The Guest House Hauntings Boxset by Hazel Holmes (novel books to read txt) 📕

“Copy,” Faye said.

“Where are we at with Brent Alvarez?”

Brent balled his fists in anger.

“I called the precinct and spoke to the shift supervisor, but they told me he’s not on duty, but they’ll try and reach out to him.”

“Keep pestering them. I want to know where this guy is.”

“Copy.”

The chatter ended, and Brent turned the volume back down to lessen the static. “Shit.” He knocked his head against the window and then snarled.

Those Andy Griffith Show cops up here could call his precinct all they wanted. Nobody was going to rat him out, but since the bitch had already talked, it meant that Brent had to approach this from a different angle, and that meant keeping Sarah alive. If he could do that then he would just have the DA file so many charges and forge so many documents against her that it would make whatever Sarah told these idiots look like a desperate attempt to clear her own name.

Defeated, Brent tilted his head back, shutting his eyes. He should have killed Sarah when he’d had the chance. But when he had arrived at her apartment and saw her standing there in her shirt and jeans, staring up at him with those big blue eyes, it was the first time that beauty had changed his mind.

No, not beauty. He had been with other beautiful women whom he never would have left in that apartment alive.

Sarah had something else. It was innocence. But it wasn’t naïve or inexperienced. She possessed an innocence that allowed her to be free and, in turn, free the people that she was with. Brent had never been with anyone like that. And he suspected he wouldn’t be with anyone like that again.

Brent chuckled, the grin stretching wider as his laughter grew and then died down, fading with each shake of his head until his expression became stoic. “The things we do for a good fuck.”

He removed his phone and found the town of Bell on his GPS. It was close. He started the engine and the four hundred horses roared to life, vibrating the steering wheel and seat. He pulled back onto the highway and continued his journey north.

The sign for Bell appeared quickly, and Brent hit the brakes hard, nearly missing the turn. His tires screeched, and he was forced to slow his pace on the dark, winding, two-lane road.

Trees lined either side of the road, and Brent cast a few quick glances about, wondering if the bitch was hiding in the cold.

The road and forest eventually opened into an even smaller town than Redford. The sad excuse for its main street boasted buildings that looked one day away from demolition. But Brent’s eyes widened as he took in the massive mansion high on the hill above the town. “Talk about propping up the one percent.”

Brent made it past the buildings on the right and parked the GTO behind a diner, making sure it was hidden from view of the road. The last thing he wanted was Sarah or the cops spotting him. He cut the engine, quieting the rumbling GTO with a turn of his key.

Brent opened the glove compartment and removed his .38 special. The serial number had been scratched off, making the weapon untraceable. He pocketed the weapon and stepped out of the car.

Bell wasn’t much of a town to look at. It only had seven buildings and what looked like a burned-down church across the street. He walked the storefronts, casing the joints with a practiced eye.

Once he cleared the right side of the street, he meandered over to the left, his attention focused on the large, bold lettering of Pat’s Tavern. He smiled and decided that he could use a drink.

The front door lock was an easy pick, and thirty seconds later he was greeted with the scent of stale beer and smoke. He weaved between the tables and made his way to the bar. He stepped behind it, perused the tequila selection, and settled on Patron, which had always been his favorite ever since he was a kid.

Brent found a clean glass and then gave himself a generous pour. He sipped at first and then downed the rest quickly. He worked his mouth into a large “O” shape and shook his head. “That’ll put some hair on your balls.” He chuckled and then poured himself another drink, when the back door opened.

Quickly, Brent returned the bottle and skirted back around the bar, taking his glass with him, and darted into the adjacent room, ducking behind a pool table.

Crouched low, Brent removed the revolver from his pocket and listened to footsteps back over by the bar. Glasses clinked together, but the lights never came on. A few grumbles floated through the air, and from the deep tone it sounded to Brent like a man. Probably Pat, seeing as how the place was closed.

But then the grumbles faded and the footsteps sounded like they were coming for the room. Brent looked at his drink, downed it, and then popped up from behind the pool table with the gun aimed at a startled, grey-haired man.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“Wrong question, asshole,” Brent answered. “The right question would be, why shouldn’t I blow your brains out right now?”

The man frowned. “What?”

“Yeah,” Brent answered, walking closer. “Because I want to know what you can do for me.”

The man stared at the revolver. “W-what do you want?”

Brent smiled and placed the end of the revolver barrel against the man’s forehead. “I’m looking for a girl.”

Kegan was already on his third glass of bourbon by the time Iris found him back in his room. He had never been one to handle the family business well. It was the main reason he had left in the first place. But it wasn’t something Iris had ever held against him. She had left once too. But the Bells always came home, lest they suffer the consequences.

“Dell knows something,” Kegan said, his