Buyer's Remorse

By Elizabeth Dearl

Taylor Madison charges to the rescue when her friend gets a steal of a deal as she buys a house at auction. Stealthy footsteps and a mournful ghost soon convince them that the deal is too good to be true.

An elusive armadillo haunts the garden, a curious ferret romps through the house, and Taylor learns that it's not easy to trot on tiptoe. Her significant other, Sheriff Cal nails the situation in a flash: 'Y'all are goin' a tad nutso, here."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228609520

Elizabeth Dearl

Elizabeth Dearl is a former Texas police officer who also owned a small bookstore for several years. Her short mysteries have appeared in Woman's World, Mystery Net, Mystery Time, Blue Murder, Futures, Britain's Fiction Feast and other magazines. Her story "The Way to a Man's Heart" won a Derringer Award, and "The Goodbye Ghoul" has been optioned for a short film. Elizabeth's romance fiction has been published in Woman's World, The Romantic Bower, and The Lover's Knot, to name a few. Writer On Line and InSinc (the Sisters in Crime Newsletter) have published her articles, and her fantasy/horror stories have appeared in Plot Magazine, Xoddity, and the Civil War ghost story anthology, DEAD PROMISES.Elizabeth's mystery novels, DIAMONDBACK (an EPPIE Award finalist which has recently been optioned for a feature film) and TWICE DEAD (2002 EPPIE Award winner for "best mystery"), are set in West Texas and feature amateur sleuth Taylor Madison, who is assisted in crime-solving by her ferret, Hazel. "Buyer's Remorse," a novella which also stars Taylor Madison, is included in BLOOD,THREAT and FEARS: Four Tales of Murder and Suspense (2002 EPPIE Award winner for "best anthology"). MALICIOUS INTENT (DiskUs Publishing) is a collection of Elizabeth's mystery/horror short stories.Elizabeth is a member of Sisters in Crime and The Short Mystery Fiction Society. She lives in the Houston area with her husband (a police detective) and two fur-children of the canine variety.

Book preview

Buyer’s Remorse

A Taylor Madison Mystery - #3

(A Novella)

By Elizabeth Dearl

Digital ISBNS

EPUB 978-0-2286-0952-0

Kindle 978-0-2286-0953-7

Web/PDF 978-0-2286-0954-4

Amazon Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0955-1

2nd Ed Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Dearl

Original copyright 2005 Elizabeth Dearl

Cover Art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Chapter One

THERE’S NOTHING LIKE a lazy winter morning. Hazel napped on a cushion near the fireplace, while I, still in my flannel pajamas, sprawled across the sofa, outlining my next novel on a legal pad.

Can you answer that? I asked her when the phone jangled its life or death summons. Derrick County Telephone and Telegraph balks at moving into the new century, so the instruments they supply are still black, bulky and rotary dial, with ringers loud enough to rival fire alarms.

Hazel yawned, curled into a tighter ball, and draped her tail over her nose.

Fine, be useless then. Despite my thick socks, the wooden floorboards chilled the soles of my feet as if I was crossing a frozen pond instead of my living room. Yet another sneaky, little surprise that West Texas weather delighted in springing on someone born and raised in Houston’s near-tropical climate. I was really going to have to invest in an area rug, or maybe even carpeting.

What are you doing? Paula Forman, the dispatcher/secretary for the sheriff’s department, asked before I’d gotten the word hello out of my mouth.

Trying to convince the resident ferret to earn her keep, I said. You?

Me? She made an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Can you meet me at the café for lunch?

Sure. Are you all right?

God, no, I’m not all right. I’ve just done something incredibly stupid.

What? But I was talking to a dial tone.

THE WINDOWS OF Lucy’s Café, Perdue’s one and only eatery, were steamed opaque by the combination of hot food and warm bodies inside and thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit outside. Paula was seated in a back booth, tracing her initials in the foggy glass.

What’s up? I asked, sliding in across from her.

She jumped. Damn, Taylor, you scared me!

Hey, you’re the one who invited me to lunch. I was getting a little nervous. Paula is generally unflappable, and I couldn’t think of anything less than the end of civilization as we knew it that would rattle her this badly.

I waited until Rita, the always-harried waitress, had filled my coffee cup and scurried away to pick up an order before I reached across the table for Paula’s hand. It trembled slightly in my grasp.

Okay, confess, I ordered. Who have you murdered, and do you need help burying the body?

She stared at me. Her lips quivered. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. Did I really sound that dramatic?

And then some. I relaxed a little. Let’s try again. All I know is that you’ve done something—to use your own word—stupid. Spill it.

I bought a house. Paula’s expression mingled doubt and bewilderment with an undertone of sheer terror.

You did? That’s great!

She took a sip of unsweetened coffee, grimaced. Well, until about thirty seconds after I signed the paperwork, I thought so, too.

I waved that away. Heck, you’re just suffering buyer’s remorse. It happens to everyone. It’s the real estate equivalent of prenuptial jitters.

I remember having those, she muttered darkly. And, boy, was I right.

She had a point. Her late husband, Lester, had been an abuser of the first order.

Bad example, I admitted. Look, this is really wonderful news, Paula! I’m happy for you. It’s about time you moved out of that ratty garage apartment. After Lester’s funeral, her father-in-law had relocated to a nursing facility in Lubbock per doctor’s orders, and Paula hadn’t been able to bear the thought of staying in the house where she had been beaten nearly to death.

Didn’t have a choice. The owner’s son is coming back to Perdue with his new wife in tow and needs a place to stay. I’ve been given a month’s notice.

That’s plenty of time to move. I’ll help.

She smiled ruefully. Yeah…except he gave me the notice three and a half weeks ago.

Oh. Well, that’s okay. We can do it. You don’t have much stuff, really. I mean you didn’t keep any of Lester’s furniture.

No reason to since the apartment was furnished. As is the house. Um, so to speak.

So to speak?

You’ll see.

I opened a menu, suddenly starving, and gestured to capture Rita’s attention. Let’s eat something, then we’ll get started.

Today?

Sure, today. I scanned the lunch specials. No time like the present. We’ll grab some boxes from behind Posey’s Grocery and get you packed up. Where’s your new house anyway?

About five miles east of town on Route 2. It’s an old farmhouse. The owner died a few months ago.

I took a good look at her face. Paula, what is it you’re not telling me?

She buried her face in her hands. Oh, Taylor, just wait until you see what I’ve gotten myself into.

So forget lunch. I closed the menu and stood up. Let’s go take a look.

Chapter Two

PAULA’S OLD STATION wagon rattled along Route 2, which was graveled but not paved. Shivering, I jacked the heater up another notch as my friend filled me in on the background of her new acquisition.

The house was sealed following Abraham Fisher’s death, she said. His will left everything to his wife, but since she predeceased him, all his assets reverted to the state.

What about other relatives?

According to his lawyer, there weren’t any. Paula tapped the brake to let a jackrabbit hop across the road. Anyway, once it was determined that none of Mr. Fisher’s belongings were worth the effort of holding an estate sale, the house was padlocked. And, after a few months of bureaucratic red tape, it went up for auction.

Which is how you got it.

For a song, too. Briefly, Paula looked pleased with herself. At one time, Abe Fisher and his wife owned nearly four hundred acres, but over the years, they sold it off to neighboring farmers. They kept the house and two acres of woodland.

Woodland? I glanced out the car window at the flat, red land, broken only by patches of mesquite scrub and fence line. The anomalous hills that surround Perdue rose in the far distance. Woodland? I repeated incredulously. Here?

Even as I spoke we rounded a hairpin curve, bordered by sandstone outcroppings, and there they were. Trees.

Abe planted them himself, Paula informed me. Rumor has it he came from up north somewhere and couldn’t get used to all this open space.

Wow.

Paula’s station wagon started along a dusty path that wove through the mini-forest. I’m no botanist, but I recognized sycamores, maples, sweet gums and pecan trees, though their branches retained only a scattering of red and yellow leaves. Evergreens—pines and firs—wove among the bare trees like tall, green sentries posted to guard the winter-dead skeletons until spring renewed their flesh.

We crossed a narrow bridge, rimmed in stone, and I craned my neck to glimpse the cold, gray water of a stream.

That’s part of Colton’s Brook, Paula said. It winds around behind the house. Makes for a nice view from the living room window.

I gaped at her. Exactly how much did you pay for this? As far as I knew, Paula’s savings account was as paltry as my own. She had put most of the money from the sale of the house she’d shared with Lester into a trust fund set up to provide nursing care for his father.

Less than I’d have paid for a decent used car. Her violet eyes crinkled with amusement at my expression. I told you, it was a state auction and no one bid against me.

Why not? Hell, if I’d known about this, I might have bid on it myself.

Yeah, but we’re city gals, Taylor. We’re the type to get all caught up in the beauty and to heck with practicality. She eased through a pothole in the path. This acreage isn’t any good for farming as it stands and clearing the trees would cost more than it’d be worth.

But what about the house? I protested, just as she pulled clear of the trees