Читать книгу Yuletide Peril - Irene Brand - Страница 13

Janice’s face flushed. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m practically a stranger to you. I don’t know why you’d put your life on the line for me.”

“I don’t understand it, either,” he said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Let’s just say it’s because you need help, and it’s my Christian duty to help you.”

“Except for the years I spent at VOH, I’ve taken care of myself and Brooke without any help. I’d like to think I can still do it, but I’m in over my head now. I can’t manage alone anymore.”

“Then let’s check out your property and go from there. Be careful.”

With the machete, Lance cleared a narrow path for them to follow until they came to the copse of evergreens. Dried needles matted the ground and walking was easier. Janice enjoyed a sense of pride to know that this property actually belonged to her. The grounds had been badly neglected and it was almost like walking through a wilderness, but she believed the lawn could be restored to its original splendor.

It was hot and stuffy under the trees, and Lance stopped to wipe his face with a handkerchief. Some of the underbrush consisted of sturdy brier vines that were difficult to cut. Janice felt guilty when she noticed several scratches on his arms. He breathed deeply and took a swig of water from the bottle he carried. Looking around, he asked, “Who’s been responsible for looking after this property?”

“Nobody, apparently. Mr. Santrock was administrator of Uncle John’s estate, but he said he hasn’t been here for years. Perhaps he thought the house was too far gone to need checking, and he may be right,” she added, when Lance hacked down a large multiflora rosebush and she had a sweeping view of the house.

Paint had peeled from the structure, vines grew all over the front porch, and several windows on the second floor were shattered. Branches from a tall spruce tree lay on the porch roof.

“We had a bad storm a week or so ago. Looks like the lightning struck that spruce tree. It will have to be cut down.”

The overall effect was disheartening. Janice wanted to turn tail and run, and authorize Mr. Santrock to sell Mountjoy before she went any farther.

Noting the dismay in her eyes, Lance said, “We’re here, so we might as well look inside. Don’t forget, I didn’t hear anything until I started up the steps. I’ll go first.”

Lance tested his weight on the steps and the top one buckled under him. He leaped on the porch to keep from falling. The porch floor itself seemed sturdy enough, probably because it was protected from the elements by a rusty roof. He half expected a repetition of the raucous noise he’d heard the other time he’d visited this house, but all was silent except for a mockingbird singing from one of the bushes.

He held out his hand to Janice. “Watch your step.”

Janice expelled the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and accepted Lance’s help. In spite of the fear clutching at her heart, as Janice stepped on the front porch of her ancestral home, she had the unfamiliar sense of belonging.

Four windows fronting on the porch were placed symmetrically between a massive, oak door with an oval, leaded frosted-glass window. She put her face close to the cracked window panes, but they were too dirty for her to see the interior of the house. The sun shone brightly, but the towering spruce trees surrounding the house shut out the sunlight, and Janice shivered slightly. Lance tried the door but it was locked. He moved to a window, which lifted easily at his touch.

Taking the flashlight from Janice, Lance stuck his head cautiously through the window and flashed the light around the room. No danger seemed to lurk in the dim interior, so he stepped into the room. He reached a hand to Janice and steadied her as she climbed over the window sill.

Janice’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dark room.

“The house is still furnished!” she said.

Lance’s steps were loud as he walked around the room, the floorboards squeaking under his weight. He stopped beside a dark wooden divan upholstered in red velvet, noting two matching chairs.

“I’ve always heard that this house was luxurious. This was elegant furniture at one time.”

“Everything is dusty, and look at the floor—we didn’t make all of these tracks.”

“I’d noticed that,” Lance said, wishing that Janice hadn’t. “The house hasn’t been as vacant as it looked. Stay close to me and we’ll look around.”

The tracks had been made recently, Lance thought, and that there had been no effort to conceal them disturbed him.

Janice took hold of Lance’s shirttail and, grinning, she said, “Try to get rid of me. I’ll stick to you like a burr.”

They walked slowly through four large downstairs rooms, separated by a wide entrance hall that ran the length of the house. They’d entered the room to the right of the hallway. Behind it was a bedroom, and across the hall was a kitchen and a dining room. The rooms were of equal size except the bedroom, where part of the room had been partitioned into a bathroom accessed from the rear hall.

Although the living room and the bedroom looked as they must have a hundred years ago, the kitchen held modern appliances. There were cabinets below and over the sink and Janice opened one of the doors.

“There’s still some dishes and pans here,” she said, and stepped backward as a mouse jumped out of the cabinet. “Looks like I’ve inherited some livestock,” she said with a grimace.

Lance grinned, surprised that she’d wasn’t scared. His sister shrieked and headed for higher ground when she saw a mouse.

He turned one of the faucets on the sink. “No water, of course,” he said. “I suppose the plumbing was drained when John moved out of the house.”

As Janice’s eyes acclimated to the dark interior, a sense of discouragement swept over her. The carpets on the hardwood floors were threadbare. The upholstered furniture in the living room had been gnawed by vermin. Several layers of tattered wallpaper drooped from the ceiling and fluttered around the walls. Ragged curtains hung over the windows. Stimulated by a strong breeze wafting through a broken window, long strings of cobwebs swayed rhythmically, reminding Janice of puppets on a string.

Lance watched as Janice’s expressions changed from gloom to optimism as she passed from one room to another.

“If this isn’t a sorry mess,” she said once.

After they’d scanned the downstairs rooms, they paused beside a walnut garment tree in the front center hall.

Forcing herself to overlook the bad and recognize the positive, Janice touched the hall tree and said, “I’ve heard of these,” she said. “The hooks were for gentleman to hang their hats, and the mirror helped ladies take a last look at their appearance before they left the house.” She lifted the lid of a narrow bench and a film of dust flew into her face. “This box was used to hold outdoors shoes. Except for dust, it seems in good condition.”

“And it also served as a place to sit on while changing shoes,” Lance said.

“The house itself seems sturdy enough and the furniture is beautiful. I’d like to live here.”

“It will take a lot of hard work,” Lance said.

“I know. But I think it’s worth fixing up. Do you?”

Lance took his handkerchief and dusted a long deacon’s bench in the hallway. He motioned Janice to sit down and he sat beside her.

“Most of this furniture has an antique value, and with time, money and hard work, the house could be turned into a showplace,” he said slowly.

“I don’t know much about antiques, but I’m sure you’re right. When this house has been vacant and isolated for several years, why hasn’t someone stolen this stuff?”

“I told you that a lot of people around here think the house is haunted.”

Eyeing him to see if he was kidding her, she was surprised that he wore a serious expression. Since this was the first amusing thing she’d heard in days, she exploded into a deep, warm laugh. “That’s ridiculous! You don’t believe that, do you?”

Laughter erased some of the tension from Janice’s face, and her green eyes glowed like sunlight shining on ocean waves. Lance was delighted to see her face alive with merriment.

His lips twisted humorously. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I didn’t say I believed the house was haunted, but it has that reputation. That may have kept people from stealing everything.”

“That’s my good fortune, I suppose.” Janice looked at her watch. “Let’s look upstairs so we can go back to town. I don’t want to impose on your sister to keep Brooke any longer.”

“She won’t mind,” Lance said, then stood and walked toward a door in the rear hall that must lead to the upstairs. The door was locked.

Disappointed, Janice said, “I’d hoped to see the whole place while we were here.”

“I could break down the door, but you’ll have enough repairs to make without me adding to the list. We can bring a skeleton key and go upstairs next time.”

Next time! Janice glanced at him curiously. Apparently, Lance’s interest in her home wasn’t to be a one-time event. He peered into the kitchen as they walked down the hall. “Let’s see where that leads,” he said, motioning to a small door to the right of the stove.

“It’s a pantry,” Janice said. “A lot of older houses have them.”

A few jars of green beans and some containers of jelly were on the shelves. Mutilated cartons of rice and flour had been riddled by mice or rats and the contents spilled on the floor. Lance opened another door that led to a side porch, where a door in the floor opened into a cellar. A damp, moldy scent met their nostrils when Lance lifted the door on squeaky hinges.

“I’ll check it out,” Lance said. He walked down a few steps and flashed the light around a small, dirt-floored room. “There’s a gas furnace down here,” he reported, “and a water pump. County water is available now so you won’t need the pump, but you will need a plumber to check the water lines.”