Chapter Three

Haggard, bruised and worn, I barely made it to the barn in time to meet Preston. He must have noticed my lackluster appearance.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that,” I said. I promised myself I would get help today so why not start with the farm manager? He certainly seemed to know everything about the estate, maybe he knew about the house as well. If he called me crazy, he could just add that to the list of things he didn’t like about me.

“Ummm…Preston?”

He turned to look at me, his blue eyes clouded with something akin to concern. Interesting.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you…ah, have you heard anything strange about the house?” I averted my gaze to the ground, concentrating on the brick floor of the barn. I couldn’t look at him.

“Strange? What do you mean?”

“Like…uh…noises?” Why am I doing this? I feel like an idiot.

Preston raised an eyebrow. “You mean like the sound of footsteps?”

My gaze jerked to him, and my eyes grew wide. He knew. “Exactly!”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard them before, when I stayed in the house during my apartment renovations. I take it you’ve heard them.”

Relief flooded through me, and my legs felt weak. I sat on the bale of hay that hadn’t yet been loaded on the golf cart. I only nodded in response for fear I might cry if I tried to speak. I wanted to hug and kiss Preston, which might not be so bad given his good looks and the fact he didn’t seem to despise me as much for some reason. I contained myself.

“Is that what had you spooked yesterday?”

“Yes, but there’s more,” I said, gaining confidence from the fact he didn’t think me some crazy woman. “Sometimes the doors lock of their own accord and won’t let me in or out. It happened yesterday when Mr. Marvel was here.”

“Is that why he left so quickly?” he asked.

“Yeah, he didn’t seem compelled to help.”

“Well, it doesn’t surprise me. The only reason he showed his face was because a beautiful woman inherited this place, and he wanted to sink his hooks into you.” His cheeks reddened, and he quickly looked away after speaking.

Preston thinks I’m beautiful? I decided not to embarrass him further by commenting on that point. He’d just loosened up; I didn’t want to risk angry Mr. McClay returning. “Sink his hooks into me?”

“Yeah, the grapevine says things aren’t going so well at Overfield Farm. He’s let a lot of good employees go and sold several head of horses.”

Grapevine. Yep, sure was an active one, and answered the question why Cyrus had come calling dressed to the nines as soon I moved in. While I felt a little let down that my neighbor hadn’t just been making a friendly visit, honestly Cyrus Marvel was the least of my worries.

As I rose from my position on the hay bale, an idea flashed through my mind. My cheeks heated at the thought of asking my next question, but I needed vindication and an ally against unseen forces. “Would you mind staying in the house tonight, Preston? Just to verify what I’ve said.”

He raised an eyebrow but otherwise his expression remained unchanged. “I don’t doubt what you’ve said but if you think it’s necessary, I’m game.”

“Thank you. Why are you being so nice to me? The day before, you had no respect for me and now you seem…” I should have bit my tongue rather than let those words fly past my lips but what was done was done. I prepared for the onslaught that was sure to come.

He appeared to consider his words before he said, “I didn’t know what to expect and figured you for some rich kid that had inherited the estate. Victoria only mentioned your name a time or two before her death so it was a bit of a shock when I heard you were the heiress.”

His gaze snagged mine, and he took a step forward. “When you showed up at the barn the other day, I figured you all wrong. I apologize for the things I said.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

He took a step back. A horse banged a bucket at the end of the barn. “I’d say they’re getting impatient. Ready to get started?”

“Sure.”

Without another word, we went to work.

****

After we finished barn chores, I went into the house to take a shower and prepare a room for Preston, even though he said there was no need. Every time I stepped over the threshold, butterflies bombarded my stomach, as I anticipated another ghostly event. Thankfully, I was spared any hijinx…until I got in the shower.

I’d turned the water on while I undressed to make sure it was nice and warm before I stepped under the spray. The warm water felt good, and I started washing my hair. Suddenly, the water turned ice cold. I squealed and attempted to avoid the spray of water but the shower head followed my every move making it impossible to evade. The drain yawned open like a giant mouth waiting for its next meal. I jumped back to avoid the pitfall while my heart hammered in my chest.

Shampoo dripped into my eyes stinging them, making it hard to see. I fumbled with the latch to the door and tried to escape the freezing water to no avail. Then the water flashed to boiling hot, burning my iced-down skin. I banged on the glass door willing it to open while fire accosted my body.

As suddenly as it began the shower head snapped back in place, the drain shrunk and the water returned to its original temperature. I stood still for a moment, crossing my fingers the attack had ended. Deciding it had, I quickly completed my shower routine and bolted out the door.

I couldn’t live like this. Had Aunt Victoria experienced the same problems? From what Mr. Ferguson said she had lived in this house for many years, so had she gone insane before she died? Had the house killed her? I dried myself off, made up my face, brushed my hair and donned clean jeans and a T-shirt.

I fetched sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and made my way across the house to one of the guest rooms. I used the first room, reasoning it was closer to my room, ensuring Preston would hear the noises I heard, at least I hoped. I made the bed and fluffed the curtains, hoping not too much dust lay on them. Not many furnishings but a bed, dresser and TV. I didn’t figure Preston would have an issue since it’d only be for one night. I questioned whether or not we should try to stay in the house tonight, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me, regardless of the fact Preston said he had heard the footsteps. Perhaps the footsteps had a logical explanation and my mind imagined everything else from there.

I went to the kitchen and made a quick sandwich for lunch, then threw enough chicken and veggies for two in the crock pot. Preston had graciously agreed to help me out so the least I could do was make him some dinner.

While I ate my lunch, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Preston replacing a board on the fence. I wondered what other things he might do around the farm and whether I should hire a landscaper for the flowerbeds and such. A housekeeper ran through my mind, but honestly I didn’t think any housekeeper would put up with the shenanigans of this house. If we could get to the root of the problem, maybe then I could inquire about hiring someone. I planned to take a job or do volunteer work in the near future so finding a capable body to handle the house would become a necessity.

I turned from the window and crossed to the French doors to talk to Preston about other staffing needs. I found it hard to grasp the fact that I needed staff, but a place this big required constant attention. The French doors refused to let me pass. I checked every set, just in case, but found them all locked. I knew an attempt at the front door was futile. Just as I turned away from the doors, the crock pot shattered into pieces and the kitchen drawers and cabinet doors started opening and slamming shut at a rapid pace.

I screamed and backed away from the spectacle until the French doors prevented further retreat. My body shook, and I shut my eyes, willing it to go away. Suddenly, I had the sensation of falling, until strong capable hands grasped me, and I looked up into a sea of blue. I blinked.

“Preston.” His name came out like a squeak.

“Having trouble?” he asked, his brows raised. “I heard you scream. What’s wrong?”

I regained my footing and tried to look anywhere other than his face. “Umm…yeah. The crock pot exploded and then the drawers and cabinets starting opening and closing.” Even though I did my best to remain in control, my hands shook along with my shoulders. I couldn’t seem to stop. Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Come on,” he said as he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the barn.

Before I realized it, we sat at a bistro table in Preston’s apartment, an open bottle of bourbon between us. I took a swig, enjoying the burn down my throat. It steadied me a bit.

“There’s something you should know,” he said after he downed his drink, his expression deadly serious.

I had the distinct feeling I didn’t want to hear his next words. Finding it suddenly impossible to speak, I nodded for him to continue.

“Victoria died in that house.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Wha-what? How?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes showing his uncertainty as to whether or not to continue.

“Preston, you have to tell me.”

He gave a nod and poured more bourbon into his glass. After he took a drink, he spoke. “A few months before she passed, Victoria said she had trouble sleeping but never confided anything else so I thought nothing of it. Just figured she had a lot on her mind. Then I saw less and less of her. She stayed inside most of the time, never came out to check on the horses, never asked about them, both of which seemed weird because she loved her horses. Once again I chalked it up to a busy schedule.” He stopped speaking, perhaps to gather his thoughts. “But on that day, I needed her to make a decision on something so I went in the house.” He paused. “I found her at the bottom of the staircase, her neck broken.”

I gasped. No one mentioned any of this at the estate proceedings. Of course, Mr. Ferguson probably didn’t want to upset me or color the estate in my eyes but still… I didn’t know what to think or do.

“Do you think…Was it the house?”

“I don’t know.”

We sat silently for a few minutes, each of us absorbed in our thoughts.

“Why don’t you stay up here while I finish chores then we’ll order a pizza and go back to the house together?” Preston said.

I couldn’t bring myself to argue and honestly, my streak of optimism started to fail me. I was a happy-go-lucky person that saw the bright side of everything. However, this was one circumstance in which I couldn’t find a bright spot.

“Okay, but I want to help with chores. I really don’t feel like being alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

After another swig of bourbon, I followed him out the door.