Read Online Haunted Renovation Mystery 1 - Flip That Haunted House by Rose Pressey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rose Pressey
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room. The former occupant
must have had a temper. I walked out to my car and gathered the
bucket and other stuff into my arms. My gaze turned to Reed’s house
only once, so I was proud of my restraint.
When I returned to the porch, the front door
was shut. This ghost obviously had an issue with doors. I set my
things down, opened the door, then scooped up the materials again.
I took them to the library, placed them on the floor, then went
back to the front door. It was still wide open like I’d left it.
Too bad it hadn’t closed this time—would have saved me the trip
back over.
I secured the door, then returned to the
library, ready to work some do-it-yourself-magic. I’d show Reed
O’Hara that I was more than capable of handy work. He wasn’t the
only one good with his hands. A vision of his strong hands flashed
through my mind, but I shook it off.
Good thing Uncle Oscar had a little bit of
everything in his garage. He’s a pack rat and had issues with
letting anything go. He could easily place a sign in the front yard
with ‘Flea Market’ written across it and have a steady stream of
customers. After making my way around girly magazines, which dated
back to the 1950’s, and every As Seen On TV gadget he’d
every bought at two in the morning, I found the materials I needed.
As many mishaps as my uncle had, he definitely needed to keep a
stock of repair materials handy at all times. Like I said, he had
everything. Did plaster mix have an expiration date?
I knelt down on the floor with everything
spread out in front of me. Not sure where exactly to start, I cut a
piece of metal plaster lath, that’s what Uncle Oscar called it,
with a box cutter. It was just like a heavy screen. I was proud of
myself for not cutting my hand off and remembering to cut the darn
thing slightly larger than the hole I needed to patch. Who’s the
dummy now, Mr. Fix-It?
With a couple of twist ties in hand, I
wrapped them through the screen and fastened them, twisting tightly
so they wouldn’t come loose. I stood, assessing the work to be
done, then walked over to the wall and stuffed the screen through
the hole. My stomach danced wondering if I was screwing something
up. I pulled the screen up close to the wall and then took a small
stick from my pocket, fastening it to the ties. The stick secured
the screen-like material in place. I’d have never figured that out
on my own if it hadn’t been for reading the article on plaster wall
repair in one of the many monthly home repair magazines.
Looking
down at the supplies, I still wasn’t sure I was using the correct
material for the patch up. Was I supposed to use setting–type joint compound? I had no idea, but it couldn’t
hurt, right? It’s not as if the entire house would come toppling
down if I got it wrong. And the only way to learn is by doing.
Growing up I felt I couldn’t make a mistake with anything, but I
ended up making them anyway. Mama put a lot of pressure on me to be
all the things she felt she wasn’t. Sometimes the pressure was too
much.
I grabbed the old, dirty bucket, went to the
kitchen, and retrieved water. Uncle Oscar had a bag with a little
bit of joint compound left. I poured the mix into the mud pan and
added water, then began mixing it with a paint mixer stick I’d
found under an old coffeemaker in his garage. As I stirred, a tight
grip clamped down on my shoulder. I jumped up, tossing the stirring
stick into the air.
“Oh, my God.” I spun around. “You scared me
to death.” I clutched my chest.
“Sorry,” Lacey said. “The door was unlocked,
so I came in. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I didn’t. I can’t believe I didn’t with
those metal sticks you’re walking with.”
She smiled and showcased her crutches with a
wave of one hand.
“Guess I was too engrossed in my project.” I
picked up the discarded stick.
“What the hell are you doing?” She stared at
the mess on the floor.
“Patching up the hole.” I pointed toward
must have had a temper. I walked out to my car and gathered the
bucket and other stuff into my arms. My gaze turned to Reed’s house
only once, so I was proud of my restraint.
When I returned to the porch, the front door
was shut. This ghost obviously had an issue with doors. I set my
things down, opened the door, then scooped up the materials again.
I took them to the library, placed them on the floor, then went
back to the front door. It was still wide open like I’d left it.
Too bad it hadn’t closed this time—would have saved me the trip
back over.
I secured the door, then returned to the
library, ready to work some do-it-yourself-magic. I’d show Reed
O’Hara that I was more than capable of handy work. He wasn’t the
only one good with his hands. A vision of his strong hands flashed
through my mind, but I shook it off.
Good thing Uncle Oscar had a little bit of
everything in his garage. He’s a pack rat and had issues with
letting anything go. He could easily place a sign in the front yard
with ‘Flea Market’ written across it and have a steady stream of
customers. After making my way around girly magazines, which dated
back to the 1950’s, and every As Seen On TV gadget he’d
every bought at two in the morning, I found the materials I needed.
As many mishaps as my uncle had, he definitely needed to keep a
stock of repair materials handy at all times. Like I said, he had
everything. Did plaster mix have an expiration date?
I knelt down on the floor with everything
spread out in front of me. Not sure where exactly to start, I cut a
piece of metal plaster lath, that’s what Uncle Oscar called it,
with a box cutter. It was just like a heavy screen. I was proud of
myself for not cutting my hand off and remembering to cut the darn
thing slightly larger than the hole I needed to patch. Who’s the
dummy now, Mr. Fix-It?
With a couple of twist ties in hand, I
wrapped them through the screen and fastened them, twisting tightly
so they wouldn’t come loose. I stood, assessing the work to be
done, then walked over to the wall and stuffed the screen through
the hole. My stomach danced wondering if I was screwing something
up. I pulled the screen up close to the wall and then took a small
stick from my pocket, fastening it to the ties. The stick secured
the screen-like material in place. I’d have never figured that out
on my own if it hadn’t been for reading the article on plaster wall
repair in one of the many monthly home repair magazines.
Looking
down at the supplies, I still wasn’t sure I was using the correct
material for the patch up. Was I supposed to use setting–type joint compound? I had no idea, but it couldn’t
hurt, right? It’s not as if the entire house would come toppling
down if I got it wrong. And the only way to learn is by doing.
Growing up I felt I couldn’t make a mistake with anything, but I
ended up making them anyway. Mama put a lot of pressure on me to be
all the things she felt she wasn’t. Sometimes the pressure was too
much.
I grabbed the old, dirty bucket, went to the
kitchen, and retrieved water. Uncle Oscar had a bag with a little
bit of joint compound left. I poured the mix into the mud pan and
added water, then began mixing it with a paint mixer stick I’d
found under an old coffeemaker in his garage. As I stirred, a tight
grip clamped down on my shoulder. I jumped up, tossing the stirring
stick into the air.
“Oh, my God.” I spun around. “You scared me
to death.” I clutched my chest.
“Sorry,” Lacey said. “The door was unlocked,
so I came in. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I didn’t. I can’t believe I didn’t with
those metal sticks you’re walking with.”
She smiled and showcased her crutches with a
wave of one hand.
“Guess I was too engrossed in my project.” I
picked up the discarded stick.
“What the hell are you doing?” She stared at
the mess on the floor.
“Patching up the hole.” I pointed toward
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