Home For the Haunting: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery by juliet blackwell Page A

working people and in and out so much it’s not as though we exchange words every day. But . . . I suppose I could believe a man getting passionate enough to kill his wife—for infidelity, something that might push him over the edge—but to kill his baby girl? Sidney doted on those children. He was, according to everything I ever saw, a devoted father. That’s why he was so upset with the goings-on at the house across the street from him.”
    “Which house?”
    “The drug house.”
    Oh, boy
. First a murder house, now a drug house.
    “Which was the drug house?” Etta’s house was right across the street. There were an empty lot to the right and another small bungalow to the left that didn’t look much like what I would think of as a drug house.
    “It’s just an empty lot now.”
    “The one where all the equipment is? I noticed some of the volunteers were clearing it out.”
    “It’s just been sitting there empty this whole time, so I thought I might as well spruce it up, put in some vegetables.”
    “What happened to the house that used to be there?”
    She nodded. “It burned down and had to be demolished. Can’t say any of the neighbors were too upset to see it go. That wasn’t long before the Lawrence . . . incident.”
    She set the train down and sighed.
    “This train set belonged to Gerry, my ex-husband. The neighborhood kids used to love coming here, watching the train go round and round. All the kids back then—Dave and Linda and the others—spent many a Sunday afternoon here, hands sticky from lemonade and cookies. I keep thinking if I get it back in shape, maybe I could resurrect the tradition now that I’m retired and have more time. What do you think? Do kids today still like model trains?”
    Did they? Or were they so enmeshed in their electronic gizmos that the simple pleasure of a miniature world would no longer intrigue them?
    “The Neighbors Together crew seems pretty interested,” I said. “What does Kobe think?”
    “Do you know, I don’t believe he’s ever seen it. After Gerry left, I stopped having the kids in. Just didn’t have the heart, and then the set fell into disrepair, as you can see. If I get it cleaned up . . .”
    “Maybe you should ask Kobe and his little gang to help you.”
    She looked up at me, alarmed. “Kobe’s joined a gang?”
    “Oh, no, not a real gang. But he seems to travel in a pack. They’re too young for a real gang.”
    “Oh, believe me—they’re not too young. You’d be surprised how the gangs pick up aimless kids, as young as nine or ten, and begin to indoctrinate them.”
    Something else occurred to me.
    “You know, I was thinking about how we might help you fix up the rest of this place. The classic lines of this house, the woodwork and the built-ins, are amazing. I bet my dad could help with the train set, too. And he’s great with kids.”
    Actually, Dad was gruff and demanding, but a lot of kids responded to that sort of treatment.
    “Do you think so? I have to admit that as much as I like children, one of the reasons I stopped opening my home to them was that as a single woman, I felt a little nervous around the older teens. But if your father was here as well . . .”
    “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”
    “Would he have the time?”
    “Oh, he’s got all the time in the world.”
    “Mel?” Caleb called from the interior doorway. “Um . . . Sorry to interrupt.”
    “That’s okay,” I said. “What’s up?”
    “Bill’s busy and I think”—he kept glancing nervously at Etta—“I think you should see this.”
    “Sure. Excuse me, Etta. I should probably get back to work.”
    “Oh, of course! It is so good of you all to do all this for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
    I smiled. “Sometimes charity is its own reward.”
    I stepped into the hallway and confronted Jefferson, the fraternity brother, who was holding a .38 Special.

Chapter Five
     
    I froze.
    “Jefferson . . . ?” I began, taking care