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  Trouble Restored

  Trouble Cat Mysteries #13

  Carolyn Haines

  Copyright © 2021 by Carolyn Haines

  All rights reserved. Published by Good Fortune Farm Refuge.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Cissy Hartley

  Formatted by Priya Bhakta

  All proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to the Good Fortune Farm Refuge.

  ISBN of paperback edition: 978-1-7330169-1-9

  Black cats have always been an inspiration for me, and I've been lucky to share my home with a few of them. This book is for E.A. Poe, who inspired the original Familiar, and Coal Shaft Haines, who was the "prototype" for Trouble. Now I have the wonderful, petite, Karma, a female black cat. Who knows the mischief she will drag me into.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Carolyn Haines

  Rebecca Barrett

  Trouble on the Mountain

  1. Trouble on the Mountain

  Trouble Cat Mysteries

  Trouble’s Double Contest Winner

  Chapter One

  Bloody Nora! My hometown is in turmoil. As I saunter along the Main Street of Wetumpka, Alabama on this fine fall morning, I find my normally serene village in an uproar. Folks are moving furniture into the street, gathering to discuss how they plan to renovate their homes and businesses, and simply sharing the excitement that has come like a sprinkling of fairy dust over the town since the arrival of the Home Again renovation crews.

  The TV cameras are everywhere, filming the original look of some of Wetumpka’s classic old cottages and storefronts. In the center of the whirlwind are Hank and Katie Evans, the stars of the hit HGTV home remodeling show that has taken on the entire town of Wetumpka for a facelift. I doubt there’s been this much excitement since the meteorite struck the area, flooded a large section of the southeastern United States, and contributed to the death of the dinosaurs. Yes, as a smart, sassy, superior black cat detective, I know my history. So many foolish bipeds never crack a book and fail to learn the true facts of history. Therefore they’re doomed to repeat mistakes. But that is too dark and dreary a thought on such a day of promise and optimism.

  Ah, I see the local hardware store has been swept up in the madness. There are saws whining, drills buzzing, maybe a jackhammer. And a three-man crew is peeling off the old roof in preparation for a new stamped tin roof that is more accurate to the time period when the store was built. Even Tammy Lynn, my beloved humanoid, is making some changes at the Book Basket. Not too many changes, I hope. I have my nooks and crannies where I like to lie about for a snooze.

  Tammy sees me and opens the front door to allow me ingress to the store, and right behind me comes the famous TV renovation duo, Hank and Katie. At least I’ll be able to participate in the decisions being made about the bookstore. I take my perch on the antique sofa near the register and settle in for a bit of eavesdropping. But who is that striking young woman bustling through the door with a look of sheer desperation on her face? I do believe something is going to happen, and it’s a good thing I’m about to be called back into action. I’m always sleek and svelte, but a few weeks without a case to solve and I feel my fur is a little too tight! Tammy has been experimenting with a newfangled pressure cooker pot, and some of her creations are…far too tempting.

  The home improvement duo has barely said hello to my Tammy before this young woman makes a beeline for Hank and Katie. She’s in such a rush to talk to them, she trips over a stack of books and almost falls. She’s as tightly strung as a piano wire, and it’s clear to me she has a lot on her mind.

  Tammy picks up on the young woman’s distress—she has a heart of gold and is always eager to help. So what has caused such consternation in a young woman with an alabaster complexion and big hazel eyes? I sense something afoot that will require my unique skills. Rescuing damsels in distress is what I do best.

  Let me shift my perch to the countertop so I can more easily eavesdrop on the biped conversation. If something is amiss, I need to know about it.

  * * *

  Tommie Sykes stepped into the Book Basket and stopped short. Her quarry stood in front of her—Hank and Katie Evans were exactly who she needed to speak with. Her shoe caught on a stack of books on the floor, and she stumbled forward, almost ramming into a slender red-headed woman.

  “Are you okay?” the redhead, who Tommie knew also happened to own the Book Basket, asked.

  For a moment embarrassment and confusion rendered her silent. Books! Nothing smelled as wonderful as a new book. All her life she’d found refuge in bookstores, libraries, and between the covers of tales of adventure, crime, and romance. Today, though, she didn’t have time to peruse the shelves of book titles. She was on a mission. One that would determine her future.

  She’d tracked the renovators, Katie and Hank Evans, to The Book Basket because she needed their help. She had a big idea—a really, really big idea. But she needed someone to help her bring it to life. She inhaled deeply, aware that the Evans and the bookstore owner were waiting for her to speak. She was also tuned in to the black cat sitting on the counter who watched her as if he understood all the thoughts and fears rushing through her mind.

  “Can I help you?” the redheaded bookstore owner asked a little more forcefully.

  “You’re Tammy Lynn, right?” Tommie said.

  “I am. What can I do for you?”

  Tommie pointed to the renovators. “I really need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Evans. I…uh…I’ve inherited some property and I need help.”

  Hank Evans stepped forward and extended a hand. “Happy to offer what we can, but we were about to go over plans for the bookstore with Ms. Lynn here.”

  Tommie took a step back. She’d come into the store like a whirlwind and just pushed on top of everyone there. She felt a flush creep up her neck. The truth was, she had to have some answers so she could decide what in the world she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  “I’m so sorry. I—” She stopped. “The truth is, I need help. But I had no right to burst in here and just take over your private conversation. I can wait outside.” She started for the door, but Tammy’s gentle hand stopped her.

  “Who are you and how can we help you?” Tammy asked.

  “My name is Tommie Sykes. I’m a jewelry maker.”

  “You’re the woman who inherited Loftus Manor,” Tammy said.

  “That’s right. I’m the new owner of Loftus Manor. Samuel Loftus was my great-great uncle.”

  “Welcome to Wetumpka. What can we
do for you?”

  Tommie took a deep breath. This was her chance. Right now. “I want to renovate the manor and turn it into a small inn. I think the property is perfectly suited for that, if I can afford the necessary renovations. The bedrooms are in pretty good shape, but the bathrooms and kitchen need work.”

  “Loftus Manor is a beautiful old place,” Tammy Lynn said, as she turned to include the renovators in the conversation. “It’s west of town. The property fronts a part of the Coosa River. The architectural details are to die for. I believe it was built in the early 1800s.”

  Katie Evans wore a grin that would light a room. “Now that’s a project I could get involved in. Bathrooms and kitchens are my thing. Hank here will make sure we’re true to the historical architecture. When can we take a look? I can’t wait.”

  “Right now. Whenever you’re ready.” Tommie’s smile came from relief.

  “We’d actually just stepped inside to talk to Ms. Lynn about the renovations to the Book Basket,” Hank said. “How about we meet you at the manor in about two hours?”

  “Thank you so much. I’ll be waiting for you.” Tommie stepped back and opened the door, a tiny flame of hope sparking in her heart. “I’ll be waiting. And thank you.”

  * * *

  The alley of beautiful hardwoods that lined the drive to Loftus Manor swayed in the wind, leaves scattering in all directions as Harley Jones sipped a cup of coffee on the front porch of his cottage. He stood and rolled his heavily muscled shoulders. He loved physical work, and Loftus Manor gave him plenty of opportunity.

  The small stone house had originally been the groundskeeper’s cottage when Loftus Manor was new and filled with Loftus relatives. Harley had been in the cottage for the past five years and considered himself the guardian and groundskeeper, though with the unfortunate death of Samuel Loftus, he wasn’t certain what his future might be.

  He and the old man had come to an agreement—one that suited them both. Harley, who had no love for the company of others, stayed in the cottage and kept an eye on the manor and on Samuel. Harley took care of the small repairs that Samuel was interested in making, running errands to town, laying in supplies, and sometimes spending an evening over a few whiskeys and the old man’s rambling stories about the clever design of Loftus Manor and the rich heritage of the house and name. Samuel Loftus could spin a grand tale and he was a fine raconteur once he gave himself to an audience.

  Finishing the last swallow of hot, black coffee, Harley walked to the edge of his porch. He had a clear view of the big house, and for a moment he thought he saw someone glide past an upstairs window. But that was impossible, a trick of the light striking the windowpane. He smiled to himself. Samuel had loved to share ghost stories about the house, tales of lovelorn swains and pretty ladies with spirit. Most of the ghost stories centered around tragedy and the revenants of those lost ones left to linger about the house and property.

  Harley stared up at the house. It was too far away for him to be certain of anything, but it could only be an illusion, a curtain blowing or something of that nature. Since Samuel’s death, Harley had only been in the cottage or else walking the grounds of the house. He’d avoided the manor. Not a living soul had been on the premises after the police finished their investigation of Samuel’s suicide.

  His smile deepened. Maybe it was Samuel, checking it over before his great-great niece, the heir, a woman from California, arrived. He knew next to nothing about her, except that she was in her twenties and hailed from the West Coast.

  He gave the house one last look and turned to go inside. Changes were coming, and he wasn’t a man who liked change. Any change. He’d been content here in Wetumpka for the past five years. He’d found all he needed—a job that required honest work, isolation, the company of a decent man when he needed it, and no one prying into his business, into his past. He’d had a good run at Loftus Manor and Samuel’s suicide was the only regret he carried. Time to move on. But he wasn’t done yet. Not totally.

  The one thing he had vowed to Samuel was to keep the integrity of the manor intact. That had been important to Samuel, that the house and the many architectural wonders incorporated into the estate be honored and respected. Harley meant to make that clear to the young heir, should she indicate she wanted to make drastic changes. Harley would keep his word to Samuel and then move on down the road.

  There had already been attempts by local developers to get their hands on the property to create a high-end development on the Coosa River. Paul Rider, a local real estate mogul, had made several offers on the property which, before his death, Samuel had emphatically turned down. Harley could hear Samuel talking—“They want to turn my home into a club house for a bunch of fools and rape my land to build houses for their worthless spawn.”

  Samuel had been a man of strong opinions, and that scenario wasn’t going to happen. Harley had given his word that he would do all in his power to prevent such a thing. Loftus Manor would change with a new owner, no doubt, but the land would not be parceled off and subdivided if Harley could stop it.

  The sound of a car motor made him step back out on the porch and walk to the edge where he had a clear view of the driveway curving up to the road. The cottage was situated so that he could make certain no one came or went without his knowledge. When the small red car came down the drive, he knew it was the heiress, the woman who had inherited the estate. He put his coffee cup in the house and started the walk down the driveway to meet her.

  He caught sight of her, a slender brunette, as she bent over the car’s trunk, tugging at a suitcase. She was a curvy and fit woman, an observation he was smart enough to realize would only earn her ire if she suspected his thoughts.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  The woman startled and bumped her head on the top of the hatchback. “Damn!”

  She spun around, her hazel eyes wide with surprise.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He motioned for her to step back and he lifted her suitcase out. The woman must have packed bricks. The suitcase weighed a ton.

  “Sorry.” She rubbed the top of her head. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Let me get this to the door for you.” He hefted the suitcase and led the way. After she’d unlocked the door, he put it inside. “I’m Harley Jones. I helped Samuel with repairs and gardening.”

  She nodded. “Tommie Sykes. The attorney told me you were living in the cottage.”

  “That’s right.” She was pretty. He hadn’t anticipated that. “I’ll let you settle in.” He took a step back.

  “I’m expecting some visitors. If they stop at the cottage, could you send them on down here?”

  “Sure.”

  “I hear the property extends all the way to the Coosa River,” she said. “Do you know where I might get a map?”

  “Samuel had some in his office. If you go poking around the property, steer clear of the river until you’re more familiar. There are some treacherous currents.” His tone was brusquer than he intended, but it was better for her to be warned. The Coosa, which was not far from the house, looked deceptively calm, but after a rain it could be dangerous.

  He saw her shoulders stiffen slightly. She’d taken offense at his comment. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. I’ll take your warning to heart. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.” She closed the door firmly and he was left standing on the stoop.

  Yep. There were going to be a lot of changes coming along. And he didn’t think he was going to like any of them.

  Chapter Two

  Tommie stood at the door for several minutes, thinking about the encounter she’d just had with Harley Jones. She’d heard from the lawyer who handled her uncle’s estate that Harley lived in the groundskeeper cottage and a young woman, Nina Ahearn, who’d been her great-great-uncle’s caregiver, had also lived on the premises. She’d had a suite of rooms in the manor. The lawyer had given Tommie the idea that he viewed both Harley Jones and Nina Ahern as freeloaders.
r />   Harley Jones didn’t look like a freeloader. He had the body of a man who enjoyed physical labor and did a lot of it. Nina Ahearn, she hadn’t met and was very glad the lawyer had moved the woman out of the house after Samuel’s death. From what Tommie understood, Nina had rented an apartment in town. One less thing to worry about.

  Tommie dragged her suitcase to the stairwell that was a true architectural wonder. She put aside her forebodings and fears long enough to really look around the manor. It was dark and not well kept, but it was also incredible. The tile in the foyer was exquisite. And the furniture, what wasn’t hidden beneath drop cloths, was impressive. Heavy mahogany wood with scrolls and adornments that perfectly matched the attitude of the house.

  When she stepped back from her suitcase, she saw the portrait of Samuel Loftus hanging above the mantle. The piercing eyes caught and held her. It was almost as if he were assessing her—and possibly finding her lacking. A very disconcerting sensation. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by her dream of creating an inn. She’d spent her late teens and early twenties learning to craft jewelry. She’d worked for some fine jewelry makers and had even developed her own style in creating rings, pendants, and bracelets. But working with precious stones and metals wasn’t preparation for running an inn. Was she a fool to think she could manage this?