one had the key but me, then how did someone get in my house? That’s breaking and entering and the little gift was called harassment.

  But most important, was the perpetrator just trying to play a demented trick on me, or did the culprit have darker intentions? Oh, I was going to lose a lot of sleep over that one. I knew what my Realtor coworkers would say back in Oklahoma. They’d say, “Why don’t you just call the police?” But ever since my police officer fiancé, Sam, turned to the dark side, I hadn’t
been one just to ring up my local sheriff. Especially since he’d hired somebody to wreck my apartment just to remind me he was trashing our relationship so he could marry my best friend. Yeah, boy, it was hard to forget that little piece of history.

  So, I would handle this incident on my own, even if I had to buy a gun to protect myself. Although I’d probably end up shooting my toe off or worse. But even with the fear growing inside me, there was a kernel of something else—a resolve not to allow anyone to manipulate or terrorize me.

  I sighed as I looked at the box again. In a sudden rush of adrenaline-laced courage, I closed the box tightly and hid it on my front porch.

  Before I collapsed from exhaustion, I’d need to search each room to make certain no one was prowling around, and then I’d have to find a bed. I felt so wiped out I wouldn’t even be able to fend off any monsters should any decide to have me for a midnight snack.

  I stopped in front of a moldy mirror in the hallway; one that looked like it had been feeding on itself for sustenance. I leaned in for a closer look. Besides the lingering terror in my eyes, I simply appeared tired. But oddly, my crow’s-feet seemed softer, my face rosier. How did that happen? My gray eyes hadn’t become dazzling, but my frizzy shoulder-length auburn hair had turned into damp ringlets. Maybe humidity had its upside. “Kind of schoolgirlish, but not bad,” I said to the mirror, hoping to lighten my anxieties. But enough cosmetology updates.

  Time to snoop through the rest of the downstairs. First, the hall closet. Deep and dark, but no scary visitors there. Or dead cats. Emptiness never looked so good.

  Then I found the downstairs bathroom. Needing to freshen, I turned on the faucet. Rusty liquid spewed and then something like real water gushed out. I splashed my face and rinsed my hands. Ahhh. That cool water felt good. Of course, there were no towels, so I dried myself off on my shirt. Okay, bathroom, weird, but doable with decontamination. Mental note—buy disinfectant.