The Ghost Next Door

by Ginny Baird

  THE GHOST NEXT DOOR

  A Love Story

  By

  Ginny Baird

  THE GHOST NEXT DOOR

  By Ginny Baird

  Published by

  Winter Wedding Press

  Copyright © 2013

  Ginny Baird

  Digital Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9895892-1-5

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold 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, unless this book is a participant in a qualified lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to export portions of the text, please contact the author at GinnyBairdRomance@gmail.com.

  Characters in this book are fictional and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Dar Albert

  About the Author

  From the time she could talk, romance author Ginny Baird was making up stories, much to the delight—and consternation—of her family and friends. By grade school, she’d turned that inclination into a talent, whereby her teacher allowed her to write and produce plays rather than write boring book reports. Ginny continued writing throughout college, where she contributed articles to her literary campus weekly, then later pursued a career managing international projects with the US State Department.

  Ginny has held an assortment of jobs, including school teacher, freelance fashion model, and greeting card writer, and has published more than twenty works of fiction and optioned ten screenplays. She has additionally published short stories, nonfiction and poetry, and admits to being a true romantic at heart.

  Ginny is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of several books, including novellas in her Holiday Brides Series. When she’s not writing, Ginny enjoys cooking, biking, and spending time with her family in Tidewater, Virginia. She loves hearing from her readers and welcomes visitors to her website at http://ginnybairdromance.com/.

  Ginny Baird’s

  THE GHOST NEXT DOOR

  A Love Story

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth set her hand on her hip and gazed out over the countryside. She and Claire stood by their silver SUV, parked at the top of the steep gravel drive.

  “Thought you said it had a view.”

  She glanced at the fifteen-year-old girl beside her with long, brown hair and bangs. Dark eyes brimmed with dramatic expression.

  “Jeez, Mom. You didn’t say it was of a graveyard.”

  “Cemetery.”

  “What?”

  “Graveyards are beside a church. Cemeteries are stand-alone—”

  Claire’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “If you’re such a stickler for words, why didn’t you read the fine print?”

  “What fine print?”

  “The one saying we’d be moving next to a haunted house?”

  Elizabeth’s gaze traveled to the run-down Victorian less than a stone’s throw from the modern, prefab house they’d rented. She figured the land the newer house stood on had once belonged to the larger home, which now sat with murky windows, sunshine reflecting off of beveled glass. Its wide front porch was caked with dust, gnarly vines tangling their way around paint-cracked spindles holding the porch railings.

  Elizabeth chided herself for not investigating further when the ad said Bucolic, small-town setting. Unobstructed mountain views. She hadn’t known those views would be peppered with tombstones, or that they’d be living beside an empty house.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad?” she offered hopefully.

  A sharp wind blew, sending the twin rockers on the Victorian’s front porch sighing as they heaved to and fro as if tipped by some unseen hand.

  Claire frowned, turning away. “It’s creepy. This whole place is creepy. I don’t think we should stay.”

  A tension in Elizabeth’s gut told her perhaps Claire was right. Even the rocking chairs tilting in the wind seemed a bad omen. But a greater tension in her wallet said she’d already signed a lease for the next nine months. There’d be no backing out of it without losing her security deposit plus the first month’s rent.

  Elizabeth drew a breath, studying the more positive parts of the landscape. The two-story place they’d rented appeared almost new, with a cheery front garden and a covered stoop. Its clapboard siding and slate roof were well kept, giving the home a cottagey feel. And the large side yard housed a sturdy oak, its leaves shimmering orangey gold in the October sun. “The setting may be a little unusual,” she told her daughter, “but at least it’s quiet.”

  “Yeah. Dead quiet.”

  “Come on,” Elizabeth urged. “Help me get the groceries in the house. Then we can grab our luggage. We’ll be settled in no time.” She flashed the girl a grin. “Spaghetti for dinner.”

  Claire shrugged and reluctantly reached into the hatchback for some bags. “Whatever.”

  Later that night, as she and Claire stood drying dishes by the sink, Elizabeth questioned her wisdom in bringing them here. This rental property was pretty isolated, at least five miles from the tiny village nearby. But when she’d been searching for a temporary place for them to stay, there hadn’t been a lot of options. Blayton, Virginia was so small it wasn’t even on most maps. Set up against the Blue Ridge Mountains, it had once been an old railroad town, the gateway community between here and Tennessee on the far side of those high peaks. After a period of anonymity, it was now undergoing a minor renaissance, with a new microbrewery moving in, a few swank restaurants, and a burgeoning host of surrounding vineyards and upscale B&Bs. Though trains no longer stopped here, the working tracks remained intact, with the original station now converted into the local library.

  Elizabeth had been sent here to revamp the old town newspaper, previously called the Gazette. Her larger news organization was intent on acquiring antiquated or defunct town papers and bringing their newer incarnations into the twenty-first century. Elizabeth had fought this relocation, begging her boss in Richmond to let her tackle this from afar. After all, the real focus of all their newer editions was virtual subscriptions offered on the Internet. But Jerry had argued she needed to be on the scene, get up close and personal with the local community to make this transition work. Besides, he persisted, in order for the new publication to be successful, it needed to develop ground legs too. Perhaps a younger readership might emerge online, but for the old-timers to get roped in, there had to be a physical edition of the paper as well. Something folks could pick up at the local grocery, which was extra convenient since there was only one store in town.

  “Mom, look!” Claire’s eyes went wide as the dish she was drying slipped from her hands. It collided with the linoleum at her feet and split in two.

  Elizabeth stepped toward her daughter. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Did… Did you see it?” Claire stammered.

  She followed Claire’s gaze out the kitchen window to the house across the way. Evening shadows shrouded the Victorian, its windows dark and dreary.

  “Up there.” She pointed to a window on the second floor. “I saw something move inside.”

  Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Claire’s shoulder, thinking the day was getting to her. It had been a five-hour drive from Richmond, then there’d been unpacking to do. It was unnerving to be a teen and move far from your school and long-term friends. It had to be doubly upsetting to find your new home situated across the street from a cemetery. The poor kid was tired and overwrought, letting her imagination get the best of her. And Claire had quite an imagination. She’d taken first prize in her district’s teen short-story con
test and had recently turned her storytelling ability into songwriting while she plucked out accompanying music on her secondhand guitar.

  “I’m sure it was nothing,” Elizabeth told her. “Maybe just a shadow from the big oak outside.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes in thought. “Yeah, maybe.” She bent to grab the broken dish, and Elizabeth stooped to help her.

  “Here, let me get this. Why don’t you go grab the broom and dustpan from over there in the corner?”

  After the two of them had cleaned up, they once more stood by the sink and stared out the window.

  “I’m sure it was just a shadow,” Elizabeth said.

  “You’re probably right.”

  Just then a beam of light swept through the big house’s downstairs, and Claire leapt into Elizabeth’s arms. “Mo-om!”

  Elizabeth held her tightly. “Hang on, I’m sure it’s just a—”

  “A what?” Elizabeth’s pulse raced. “You said the house was empty! For sale!”

  “Maybe it’s a potential buyer?” Elizabeth said lamely, not for a second believing that was true. Who on earth visited creepy old houses as night fell? Maybe someone who worked during the day and couldn’t get here otherwise, Elizabeth told herself logically. Just look at her, gripping her daughter like she was some freaked-out kid herself. Elizabeth knew better than that.

  “Is it gone?” Claire asked, her eyes tightly shut.

  Elizabeth returned her gaze to the window and the looming house next door. There wasn’t a hint of movement anywhere. “No signs of life.”

  Claire popped both eyes open. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  Just then the doorbell rang with a spooky twang, and Elizabeth yelped.

  “Ow, Mom! What are you doing? It’s just the front door.”

  Elizabeth released her grasp, feeling foolish. “Of course it is,” she replied in an even tone. But they weren’t expecting company and were miles from anywhere.

  The doorbell chimed again, and Claire strode in that direction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To answer it.”

  “Wait.” Elizabeth protectively stepped in front of her. “Better let me.” She was fairly sure ghosts didn’t ring doorbells. But it certainly couldn’t be a neighbor bringing cookies.

  Nathan Thorpe stood on the stoop of the cozy house, holding a brimming plate wrapped in tinfoil. Walnut-chocolate chip. His specialty. He’d heard the new people had moved in and wanted to welcome them to town. Blayton didn’t get many visitors. Full-fledged transplants were even rarer. Nathan couldn’t recall the last time a new family had moved here. Might have been the Wilcutts when they bought the old mill store and converted it to a pool hall/saloon.

  The door opened just a crack, and Nathan noticed the chain had been latched. A pretty face peered out at him. From his limited point of view, she appeared to be in her thirties and have captivating dark eyes. At least one of them.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in a big-city voice that sounded very sophisticated. She also seemed a little skittish, like she wasn’t used to living outside of suburbia. Could be the solitude was getting to her. But if that was the case after just one day, this poor lady was in for a long haul.

  He smiled warmly. “Just thought I’d stop by and welcome you to Blayton.”

  She surveyed his khaki-colored uniform along with the gun in his holster. “You’re the sheriff?”

  He extended his plate. “Nathan Thorpe. Nice to meet you.”

  “Since when do cops bring cookies?” a girl asked over the woman’s shoulder.

  She turned and whispered back to a shorter person Nathan took to be her daughter. “I don’t know.”

  Now there were two dark eyes in the door crack, one of them belonging to a face that was younger. Boy, city folk were weird. He’d nearly forgotten that part.

  “Uh,” Nathan began uncertainly, hedging his way back toward the stairs. “I can just leave these on the steps.”

  “Wait! Don’t go.” The door slammed shut, and he heard the chain slide off. A split second later, it opened again, and a stunning brunette greeted him. She was petite and wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The teenage daughter beside her was dressed in a similar way, but her jeans were torn. Nathan gathered this was the fashion, and not that the girl had fallen and scraped her knees. He’d seen other kids dress like this as well. Thrift-store chic, his niece called it. “I’m so sorry. I… We…didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that we weren’t expecting anybody.”

  “Perfectly fine. I understand.” He reached in his wallet and flipped open his credentials. “If it makes you feel any better, this proves I’m the real McCoy.” He handed them over, still holding the cookie plate in his left hand.

  “I can take that,” the girl offered helpfully. Though he surmised it was because she’d caught a whiff of chocolate chips. Nathan’s cookies had taken first prize at the county fair for three years running. Not that he ever bragged on himself. Other people did it for him.

  Nathan passed her the cookies as the mom flipped shut his credentials and returned them. “I apologize for giving you a hard time.” She had a youthful face, but those tell-tale crinkles around her eyes said she’d spent a lot of time worrying. Nathan knew it must be hard raising a girl on her own. The high school secretary said there hadn’t even been a father’s name listed on the matriculation form. He set his jaw in sympathy for this family, knowing that deadbeat dads weren’t just a big-city ailment. Sadly, they were commonplace everywhere.

  “I don’t blame you for being cautious,” he said kindly. “In fact, caution’s often a good thing.”

  “Especially at three-way stops,” the girl cut in.

  “Exactly.” His eyes twinkled and Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice their shade, a heady mixture of blue and brown with just a hint of green around the irises. An unusual blend of color complemented by his uniform and tawny brown hair. He appeared to be about her age and was incredibly handsome, solid across the chest with a lean, athletic build. He tipped his hat toward Claire. “Nice to see we’ve got another good driver in town. I’ve got my hands full with the bad ones.”

  “Oh no, I don’t—”

  “She doesn’t drive yet,” Elizabeth rushed in, her words overlapping with Claire’s. She smiled sweetly at her daughter. “But the time’s coming soon.”

  “I’m sure she’ll do fine.” He shot each a cordial smile.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said politely. “I’m Elizabeth Jennings. And this is my daughter, Claire.”

  “Pleasure,” he said with a nod. “I didn’t mean to keep you. Just wanted to let you know that I’m here, if you ever need anything.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze inadvertently traveled to his left hand. At least, she thought her gaze was inadvertent. Surely she wasn’t checking for a ring. Although she couldn’t help but notice, there wasn’t one. Not even a tan line left from where one might have been.

  “How will we reach you?” Elizabeth asked.

  He shot her a grin and her old-enough-to-know-better heart fluttered.

  “Dial 9-1-1.”

  “Isn’t that for emergencies?”

  His brow rose in a pleased expression. “Will you be calling me otherwise?”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed. “I meant, just in case it’s something minor. A question, maybe.”

  He cocked his chin to the side. “9-1-1 will do. We don’t get many true emergencies. Martha won’t mind.”

  “Martha?”

  “She mans the phones and for the most part spends her days extremely bored. I’m sure she’d welcome the chance to chat with you.”

  Elizabeth eyed him uncertainly. “Well, all right, if you’re sure.”

  “Wouldn’t be opposed myself,” he muttered, turning away.

  Elizabeth leaned out the door. “What’s that?”

  His neck colored slightly as he set his eyes on hers. “I said, call any time. No question is too big or too small.”

  “Ask him
, Mom,” her daughter urged.

  “Do you know anything about the house next door?”

  “The old Fenton place?” he asked, intrigued. “I know everything about it. Why?”

  “We thought we saw someone in there,” Claire said.

  “Or something,” Elizabeth added quickly. “Of course, it could have been just some shadows.”

  “What about the light?” Claire prodded with obvious concern.

  “Light?”

  “There was a sliver of something,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know. It was too early for moonlight. I saw it too.”

  “Hmm.” Nathan reached up and stroked his chin. “Could it have looked like this…?” He unhitched the flashlight from his belt and clicked it on, spreading broad beams across the stoop’s floorboards.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. “You mean someone was in there? A person?”

  Nathan appeared mildly amused. “Most certainly.” He clicked off the flashlight, then clipped it back to his belt. “That was me.”

  “You?” Elizabeth and Claire asked in unison.

  “Bob Robeson, the realtor, gave me a key. I stop by to check in once in a while. Ensure nothing is amiss.”

  Elizabeth felt her stomach churn. “Amiss how?”

  “Nothing to trouble over,” he answered. “Kid stuff. This time of year, especially. Sometimes teens play pranks. Dare each other to sneak inside and then spend the night. Nobody’s ever made it, as far as I can tell.”

  “Is the place haunted?” Claire asked in all seriousness.

  Nathan perused her kindly. “The house is old, sure. With a couple of strange legends attached. But haunted? Not likely.”

  Elizabeth was about to ask about those strange legends but stopped herself. Claire seemed on edge enough as it was. No need to go upsetting her child further with some idle, small-town lore. Besides, if Nathan assured them nothing was wrong, then what did the two of them have to worry about? He seemed an upright enough individual and was a man of the law besides.