It’s probably important that I start this story by telling you who I am. My name is Lizzie Fuller and I’m the tallest female member of my family, measuring in at five feet two inches. I’m average weight with a small waist and hips. Unfortunately, I was at the front of the queue when God handed out breasts. I got my brown eyes and long dark, curly hair from my mum’s side of the family. I also have dimples. I’m not sure who I inherited those from. Grandma Mabel was a bit of a wild card, so we don’t really know what’s hidden in that family gene pool. As far as intelligence goes, I’m not stupid, but I’m not a genius either.
Today I was debating that.
I was trying to turn the sticky lock preventing me from opening my new front door. Well, new was a stretch of the imagination, but it was new to me. So I guess it was okay for me to say that.
About a month ago, I had a premature mid-life crisis and realized that at the age of thirty-one, I didn’t own anything of significance. Sure, I owned my car and a collection of high-end fragrances, but if I were to take an unscheduled trip to the Pearly Gates, there was nothing to state this was who Lizzie Fuller was. True to form, I rushed out and bought a house. No time like the present, hey?
Now, I was wondering if I should have had an affair like every other sane member of society in the throes of a mid-life crisis. It would have been much easier… and cheaper.
“Hurry up. It’s freezing out here,” complained my sister, Molly.
Molly had come along today to help me move, but I was about to ask her what her definition of help was. So far, I’d yet to see it.
“It’s stuck,” I grumbled, rattling the door in the hope it would miraculously unlock itself.
“Use your shoulder,” she suggested. “Give it a good shove.”
The timber door looked pretty solid from where I was standing. “You’re welcome to give it a go.”
“Sure, but you’re wearing jeans, whereas I’m in a skirt. Jeans are much more appropriate for the job.”
I wasn’t sure what occasion Molly had come dressed for today. It definitely wasn’t moving house. Her skin-tight jumper, mini skirt, and high heeled boots looked amazing, but that was all they were good for.
Looking at the door again, I reached out and picked at the peeling paint, considering my options. I’d never rammed a door before, but maybe Molly was right—it just needed some encouragement. And the condition of the house was pretty decrepit so maybe the white ants might have weakened the frame for me.
“Stand back.” I warned Molly before I changed my mind. Taking a couple of steps backward, I then ran at the door. My aim was perfect, my shoulder hitting the door above the lock. I’ll admit to not being the strongest person on the planet, but I gave it my best shot. Unfortunately, the door was stronger than I was, and it held firm, causing me to bounce off it, landing on my butt on the timber boards of the porch.
Looking thoughtful, Molly stared down at me, hands on her hips. “Maybe you should have just climbed the drainpipe and gone in through the open window up there,” she said, nodding in the direction of an upstairs window.
“You couldn’t have mentioned that before I threw myself at the door?” I snapped.
“I know you don’t like heights.”
I sighed and accepted her outstretched hand, getting back onto my feet and rubbing my shoulder as I moved.
Negotiating the couple of front steps, I stood on what was left of the front lawn, squinting up at the window Molly referred to.
She was right. The timber casement window was ajar.
“Why don’t you climb it?” I asked. “You were good at scaling drainpipes when you were a teenager.”
Her smile beamed at the memory before she looked down at her skirt and boots.
“What exactly did you come dressed for today?” I asked.
“Lizzie, it’s important to always look your best.”
I sighed.
“Come on, I’ll tell you how to do it,” she encouraged.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I knew it. But I did it anyway.
“Take your shoes off,” she suggested. “You get a better grip with your toes that way. Then you just grab the drainpipe and start to climb.”
The window wasn’t that high, and it was directly next to the drainpipe. So, if I didn’t look down, surely I could do this.
Doing as Molly instructed, I kicked off my sneakers and started my ascent. The plumbing creaked and groaned, but before I knew it, I was nearly at the top.
Once the window was within reach, I stretched to grab it. The bolts holding the drainpipe to the wall didn’t seem too happy with the extra strain put on them, and with an almighty snap they gave way, allowing the drainpipe to fall away from the building.
I screamed and held on to the rusted metal pipe with all my might.
Molly yelled, but I didn’t hear a word of what she said. The only noises my brain received were the loud groan of the metal, the sound of rust flittering past my ears, and my blood pounding through my veins.
I said a quick prayer this would all end well, as the pipe gave its final groan and succumbed to my weight, plummeting to the ground with a mighty crash.
The descent had been much faster than the ascent, and as the air gushed from my lungs, I saw Molly’s anxious face peer over me.
“Are you alive?” she cried. “Oh, please tell me that you’re alive!”
I blinked.
As relief washed over her, she succumbed to an uncontrollable fit of giggles. By the time I had managed to roll over, push the rusty drainpipe off me, and sit up, she was on the grass next to me holding her sides as tears of laughter dripped off her chin.
“That was so not funny!” I cried.
“Oh yes it was. You should have seen your face.”
Bloody sisters.
As I was considering if I’d actually broken any bones, a man walking his dog down the street, looked over the tiny fence toward us.
He gave me a small smile. “Afternoon, ladies. Is everything okay?”
Brushing the rust and grass off my top, I smiled back at him and explained I had just purchased the house and couldn’t get in.
“Oh, well, I’m Edward. I live at the end of the street.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“You should just go in the back door,” he suggested. “It’s never locked.”
“Pardon?” I asked as the heat raced up my neck.
“The lock doesn’t work on the back door, and the previous owner never bothered with it. Everyone on the street knew if they needed to get into her, that was the way to do it.”
“Oh. Okay. Well...thanks then. I’ll try that.” Just why I hadn’t thought to do that before listening to Molly’s hare-brained ideas was beyond me.
Walking through the knee-high grass toward the rear of the house, I struggled to remember what the hell possessed me to buy the very first property I’d seen. The house was a tiny, detached two-bedroom Victorian. Probably the best way to describe it was a dilapidated cross between a gingerbread house and the house of horrors. It was a money pit. I knew that. But my rival buyers wanted to knock it down, and I couldn’t let that happen. All I saw were the memories the house would hold and knew that now was the time to protect it. It needed to be restored to its former glory. But why I thought I had the skills necessary to do such a thing was beyond me.
“Why didn’t you buy one of those new apartments they’ve just finished overlooking the river?” complained Molly, looking around the overgrown yard.
To be honest, I was now wondering the same thing myself.
I pushed my hands deep into my pockets for warmth, and we walked to the back porch. The morning had started with the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky, but as the day had rolled on, the clouds had moved in, and the wind had picked up. Typical Westport weather.
I’d lived in Westport most of my life, only moving to the city ten years ago for work. But I’d had enough of working in the city, so I’d made a deal with my boss and would now be working from home.
I looked up at the old house and groaned. I really should have bought something with a usable office.
Reaching the rear timber deck, we negotiated the few steps. My first attempt to push the door open was unsuccessful, but with the use of my hip and a bit of force, we finally made it inside. Finding the light switch, I flicked it on and waited until the dim 60-watt bulb illuminated the room. I looked around and bit my lip. The excitement I’d felt when I awoke this morning was fading by the second. I surveyed the room, biting down on my disappointment. Molly followed me in. As she stomped her feet to warm herself up, I watched the dust rise and nearly consume her.
“Bloody hell.” She coughed, waving her hand in front of her.
The smell of a stale, damp room hit me. I looked around at the dirty old kitchen cabinets and scarred timber flooring and felt a lump form in the back of my throat.
“Leave that door open, will you, Molly, and for goodness’ sake, stand still.”
Once the dust had settled, we silently walked through the house. I don’t think either of us could find the right words to say. It was only as we were walking back down the stairs from the attic that Molly finally broke the silence.
“Who the hell thought this wallpaper was a good idea?”
It’s funny, but I don’t remember seeing the wallpaper the day I bought the house. To be honest, I don’t remember the house looking this bad at all. That day, all I could think about was how it would look revamped.
The house had a simple floor plan. There was a main hallway with the staircase off the front door. To the right of the stairs was the lounge room and to the left was the kitchen. It’s the same on the second floor, only to the right was my bedroom and to the left was the bathroom. The second set of stairs led to the attic, which was home to a second bedroom. The amount of work needed before this house was even liveable made me feel queasy. The butterflies in my stomach were going crazy, telling me to run, but what the hell did they know? This was going to be fun, right?
“It’s going to be great. A bit of a clean-up and you won’t recognize it,” I said, not daring to look Molly in the eye.
“A bulldozer would be better, but if you’re insistent on sprucing it up, then you’ll need a hot handyman to help you.” Her petite nose wrinkled as she glanced around her. “What is that smell?”
“Rodents, I think.” I blinked against the sting of tears. I hated rats. I mean, really hated them. Like phobia-hated them.
“Don’t worry,” said Molly. Sensing I was about to cry, she placed a hand on my shoulder. “The cat should help with that.”
“What cat?” I looked at her, surprised. “I don’t have a cat.”
“Well, maybe he came with the house. When we walked in, he was sitting on the window seat in the lounge and looking quite comfortable, if I may say. Didn’t you see it?”
“No. But there are a lot of things about this house I don’t remember seeing,” I said, feeling a weight on my chest. “How could I be this stupid, Molly?”
Molly pulled me into a big-sister hug. “You can come and stay with me if you like.”
“Thanks, but no. I got myself into this, so I have to see it through,” I said, sniffing. I took a minute to enjoy the warm, safe feeling of Molly’s hug before I stepped back and pulled myself together. Feeling sorry for myself was not going to improve this situation. “Now, where was this cat?”
I followed Molly to the lounge, and there, sitting on the window seat, was a particularly large, fluffy ginger cat. Damn, she was right.
“But I don’t want to own a cat,” I whined, thinking I have trouble looking after myself. I should never be allowed to own any animal. You see, I did fish-sit for my mum once and—between you and me—the results were disastrous.
“I don’t think you have much choice.”
Okay, the cat did look quite at home sitting there, leg in the air, licking his privates. It stopped mid-lick, tongue sticking to its fur and gave us the once over. Deciding we were of no interest, it resumed what it was doing.
“Do you think it wants food, and then it’ll disappear again?” I was hoping it had the wrong house.
“It’s worth a try.”
“There’s enough bloody rodents around here it could have a smorgasbord.” Maybe a cat wouldn’t be a bad idea. This last thought was actually encouraging. I mean, a cat isn’t like a dog, is it? You can forget to feed a cat and it will find food itself, won’t it?
“I think you should go and get it some real cat food. It looks far too lazy to actually catch anything.”
Bugger.
We spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. Not that you could really tell where we’d been. The solicitor who’d handled the sale of the house told me it had been empty for about six months, and prior to that an elderly lady had lived there. I guess that explains the three inches of dust on every surface.
Molly helped a little in the end but not without complaints. By the time my dad arrived with the truck full of my belongings, we had dusted and vacuumed every inch downstairs. Now all I had to do was clean the bedroom and bathroom before I could go to bed tonight.
“Why don’t you sleep at my place until you get this place straightened?” offered Molly.
“Thanks, but I’ll see how I go. It’s going to take forever to renovate this place, so I’ll have to get used to it at some point.”
“Yeah well, the offer stands. Even if it’s midnight, just get in your car and head over.”
I smiled. On the surface, Molly may look shallow and self-obsessed, but it was all an act. On the inside she’s a big softy.
After Molly and Dad left, I improvised a lock on the back door by pushing a chair under the handle and made a quick trip to the local grocery store, which meant I could now feed not only myself, but also my squatter. I had a feeling Cat belonged with the house and that even after feeding him the best Kitty Kat food money could buy, he was not going anywhere. I’d also purchased every mousetrap and rattrap the store had in stock because my faith in Cat was pretty low. There was no way I wanted any of those little rodents crawling over me in my sleep.
Feeling tired and irritable, I drove back to my new home. I was exhausted, everything I owned was in boxes, and there was no way I was unpacking them until I knew all furry creatures had moved on. Most of the house was still filthy, I was responsible for a cat, and now the sun was setting, I was starting to feel Molly was right. I was pretty creeped out.
As I drove to the house, it looked dark, scary, and lonely. Carefully driving around the black sedan sitting opposite my driveway, I parked my car and contemplated spending the night in it. I could lock the doors and not have to face the house until morning when it was bright and sunny again.
But no, I had to stop being stupid and get inside. There was nothing in there that could hurt me. I had personally checked every cupboard for dead bodies and scary creatures earlier in the day. Checking again would probably put my mind at ease, but there was no freaking way I was doing that in the dark.
Entering the house, I turned on every light in every room, all except the attic which—as that particular light switch was at the top of the stairs—was way too creepy for me to even think about.
I stood outside my bedroom door and looked toward the darkened staircase, terrified. I probably should have ventured up there and turned it on. Peace of mind is a powerful thing. Oh well, I’ll just lock the door, jump into bed, and pull the covers over my head. That would work just as well.
I’d been dreaming. Someone was standing over me, watching me while I slept. It wasn’t a reassuring, angel-watching-you kind of dream. It was a scary, some-lunatic-wants-to-kill-you kind of dream.
I woke with a start.
The hair on my arms and back of my neck stood on end as I sat up and had a good look around. Everything was the way I’d left it—everything except the bedroom door. It was now wide open, swinging on its hinge…
Would you like to know what happens next? Then check out Dangerous Deeds.
When one door closes, another opens…or falls off its hinges.
They say that love is blind. Sure, they weren’t necessarily talking about old houses at the time, but that’s the story that Lizzie is sticking with. And she likes that theory a whole lot better than the one about her losing her mind.
She knew that buying a fixer upper meant stumbling into an unknown abyss of demolition, dust and unfathomable costs, but she never expected to find an engagement ring and letters of forbidden love hidden under the attic floorboards. Nor did she expect the lazy cat, or the drop-dead gorgeous handyman. And she definitely didn’t predict the stalker.
As the renovation begins and the house starts to slowly return to its former glory, the letters dog her dreams. Who is the mysterious penman? Why was their love forbidden? And who is trying so hard to keep her from learning the truth about it all?
Working alongside her hunky handyman is proving to be quite the distraction, but Lizzie is determined to solve the puzzle of the long-lost love affair. But can she restore the house to its former glory, and solve the mystery before her stalker catches up with her? Or will she lose everything... including her life?
Find out in this spellbinding romantic cozy mystery where hearts, along with homes, receive the renovation of a lifetime.
Dangerous Deeds is the first cozy tale in The Westport Mysteries series. If you like handy heartthrobs, suspenseful puzzles, and quirky characters, then you’ll adore Beth Prentice’s charming story.