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

word.
    He didn’t like me. His tone said as much.
And the feeling was mutual. If I didn’t want to end up toe up in
the morgue, I’d have to figure out who had it out for me on my own.
I couldn’t rely on help from the police. Since the detective was
headed to my home, I needed to hurry. Time was running out before
my trip to Carolyn’s.
    On my way to the door, a loud bang echoed
through the house. It was so loud it seemed to rattle the ceiling
above me. Heavy footsteps boomed down the staircase from the top
floor. Did I move and find the source of the noise, or wait for it
to find me? I hardly dared to breathe. Who would materialize at the
bottom? I inched my way toward the foyer, through the dining room,
on to the parlor, and then to the staircase. Silence once again
enveloped the room. I paused to listen.
    Again the sound of footsteps returned, this
time approaching me. Footfalls stopped what seemed like just a few
feet away. My heart pounded. I know I’d experienced the paranormal
before, but I never found it easy to witness it in action. Chills
danced down my spine. As I stood frozen in the middle of the room,
I felt lightheaded. A dark mist materialized, forming a round mass
before my eyes. It almost looked…human. I took a few frightened
steps backward, then hit the wall with my back and let out a gasp.
The mist vanished. Just like that, it was gone. What kind of ghost
hunter was I? My camera and other equipment were in the car. Just
when I needed them the most.

Chapter Eighteen
    When I parked in front of my tiny cottage,
the feeling of being watched had a grip on me. I swung out from
behind the wheel, and brushed past my rose bushes, hurrying down
the gravel drive to the side door. The entrance led into my small
kitchen. The quiet, dark space did nothing to ease my fear. I
tossed my purse and keys on the table and lifted the shade on the
little window above the sink. The last remnants of sunlight flooded
the butter cream colored walls.
    Before the officer arrived, I locked the
deadbolt on the door, then marched straight to the bathroom and
slipped into the hot shower, allowing the warm water to relieve my
stress. Wishing I could stay longer, I wrapped the towel around me
and trudged toward my closet, pulling out the first clothes I saw.
Studying my reflection in the tall dressing mirror, I realized I
looked like a clown—orange top and red pants. All I needed was
white face paint and a large red nose.
    I trudged back to the closet and retrieved a
pair of jeans and a black blouse. No need to dress up for Carolyn.
After all, she lived on a farm. I wasn’t going to a cocktail party.
Although, for an extra bit of fun, I finished my outfit off with a
pair of leopard-print pumps—probably not appropriate for a farm,
but I rarely got a chance to wear them. Unlike my mother, I knew
how to use animal print in moderation.
    A loud knock boomed at the front door.
Didn’t anyone know how to use a doorbell? I pulled my hair back in
a ponytail and rushed for the door. I looked like hell, but what
could I do? My life was at stake—I didn’t care much about my
appearance. I had no one to impress. Well…maybe one person.
    I pulled back the plaid curtain that covered
the side window and peeped out to make sure I wasn’t letting in a
killer, then yanked the door open. “Please come in, Officer
Butcher,” I said, as I glanced at his nametag.
    “Thank you.” He ducked as he entered the
door.
    “We can have a seat in the living room.” I
gestured to the room on our right. “Please just sit wherever you
like.” I waved my hand toward the furniture.
    Was I supposed to offer refreshments? I’d
never entertained a policeman before.
    He sat ramrod straight in the leather chair
and pulled a small notepad from his uniform shirt pocket. I perched
on the edge of my overstuffed sofa, falling back into the golden
hue cast across the room from the back windows. Officer Butcher
made my furniture seem miniature with his long