Digital ISBNS
EPUB 978-0-2286-0952-0
Kindle 978-0-2286-0953-7
Web/PDF 978-0-2286-0954-4
Amazon Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0955-1
2nd Ed Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Dearl
Original copyright 2005 Elizabeth Dearl
Cover Art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE a lazy winter morning. Hazel napped on a cushion near the fireplace, while I, still in my flannel pajamas, sprawled across the sofa, outlining my next novel on a legal pad.
“Can you answer that?” I asked her when the phone jangled its life or death summons. Derrick County Telephone and Telegraph balks at moving into the new century, so the instruments they supply are still black, bulky and rotary dial, with ringers loud enough to rival fire alarms.
Hazel yawned, curled into a tighter ball, and draped her tail over her nose.
“Fine, be useless then.” Despite my thick socks, the wooden floorboards chilled the soles of my feet as if I was crossing a frozen pond instead of my living room. Yet another sneaky, little surprise that West Texas weather delighted in springing on someone born and raised in Houston’s near-tropical climate. I was really going to have to invest in an area rug, or maybe even carpeting.
“What are you doing?” Paula Forman, the dispatcher/secretary for the sheriff’s department, asked before I’d gotten the word “hello” out of my mouth.
“Trying to convince the resident ferret to earn her keep,” I said. “You?”
“Me?” She made an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Can you meet me at the café for lunch?”
“Sure. Are you all right?”
“God, no, I’m not all right. I’ve just done something incredibly stupid.”
“What?” But I was talking to a dial tone.
THE WINDOWS OF Lucy’s Café, Perdue’s one and only eatery, were steamed opaque by the combination of hot food and warm bodies inside and thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit outside. Paula was seated in a back booth, tracing her initials in the foggy glass.
“What’s up?” I asked, sliding in across from her.
She jumped. “Damn, Taylor, you scared me!”
“Hey, you’re the one who invited me to lunch.” I was getting a little nervous. Paula is generally unflappable, and I couldn’t think of anything less than the end of civilization as we knew it that would rattle her this badly.
I waited until Rita, the always-harried waitress, had filled my coffee cup and scurried away to pick up an order before I reached across the table for Paula’s hand. It trembled slightly in my grasp.
“Okay, confess,” I ordered. “Who have you murdered, and do you need help burying the body?”
She stared at me. Her lips quivered. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. “Did I really sound that dramatic?”
“And then some.” I relaxed a little. “Let’s try again. All I know is that you’ve done something—to use your own word—stupid. Spill it.”
“I bought a house.” Paula’s expression mingled doubt and bewilderment with an undertone of sheer terror.
“You did? That’s great!”
She took a sip of unsweetened coffee, grimaced. “Well, until about thirty seconds after I signed the paperwork, I thought so, too.”
I waved that away. “Heck, you’re just suffering buyer’s remorse. It happens to everyone. It’s the real estate equivalent of prenuptial jitters.”
“I remember having those,” she muttered darkly. “And, boy, was I right.”
She had a point. Her late husband, Lester, had been an abuser of the first order.
“Bad example,” I admitted. “Look, this is really wonderful news, Paula! I’m happy for you. It’s about time you moved out of that ratty garage apartment.” After Lester’s funeral, her father-in-law had relocated to a nursing facility in Lubbock per doctor’s orders, and Paula hadn’t been able to bear the thought of staying in the house where she had been beaten nearly to death.
“Didn’t have a choice. The owner’s son is coming back to Perdue with his new wife in tow and needs a place to stay. I’ve been given a month’s notice.”
“That’s plenty of time to move. I’ll help.”
She smiled ruefully. “Yeah…except he gave me the notice three and a half weeks ago.”
“Oh. Well, that’s okay. We can do it. You don’t have much stuff, really. I mean you didn’t keep any of Lester’s furniture.”
“No reason to since the apartment was furnished. As is the house. Um, so to speak.”
“So to speak?”
“You’ll see.”
I opened a menu, suddenly starving, and gestured to capture Rita’s attention. “Let’s eat something, then we’ll get started.”
“Today?”
“Sure, today.” I scanned the lunch specials. “No time like the present. We’ll grab some boxes from behind Posey’s Grocery and get you packed up. Where’s your new house anyway?”
“About five miles east of town on Route 2. It’s an old farmhouse. The owner died a few months ago.”
I took a good look at her face. “Paula, what is it you’re not telling me?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Taylor, just wait until you see what I’ve gotten myself into.”
So forget lunch. I closed the menu and stood up. “Let’s go take a look.”
PAULA’S OLD STATION wagon rattled along Route 2, which was graveled but not paved. Shivering, I jacked the heater up another notch as my friend filled me in on the background of her new acquisition.
“The house was sealed following Abraham Fisher’s death,” she said. “His will left everything to his wife, but since she predeceased him, all his assets reverted to the state.”
“What about other relatives?”
“According to his lawyer, there weren’t any.” Paula tapped the brake to let a jackrabbit hop across the road. “Anyway, once it was determined that none of Mr. Fisher’s belongings were worth the effort of holding an estate sale, the house was padlocked. And, after a few months of bureaucratic red tape, it went up for auction.”
“Which is how you got it.”
“For a song, too.” Briefly, Paula looked pleased with herself. “At one time, Abe Fisher and his wife owned nearly four hundred acres, but over the years, they sold it off to neighboring farmers. They kept the house and two acres of woodland.”
“Woodland?” I glanced out the car window at the flat, red land, broken only by patches of mesquite scrub and fence line. The anomalous hills that surround Perdue rose in the far distance. “Woodland?” I repeated incredulously. “Here?”
Even as I spoke we rounded a hairpin curve, bordered by sandstone outcroppings, and there they were. Trees.
“Abe planted them himself,” Paula informed me. “Rumor has it he came from up north somewhere and couldn’t get used to all this open space.”
“Wow.”
Paula’s station wagon started along a dusty path that wove through the mini-forest. I’m no botanist, but I recognized sycamores, maples, sweet gums and pecan trees, though their branches retained only a scattering of red and yellow leaves. Evergreens—pines and firs—wove among the bare trees like tall, green sentries posted to guard the winter-dead skeletons until spring renewed their flesh.
We crossed a narrow bridge, rimmed in stone, and I craned my neck to glimpse the cold, gray water of a stream.
“That’s part of Colton’s Brook,” Paula said. “It winds around behind the house. Makes for a nice view from the living room window.”
I gaped at her. “Exactly how much did you pay for this?” As far as I knew, Paula’s savings account was as paltry as my own. She had put most of the money from the sale of the house she’d shared with Lester into a trust fund set up to provide nursing care for his father.
“Less than I’d have paid for a decent used car.” Her violet eyes crinkled with amusement at my expression. “I told you, it was a state auction and no one bid against me.”
“Why not? Hell, if I’d known about this, I might have bid on it myself.”
“Yeah, but we’re city gals, Taylor. We’re the type to get all caught up in the beauty and to heck with practicality.” She eased through a pothole in the path. “This acreage isn’t any good for farming as it stands and clearing the trees would cost more than it’d be worth.”
“But what about the house?” I protested, just as she pulled clear of the trees and the house in question came into view.
At first glance, Paula’s new home looked pretty impressive, though it was a departure from the ranch houses that typify Derrick County’s architecture. A two-story saltbox, painted Wedgewood blue with white trim and shutters, it seemed more suited to the rocky Maine coastline than to the boonies of West Texas.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
Paula grimaced. “Before you get all impressed by my wheeling and dealing, just take a look and remember I bought it as-is.” She parked the car, got out, and motioned for me to follow.
Our shoes crunched through dead grass, and the closer we got to the house, the further my heart sank. The blue paint was peeling badly, exposing rotting wood in some places. Gutters sagged, as did the center of the front porch. The windows were unbroken but filthy, and as we watched, three shingles slid loose, careening to the ground like dying bats.
Aside from obvious disrepair, the house exuded sadness, and wind sighed through the surrounding trees in dejected agreement.
Paula leaned against a wobbly railing. “God, just look at this place. What on earth was I thinking?”
I draped an arm across her bowed shoulders. “All it needs is a little TLC, sweetie.”
She gave a sour laugh. “What it needs is a wrecking ball.”
“Oh, c’mon. Let’s take a look inside.”
Gloom descended like a shroud as we entered the front hallway, and I followed Paula’s orders to stay put while she located and lit an oil lamp.
“No electricity,” she explained. “The wiring’s shot.”
She passed the lamp to me, then lit a second one and guided us down the hall to the living room.
The tattered furniture and cobwebs barely made an impression as Paula opened the drapes concealing a bay window set into the east wall. Afternoon sunlight flooded the room, illuminating a beamed ceiling and an incredible fireplace, crafted from native rock and large enough to roast a full-grown bull.
The stream did, indeed, provide a spectacular view, as it twined through the remains of a fern garden and cascaded down miniature manmade waterfalls, built from the same rock that surrounded the fireplace.
“Oh, Paula,” I breathed.
“I know. Like I said, city gal thinking, but isn’t it wonderful? Abe Fisher put his heart and soul into this place.”
I looked around at the tattered furniture and the peeling wallpaper. “Um, not lately, he didn’t. But,” I hastened to add as her face clouded again, “there’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Paula sank into a dusty wing chair and gazed out at the rushing water. “Cal was nice enough to let me take my two-week vacation all at once,” she said. “That gives me time to at least make a dent in what needs to be done. And sure, I can do a lot of the work myself. I can paint, nail shingles, and strip wallpaper. Little by little, I can even refinish and reupholster the furniture.
“I’m thinking I’d better hire someone to do the wiring because I’d rather not end up on the wrong end of a barbecue. It’ll take time, but you’re right, it can all be fixed.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
She refused to meet my eyes. “Call me crazy, Taylor, but...I think this house is haunted.”
I OBLIGED HER. “You’re crazy.”
She sighed. “I slept here last night, and….”
“Yuck…in this mess?”
“It’s going to be a mess for quite some time, so I figured I might as well get used to it. I don’t have much choice, since I’ve only got the apartment for three more days.”
“Oh. Right.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” She pointed to a rolled-up sleeping bag. “Cozy, actually. I built a nice fire and read a book by lamplight.”
“Very Lincolnesque,” I said dryly.
She bit her lip. “Thing is, I didn’t sleep a wink. First it was too quiet, and then I heard noises.”
“What kind of noises?”
“I don’t know—a weird clanging sound and then footsteps.”
“Wind in the eaves,” I suggested. “You might have a loose gutter somewhere. And the footsteps were probably squirrels in your attic. Heck, I’ll bet the squirrels from fifty miles around have spread the word about these woods.”
“Maybe.” I saw her tremble. “But I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching me.”
I sat down on the arm of her chair. “Look, it’s only natural you’d be a little creeped out. In Houston, screeching brakes and rattling trucks and sirens lulled me to sleep, so the first night I spent in Perdue, the damned crickets just about drove me nuts.”
Paula shook her head. “Taylor, I thought I saw….” She stopped, summoned a smile. “No, you’re probably right. I’m just not used to the isolation.”
“You’ll learn to love it.” I gave her shoulder a light slap. “Now, let’s get going. If we shake a leg, we can still have you packed by bedtime.”
AS IT TURNED out, a few hours were all we needed to gather her worldly possessions. Paula had kept nothing from her life with Lester and, with the exception of one rather hideous floor lamp she’d bought at a flea market, all the furniture belonged to her landlord.
By eight o’clock, we had loaded boxes containing her kitchen utensils, clothes, bed linens and towels into her station wagon and the back seat of my old VW. By nine, the boxes were stacked in the dining room of her new home.
“No sense trying to unpack anything yet,” she explained when I offered to help. “Not until I get at least one room in livable condition.”
She led me on a full tour, our lanterns illuminating no real damage, just woeful neglect. Dust half an inch thick coated every horizontal surface, cobwebs festooned the corners, and lint bunnies had multiplied into colonies beneath the furniture. Just walking through the rooms left us both swathed in grime.
Besides the general filth, which could be attributed to a typical male aversion to cleaning, every room was in an odd state of disarray, as if Abe Fisher had been in the process of cataloging his possessions. Books had been pulled from their shelves and piled on the floor; drawers were half open, their contents spilling out.
“Why on earth would Mr. Fisher let the place go like this?” I wondered aloud as we descended the stairs. The second step from the top squealed like a stuck pig as my foot touched it.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Paula agreed. “It’s obvious he once took a lot of pride in his home. I mean, look at this.” She showed me the heavy banister that lined the staircase, every supporting rod carved by hand into elaborate floral motifs, each one different. The risers supporting the wooden steps were similarly carved with cut out patterns of hearts and roses. “He was a carpenter,” she said.
“Much more than a carpenter,” I countered. “A craftsman. Incredible.”
Paula sat down on a lower step. “What’s your story?” she whispered to the air around us, and, for a moment, I expected a ghostly voice to answer.
Shaking off a goose-walking-on-my-grave shudder, I returned to practical matters. “So, what’s next? Want to scrub down the kitchen?”
“You know, it really is a beautiful house,” she murmured, as if she hadn’t heard me. “I think I can be happy here.”
Her tone was one of mild surprise, and my heart went out to her. Of all the people I knew, Paula deserved some happiness for a change.
“I have no doubt you will be. Now—kitchen?”
“Hmm?” Her eyes focused. “Kitchen? Oh. No, not tonight. Why don’t you go on home, Taylor? I know you’re tired, and so am I.”
“You sure? I really hate leaving you out here with no electricity and no phone. I repeat, you’re welcome to stay with me until we get this disaster area into some kind of shape.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I sort of like lanterns, and Jesse loaned me his cell phone.”
“Jesse?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, so I bit my tongue. “Nice of him. Okay, then, I’ll come back out tomorrow and lend a hand.”
A late November moon, full to bursting and the color of a faded pumpkin, peeked from behind wispy clouds to light my way home, and I was delighted to find the windows of my house glowing a welcome. Despite the small town taboo against locking one’s doors, I did it anyway. And Cal possessed my only spare key.
“Hey!” I called out as I opened the door. “Hope you have the bubble bath and champagne ready. I’ve been involved in manual labor.”