A Haunted House of Her Own #4
She closed her eyes and was actually on the verge of drifting off when she heard Nathan’s footsteps climbing the basement stairs. Coming to bed? She hoped so, but she could still hear the boom and wail of the music.
Nathan’s steps creaked across the first level. A door opened. Then the squeak of a cupboard door. A kitchen cupboard door.
Grabbing something to eat before going back downstairs.
Only he didn’t go downstairs. His steps headed for the ones coming upstairs.
He’s coming up to bed—just forgot to turn off the music.
All very logical, but logical explanations didn’t work for Tanya anymore. She got out of bed and went into the dark hall. She reached for the light switch, but stopped. She didn’t dare announce herself like that.
Clinging to the shadows, she crept along the wall until she could make out the top of Nathan’s blond head as he slowly climbed the stairs. Her gaze dropped, waiting for his hands to come into view.
A flash of silver winked in the pale glow of a nightlight. Her breath caught. She forced herself to stay still just a moment longer, to be sure, and then she saw it, the knife gripped in his hand, the angry set of his expression, the emptiness in his eyes, and she turned and fled.
A room. Any room. Just get into one, lock the door and climb over the balcony.
The first one she tried was locked. She wrenched on the door knob, certain she was wrong.
“Mom?” Nathan said, his voice gruff, unrecognizable. “Are you up here, Mom?”
Tanya turned. She looked down the row of doors. All closed. Only theirs was open, at the end. She ran for it as Nathan’s footsteps thumped behind her.
She dashed into the room, slammed the door and locked it. As she raced for the balcony, she heard the knob turn behind her. Then the creak of the door opening. But that couldn’t be. She’d locked—
Tanya glanced over her shoulder and saw Nathan, his face twisted with rage.
“Hello, Mom. I have something for you.”
Tanya grabbed the balcony door. It was already cracked open, since Nathan always insisted on the fresh air.
She ran out onto the balcony and looked down to the concrete patio twenty feet below.
No way she could jump, not without breaking both legs, and then she’d be trapped.
Maybe if she could hang from it, then drop—
Nathan stepped onto the balcony. Tanya backed up. She called his name, begged him to snap out of it, but he just kept coming, knife raised. She backed up, leaning against the railing.
“Nathan. Plea—”
There was a tremendous crack, and the railing gave way. She felt herself falling, dropping backward so fast she didn’t have time to twist, to scream and then—
—nothing.
Nathan escorted the innkeeper from Beamsville to the door.
“You folks did an incredible job,” the man said. “But I really do hate to take advantage of a tragedy…”
Nathan managed a wan smile. “You’d be doing me a favor.
The sooner I can get away, the happier I’ll be.
Every time I drive in, I see that balcony, and I—” His voice hitched.
“I keep asking myself why she went out there. I know she loved the view, and she must have woken up and seen the moon and wanted a better look.” He shook his head.
“I meant to fix that balcony. We did the others, but she said ours could wait, and now…”
The man laid a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Let me talk to my real estate agent and I’ll get an offer drawn up, see if I can’t take this place off your hands.”
“Thank you.”
Nathan closed the door and took a deep breath. He was making good use of those community theater skills, but he really hoped he didn’t have to keep this up much longer.
He headed into the office, giving it yet another once-over, making sure he’d gotten rid of all the evidence. He’d already checked, twice, but he couldn’t be too careful.
There wasn’t much to hide. The old woman had been an actor friend of one of his theater buddies, and even if she came forward, what of it? Tanya wanted a haunted house and he’d hired her to indulge his wife’s fancy.
Adding the woman’s photo to the article had been simple Photoshop work, the files—paper and electronic—long gone now.
The workmen really had been scared off by the haunting, which he’d orchestrated.
The only person who knew about his “episodes” was Tanya.
And he’d been very careful with the balcony, loosening the nails just enough that her weight would rip them from the rotting wood.
Killing Tanya hadn’t been his original intention.
But when she’d refused to leave, he’d been almost relieved.
As if he didn’t mind having to fall back on the more permanent solution, get the insurance money as well as the inheritance, go back home, hook up with Denise again—if she’d still have him—and open the kind of business he wanted.
There’d been no chance of that while Tanya was alive. Her money. Her rules. Always.
He opened the basement door, stepped down and almost went flying, his foot sending a hammer clunking down a few stairs. He retrieved it, wondering how it got there, then shoved it into his back pocket and—
The ring of the phone stopped his descent. He headed back up to answer it.
“Restrictions?” Nathan bellowed into the phone. “What do you mean restrictions? How long—?”
He paused.
“A year? I have to live here a year?”
Pause.
“Look, can’t there be an exception under the circumstances? My wife died in this house. I need to get out of here.”
Tanya stepped up behind Nathan and watched the hair on his neck rise.
He rubbed it down and absently looked over his shoulder, then returned to his conversation.
She moved back, caught a glimpse of the hammer in his pocket and sighed.
So much for that idea. But she had plenty more, and it didn’t sound like Nathan was leaving anytime soon.
She slid up behind him, arms going around his waist, smiling as he jumped and looked around.
Her house might not have been haunted before. But it was now.