Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One

by Allie Harrison

  Prologue

  Eleven-year-old Torrie Reynolds stood outside the Hargrove House. She stared up at it. A shiver slithered up her spine like a cold snake. Moonlight fought and lost against the shadows that were cast from the trees dancing with the wind.

  She heard snickers coming from the bushes to her left. She couldn’t let her friends see her tremble like a scaredy cat. What had her mother said? No truth or dare games, they only get you into trouble.

  That was so true.

  Torrie licked her dry lips. But her tongue felt like cotton and sandpaper. The chant of all the slumber-party attendees of a short while ago still rang through her head. “We dare you! We dare you! We double-dog dare you! To go into the Hargrove House!”

  Torrie reached the front steps. In the dark, the house looked like a huge monster—its windows large square eyes and a nose, its wide porch a grotesque mouth—a mouth that seemed to want to devour her. She tried to swallow and found she didn’t have enough spit. Well, there was certainly enough moisture in her clenched fists.

  “You aren’t going to be a chicken, are you, Torrie?” came a loud, squealing voice from beyond the bushes where the girls hid and watched. Several giggled.

  She could never be a chicken, she thought.

  She could, however, kick herself for choosing dare instead of truth in the game. She thought dare would be something stupid like ‘fill your mouth with thirty-five marshmallows’ or ‘cut some of your hair off.’ That was what Amanda Litchfield had had to do. She’d cut her own bangs. Her mother was going to be mad tomorrow. Amanda might even be grounded, for her dare would continue to be seen every time she looked in the mirror.

  Torrie’s parents would have a cow if they knew she was this close to the Hargrove House. In fact, Torrie knew, all the girls’ parents would be furious if they knew the girls had snuck out of Lilia Mansker’s house from across the street, even though Liberty, Illinois, was small town with mostly traffic tickets listed in the police blotter. It was a quarter after midnight. None of them would understand needing to fulfill a dare of sneaking into the Hargrove House.

  But it was too late to turn back now.

  From beyond the bushes, Torrie heard the whispered chanting of, “Chicken! Chicken! Torrie’s nothing but a chicken! Bock, Bock, Bock!”

  Torrie knew in her heart this was a stupid thing to do. She sucked in a deep breath. She’d never been a chicken, and she wasn’t going to be one now.

  The door knob was cold in her palm. Surely the door wouldn’t be unlocked. The old creepy house had been vacant forever.

  It wasn’t locked. In fact, the knob turned easily and the door opened. The eerie thought that the house wanted her to come in slipped through her.

  The light from the street filtered into the foyer, but only a little. Everything else was nothing more than a mixture of gray shadows. Still it was enough for Torrie to see elegance in the wide, beautiful circular staircase. Above her head a huge chandelier hung haphazardly. What was left of its crystal decoration reflected the small amount of light from the street.

  It was beautiful.

  How anyone could leave this house, she wondered.

  Outside, the wind blew the leaves and branches of the trees in the front yard, and the shadows danced.

  Torrie took a step back. She’d stayed long enough to fulfill the dare. Besides, she’d heard her father say often enough the place was probably rotten through. She’d break her leg if she fell through the floor. She could see the headline in the Liberty Banner now: Mayor’s Daughter Breaks Leg in Haunted Hargrove House.

  Amanda Litchfield was going to owe her big time, she thought.

  The moonlight reflected on something on the floor a few feet away. Was it a piece of glass from one of the several broken windows? No, it was a single crystal obviously from the chandelier above her. Her hand itched with the need to touch it, to hold it. She took a few steps forward, weary of the possibly rotted floor.

  Then she had it in her hand, an elegantly carved crystal, beautiful and perfect, a prize for a scary dare like a blue ribbon for winning a race. She turned to go back out the door. It was then she heard the voice.

  It was really nothing more than a moan, a painful moan.

  Yet, it said her name—“Victoria…”

  Torrie tore out the door with the crystal tight in her fist as if the devil himself were chasing her. She didn’t stop at the bushes where the girls waited. She didn’t stop at the end of the block. She didn’t stop until she ran the four blocks all the way home. She didn’t care if she was grounded for a year.

  Fifteen Years Later

  “Ms. Reynolds?”

  Torrie nearly jumped from her seat behind her desk.

  A man stood in the doorway to her office. He was tall and broad shouldered. His sandy, brown hair was cut just above the collar of the crisp white shirt he wore. Complete with his black slacks and a dark coat, he made a striking figure. Caught in the memory of sneaking into the Hargrove House, Torrie hadn’t heard the bells over the door with his arrival. On any other day, her assistant, Jane, would announce any potential clients, but Jane was off today because Torrie could no longer pay her for a full week.

  “Can I help you?” Torrie asked, working to keep her voice steady. His sudden presence still had her heart pounding. And for a long moment, he openly studied her. She fought the urge to look down and make certain she still wore clothes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m William Dalton. I recently bought the Hargrove House. I need it refurbished and decorated to its original grandeur, and your artistic abilities come highly recommended.”

  His words—the very idea of what he wanted—left her feeling slightly dizzy, and it took several seconds before she could form a coherent sentence to reply. “Funny, I was just thinking about that place. You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” she said. Then she thought: What a stupid come back. She had just never had a client be so blunt and straight forward. Most people came to her with something close to an idea or a picture of what they wanted done, and they looked for her advice.

  He smiled. “No, never.”

  She was drawn to his smile. In fact, she was drawn to every aspect of him, from the relaxed way he stood to his deep, summer evening sky blue eyes. Slowly she stood and leaned both palms on her desk, thankful the large desk was between them. Otherwise she was certain she’d move closer to him. “Have we met before?” she asked.

  He tilted his head slightly, and Torrie was intrigued with his movement. She thought he might move like that just seconds before he kissed her, if he ever was to kiss her.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  She shook her head slightly to clear the cobwebs that suddenly filled it. What was wrong with her? She had never reacted to a man this way, especially not a potential client.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “But you don’t remember? And neither do I,” Torrie put in. She forced a smile. “I’m sure it will come to me about two o’clock in the morning,” she said, trying to lighten the conversation as she worked to hide her instant, weird reaction to this man. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we can talk about it.”

  He paused, still staring at her closely until Torrie thought perhaps her blouse might be unbuttoned or something. “Is something wrong?” she finally had to ask.

  “No,” he replied hesitantly. “Not at all. Everything is perfect, as a matter of fact.” Again he smiled, and Torrie couldn’t help but smile back as he sat down in the chair opposite her.

  “So you bought the Hargrove House? Really?”

  He nodded slightly. “Yes, and at a very reasonable price, I might add.”

  “
No doubt. I’ll bet it was almost free.”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. But it will take some work to get it livable again.”

  “That’s an understatement. That place has been sitting empty since…” For as long as she could remember. “Since a long time,” she finished.

  “I know, and it’s a shame.”

  “What possessed you to buy it, may I ask?”

  “I passed through here some years ago, and my wife fell in love with the house. Now I’m able to purchase it and have the time and ability to fix it.”

  So he had a wife and a family. Why should her heart feel as if it just fell to the bottom of her chest? She hardly knew him after all. And so what if she was drawn to his smile, by the lightness of his eyes, the rich, deep calling of his voice, and by the way he studied her as if he wanted to know her better?

  She forced a smile. “Of course.” She supposed she was studying him as much as he stared at her. There was something strangely familiar about him, and she simply could not put her finger on it. Maybe when he’d passed through town previously, she’d met him or his wife.

  “Like I said before, you did come highly recommended when I asked around and let people know my plans.”

  That thought made her smile. She would have loved to ask who recommended her. But talking about previous clients was unprofessional. Besides the truth would come out sooner or later. It always did in a small town. “Do you know the house is haunted?”

  He offered her a slanted smile. “I heard that. I also read somewhere that the house is listed as one of the top ten haunted houses in the state or something like that.”

  “But what do you really know about the house?” she asked.

  “Just what I’ve read. There was a story about the original owner’s family simply disappearing on the wife’s birthday. No trace of them was ever found. Are those the same rumors you heard?” he asked.

  “Something like that.” The idea had always made her nervous. Just thinking about it made it impossible for her to force a small smile. “I just don’t understand how an entire family could suddenly and completely disappear without a trace.”

  “Do you know what I heard?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “What?” she couldn’t help but ask. When she suddenly found herself leaning forward, moving closer to him as if to hang on his every word, she pressed herself to the back of her chair.

  “I heard they were all killed by someone they knew and trusted. And their bodies were hidden and buried in the cellar.”

  “Oh my God, how horrible.” Torrie fought down a shudder. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors, but never that one.”

  He shrugged as if it meant little. “It’s as good a story as any.”

  “Are you trying to hire me for the job or scare me to keep me from taking the job?”

  The laugh he let out made her shiver with its forcefulness. “No, I really did hear it. I’m sorry. I never meant to scare you.”

  His idea left her cold. She found herself twirling a tendril of her hair, something she always did when she was nervous. She forced herself to stop. “Okay, so humor me. Why would someone they knew and trusted kill them?”

  Again he shrugged. At the same time, it was his turn to lean closer as a good story teller would, trying to make the full impact. “Any number of reasons. The owner, Hargrove, was obviously rich—so your number one reason would be money. And money wasn’t handled as it is now. Back at the turn of the twentieth century, there were no taxes as there are now, and banks were not regulated or insured. So a great deal of money was kept in home or office safes. Anyone might kill them in order to get it. Or perhaps it involved a love triangle with the wife. Who knows? It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not concerned with ghosts. I’ve probably seen a few of them, and they don’t scare me. I’m only concerned with getting the house up to par. Can you help?”

  “I’m sure I can, and I would be glad to help.” She didn’t want to sound like she was ready to jump at any idea or job that came her way, but at the same time she wanted to sound available. There seemed to be a thin line between the two. The last thing she wanted was to step back into the Hargrove House. At the same time, if she didn’t have a paying job by tomorrow, she was going to have to close up shop. “Would you like a cup of tea, and we can discuss some of your ideas. “

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  He looked around her office as Torrie moved to the counter at the end of the room. She used the hot water dispenser to fill a teapot after she put in several tea bags.

  “Your desk is magnificent,” he pointed out.

  “Funny you should say that. My father told me it used to be in that conservatory room with all the windows at the back of the Hargrove House.” Again she let her memory of Hargrove slide through her. “I would have loved to have seen it there. If it really was. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father simply bought it at an auction. He loved auctions and antiques as much as he loved Hargrove House stories. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is it’s a beautiful piece of fine woodwork and from what I know about the Hargrove House, it would have matched the décor perfectly.”

  “How would your father know if the desk was in the conservatory?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He used to be mayor here, and he had lots of stories about the Hargrove House.” She carried the pot and two cups with the sugar bowl and two spoons on a tray to the small table near her desk.

  He stared at the desk for another long moment. “Maybe he followed a dare and snuck into the house and saw it there.”

  She’d snuck in but hadn’t been brave enough to go all the way to the conservatory. The memory sent her heart racing. “Please sit down over here,” she invited, changing the subject. Her heart was slowing and his deep voice put her at ease. And although he still watched her closely, despite the fact he mentioned a wife, he seemed to be genuinely interested in her.

  He moved toward the seat across from her. “And what’s that?” He indicated the single piece of crystal that hung from the pull chain of the ceiling fan.

  “It’s from a chandelier—definitely in Hargrove House.” Her admission brought forth a memory filled with an odd mixture of anticipation and terror.

  “Not just a rumor?”

  “No. I’m not, by any means, proud that I went into the Hargrove House, but I do like to think of that as a good luck charm.”

  He offered her a slightly crooked grin. “You broke into the house?”

  “Of course not, the door was open.”

  “I see.”

  She wondered what exactly he saw.

  But then, he stepped close and took his seat and thankfully changed the subject. “A lady who serves tea from an actual teapot and not in Styrofoam cups—I like that.”

  She smiled. “When building a business, I’ve found through the years, it’s the small things like this that are appreciated.” She poured him a cup of tea and passed it to him.

  “Thank you.” He met her gaze, took a sip. “What made you want to be decorator?”

  “When I was in high school, I took a job with the decorator who previously rented this space. I answered her calls, ordered supplies, and learned from her. I loved the idea of taking something and making it better. So I earned a degree it in. When she retired two years ago, it seemed like the right move to take her place.” She didn’t add that the decorator business in the small town of Liberty wasn’t booming.

  Having no desire to talk about herself or about how desperate her business was, she took the opportunity to change the subject again. “So have you even seen the inside of the Hargrove House?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” she had to ask. Just as she hadn’t heard it had been purchased, she hadn’t heard of anyone being inside of it. And rumors like that usually got around.

  “When I bought it.”

  “You hadn’t seen it until then?”

  He shrugged.

  What kind of man buys a house unseen and plans to refurbish
it? This guy was obviously strange, but there was more to him. Even strange people didn’t buy houses sight unseen. Torrie hoped to find out more about him. “I hope you didn’t fall through any holes in the floor and land in the cellar?” she teased.

  Again, he laughed easily. “No.”

  “Did your wife see it, and does she have any ideas as to what she’d like in the house?” She couldn’t imagine any woman with any sense stepping across the threshold. She also didn’t understand why his wife wasn’t with him. Wives generally did most of the decorating.

  His smile disappeared. “My wife…died.”

  Well, that explained why his wife wasn’t with him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  The smile he offered her was small and meant to smooth things over. “It’s all right. It was a while ago, and I have moved on.”

  Torrie didn’t want to talk about his dead wife. “I see. So what are some of your ideas?”

  “Well, first and foremost, I’d like the house made structurally sound and safe. I’d like to have a large holiday party there in December in the third floor ballroom, and I’d hate for anyone to fall through the floor all the way to the cellar.” He grinned as he repeated her words.

  Torrie laughed before she took to a sip of tea. “Then they’d be down there with the dead bodies,” she teased.

  Warmth radiated through her, and she wasn’t certain whether it was from the tea or from his gaze.

  “How soon could you have a team of workers there?” he asked.

  “Well, Mr. Dalton—”

  “Call me, Will, please. I think we’ll be doing quite a bit of work together, and Mr. Dalton is simply too formal.”

  “Okay, Will. I can make some calls today and probably have work started within the next few days.”

  “That would be fabulous.”

  Now came the hardest part of her job, the part she hated most. “And you understand the cost—”

  Again, he cut her off by speaking and by holding up a hand. “Money is no object. Whatever it takes to get the house back in tip top shape, it will be well worth it to me. Start with this.” He pulled a check from the inside of his jacket pocket.