Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“Who is this Noel?” Someone Jane needed to interview?
“She’s from Atlanta.”
The info had spread to the city, then.
“Ashley Katz posted on the Headliner,” Beau said. “She asked citizens to message her with any dealings they’ve had with a quote unquote cartel of criminals and their twisted leader, who dared leave our town with a murder house.”
“Murder House,” Jane echoed. Not a bad name for the place. But perhaps she needed to speak with the reporter again. Find out what she’d learned.
“I’m considering buying and flipping the deputy’s house.” Beau finished off his sweet tea. “Maybe the Clayton Boardinghouse, too.”
Tiffany gasped and shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. That boarding house is super mega haunted.”
“Rumors have swirled since before I was born,” Fiona informed him. “Sometimes I forget that even though you’re from here, you moved early, leaving gaps in your Aurelian Hills education.”
Jane put down her fork and sighed. “I’m sorry to say this, but Beau, don’t listen to them. No place in Aurelian Hills is haunted. Believe me, I’ve basically lived my whole life on the grounds of a cemetery and I’ve seen zero ghosts.”
“Well then, you willing to spend a night alone in the old boarding house?” Fiona challenged with a wave of her fork.
Jane pictured the dilapidated home and swallowed. “No. But only because the roof might cave in!”
“Or because you sense how angry the ghosts are, just like the rest of us,” Tiffany said with a shudder.
Beau leaned against his chair. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the story?”
Fiona got more comfortable. “During the early 1920s, the widow Hattie Clayton operated the town’s only boardinghouse, with a surprisingly high death rate.”
“Men checked out, but sometimes only in a body bag,” Tiffany added, getting into the retelling. “They traveled for work, rented a room for fun, or came for a holiday with their wife, and no matter how healthy and happy they appeared walking in, they suffered from a heart attack or committed suicide.”
Jane made a skeptical noise in the back of her throat. “Has anyone actually found any documents to support these claims?”
Fiona held up her hands. “Today, some people consider Miss Clayton one of the most prolific serial killers in the United States. See, Hattie was known as what my grandma referred to as a Helper Woman.”
Tiffany leaned forward. “As in, she helped you lose your husband real fast. Six feet under fast.”
Beau nodded his understanding. “Go on.”
“I just want to interject that many of those husbands, boyfriends, fathers and family members are buried at the Garden and nary a one has lodged a complaint,” Jane said.
“Rumors suggested Hattie was the woman to go to when a male gave you a hard time and you hoped to make him disappear. Boom! Death!” Fiona clapped her hands for emphasis. “No one knows if she did the deeds herself or aided the afflicted women. The secret endures to this day.”
“What happened to Miss Clayton?” Beau asked. “And why did guys keep staying with her?”
“Bragging rights maybe?” Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Ultimately, townsfolk banded together to bring her to justice. She holed up within the walls of the boarding house until the mob ripped the front door off its hinges. Within minutes, she fell out a window and died upon impact. Nobody knows if she was pushed or jumped to avoid a trial, but the place has been haunted by her and her victims ever since and left abandoned.”
“That explains the cheap price and extended listing,” Beau said. “Or formally so cheap. Suddenly I’m in a bidding war with another potential buyer.”
Fiona clucked her tongue. “Must be an outsider.”
Tiffany flattened her hands against the table. “As lovely as the talk of vengeful ghosts isn’t, how about we focus on something pleasant?” She filled her plate with three more pancakes. “I’ll go first. What did you get Conrad for Valentine’s Day, Jane?”
Jane’s blood flashed ice cold in an instant. She shot a worried glance at Beau, who shrugged all too innocently. “I…uh…well…”
“Oookay. I’ll take that to mean you’ve gotten him nothing, and have no idea where to start.” The widow drenched her cakes in butter and syrup.
“I have ideas.” Listing things off the top of her head, she said, “A homemade book with coupons to redeem for his favorite foods and such. Although, he can have my dishes and desserts for free so maybe a cheese of the month club instead. Who doesn’t like cheese? Or a bird, to add to our growing menagerie.”
“Brilliant idea incoming!” Tiffany dove into her hot stack, saying, “Why don’t you give him a promise ring with your name engraved in the band? That kind of gesture always made me go weak in the knees. I know a guy who can get you the finest metal and do the engraving in less than a day.”