The House on the Hill (Quickreads Series 2)

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL Janice Greene

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SERIES

2 The Accuser Ben Cody’s Treasure Blackout The Eye of the Hurricane The House on the Hill Look to the Light! Ring of Fear The Tiger Lily Code Tug-of-War The White Room

Development and Production: Laurel Associates, Inc. Cover Illustrator: Black Eagle Productions Copyright © 2002 by Saddleback Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Reproduction of any part of this book, through photocopy, recording, or any electronic or mechanical retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, is an infringement of copyright law.

Three Watson Irvine, CA 92618-2767 Website: www.sdlback.com ISBN 1-56254-419-5 Printed in the United States of America 07 06 05 04 03 02 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Susan Perry, a young real estate agent, turned onto a wide street lined with newly planted trees. “This new subdivision has some very fine homes in your price range, Mr. Johnson,” she said. “I think you’ll like what you see.” “Please, just call me Devin,” her passenger said shyly. “Certainly. Then Devin it is. And I’m Susan,” she said. Devin tried to hide it, but he was uncomfortable. He hated being around people he didn’t know well. Only solitude suited him—until he’d met his wife Sarita. For the first time in his life, he no longer wanted to be alone. He wished his young bride was with him now, but she hadn’t been feeling well. They had 3

both agreed that Devin should go ahead and at least get things rolling with the real estate agent. He hadn’t intended to actually look at any houses today—just meet with the agent. But Susan had convinced him to go out with her just to “get the lay of the land.” Now Susan pulled up in front of a two-story house—so new that it hadn’t even been painted. “This is a four-bedroom, two-and-ahalf-bath model,” she said. “There’s lots of room for your future family—and yard space for pets, if you want.” Devin wasn’t listening. He was staring at the big old house on the hilltop overlooking the town. The rambling Victorian stood alone—no other house was close by. “That house—” Devin said, pointing toward the hilltop. “I’d like to take a look at that one.” Susan blinked in surprise. “But—I don’t think it’s available,” she said. 4

“It won’t hurt to look. I’d like to drive up there, please,” Devin said. “Why don’t you just check out this new place while we’re here?” Susan suggested. But her new client was already climbing back in the car. When they reached the house on the hill, they saw a young man and woman loading a chair into a rental truck. Devin was out of the car before Susan turned off the engine. After introducing himself to Ed and Clara Baines, he asked if the house was theirs. “No. It was my sister’s,” the woman said. Her face was grim. “Is it possibly for sale?” Devin asked. “Oh, goodness,” said the woman. “We haven’t even thought—” “Yes it is,” the man interrupted, putting his hand on the woman’s arm. “May I look inside?” Devin responded. The man seemed hesitant. “We— uh—haven’t cleaned up yet,” he said. The woman’s lips trembled. “My 5

sister and her children were murdered here,” she said in a shaky voice. Devin didn’t react at all to this startling news. He turned away from the woman’s tight face and crossed the porch. When he stepped through the doorway, he felt something like a hot wind rush through him. To stay on his feet, he had to grab hold of the doorknob. “Are you all right?” Susan asked. But the strange feeling had passed, and Devin didn’t answer. He eagerly hurried down the dim hallway and started walking from room to room, as if he knew the place. In the living room, the others in the group stood waiting for him by the big bay window. Susan was trying not to stare at the great dark stains on the carpet. Finally, Devin rushed up to them. “I’ll take it!” he said, his voice tight with excitement. “Well, if you’re really serious,” Mr. Baines said, “I guess we could have the 6

place ready in a month or two.” Devin felt a stab of anger, as if a white-hot wire was poking his neck. “No!” he shouted. “I want it now!” “Why don’t we all sit down in the kitchen?” Susan quickly suggested in a shaky voice. “What’s with this guy?” she mumbled to herself. The deal was made in just a few minutes. Devin wrote the largest check he’d ever written. “A deposit,” he said, “toward the down payment.” He pushed it across the table, where Ed and Clara Baines sat stiffly. He saw that they were afraid of him. For some reason, it made him smile.

W hen they got back to Susan’s office, Devin felt exhausted, and his ring finger ached. Actually, the finger was only a stump. He’d lost most of it when he was a baby. He was never told how, and he’d never cared. Not until he’d 7

wanted to marry Sarita and wear a ring. As Devin drove home, he began to feel groggy. To stay awake, he tuned the radio to a lively station. He was utterly amazed at what had happened. He had bought a house! And all he could remember about it now was that it had steep stairs and a basement. Why had he done this without talking to Sarita? What would she say?

It was late when he got to the apartment. The lights were on in the bedroom. Sarita was in bed, asleep, her slim brown arms spread out across the comforter. He smiled as he saw the photo album across her lap. She’d been arranging pictures from their honeymoon in Hawaii. He leaned over and nuzzled her cheek. “Go away,” she said sleepily, but her voice was soft and warm. He tickled the back of her neck. She 8

turned and gently swatted his hand. “Baby, I—I bought a house,” he said. She was wide awake now. “You what?” She sat up suddenly, grabbing the photo album so it wouldn’t get knocked off the bed. “You bought a house that I haven’t even seen?” “I don’t know what came over me,” Devin said. “It seemed so right—almost like I’d lived there before. It felt like I was coming home. I just had to do it.” “That’s pretty strange,” she said. “I know,” he said quietly. Devin had been raised in a less-than-loving foster home. He’d never known a real family. “First day out with the real estate agent and you bought a house!” Sarita shook her head. “Devin Tyrone Johnson, I don’t believe it! This kind of behavior is very unlike you,” she said. “That’s a fact,” he agreed. He took her hands. “Look, let’s go see it tomorrow. If you don’t like it, we’ll cancel the deal. I never meant to shut you out of this.” 9

She smiled. “You’re the best, baby,” she said, putting her arms around him. “I’m probably gonna love it. We’ll live there for years and years until we get old and fat. And our kids will grow up there and bring all their babies to come visit us. Does it have a big yard?” “I don’t remember,” he said. Sarita’s eyes twinkled. “Devin, I don’t know about you!” she laughed.

The next day, Sarita wore a new, lemon-yellow dress. Devin told her four times how beautiful she looked. As they stepped through the door of the house on the hill, he felt the same hot, rushing sensation as before. It made him weak in the legs and short of breath. Sarita didn’t seem to notice. “It’s pretty dark in here,” she said, peering down the hallway. Mr. and Mrs. Baines weren’t there. Susan Perry made them coffee and said 10

she’d be back in an hour. “I think that realtor is avoiding you,” said Sarita, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Could be she doesn’t like the idea of an African-American family sitting up here in this big house,” said Devin. “I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” said Sarita. “I get the feeling she’s afraid of you—you, of all people!” Sarita slowly twirled her coffee mug. “Devin—you know I love you?” she said. He nodded, suddenly wary. “I have to tell you, baby—I don’t like this place,” she said. “All this dark wood, and there’s a weird kind of smell—” Again he felt the hot wire poking his neck. “This is our home!” he roared. “Devin!” she said. “Am I wrong, or are we a couple? Which means that you and I are going to make this decision together! And I don’t appreciate—” Suddenly Devin slammed his fist down on the table. Sarita pulled back, knocking over her coffee. An ugly 11

brown stain appeared on the front of her new yellow dress. She stared at Devin, confused and frightened. Devin turned away so she wouldn’t see the satisfaction on his face.

On moving day, Sarita was very quiet. As they drove to their new home, Devin sang along with the radio. This usually made Sarita laugh—but not today. Only Daffodil, Sarita’s canary, seemed to be in a happy mood. She was in her cage, perched on her tiny swing. “Look at your little bird, swinging back and forth like that,” said Devin. “Mmmm,” said Sarita. She glanced at Daffodil, then went back to staring out at the late spring rain. Devin had convinced her to go along with buying the house, pleading that they’d fix it up any way she liked. Finally, she’d given in. Now Devin wondered if she was having misgivings. He vowed to make it 12

up to her. A watery light cut through the clouds. As he made the turnoff from the highway, a rainbow appeared. He was sure it meant good luck. The moving van was in the driveway when they arrived. Three men were carrying in chairs and lamps. Devin stepped inside. By now the sudden rush of heat through his body was familiar. He briefly stopped and gasped from the force of it. But then the sensation was gone. A tall red-haired kid and an older, heavyset man were carrying Sarita’s favorite piece of furniture down the ramp from the van. It was a wide, lowbacked couch she’d had covered in white brocade. The movers carefully carried the couch across the porch. “That goes in the upstairs bedroom,” Devin said. “In the bedroom? Are you sure?” asked Kip, the red-haired kid. “You heard me,” Devin snapped, 13

glaring at the boy. “The bedroom.” Larry, the older, heavyset man, called to the third mover. “Don, can you give us a hand here?” he asked. A bald man hurried over. “Don, you take the front,” Larry said. “Kip and I will take the rear.” They slowly maneuvered the couch around the narrow staircase. It seemed to be too long for the space. “Stop!” Larry cried. “We’re gonna scrape the wall.” Kip turned to face Devin. “Look, mister—it’s not gonna fit!” “Try harder,” Devin said coldly. Sarita appeared by his side, putting her hand on his arm. “Baby, it doesn’t have to go upstairs,” she said gently. “You wanted it in the bedroom. It’s going in the bedroom!” he said roughly. “I’d be just as happy with it in the living room, Devin,” said Sarita. Her voice was low, but her eyes were angry. “I said put it in the bedroom!” Devin 14

roared. His gruff tone of voice made everyone stare at him. Finally, Larry turned to Kip and Don. “Try tilting it the opposite way,” he said. That worked. But when they were almost at the top, Larry shouted, “Kip, wait a minute! Go to the left. I’m gonna scrape the banister over here.” Kip moved to the left—too far. One leg of the couch gouged into the wall. Hot pincers dug into Devin’s neck. Then suddenly, the couch was moving backwards. “Watch out!” Don shouted. Thumping and banging, the couch fell down the stairs. It landed at the bottom with a loud whump! One leg snapped off and there was a muffled scream. Larry was on the floor, and Kip was pinned beneath the couch. Larry scrambled up with a grunt of pain. Then he and Don grabbed the end of the couch and pulled it off Kip’s chest. His face was as gray as ashes. “Don’t move him!” Sarita cried. “He 15

might have injured his spine.” She ran to the kitchen. The men bent over him. “Kip?” Larry cried out. “Talk to me, boy!” “Hurts real bad,” Kip whispered. Larry put his hand on Kip’s shoulder. “Don’t move! Stay where you are,” he said. “The lady’s calling an ambulance.” They listened to Sarita giving directions to the house. Her voice was shaking. Devin looked at the scar on the wall and ground his teeth. Why couldn’t anybody do anything right? Depending on somebody else was always a mistake.

That afternoon, Sarita called the hospital, asking about Kip. She was told he had three broken ribs and a punctured lung. When she told Devin that she’d sent the boy flowers, he felt anger glowing like hot coals. Why was she worrying about that kid? She was his wife! She should be as angry at those 16

incompetent morons as he was. Why was she turning on him now—just when they’d found their wonderful new home? That evening, Devin walked through the house for an hour. He ran his hand along the stair banisters and gazed up at the wide windows. Home, he told himself. I’m home at last. He stopped in the living room. The white couch was there. It had been left at an awkward angle, pushed there to get it out of the way. Devin decided that tomorrow he’d hire someone else to bring it upstairs. Sarita came into the living room and interrupted his thoughts. “Something’s wrong with Daffodil,” she said in a worried voice. The bird was crouched in the corner of its cage. “I don’t think she’s moved all afternoon,” Sarita said. She brought her face close to the cage. “What’s the matter, Daffy? Are you sick?” she asked. “You know, Devin, I haven’t heard a peep out 17

of her since we got here—have you?” Devin shook his head. “Maybe she doesn’t like it here,” she said, looking at Devin accusingly. Anger stirred in Devin’s chest. His hands clenched, and he turned away. He found himself lifting the trapdoor to the basement and heading down the stairs. An old bed had been left there. There was a table and a lamp and some shelves there too. It was as if someone had once kept a room in this dark, solitary space. Everything was untouched—covered with dust and cobwebs. Still, Devin felt strangely comfortable here. He stayed in the basement the rest of the evening, not going upstairs until he was sure Sarita would be asleep.

That night he dreamed that a huge spider lived just under the basement trapdoor. When people on the first floor walked over the trapdoor, the 18

spider sprang out and poisoned them. “I’m the spider,” he said out loud. His own voice woke him up with a start. Then he noticed a thin ray of sunlight shining through the basement window. It was almost noon! Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway, Devin hurried to get dressed. As he came up, Sarita was holding the front door open for a man in overalls. He was carrying a paint can and a drop cloth. Devin stared at the spot of paint on the can—a creamy white. “Good morning,” the man said. “So you’re the folks that bought the Archer place,” he continued pleasantly. “Quite a story to this house.” Devin scowled at the painter. “What are you doing here?” he barked. “Devin!” Sarita cried. She turned to the painter. “Will you please excuse us?” She grabbed Devin’s hand and led him into the kitchen, the heels of her shoes clicking angrily on the floor. 19

“Devin, what is wrong with you?” Sarita demanded in a low voice. “You know that I called Tom Blair yesterday to come paint the living room!” Devin saw the painter scanning the dark living room walls. “He’s going to change it!” Devin cried. “Yes, he’s going to change it!” said Sarita. “That’s exactly what we agreed to do. I told you I wouldn’t move into this place unless there were some changes made—big changes!” Tom Blair began setting up by the big bay window. Devin felt something like glowing hot tweezers plucking the nerves in his neck. “And you know what, Devin?” Sarita went on. “I really don’t appreciate it one bit when—” Before she could finish what she was saying, Devin stormed from the kitchen and rushed out the back door. Blind with rage, he rushed toward the front of the house. He paused and looked around 20

desperately for what he needed. Sarita was about to follow him and give him a piece of her mind when there was a sickening crash. The front window had shattered, peppering Tom Blair with spikes of glass! Sarita shrieked and ran into the living room. Tom Blair’s face, neck, and shoulders had been pierced with daggers of glass! He lay on his back, gasping. Under the man’s head, dark blood was pooling over the floor. Everything it touched was turning red.

The police stayed until afternoon shadows were darkening the living room. Sergeant Ron Fellows was the officer in charge. He had intelligent eyes that darted around the room like restless birds. Devin paced the house, aching for everyone to be gone. Finally, he went into the basement and sat at the table. After 21

a few minutes, Sergeant Fellows came down the stairs, carrying a piece of broken glass. “Pretty upsetting, a guy getting killed in your new home,” he began, sitting down at the table opposite Devin. Devin stared with hatred at the officer’s bright brown eyes. “I guess you know this house has quite a violent history,” he added. Devin said nothing. The sergeant fingered the piece of glass. It was shaped exactly like the narrow blade of a dagger! He twirled it slowly on the table, point down, so that it made a tiny mark in the wood. “I’ve never seen glass break like this before,” he said. “I can’t imagine how it could have imploded this way. Was it a freak gust of wind? A big bird? Something had to have hit it mighty hard from the outside. Any ideas?” Devin felt the back of his neck prickle. He looked down, and tightly 22

gripped the sides of his chair. When he looked up again, Fellows was peering at him closely. “I’ll take your silence as grief over Tom Blair’s death—at least for now,” he said curtly. He went back up the stairs and closed the door.

A fter the police left, Devin crept upstairs and lifted the trapdoor a crack. All he could hear was Sarita’s crying. He went back to the table in the basement. It was comfortable and still there. He imagined he’d grown up in such perfect quiet—instead of in a noisy foster home with three other kids. A while later, Sarita came downstairs. Her footsteps seemed to echo in his head. She took his hands in hers, saying, “Baby, let’s get out of here. Let’s find some other place to live—a nice place.” He pulled his hands away. “Devin, please,” she said. “I’m asking 23

you. Look, Devin, I’m begging you.” “No,” Devin said, his voice hard. “What’s happened to you?” she demanded. “It’s like you’ve got no feeling for me anymore—me or anybody! Now you’re hiding out down here in this nasty old basement—” He bolted from the chair. Then, in a blind rage, he slapped her so hard she fell back against the stairs. Stunned, Sarita got up slowly. “I don’t know you anymore,” she cried. “But if this place means that much to you, you can have it to yourself!” She hurried up the steps and slammed the trapdoor. Devin listened as she ran through the house and out the front door. He went upstairs and watched as her car drove off into the darkening evening. Then he went into the kitchen. Daffodil was still crouched in a corner of her cage. Devin opened the door. His large hand barely fit through the narrow opening. 24

The canary was usually tame. Sometimes it even hopped on Devin’s finger. Now it fluttered in panic around the cage. Devin’s hand followed. He spread his fingers and trapped the canary against the bars. He could feel the bird’s tiny heart beating against his palm. Then it pecked him. Startled, Devin withdrew his hand from the cage. He could only watch in fury as the bird flew out the open window.

Devin was about to return to the basement when he stopped. What was the mysterious “story” about this house that everyone kept mentioning? He’d go to the library and find out. It took him only 20 minutes to find the old library. Its wooden tables and chairs were polished by years of use. The librarian, a skinny man with frizzy gray hair, said, “News stories about the Archer house? There’s plenty. I’ll set you 25

up at the microfilm machine.” Devin began to read the most recent story. It was dated two weeks ago. MAN SLAYS WIFE, CHILDREN, the headline screamed. The living room of the Archer house was a scene of carnage . . . Farther down in the story, the killer’s sister-in-law, Clara Baines, was quoted as saying, “I can’t understand this at all. My brother-in-law has always been a good man, a fine man—” “She must have betrayed him,” Devin thought, “just the way Sarita is betraying me.” The next stories he found were dated 29 years ago. As Devin read, his breath started coming in short gasps. A grisly discovery in the Archer house. After receiving a report of mysterious activity in the house, a police investigation discovered the remains of Charles Archer and Eva Lewis, Archer’s live-in housekeeper. Devin Tate Lewis, Eva’s husband and the Archers’ gardener, had 26

apparently been living in the basement with his young son for more than a year. Lewis was booked on suspicion of murder. The boy was taken from the house, crying and begging to be allowed to return to “his house.” He has been placed in foster care. It was a shocking story. Lewis told police that his wife, Eva, had betrayed him with their employer, Charles Archer. The outraged husband had murdered them both. Archer had been planning an extended trip to Europe, so his disappearance had gone unnoticed. Neighbors assumed that he had closed up the house and left on his trip. Sergeant Caplan said, “It appears that Lewis made very sure that no one would disturb his solitude.” Only Lewis’s young son was allowed to share that solitude. Confined to the house for months, he appeared to be healthy. Apparently the boy spent his time roaming the halls of the only home 27

he had ever known. It was discovered, however, that the boy’s left ring finger had been severed. The injury, now healed, appeared to be several months old. Lewis admitted that he’d cut off the boy’s finger himself. “Devin Tyrone must never marry,” he told Sergeant Caplan. “His wife will surely betray him, just as Eva betrayed me. It’s better to be alone,” he had continued. “I’ve made sure the boy understands this.”

For several minutes, Devin held his head in his hands, breathing hard. It was all coming back to him. When he thought he could walk, he got up and blindly stumbled from the library. Now he understood. His father had been right. Look how Sarita had already turned against him! Now she’d have to pay. He’d make sure of that. When he reached the house, Sarita’s 28

car was parked in the driveway, its warm engine ticking. He crossed the porch and put his hand on the doorknob. Then he stopped. “Don’t go inside,” he told himself. “You can still stop this. You love Sarita. Walk away.” Then Devin’s brief moment of sanity was interrupted by the sound of Sarita’s horrified voice. “Noooo!” Sarita’s mournful cry came from the kitchen. Panicked, Devin yelled, “Sarita!” He threw open the front door and rushed inside. The strange sensation he’d felt before was hardly noticeable now, but the moment of clarity was gone. He slowed his steps. Sarita was standing in front of Daffodil’s empty cage. She looked at Devin searchingly, trying to read the odd expression on his face. “What did you do with her?” she cried. “You got rid of my beautiful bird— 29

just to get back at me!” she cried. He tried to grab her shoulders, but she dodged away and ran upstairs. Following her, Devin saw her clothes spread out all over the bedroom. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser. A suitcase, half-filled, sat on the bed. Sarita was getting ready to move out! Again, Devin felt the hot, piercing pain in his neck. “You’re not leaving,” he growled. He took a stance between her and the suitcase.

“I’m going! Get out of my way, Devin!” Sarita cried, coming toward him with an armful of clothes. When he grabbed her waist, she saw something terrible in his eyes. She thrust the pile of clothes in his face and pulled away. Then she ran into the study and slammed the door hard. Devin came after her. He heard her dragging something in front of the door. 30

He shoved the door open an inch, but a heavy chair blocked the way. He could hear her on the phone: “1565 Bellview Terrace. Help me, please!” He shoved harder. Now the door was open almost a foot. He squeezed past the bulky chair and faced her. The phone dropped from Sarita’s fingers and landed on the floor with a clunk. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Devin—” she whispered. He pulled off his wedding ring, which he wore on his middle finger, and let it fall to the carpet. Then Sarita whirled around and kicked him—hard. Before Devin could stop her, she ran down the stairs and out the front door.

Devin stood in the farthest corner of the basement, listening to the approaching sirens. The noise grated on his nerves. But he knew it would stop soon. For a brief moment he wondered 31

if they’d just let him stay here—in this dark and quiet room, in his wonderful old house. But, no, of course not. They wouldn’t understand that he’d had to do it. He grabbed an old gas lamp and started spilling lamp oil on the floor. He opened the book of matches. Would they light? They were so old. Yes, he was sure they would. He blocked out the sounds of the sirens, struck a match, and dropped it in the pool of lamp oil. Soon he would have peace and solitude for all eternity. Never again would he be betrayed. Sarita watched in horror as the house burned. Her only comfort was the small yellow bird that had flown out of a tree and perched on her shoulder.

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