Sara Mason Mysteries Collection

Chapter 4

“A mile and a half to go.” She sighed wearily. She hoped never again to be on the narrow, winding levees in such a blinding situation. Her hands were clammy on the steering wheel. River roads weren"t equipped with streetlights. “Danged if it isn"t dark during a New Moon,” she said. Just that one night of the month, even the carefree drove cautiously. Locals who navigated the levees all their lives thought it reckless to hurry along during the dark of the moon.

“The trees,” Sara said, straining to see along the levee. “Where are those trees?”

Talbot House was situated about two miles north of Courtland, where Buck and Linette lived.

“Somewhere along here.” She leaned forward over the steering wheel. The left side tires suddenly dropped off the pavement and onto the soft shoulder. Screaming, she cut the wheel to swerve back onto the asphalt and realized she had been driving in the oncoming lane. She took a deep breath to calm her pulse and slowly continued to inch her way home. Thinking it was her driveway, she turned the wheel but quickly stopped, before turning too soon. Had she done so, her SUV would have slid or rolled thirty feet down the embankment. She mentally added purchasing driveway lights to her “must buy immediately” list.

“Not exactly the way I wanted to come home again.” In her fright, she talked out loud. “Where are those trees?”

As the wind momentarily cleared the fog, the stand of tall eucalyptus trees loomed over her, like foreboding shadows slithering past.

“Another quarter mile.”

The imposing image of Talbot House presented itself. Its tall roof spire pointed upward out of the opaque white mist, and dark clouded windows gave an eerie sense. Had she not already seen the house in daylight, she would have been tempted to drive away from the wretched scene and return in the morning. Sara found her driveway just beyond, on the south side of the property, turned, and headed down off the levee. The crunch of gravel under her tires had already become synonymous with being home. She listened, relished the sound, and felt relief. Finally, she pulled into the garage.

The house was built on an elevated earthen pad that sat below the height of the levee but higher than the level of the surrounding fields. It sat back far enough from the levee to showcase an expansive front lawn. She had plans to build a gazebo beside the flagpole under the tall old Pin Oak shade trees. The remainder of the five-acre estate spread south around the garage and east beyond the rear yard. Sara wasn"t sure what to do with the empty field. When she described the place to Daphine on the telephone, Daphine had suggested she plant a garden.

“The Delta"s loaded with fresh produce,” Sara had said. “That"s what the Delta"s all about.” She would plan something else. But first, the rock pile at the back edge by the canal needed to be cleared. The two rusting cattle troughs for holding the salt lick and water would be removed. They were the last evidence of Orson Talbot"s use of the property to raise a few heads of beef cattle.

Thoughts of renovating the old house filled Sara with happy anticipation. She burned a lot of incense to rid the place of its stagnant, tired smell. Remodeling was expected to take months, but for her, it couldn"t happen fast enough. She liked the name Talbot House and wondered if she should let it stand. What mattered was that she had her river mansion. Having grown up in a rental cottage in shambles, where the roof leaked and the walls groaned with the wind, forced her into dreaming impossible dreams. She clung to those dreams and didn"t mind that this house was not an original historic property. She now owned an 1896 Queen Anne Victorian style mansion that deserved a better fate than to stand neglected despite rumors of an alleged resident of the supernatural variety.

“So much for driving in the fog.” She intended that time to be her last.

She grabbed the flashlight from the car door pocket and made her way through the empty workshop, situated between the garage and the steps to the back door off the porch and kitchen. It was a good night to stay home. She had plenty of work to do. The company that bought the computer programs she created provided the funds to purchase Talbot House. Now they sent requests to learn her progress on the second half of their deal. She had a year to complete two more programs but might have been crazy for relocating across the country from the Caribbean to remodel a home while completing the contract.

On the steps, the monstrous house with its full basement and attic, and many gables and windows like darkened eyes, loomed above her. She felt dwarfed and wondered if she should have stayed longer with Buck and Linette. Maybe she should have made the Victorian more livable instead of moving in as soon as escrow closed.

After hearing all the rumors about the house, the first thing Sara did before moving in was to re-key the locks. Waking from her first night in the house and hearing questionable noises, the next morning she searched to find what made the intermittent rustling sounds that kept her awake. She stood in the back yard and watched the winter winds whisk dried leaves and twigs up under the eaves. The Delta was rural, with trees and shrubs plentiful. Small branches were easily buoyed along by brisk seasonal wind gusts.

Most of the house noises were repetitive and became familiar. Occasionally, she heard hard thumps in the middle of the night and was unable to find the source. One tree sat too close to the north wall. In its present state of neglected over-growth, the wind might be knocking the branches against a gable, but trees didn"t make the sound of footsteps.