Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House by Rose Pressey Page A

down on the porch and emptied the contents, sorting
through until I finally retrieved it. I needed to add it to my car
keychain to avoid this scenario in the future.
    “You know this porch would be great for some
rocking chairs.”
    As I stood, I turned to find Reed standing
on the porch at the edge of the steps. He nearly took my breath
away. I hadn’t expected him to join me. I gave him a long look.
“Yes, it would.” I smiled.
    He leaned on the large porch pillar and
folded his arms across his chest. He wore the usual jeans and a
T-shirt. “This porch is great. I could see spending every evening
out here. Listening to the birds and enjoying the breeze.” He gazed
out into the distance.
    His sexy drawl drew me into his vision; me
sitting on a rocker beside Reed, the breeze caressing my face. I’d
get lost in Reed’s smile. We’d rock in the chairs side by side
until the stars appeared, and then we’d retire to the…okay, that
fantasy had quickly gotten out of hand.
    “Here’s the estimate.” He stretched his
muscular arm toward me and startled me out of my
reverie.
    I took the folded piece of paper, but my
thoughts wandered to what it would feel like to touch his tanned,
toned arm.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “You’re welcome. Just give me a call when
you decide.”
    I nodded. “I will.” My knees felt like
rubber around him. No way. I would find another handyman tomorrow.
He wouldn’t do. Someone could do just as good a job, maybe better,
and not cause distractions, either.
    “What did you do, wash this with your
jeans?” I unfolded the crumpled up page.
    “I had a bit of an accident with it.”
    “Oh.” I looked at the paper and up at him
again. “I see that.” My eyebrows rose.
    “By the way,” he said as he stepped off the
porch. “I heard those footsteps you told me about. It was strange,
and I have to admit, I can’t explain it.”
    “I told you.” I smiled. It felt good to be
right for a change.
    “You did.” He wiggled his eyebrows, then
turned and sauntered back to his yard.
    I hurried inside so he wouldn’t catch me
staring.
    After a few minutes of being along in the
house, and figuring the coast was clear from crazy drivers, I
decided to go home, shower, and change for my visit to
Carolyn’s—but, before I left, I made an important call. I had to. I
didn’t want to, but I knew it needed to be done. Two crazy drivers
was not a coincidence and I didn’t want it to happen a third
time.
    As I waited for Sheriff Bass to pick up, I
stood in the kitchen and tapped my fingernail against the
countertop. Rolling the words around in my head, I contemplated
what I would say when he picked up.
    “Hello. Bass.” His voice was rough.
    More like Sheriff Ass, if you asked me.
“Sheriff Bass, this is Alabama Hargrove. I need to report an
accident.” I rushed the words before I changed my mind.
    “Where is this accident? You need to call
nine-one-one.”
    “Well…I just hit a mailbox, so no one was
injured…,” I said.
    “Ms. Hargrove, I don’t think you need the
police for a fender bender. Just let the owners of the mailbox know
you’ll pay for a new one.” He didn’t try to hide his agitation.
    “No wait, Sheriff… There’s more to the
story.” My voice shot up a decibel.
    “I’m waiting,” he said tersely.
    “Someone’s trying to kill me and I think
it’s the same person who killed Payne Cooper. They ran me off the
road. That’s when I hit the mailbox.” Just saying the words out
loud made me uneasy all over again.
    He paused, and then let out a deep sigh.
“I’ll tell you what, Ms. Hargrove, how about I send an officer over
and he can take a report.” He didn’t hide his condescending
attitude well. I envisioned him leaning back in his chair, maybe
propping his feet up on his desk and folding his hands across his
well-nourished belly.
    “Fine, Sheriff Bass. Thanks,” I said
tartly.
    I rattled off my address and the sheriff
clicked off before I uttered another