Read Online Ghost House Revenge by Clare McNally - Free Book Online Page B

was smiling, but then the smile faded and
     turned into an evil grimace. Melanie’s eyes snapped open.
    She felt her lungs constrict, and a weakness in her legs that came when she was feeling
     guilty about something. But why? She had nothing to do with the woman’s death. Why
     did she always feel such pain to think about her? Last night, when Gary had mentioned
     the librarian’s death, she had wanted to scream. If it wasn’t her fault, why did she
     always feel such guilt about it?
    “It isn’t guilt,” Melanie said. “It’s sorrow.”
    She scrubbed hard at a frying pan. “Oh, Janice,” she whispered. “Why did you have
     to die like that?”
    Suddenly the frying pan slipped from her hand. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter
     and rocked there before settling at Melanie’s feet. Sighing, she bent down to retrieve
     it.
    “I’ve gotten myself so nervous I’m dropping things,” Melanie said out loud. ‘I’ve
     got to stop thinking this way!”
    She wiped at the pot with furious motions. “Everything is all right,” she said.
    She was unaware that an unseen hand had knocked the skillet from her, a gesture of
     anger at her words. Everything was not all right.
    You killed me!
the being shouted, as if Melanie could hear her.
It’s your fault I walk in darkness, and you’ll pay for it!
    But not yet, Melanie VanBuren. I won’t let you discover me until it’s too late
.

7
    Melanie decided the best way to conquer her fears was to work hard on her painting.
     She finished the two paintings for Sarah Kaufman sooner than she had expected. One
     day, she dropped Nancy off at kindergarten and headed toward the mayor’s house. It
     was a mansion on the other side of town, as big as theirs, but much newer.
    “Let me see the masterpieces,” Sarah said, inviting Melanie to sit down in the living
     room. “I can’t believe you finished them already!”
    She tore the brown paper from the two canvases and propped them against the table.
     Sarah gasped and lifted one of them to study it. Then she carried it to the fireplace,
     setting it on the mantel in front of a portrait of some distant relative. She stepped
     back and admired Melanie’s painting.
    “Look at the detail!” she cried happily. “I love the way the sun’s rays hit the church
     spire. And I can almost count every bud on the rosebushes.”
    She turned and smiled at Melanie. “They’re pink.”
    “Well, of course,” Melanie said. “That’s what you asked for.”
    “Marc is going to be so pleased,” Sarah said. “I haven’t told him about these, yet.
     They’re a surprise for his birthday.”
    As Sarah poured coffee into dainty gold demitasse cups, Melanie looked around the
     elegant living room. “Are these antiques family heirlooms?” she asked.
    “Oh, no. I found them in antique shops over the years.” Sarah said.
    “My husband collects antiques, too,” Melanie said. “That’s one of the reasons he bought
     our house. It’s the one at the top of Starbine Court.”
    “Oh, yes,” Sarah said. “Marc and I nearly bought it a few years ago.”
    Melanie’s eyebrows went up. She put her coffee cup back in its saucer. “Why didn’t
     you?” she asked, curious.
    “Well, I don’t really know,” Sarah said. She seemed embarrassed and turned to look
     out the French windows. “I just didn’t like the place. There was something about it
     that made me feel uneasy.”
    Melanie stiffened. “What was that?”
    “Oh, it was silly,” Sarah said, waving her hand. The huge diamond she wore on her
     finger sparkled brightly in the sunlight. “I’d been ill at the time—perhaps I just
     wasn’t receptive to it. Not to say it isn’t a beautiful home. But this one is more
     to my tastes. Your house has a rather masculine air about it, don’t you think?”
    “I suppose that reflects the man who built it,” Melanie said.
    “Do you know about him?” Sarah asked, leaning forward eagerly.
    “His name was Jacob Armand,”