by Rose Pressey
“I don—”
Reed stuck his head around the corner. “Dinner ready?”
“Almost, dear. Tell Frank, would you?” She asked.
He flashed a wicked grin my way before disappearing around the corner again. Maybe he wasn’t so cocky.
Before Reed returned, I had to ask, “Carolyn, I want you to come to the house.” I grabbed the plates from her hands. “You could help my group a lot.”
“Your group?”
“Paranormal investigators,” I said, as I placed the plates around the table.
“I don’t know, Alabama, I’m not sure I can handle it. My headache was bad.” She rubbed her temples as if remembering. “There’s a lot of emotion trapped in that house.” She didn’t look up as she stirred the soup again.
Was I making her nervous? I didn’t want to put her on the spot, but I needed her. Lacey couldn’t hobble around that big house and it would drain too much of her energy. Plus, it never hurt to have two psychics.
“Please?” I gave my best attempt at a pleading look.
She sighed. “All right. How could I say no to a face like that?” She smiled. “How about in the morning? I’ll swing by around ten?”
“Thank you so much. Ten sounds perfect.” I pulled the old wood chair from the table and sat.
Maybe Carolyn could meet the rest of my ghost hunting gang. I hoped Lacey didn’t think I’d replaced her. Carolyn set the breadbasket on the table, then retrieved the pot from the stove.
“Oh, I almost forgot something in the other room. I’ll be right back,” she said.
When she bounced out of the room, I stood and walked through the kitchen, studying the art on the walls. A couple of vintage signs hung behind the stove. Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned around.
“My aunt likes her antiques,” Reed said.
I nodded. “Yes, she does. It’s nice and cozy. I like it.” I smiled, then lowered my gaze. He was being extremely nice for someone who’d had property stolen out from under them.
“Sorry I didn’t mention this get together earlier.”
“So you did know?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Yes, I was aware.”
Typical behavior for him, it seemed. To distract from the conversation, I reached for extra napkins for the table. As I reached for the linens, they slipped from my hand. Reed and I bent to pick them up at the same time. His hand touched mine and I turned to face him. Our eyes met and our faces were mere inches apart. My gaze wandered down to his lips. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be moving closer to me. My stomach whirled and I wondered what his lips would feel like against mine.
“So, who the hell killed Payne Cooper?” Frank blurted out as he stepped into the kitchen.
I jumped up so fast I almost pulled a muscle. My cheeks burned. I was an adult, no need to be embarrassed. Was Reed about to kiss me? I may never know.
I sat at the table before my legs gave in. Frank pulled out a seat opposite mine, sat down, and then pinched off a sample from one of the muffins, popping it into his mouth.
“I hear you where at the scene of the crime with a bloody hand, no less,” Frank said in his booming voice.
I almost choked on my water.
Chapter Twenty
“Sorry, Alabama. Frank lacks subtlety.” Carolyn smacked him on the arm and took a seat next to him. “Reed, sit next to Alabama.” She pointed to the vacant chair next to mine.
She was in full-on matchmaking mode. Reed pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. I shifted in my seat. He flashed me a compassionate look as he grabbed a muffin from the basket. He knew I was on the list of murder suspects. The whole room did. How did I get into this mess? Would he still want to kiss me after being reminded of my brush with the law?
“I’m pretty sure Sheriff Bass has no idea who did it,” I said.
Carolyn handed me a bowl of steaming soup.
Better to talk about it. Ignoring the issue wouldn’t make it go away or make me feel any less uncomfortable.
“His engine’s running but nobody’s driving, in my opinion,” Carolyn said.
I laughed in agreement.
“It’s my own special recipe. Navy beans, Great Northern beans, lima beans, kidney beans, garbanzo beans, black beans, black-eyed peas. Garlic, onions, peppers—”
“Carolyn, you don’t have to give her the whole darn recipe.” Frank chuckled.
“I get a little excited about cooking.” She popped the spoon in her mouth.
“That’s a heck of a lot of beans,” Reed said.
Garlic and onion breathe while sitting next to Reed, how nice. Kissing was out of the question.
No one mentioned my potential felony status the rest of the evening. We discussed living in Rosewood, work, and anything else that came to mind. Frank described his time in Africa. Carolyn and Frank married thirty years ago. Needless to say, they had a ton of entertaining stories to share. After dinner, we lingered over coffee and bread pudding with bourbon sauce. I understood why Frank always longed for Carolyn’s cooking.
“I’ll walk you out,” Reed grabbed his jacket as I headed toward the door.
“Thanks for dinner, Carolyn. It was nice meeting you, Frank,” I called over my shoulder.
“Come back anytime.” Carolyn waved.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Frank said.
The chilly night air hit me and I wrapped my jacket tighter around my neck. The day had been balmy in the middle and crisp around the edges.
“Allow me.” Reed’s fingers brushed mine as he reached to open my car door.
He tilted his head and looked at me. “I’m glad you came tonight.”
Was he really? Would he kiss me goodnight? Wait. This wasn’t a date.
“Carolyn’s sweet and an excellent cook to boot,” I offered. I looked back at the cabin and saw Carolyn’s head peeking out the window.
“She is…” He shuffled his foot as if he wanted to say more.
When he didn’t, I said, “Well, I’d better head home.”
He stared at my lips. At least, I think my lips. I felt that familiar tiny tingle in the pit of my stomach again. He leaned his hip against the car and placed his hand on the roof.
“Let me know about the work. Business is slow and I can squeeze you in pretty quickly. I think you should replace the sink in the kitchen. I know where you can get a good deal on a farm sink.” His clean-shaven cheeks reflected the porch light and gleamed healthy.
“Whoa. Hold your horses.” I tossed my purse in the car. “Maybe I don’t want to replace the sink.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“You saw the movie, The Money Pit, right?” He smirked. “You know the one where the house falls down around them.”
“Ugh.” I jumped in the car.
Right before I slammed the door in his face, he said, “You’re a remarkable woman, Alabama Hargrove.”
“And you’re chauvinistic pig.” I slammed the door and didn’t look back as I sped down the driveway, gravel and dust bellowing out behind my car. Did I just call him a chauvinistic pig? I couldn’t have thought of anything more original? Maybe I could hide from him from this moment forward.
***
The next day started like any other. I grabbed a quick breakfast, made a stop at Home Depot, where I got great paint samples and beautiful new knobs for the cabinets, then I headed to the house to meet the other contractor I had found.
As I waited on the porch, I spotted the old black truck slow down, then turn in. With extra large tires, it bounced down the driveway, coming to a hasty stop behind my car. The dark tinted windows concealed the driver. Reed wasn't home—at least, I didn't see his truck—and I prayed he wouldn't find me talking to another handyman. I felt as if I was cheating.
A scruffy looking short guy that kind of looked like Danny Devito hopped down from his truck and approached me. He wore jeans. Ripped fabric dangled from one sleeve of his dirty blue jacket as if he’d fought off a Rottweiler on his way over.
> “May I help you?” I asked.
My father would have said that the man had a face only a mother could love.
“I’m here about the remodeling job. Is this the right place?” His lined face broke into a smile of crooked teeth.
“This is the place. Thanks for coming on such short notice. Did you have any problems finding it?”
“No, no problems. I thought I remembered the place. Of course, I left town for a while and recently just came back. My name's Max Daniels, by the way.” He held out his weather-worn hand. “Of course, you knew that already.”
I took his hand and said, “Alabama Hargrove. Where’d you come back from?”
He followed as I moved up the steps.
“I moved back from Dallas. I lived there for almost ten years.”
“What made you come back here?”
“I still have family here, and I decided to come home.”
Was I asking him too many questions? He was a stranger, though. And before I gave someone I didn’t know money, I needed to ask a few questions, at least.
“So, what needs to be done? A lot of cleaning, I see.” He pointed to the porch.
“Well, I'm flipping the house. Of course, I'm not very handy with a hammer, although, I can do some things myself. I can paint, clean, and that sort of thing. I patched the plaster wall myself.” He nodded and smiled. “I need help with the most important stuff. You know the roof, electric work—nothing major there, though—and the floors. Of course, the kitchen needs a complete makeover.”
“Whoa, that’s quite a list.”
“It is?” I stopped, with my hand on the doorknob.
He nodded. “It may cost quite a bit, but I’m sure you’ve budgeted for the expense already.” He stared.
That’s not what I wanted to hear. I was on a fixed income with this project, every penny mattered.
“Well, let’s take a look inside.” He pointed toward the door.
For a second, I wondered if I should go alone into the house with this strange man. He could be a killer, for all I knew. No, if I was going to do this thing, I couldn’t live in fear. I had to show everyone that I was strong and capable of flipping a house. Women can work on houses, too. It’s not totally a man’s job.
I trudged through the door with him following close behind. A little too close in my opinion. I shook off the uneasy feeling and moved into the parlor.
“The plaster walls look to be in good shape…” He tapped on the wall. “But these cracks need to be repaired.”
I nodded. “Well, I told you I know how to do that.”
“I’m afraid it requires a little more than a simple patch.”
I had no idea about the walls, but I didn’t want him to know that.
“You said that you would do all of the painting?” He frowned.
“I planned on it,” I said.
“It looks like a whole lot of painting, and that foyer ceiling is huge,” he said.
“Well, maybe I’ll paint it all but that area.” I frowned.
“I’m sure you want to maintain the original character of the house as much as possible, right?”
He pushed the swinging door and sauntered into the kitchen.
“Yes, of course, I do. There’s nothing I hate more than the inside of an old house that looks too modern.” I followed through like a child eager with questions.
“What’s going on in this room?” He tapped the old countertop.
I hated the counters. Years had faded the base cream color and wild streaks of green and gold speckled throughout in what was supposed to be a faux marble look.
“The kitchen? Oh, I thought I’d redo the floors and repaint these cabinets. I’ve already bought some new knobs and pulls. They’re in good shape, don’t you think? Well, other than that one with the door off.”
“Yeah, they look to be in pretty good shape. Solid construction and pretty decent craftsmanship. What color are you thinking about?” He leaned over and examined the cabinets, then opened and closed the refrigerator door.
Did it matter? “I’m not sure yet, I have some samples to look through.”
I walked over toward the broken cabinet door. It was propped up against the wall covering a hole. I wanted to stop him from moving it, he may charge more if he saw that.
Chapter Twenty-One
As I made my way across the floor, I stumbled on a loose board and fell forward.
“Whoa. You all right?” He scrambled over.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I climbed up with his help.
“You have to be cautious in these old houses.” He pushed the edge of the board back into place.
“Yeah. I just banged my knee a little. I’m a bit clumsy and always falling down.” I sighed. At least I took my tumble in front of him instead of Reed.
“So this is your first time?” He stood and peered out of the window overlooking the backyard.
“Buying a house?” I furrowed my brow. Did I appear like an old pro to him? Somehow, I didn’t think so.
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes, it’s my first time.” I almost laughed. Too much giggling may make me seem like an airhead.
“You really need to be careful when buying these old homes. Lots of unexpected repairs and renovations.”
No kidding. “Yeah, well, someone has to do it, might as well be me.”
“You get grant money for this place?”
“What? Um, no.” I had no idea what he meant.
The look on my face must have shown him my cluelessness. He asked an awful lot of questions for a simple handyman. “You can apply for tax relief, too.”
“Okay…have you restored an old house before?” I asked.
“Once. Wasn’t as big as this place.” He turned to face me again. “I don’t recommend rushing into buying an old house, that’s for sure. Especially without bringing in an inspector, first.”
Ugh, not the ‘inspector’ lecture again. I get it, I should have had the place given the once over by a trained eye. Too late now.
“An inspector can give you an idea of how much it will cost to make all those hidden fixes, and save you from what could end up being a costly mistake.” Was he a handyman or an inspector advocate?
Did he know I hadn’t had the place inspected? Novice was written on my forehead.
“How’d you come to buy this place, anyway?” He looked at his clipboard and scribbled a few notes.
“I saw the ‘for sale’ sign one day and just thought it would be a good idea.” I walked toward the front of the house, hoping he’d take the hint and follow.
“You’re a brave young lady. Pretty too.” The tip of his tongue roved over his lower lip, then his mouth slid into a half-smile.
Yes, I definitely wanted to move outside. Was this guy hitting on me? What a creep.
He followed as I walked to the door.
“So, have you seen all you need to see?” I asked, trying to sound casual. If need be, I’d run.
He looked me up and down. Yuck. “I think I’ll take a quick peek upstairs.”
“Go ahead, take a look around, I’ll be on the front porch.” I hurried outside, sat on the top step, and waited. Dirt covered the surface, not to mention it was uncomfortably hard—I needed to invest in a couple of chairs for the porch. Maybe rockers. After a few minutes, Max returned. His bald head, round like a cue ball, shined with perspiration.
“When do you want me to start?” he asked.
“Well, when can you start?”
I had my doubts about hiring this guy. He gave me chills every time he looked my way—and not the good kind of chills.
“I can start today. No need in waiting any longer than you have to.”
“You can?” I arched a brow.
“Yep, sure can.”
“Okay, I guess,” I said, hesitantly.
“Great!” He clasped his hands together. “How do you want to work this then? I’ll need the cash up front to buy the supplies and stuff.”
�
�Oh.” I paused. “All right. I’m on a budget, though.” Everything happened so quickly.
I guess I was lucky I found someone else, though. Reed thought he was the only one in town who could swing a hammer. Maybe he knew what he was doing, but not having him around would help me. Having him around would only hurt.
“Sure, I understand. I’ll try to shop around and find any bargains I can.” He grinned sympathetically.
“Let me go get some money.” I dashed inside and grabbed my purse from where I had left it in the kitchen. I pulled some cash out of the wallet and hurried back outside. “Will this be enough?” I counted out some bills. “I thought I had more cash on me, I must have miscounted.” I frowned.
“Yes, that’ll be good to start with.” He shoved the bills in his pocket.
To start with? I didn’t like the sound of this.
“We’ll get this house looking like a showplace in no time. I’ll be back in a bit.” He headed down the porch towards his truck.
I stepped out onto the driveway. “Thanks again.”
He backed the old truck out and I watched him drive away, the truck roaring as he sped away. When I glanced over at Reed’s, his truck was in the driveway. My heart did a little dance in spite of the fact that I hoped he didn’t ask about the other handyman. Why was I happy?
Chapter Twenty-Two
The rest of morning, I peeled the old wallpaper down. The faded flowers and yellowed background had probably been the latest style years ago. I had asked the guy at Home Depot for tips on removing the old stuff. I soaked the paper with water from a spray bottle just as he’d told me, which helped a bunch. My productivity stopped though when the water bottle disappeared. I went into the bathroom and when I returned it was nowhere to be found. I searched all the rooms, to no avail. Thanks to the ghostly prankster, yet again, my progress faltered. First my keys. Now working supplies. What next?
My fingers hurt from scraping paper for a couple hours, so I decided a break was in order. I grabbed an apple from my bag and sat on the front step waiting for Carolyn. Having her come by at ten worked out nicely, she could meet my fellow investigators. Although I didn’t know how I would explain the handyman when he returned. I’d deal with that later. That is, if he came back at all. I’d tried to call him several times with no luck. He should have been back by now. My mind wandered to the chaos from the past few days as I watched the clouds race across the sky—the overcast conditions threatened rain. In spite of the cloud cover, the temperature was unseasonably warm. A storm was on its way.
