Clearing House
4.5/5
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About this ebook
Annette Shaw — Anna, to her friends — wants to get as far away from California and her ex-wife as possible. She's making a new start in Connecticut as a real-estate agent, and once she sells her first house, she'll know everything's going to turn out okay. The only problem is, local tradition says the old mansion is haunted, and absolutely no one will even come look at it. Desperate, Anna hires a ghost hunter to prove that there's nothing there.
Killian is a paranormal investigator, (not a "ghost hunter," thank you very much) but he doesn't actually see ghosts. His purpose is to help the bereaved say what they need to say and find peace after the death of a loved one, and if that involves pretending to talk to spirits, well, he'll do it. He wants to give others the closure he never found after his own parents died young.
When Killian and Anna hold an overnight vigil together at the old house, they find more than they expected to, but the truths revealed are not about dead spirits, but about each other.
Imogen Markwell-Tweed
Imogen Markwell-Tweed is a queer romance writer and editor based in St. Louis. When she's not writing or hanging out with her dog, IMT can be found putting her media degrees to use by binge-watching trashy television. All of her stories promise queer protagonists, healthy relationships, and happily ever afters. @unrealimogen on Twitter and Instagram.
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3 ratings1 review
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A very sweet romance. Two totally cute people getting together.
Book preview
Clearing House - Imogen Markwell-Tweed
Chapter One
Annette Shaw stares at the cooling batch of chocolate chip cookies, stacked seven wide and four tall in a perfect pyramid, and thinks, Why in the ever-loving God did I decide to leave California?
The double batch of cookies says nothing back. It just mocks her, a clearly misguided attempt at swaying people who will never even see the perfectly golden-brown cookies. She scowls, grabs the top one, and bites it in half.
When Anna decided to become a real estate agent, she had never expected to be left alone for days on end with absolutely no potential buyers. The beautiful mansion she’s sitting in now is apparently not enough of a pull for the people of Connecticut.
The open house is a roaring failure.
She’s never described something in her life as a roaring failure before. Until now, this one instant, she always assumed that if something was roaring, it was a success.
But then, that was before Anna decided to move nearly three thousand miles away from sunny CA to dreary, terrible, cookie-hating Connecticut.
Anna just wanted a fresh start. She just wanted to leave her ex-wife behind and start a life where she wasn’t just an ornate figure on someone else’s arm. She wanted freedom.
She wanted a career, but all she has now is an empty house and a plate of twenty-eight cookies.
She makes her way through the third chocolate chip because she deserves it. She makes it through the fourth because she’s sad.
There’s a noise from outside. Anna jumps up eagerly, but it’s just a USPS truck dropping off a delivery. The doorbell remains remarkably and miserably unrung.
On the counter, where thirty tiny water bottles mock her, her phone starts to buzz.
She spies Sara Jane’s contact picture, a cheesy one from their trip to Disney together where she’s holding two giant pretzels and has Mickey ears on, and sighs heavily.
As far as best friends go, Sarah Jane is a great one — with a sixth sense for knowing when Anna is distressed. She’s not even surprised to see her calling now.
She clicks to answer the call on speaker phone, still sighing.
Sara Jane immediately laughs. Wow. That good, huh?
That good,
Anna agrees bitterly. She takes another bite of cookie, swallowing roughly before giving in and tearing open one of the perfectly symmetrical water bottles. "Literally no one has come."
That’s okay!
Sara Jane immediately encourages without missing a beat. Her peppiness knows no bounds. It’s… Saturday. People hate house hunting on Saturday.
Anna shakes her head. That is empirically not true.
Sara Jane, though, is not easily deterred. I never go anywhere on Saturdays.
You have literally never spent a Saturday at home in your life. That’s when you go to estate sales,
she says. And the beach.
There’s a beat. You are making this difficult,
Sara Jane admonishes.
Anna laughs. "It is difficult!"
It’s your first house,
Sara Jane says. You knew that it was going to be tough.
I know,
Anna says, swallowing back another sigh. She brushes crumbs off of her lap. I just… not a single person, you know.
I know.
For a moment, Anna wishes she had never left. She wishes that she wasn’t all alone in this cold, miserable place, failing at a career she’s only just started.
I saw Martie at the grocery store, by the way,
Sara Jane says, and the moment is over. Anna is so glad she’s moved.
Ew,
she says, even though her heart has started to pound.
Sara Jane pauses and then says, Ew,
in solidarity. Then, after another brief pause that Anna simply waits through, familiar enough with Sara Jane’s hesitant gossiping, she says, "She looked awful. And, she didn’t even recognize me!"
Anna is torn between amused and irritated. She was married to Martie for ten years — Sara Jane was her maid of honor! Martie used to have to go to a monthly brunch with her and her husband. It’s ridiculous that she didn’t recognize her.
It is also very on brand for Martie, the cactus-killing and absentee ex-wife. A year after their divorce, of course Martie wouldn’t recognize Sarah Jane. She probably wouldn’t notice if it had been Anna. She rolls her eyes thinking about it.
Still, imagining Sara Jane’s infuriated facial expression when it happened is entertaining enough to make the thought not sting.
She’s a beast,
Sara Jane says, one of the meanest things she’s ever said, and Anna knows she means it.
Anna breaks apart another cookie and nods. Hear, hear. Tell me about Jayden’s ice skating lessons.
As Sara Jane launches into every single detail that has happened in her son’s ice skating career — Anna only points out three times, before she’s told not to for twenty-four hours, that Jayden is only six and therefore has no career — Anna scrolls through her real estate company’s Facebook page. It’s got stupid Chris’s stupid new sale. He’s the best in the whole place and Anna despises him. Not because he’s the best but because he’s a jerk who calls her sweetie. Him being the best is just icing on the cake of her hating him.
"—and I’m not saying that the kid Carter is going to, like, never amount to anything, but, clearly this is not his future—"
Sounds like a bitch,
Anna says absently. Her eyes narrow at the photo on the screen.
He’s seven,
Sara Jane says.
Anna blinks. She looks away from the screen, staring blankly ahead at the refrigerator. I meant… his mom sounds like a bitch…
Anna ventures.
Sara Jane exhales. "She is! Clearly! If you can tell from all the way over in the middle of nowhere—"
It’s Connecticut—
Then she must really be a bitch and I am not wrong.
You’re never wrong,
Anna says automatically.
Sara Jane hums, pleased. You’re right, I’m not. So, you’re going to not give up on your job then?
Anna stops. She glares at her phone as if Sara Jane can see her. Tricky,
Anna complains.
Tricky,
Sara Jane brags.
It’s more complicated than just giving up…
Anna reopens the Facebook page. She’s been tagged in something — frowning, she clicks on the notification.
Oh. My. God.
Anna?
"Oh my God!"
Anna rereads the post. Her mouth twists as she tries not to scream directly into the phone where Sara Jane is still on the other line.
Anna,
Sara Jane demands.
Oh my God,
she mumbles again. Her vision is blurred from having read unblinkingly for so long. She drops the phone on the counter where the cookie crumbs have gathered and buries her face in her hands.
"I’m cursed," she moans.
The line is silent for a moment. No, you’re not!
Sara Jane says encouragingly after a brief pause. I… do not know what is happening… but… I’m pretty sure that you are not cursed.
I am,
Anna insists. She grabs the phone and screenshots the Facebook post. She texts it to Sara Jane.
No, we went to that psychic last year and she would have told us…
Sarah Jane trails off as she reads on her phone.
While Anna’s waiting, she eats another cookie.
Oh my God!
Sara Jane exclaims.
Anna nods. I’m cursed,
she repeats.
"Well, I don’t know that you’re cursed… she trails off.
Only that…"
"Everyone thinks I am."
She pulls the app up again. There, in a shared post from her own page, there’s an image of Anna standing in her favorite blue suit, grinning widely, in front of the very empty house she’s sitting in now.
Meet Anna Shaw, Reinbeck Realty’s newest agent! Anna is 34 years old and an implant from Sunny California! Anna wants to help you find your dream home TODAY! Come to 3433 Winnifred Street Saturday at 11am for an OPEN HOUSE to the CHARMING and HISTORIC 5 bedroom 4 bathroom home. Contact info below!
Anna had shared that a week ago. She’d gotten seventeen likes and four shares. It wasn’t great, but it was a start. She hadn’t been discouraged by the response, at least.
But now she’s got a fifth share and she thinks she might tear her hair out.
Sara Jane begins to read aloud. Anna follows along, once again reading this horrible, career-ending post.
DO NOT BUY THIS HOUSE!!!
THIS WOMAN DOES NOT KNOW WHAT SHE’S MESSING WITH! The Winnifred Manor is HAUNTED by EVIL, BENEVOLENT SPIRITS—
Doesn’t benevolent mean good? How can a spirit be evil and benevolent?
Sara Jane interrupts herself.
Anna groans.
Right, sorry,
Sara Jane clears her throat. Not the point here.
Anyone who steps a single foot in this house is cursed! The Winnifred Ghosts are not to be messed with! This realtor has no idea what she has awoken —
I didn’t wake anything!
Anna cries. This house was already being staged when I moved here.
Anna, you can’t say that. According to this post, you have no idea what you have awoken.
I’m going to punch you through the phone.
She’s probably dragging all the ghosts to her other properties! TAKE CARE! Do NOT anger the spirits!
Call 203-303-3303 for spiritual advising and one-on-one talks with your loved ones through our professional and highly trained mediums.
Anna scowls.
Sara Jane whistles. Professional and highly trained, Anna.
This is the worst.
Anna buries her