Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House (19 page)
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Authors: Rose Pressey
Tags: #paranormal mystery cozy mystery women sleuths paranormal romance romantic mystery paranormal
Chapter Thirty-Three
“The new coffee shop?” I asked.
“Yeah, the one around the corner.”
“I haven’t been in there yet,” I said.
“I have. Quaint place, but terrible
coffee.”
“Bad, huh?”
She nodded. “Carolyn goes there a lot. I
think all the locals are hanging out there now. They all sit around
and gossip about one another.”
And Suzie didn’t love the place? I was
shocked.
“I had no idea. I need to get out more,
although it sounds kind of like my high school days. And I try to
forget those.”
“It’s exactly like high school. If you go in
there, heed my warning: Don’t drink the coffee.”
With my index finger, I crossed my heart.
“You got it, no coffee. Why does everyone go there if the coffee is
so bad?”
“You got me on that one.” She shrugged.
“They just hang out. Anyway, you may want to stop by and see if
she’s there. Just remember we have some strange characters in this
town, and most of them can now be found at the Java Joint.”
“You’re scaring me a little bit. What does
that say about Carolyn if she’s there?” I chuckled.
She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll leave that
for you to decide.”
“Thanks again for keeping me updated. I
gotta go.” I grabbed another piece of chocolate for the road.
“Come by if you want me to go with you to
Nick’s.”
“I will.” I waved over my shoulder.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she
warned.
“Of course not.” I chuckled.
On my way to the car, I looked around for
flying bricks and stalkers. The coast was clear, at least, I hoped.
I steered my clunker out onto the street. As my car putted through
town, I thought about how much I loved the historic section with
all of its charm and cozy shops. It had a feel to it that couldn’t
be found at any shopping mall. I passed the Java Joint and made a
mental note to stop on my way back through. I was sure I’d find
Carolyn in there, beguiling locals with her colorful stories.
Within minutes, I spotted Oak Street and
hung a quick right. I rolled the window down for a better view of
the apartments. Sure enough, on the right was a small building with
five units, just as Suzie had said. A non-descript building; it had
red brick and sparse landscaping. Quite boring, actually. Several
bicycles cluttered the grassy area, but missing the children. One
unit had Christmas decorations out, even though it wasn’t even
Halloween yet. They probably stayed up year round. I turned into
the tiny parking lot and picked a spot in the middle of a few other
cars. No one was in sight. A gray cat watched me from one of the
windows.
A young guy stepped out from one of the
apartments and took position on the sidewalk as I shut the car
door. He must have been waiting for a ride. A faint breeze drifted
through carrying stray leaves with it as I approached.
“Do you know Nick Patterson?” I asked.
The teenager appeared to be lost in the
music streaming from his headphones. He looked to be around
nineteen, with blonde shaggy hair covering halfway down his eyes.
In spite of the chilly temperature, he wore jeans and a t-shirt
that read:
Men-No shirt, No service. Women-No shirt, Free
Beer.
He pulled the headphones off and looked at
me blankly for a second, then said, “Uh?”
“Do you know Nick Patterson? Does he live
here?” I asked again.
“Yeah, I know him. He lives there with his
girlfriend.” He pointed to the apartment on the end.
“Do you know if he’s home?”
“Nah, he’s not there. I just saw him leave.
You some kind of lawyer or something?” he asked.
“No.” I chuckled. “I’m not. Does he need
one?” I tried to sound casual. I held my breath for his answer.
“As much as I’ve seen the police around here
lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Really? Lots of police around, huh?” Now I
was getting somewhere.
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“So, are you friends with Ron?” I asked.
“Nah, I just live next door. The walls are
paper thin around this dump, so I always hear way more than I want
to. Makes me angry cause I can’t sleep sometimes. Those two fight
an awful lot.”
“About what?” I probed.
“Everything and anything. I did hear them
fighting about her cheating on him.” He snorted.
“Really?” My ears perked up.
“Yeah, apparently she was having an affair
with that dead dude.”
My mouth flew open. No wonder the police
were asking him so many questions.
“Really?” I felt my eyes widen and my pulse
quicken.
“He was angry when he found out about it.”
The teenager continued without noting my expression. “There was
another snotty woman over there, too. Talking about her dead
husband.”
My knees went weak and my mouth widened.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, like I said, paper thin walls. That
guy has a terrible temper.”
Crap. The guy had a temper and had been
following me. Yet, I stood in front of his apartment building. I
must have seriously lost my mind. I was asking for trouble.
Before I witnessed Nick Patterson’s temper
first-hand, I decided to get the heck out of there. I had a lot of
work to do, anyway. Reed had started on the roof and Uncle Oscar
would be there to check out the plumbing—nothing like having the
help of family. The farm sink would have to wait.
“Thanks,” I said.
The teenager nodded, slipped his headphones
back on, and strummed a few notes on his air guitar. On the way
from the apartments, as I headed back through town, I spotted the
antique shop on the corner. It had more useless items than usual
displayed in front. Except for one. Outside, an old door leaned up
against the old building next to a couple of broken down chairs.
Something about it spoke to me and I steered into the parking lot.
I needed something to distract me and help clear my mind and since
there wasn’t time to look for the farm sink, this would have to do.
The news I’d just discovered had thrown me for a loop. The teenager
had confirmed that Nick and Julia knew each other.
My wheels crunched across the gravel as I
came to a stop in front of my treasure. I climbed out and walked
over to the old door. It looked as if it were from a Victorian
house.
Glass panels were on top and carved
flowers in the two ornate raised panels at the bottom. My guess was
it was made of pine, but what did I know?
What I would do
with it, I had no idea, but I wanted it. Wait ‘til Reed saw my
find.
“How much for the old door outside?” I
asked.
“Twenty dollars. But I don’t deliver.” Her
skin was a pattern of numberless wrinkles and her hair styled into
a perfect gray helmet.
“I’ll take it.” I pulled out a twenty from
my wallet and paid the woman. “I’ll be back to get it soon.”
“Don’t wait longer than thirty days or I’ll
resell it.” She scowled.
“I’ll be back within a couple of days. Do
you want me to move it inside?”
She shooed me away. “Nah. My son’ll do it
later.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, but didn’t get one in
return.
Somewhere in my rehab house, that door would
find a new home.
As I pulled back onto the road, I tapped my
finger against the steering wheel in time to
All Shook Up
.
In many ways, the title was appropriate. My life was chaotic. It
eased my nerves, though, as I headed toward the Java Joint. I
contemplated the news about Nick Patterson and Julia
Cooper—interesting tidbits, to say the least. Now if I could chat
with Ron Spencer, maybe I’d discover they were all in it together.
My bravery flew out the window with that idea, though. Something
about him gave me a bad vibe.
How could one man accumulate so many
enemies? I shook my head at the thought. I had kind of felt sorry
for Julia Cooper for being married to a scoundrel. But with her
shady behavior, now I wasn’t so sure.
My instincts made me think Ron Spencer or
Nick Patterson was the guilty party and Julia the mastermind of the
plot. With the details I had discovered, it certainly seemed as if
they all had equal amounts of motive. All of them teaming up and
scheming to off Payne wasn’t out of the question. But the fact of
the matter was, I had no proof any of them did it. I’d add my new
findings to my short list of suspect details.
I had more particulars of why everyone might
hate Payne and want him dead, but no real clues to lead me to the
murderer. The only darn evidence I’d collected was the pad of paper
I’d snatched with
Call M.
scribbled on top. So, basically, I
had nothing. My stomach quivered and a sudden rush fell over me as
I realized my attempts at solving the crime, in all likelihood,
were beyond my reach. Sleuth—I was not. But I needed answers—I
craved them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rosewood was full of colorful characters
and, apparently, most of them frequented the Java Joint—Carolyn
being one of those interesting folks. If Carolyn weren’t at the
coffee shop, maybe they’d have seen her recently? If they confirmed
they’d seen her, it would put my mind at ease. But an odd feeling
that Carolyn might not be all right hit me. Once the idea took
hold, I couldn’t shake it.
Traffic was heavy on Main Street—heavy by
Rosewood standards. An old half blue, half rusted Chevy sputtered
along in front of me and I longed to give it a nudge. Cars seemed
to pause and purr with curiosity through the main thoroughfare. A
spot right in front of Java Joint waited, calling to me like a box
of chocolates does after a week of dieting. The large coffee cup as
a sign dangled above the door. I eyed the empty parking spot,
speeding up before competition for the prime spot took it away.
People milled around—inside and out.
Suzie said it was popular, but I had no idea
so many people frequented the place. It must be the most popular
joint in town. I parked the Volvo, smiling inside at getting such a
great parking space. I hurried to the door and strolled in but
stopped in my tracks as all eyes descended on me. Everything came
to a standstill—coffee cups frozen in mid air and conversations
stopped. The crowd stared and as I walked toward the counter.
Oversized leather chairs sat in a half-dozen
groupings with four in each space, all with a large round coffee
table in the middle. Trendy paintings hung on every wall. Modern
art, I suppose, but looked like wiggly lines on canvas to me.
A couple of old ladies sat in the corner.
Both had the same gray helmet hairstyle. Their scowls deepened as I
made my way across the room. One wore a deep pink blouse and
matching pants, while the other sported a lighter shade of pink
outfit. Pink and even more pink. They stared, their mouths hanging
open slightly. I watched them, and continued my trek to the
counter.
My chest met with metal and wood.
“Crap,” I bellowed.
I stumbled and grabbed the edge of the
stand.
A bit dazed from my collision with a rack of
the shops finest selection of coffees and mugs, I righted myself
and exhaled. From the other side of the room a round of laughter
fell on my ears. I shot an evil glare in the direction of the group
of teenagers. They looked the other way. The old ladies gave me a
disapproving shake of their heads. For my foul language, I assumed.
I straightened my clothes and pressed forward.
A smile greeted me. “Hi.”
A lady round as she was tall with very
blonde hair tied up high in a bun watched me. Her bright red
lipstick bled into the wrinkles around her mouth. Her fingernails
coordinated with the lip color.
“May I help you?” she asked.
”Yes, ma’am—”
“No, young lady. You can call me Doris.
Everyone here calls me Doris.” She scolded with the wave of her
crimson fingernail.
“All right, Doris, I’m Alabama Har—”
“Oh, I know who you are.” She chuckled.
Everyone in town knew me—too bad the reason
wasn’t a good one.
“Carolyn Flanagan told me all about you. By
the way she described you, I knew you as soon as you walked in the
door.”
I gave a half-hearted smile and glanced over
my shoulder at the pink twins. They stared back.
“Don’t pay attention to those two. They love
to gossip.”
“Oh. That would explain it then.” I nodded
and turned for another look. Their gaze didn’t falter. I waved,
then they jerked their attention away.
Doris laughed. “You’re learning.”
I giggled.
I liked Doris right away. She was full of
spunk.
“Can I get you a coffee?”
Suzie’s words echoed in my mind. A large
chalkboard menu hung high on the wall and I glanced up at the
selection. I spotted apple cider on the board.
“I’ll take a hot apple cider, please.”
“One apple cider coming up.”
She turned and, in one fluid motion, grabbed
a cup.
“Doris?” I paused, searching for the right
words.
“Yes?” She paused.
“Have you seen Carolyn today?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
My heart sank. Something was definitely
amiss.
“I’m surprised, I expected to see her. The
other day I ran in to her and she said she’d stop by today. But
then again, she may have gotten busy and not had the time.”
“I’m not so sure, Doris.” I took the hot cup
from her. “I went by her farm earlier and she wasn’t there. I just
have a funny feeling something may be wrong.”
“Have you talked to her husband?”
I handed her cash.
“No, he’s out of town. At least, that’s what
Carolyn said the last time I talked with her.”
“I have his cell phone number if you’d like
to give him a call.”
“Yes, I would. That would be great.”
She grabbed a pen and scribbled the number
on the back of a receipt. I slipped it into my purse. I’d give him
a call soon.
“Thank you so much, Doris. It was a pleasure
to meet you.”
“You’re welcome. I wrote my number down on
the paper with Frank’s, as well. Could you give me a call when you
find her? Or tell her to call me?”
“Sure thing. Thanks again.”
I lifted my cup up in a thank you motion and
turned to leave. I eased around the deadly rack. The old ladies
watched again and I waved goodbye. They raised their snooty brows
and whispered again.
A wave of anticipation took over as I drove
toward Maple Hill Road. Reed would be hard at work. Progress. And I
was still spinning like a hamster on a wheel. My cell rang,
snapping me from my musings. I struggled to reach my phone from my
pocket. Reed’s number popped up—and no, I didn’t have it
memorized—I programmed it in. I prayed nothing was wrong with the
house. Why else would he call?
“Hello.” Why did I sound like Marilyn
Monroe? Business phone call—nothing more.
“Where are you?” He rushed his words.
“Wow, thanks for the friendly greeting. I
had a few errands. What’s wrong?”
“Uncle Oscar—that’s what’s wrong.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong with my uncle? Is he
all right?” I panicked.
“Define
all right
? Physically, yes.
Mentally, the jury is still out.”
“What? Why would you say such thing?” I
turned a corner.
“Never mind that. Just please come here
now.” His voice rose.
“Excuse me. Don’t tell me what to do.” I
huffed.
“You’re right. You’re right. I’ll ask again.
Calmly this time. Would you please come and get your uncle out of
here?” His tone was as sweet as honey.
“That’s more like it. I’m coming home right
now. And do try to calm down.”
He snorted. “See you soon.”
I headed for Maple Hill Road, dreading what
waited for me. What the heck had Uncle Oscar done this time? After
hanging up with Reed, I dialed Lacey’s number.
“The guy at Nick Patterson’s apartment said
Payne Cooper’s wife had been there. I think Nick and Julia are
involved in her husband’s murder,” I said without saying hello.
“What? Why in the hell are you over there?
Have you lost your mind? This sleuthing business is out of hand. Do
I need to watch you twenty-four hours a day? Damn these
crutches.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I’m not even going to comment on that. Have
you shared this little tidbit with the police?”
I didn’t say a word for several seconds,
then finally, I said. “Have you met Sheriff Bass?”
“Um, okay, point taken. That’s it, after
class, I’m coming over there.”
“No, way. You’re busy. You have papers to
grade and stuff.”
“I have time.”
“I’m getting another call, gotta go.”
“You are no—”
I clicked the phone off. If the killer
didn’t kill me, Lacey would. She hated when I hung up on her.
Before I put away the phone, I tried
Carolyn’s number again. It rang and rang, but still no answer.
Maybe she fell at her house? No, her car hadn’t been there. Maybe
she had an accident? Why was I so worried about her? She was a
grown woman—more than capable of taking care of herself. She had
plans for the day, that’s all. Maybe she went to be with Frank?
After all, she did say she was missing him badly. I needed to stop
jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst. But something just
didn’t seem right. Call it a gut instinct, I guess.
