by Rose Pressey
“Yes, I can see how that’s hard labor, tossing around fancy pillows and stuff.”
“It can be tricky.” I frowned.
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“I am not a princess,” I called as he walked away.
The nerve. He was the most odious man I'd ever met, even if he smelled scrumptious. And had a smile that made Grandmas across the entire county want to be young again.
“Oh, go hammer something,” I yelled.
He waved his hammer without looking over his shoulder.
Chapter Twelve
“Mama, what were you doing? What happened?” I asked as I stormed through the door.
Snickers let out a yelp as I handed him to her.
“The cabinets are filthy.” She gestured her head toward the kitchen.
“What does that have to do with the price of eggs?” I asked.
“I’m getting to it. Just give me a chance.” She paused. “So, I decided to scrub them down. I was wiping away when I heard the front door open.” Snickers squirmed in her arms. “I went to see who was there and the door stood wide open.” She made a sweeping gesture with one arm. Her other arm held the dog close to her chest. “Snickers was running down the steps.” She patted at her damp head. Her hair was so shellacked any amount of rain wouldn’t affect it.
“How’d the door open?” I asked. As if I didn’t know. I needed to call my ghost hunting partners right away. This place was a live one. No wonder Jim avoided my questions—he knew about the haunting. He probably thought I wouldn’t buy the place if I knew. I needed to get rid of the ghosts if I wanted to turn this house around quickly.
“Hell if I know.” She shrugged. “I’m positive it was closed. I guess the wind blew it open.”
Would she notice it wasn’t windy outside?
“Well, he’s safe now.” I rubbed Snickers behind his ears.
“Thank goodness,” she said and hugged the dog tighter to her bosom.
“How about we get some lunch?” I knew she wanted to hear about my ordeal. I sensed it, plus, I knew her. Comfort food would ease my mood. As long as it wasn’t mac-n-cheese.
“I can’t. I need to get home to your daddy. He’ll be missing me.” She sashayed toward the door.
My father, bless his heart, was oblivious to nearly everything. My mother had him wrapped around her bright red-tipped finger. I didn’t bother to tell her about someone trying to hit me with a car. She was worried enough as it was.
“Bye, Mama,” I gave her a hug and kiss.
“Be good,” she whispered.
“I’m always good,” I said.
She moved out the door onto the porch. “Try to stay out of trouble, you hear? Call me,” she said over her shoulder.
I watched her pull out of the driveway. When I couldn’t see her car any longer, I turned my gaze to the small brick ranch style house next door. The front lawn looked like a golfing green, not a fallen leaf in sight. Reed wasn’t outside. He was probably inside hammering something.
My near hit and run had left me flustered. There were crazy drivers in this town, but that was extreme. I stood in the middle of the dining room wondering where to start. Paint? Floors? Heck, I needed to call a handyman. I knew the floors needed work and the walls painted. The electric worked, so one less thing to worry about. The bathrooms had old, chipped tubs, leaky faucets, and out of date moldy tiles. My latest copy of Home Renovation magazine said nothing adds value like a remodeled bathroom, so I’d make those a top priority. I was anxious to get to Home Depot and pick out colors. Warm shades like greens, yellows, and reds were my favorites.
As I stood in the middle of the room, I wiped my hands on my shirt and looked around the space. Sure, a lot needed to be done, but I couldn’t allow it to intimidate me. There was one thing I knew I could do on my own, though, and I’d brought the materials. Apprehension made my stomach feel as if a ton of rocks had been dumped into it. I’d scavenged in my Uncle Oscar’s garage the other day when I found out my offer on this place had been accepted and found supplies for patching the plaster wall in the library. There was a hole the size of someone’s fist on the left hand wall when you walked into the room. The former occupant must have had a temper. I walked out to my car and gathered the bucket and other stuff into my arms. My gaze turned to Reed’s house only once, so I was proud of my restraint.
When I returned to the porch, the front door was shut. This ghost obviously had an issue with doors. I set my things down, opened the door, then scooped up the materials again. I took them to the library, placed them on the floor, then went back to the front door. It was still wide open like I’d left it. Too bad it hadn’t closed this time—would have saved me the trip back over.
I secured the door, then returned to the library, ready to work some do-it-yourself-magic. I’d show Reed O’Hara that I was more than capable of handy work. He wasn’t the only one good with his hands. A vision of his strong hands flashed through my mind, but I shook it off.
Good thing Uncle Oscar had a little bit of everything in his garage. He’s a pack rat and had issues with letting anything go. He could easily place a sign in the front yard with ‘Flea Market’ written across it and have a steady stream of customers. After making my way around girly magazines, which dated back to the 1950’s, and every As Seen On TV gadget he’d every bought at two in the morning, I found the materials I needed. As many mishaps as my uncle had, he definitely needed to keep a stock of repair materials handy at all times. Like I said, he had everything. Did plaster mix have an expiration date?
I knelt down on the floor with everything spread out in front of me. Not sure where exactly to start, I cut a piece of metal plaster lath, that’s what Uncle Oscar called it, with a box cutter. It was just like a heavy screen. I was proud of myself for not cutting my hand off and remembering to cut the darn thing slightly larger than the hole I needed to patch. Who’s the dummy now, Mr. Fix-It?
With a couple of twist ties in hand, I wrapped them through the screen and fastened them, twisting tightly so they wouldn’t come loose. I stood, assessing the work to be done, then walked over to the wall and stuffed the screen through the hole. My stomach danced wondering if I was screwing something up. I pulled the screen up close to the wall and then took a small stick from my pocket, fastening it to the ties. The stick secured the screen-like material in place. I’d have never figured that out on my own if it hadn’t been for reading the article on plaster wall repair in one of the many monthly home repair magazines.
Looking down at the supplies, I still wasn’t sure I was using the correct material for the patch up. Was I supposed to use setting–type joint compound? I had no idea, but it couldn’t hurt, right? It’s not as if the entire house would come toppling down if I got it wrong. And the only way to learn is by doing. Growing up I felt I couldn’t make a mistake with anything, but I ended up making them anyway. Mama put a lot of pressure on me to be all the things she felt she wasn’t. Sometimes the pressure was too much.
I grabbed the old, dirty bucket, went to the kitchen, and retrieved water. Uncle Oscar had a bag with a little bit of joint compound left. I poured the mix into the mud pan and added water, then began mixing it with a paint mixer stick I’d found under an old coffeemaker in his garage. As I stirred, a tight grip clamped down on my shoulder. I jumped up, tossing the stirring stick into the air.
“Oh, my God.” I spun around. “You scared me to death.” I clutched my chest.
“Sorry,” Lacey said. “The door was unlocked, so I came in. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I didn’t. I can’t believe I didn’t with those metal sticks you’re walking with.”
She smiled and showcased her crutches with a wave of one hand.
“Guess I was too engrossed in my project.” I picked up the discarded stick.
“What the hell are you doing?” She stared at the mess on the floor.
“Patching up the hole.” I pointed toward the wall.
“Aren’t yo
u hiring a handyman? What about having your neighbor help? He seems good with a hammer. Hell, I’m ready to break something in my house just so I can ask him to help me.”
I shook my head and laughed. “Well, I plan on hiring a handyman, but I’m not asking him for help. Plus, I can do some things on my own.” I continued stirring.
She snorted. “Oh, Lord is this like when you tried to seal your parents’ driveway?”
“No comment.” I paused. “How did I know the fumes would get to me like that?”
She rolled her eyes. “So, can I help?”
“Can you stir this?”
“Sure. I’ll use my crutch.”
I laughed. “You just have a seat on the window sill over there. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“I was bored.” She hobbled over to the window and perched on the edge.
With a sponge, I wet the edge of the plaster around the hole, then took a big glob of compound and spread it over the surface with a knife as if I was icing a cake.
“That stuff looks good enough to eat. Makes me want cupcakes,” Lacey said.
“Cupcakes do sound good.”
“I think you’re supposed to swirl it that way.” Lacey moved her hand in a big circle motion.
I stared for a second, then said, “Like this?” I mimicked her movement.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“That doesn’t feel right.”
She shrugged. “Okay, if you don’t want to do it right.”
“Oh, like you know anything about it.”
I put on another layer of the goop making it flush with the wall, then used the sponge to wipe any excess. I swiped across the patch with gentle strokes, attempting to make it smooth.
“There, all done,” I said satisfied with my work as I put the tool down. “I’ll leave it like that to dry, then come back and remove my stick and the wires.”
“I must say, I’m impressed.” Lacey clapped.
I took a bow.
“When the walls are painted, you’ll never know the hole was there.”
“That’s the idea,” she said.
Repairing a plaster over lath wall—easy peasy.
A loud knock rattled the front door. I jumped and clutched my chest again. My nerves were on edge. A simple knock at the door made me anxious. A run-down house, a dead body, ghosts, and a killer on the loose—could things get any worse? Lacey looked at me without saying a word. I shrugged and mouthed, “I have no idea who it is.”
I eased over to the door and peered out. Jim Richmond stood on the porch, smiling from ear to ear. He was not the person I wanted to see. I knew why he was so happy, the twit. He’d earned his thirty percent. But would he still get it with Payne Cooper dead?
I opened the door to the loud boom of his voice and his familiar greeting.
“Howdy!”
“Hi, Jim, what brings you by?” I eyed my chipped nail.
“I wanted to stop by and check on you. Make sure everything was all right. It’s terrible what happened to Payne.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his bald head. “I was stunned when I heard the news. I mean one minute he’s here and the next…And then to hear you found him. I am so sorry.”
I nodded. “I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking.” My manners disappeared again, but Jim didn’t ooze of kindness, either. Not after his ‘clueless sap’ comment.
“I’m on my way out of town. The little lady and I are taking a little vacation to the Smoky Mountains. Getting some much needed rest and relaxation. You ever been to the Smokies?”
I nodded. I was in no mood for idle chit-chat.
I bet I knew how he could afford a trip. If every client was treated as I was, he was living high on the hog. The snake. The clueless sap, as he had referred to me, had just paid for his little vacation. Water under the bridge, though. Time to move on.
“If you need a realtor…you know, when you decide to sell. Think of me.”
I’d think of him all right, but it wouldn’t be for his selling expertise.
“Thanks for stopping by. Have a nice vacation.” I partially closed the door, giving him a not-so-subtle hint.
“All right then, I’ll see you later.”
I closed the door on his frowning face and watched from the window as he trudged back to his truck. Lacey stood at the entrance to the library when I came back.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. You don’t mince words, do you?” She laughed.
“Not really.” I chuckled. “Come on, let’s get some cupcakes.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Let me grab the stuff.” I gathered my mess and joined Lacey. She’d already made her way down the steps.
“Hey, you’re pretty good with those crutches.”
“Upper body strength.” She snickered.
“You know, you’re lucky it was your left leg and you can still drive.”
“Don’t I know it. Rob tried to stop me. Ha!”
“Follow me to my house and I’ll tell you why Jim Richmond is such a snake in the grass.” I chuckled.
She raised an eyebrow. “Well this I’ve got to hear. And I’ll tell you about the ghost in the house who watched you patch the hole in the wall.”
“Hoo, boy.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next day arrived bringing with it a stunningly bright morning and good news—I had a handyman prospect. Filled with anticipation, I was eager to start. Also, my ghost-hunting gang was coming over for a mini-investigation. Things would move along quickly now, my confidence spiked.
After grabbing a leftover cupcake for breakfast, I headed toward Maple Hill Road. When I pulled in the driveway, an oversized white truck with massive tires waited for me. The driver slept, his head leaned back on the headrest and mouth open. The handyman, no doubt. I pulled up beside him and peered up at the house. Proud owner—that’s me.
A perfect morning for a little house rehab. Brilliantly colored leaves from the maple trees danced in the wind as they cascaded to the ground. The distinct smell of fall in the air reminded me of autumn days as a child when days were spent jumping into piles of leaves and sipping apple cider. The pressures of adulthood had seemed like a million years away back then.
I climbed out from behind the wheel and stretched. The driver roused and spotted me staring. He jumped down from the cab and ambled over. His uniform consisted of a torn gray t-shirt and dirty jeans. His shaggy brown hair needed a trim.
“Are you Ms. Hargrove?”
“The one and only.” I extended my hand to meet his.
His hands felt like sandpaper.
“I thought you were here already.” He looked toward the house. “The lady inside wouldn’t answer the door.” He fidgeted with his clipboard.
“Trust me, there’s no one in the house. I locked the door when I left.”
No one except for a few ghosts.
“Someone’s in there.” He pointed to the window. “I saw her, plain as day. She watched me from the upstairs window.” His face scrunched up. “She had dark hair and a frown on her face.”
Dark hair and a scowl matched Mama’s description. If she thought a stranger was trying to get into her baby’s house, she’d give him a frown or two. Although, she’d hide until I got there to confront him. So maybe a ghost wasn’t to blame. Was my mother in there again? I turned and marched toward the house without another word.
“Do you want me to go in first? You never know who may be in there, or what they may do. Could be a burglar.” He followed on my heels.
“I can handle it. Thank you, though.”
A gallant tough guy. How nice.
I turned the knob, but it was locked. Just like I’d left it. I jammed the key in the door, opened it, then stuck my head in and peered around. Was anyone there? Perhaps the ghost, the killer, or my mother? What had I gotten myself into?
The house was eerily silent. I pushed aside my fear and entered the foyer. One foot in front of the other, I e
ased into the room. I still didn’t know if the guy following me like a shadow was the handyman. After all, he hadn’t given me his name. He could be the killer and lured me in here pretending to be a handyman. Throw a ladder on the back of his truck and, voilà, he was a handyman. We inched further through the foyer. A rustling noise came from the right, so I turned into the library. He followed me. Our steps were practically synchronized. It was as if a foreboding feeling was luring us into the house, guiding our way. Nothing seemed different in the room, though. No one or thing was in sight. I turned around and moved back into the foyer. The handyman continued to follow on my heels.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered.
I didn’t answer. My heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster. Even after ghost hunting for years, the adrenaline rush was always present. I’d always wondered what it would be like to own a haunted house, now I was experiencing it. Excitement and trepidation filled my body at the same time. Anyone who said they had no fear of ghosts was probably lying. There was always a tinge of fear of the unknown. That familiar odd feeling enveloped me and the house now felt menacing. As we walked across the foyer, a noise echoed down the stairs.
“You hear those footsteps? Someone is in here.” His voice grew louder, full of alarm.
I felt like Shaggy with Scooby Doo on my heels.
“Quiet.” I held my finger to my mouth. When I stopped, he bumped into my back as he screeched to a halt.
“Sounds as if someone is upstairs right above us,” he whispered.
Great work, Sherlock. I pressed on and he trailed my steps.
We made our way from one side of the room to the next, then through to the dining room and on to the kitchen door. I placed my hand on the wood and pushed. It swung open and I landed smack dab on my backend on the dining room floor.
“Ugh.” I gazed up at Reed’s wide green eyes as he peered down at me.
“What the hell? Are you trying to kill me?” I asked.
Reed stretched his hand out to help me up.
He irritated me—like a gnat. A smug air hung around him like stink on a skunk.
