by Rose Pressey
“Wow, they look like they know their stuff.” Reed smirked.
He walked down the steps and I followed. Sam climbed down from the driver’s seat. Nate trailed her like a shadow and Steven stretched. They all paused in unison and stared up at the house in awe.
“Hi,” I said.
Reed shuffled his feet as he stood beside me and coughed. I ignored him. Well, as much as anyone could pay no attention to Reed O’Hara.
Sam didn’t snub him, though.
“Who’s the muscular yummy, er, I mean guy?” She whispered, all the while giving Reed the once over. Yeah, he was tall, dark, and handy. I didn’t need her to remind me.
“Ugh. The handyman. He’s helping me with the house.” I grimaced.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” She grinned.
“Reed O’Hara, this is Sam Thomas, Steve Lyons, and Nate Willis.” I gestured to each one.
“Nice to meet you,” Reed said.
“Nice to meet you, too.” The corners of Sam’s mouth lifted revealing her perfect white teeth.
Steve and Nate nodded to Reed. They were the strong, silent type.
“Do you guys have those guns like in the Ghostbusters movie?” Reed laughed.
“Don’t mind him, he’s a non-believer,” I said, and then rolled my eyes.
“Well, we just might make a believer out of him.” Sam gave Reed a wink.
If she didn’t stop ogling him, we wouldn’t collect enough evidence to make him believe anything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“He’s gorgeous,” she whispered again.
I got it. He looked good. So what. Normally, I wasn’t the jealous type, but…I did have a touch of the green-eyed monster. The feeling grew as Sam eyed Reed’s backside as he walked away.
Reed waved over his shoulder. Darn him, I knew he heard us. He may be egotistical and I may be upset, but that did not change the fact that he looked good in his Levis.
Nate frowned. He was Sam’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. She did have a wandering eye, a sore subject for Nate. He was a good-looking man— short blonde hair and wide chestnut-colored eyes. He worked out a lot, too. His big biceps flexed whenever he lifted our heavy paranormal paraphernalia. On investigations, I expected him to rip off his shirt at any moment and flex his muscles at the ghosts. Why she flirted with others, I had no idea. Just because she could, I guess.
“Hey, Nate. How are you?” I offered a pitying grin.
“You like him,” Sam sang.
“What?”
“You like the handyman?” She gestured in his direction.
“I do not. He has an annoying swagger and he smirks too much. Not to mention, I repulse him. He detests me. I think he wanted to buy this house and I beat him to it. He doesn’t say anything about it, but I think there are some hard feelings.”
“Bummer,” she said.
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“So why is he working for you then?” She looked in the direction of Reed’s house.
I paused, then shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me.”
“Love the place, Alabama,” Steve said as he unloaded bags and boxes from the van.
“Thanks.” I beamed as I turned and looked up at the old place.
Steve hoisted the crate of equipment with ease. With his long, dark ponytail pulled back tight and large framed body, he looked like a professional wrestler. If I were a ghost, I’d be afraid he’d body slam me. Steve and Nate both wore black pullover shirts with South Kentucky Ghost Hunters written in the upper left side. Every investigation you could count on them not forgetting their prized SKGH shirts, even if it was only the four of us on the scene. They took the job seriously.
“Sorry we’re a few minutes late, I was talking and not paying attention so I missed the turn.” Sam smiled.
“No problem. Go on in and set up. Make yourself at home.” I gestured my hand behind me. “I’ll help all I can, but I can’t stay long. I have an errand.”
“Again?” Sam snapped as she sat her bag and camera down. “No, way. It’s your place, you have to stick around.” She pointed at the house, then at me.
“One time I left early and you’ve never forgotten it.”
She shrugged, shot me a disparaging glance, and picked her things up from the ground. Nate laughed. I ignored both of them and glanced over to Steve. He didn’t seem interested in taking sides. Sam strolled by, carrying equipment in her arms. Her tall, willowy shape glided through the door. Her tight straight-legged jeans added to her slender appearance and her olive tone sweater deepened her brown eyes.
“Can you at least show us around the house before you take off?”
“I planned on it. Give me some credit, will you?”
“Come on. You can stick around for a little while, can’t you?” Nate pleaded.
“For a little itty bit.” I pinched my index finger and thumb together to show just how small the amount.
After the tour, I retrieved my digital recorder from my car. Maybe I’d pick up a few disembodied voices. Nate clutched his thermal imaging equipment as if carrying an infant. He’d sold his car to pay for it, so I guess he considered it his baby. We’d collected quite a bit of equipment in a short time we’d been together. Digital video and photography equipment, various recording devices, EMF detectors, and digital thermometers, to name a few. We were high-tech all the way.
Sam set up her equipment in various spots around the parlor and the library. Wires and cables snaked across the floor. She placed the digital video recorder on the mantle and wireless motion detector on the opposite side. Nate and Steve set up the video and audio upstairs while I did the kitchen and dining room.
“I think we should stay all day and part of the night. At least until around eleven tonight. Get in some dark time,” Sam said.
Nate and Steve nodded.
Ghostly activity is most active after dark. Go figure, ghosts prefer the cover of night. Maybe that’s why all the scary movies have the ghouls come out after midnight. I felt bad, but I just couldn’t stay.
“Y’all can stay as long as you want, you know that.”
Sam ignored my comment and placed batteries in her recorder. “Let’s get to work guys,” she snapped, looking up at Steve and Nate.
I walked around with a digital thermometer, looking for cold spots brought about by spirit activity.
“I just got a huge temperature drop.” I called out, waving the gun through the air.
“Where are you?” Nate called from somewhere upstairs.
“Out in the foyer by the staircase.”
The cold encircled me and made goose bumps spread across my arms. He stood behind me and scanned the area with the EMF detector. Those little doodads detect fluctuations in electric and magnetic fields—invisible lines of force that surround any electrical device. Pretty cool in my opinion. Disturbances in the field may indicate possible spirit activity.
“Are you getting any fluctuations?” I asked, peering over his shoulder to read the screen on the gadget. I wasn’t sure about the ghosts, but I knew a lot of women who would get fluctuations standing next to Nate. Too bad Sam didn’t appreciate a good guy when she had one.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said, “I have no energy source to explain them, either.” He moved the gadget through the air all the while it beeped wildly.
Steve snapped pictures right and left with the digital camera. The flash lit up the rooms. I hoped he would capture the image of a ghost on camera. I’d love to have evidence to show Reed.
“You know it sounds as if you have an intelligent haunting going on here,” Sam said looking up from her device.
“That’s what the psychic said.” I nodded.
“Who, Lacey?” Nate asked.
“No, Carolyn. She’s Reed’s aunt.”
Sam smirked. “Already mingling with the relatives, huh?”
“No. I didn’t even know she was his aunt when I met her.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
&n
bsp; “Right, right, right, right.” Sam smirked again, then chuckled.
Better if I just ignored her, I thought. “I gotta take off, y’all. Call me if you need anything.” I dumped my equipment on the foldout table Steve had set up in the parlor. “I’m really sorry I can’t stay.” I looked at Sam.
“Whatever,” she said from over her shoulder, not looking up from her work.
Nate frowned and shrugged. “We’ll be fine. I’ll call if anything comes up.”
“Thanks.” I maneuvered around the wires and headed out the door.
If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late to my appointment with Julia Cooper. It felt strange agreeing to meet her. After all, she’d called me out of the blue. Was I walking into a trap? Like a fly into a spider web? I made my way down the porch to my car. As I climbed in, Lacey’s car pulled in the driveway. She parked behind me and hobbled out. I’d forgotten about her. She would be even more furious with me.
“Hi, Lacey,” I said as I rolled down my window. “How’s the ankle?”
“It’s better. I think I’ll be able to put weight on it soon. Going somewhere?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No. Nope. I mean, yes. I was waiting on you. Hop in. Can I help you?”
She looked at me suspiciously. “I can manage.”
“Where are we going?” Lacey asked as she stuffed her crutches into the seat beside her.
“Julia Cooper’s house.”
“Oh! Well, good, I’ll be your back-up. You sure you don’t want Carolyn to go instead of me?” She smirked.
Who knew Lacey could be so jealous? Of course, she’d never had any competition until now. Not that Carolyn really was competition.
“Oh, stop. There’s room for two psychics in my life. You’ll always be my number one.” I laughed.
As I drove the narrow back road, I glanced around anxiously, trying to keep a watch out for the blue sedan or any other suspicious vehicle, for that matter. For all I knew, the maniac could have changed cars on me.
“You’re really paranoid, aren’t you?”
I frowned. “Better safe than sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
A brief time later, we pulled into the large subdivision of luxury homes. I drove a short distance, counting down the streets, until I found the right one. Long driveways lined the road, homes set far back from the curb. I made a left on her street and halfway down spotted the house number. Payne Cooper’s house or rather, Julia Cooper’s home had an old world look, but was brand new just like all the other houses. Hers was an expansive two-story stone and brick.
“Wow. Lacey peered up at the house. Nice place.”
“You can say that again. You coming in?” I parked the car in the driveway.
“Those steps look steep. I’ll wait in the car. If you don’t come in soon, I’ll call the police.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll be right back.” I cringed at the sound of my dinged-up car door as I slid out. The squeak echoed through the neighborhood and I contemplated removing the darn thing all together.
I marched toward the sidewalk. My sneakers squeaked along the rain soaked stone walkway. I made my way to the door, gliding past the extensive landscaping—no shortage of evergreens in that yard. The doorbell chimed a song I didn’t recognize as I shifted from foot to foot in front of the door, waiting for an answer. Fear washed over me. I’d been so intent on finding the killer, that I’d forgotten Julia Cooper might be the killer. After all, she called me, I reminded myself. How clever of her to plan this whole little charade. With that thought, I turned and started back down the steps.
“Hello?” the raspy female voice called.
I froze, then slowly turned around. Maybe I should have made a run for it. Mrs. Cooper eyed me from the doorway. My feet were frozen on the first step and I had a hard time moving forward. What was I supposed to do?
“Ms. Hargrove?”
I nodded, then sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. It was now or never.
“Mrs. Cooper?” I asked.
“Yes, come in, please.” She stepped back from the door to allow me room to enter. I trudged back up the steps and across the porch as if called to the principal’s office. She gave a skeptical look as I watched her every move with a sideways glance. Did she know I was on to her?
“Please, do come in. Welcome to mi casa.” She urged with the motion of her hand.
I had no choice but enter. I prayed I wouldn’t meet with my final fate. Not yet, anyway. I had a lot more life left in me. Heck, I had a house to flip. I’d put up a huge fight if she tried anything.
“You don’t mind if I call you Alabama, do you?”
Did I have a choice?
“No, that’s fine.” I eyed her black dress, which was apparently her mourning outfit. The silk hit just above her knees and the front came down in a low v-shape showing an ample amount of enhanced cleavage. The fabric hung to her hourglass figure. She’d managed to change into her marabou slippers, though. I saw her dainty four-inch heels aimlessly tossed into the corner of the room. She pranced away from the door in her furry heels. She probably envisioned herself an old-time movie star. All she needed was a long cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other.
I rushed through the door and past her, keeping one eye on her all the while. When I looked around, I was shocked. The house was gorgeous. I couldn’t imagine what she possibly wanted to change about it. The rooms were immaculately decorated. To my left was the living room, it had a beautiful velvet, cinnamon-colored sofa. As stunning as it was, it wasn’t the focal point of the room. The gold leaf paper on the ceiling surrounded by applied moldings took that honor. A warm caramel color covered the walls.
“Exactly what is it you want to change about your home, Mrs. Cooper? Everything looks great.”
I looked around the room waiting for her answer. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. If her home didn’t need redecorating, then it was all a farce, she just wanted me there to kill me. Just like she killed her husband.
“Please, call me Julia.”
My pulse quickened. She made me nervous as she pranced around the room. She circled me like a shark. “All right…Julia, your house is beautiful as is.” My voice was shaky.
I shouldn’t be talking my way out of a job, but I needed answers. My main reason for being there was to get clues about who had murdered Payne Cooper. I needed to be strong, so I forged ahead.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” she said bluntly, “everything except for Payne’s office. I want it changed immediately.” She pointed to the space across the foyer.
She walked across the marble floor, her heels clacking against the floor, and stopped at the threshold. I hesitated, then inched closer to take a peek.
Interesting. Another gorgeous room—rich and masculine with opulence.
Was she a grieving widow and this was her way of dealing with his death? Or, was she thankful he was gone, so she could use the space for something else? Although, wanting an extra room wasn’t exactly grounds for murder. I looked around. Like the rest of the house, it looked perfect to me.
The room had a beamed ceiling. Heavy velvet muted-red draperies hung with finials against the windows. Green silk with golden stripes covered French armchairs and a massive mahogany desk with a buttery-soft brown leather chair rested in the center of the space. A Persian rug, positioned in the middle of the floor, drew everything together, making the study warm and inviting. Whoever decorated the place knew what they were doing.
“Who decorated your home, Julia?”
I stared in awe.
“My sister. She came especially from California to do the job. She’s in Europe now, so she can’t make it. That’s why I’m frantic to get someone to help me.” She eyed me up and down.
I felt a rush of insecurity. Her eyes judged me.
“I see.” I shifted me gaze away from her. “So, what do you want changed about the room?”
“I want it to be a romantic space. An office just f
or me, which exudes softness and passion.” She waved her hand dramatically for emphasis.
Romance? I couldn’t believe my ears. She was talking about romance and her husband’s body was barely cold. She had to be guilty. Only killers talked that way, right? My stomach sank. I wanted to make a mad dash for the door, but instead I tried to remain calm. I’d press for more answers.
“Julia?” I stared at her overly made-up face. “I have to ask you this: Are you sure you’re up to redecorating? I mean, your husband is dead. You must be terribly distraught? Why don’t you give it some time? You could close the door off and not think about it for a bit.”
Maybe I could read intentions from her answer. Although at that moment, her face was stone cold. What had gotten into me? All of a sudden, I thought I was an amateur sleuth or something? I had no idea what I was doing. What was I thinking? I’d tried my hand at private investigating before. One night while chasing my target, I ran into her car and the jig was up. I knew two things, though. I had two mysteries on my hands: who killed Payne and who was the ghost haunting my flipper house? If I didn’t solve the murder, I’d end up either dead or in jail. If I didn’t get rid of the ghost, I’d be bankrupt and labeled a failure. Again. So, sleuthing wasn’t so out of the question, after all. It was necessary.
“I’m fine,” Julia said snippily. She stared again, waiting for the answers to her décor dilemma.
Since she hadn’t changed her mind, I continued. “Well…I think an antique desk and soft robin egg’s blue on the walls would be lovely.” I paused, waiting for her thoughts.
She stood ramrod straight and hung on to my every word. The whole scene creeped me out. Standing in a dead man’s house, talking to his crazed widow, who may or may not have killed him, was definitely a part of some bizarro world. I needed one of those eject buttons to get me out of there.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, not acknowledging my suggestion.
“No, thank you,” I said.
Without another word, she sashayed out of the room, her blonde curls bounced with every step. I stood there for a second, unsure of my next move. I took in a deep breath and turned, following her into the living room. She stood in front of the bar in the corner of the room, mixing a drink. By drink, I thought she’d meant a glass of water. Maybe tea or lemonade. Silly me.
