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Harry paused in the middle of refilling his coffee cup as the door opened, admitting a blast of cold air. A tall, rather thin woman stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind her.
She looked across the room at him. “Mr. Hogan?”
“Guilty as charged,” he replied, nodding towards the chairs. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you.” She sat down and pulled off her gloves, placing her hands neatly on her lap, one over the other.
“Can I get you a coffee?”
“Thank you, but I never touch the stuff.”
“I probably drink too much of it,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”
“I hope so, because otherwise… it probably means I’m going crazy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hear voices… not every night, but always at night and at different times. Sometimes it’s just talking, not loud enough to pick out what they’re saying. Other times I hear screams and sounds like someone knocking or pounding on something. The worst is the nights when it wakes me up and I can’t get back to sleep.”
Harry rubbed his chin. “Mrs…”
“Ms,” she said. “Ms Jaunita Harris.”
“Ms Harris… could it be someone in the next apartment, condo or town house?” Harry asked.
She shook her head. “I always rented an apartment in the city. Now I am semi-retired and wanted a change. So, I purchased a small house which seemed to suit my purposes very well… at least I thought it would.”
“I gather things haven’t gone the way you hoped.”
“Not at all,” she said. “It gives one a weird feeling to hear voices when there is no obvious source. I hate to say it but… it almost feels like the place is haunted.”
Harry could tell she was stressed out. “Exactly where is your house located?” he asked.
“It’s a small house, about ten years old. It was built on the concrete foundation where an old mansion once stood.”
Harry frowned. “What happened to the mansion?”
“It burned to the ground with the owners inside. I think there was some suspicion that it might have been caused by smoking in bed.”
“Are you talking about Jacob and Nancy Wooden?”
Ms Harris nodded. “Did you know them?”
“Not really. I knew of them,” Harry replied. “I remember the story surrounding the fire, though. Forensic science has come a long way since then, but smoking in bed was indeed thought to be the cause. Jacob and Nancy were both in their 80s and smokers. Those who knew them said they always watched the late news in bed with a cup of coffee and a cigarette.”
“It was a tragedy and easy to understand why none of the children were interested in holding on to the land.”
“They had five, I think… all grown up and long gone from here at the time. I believe some writer bought the land and built a summer home there.”
She laughed lightly. “I don’t think it worked for him. Apparently, he decided that he wanted to live with sun, sand and surf all year round, so he put it up for sale.”
“Probably not for a bargain, either.”
“Actually, the price was good. It had been on the market for several years and the price was dropped just to get rid of it.”
“You were fortunate.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “Since the voices aren’t coming from adjacent walls, the only other place is from below, perhaps some long-forgotten tunnel or root cellar. I’ll start making some inquiries about the previous house tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.”
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