Another Stab at Life Page 2

  Next, a cavelike hallway led to an extended kitchen with an adjoining sitting room. Wow. Ancient, but roomy. I flipped on more lights and noticed some chairs that looked as if they’d been excavated from the city dump. Out of curiosity, I pounded my fist on one of the chairs. Dust rose up in a suffocating brown cloud, making me sneeze. Okay, moving on. Another hallway led to the east side of the house. Leaded glass doors opened into a smoking-jacket-type library, but thankfully, the only things dwelling there were shelves upon shelves of dusty books. Secure? Check.

  After exploring the first floor, I slowly made my way up the stairs. I listened to the creaking of every single step, concerned that the whole staircase would collapse. Finally, after a few more steps, I realized the wood was solid. Perhaps it’s only the railing that’s crumbling. But as I tiptoed closer to the first landing, just before the stairs made their turn, the murkiness and the groaning steps began to take their toll. Suddenly scenes from every scary movie I’d ever seen started to flash before me.

  “If you silly stairs didn’t creak, I would be disap- pointed,” I told them.

  I started up another hymn and could almost hear

  Granny’s words. “You can do anything, Bailey girl.”

  My shoulders relaxed a bit.

  Just as I reached for a light switch, I heard the front door open. Was that a sudden breeze playing with the door? Had I left it ajar? I couldn’t make myself breathe. Then I heard a sound that hammered the final nail into my coffin of terror. The front door moaned shut. And not like the wind sucking it back, but a deliberate closure followed by a shuffling of feet.

  Wind does not shuffle.

  My body went into high alert. I leaned down to see a man standing in the entry. No waiting for a buildup of nerves. Fear injected itself straight into my veins.

  I swallowed a scream. God help me! What do I do now? Maybe while the stranger went into another part of the house, I could sneak out.

  2 – That Flock of Willies

  Suddenly the stranger turned around and said “Hello” in the most innocent voice imaginable. “Miss Bailey? Is that your car? I’m here on behalf of your grandmother, Minna Short. She gave me a key. I’m supposed to help you get settled.”

  I could feel the boom-banging of my heart as if it were making up its own new funky beat. I forced in a deep breath and released it slowly to get the organ that seemed to be in charge of my blood to calm down a bit.

  Could this mild-mannered guy truly be a cat slayer? And could he be coming back to exterminate me? Just in case, I fumbled with my purse and pulled out my mini-hairspray can that sort of looked like the pepper stuff and held it up like a gun. “If you’re lying, then I’ll have to spray you with my. . .deadly spray.” As I shakily descended a few steps, I saw the most boyishly handsome man I’d ever wrapped my eyes around. Stocky but not fat. Bright, inquisitive face. And good, strong arms. The kind that would work well at hugging on scary-movie nights. Or for holding a child. Boy, where did that come from? He’s probably the local loon, and I already have him as the father of my children!

  The stranger grinned up at me. He rated high on the cute scale even if he were the local loon.

  “I have spray. I warn you,” I said with more seductive tones than menacing ones.

  “Your attorney told me you’d come here tonight, and I’m supposed to make sure you’re okay,” the stranger said.

  “My attorney is a scary man. He wears plaid. I hope you don’t work with him.”

  The stranger looked down at his plaid shirt and chuckled. “No, but I had to deal with him because he was your grandmother’s attorney, and I was her Realtor. You know, it might have been easier if you’d come in the daytime.”

  Was he using a silly tone with me? I came down a few more steps to find out.

  “By the way, my girlfriend, Priscilla, has one of those sprays. She says it comes in handy living in Houston. You know, the humidity. . .her hair.”

  I got so hung up on the word girlfriend, I didn’t hear much of what the stranger had said. “Does she go by Prissy? I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business.”

  “Are you going to put your weapon down now?” The stranger, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, at least made an effort to rein in his laughter.

  “Sure.” I stuffed the can back into my purse and decided to fire some questions at him instead. “But I would like to know why my grandmother’s Realtor would come late at night to make sure I’m settled.”

  “You have a reasonable question there.”

  “By the way, you scared me out of my gourd earlier. Couldn’t you have rung the doorbell?” I asked.

  “It’s broken. I did knock. You left the door ajar, and

  I heard. . .singing. Very nice singing, I might add.” “Oh. I was. . .trying to shoo off the willies.”

  He grinned then. My face betrayed me as I smiled back.

  “You know, you really shouldn’t leave the door open even though it’s a pretty safe neighborhood.” He raked his fingers through his hair as if he’d said something that made him uncomfortable. “Listen, I’m sorry I scared you. I just came to help.”

  “Thank you. But I guess you could have waited until morning.”

  “I thought the same thing about you. There are hotels here.”

  “It’s a long, boring story, I’m afraid.” I made my way down the rest of the creaking stairs and joined him in the entry. On closer inspection, I realized the stranger had eyes the color of milk chocolate and thick brown hair that looked sun-highlighted. I noticed it curled a little at the edges. His smile wasn’t bad either. I wondered if his grandmother used to pinch his cheeks when he was little. What am I doing? Maybe I need to get out more.

  “Well, I live in this neighborhood, so it was easy for me to stop in. I guess I should have introduced myself. I’m Maxwell Sumner. People call me Max.”

  “Max. I’m Bailey Walker.” I shook his warm hand, deciding he wasn’t the local loon after all.

  “Good to meet you, Bailey. Your grandmother talked about you. Often.”

  “I miss her.” I drifted a bit and then shook myself out of my reverie. “By the way, I still don’t fully understand why you’re here. Aren’t you going beyond the call of duty? I’m a Realtor, too, and I never do this.” I wiped my perspiring hands on my capris. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is if you’re hoping I’ll use you as a Realtor to sell this place, I’m not interested. I’m sorry.” Was I too blunt?

  “No. That’s not why I’m here.” He put his weight on one foot and then the other. “I think you’d better sit down. There’s more to the story.”

  I decided to chance sitting on the living room couch. The ratty thing looked like it had used up all of its good days and bad days. I couldn’t help looking around and wondering how I would ever make this archaeological dig into something livable. Oh well. Focus on the matter at hand, Bailey.

  Maxwell stood by the fireplace with his hands jammed into his pockets. “Your grandmother set up something special for you.” He seemed to read my expression. “Your grandmother hired me right before she died to sort of. . .watch out for you. I had no intention of telling you this tonight, because you need to get settled in.”

  “Well, this certainly wasn’t expected.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his proposal. “Does that mean I’m a toddler in need of a nanny?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I can assure you that’s not what I had in mind.” “Well, what do you have in mind exactly?” I asked, thinking how I felt cornered.

  “Tell you what. I’ll take you out for a businesslike lunch tomorrow, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I’ll even bring Priscilla if that would make you feel more at ease.”

  “If you’re not too tired, I’d like to know now,” I said.

  Max clamped his hand at the back of his neck and rubbed his muscles as if he had a headache. When our eyes met, I had my hand in the same position, also massaging my neck. Both of
us nearly laughed, but we let it go.

  “All right. I’ll tell you now,” Max said. “Your grand- mother isn’t paying me to watch over you for the rest of your life.” His stare took on a new level of gravity. “I’m being paid a small amount out of a unique trust fund to make sure you’re okay. . .until you find a. . .husband.”

  “So you’re not my nanny. You’re my matchmaker?” I think my gray eyes got really big about then. Could this surprise be worse than the dead cat?

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. I certainly won’t be lining up dates for you, but I’m to make sure you’re okay until you. . .marry. Then my job is done.”

  I folded my arms around my middle to calm myself. “Granny always got the last laugh. I tell you, I loved her dearly, but this is a little weird. Isn’t it? I mean, how did you come to agree to do such a thing? I hope you won’t be offended if I ask if you’re the type who feeds off rich old women.”

  “I would ask the same question if I were you. I did say no to your grandmother quite a few times, but she could be very persistent.”

  “Well, yes, at times, that was quite true,” I said. Maxwell shook his head and chuckled. “You know your grandmother loved buying quirky homes.” He glanced around. “Although, she bought this house decades ago, before I was even born. She sold all her houses toward the end of her life, as I’m sure you know—except for this one. She wanted you to have it.” “Yes, I know.” I paused noticeably, wanting to change the subject. “By the way, if you don’t mind, could we explore that original topic some more? If you’re not my nanny or my matchmaker, then what exactly will you be?” I asked.

  “I guess you could think of me as a brother-type person who watches out for you.”

  “Did my grandmother tell you I’m kind of a private- type person who might not want a stranger checking up on me all the time?” I asked.

  “Yes. She mentioned it. And she wanted to help you work through it.”

  “Work through it?” I rose to my feet. “You make it sound like it’s something I need counseling for.” Oh dear. I think I added too much edge in my voice just then.

  “You know, I liked your grandmother. She was a good woman, and I sincerely want to honor what she asked me to do. But I won’t argue with you or make a nuisance of myself. So, I’ll leave your key on the mantle.” Maxwell walked back toward the entryway. “A word of warning: There’s quite a congregation of bats in the attic in case you go up there tomorrow. And they won’t be singing hymns. Do be careful.”

  “Are there snakes, too?” I asked, wondering if he now had some scare tactics up his sleeve.

  “I saw several snakes in the woodpile just outside the kitchen door, but they’re not the poisonous kind.” “Really?” I asked, losing another chunk of my cocky attitude and hurrying to follow him to the front door.

  “And maybe you haven’t noticed yet, but I see you’ve got some nasty cuts on your legs. I’d clean those up with some peroxide tonight.”

  I looked down at my shins and was surprised to see streaks of blood. I sighed and said, “I think the weeds are guilty. They had knives.”

  A chuckle escaped Max’s mouth, and then he grew serious again. “I’m sorry. That’s my fault. I had someone mow and clean up the back, but apparently he didn’t get around to the front.” He cleared his throat.

  “No problem.” I played the patient game. I could be mighty wrong, but this Max guy seemed to be stalling for some reason.

  “Well, there’s a leak in the master bedroom ceiling right above your mattress, the back door is loose on its hinges, and the floor is rotten up on the west side of the third floor. Those things would have been fixed, but you got here before I could see to them.” He grinned for no apparent reason. “And the house does moan at night. No walking souls, just creaky joints in a really old house. I had the utilities turned on for you, and there’s a new phone hooked up in the kitchen. I pray all goes well for you. You’ll need it in this old house. I’ll leave my card on the entry table. . .for when you change your mind.”

  “Thank you for coming.” Hmm. So, this is how the offender got in—a back door loose on its hinges.

  Max picked up an umbrella by the door. “And. . . I’m curious about something.”

  “Yes?” Why did he keep staring at me?

  “Aren’t you afraid to stay here by yourself tonight?” I crossed my arms. “Why do you ask?” I felt a tremor run through me.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just a question. I have five younger sisters. And you couldn’t pay any one of them enough to stay alone in this old house at night. . . especially during a thunderstorm.”

  “Well, I’ve been through a lot these last few years. I guess sometimes life forces us to toughen up. . .even if we don’t want to.”

  “Your grandmother said you were amazing. I think

  I agree.”

  “By the way, I have a question for you, too,” I said. “Fair enough.”

  “How do you feel about. . .cats?” I watched closely for his reaction.

  He laughed. “I guess they’re okay. Come to think of it, you might want to get one in case there’re rats around.”

  “Rats?” Somehow now I wished I hadn’t asked. “Okay. Thanks.”

  Then, as in an old movie, Max gave me a two-fingered salute. “Well then, good night. . .Miss Walker.”

  “Good-bye. And thanks.” I started to slip and say, “Wait, don’t go. . .somebody’s trying to frighten me out of my wits.” But Max had already slipped out the door.

  Had he said “thunderstorm”? All at once, lightning hurled itself through the windows like shards of broken glass. I jumped at the thunderclap even though I had sensed it coming.

  Oh great. This is just great. A storm. Rain. I remembered Max mentioning a leak in the master bedroom. I double-locked the front door, shoved a piece of heavy furniture in front of the back door, and then trudged back up the stairs with my suitcase. This time I made up my own tune to shoo that flock of willies away. My mind played with the idea of hidden creatures waiting to pounce, but I allowed Max to occupy the rest of the space in my head. His manner had been charming and kind. And his sunny grins had been like a soft light in this dark cellar of a house.

  But a haunting notion nudged its way into my reverie. Wasn’t their agreement rather bizarre? Whose idea had it really been to watch over me? Could he have gotten close enough to Granny’s finances to embezzle from her, and now he thought I was wealthy, too? My hand shook as it covered my mouth. Granny had always been so robust until that strange illness. Maybe she’d been tricked into signing over her money to him and then murdered.

  Lightning slashed through the house again, making me shudder. What am I thinking? Max seemed like a decent sort, and Granny trusted him. I’m going to toss that preposterous notion out the window where it belongs.

  There. I’d almost made it to the second floor, and I was still alive. Just as I celebrated that milestone, I stumbled on the last step, bumping my head on the railing. Lightning flared around me and my poor aching head like a strobe light.

  3 – Beyond Shabby Chic

  I flicked another switch. Light flooded the hallway on the second floor. I will never take electricity for granted again.

  But, in spite of my victories over the darkness, my head throbbed more than ever, and by now, my demure glow had blossomed into a beastly sweat. But that was simple mud-pie play compared to the manure-pit realization I would now have to accept: no central air or any kind of window units in the house. How would I survive the heat? This could be serious.

  I dragged myself from room to room, checking out the bedrooms and baths on the second floor. So far, they were empty and monster-free, but they were also dreary and dripping in ancient smells. Not a bad floor plan, though.

  I reached in to turn on the light in the last room, thinking it must be the master bedroom, but once I saw it, I realized it should be called the master chamber of horrors. The overhead light revealed furniture that had gone light-years beyond shabby
chic. The brass bed had a mattress that looked as though it’d been used for a barricade in one of the world wars. And the two stuffed chairs could have accessorized any abandoned fridge on somebody’s front lawn. A bulb sort of dangled, prisonlike, above the bed. Even with all the junk, the room possessed a starkness. . .a spectacle of nothingness. Yes, this house certainly had an abundance of that.

  I dropped my stuff down with a thud. Was that an echo? I then noticed a noisy stalactite-like drip coming from the ceiling down to the mattress. Oh great. Max had been telling the truth. The mattress reeked damp and mold even though it hadn’t turned green. Yet. “No way I’m sleeping on that thing tonight,” I said aloud, hoping no one was around to counter my exclamation.

  Well, now I’m down to two choices. Since there weren’t any other beds, I’d have to pick either the couch in the living room or this bedroom floor for my sleeping accommodations. Hmm. I felt almost positive the couch housed living things—perhaps a legion of dust mites that could carry me off on their backs in the night. The floor suddenly looked pretty good to me. I was tough.

  I stomped around the bed. At least the boards didn’t seem rotten. Perhaps the mattress had absorbed the moisture, thus saving the floor. “Okay, there’s one good thing to put on my blessing list.” I balled my hand into a fist to get it to stop shaking.

  On the opposite wall, two bare and darkened windows stared at me like vacant eye sockets. I wondered if in the night my fear tank might get so full I’d go screaming out into the darkness with my nightgown flowing, like on the covers of those gothic novels I’d read as a teenager. I remembered that a light always illuminated a top window as if declaring something menacing had come calling.

  Since my windows were bare, the neighbors could see every single move I made. I moaned. I’d have to stumble around in the dark or sleep in my clothes tonight. Considering I felt too tired to peel off my garments, I opted for the latter.