Terror on Top Read online

  Terror on Top

  CeeCee James

  Copyright © 2020 by CeeCee James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my Family

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Blurb

  When I agreed to help my friend, Stella O'Neil, clean up a house she was listing, neither of us were prepared for the dead body that tumbles out of a closet. Stella suspects it's the house's previous owner but is shocked to see it's the man who hired her, the bank representative.

  As Stella and I dig for answers, we find that everyone involved in the prior sale of the house is now dead... and we could be next.

  But I can't walk away from this mystery. The secrets that unfold shake me to my core as they involve my fiancé who died years ago. How does this derelict house connect to my life? What else will I find out... and do I even want to know?

  Chapter 1

  The scent of the freshly perked coffee merged with the sounds of birds chirping their morning serenade. What a beautiful morning, I told myself. I forced a smile, but the sentiment was as fake as most politicians’ promises.

  Still, I was making the best effort I could to make a few changes. My attitude had been sour lately, and I could barely stand myself. And appreciating the morning, a fresh new day, couldn’t hurt.

  The kitchen vinyl was cool under my feet as I found my favorite mug. It had a flamingo on it, and the bird’s neck was the handle. I quickly prepared my get-up-and-go potion. Black as sin with just a single scoop of sugar.

  I bumped into the kitchen table—this apartment was the size of a postage stamp—and paused to study my newest painting on its easel. I’d been trying a new technique, one that calls for a lot of splashing paint and freedom. Freedom wasn’t my favorite word when it came to art. I liked the control. It about killed me the first time I flipped a loaded brush over a finished picture. It was supposed to be an exercise of unhampered energy. Emotionally connecting.

  Truth be told, so far, I wasn’t connecting at all. In fact, the experience was slightly upsetting, partly because I couldn’t make the technique work like it was supposed to, and partly because I ruined a perfectly good painting.

  We can’t grow if we don’t try new things. Of course, I owed that little wisdom ditty to a tag line of a laundry soap commercial.

  I scrutinized the big blob of red over what had been a beautiful patch of green grass. Air hissed between my teeth, voicing my disapproval. Georgie, leave it alone. Coffee first.

  I blew across the hot surface, rippling the liquid, and took a big sip. I needed the energy. Sleep, once again, hadn’t been kind to me. Not to mention my spidey-senses were telling me that today was going to be a strange day. A day hanging out with a new friend named Stella, and her grandfather, Oscar: an ex-FBI agent, I might add.

  What’s crazy is that, even though those two were from such different walks of life, they both had more in common with me than I could have ever dreamed. Why, you might ask? It seems they held the keys to some answers to my fiancé’s suicide.

  Derek’s death had taken me years of research. I’d dug up medical records, interviewed the medical examiner, pored over his journals and tried to find the missing pieces. Today was the day for some of those answers. At least I hoped so.

  I still hadn’t moved from the painting. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I picked up the brush and squeezed out some paint. I just needed to fix this one tiny spot.

  Sticking my tongue out just like it had when I was a kid while making a macaroni necklace, I leaned forward. Just one dab. That’s all. What could it hurt?

  There!

  I stood back and examined it.

  Immediately I frowned. Now it doesn’t look right over there now. Sighing, I loaded up the brush again. Just one more small adjustment.

  I’d done a lot of painting as a teenager, and I was just getting back into it again. While dating Derek, all my hobbies kind of got pushed to the side. He’d been so charismatic and flashy. We’d spent our free time together going to parties, out to fancy dinners, and off on vacations. There hadn’t been a lot of “me” time, if I was going to be honest.

  At the time, I was okay with that. But now I wondered how it would have looked in the long run.

  Quickly, I pushed that thought out of my head as a flush of shame rose in my chest. It felt disloyal to him, somehow. How could I think of such a thing? Especially with him gone?

  I dabbed on more paint and gave it a good look again. I groaned. This was turning into a muddy mess. Shaking my head, I cleaned the brush, but not before getting red paint on my hands. I wiped them on a towel and grabbed my mug.

  So much for trying to start my day off chipper. I was really starting to feel bummed out.

  Maybe a little TV would help. My favorite shows of all time—my guilty pleasure, really—were the reality cook-off shows. This new one I’d found was called The Worst Cooks in the US. I loved that show. And I fit right in.

  Cooking was something new I was trying to learn to do. Up until now, my cooking skills mostly included microwavable meals and some mac and cheese.

  Baking was pretty fascinating. You take a bit of this, a bit of that, add butter (I found almost every recipe called for lots of butter) and voila! A confectionary treat assembled from the magic of an organic chemistry set.

  Some of my experiments had ended up straight in the trash. Butter couldn’t even save it. But I was getting better.

  Of course, working at the bed-and-breakfast had given me some experience in the kitchen. It was my Aunt Cecelia’s place. Only we weren’t really related. To make it more confusing, she wasn’t my aunt, but had been my grandma’s best friend all her life. You know how those life-long friendships go, everyone involved becomes a relative somehow.

  She kind of adopted me after Derek died, and talked me into moving from Pittsburgh, and back to Gainesville where I grew up. It had been a huge adjustment giving up my job with the estate attorney’s office, along with the huge paycheck, but it had been exactly what I needed.

  My job was slightly eclectic and unique. I took the bed-and-breakfast guests on tours of the all the American Revolutionary sites here in Pennsylvania. It sure had been more interesting than I had expected. In fact, I’d had enough adventures for a lifetime.

  The best part of moving back was reconnecting with Frank. He was Cecelia’s grandson and had once been my childhood arch enemy, at least in Frank’s eye. Back when we were kids, he tried to avoid me, shrugging off any conversations with stoic silence. He seemed to be trying for the John Wayne quiet but stern approach. All I know is that I used to love to wind-him up. All it took was a little joke, a little prod, and he’d eventually freak out. He’d stalked away, looking like a tall spider with these gangly arms and legs. He used to ask me why I was always trying to push his buttons. I’d answer that I was looking for his volume control to
turn it up.

  That never amused him.

  Well, what had once been a bean pole body had eventually bulked out nicely into impressive biceps and broad shoulders as an adult. After a stint in the military, he’d now found his landing place in the police force.

  He was still somber, but he no longer thought I was annoying. At least, I chose to believe that. Which was a good thing since he was now my boyfriend.

  I’d just settled on a cooking show when I realized what time it was. I was nearly late to meet Stella for breakfast to come up with a plan of how to soften up Oscar. He was a stubborn soul. Once he found out that Derek had dealings with Mikey McCoy, a well known drug-ring leader, he clammed up tight. Stella had a way with her grandfather though, and I was basing all my hopes on that.

  I placed the mug in the sink and turned everything off. On my way out of the apartment I groaned as my eye caught sight of the painting. Why, oh, why hadn’t I left it alone? Still grumbling to myself, I locked the door and jogged down the flight of stairs to the first floor of the old brownstone building.

  Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Darcy’s Doughnuts. I didn’t have my ancient catering van any more. Finally, with relief and a tinge of sadness, I had to admit it gave up the ghost when the repair man offered me an estimate that was twice the cost of another vehicle. I drove a minivan, now. It still fit a crowd, and on the plus side, it didn’t smell like spaghetti.

  I found a parking spot and saw that Stella was already there. I grabbed my purse and hurried inside.

  Walking into the doughnut shop was like entering a snow globe where sugar particles replaced the snow. The fragrance was tantalizing; vanilla sweetness mixed with the scent of frying dough.

  I slid into the bench seat across from Stella, who was already tearing apart a doughnut. A box of them sat in the middle of the table.

  “Hi! Stella!” Her eyebrows rumbled together questioningly. “What the heck is that on your face?”

  “My face?”

  “Yeah, right about here.” She gestured to her cheek.

  Pulling out my phone, I checked with the camera. A bright red streak stood out against my skin.

  “Lovely,” I whispered and rubbed it away.

  “So you nervous for tonight? We’re having it at Cecelia’s.” She took a bite of her doughnut.

  “Yeah. He’s going to have his reinforcements since they’re a couple now. What do you think of that?”

  She smiled and covered her mouth to speak. “I think it’s cute. I’m happy for him.”

  “Me too. What do you think about me bringing Frank? You think that would help?”

  “Oscar really respects him. Don’t forget, I’ll be there for you, too.”

  Her cell phone vibrated against the table. She scooped it up and read it, before shoving the last of the doughnut in her mouth. “It’s my Uncle Chris,” she murmured before hitting enter. “Good morning. You’re on speaker phone. What’s going on?”

  I snagged one of the glazed doughnuts. It was still warm, my inner voice whimpered. I took a huge bite and then moaned in a way one shouldn’t do in public. It was so good though.

  “Yellow!” he answered.

  I snorted.

  “He can be so corny,” Stella whispered, covering the phone.

  “I can hear you,” responded Uncle Chris dryly.

  “Oh, sorry about that.”

  “What are you doing? You busy?”

  “At the moment, I’m having some breakfast with Georgie. Why? What’s going on?”

  “I have a new listing for you. It’s pretty much ready to go. The thing is, there’s a rush on it, so I need you to move ASAP.”

  “Sure. I can head over right now to take pictures and get it listed.”

  “Yeah, well there’s a little more to it. I don’t want to scare you, but it needs to be tidied up a bit. Not a whole lot. You just have to meet up with the bankers. They want an open house weekend this weekend.”

  “What did you say?” Stella’s forehead wrinkled. “What about bankers?”

  “Yeah, it’s a repo. You know, a repossession. So the bank’s selling it. You’ll meet with Security International and maybe work out a cleaning budget with them.”

  “Great,” Stella sighed. “You know how the market’s been. Crazy. Plus I don’t have experience with this sort of thing.”

  “Relax. I promise it’s fine. I’ll shoot you the address, and you can go check it out. Let me know what you think. It’ll be easy. It’s not like dealing with owners who usually want to overprice their house. These guys just want to get the loan paid off. Simple.”

  “Somehow it never seems to be simple.”

  “Stella, trust me. Would I steer you wrong? Just drive out there and see for yourself. Easy money.”

  She hesitated, and I wondered what was going through her head. Maybe a few memories of him steering her wrong? “Okay. If you say so. Let me check it out, and I’ll talk to you later.”

  They said goodbye and Stella clicked off.

  I bit into the last piece of my doughnut and hungrily eyed the rest. I needed her to take those away, pronto.

  Stella put the lid on the box and stood up. “Want to tag along?” Seeing how my gaze was locked onto the box, she waggled it a bit. “Come on. I’ll share the rest of these!”

  Of course I went. Honestly, I never met a doughnut I could say no to.

  It turns out that was one of the worst decisions of my life.

  Chapter 2

  Stella followed me to my apartment where I dropped off my minivan. Then I hopped in with Stella, and we took off.

  She had a big old grin on her face that made me smile too.

  “What’s made you so happy?” I asked.

  She lifted her foot off the gas and wiggled it. “Girl, I’ve been dealing with a broken leg for months. I’m just so excited to finally have that boot off. My leg is healed, and I feel so free!”

  “I bet!”

  “I’ll never take having two working legs for granted again. You know when you’re carrying a huge load and finally get to set it down, and you feel like you weigh a hundred pounds less.”

  I glanced at my legs. Her words hit hard as I realized how often I put them down, calling myself chubby, calling them thick. From now on, I was determined to be grateful for what they did for me.

  We started passing housing communities. Each one had a name and a sign at their entrances. Other than the signs, the neighborhoods all blended together. In fact, even the names sounded oddly the same, Winter Fall, Tree Fall, Creek Bend.

  Finally Stella slowed in front of a neighborhood called Winter Springs. She gave her phone a quick glance for the address.

  “1750,” she announced, and we both scanned the passing houses.

  “There it is.” She nodded, satisfied.

  She parked the car at the curb of a sidewalk kept cool and shady with leafy trees. We climbed out. I stretched as I surveyed the house. The first thing I noticed was how charming the front porch was. It had a nice yard with more shady trees.

  The house itself was light blue with black faux shutters. Two-stories tall, it still managed to look snug and cute, at least to me. Kind of perked my interest, to be honest, especially after living in an apartment so long.

  “What’s the price of the house?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I guess we have to visit the bank to see how this works.”

  “We?”

  She grinned. “You might as well relax. You’re along for the ride.”

  The fact that it was a repo and probably at a lower price lit more excitement.

  A neighbor’s lawnmower turned over a few times before starting with a rusty rumble. I watched the neighbor mow his lawn and smiled at the cozy feel. The lush green scent of cut grass swept over me as we wandered around the front yard. I spotted a fence with a gate to the back yard. I was about to open it when I noticed that Stella had already headed up the stairs of the porch.

  She keyed in the pin for the front
door lock and went inside. I followed after her.

  The interior was interesting. I expected the interior air to be stale, but in fact, it held the scent of something distinct. Spicy. I sniffed in deeply and identified it.

  Some type of aftershave.

  To the left of us was the kitchen with an attached breakfast nook. I peered in to see that it opened to a dining room. The living room stretched the length of the right side, beyond that was a staircase. We headed upstairs, the tread carpet dirty under our feet, and found three bedrooms upstairs, one being the master bedroom.

  As Stella’s uncle had said, the house wasn’t a huge mess. At least compared to what I’d expected when I’d heard the term repo. Most of the furniture had already been cleared out. I was confused by a few odd things left randomly here and there. A chair, a desk, a stack of paper plates.

  The white walls bore scuff marks and nails from pictures. Back downstairs, I opened the refrigerator to find it empty with a few circle stains from bottles.

  I walked over to the back door and looked out into the yard while Stella called her uncle to check in. Sunshine highlighted the streaks in the glass and warmed my face. Could I actually see myself living here? Was this something I wanted to pursue? Leave the apartment life and have my own place to call home?

  “So everything seems to be in order,” Stella said to her uncle. “In fact, I could probably do the cleaning myself. Maybe Georgie could help me?” She shot over a look with questioning eyebrows.

  I nodded. I’d done plenty of cleaning at the bed-and-breakfast, so it was no big deal to do as a favor to a friend.