Trouble Restored Page 3

  He walked back down the driveway, headed to his house. When he turned around to stare at the regal old home, he stopped dead in his tracks. Someone was in the upstairs window—the very bedroom where Tommie Sykes was going to sleep.

  He first assumed it was the renovators, the bookseller, or Tommie—until he saw Tommie and the group of visitors step outside on the patio. Each one was accounted for.

  Samuel had told him all the ghost stories of the house, the hauntings, the strange bumps and rumblings that went on. Harley had written it off as Samuel’s passion for a good tall tale or the settling of an old house. Now, though, the gooseflesh that moved down his arms told him otherwise.

  Was there something to all the stories of ghosts wandering the premises? Had Samuel’s death brought the shadows out? Or was there really someone in the house, and if so, what were their intentions?

  As soon as the company cleared out and the heiress ran into town, he meant to search the premises from top to bottom. If someone—a real, physical someone—was slipping around Loftus Manor, he intended to put a stop to it.

  Movement in a downstairs window caught his eye and he saw a black cat sitting there, staring directly at him, almost as if the cat were keeping an eye on him. Ridiculous. Cats were smart, but they were also vain. They were self-motivated, as far as he could tell. And he hoped to goodness the cat didn’t belong to the heiress. Samuel had once had two very fine dogs, but no cats.

  Harley was struck again by a swift stab of loss. He missed Samuel and couldn’t understand why he’d killed himself. He’d been in fair health, mostly able to see after his own needs. What Samuel couldn’t do for himself, the hired caretaker had seen to. Nina Ahearn. She was a pretty, young woman who volubly admitted to having a real tender heart for the elderly.

  He brushed all his worries aside and entered the groundskeeper’s cottage, a place he normally called home. Now it was time to think about packing up and moving on. Where would he go? Anywhere and everywhere. He was beholden to no one, and that was just the way he liked it.

  * * *

  “The community rooms on the main floor are in great shape,” Katie Evans said after they’d explored a portion of Loftus Manor. “Hank says the house is structurally in excellent shape. And that library is incredible. It’s almost like a museum to the past. I have some suggestions for dining areas if you intend to fill all ten of the bedrooms with guests. And the parlors are almost perfect as they stand. The fireplaces and chimneys will have to be checked for safety, but the furniture, the whole decor—I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Except for the kitchen,” everyone said in unison.

  “That’s a definite remodel,” Katie said, looking at her husband for confirmation.

  “We’ll need to gut the room,” Hank agreed. “Bring in some professional equipment like a range, refrigerator, and freezer. Expand the sink situation. There are a number of design choices these days that will be in keeping with a vintage look even though it’s all new, highly efficient equipment.” He waved his hands in the air as he talked. “In fact, I’m thinking we could take in a portion of the formal dining room to enlarge the kitchen and perhaps enclose the back patio with a glass sunroom to make more space for serving meals. If you want to include meals.”

  “I do,” Tommie said. “I like to cook. It’s a pleasure for me.” She forced a smile. Just thinking about all the changes made her head ache. Could she really do this? Would she be able to make a go of it? Running an inn was a big, big job, and she didn’t want to squander all of her inheritance on the renovations only to discover she didn’t have the grit to make it work. But she wanted to live at Loftus Manor. She wanted to bring life back to it. Maybe because it had seen such sadness. She almost smiled at her fancy, as if she’d developed some kind of telepathic link to the old house.

  “We’ll work up an estimate,” Hank said. “If you allow us to film the whole renovation process and feature our work on TV, it’ll reduce the cost substantially.”

  “Sure,” Tommie said. “I’d like to document the changes. I want to preserve this house, but I can’t do it unless I can figure out a way to make it profitable.”

  Katie ran a hand over the elegant railing on the stairs. The wood was intricately carved with trailing ivy and hidden fairies. “It is a lovely place. Truly magical in some ways. Such history. But houses have to be modernized or no one wants to live in them. Imagine trying to live without an indoor bathroom. When this house was first built, there was no such thing. Changes were made to accommodate. You have every right to make the changes that will allow you to live—and thrive here.”

  “Thanks.” Tommie realized she must have been wearing her heart on her sleeve for Katie to read her concerns so clearly. She turned to the bookseller. “I don’t want to sound morbid, but could you show me where my great-great uncle died?”

  “Are you sure?” Tammy asked. “It may not be the best thing to remember about the house.”

  “I’m sure. I never even spoke to Uncle Samuel. I don’t know how he knew I was alive. But he did, and he took pains to see I got an inheritance. I’d like to know what happened.”

  “Okay.” Tammy motioned them toward the back of the house where a small very masculine parlor was found. Two chairs were arranged in front of a fireplace with recent ashes. There was a chess board set up, a game in progress. On another table a backgammon game rested.

  “He liked to play chess?” Tommie asked.

  “That’s what I heard. Harley spent a lot of time with him, passing the hours and talking.” Tammy kept her tone level and matter-of-fact.

  “And drinking.” Tommie pointed to a full wet bar with two dirty glasses still there.

  “Never begrudge a man a toddy in the evening,” Hank said, giving a wink that made Tommie smile. She really liked the renovators.

  “He was in here.” Tammy led them to a small alcove where a beautiful old dresser stood, the top covered in family photos. “He hung himself from the lintel. It seems he just stepped off a chair.”

  “Could it have been an accident?” Katie asked as they all stood silently at the entrance to the little alcove.

  “I don’t think so,” Tammy said, “but who knows?”

  “Was my great-great uncle in poor health?” Tommie asked.

  “He was eighty plus,” Tammy said. “I didn’t know Samuel all that well. He’d occasionally send Harley to pick up some books he’d ordered, but he had full time care here and no real need to come into town. He was something of a recluse, like Harley. I think that’s why they got along so well. The only time Samuel really came out of his shell was when he was telling a story, and he was truly marvelous at that. And he helped people in the community, but all of that he kept under wraps. He was a kind man.”

  “Was he viewed as a weirdo?” Tommie asked.

  Tammy smiled. “A little. Anyone who defies the herd mentality and lives alone is often viewed as different. That always breeds rumors. Like it does for Harley. Neither of them cared for parties or crowds or sometimes even conversation. But they liked each other, from all accounts. I believe Harley was very fond of Samuel. But you’d get better answers if you asked Harley.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be a man much inclined to conversation,” Tommie said.

  Tammy laughed out loud. “An understatement. But you know, Tommie, it isn’t a man’s manners but his heart that truly matters.”

  “Let’s check out the bedrooms upstairs and see what will need to be done, and then, maybe you can prepare an estimate for me,” Tommie said to the Evans. “Now that we’re talking about the work. I’m eager to see if this is doable.”

  “What about heat and cool?” Katie asked.

  “We can install those ductless units for the most part,” Hank said. “Work them into the design of the woodwork.” He looked up. “I’d hate to do anything to the ceilings if we had to install ductwork.”

  “Good plan,” Tommie said, smiling big. “I like the way you think. It’s important to me
to keep the house as original as possible while adding the things every guest would expect to find.”

  Chapter Four

  It was with some reluctance that Tommie watched as her guests prepared to leave. She hadn’t even unpacked the rest of her suitcase. The house was so big. And so empty. And she would be alone there when the renovators and Tammy were gone.

  The redheaded bookseller put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You’ll adjust, or perhaps you’ll want to hire someone to live on the grounds to help you with all of this.” She smiled. “Some company.”

  The black cat, who’d taken off exploring the house, was suddenly back at Tommie’s feet. When the bookseller bent to pick up her pet, the cat scooted away. He stopped on the first step of the beautiful staircase and sat down.

  “Meow.”

  “Oh, dear,” Tammy said. “Trouble wants to stay here with you.” Her kind eyes were deadly serious.

  “The cat wants to stay here?” Tommie asked.

  “Oh, not permanently. Just for a while. You might consider letting him. Trouble has a sixth sense about things.”

  “What kind of things?” Tommie asked. The creepy sensation of someone roaming around the house touched her again. She glanced over at the cat who blinked his huge green eyes three times, as if communicating in some kind of code.

  “Oh, mysteries. He really is a cat detective. I wasn’t making it up.”

  Tommie scoffed. “You’re teasing me, right?”

  “No, I’m not. I understand your reluctance to believe me. But Trouble has solved some pretty complicated mysteries, from stolen horses to art thefts.”

  Tommie glanced at the Evans, who looked as amused as she felt. “You’re really serious?” she said to Trouble’s owner.

  “Deadly serious. Besides, he’s good company and until you can find a human employee, he’s a good friend to have on your side.”

  Tommie was about to refuse, but then she remembered the figure in the window. She’d seen it, no matter that it was impossible. “I’ve heard that cats have an ability to see ghosts. Is that true?”

  Tammy shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it. But just trust what he tries to tell you.”

  “Can he…talk?” Tommie felt like a fool for even asking.

  “Not in human language but he has a way of getting his point across.” Tammy shook her head. “And if there is anything untoward going on, he’ll let you know.”

  “Untoward?” Tommie seized on the word. “Is there a reason I should be worried about that.”

  For the first time the bookseller looked concerned. “There’s always talk about old houses. Nothing to it, but it can unsettle your nerves.”

  “What kind of talk?” Tommie didn’t want to ask, but she had to know if there was something more than the ghost stories Harley had already mentioned.

  “That Loftus Manor is haunted.”

  Tommie tried not to react, but she couldn’t help it. The image of someone standing in the window was too vivid. Too real. “Haunted by whom?”

  “Oh, there are different stories. You should talk to Harley. He’s been here for a few years. He’ll know all the tales. Now we should get back to town. Would you like Trouble to stay?”

  Tommie found herself nodding. “Please.” She found the cat’s steady stare directed at her yet again. He did seem…preternaturally smart, or at least focused.

  “Call if you need us,” Tammy said.

  “Will do.”

  She closed the door and felt the emptiness of the house around her. It was a big place, and it seemed to echo. Because her imagination had been excited, she thought she heard someone shuffling about the second floor. She was about to laugh it off when the cat darted up the stairs as if he, too, heard something.

  * * *

  Loftus Manor is an elegant place. I can see where it would lend itself to a small inn and after listening to the talk about the nearness of the river, the potential for canoeing and kayaking, the development of the grounds with croquet and badminton, I can see this dream becoming a paying reality. But I have questions about Samuel Loftus’s death. First, why has everyone seemingly accepted Samuel’s suicide? Interesting. A man with no motive to kill himself, as far as we know. So why would a man hang himself? It’s a question that begs an answer, and I’m just the cat to suss out some factoids.

  Let’s have a walkabout upstairs while Tommie busies herself moving her clothes from suitcase to bedroom dresser. Now would be a good time for that strong groundskeeper to show up. I need some time to read him. He’s smart, and he’s suspicious that all isn’t right in this house, as am I. But is he the source of the disquiet? He’s certainly had an opportunity to learn all about Loftus Manor, and this place has been his home for five years. Having a new owner show up with plans to change things must be very unpleasant. I wonder if Samuel left Harley the groundskeeper’s cottage in the will. That’s something I need to check into for sure.

  Ah, the bedrooms are neat as pins. They need airing, and this is perfect weather to open the windows wide and let in the October sun and wind.

  If I understood the living arrangements properly, there was also a caregiver dwelling here. One Nina Ahearn. Aha, I believe this must have been her bedroom. There is still the lingering scent of some perfume. The room is much more lived in, and the window air conditioner attests to a resident. I wonder if our Nancy Nurse left willingly or if she had some encouragement. I also wonder what she was doing the night Samuel allegedly took his own life. Yes, I say allegedly. I’m not at all convinced this was a suicide. I need to check medical records, see what drugs Samuel may have been taking, and determine the character of Harley Jones. My work is cut out for me. But first, I have need of a repast. It’s been hours since I had breakfast, and my brain functions much better on a full stomach.

  * * *

  Harley was splitting wood in the side yard of the manor when he felt someone watching him. It wasn’t a sinister sensation—more of a tingle of alert that raced through his body. In Afghanistan he’d learned to listen to every signal his body gave. It was the only reason he’d come home alive when so many of his friends hadn’t.

  He put the ax down and turned around. Tommie stood with her hand shielding her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. He’d wondered when she would make her way to him to ask about his residency at the manor. Would she push him to vacate the cottage? She had every right to, yet she’d failed to ask any questions about his arrangements or plans.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Yes. When you have time, I’d like to talk to you about the history of the house.”

  “I’m not connected to Loftus Manor in any way,” Harley said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I just live here in the cottage and helped Samuel with the outside chores and gardening.” He nodded to the wood. “I’m laying in a winter store of fuel for you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”

  “I promised Samuel I’d do what I could to help you settle in.”

  She blinked. “Uncle Samuel talked to you about me? I didn’t think he knew anything. I was just the only relative he could locate.”

  Harley debated how to answer her question. Samuel had made it a point to know about Tommie Sykes—Harley believed he’d had her investigated—but was that something he really should share with her? Sometimes knowing too much did more harm than good.

  “When he made his will, he tried to find out what he could,” Harley said. “He wanted to be sure the person who took over Loftus Manor would love it like he did.”

  “So why didn’t he just track me down and ask? I would have liked to know him. He was my great-great uncle, and I didn’t know a thing about him. Not the first thing.”

  Her voice didn’t hold bitterness, only regret, and Samuel realized she was missing that connection to family. She wanted to know Samuel, not just inherit from him.

  “He only really completed his will recently. I was one of the witnesses, which is why I know th
e timing of it. He may have intended on inviting you here.” He decided to fudge the truth just a little, for her feelings. “He talked about that.”

  “Was Uncle Samuel depressed?”

  She was asking the right questions. Ones that Harley wanted answers to. “Not to me. He didn’t seem to be distressed or depressed. I played a game of chess with him that evening, and he was just like normal. We had a glass of Scotch and talked. I built a fire for him. He said he was going to read a new novel and I left. I would never have left him alone if I’d thought he was…suicidal.”

  “Who found him?”

  “His caregiver, Nina Ahearn. I heard her scream about seven o’clock that morning and I rushed inside. We managed to get him down, but it was too late. He was gone. Had been dead for a while, the coroner said.”

  “Nina lived in the house?”

  Samuel nodded. “She seemed to take very good care of him, cooking the dishes he liked, laughing with him, spending time with him yet not crowding him.”

  “And where is Ms. Ahearn now?”

  Again, he was impressed with her questions, her calm delivery, her desire to know the circumstances of her uncle’s death—and the people who’d been around her uncle. Tommie Sykes was a pretty woman, but she was much more than looks. She had a brain and she used it. “She left shortly after your uncle’s death and the reading of his will. He left her a small amount of money, and she said she needed to find a new client.”