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    Vernon House
    Vernon House
    Vernon House
    Ebook82 pages2 hours

    Vernon House

    By Sandra Farris

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Jennifer Hayes buys and restores houses for resale, but Vernon House, was different. She wanted this old Victorian for herself. The rumors the house was haunted didn’t bother Jennifer, who is a skeptic by nature. But her skepticism turns to intrigue when she finds a letter dated 1909 in the attic tucked into the folds of a wedding dress. The letter mentions a murder, but no name of the victim and is signed with only initials. Jennifer's challenge is to track down the identity of the victim, as well as the killer. However, her research brings forth two spirits, one of which is evil.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSandra Farris
    Release dateDec 6, 2014
    ISBN9781311201577
    Vernon House
    Author

    Sandra Farris

    About the AuthorBorn in Texas, Sandra Farris lived for a while in Los Angeles before finally settling in southeast Arizona. She attended a local community college where she continued her education and honed her writing skills. You can connect with her online at SandraFarris.com her Facebook page and on Linkedin. Currently working on her fifth and sixth books, she is also a member and serves on the board of the Arizona Mystery Writers.

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      Book preview

      Vernon House - Sandra Farris

      Vernon House

      By

      Sandra Farris

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2011 by Sandra Farris

      Disclaimer:

      This is a work of fiction, a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      Credits

      Cover design by Dennis Farris

      Table of Contents

      Title Page

      Copyright

      Vernon House

      Vernon House

      Jennifer Hayes climbed out of the Chevy Malibu and stood admiring her new purchase. The two-story Queen Anne Victorian, once a regal home, now suffered from abuse and disrepair, but she didn’t care. Countless years of neglect and inclement weather had worn away the paint, leaving a faded gray siding. A railing on the second floor balcony was missing some of its spokes. A few windows were broken, and the landscape was nothing more than dried weeds and a carpet of dead leaves. Late fall wasn’t the best time to judge landscapes, though.

      The house appealed to Jenny from the moment she first laid eyes on it. It spoke to her. Even seeing the shabbiness inside didn’t change her mind, nor did the rumors that it was haunted. Repairing old houses was a hobby of hers. An inheritance she’d received from her grandmother upon turning twenty-one, five years earlier, helped support that hobby. Usually she turned the houses over for a tidy profit, but this one she claimed for herself. Besides, work and a new location—Newbury, Arizona—would help her get through her heartache.

      A longtime relationship with Matt Jenkins had ended after his affair with one of Jenny’s trusted friends. At first she’d suffered blinding anger, and then self-examination as she tried to figure out what went wrong. She was determined to put that all behind her.

      You buy this house? You know it’s haunted. All kinds of things go on in that house. A woman’s voice broke into Jenny’s thoughts.

      Startled, Jenny turned to see an elderly woman standing on the curb. Her white hair stuck out at odd angles, and she clutched her coat at the neck as if to protect herself from what evil might be lurking about. Her other hand rested on a wire cart filled with grocery bags. Blue eyes, magnified by wire-rimmed glasses, darted from the house to Jenny.

      I heard something like that. Have you seen the ghost, Mrs.—?

      Lawson. Emily Lawson. She shook her head slowly. Not on your life. Don’t go looking for trouble, never have, but I heard things. You be mighty careful, young lady. Be mighty careful. The woman walked out into the street, around Jenny’s car, and didn’t return to the sidewalk until she was well past the house.

      An easy smile played at the corners of Jenny’s mouth. Dismissing the warning, she retrieved a bag of cleaning supplies and an upright vacuum from the Malibu’s trunk. She rolled the vacuum toward the house, dodging holes left by missing bricks in the sidewalk, and deposited the machine on the porch. Jenny turned the key in the lock and pushed. Stuck! She put extra pressure on the door until, creaking loudly, it opened.

      Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight coming through the windows, while sheet-covered furniture prompted ghostly images. Jenny took a kerchief from her bag and wrapped her hair securely before giving the sheets a quick jerk.

      The sound of something skittering on the wooden floor caused her to stop and investigate, but she was unable to spot the source. Probably a critter taking advantage of the empty house, she mused. Better call an exterminator.

      Jenny bent over and plugged in the vacuum cleaner, but before she could start it another noise caught her attention. This one came from upstairs. Old houses sure make a lot of noises. She walked to the foot of the stairs and listened carefully. There it was again! Unable to identify the noise, Jenny climbed the stairs and searched the four bedrooms, but she found nothing. Maybe there’s something to the rumors that this old house is haunted. Nah! Jenny shrugged off the idea. No such thing as ghosts.

      The sound seemed loudest when she stood in front of the upstairs hall closet. Jenny opened the door and leaned in—listening. Again she heard the noise; it sounded like wings fluttering, but the closet was empty. Assuming it came from on top of the house, she stood in the upstairs hall looking up and down its length. Where the heck is the attic door?

      She went back to the closet and examined its interior. Jenny had just started to shut the door when a small downy feather drifted out from beneath the wall. On closer examination, she found a crack that ran along the bottom of the wall and extended the width of the closet. Obviously poor workmanship on the builder’s part. She ran her hand along the crack, feeling a draft.

      When Jenny knocked on the wall it sounded hollow. Stepping back into the hall, she checked the bathroom next to the closet, visually measuring the depth of both places. The bathroom was much deeper. The attic door has to be behind the wall.

      Hurrying down the stairs, Jenny grabbed her car keys; there was a complete toolbox in her car’s trunk. Rummaging through the tools, she chose a pry bar and then returned to the second floor. If nothing was found, she could always replace the wall.

      The back wall consisted of boards running horizontally, rather than a vertical drywall sheet. There was literally no space left between them, so she started at the bottom where she felt the draft before.

      Jenny hooked the pry bar under the crack and pushed down. One board shattered. After that she tried to be more careful as she pried each board loose. When enough were removed she looked through the opening, which revealed a staircase leading up to the attic.

      Why is the attic access walled off? she asked aloud.

      The fluttering wings had a more frenzied sound now, and she concluded the bird must be in serious distress. Jenny eased up the steps. As her head cleared the landing, she saw the lone gray mourning dove sitting atop two boxes stacked in front of the window. A bird in the house is bad luck, her grandmother used to say. Jenny wasn’t sure she believed that, but she crossed herself just in case.

      How in the world did you get in here? Jenny glanced around the room but couldn’t see any entry. Startled by the sound of her voice, the dove flew around the room and slammed into the window, knocking itself to the

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