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

said. “We’re the only two people here, and Frank isn’t much of a conversationalist. I’ll even buy you dinner.”

Almost on cue, Sarah’s stomach rumbled. It’d been more than a day since she’d eaten. Turning down a free meal wasn’t just stupid, it was crazy.

Sarah brought her coffee along, and the old woman smiled in triumph from their battle of wills. The old bat could have the victory so long as Sarah could eat.

“Frank! Bring me another butternut squash soup!” The old woman nodded to Sarah. “What do you want?”

She reached for the menu still on the table and immediately spied the meatloaf and mashed potatoes as Frank returned with the woman’s second bowl of soup.

“I’ll have the number two,” Sarah said.

Frank didn’t bother jotting the order down, but did make it a point to glare at her before he stepped away.

“Don’t mind him,” the old woman said. “He’s just sore because it was another bad tourist season.” She pushed the soup toward Sarah. “Go on. It’s quite good. What Frank lacks in customer service he makes up for in product.”

Sarah hesitated but then snatched up the spoon and shoveled a mouthful down her gullet. It really was good. She shoveled another dozen spoonfuls down before she stopped herself. If she ate too quickly, she knew she’d toss it right back up.

Sarah plucked a napkin from the dispenser and wiped her mouth then took a closer look at the woman across the table. She wore thick, almost comical layers of makeup. And Sarah noticed the old woman had purposely smeared red lipstick onto the skin around her thin lips to make them look thicker.

“My name is Iris Bell.” She lifted a weathered hand, making an effort to keep it above the table.

Sarah regarded the old woman’s hand. “Bell. Like the town?”

“Pretty and smart,” Iris replied. “You’re just the whole package.”

Iris kept her hand extended, and Sarah eventually accepted the greeting. She barely squeezed the woman’s hand, but the bones inside smooshed together like sticks in a bag.

Iris reclaimed her hand and grabbed the wooden sphere at the end of her necklace. The simple piece of jewelry stood out amongst the rest of her gaudy attire. She twirled it in a practiced motion between her fingers as she narrowed her eyes at Sarah. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Looking for work,” Sarah answered.

Iris laughed. “If you wanted to find work, you wouldn’t have come to Bell.” The laughter transformed into a cough that started slowly but turned into a crippling hack. Iris released the wooden sphere and grabbed a tissue and covered her mouth, coughing into the cloth.

When Iris peeled the tissue from her lips, she stared at its contents for a moment then folded it and placed it back in her purse. She noticed Sarah’s stare. “Age comes for everyone eventually, dear. But I’m sure someone so young doesn’t think about that.”

Frank returned with a plate stacked with meatloaf, gravy, and mashed potatoes and slid it right under Sarah’s nose.

Knife and fork scraped the white porcelain, and Sarah no longer cared about eating too fast or the pain that would follow from so much food. All that mattered was filling the aching pit in her stomach.

Iris was silent while Sarah ate, but the old woman stared at her through the entire meal. Once the meatloaf was gone and only a few lines of gravy were left, Sarah pushed the plate away and leaned back, the vinyl seats groaning as she moved.

“I’m surprised you remembered to breathe while you ate that,” Iris said.

Full and warm, Sarah loosened the scarf around her neck. “It’s just been a long day, and I had to walk from—”

Iris’s gaze had fallen from Sarah’s eyes to the bruises on her throat. Realizing what she’d done, Sarah quickly adjusted the scarf, her cheeks blushing redder than Iris’s makeup.

“I suppose those might have something to do with your visit to our little town,” Iris said.

Sarah cleared her throat, keeping her face tilted down. She reached for the coffee, drained it quickly, and then slammed the cup back down on the table. “Thanks for the meal, but I need to get going.”

“If you’re looking for a job I might be able to help with that,” Iris said.

Sarah was halfway out of the booth when she stopped. “Doing what?”

“I’m in need of a maid,” Iris answered. “I’m not much use for cleaning anything, and the house needs a lot of work, but I can pay you five hundred dollars a week.”

Sarah repositioned herself in the booth, straightening up a little. She hoped that she didn’t look too eager. With that kind of money coming in every week, she could save up enough to start over somewhere after a few months.

“You live in town?” Sarah asked.

Iris nodded. “I’m sure you saw my place when you came in.” She leaned toward the window and then pointed north, extending a bony, frail finger.

Sarah inched her way toward the window, following the indication, and spotted the mansion on the hill. Slowly, Sarah turned around. “You live in that house?”

“Me and a few staff,” Iris said. “So what do you say?” She grabbed hold of that sphere again, twirling it between her fingers.

Sarah examined the old woman and then looked back up at the mansion on the hill. It had been three weeks since she’d slept on a proper bed, and six days since she’d taken a shower. Not that she was counting.

But what was more, Sarah had reached the end of the line. The only thing north of Bell was Canada, and Sarah didn’t want to risk more legal trouble by sneaking across the border. And with winter a breath away, she knew she couldn’t survive the cold without shelter. At the very least, she might be able to lift some jewels or valuables off the old woman.

“Well?” Iris asked, her patience thinning.

Sarah turned back around, looking at the old woman who had offered her the best, and only, lifeline she was